There is a man who knows no more about me than that he saw me running on a Kangaroo Island beach at Christmas time. If he thinks of me at all, if he is the kind of person who remembers such details in his life, he would see in his mind a woman, not so young, not so old, in a yellow T shirt (children are born with these arms, not these arms), black pants rolled up to the knee, bare feet.
Running.
That is all he knows of me, and yet, he is the only person who has ever seen the adult me run.
And when, in a new city amongst new people, I am doing as I have been advised and saying ‘yes’ to every invitation, every conversation that is initiated, I think of this man. A man about whom I know nothing more than that he stood at the top of a cliff, hand on his hip and waved at me as I ran.
Something I had not done for over twenty years.
adelaide from adelaide 
Wow, what an image, such a connection – I am totally into the randomness of this, having lived OS.
truly recreating your image….
Some people just KNOW, don’t they.
Why no run?
Sometimes I see a stretch of flat, and this especially when it’s windy, and I want to throw myself into the wind and fly across the flat. There aren’t many situations where this is acceptable adult behaviour, but the few where it has been, it’s been glorious for fifteen seconds, and then I’ve realised I’m not very good at running. It takes practice, it does, especially if you’re a stoutish fully-grown biped like myself.
There’s a great freedom to reinvent (or rediscover) yourself when you move to a place where nobody knows you.
Enjoy!
And I hope you have a lovely time in Spain.
🙂