With permission
to remember: Running backwards
Paula Robles Nettel
I didn’t
even turn myself to see him as I stood up from bed that early morning in that
place, that nothing revealed the night before, when I finally made it to our
time machine, after that long journey. There were two celling to floor windows
just in front of our bed; through the white curtains I could see the light of
spring in the foreign land. And across that crystal, sleeping were those who
sleep eternally. Their beds made of earth and stone contrary to normal belief,
were not scary but pleasant to watch under those old trees, and that soft light
of spring.
I
grabbed my running shoes and laced them tightly. Walking down the dark stairs
and corridor of that strange building, I finally reached the light. As I opened
the front door, I found myself facing one of those streets whose charm can
never be found. A few blocks away, I found a perfect place to run. It was a beautiful
little park, with several paths, not too long but extensive enough to break a
sweat on my first lap. I had been
running for four months and secretly blogging about it, equally as much.
Three
months before that moment, my then companion and I met in what I can describe
as a rendezvous of perfect and strangely enough, wonderful insanity. That man
was an avid skier, an excellent cyclist and the best of all, a man of words. I
have been witness to other moments on insanity, through people that have crossed my way, and I must excuse myself for sounding as if I
am romanticizing something that is obviously painful for many, for I have
seen and experienced the pain this can cause. I, however, have also been
witness to something extraordinary, the brilliance of pure madness that at times
comes through short moments. 48 hours to be precise.
Just
after these intense 48 hours, that his evident charm, brilliance, and intelligence had blown
even my socks away. I, ignorant of his condition, thought to myself, here is a
man who can speak, who wants to speak, who wants to share his mind, his heart,
his soul and he is giving all this to me. During those 48 hours, my companion
learned about my eagerness to run and complete a dream, among other things.
Many
things happened in this story that is not pertinent to say here, but I dare to
say this: I am a woman who has been loved back three times in her life. Some of
us are not meant to live next to those who have loved us (and I suspect that
this might be my destiny) but I have lived love’s plenitude in ways that defy
the meaning of eternity, for what is love and loved, can’t be forgotten, it exists
and transforms itself in wonderful emotions that allow us to give love to
others. Love feeding love.
While I
was running in that beautiful little German park, I started to laugh. I
suddenly remember that my companion, just after we met those 48 hours, have
called me from the hospital he had been placed for a few weeks after our
meeting. Something that my intuition and research of his condition had portended
me to believe it had happen, as he had disappeared for a few weeks. After a
while he asked how was my running project going, he then added that he was inspired
by me, and that he had been running 10 kilometers in the treadmill at the
hospital. As I congratulated him he said –ten kilometers running backwards.
One must
have permission to remember, yes permission to remember and be loyal to the
memories of events that have made us so happy, that have made us smile, that
have transformed our lives, through happiness and sadness, through sanity and
insanity. Because life and love never run a straight running road, sometimes we
need to allow them to wisely run backwards, even if it doesn't make sense.
In memory of A.V.S. 04'10
Stavanger 23.04.14
I-I-I
I-I-I
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