I was the first to arrive...

Kilometer 7, when I least expected it, a sprain ankle in the right foot. Stop, the game is over! That was my inmediate reaction. I like running, but I don't need it, is for hobby. My memories were activated and I remembered  the sprain I suffered five years ago and how I acted against nature, resisting me and fighting with life. Now has been different, I realized I had to stop and although I would have loved to continue enjoying the race and reach the finish line, the priority was to heal…

And in the afternoon I discovered the message it wanted to convey me. My life has been changing so much, that I need time to digest everything that is happening to me. And even if I'm not aware of it, maybe I'm self-demanding: I'm not pretending to be a Superman, I have nothing to demostrate to others. I should dosify my excess enthusiasm and keep doing and enjoying the things that are reaching me, but giving me time to rest and celebrate what I am achieving before taking the next step. Life is not over...

Of course, I was the first to arrive... to the nursing room!! All an honor and a fondness for new experiences. And despite of the swelling and how serious it seemed, in the afternoon I ended up running. Life's miracles?