Violenza.

Which means violence in English.

Another post in English. I know, it's terrible. Still, I think I'm here to improve my English. It would be useless if I kept writing only in Italian.

Today we're talking about violence. On ourselves. And on pigeons.
What's the reason of the marathon? You run for 42 km and 195 m (26 miles), which is insane, and you have to pay for it. To train for months, maybe for years. You wake up at 5.40 a.m.. You run at 9 p.m.. It's insane.

Given such premises, let's talk about the last two training sessions.

I'm currently staying in London, working in an office with showers. It has more than just showers, actually. Though, they might be considered the facilities that I appreciate more.

I tried to run in the morning last week. The showers needed to be used. The idea was to go to the office very early, to change myself there, and to start there my run.

I realised that it didn't make sense. I could just save 10/15 minutes.

So, I had a brilliant idea: to bring running shoes and clothes on Monday morning; to run back home on Monday evening; to run back home on Tuesday morning. I could save the time of commuting, by this way.

Monday

I left the office at 7 p.m.. The area was crowded, with all the people who ran back home. Metaphorically.

They were in my way like moving pins. I loved it, dribbling them like Ronaldo. One! two! three... Ok, I'm bored.

I looked if there was an alley to jump into. I found it. And jumped. Everything was easier, when I reached the Thames. Home was just straight and then left.

I reached Battersea Park at the 8th km. Too early, but also too dark. Do I go back home safely, or run in the darkest tiny streets?

Other 4 km will be fine.

I got lost a few times in the park, and arrived home at the 13th km. An average of 4'17'' per km. Definitely too fast. And 1 km more than what it was planned. Tuesday will be a nightmare.

Tuesday

The alarm clock rang once. Twice. The third time it didn't ring, I stopped it a few seconds earlier. Half an hour later I stood up.

Let's suit up. Let's run.

I was much less confident than the evening before. Legs were heavy. Don't forget that I had just run with Sarah two days before.

After 2 km I realised that it wasn't the perfect training. An average of 4'42'' per km. And I was already tired.

Monday was the serious day, I thought. Tuesday is for relax. Let's behave like tourists: Westminster, the Big Ben. Trafalgar Square.

I was so amused that I also stopped a few seconds for taking a picture.

It shows the greatness of this Country.

Do not feed the pigeons. Horation Nelson approved this signal.

They're the worst animals ever. Milan is invaded by pigeons. Tourists keep feeding them, helped by unlicensed seed sellers. And we got Berlusconi.

Never feed the pigeons!

There isn't even the "please". It's "mind the gap, please". "Do not smoke in the airport, please". "Quiet, please".

And then, "do not feed the pigeons". Full stop.

While such deep thoughts were keeping my mind busy, the office popped out.

8 km. 1 km less than what planned. An average of 4'32'' per km.

Let's go to work, it's better. Please.