My fiancée is away in her hometown for the weekend — that would be Lyon, 2 hours away by train, might as well be in the Sahara desert. So I’m left all alone in Paris, with the cat to keep me company (and warm). However, said cat is not great at helping plan occupations other than napping, eating and napping again.
Thankfully, my brother put me back on the straight path this morning, suggesting that we go running, like every other weekend. The thing is, I almost always run with — or, rather, behind — my fiancée, so her not being here had me forget all my healthy habits. My brother didn’t wake up before me — 11am — either, so that was nice. In the end, I only ran 6,5 km — instead of the usual 7,5 km — but that’s OK: I ran 8,6 km last weekend in Berlin. It evens it out, I say. Also, the only reason I died out so early is not because I was slow, but because my brother was fast: in only 6 months, he’s managed to outrun me, and I’m the older one! Things are falling apart, I tell you.
After running, we went to a local burger joint my brother loves. It’s right on the bank where we run, you sort of have to walk past it anyway: I try to eat less burgers right after running, because I find that a) it takes a little while for me to switch from physical trauma to the feeling of hunger, 2) burger buns are not necessarily the healthiest food option on earth anyway. And so I ended with not one salad, but two: they came in a combo I couldn’t refuse.
After that, I went home to take a shower and pet the cat — in that order: salad doesn’t heat you up. And I went back to my computer to start working: it was already past 3pm, after all. So I logically turned on Youtube. Michelle Obama’s autobiography sounds fascinating.