58 Liters

apple

Bring some fruit, if you’re going the distance.

I ate this apple next to a cathedral. I had run six miles there, through a cemetery, past rows and rows of the dead. I had climbed Lilac Hill in the cemetery, nodded at Greek and Asian families gathered around their graves, paying respects on Saturday afternoon, often formally dressed. When I saw the Cathedral, St. Joseph’s Oratory, in the distance, I ran towards that. I scaled some cliffs when I chose the wrong path up to it, jumped a ten foot stone wall using a log leaned against it. I ran through silent gardens, walled off, and then scaled another metal fence, with tips like spears, while tourists looked at the strange bearded man in running clothes obviously trespassing.

Walked into the Cathedral wearing my shorts and sweat. I was hoping someone would stop me, say I wasn’t dressed proper. “Sir, if your God exists,” I would have said, “he won’t mind.” But no one did. I walked through the halls, looked at the rafters of concrete, at the basilica.

Walking out, I took out an apple, and started eating. Back to the run. Six more miles to go.