It was past eight at one of the nice not to big middle class gyms. Tvivel was running on a treadmill. Step by step, trying to run away the sores of her body.
It was the sort of gym were you should up to some class at a regular basis the instructor would learn you name, what you worked with, but nothing more than that yet smile at you like a friend when you entered class.
First time here, and sad to say Tvivel was looking forward to the day you would get that smile. She had just done a beginners yoga class. It was supposed to be spiritual and stuff according to some Arrows she heard, but mostly she done it because it seemed useful to be bendy enough be able to crawl out of a dog door in less then 2 seconds.
Now afterword, having try to be human origami for an hour she just felt stiff and clumsy. So she ran. She had a runners body. Thin and long legged, not much fat, not much inviting curves either. A pair of pins held her shoulder length red hair away from her face, she wore a tight sports top and par of loose yoga pants. She was pushing herself, breathing heavily, taking the luxury not paying attention to her surroundings at the moment.
She knew this stuff. Better way to let go then most meditations. Just focus feeling the rhythm of step by step running, getting now where. Oh. The ironic poetry and deep crap in that thought.
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