I knew not the pleasures of walking the Corniche. I knew not about the gentle salt breeze that would play hide and seek with my hair strands. I knew not about the pleasant pain that the walk would leave in its wake, I knew not the joy of lying on the grass afterwards, staring into the black sky, willing a star to appear.
I witnessed the Asian Games on the shores of the gentle blue sea, which splashed gracefully at the stone walls that guarded man from water. During the triathlon event, I watched one toned body after the other emerge from the sea’s depths to run the Corniche. I watched, I wrote, and I got published. It was just my job.
Yesterday was different. I wanted me to believe that I could.
I started slow, promising myself to go slower as the distance increased. Surprisingly, my legs had other ideas, something it has never done before. The walk took on a life of its own. The simple walk gradually graduated to a ‘quick walk’ and later went on to metamorphose itself into the desperate urge to run.
An hour and a minute after it all started, I knew that this must have been how all those timeless love stories began.
The pleasure of walking the Corniche, was finally mine.