to still be someone worth waiting twelve hours for
Sixty Meters Sixty meters, and I had to walk again. I tried once more. Nothing. Just this burning low on my right side, the kind of pain that makes you stop believing your own plans. "I should continue," I told them. "Let's give it a bit of time — my energy will come back." Dirk didn't argue. He just said no. It was a cold Saturday morning, July 2024, 200 of us lined up for a 30km run, and I'd checked my vitals before we left, the way I always do. Body battery: 88 out of 100. Resting heart rate: 46. Everything green. I felt ready. The first kilometre was fine. The second, I could feel something draining out of me that wasn't supposed to drain. We turned onto a hill I'd climbed a hundred times before, and this time the tiredness didn't lift. Then the burning. Then the nausea. Marco ran ahead for water. Dirk stayed with me. I don't know what I looked like in that moment, but whatever it was, it ended the conversation. They wal...