This was the weekend I didn’t run. I didn’t lace up takkies at 05:30 to clock in some kilometres. I didn’t think about how each step makes me stronger. I didn’t dream of how wonderful it would be to cross a half-marathon finish line in under two hours. This is the weekend I slept in (08:30). And I marvelled at how glorious THIS is.

This is the weekend I didn’t watch the next few episodes of “House of Cards”. I didn’t yearn for Claire Underwood’s wardrobe. I didn’t wonder what it says about ME, that I cannot hate Frank Underwood’s character. This is the weekend I finally got around to watching “The Book Thief”. And I wept.

This is the weekend I didn’t pick up a novel. So unusual.

This is the weekend I didn’t devour an entire mango. This is the weekend I didn’t think about how I had fresh pineapple juice every day in India, and how I miss that, and how I really should invest in a juicer. This is the weekend I cooked for someone other than myself.

This is the weekend I didn’t feel compelled to spend Saturday night socialising. This is the weekend I was more than happy to vegetate on the couch and watch mind-numbing TV (Step up 3).

This is the weekend I finally got around to editing some of my photos taken in Mozambique, more than 6 months ago. This is the weekend I remembered how hard I fell for Tofo. My fellow travellers – so friendly and entertaining. The stars – incomparably beautiful. I need to go back.

Boats - Vilanculos

Tattoos - Mozambique

Tofo - first night

Mozambique - cricket

This is the weekend I didn’t run.

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I’ve recently added extreme tree camping to my bucket list.

This is the weekend I didn’t run

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