sapiens

Sapiens were once foragers. Disease was uncommon because there was a variety of food. Obesity was uncommon because the obese had died out. Be lean and able to travel long distances or fall behind and die. Sounds cruel, but it was in tune with nature. And nature is unforgiving. Sapiens were once foragers, and as such, they had to travel dozens of miles a day. Makes my measly forty eight running mile weeks look weak. But it still gives them purpose.

One thing about humans as we know them today is that they look for proof in favor of their beliefs. Even things out of the ordinary prove that they are right. If the mean is against their belief, they will disregard it. They will treat each incident contrary to what they believe in as an outlier. So what if there are eighty nine ‘outliers’ in a sample size of a hundred. The other eleven prove my point. Because I’m right. How could I ever be wrong. Obviously I can, I’m not stupid or arrogant. But I have such a wealth of experience. It’s unlikely that I’d be wrong.

Sapiens were once foragers. Sapiens once travelled long distances. When they chained themselves to houses and villages and claimed spots of land, they became domesticated. But since I feel incredible when I’m running, even if it is in the same park every day, I believe that the above statements are fact.

My heart has calmed down. It’s used to this routine by now. I’m driving back, right hand under the chin of the steering wheel - I don’t need to worry, it’s almost six in the morning, the roads are more or less empty, but even when it’s crowded, I’m callous about how I drive - my left hand is shaking the small can of meethi lassi. It’s still frozen. I can hear the thump thump as the now smaller block of sweet milk hits the roof and then the floor of the can. Liquid also swishes around. I can feel the rigid weight in the can. The more I shake, the less I feel it. More a fluid weight then. I think about waiting at the gate to home, the driver might be asleep, he might be awake. While I wait for him to wake up, I can drink my drink.

I don’t notice the sun. I appreciate the empty streets. But considerably less so than I did the first day I went to this park. I have become accustomed. I get on the ramp that leads to my neighborhood. It’s a small bridge that goes up and down and around. It takes maybe two minutes to cross the entire thing. There is a sign at the base, only one car please. Usually there are two. There’s a motorcycle at the very top. A man standing by it. I look at him closely as I drive by. His elbows are on the railing, his palms cupping his chin. He’s looking at the horizon, the one that this city obscures. He’s looking out over the bridge, unmoving. Standing in serene silence.