Regardless of the fact that I am past the age of seventy-nine already, I often catch myself running. Running for fun, that is. My runs are never long, though. Actually, they come in several brief spurts, most of which are shorter than a minute. But fun they are nonetheless. Enormous fun, as a matter of fact. I relish every single leap, every bounce, and every breath along the way. For some reason that is still beyond me, I have started running like this only a couple of years ago. Until then, I only walked, sometimes at surprising speed, but I rarely even attempted to run. Looking back, running struck me as none of my business.

One of my favorite runs is down Borgo at night. The lighting is poor, the street is rather steep, and the cobblestones are in dire condition, but each run is a great joy. I make sure that I am carefully judging every leap for fear of stumbling, and I am often amazed at my prowess. Hey, I am an old man! It is similar with my runs along the Barbacan parking lot, where I enjoy running during the day. There are no cobblestones there, and thus I am much faster than on Borgo. And yet, I am as careful as I can possibly be. At my age, falling is hardly an option.

But there is one thing I am especially careful about before I start running each and every time: I look around over and over again to make sure than no-one is watching me. For I must be pretty ridiculous while running. Actually, ludicrous. If anyone I know in Motovun would see the way I curl my legs, flap my arms, and carry my body while running, they would surely laugh their heads off. As well as make fun of me for years in front of everyone. Although I would not mind being ridiculed this way, it would not be easy for me to explain why would I ever engage in running for fun at my advanced age. Luckily, no-one has spotted me running so far. Phew!