morning runs on weekends.

I vaguely recall my husband nudging me awake, to tell me that he's going off for his morning run.  He seemed like a red singlet of a blur, and I fall back to my pillow, asleep.  It was a weekend (or a long weekend for that matter) and waking up early was not on the agenda.  Next thing I knew, the phone was ringing and it was him calling to ask me to make breakfast.  He's only around 6 kilometers away and hungry.

So I get up, grill some frankfurters, scramble some eggs and heat the rice.  I set them on the table then flop on the couch to wait for him.

He arrives a few minutes later, panting and really hungry.

"So, where did you go?" I ask.

"Everywhere," he says, half-smiling and half-haggardly breathing.

"Okaaaay..."

"I went to Heritage Park."

"What?"  Okay, for perspective guys, we live in Mandaluyong (Tivoli Garden Residences) and he runs from the condo.  He doesn't drive, he runs.  "That's so far!"

"That's the point," he simply states.

And I have nothing to say to that.