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In the forest, the poui falls different

I leaned on a tree after my seventh rope, it felt like. I was good and proper bun.
Then the neighbourhood watch appeared. A beetle here, some ants that clearly grew up on cassava and two wasps. I had to get up.
I put my hand on a tree to stabilize and a member of the bush welcoming committee bit me. So now, I’m cross, angry and bun out.
I didn’t even see the the offending animal afterwards. It’s like he was saying, “Get a move on, interloper”
To the understanding, this thing was the hardest hard. The thing is, I was already 5.7 miles in. You can’t go back, and have zero inclination to go forward. If I saw some teak, I might have built a house in the forest.
But one foot in front the other, one hand over the next and eventually I made it to a beautiful flower.


While doing what one does when it’s no longer a race and more of a series of questions about your life choices, an old man deftly, wordlessly ran past me.
In the normal world, a runner such as me would treat that as an invitation to share some linx out. But in the forest, the poui falls different. I just kept taking my photos and returned to more rope.
(Yes, Irwin, you do need those gloves)
I made it out. Barely.

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