He wakes up early, when it's still dark, determined to visit his gym. Light breaks through the horizon when he leaves his tower block at 7am.
He takes East London's canals, following the coots and cyclists down the litter-strewn paths. The foxes must have had a wild party the previous night.
He arrives at the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park: his gym is a solid copper box surrounded by cranes, a beckoning giant in the distance.
He carries everything on his self – protein shake, gym clothes, toiletries, towel, shoes, work clothes, weight lifting gloves, iPhone, earphones – everything but his membership card.
With fellow runner neenaw
It's been now 7 months since I left Brasil and returned to London.
I fly to Canada in 7 days on holiday - it's been over 7 years since I've visited my in-laws and friends there.
I turn 40 in less than two months.
I ran 10K on Sunday for the charity British Heart Foundation (though my iPhone's GPS said it was 9.46k.) It took me 59 minutes and 11 seconds.
I did yoga in my living room at 7am this morning. I then left home and walked past that cat on my way to work - the one I saw on the day my grandmother passed away. It arched its back and stiffened its tail when I lowered myself to pet it. There were bits of leaves in its hair.
From the platform of Hackney Wick Overground station I spotted shirtless builders erecting a condo.
On the train, I listened to Dead Can Dance and saw mystery in the eyes of some of the commuters.
Apologies for the lack of posts. I left my life in London behind, moved to Brasil to help run my family's guesthouse in the countryside, started a blog that promised to document everything and then... nothing.
Well, my Macbook's screen died about a week ago. I'll probably catch a bus to São Paulo this Monday or Tuesday, to have it inspected by authorised Apple personnel. In the meantime, my iPhone has been my saviour (from which I send you this missive.)
Normal services will hopefully resume soon.