Traditionally, on December 31st in beautiful Latin American countries such as Brazil, Spain, Argentina, Mexico, or Colombia, just to mention a few, the race that announces the arrival of a new year takes place: San Silvestre.
As in any competition and in life itself, there is a little bit of everything, the athlete who prepares to get one of the first three places, there is the amateur athlete who likes to practice the sport of distances, and who feels grateful with his effort, even does not get (they knows before starting) to win one of the first places, but as Pierre de Coubertin the important thing is to compete.
There are also those who, without knowing how it happened, see themselves leaving among a pack of runners for the next kilometers. There are those who walk, others run half-heatedly, and there are those who do it just for the sake of it. There are those who think of cheating to advance more places quickly, there are those who do not care where they arrive at the finish line, there are those who never see the finish area. There are those who run in disguise, with make-up or with inappropriate clothing for the sport. There are those who run without clothes to be disruptive in front of the media or simply to do something different or to make a fool of themselves. The important thing is to run, they would argue.
There are other runners, those in long pants who watch the athletes pass by from the streets. These, the long pants make bets, make comments in the ear of another just like them wishing that it goes well or goes badly, depending on which runner passes at that moment in front of their eyes of life. There are those who make value judgments regarding the competition, there are those who think about the prize money or who should donate it, or what is the conspiratorial purpose of the competition itself. There are those who question that it should not be called San Silvestre anymore, because it evokes Catholic affinities.
There are those who do not care if the race takes place, but even more, they consider it an aggravation to their tranquility, since the finish line is only a few meters away from their location and this disturbs their mental state. There are those who believe that it should not be called a race. From now on it should be recognized as "activity of movement of members or members of human beings or human beings or cisgender, or transgender, or transsexual, or transvestite at the end of the 365 days."
Is it complicated to chronicle something so beautiful. In an instant, the real race appeared before my eyes: The LIFE.
Welcome to 2022.
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