… district of Hamburg, the Reeperbahn, I just had a nice 8k early morning run, the one I was supposed to do yesterday instead of sitting in the heat and… well, shooting the meager breeze we had yesterday. Ben had the glorious idea that this would be more “hardcore” than gracing the botanic garden with my Green-Silence-clad presence, and I was lining up for a day of comments in the line of “the hookers don’t bother you when you’re running”, but god, was I WRONG! They bother me. But in a good way.

Running the Reeperbahn at 8am, you’re never alone. They’re all there. They’re still wearing next to nothing, the pasty skin of countless working nights even more obvious in the harsh morning light. But the next to nothing they’re wearing is - tights! The sporty type. Mostly black, making them look like an army of inconcievably healthy (but sickly looking) emo girls. And they’re all running. Real fast. Putting an over-equipped guy like me to shame.

I felt like was in the middle of one of Ridley Scott’s weird dreams that someone had the good sense to turn into a high profile commercial. So weird.

But then again - isn’t it obvious? They’re physical workers. They need to stay in shape. Their success revolves directly around how attractive they look. That new girl with the firm butt is a real problem for the average mother-of-two-pro. So they run. With admirable dedication.

Run happy, girls!