It is far too early in the morning, when I sleeping drunk groping me to the metro station in the hoody and the key cap. To my surprise, it is the rush hour traffic on the street leading to the station.
And it is not for people who need to work early that takes place on the sidewalk. Instead, it is the people in the garish träningstights, heart rate watches and sweatbands. They jog along the street, some two and two, or even more, the other alone in the light of dawn.
On the subway, leaning me against the window and doze me through town. Every now and then I wake up and see them again. These provocative hurtbullarna that have opted for a Friday morning there at the sexsnåret take a restorative morgonrunda. With running shoes and fast bikes - lycradräkter and streamlined träningsjackor - not even breathless for that they obviously have excessive morning workout as some kind of routine.
I feel violated by this hurtigheten. How can it be possible that you actively make the choice to go up in the middle of the night to work out, when you can stay in bed and snooze until the alarm clock rings for the seventh time and you actually have to scramble up, ignore the breakfast and half-finished to stumble towards the job. Or say good-bye outside any local and go home at dawn, ahead of a weekend where the only thing planned is to sleep as long as possible.
I can't drop the idea of, hatred for, this cheeky livsbejakandet.
So, press I up the heavy gate to the källarutrymmet where I'm going. There, hanging boxsäckarna lined up in the ceiling, a bunch of workout clothes are ready on the carpet. I fill my water bottle and taking a seat along the wall. Only then I realize what a hypocrite I am.
But I snoozade in any case three times before I went up.
Evelyn Jones is a reporter at the DN and love to sleep long.
the Best in Stockholm right now: the sun never longer seems to go down. Still have not managed to understand that there is a summer waiting around the corner.