Go out and exercise

"Sorry Claire. I really want to go out for a run this morning, and running with a full stormach is not necessarily all that comfortable." She seems somewhat disapointed. "Yeah, i understand. See you later at the Lesecafè."

After putting on your running shoes and exercise clothes, you head out.

The plan with Claire is set for the afternoon, which leaves the morning wide open, and for once you actually act on the vague, weeks-old intention to exercise rather than just thinking about it. The Prater's Hauptallee turns out to be exactly what half the running blogs promised — a long, dead-straight avenue cutting through the park, chestnut trees lining it on both sides, already busy at this hour with a steady stream of joggers, cyclists, and the occasional very serious-looking speed walker swinging their arms like it's a competitive sport.

You settle into a pace somewhere between ambitious and honest, and manage about fifteen minutes of it before your body starts registering its objections. You're slowing to a walk near one of the benches, catching your breath, when a runner comes up alongside you at a pace that makes your own effort look faintly embarrassing. The blond ponytail, compact and efficient stride, not bothered by her ample bosom which despite being contained in a sports bra seem to move with every step, and the kind of form that suggests actual training rather than good intentions.

She glances over as she matches your pace, unprompted. "Alles okay bei dir? Du siehst ziemlich fertig aus."

You catch enough of it to gather the gist, something about whether you're okay, and probably a comment on how wrecked you look, which, fair. "Ich renne nicht so oft. Ich habe gerade wieder angefangen."

The simple sentence and awkward phrasing betray you, and just like in Switzerland, the native switche to english, instead of letting you practice your language skills. "Oh. Well then, good for you for getting into things again."

Her accent shifts smoothly, precise and only lightly marked. "Your accent, it's a bit unusual. Where are you from?"

You try to get her to speak german with you, by switching again. "Ich komme aus Neuseeland. Ich bin aber als ich 14 war in die Schweiz gegangen." But the girl does not take opportunity, and stays in english.

"Well, iasked if you're all right. You looked like you were struggling." The patronising explanation of what her words ment ruffles you. Well, maybe she just wanted to make sure.

"Generous read. I was struggling."

"I could tell from your form. You're overstriding." She says it plainly, not unkindly, just stating a fact the way you'd point out someone had spinach in their teeth. "It wastes energy. Shorter steps, more of them, would help."

"Is that a professional opinion?"

"No. Just an observation." A pause, like she's registering that the exchange might have come across as blunt, and doesn't quite know how to soften it after the fact. "I run here most mornings. You get used to noticing things."

"Fair enough. I'll take the advice, for what it's worth. I'm John."

"Franziska." She falls into step beside you as you both start walking again, apparently deciding, without much discussion, that this is now a joint activity. "You're a student? Or a tourist?"

"Poli-sci, just started. You?"

"Mechanical engineering. Second year." She says it with the flat, unadorned pride of someone who considers pride a slightly inefficient use of energy. "I run before lectures. Six kilometers, most days. It clears my head before I have to think about anything difficult."

"Disciplined."

"I don't know another way to be." She says it without irony, glancing sideways at you like she's trying to work out whether that was meant as a compliment or an observation, and settling, after a moment, on treating it as the former. "So you already have lectures? Mine start in a few weeks?" Without seeming condescening, she replies "well, we have some courses within the semester break. For thode who fail an exam on the first try. You should come back at some point this week. If you actually want to improve, consistency matters more than any single session."

"Is that an invitation?"

The question seems to catch her slightly off guard, a small pause, a flicker of something uncertain crossing her otherwise composed face, like flirting is a system she hasn't fully debugged yet. "It could be," she says eventually, careful, testing the words before committing to them. "I generally don't offer training advice to people I don't intend to see again. That would be inefficient."

"Very romantic, using efficiency as a pickup line."

"I wasn't aware it was a pickup line until you pointed it out." But there's the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth now, like she's pleased with herself despite not quite knowing how to show it properly. "Was it working?"

"A little, yeah."

"Good. I'll allow myself to feel good about that for the rest of my run." She says it so matter-of-factly that it takes you a second to register it as a joke, and when you laugh, something in her posture eases slightly, like she'd been bracing for the comment to land wrong.

You reach the end of the Hauptallee together, the avenue opening out toward the Prater's wheel in the distance, and she checks her watch with the brisk efficiency of someone whose morning runs on a schedule.

"I need to finish my loop. Lecture at ten." She hesitates, just slightly, recalibrating again. "Same time tomorrow. If you want the free coaching."

"I'll be here."

"Good." She gives a short, decisive nod, like the matter's now settled and filed appropriately, and takes off back down the avenue at a pace you have no intention of trying to match, ponytail swinging, leaving you standing there a little out of breath in more ways than one.

After you go back into your apartment, you find Claire has already left, leaving a piece of paper with an adress of thr cafè. After a quick shower, you go out.