أحب يوم الجمعة

The time my alarm goes off on Friday is the same as on the rest of the week; it starts ringing at 5 a.m. I turn it off and sit up, resisting the urge to go back to sleep and avoiding falling into the trap of its allure. I pick up my cell phone for five to ten minutes, I scroll through my notifications and read whatever catches my eye, then I get out of bed.

I head to the kitchen to drink a glass of lukewarm water—a routine I’ve followed for about twenty years—then perform wudu and brush my teeth in preparation for the Fajr prayer. I put on my workout clothes and eat two or three dates with my hot morning cup of coffee, I grab my gym bag and a bottle of cold water and leave the house.

What a wonderful feeling—when you step out the door of the building and a cool breeze caresses you, as if waking you from your slumber to tell you, “Here comes your favorite day—Friday.” Look up at the sky and contemplate its beauty, saying, “O my Lord, glory be to You! How You raised it without pillars. You did not create this in vain.” I see the moon and say to it, “O moon, my Lord and your Lord is God; there is no god but He.” You listen closely to what’s around you, but you hear no noise or commotion, only the sounds of birds that woke up early, striving to secure their daily sustenance and that of their young, just as the Creator of the universe taught them and instilled in them, and the rustling of trees stirred by the morning breeze, as they sway and dance to the melody of a beautiful tune played on the strings of their leaves and the instruments of their branches.

I sit behind the wheel of my car, start the engine, and drive off. I roll down the window as much as the day’s temperature allows, so I can feel the coolness I’ll miss as soon as I drop off my friends and we start running. The car drives through streets empty except for a few cars—most of the time, you can count them on the fingers of one hand. The earth spins, and the darkness of night begins to recede, giving way to the light of day as it creeps in from the distant horizon.

I head to the running group’s meeting spot, grab what I need from the car—my headphones, my running water bottle—set my sports watch, and go for a run through the streets of Amman before the group’s run begins. The run is longer or shorter, depending on how much time I have that day. I continued what I had started the moment I stepped out of the building’s door—the sounds of birds and the sunlight that had just begun to break over the eastern horizon. Who is able to bring you here every morning from this place? Who is the Great One who made the earth revolve around you every day, so that our sleep may be restful, our night a time of repose, and our day a time of livelihood? Glory be to Him—there is no god but He, the Creator of the heavens and the earth, the Creator of all things.

My legs carry me once again to where the team members are gathering; I find them already assembling in preparation for a new run that will shake off the dust of sitting behind the bars of our office cages. Yazan, the group’s organizer, takes this week’s photo and signals for us to start. Each of us dashes off as if the door to our cage had been opened, we spread our wings and soar along the paths of freedom—a joy known only to those who have tasted its sweetness. It’s a brief respite granted to us only once at the end of each week, after which we willingly return to our cages before Sunday morning. During this time, we breathe in fresh air saturated with freedom, We run through the beautiful streets of Amman, moving from ultra-modern, luxurious neighborhoods to its old streets and narrow alleys that tell us of its rich heritage. We pass by one of its bakeries and smell the scent of fresh bread calling out to us, “Come and take a bite of me,” and the birds in our stomachs begin to cheer, “Yes, yes, we want to eat!” But then we receive an order from our CEO, Mr. Brain: “We have work to finish.” We turn back and pass a small restaurant where the scent of falafel fills the air, and the whole thing starts all over again, Then our eyes catch sight of a man carrying a basket of pastries back to his family. This battle rages on and on between that rebellious, empty stomach and the body’s higher management. The rest of the body’s organs sometimes side with the stomach in its rebellion after they’ve been worn out, and at other times they side with the body’s higher authority when it is still capable of giving.

I return home, unable to wait for breakfast. I wake up my family while I take a quick shower, then rush out to the dining table, surrounded by my family and my mother. I eat my breakfast and fill my stomach. I reflect on and feel the health and strength that the Lord of the Throne has granted me to exercise, and I return to a warm, safe home, confident in the sustenance of my family, to say, “O Allah, whatever blessing I have been granted, or any of Your creation has been granted, comes from You alone; You have no partner. To You be praise and thanks, O Lord of the Worlds.” I say this sometimes over and over again, especially on my way to Friday prayers, though I often forget it. Who among us doesn’t love the weekend? We all look forward to Thursday for its sake, but some of us prefer Thursday, some prefer Friday, and some of us might even love Saturday. As for me, I love Friday. May God make all your days and Fridays happy and blessed.

Do you want to run? Run with group Running Ammanor, Street Trail Runners