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Imperfect and beautiful

Imparfaits et magnifiques
Our lives are all lopsided. They lean towards excess or lack. Too many obligations. Not enough free time. We search inside ourselves to find the motivation to do differently, to overcome inertia, to break the sequence of agendas that have been filled like oversized bags, destined for tireless backs that only exist in fantasies where we imagine ourselves superhuman, perfect.
You have to escape. We must refuse the absolute impossible of productivity.
So we run. So you run.
Not always perfectly. Never like these athletes whose stride is a poem. Every inch of their feet touching the ground, with every step, with the regularity of a piece of alexandrines.
Because this excellence is not the objective to achieve. We want to run like we frolic. With the enthusiasm of children who rush to their friends' houses after supper, with the feeling of fleeing immobility to find refuge in the rhythm that we impose on ourselves.
Whether it's fast or extremely slow, it doesn't matter. Whether you're preparing for a competition by following a rigorous program or running the same short distance day after day, we don't care. Whether you do it to relieve stress, to get back in shape, or for reasons related to your health, that's up to you.
You run. We run. It's all that matters. This is what we share.
We have to run so that everything else stops moving in our heads, so that ideas find their place, and finally so that they breathe as our lungs fill and empty, our legs absorb the shocks, our arms beat the air as if to constantly pull us forward.
You run for it. U.S. too. So it's time to come together. To share the true meaning of sport, to commune at the altar of our disappointments and successes, to celebrate our difference in the imperfection of movements that are sometimes uncertain, clumsy, and yet superb. Because running, no matter how, is a victory over everything that conspires to stop us.
Faux Mouvement is a boutique, a café. It is a meeting place, a rallying point. But above all it is an idea, which sprung up in minds who shared an interest in running because it fits ideally into our lives which lean, which bend our backs, which bend under the load. We put on shoes, comfortable clothing. And we leave. Alone or accompanied. With or without music. Fast or slow. With grace or by struggling with the emptiness around you.
In the end, we share the same fullness. An identical feeling. That of the sublime which is born in disorder, over the course of the little moments of grace caused by the influx of dopamine and endorphins. The rhythm we impose on ourselves puts our heads in order, relieves our souls as much as our bodies. It's not magic, but it's close.
We are a club without name, without code, without obligations. We don't have a leader.
We run. You run. This is enough for you to all be part of it. In fact, we're not even a club. Just a name that we pronounce like that of a friend with whom we share the desire to look elsewhere to find ourselves there.