In the jungle

I am currently spending a week in warmer climates down by the Mediterranean sea. Did I say warmer? Just kidding. The weather has been a mixture of thunderstorms, low temperatures and bitter disappointment, so my bikini has been lying at the bottom of my backpack looking forlorn while frogs fell down from the skies.

Running in the rain is usually a magnificent experience. The air is delicious to taste and keeps your body from overheating. But, in these parts, the rain sometimes hangs in the air even when it’s not cloudy, and it finds its way through your nose and into your lungs so that you can’t breathe, or it hitches a ride on your skin pushing your sweat drops back into your body.

Humidity does not for efficient running make.

Somehow I still managed to squeeze in an interval session plus an easy 10km, running up and down a broad stretch of pavement by the seaside. I should get a medal for my mental perseverance alone. Running intervals by yourself should be as highly regarded as giving your life for your country or at least sacrificing yourself and taking the last chocolate bit so that your dieting colleague won’t be tempted. I am a person with high moral fibre.

I’ve also been scouting the area for trail runs but the un-Mediterranean conditions have turned dirt roads and paths into swamps. Yesterday I almost lost one of my shoes to mud. My other shoe, on the other hand (well, it was actually on my other foot), had gone and gotten itself a 5 cm thick high heel. The difference in height between my two shoes resulted in me limping for several hundred metres, which would look funny if it weren’t for the parental advisory warning labeled words coming out of my mouth at the same time. Good thing there were some beautiful things to distract me.