Amanda tries city running.

Disgusted with my inability to go for that run I never seemed to have the time for, I found some resolve in the deepest, darkest recess of my mind and laid out my running clothes and shoes last night. I did this with the hope that the sight of them would inspire me to leave my warm, cozy bed for the grey and chilly morning in search of a lean stomach and toned thighs.
Somehow, it worked.
I set the alarm for 7:30, but I was awake before 7. By 7:45 I was warming up by doing a few flights of stairs. I live on the fourth floor, of eight, so I ran up to the roof, stretched, and then ran down to street level. Taking the elevator while dressed in running shorts, an old high school track sweatshirt and running shoes felt wrong.
The street was busier than I expected it to be. Not very many stores were open, just the bakery and produce crowd, but I´m guessing that the traffic I saw were the people who open the various shops and cafes that line the streets of Grácia. There were even a few ancianas, old women, who had a set to their faces that told you they put a lot of stock in the axiom that the early bird gets the worm. Even the way they bustled down the streets told you they meant business. I picked my way around the corner to the beginning of Passeig de Sant Joan.
Yesterday, in a desperate attempt to get out of the really "emo" mindset I was in, I compared my best options for running routes. My best choices were to run down Passeig Sant Joan, in the general direction of the ocean, or up Calle Escorial, towards the mountain. Sant Joan is actually a boulevard, with a wide center strip that has playgrounds on one side, benches on the other, a bike path behind the benches and a random assortment of fountains, trees, and other elements of a park inserted here and there. The only negative point to this route is that the way out is downhill, making the way back a bit more difficult. But it´s a wider area and is thus easier to move around in. Escorial is uphill on the way out and downhill on the way back, but it´s just a street so there are more obstacles and opportunities to tempt fate into doing something unpleasant. It´s the direction I would need to take if I wanted to go to Parc Güell, which is also a popular running site, but just getting there would be a workout in itself. It´s a 30 minute walk from my house, and uphill. Please. Perhaps on a day when I´m feeling really ambitious, but I was already impressed enough by the fact that I got out of bed before my alarm went off. So, that´s how I decided on Passeig de Sant Joan.
It only ended up being a brisk run. Thirty minutes. But it was enough. Enough to make me break a sweat and have my quads twinge and twitch, unaccustomed as they are to this sort of physical demand. Enough to make my shins ache -- hinting strongly at shin splints -- from running on the concrete. Enough to be happy with a first effort.
I walked into the apartment breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. Someone was in the bathroom, and since my shower is currently in the PROCESS of being repaired (it´s not draining properly, and note the emphasis on "process"), I got even more ambitious and did sit ups and lunges while I waited for the shower to open up. (I´m definitely going to pay for that tomorrow, and probably the day after, but it was worth it.)
All morning, I´ve felt like a million bucks, but I´m probably not going to do this again. Why? I knew the air quality of Barceona was awful, but running in it is an entirely different story. It felt like I was trying to breathe through a straw. And I was only pacing a quick jog... it certainly wasn´t a flat-out run, but I wasn´t slacking either. Also, running in the city actually causes more stress than the act releases. Dodging people, waiting for lights to change, being leered at by greasy, 20-something punks. (Assholes.) Anyway, its just more stress than I think its worth. Feeling toned is not preferable to breathing.

I guess I´ll just have to start eating less chocolate.

written by

achavero on November 13, 2007 from Barcelona, Spain

from the travel blog: Amanda in Barcelona

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