|Racing along the Canal...|
It’s Sunday, and that meas a long run day. You’re running a half-marathon distance through Paris. That’s about 21 kilometers (13 miles). Your shoes are tied, your iPhone is recording your distance, the music is pumping through your headphones, and the sun is just peeking through the morning haze overhead. Some things happen as you run along…
You start following people. It becomes easier to run when pacing off someone else, but this practice quickly becomes stalker-like once you find someone with a good pace. You end up following them all the way up the Canal and it’s kind of awkward, almost like eyeing someone in the metro or in a club. “Is he into me?” you think. No, he just wants my stride, too. Can’t blame him, I guess.
You realize that the French still don’t get it. The weird looks never stop, but it seems that the French maintain running is best left for somewhere else. Where? Not sure. But they refuse to get out of your way, making the least bit of effort to liberate sidewalks or paths when they clearly see you barreling towards them. Fine, but do they have to blow the cigarette smoke at me as I run past?