Runnnnnning makes me happyPost ANZAC day, our little crew had the fortunate situation of having a late check out from Lille before our onward journey of Trélou-sur-Marne. I, ever the morning person, used this time to go for a run. The weather was still overcast and drizzly, I had had the foresight to pack some of the winter based running gear I haven’t used in three years. No one likes cold ears. Out I set, with a plan to run towards Lille’s ‘Menagerie” about 3km away, thinking that I’d add some kms in on the way back once I roughly knew where I was going. My phone is limited to wifi for any kind of communication and geographical location finding. I took some screenshots and off I went. Turns out my brain works in a grid based system (thank you Calgary, you trained me well) and France works on a circular, sun-ray type system. You see where this is going. Louis helping the peopleI got lost. I did a couple of loops using metro-station maps as a guide, in my bullheaded approach I figured I’d keep running and I’d find the street I was looking for. I found a few points of interest- the Irish pub scene where I could do lots of shots for very few Euro, I ran into Louis Pasteur unexpectedly, though he wasn’t much for directions. I ran past the Arts centre a few times and some beautiful Notre-Dams. I found Rue Nationale which I had noted previously and followed that for a while, keeping an eye out for something open that might be able to help me. Did I mention is was Sunday and nothing aside from the odd Patisserie is open? The streets are empty of people and those are out and about had faces that made it seem like they’d rather still be in bed. By this point I was about 6km in and had rolled my left ankle on an uneven stone in the pathway. I wasn’t particularly concerned, I did want to know which way was home though. So many colours in the marketplaceThen I saw them. Locals with market bags. Empty market bags. Follow them and there will be lots of people and maybe a sign or two directing me back towards the Grande Opera. As I got closer, there were people leaving with loaded bags, armpits full of baguettes for the evening (think of holding a clutch under your arm, now replace that with bread). Then I arrived! I wanted to run directly into the centre of it and spend the next three hours roaming, sampling and looking at all of the delightfully colourful Sunday market stalls. I wanted to call Emma and make an afternoon out of it. Oh, and I wanted to find out where I was so I could return after a shower. I found the Police and was told if I kept running in the forward direction I would be home in about 1km. Excellent. It should be noted that I had been running in the opposite direction until that moment. Whoops.
Needless to say, I made it home in 1 piece. I had enough time to pack my jigsaw of a suitcase and watch some French Simpson’s on TV. In retrospect, I am considering this run “mental training” for when I really don’t want to be running, though I know I have to in order to get the final destination. Which post Marathon will be the hotel room to a hot bath (following the ice bath – Laura Spencer, do you remember this??) and a nap. Actually replace the nap with Birthday/Life Achievement/Reckless Abandon tour drinks. Yes, that sounds way more fun.
