Just put your tennies on, Kelsey.
Surely 91 degrees is an unsafe temperature to run in.
I'll just go tomorrow.
Check the weather report. More 91 degrees for tomorrow.
If you're a runner, you know the magic of that crucial step in suiting up. If the shorts and tennies aren't on, there's still hope for backing out.
This blog post isn't meant to be a humble brag. I've enjoyed quite a bit of laziness here. Compared to my schedule in the states, life in Vietnam has been full of available, unfulfilled running time. This is actually the first time in months that I've felt the desire to pour out some thoughts and experiences. I haven't felt a lot of newness to report but during my runs, I see a different side of Vietnam that I will surely miss in the coming geo-transition.
It's 9:00pm. My mom, who inspires me in many aspects of my life, whispers in my ear that I should just go put my tennies on and see how I feel. I do it. Ok I'm ready.
Walking through my back alley to the main road, each house is inviting my inquiring eyes into their night life with family. Their doors are wide open, (family room AC is about as common as snowfall) and the bright illumination of each first floor creates a row of fishbowls. I have the strange sensation of peering into the Thorne Miniature Rooms in the Chicago Art Institute.
I round the corner onto the main road and start to jog. During the day, I run west alongside the bay and take in the stunning panorama of mountains, water, and fishing boats. At night, I turn the opposite direction and run northeast (the bay curves). Because I'm afraid of getting hit by a motorbike in the street (so possible), I run on the uneven brick cobblestone where people are dining, karaoke-ing and drinking coffee.
Western girls, girls exercising and girls sweating are all very uncommon sights in Vietnam, so I get a healthy amount of fan fare and stares as I run through the diners' affairs. Sometimes I get cheers. Sometimes "Hello!"s.
At the one mile mark, I start sweating in a very gross and awesome way. I also start loving the route because I've looped back into a sleeping, peaceful neighborhood. I'm no longer concerned about motorbikes or gaping eyes. All I can hear is my iPod, my breath, and the rhythm of my feet. This is what I will miss most about running in Vietnam.
The strong, combined smells of paper burning, incense, and flowers. The air heavy and warm. My head clear.
The quiet mile is ending and I'm back on a main road. My alertness returns as I side leap out of motorbike disaster and avoid squishing roaches in the road. A few more zig-zag streets and I'm back in my alley, ready to drink an ocean of water.
I'll add more photos of the route I just described soon.
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| Sweat |
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