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Illustration by Alex Siklos
I set my alarm for 6:15 a.m. so I can put on my running clothes in the dark, eat a granola bar and head out the door 30 minutes later for my longest run of the week. I want to run 22 kilometres but unless Ghent, Belgium, makes me unexpectedly speedy, I’ll be lucky if I fit in 15 km. I need to get back to the hotel to shower so we can catch a 10:30 train to Rotterdam, Netherlands.
I’m on vacation and I am running.
I take my first few steps in complete darkness. Lights are on at a pub across the city square. I hear people partying in the distance like it’s still the middle of the night. I turn right toward the canal. I know that the sun will rise at 6:54 a.m., so soon I will see Ghent’s medieval architecture in the new morning light.
It starts to rain softly, making the cobblestone under my feet slippery. I move at a slower pace.
I’m your typical elder millennial who took up running to enjoy some alone time. I started off by doing intervals. Run four minutes. Walk one minute. After two kids and two miscarriages, my body didn’t seem to work all that well anymore. Lingering foot pain made it hard for me to run. Strained metatarsal something or other. It feels a bit like plantar fasciitis. The easiest explanation I have is that the babies left me lopsided.
I found a good physiotherapist. I take ibuprofen regularly and know to have plenty of anti-inflammatory cream on hand so I can rub it on my feet at night. I kept at running, though, building my distance. Before I knew it, my passion for running became part of my personality.
Now I run far in far-off places, too. I feel like a goddess jogging through Ghent dressed in white Hoka shoes and a peach Ciele hat. My body feels strong. I look up and I’m at Gravensteen – the castle of the counts – built in 1180. What an incredible way to see the sites.
In London, I run along the Thames toward Tower Bridge. I see St. Paul’s Cathedral. In the distance is the London Eye.
I turn back toward the Shard. I move through narrow alleyways and steep staircases. I follow another runner to see if I can find my way back up over the bridge. I cross the Thames and come across Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.
There are no crowds to contend with this early in the day. The soft light is better than any Instagram filter. I feel powerful and grateful, and feel like running has given me a free ticket to see the world.
In Paris, I follow the Seine with the Eiffel Tower on the horizon. Sharply dressed folks whizz by me on their bikes as they make their way to work. A man slowly walks his dog and I have to pivot to make my way around them. A woman in a tan trench coat sits at a bistro table, sipping coffee, watching me curiously as I run by. Pigeons peck at their breakfast. I take a left and run by Notre Dame Cathedral.
I run along the Opal Coast while we stay in Calais in northern France. Greenish-blue water washes up against golden sand that the wind whips into dunes. Ferries float by. Seagulls serenade me. I’m tempted to run in the sand to feel it squish beneath my feet but I stick to the paved promenade to avoid twisting an ankle.
Back in Rotterdam, I run toward a windmill and have to pinch myself, is this really my life? With each heavy breath, I feel so lucky that my body can do this. The world feels big and there’s so much beauty and wonder to run toward. Especially on vacation!
Leisha Grebinski lives in Calais, France, until she returns to Saskatoon.
