This is not a post about food. It’s also not solely about my travels in Italy (which happen to be quite lovely). To be honest, I was feeling a bit uninspired with my writing. I started post after post, wanting to tell you about my experiences in Italia, but it just didn’t seem like me. It felt forced and not very funny (and I know the only reason you really read this blog is because I’m hilariously funny…)
My travels so far have been wonderful, beyond amazing. But, honestly, I’ve had a bit of sensory overload—new language, new culture, new people.
So I went for a run. I needed to pound the pavement. I needed to think and clear my mind. I needed to sweat and feel my heart pound (think PG skydiving of sorts).
I turned on my music and set out on the old cobblestone streets. Running in Italy is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s cool, breezy, and intensely beautiful. I found a tiny paved path through the woods (this is when my mom will start freaking out and spend $10.00 on an international phone call telling me not to run alone in the woods).
It was peaceful, fresh, and so quiet. The solitude made me think about my journey with running. It began a bit over 4 years ago. I consider that day—May 9, 2009—to be the very first day that I really ran.
To make a longggg story much shorter, I signed up for a charity 5k, thinking I would walk the whole time. Somehow, I ended up running the entire thing. My time was crap, but I finished the run. I pushed so hard because I was trying to impress a boy that I liked. My running must have worked and he took me to see Star Trek for our very first date.
From that day in May the running fever inside me grew into a rolling fire, a tumbling ocean, a large train (I’m a bit metaphor crazy).
My relationship with the sport is dynamic, changing over the past four years. I run now to feel my emotions (my version of screaming into pillows, I suppose). I run to feel alive.
I’ve run in three different continents.
I’ve run in ten different states.
I’ve run over 30 races—two of them half marathons.
I’ve run for hours at a time. I’ve run in the rain, snow, heat, and cold. I’ve run in cities and in the woods. I’ve run with friends and by myself. I’ve run in good moods, bad moods, angry moods, and with tears streaming down my face.
Running in Italy, though, is a completely different experience for me. It’s cleansing, breathtaking, and challenging. As I run through the quiet paths, I feel strong, unbelievably so. My thoughts swirl and I wish that everyone I’ve ever encountered could see what I’m seeing as I run through the medieval town of Orvieto. I wish they could feel the goose bumps I get as I run down the steep grass lined hills.
For now, I hope some pictures will do. I wish you a beautiful day!