RUN FORREST RUN

Oh hey guys it's me Brogues Gump 

This weekend, something quite miraculous occurred. I, as no more than a complete amateur on the running circuit (pardon the pun), somehow managed to get myself on the podium at my first Spanish running competition, as the second lady past the finish line out of a good few hundred. To say I surprised myself would be a pretty sizeable understatement.

Don't get me wrong, I can certainly be a super determined and driven young lady when I want and need to be. However, for me, running acts as a counterbalance to my perfectionist proclivity; it's a purely pleasure-driven pastime, a time of escapism in which I can get lost in a sweet playlist and plod along at my own little pace.

 

But, right before Saturday's 10K, my host mamá (who I might add has never seen me run, not once) said to me: "sabes, tienes posibilidades de ganar un trofeo" ["ya know, you have a possibility of winning a trophy"], to which I chuckled and replied something along the lines of "no waaay, Jose!"; I hadn't won a trophy since my childhood football days at Dulwich Hamlet and Southwark Caribb FCs (ahh). 

For some reason, though, her words sorta stuck. So when the starting pistol fired, I just went for it, practically sprinting the first 25 minutes. There were of course a bunch of steep inclines when my legs were like "NAHHHHH". But then that little internal voice kicked in: JUST. RUN. So I did. And I placed for the first time ever. Haaaallelujah. What the mind believes, eh...

Ta-daaa.