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.

Call me Dora

w a n •  d e r • l u s t

[won-der-luhst]

N O U N

The strong desire for or impulse to wander or travel and explore the world.

Totally apt; thank ya Björk.

Columbus I ain't, but I do love a good wander; for me, this impulse is all the more forceful when cruisin' along completely foreign soil. As the wise Mr J. R. R. Tolkien once proposed, "not all those who wander are lost," and yesterday was one of those formative occasions when I replaced fear of the unknown with curiosity* and roved my (little) legs off for hours.  

 *credz to Dany Gokey for that one. No more vomit-worthy clichés I promise.

Maps and guide books jettisoned, I headed to Toledo, a picture perfect and near untarnished historical city set a mere hair's breadth from super developed Madrid. The capital of autonomous community Castilla-La Mancha (hey Don Quijote), Toledo comprises of some seriously breathtaking scenery and un montón of petite and adorable winding cobbled streets. Another perk, as a language kid anyway, is the potential to prattle on in español amongst a population of sparse English speakers. And even those who can speak it un poquito fully favour conversing in their native tongue. Fruitful, if not a lil bit daunting at times.

Anyway, pictures...

Beautiful, ¿no?

This little attic room, please.

Coral casa.

Wander supplies.

Continuing the day's spontaneous sentiment, I thought I'd offer my (conversational) services at the Escuela Oficial de Idiomas right before I left.

So there we have it. Discounting the four different male stalkers I managed to acquire on my travels (SCORE!), I had a truly lovely day of pensive thoughts and impulsive rambling. It really is better to travel well than to arrive*.

*that one belongs to Buddha. I'm sorry, I did promise. Couldn't help myself.