Running as exploration
Those of us who run are usually interested in exploring new places. Combining those two things can really help you get under the skin of a place – even if you think you already know it well.
I recently entered a competition, which required me to write an essay about how running helps one connect with new locations. Already a firm believer in this ethos, I made a mental note to enter. I then forgot. And then remembered again. Just before the deadline.
I didn’t win, of course, but I felt that the couple of hours and 800-odd words I pored over deserved to be seen by someone other than my incredibly patient wife.
This is a tale of trepidation and tiredness from 2019…
It’s horribly early. The kind of early where your eyes are pretty much just useless bystanders as you clumsily guide stiff and reluctant legs into a pair of running shorts.
I’m working on feel. That, a hastily prepared instant coffee, and about three hours of broken, jetlag-riddled rest. I pull the curtain back an inch and gaze across the sprawling mangle of steel and concrete below. My eyes still aren’t quite pulling into focus what I’m seeing, but I can tell that a heat haze has already begun to ripple across the horizon. This metropolis is stirring, and I want to be out there before it drags itself from its own light and restless slumber.
This is a place I know as a tourist, but today I’m seeking something deeper. Something more meaningful. I want to see Bangkok in a way that I have never had the discipline or motivation to do before – through the eyes of a runner.
My trainers embarrassingly squeak their way across the immaculately shiny hotel lobby floor as I attract the curious stares of staff who’ve drawn the short straw of the early shift. Their eyes seem to say that they’ve seen this story before, intrepid Westerner thinks they can tame the serpent that is Bangkok with their EVA foam and copious sweatbands. I’m starting to have second thoughts.
Bangkok is most certainly not a city made for runners. It’s hot, it’s heavy, and it’s humid. The pavements are narrow, uneven, and cluttered with street vendors and street furniture that often seems like it was designed by an obstacle course operator rather than local planning. The traffic is an ever-pulsating wave, making crossing the street a war of patience and attrition for any runner hoping to keep their momentum up.
Yanking yourself out of bed to run in a place that feels like it’s doing everything in its power to resist you would probably have been enough for most people to roll over in bed and catch a few more hours of sleep. I’m not most people. I’m a determined and idealistic idiot (helped along by being a little punch-drunk from the jetlag). I want to run along the river in a nearby park and try to drink in what life is like in this city for normal folk. I want to pretend that I’m not a tourist because that’s when the good stuff happens.
A thin film of sweat appears on my skin almost the second that I start my watch and amble off along the dusty, cratered pavement in the general direction of the park I’m targeting.
Tuk-tuk drivers eye me with suspicion as I weave in and out of crates of empty glass bottles ready to be collected by recycling crews on their early morning shifts. The night before is always a heavy presence in Bangkok, and I feel like I’m cutting through the stillness that has only just settled upon the city as I huff and puff my way towards what I hope will be a highlight of this poorly planned route – the golden tower of the Rama VIII Bridge.
Once again, it feels like the running Gods are not in my favour. After covering about 200 metres in 10 minutes as I navigate several road crossings, I’m forced to ascend a long and steep staircase that my GMT legs just aren’t on the right time zone for.
As I reach the top, the early morning sun blazes down on me and I consider turning back, feeling like I should heed the signs. But wait, up ahead. That’s another runner. I knew it! My pace picks up as I try to catch them before I notice a couple more hardy souls heading in the other direction. I’ve found my people at last; I can run like a local!
I know that Suan Luang Rama VIII Park lies on the other side of this bridge, and I start beaming as I visualise trotting around it with locals, maybe sharing a knowing nod or two with my kin as they accept me as one of their own. That delirium quickly turns to confusion, then despair, then right back to delirium again. The park is closed… closed because it’s hosting a fun run.
There are thousands of runners gathered here wearing official race t-shirts, stretching off, nervously chatting to each other as they limber up. My route plan, which was so carefully crafted days before this trip is in tatters, but I actually couldn’t care less. I’ve learned something beautiful about this bewildering and sometimes hostile place – it has a running soul after all.
I’d love to hear your own stories of how running helped you better explore somewhere new. It doesn’t have to be somewhere exotic, sometimes even a new footpath in the town you live can be an adventure. Leave a comment below…
I’m always on the lookout for interesting or inspiring people to interview and feature in this newsletter – if you or someone you know would be happy to share their story with my modest audience, then please do get in touch.