Yesterday I went for a run, as I’m apt to do on a sunny spring day in New York City—or anywhere, for that matter. Because it was a beautiful Saturday, my regular route by the water was crowded, so I took a little detour to a small circular track around a field that hosts kids’ soccer games.
On this day it was empty, and I finished out the 1st half of my 4 mile run with four to five laps around the track. As I rounded my second or third lap, I noticed a squirrel that would join me on my run along the top of the small fence separating the field from the track. When I’d run by him, he’d join me for a few paces before dropping off and waiting for me to come back around. He did this for at least three laps before tiring of me.
I began thinking about all the runs I’ve taken in different spots around the world: Vientiane, Laos… Budapest, Hungary… Seattle, Washington (recently)… Georgia (the country), on and on.
I thought of a remote, wild beach near Santa Marta, Colombia… and a magical isolated run at sunset near Máncora, Peru, where whales were breaching just offshore. I ran six miles that evening and felt like I could have run forever, but it got pitch black dark and I knew I’d get lost if I kept going.
And, of course, there was Ukraine, including Kharkiv, where the thought of a small Russian FPV drone following me briefly crossed my mind.
I would say I’ve probably run close to 75% of the destinations I’ve visited, including many U.S. cities. For some reason, my runs are some of the most memorable parts of my travels. Maybe it’s because I plan or scout a route out, and my senses are on high alert.
Some destinations are more pedestrian-friendly than others, of course. In some places, I’m looked at by locals as if I’m exotic or crazy for running—as if to say, why would anyone expend extra calories needlessly? Such was the case during my recent trips to Casablanca, Morocco, and Hammamet, Tunisia, during Ramadan. I learned to time my runs around sundown, when the streets would magically empty of both vehicles and pedestrians. As the sundown feasts were going on, I’d get my run in through a formerly busy city center, almost entirely alone.
One of my most memorable runs was in the summer of 2014, while filming Season 2 of Raw Travel during a tour through Eastern Europe. We were on a six-week train and bus tour, and I’d returned to Belgrade, Serbia—a place I’d visited solo just a couple of years earlier in 2012. The crew and I had an Airbnb and, as I recall, I had volunteered to sleep on the couch, giving the two bedrooms to my producer and longtime pal, Erica, and our camera operator and new pal, Scott.
I woke up early and craved a run, so I took off through Belgrade, picking my way through the parks in the middle of town. It was as if I’d seen the Serbian people for the first time as they truly were. Compared to the EU countries we’d recently visited (Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, etc.), the people of Serbia looked downtrodden and sad. A wave of empathy pulsed through me as I observed mostly elderly folks hobbling around or sitting forlornly on park benches as children played. They looked very sad and world weary.
As happened so often during my travels in those days, it was only later that I’d learn the full scope and scale of the painful Yugoslavian breakup in the 1990s, and of Serbia’s then-president Slobodan Milošević, and of his horrific war crimes perpetrated on neighboring Balkan countries (not Baltic, as I’ve erroneously said before-sorry). Back then, I considered even this recent war a thing of the past. How naïve. I am not so naïve anymore.
Wherever in the world I am, occasionally a playful child will run along with me for a way, pretending to race me. Sometimes I play along; sometimes I ignore them, too focused on trying to keep my pace and breath. A borderline asthmatic can’t afford to be distracted, which is why I always run alone. I can’t possibly talk and run, and I don’t see how others can. But on those days when I’m feeling good, there is no better feeling than a run.
The dopamine rush I occasionally get at home is purely physical. But the dopamine hit I get on a run abroad is more spiritual. And whether at home or abroad, for some reason, when an animal runs along with me—even if just for a little while—it feels even more special.
I once had a baby raccoon follow me in Tennessee in the middle of the day (rabid, or just abandonment issues?). I’ve had a rabbit run with me in Burlington, Iowa, and many more than one squirrel join along in New York City.
Thank goodness no snakes or predators like mountain lions have chased me on my runs yet. I’ve seen plenty of deer and even an armadillo. Dogs, of course, love to give chase, but usually that’s not so pleasant, as some places stray dogs can feel quite threatening.
In Jaco, Costa Rica, I was concerned a Brahma bull, contained only by a thin-looking electric wire fence, might give chase (he didn’t). Meanwhile, cows in the road in rural Georgia (the country), Ukraine and other sports are not unusual.
Along the beach, not only have whales breached beside me in Peru, but cranes have also flown right along with me over the water as I ran the beach in Mexico. A goose followed me on foot in Michigan for a bit, and I swear a flock of geese once flew directly behind me.
Once, while paddleboarding in Indonesia, the drone camera captured a shark following me at a respectful distance. We didn’t even notice until the footage aired on TV and a viewer wrote in to tell me about it.
Then there was the persistent, long legged, cute cat I adopted (or should I say, it adopted me) on a run around the high school track in my hometown in Tennessee. How could I resist? It nipped playfully at my leg every time I ran by and then ran along with me, darting in and out in front of my path—trying to trip me up… not just for one day, but for three runs on three days in a row. By day three, it was fate accompli. And it would be fate when it eventually ran away. Always running, that cat.
Chickens on the streets in San Juan, Puerto Rico, gave chase for a bit, though not the ones in El Salvador; only the friendly dogs showed any interest there. But the little coquís (frogs) I heard at night in Puerto Rico were the best. Did they hop along beside me? Probably not, but it sure sounded like it. They drowned out every other sound.
Llamas in Argentina, coyotes in Tennessee, and horses, of course. Turtles? Too slow, though. No pigs, gators, or bears—at least that I’m aware.
But yesterday, on the second half of my run back home, a big old NYC rat decided to run several paces right along with me by the Hudson River. I saw him (or her) out of the corner of my eye. Not thrilled about this particular running partner, I stopped to catch my breath, and lo and behold, the rat stopped, too. Then, it wobbled (it was fat as a cat) leisurely across the running path near the feet of a young lady reading a book on a park bench. I could tell by how she reacted when the rat ran towards her—completely and utterly nonplussed—that she was a true New Yorker.
Had that happened to me, I would have let out a high pitched yell and certainly made a fool of myself. And not one person would have noticed. Gotta love NYC.
Some running partners are more welcomed than others.
Enjoy photos of some of my runs and running “partners” in various places over the years. Sorry, I didn’t have the foresight to film the rat but I’m sure you can picture it in your mind’s eye if you try.
