I love to run. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t just run anywhere. Remember baby, these days it’s all about location, location, location. My preferred place – the mountains. Or hills to be precise. You see, what with living in Ireland, we don’t exactly have mountainous heights. Ours are strictly speaking hills, tentatively teetering below the thousand metre line. And it’s just below that line, I run.
And when I’m not in the hills, or wanna-be mountains, I’m on the road. Quite literally. I work for an international development organisation. My job: to visit their work in thirty of the world’s poorest countries. Mightn’t sound it, but it’s actually sorta stressful. Which brings me straight back to running. Running keeps me sane out there. You see, when I’m staring poverty and problems straight on in the face, running reminds me of what’s important in life – health, freedom and happiness.
So now, after nearly 3 years of airports and dodgy hotels, back-of-beyond villages and chaotic capitals, I’ve figured that a few of my running yarns might be worthy to share. But be warned – there’ll be agonising accounts of trudging tarmac and jungle tracks in far-off distant lands. There’ll be terrible tales of Irish bog and shite, and general mountain mayhem. There may even be the drawl of ridiculous races and personal triumphs that infuse all runners, and ultimately bore stupid their spouses. Welcome to my multiple running stories…