Tag Archives: female runner

Piha2

Morning motivation is not always easy to come by. My very first blog post highlighted the benefit of nice clothes to aid motivation. Other sources of get-up-and-go could be a future goal, maybe training for a race or an event. Here in Piha my a.m. inclination arrives when I open the curtains. Even after beers and late night monopoly (cray cray, I know), a glimpse out the window at the terrific terrain makes retreating back under the duvet a travesty. When I drift back to this time last year, living and working in Manchester, UK: walking to work in the dark; long working hours; short daylight hours; walking home in the dark, I’m pretty happy with my life choices right now. This morning I laced up my new sneaks (still serving me well), and bounded away on a trail run before work, to the nearby Kitekite waterfall.

The trail winds through the bush, with some good little hills and plenty for the eyes to feast on. After just 15 minutes or so I caught a glimpse of the waterfall through the trees and came down to the pool at the base. I spent a few minutes enjoying the peace (I didn’t see a soul on the trail) but didn’t go for a dip. Maybe next time.

Descending back along the trail I took a bit more time to stay steady on the steep bits and appreciate my surroundings. This area of bush was once a kauri forest, before being stripped of the valuable trees by the early 20th century. There are now young kauri trees growing here again, which one day will hopefully reach the stature of their awesome ancestors, with diameters of up to 5 metres, living over 1000 years. This one is probably less than 100 years old, with a diameter of about 60cm.

Kauri trees are now protected from loggers, but face a new threat of kauri die back disease. A disinfectant station at the start of the trail is part of the effort to quell the spread and protect New Zealand’s fave leafy giant. A huge hollow kauri stump of around 3m diameter still stands at the mouth of the trail, reminding bush-goers just how big these bad boys can get.

I was back at the hostel after a very enjoyable half-hour run, ready to start my duties and spend another day in pleasing Piha.

Piha

Leave a reply

I have many memories of Piha from my previous times in New Zealand as a child: the black sand burning your feet; the wild surf; waves crashing through ‘The Gap’; Lion Rock. So I was excited to return after 13 years, now I’m all grown up. I’m going to be here for the next 3 weeks, volunteering at a hostel for free accommodation. I may have hit the location jackpot here, especially compared to my previous volunteering location; lacking Latacunga. Ok so Piha may be lacking a few things: a bar which stays open after dark; a supermarket; a cashpoint… But it really does make up for these shortcomings in natural beauty and outdoor opportunities. Thanks to this there is a steady stream of travellers, surfies, weekenders and more which keep the place alive and vibrant.

Piha is renowned in New Zealand as a top surf spot. It is also known for the dangerously strong currents and rips which pull surfers, swimmers and kids in dinghys out to sea. So much drama goes down on the black sands in fact, a TV series ‘Piha Rescue’ has been established, documenting the everyday heroics of the Piha Surf Life-Savers. I’m under strict instructions from my family to swim between the flags whilst wearing my best bikini, just incase I somehow end a starring role.

On my first morning in Piha I set my alarm with time for a quick run before I started work at the hostel. The skies were blue and the sun sparkled on the morning dew. I made my way to the South Beach along the little roads which are dotted with enviable holiday baches. My grandparents used to have a bach here, which I passed on the same road as the hostel. It still has the name my grandad carved from wood hung on the gate, Te Arawhata; ‘steps’, in Maori.

I made it to the beach feeling fresh and invigorated, though maybe not so much as the surfers, who were catching the first waves of the day on a sparkly sea. South Beach is dominated by a majestic beast, known as Lion Rock: a huge rock formation which looks like a a lion, keeping guard of Piha and looking out to sea. It is just as I remember it as a child and this time it was lit by a magical morning glint.

After a short run down the beach I turned and headed back the hostel, ready for my first day of work, feeling energised and very happy to be here.

Auckland2

Leave a reply

New Zealand is off to a great start for me. I’ve had a fab time since arriving 10 days ago: spending time with my Dad, family and old friends; going to the bach at Whangapoua; seeing places I haven’t visited since childhood; enjoying the great food and drink, gorgeous weather and general beauty of New Zealand.

Die-hard readers will recall my historic pre-travel posts, before I had ran away from the UK. Well my beloved trainers are not so fresh and so clean these days. Since they are minimalist transition to barefoot sneaks, they were never very robust in supporting my humble hooves on longer runs. However they’ve done me proud over the last four months; we’ve been through A LOT together. Now training with my super-fit father, their shortfalls and loose threads are beginning to show. Luckily I am in a developed country which has the UK shoe sizes printed in the tongues of trainers! Dad to the rescue: he bought me some nifty yellow New Balance runners. They must be magic because they somehow make even MY legs look tanned! What more could you want from a trainer?

I test drove the new penny loafers with my papá yesterday on the same North Shore route as last week. It was a cloudy morning, making for cooler and more pleasant running conditions. The views weren’t quite as great but the people of Browns Bay were undeterred and the beach was full of dog walkers and early morning exercisers. Due to a combination of the cooler climate and familiarity of the route, I felt more energised and ready for the hills, twists and turns and did a better job this time round. The trainers held up well and I cooled down with blister-free feet. It was the last run I will enjoy with my Dad for a long time; let’s hope I can stick to the pace and distance once he’s gone!

Tomorrow I leave Auckland for another new beginning; volunteering in Piha, a surfy beachy place I also remember from my days as a New Zealand nipper. My Dad is heading back to the UK and I’ll be a Lone Ranger once again; just me, my new trainers and the open road. Only now I won’t be too far from a familiar face; having family somewhere nearby is a comforting thought. The NZ unknown is calling and I have so much to see, bring on the next 6 months!

Whangapoua

2 Replies

‘Harbour of the Shellfish’ is the translation from Maori, of Whangapoa; a beautiful bay and estuary, rich with shellfish and native bush. Evidence suggests it may have been the first arrival point of humans in New Zealand, when intrepid Polynesian explorers arrived here 900 years ago, having sailed the Pacific in dug-out canoes. And it’s no wonder they decided to settle here.

Many people are still making the most of the natural bounties and beauties in the area, including my kiwi family. My aunty and uncle own a bach, or holiday getaway here (pronounced as in batch of scones, rather than cello suite in G major). They have done an amazing job: building a little house on the land; an outdoor pizza oven, and making the garden and outdoor areas generally lovely. After an evening making the most of the beauty, booze, food and views, I woke to a gorgeous sunrise, snoozed a bit more, laced up my trainers and was ready for another run with my dad.

It was a glorious morning and we ran down to the main road into Whangapoa, making our way along to the jetty. I’ve found the weather here in New Zealand to be just my cup of tea; hot but not too hot, not muggy or humid, and with a cool breeze when you need it. I swear my health and beauty has flourished in the past week thanks to this, even with the plentiful wine and luxurious food I’ve enjoyed. I seem to have got more tanned here in one week than in the whole 15 weeks in South America, and I haven’t even tried!

It was bank holiday weekend and the road and jetty was abuzz with other weekenders: fishing, boating, canoeing, running and cycling. How better to spend a long weekend than in the great outdoors? And the outdoors is certainly great here in New Zealand! After our run (ending on the killer hill back up to the bach), the day was spent on the beautiful Matarangi beach with all the family. Then another night at the bach with fresh pizzas and flowing drinks.

I enjoyed and extra long sleep and woke to see my dad in his running gear, ready to kick start the day with another run. We headed away from the coast and towards the areas of forest inland. Green fields and rolling hills surrounded us, a field of lambs and a ram stopped and stared as we passed. I had forgotten what a beautiful country New Zealand is in my 13 years away. I can’t wait to see more of it, especially if I make it to the South Island.

After an hour or so running, ending with the mega hill back up to the bach (which I managed second time around!), my legs were pleasingly achy for the rest of the weekend and I indulged in more kiwi culinary delights including the biggest ice cream I’ve ever eaten!

Auckland

1 Reply

From Peru to New Zealand in less than a day (but kind of in 2, given the time difference). I landed at 4am on Wednesday and spent the day napping, hiding from the rain and trying to work out what time it is in various countries. So why NZ? The largest chunk of my year around the world will be spent here, working and saving some much needed cash for further travels. I chose NZ because aside from it being a beautiful, fun and friendly place to live for 6 months or so, it is where my Dad is from. So with half my family here and a dual citizenship waiting to be made the most of, I’ve been excited to get here and rediscover my kiwi side. After 13 years away I am so excited to be back!

For the second time on my trip my longing for home, family and friends has been alleviated by a visiting faraway face; this time, my Dad. Aside from gifting me with kiwi heritage (and passport!), I have inherited my running legs from my Dad. Despite now being 60, he is a running force to be reckoned with! I seriously doubt there will ever be a point in our lives that I will pep him to the finish line in a race. So who better to have as a running partner; to whip me back into shape after my running schedule has become a bit too relaxed over the last 15 weeks?

I woke soon after dawn to weather in contrast to yesterday; the sun beating down and a pleasing breeze puffing. We hit the road from my aunty and uncle’s house in Browns Bay, a suburb of Auckland where my Dad grew up as a kid. Within a few minutes we were down at Browns Bay beach, sharing the scene with just a handful of other early birds. From the beach you can see over to Rangitoto Island; a volcanic island whose silhouette is etched into my memory from my time living close to it as a child. In my 2 days here so far, so many things have triggered memories of NZ which have drifted dormant in my brain for years: the taste of hokey pokey ice cream; the whistling of cicadas in the trees; the thrill of wearing no shoes when I went to school…

Our run took us past Browns Bay and on to Waiake Bay, another little beach facing Rangitoto. My Dad was my personal guide and historian en-route, pointing out his and my aunty’s old school (Browns Bay School), his old Scout Hut (still there after 50 or more years), and showing how the area has developed from being largely covered in wild bush, to a busy and built-up town. Despite my various hilly runs in SA (Bogota and Mindo spring to mind), undulating Auckland and in particular Deep Creek Road got my lungs and legs pumping; I was feeling the burn! After a faster and longer run than I’ve been attempting recently (nevertheless a breeze for my Dad), we made it back to the house for a (rather rosy) post-run selfie before cooling down.

Lima2

1 Reply

And I came full circle. Well, wiggly oval really. My last run in South America, the same place as my very first. My mind drifted back to that first run:the nerves in the traffic; the shock of the misogyny; the sunburn; will I get mugged/attacked/fall over?! I’m not sure if it counts as wisdom but I am certainly more chilled out than on my arrival. Which my homegirls and boys may find hard to believe since calmness has (pretty much) always prevailed over panic with me. Man I am just so laid back these days. I don’t smoke da reefer but I reckon these days one could induce an irreversible horizontality in me. Best stick to the natural endorphin highs of running.

Not one to lose my British roots and traditions, I hit the tiles on Saturday night on a farewell foray binge in Lima. Feeling less than fresh on Sunday it took me a while to emerge from my bunk and get running. I finally managed late on in the afternoon. One thing I have learned whilst travelling is that my beloved binge culture stands firmly with the Brits and Aussies. South Americans (and everyone else) are quite content to have a few drinks and dance without losing all memory and dignity of the night. So whilst my traditional hangover was limited to me and my party pals from the night before, the people of Lima were upholding their own Sunday traditions: spending time with their families. My run took me to Parque Raimondi, perched above the cliffs of Lima and overlooking the ocean. Running through the busy park and seeing the families, friends and couples enjoying happy wholesome days really blew the cobwebs off and put a smile on my face.

The first scene I met at the park was of a large statue of a couple having an impassioned fumble, set against the ocean backdrop. Glancing down I couldn’t help but grin when I noticed the lawn strewn with enamoured couples. *sigh*. The beauty of life imitating art. Latino lovers show their love. In public, lots. South America has clearly turned the cynic within me soft, thinking back to UK life; where a couple snogging in the bus seat in front would have got my eyes rolling.

Further along Parque Raimondi I passed many more happy families and companions enjoying the fruits of a beautiful Sunday afternoon. A large group of people, young and old, finessed their tight-rope walking skills between the palm trees. A group performed capoeira to crowds on the grass. Dogs were walked, bikes rode, and faces shone.

The first chapter of my adventures running away closes. And what a colourful chapter it has been. So many places, people, parties, new friends, nights out, beauty, babes, boys, runs and memories. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I am so excited for the new horizons waiting to be run to in New Zealand. I won’t be met with stares of bafflement for being a running gringo, I will be able to put my toilet paper in the toilet, and I will be able to get change for a 20 without the shop person looking at me like I’d just stabbed their fave llama. Can’t wait.

Huanchaco

Leave a reply

Mancora chewed me up and spat me out; before I had a chance to sober up I was on a night bus heading South. That place is a bottomless pit, albeit a very fun bottomless pit with lots of lovely people inside. It’s a good job I’m on a schedule at the moment, working my way down to Lima for a flight on Monday. Otherwise you may have found me still there next month; propping up/dancing on the bar, having accepted a job, paid in bunk bed and liquid form.

After 11 hours on that night bus, with a barely reclining seat, sandwiched between the window and a fat man, motivation was also struggling to find me in Huanchaco, my next stop. At least I’d had a seat this time (my seatless night bus from The Ecuadorian border to Mancora is really up there as a pinnacle of low points on my trip). But after a lazy day, chilling on the beach rather than venturing into the desert to visit ruins, an evening run on the beach really sorted me out and stopped me feeling sorry for myself.

Huanchaco is another coastal town, favoured by Peruvians, pelicans and a handful of travellers. The beach was still buzzing as I headed out whilst the sunlight started to die; many families from the nearby city of Trujillo and surrounding areas visit Huanchaco for the sun, sea and ceviche. Built on the coast of the Sechura desert, the heat is pretty searing during the day. Early evening was the perfect time to work up a sweat on the sand. It wasn’t such the meditative, primal kind of beach run I have enjoyed in places like Tayrona, Colombia or Canoa, Ecuador. I needed my wits about me, concentrating on the ground to avoid the many stones and children littering the beach.

Huanchaco is a fishing town, where the fisherman favour traditional canoes made from reeds. The boats are all lined up against the wall of the beach, creating silhouettes which pointed up at the sky like tall, erect bananas. I also found this Pelican chilling, feeling pangs of nostalgia when I thought back to the same thing happening on my very first run in South America, in Lima back in October last year.

As I got further around the beach, the crowds were thinning. I enjoyed watching the surfers catch the last few waves of the day, the Pelicans their last few fish. After enough post-night bus exertion I retired back to the hostel and to a bunk bed sleep I felt I’d really earned.

Cuenca

Leave a reply

I’m sure you have all been sick with worry. A whole 13 days since my last post, I do apologise. But unfortunately I have not been in tip top running condition: in a dramatic turn of events, last weekend I made a teary-eyed trip to A & E, convinced I had malaria, dengue or chickungunya. So it turned out to be flu which developed into a chest infection a few days later, after I crawled through some tunnels instead of resting. It had its dark points, but if anything my malady only served to boost my faith in humanity. It’s rubbish being ill and alone but despite being so far from home (and my mum), I was looked after from the moment I woke in my hostel bed, thinking I had the hangover of the century. The kind traveller in my hostel who accompanied me to the hospital; my friend from Quito and his family who took me in until I was feeling better; the family in Latacunga and their herbal remedies: I have been spoiled with kindness and amazing herbal teas for over a week! Thanks to these lovely humans I am pretty much better and was feeling well enough for a run in Cuenca this morning.

I had planned to head to Montañita for the weekend, starting my last week in South America as I mean to go on; with a beer in my hand and a slur in my words. However in favour of sense and responsibility (not sure where they came from), I opted for cultural Cuenca instead and some more recovery time. Cuenca is a beautiful colonial town; walking through the historical centre I felt as though I was in Barcelona, Vienna and Paris, all in the space of ten minutes. Along with having some great roommates at my hostel, I think I made the right choice in passing up the sun and surf of Montañita. I even learned a bit more about Mama Negra (still racist, also throws milk at people). And I got drunk last night. Everyone’s (I am) a winner!

So the drinks last night helped me sleep through the incessant beeping of a pedestrian crossing outside my window and I woke feeling ready to run. My first run in nearly 2 weeks; I took it slowly along the beautiful riverside which runs from my hostel to the city centre, stopping for the occasional coughing fit. Cuenca is impossibly romantic; I’m sure the amorous couples on the riverbanks instantaneously fell in love when they lay down and saw the beautiful blue of the sky against the green mountains and reddish city-scape. It’s a bit harder to fall in love whilst running (not enough time for eye contact), so the river-dwellers of Cuenca were safe. These included lots of cyclists enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning pedal, a fair few other runners, and some walkers who were probably busy falling in love.

I ended my run in the park/ archaeological Incan site of Tumipampa: a gorgeous park complete with Incan ruins, gardens, ponds and tropical birds. Despite feeling like I was going to vom when I got back to the hostel, it was a successful and enjoyable return to running away.

Quilotoa

3 Replies

After my less-than-raving review of La Laguna de Latacunga, in support of fairness and balance, I thought I should write about a really spectacular lagoon not so far away. Even though it doesn’t involve me running. The lagoon sits in the crater of an dormant volcano, Quilotoa, a couple of hours from Latacunga.

Life in Latacunga, whilst I am volunteering at a pre-school ‘teaching English’, is the most hermit-esque I have experienced on my travels so far. I’m a very positive person, so my lack of words on this town could speak volumes. Hence I was excited to escape the drudge on a volcanic/mountainous/lagoon adventure with a friend at the weekend.

The first leg of our journey was a bus ride from Latacunga, up (further) into the mountains to Zumbahua. Zumbahua is a small town at 3700m altitude, populated by indigenous, or Quechua people. After getting off the bus we wandered around the market, and I got an idea of the everyday essentials in Zumbahuan life. We did stick out a fair bit; my fair hair; our backpacks; not to mention standing (at least) head and shoulders over 90% of everyone. Actually maybe 100%. My friend overheard a woman telling her child to behave themselves, or the gringos would take them away! I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed not to see the cui (guinea pig), bargaining we’d heard took place here, and we took a car onwards to Quilotoa.

The Quilotoa crater and lagoon are not visible as you approach, only when you walk up to the edge of the rim, can you see the incredible picture-postcard view. Because of this, I couldn’t manage to get the whole thing in one photo (even on panoramic mode; I tried).

The descent into the crater is a steep and sandy incline. Although not easy on the legs, the beautiful scenery made it far less than a chore. After breathing in the beauty for a while we reached the shore of the lagoon and took a leisurely paddle around in a kayak. Supposedly dormant, there was still evidence of volcanic activity which we found in hot water seeping from the rocks, painting them bright red and orange with mineral deposits, and natural jacuzzis bubbling up to the surface of the lake.

Back on shore we set up camp, collected firewood, and watched the sun go down behind the steep walls of Quilotoa which surrounded us. After a not-so sound night’s sleep, with strong winds and hard ground, waking up to the views of the lagoon made it worth it. One aspect which was particularly incredible was the reflections of the sky and the clouds on the lagoon. Being so close to the clouds, their shadows painted a flowing, dramatic contrast of colours on the surface of the vast lagoon.

Later in the day it was time to make the dreaded ascent back up to the mouth of the crater. Aside from the steep and slippy terrain, we were making the climb up to 3900m altitude. We took it slow and edged our way back up, taking a while longer than on the way down, and meeting some llamas on the way. They weren’t really as friendly as they might look in this photo.

Latacunga

Leave a reply

My first running destination in Latacunga was a statue of Mama Negra. That’s right, black Mama. Yep I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. But I’m not sure if being PC is really a thing in Ecuador (or South America). I mean, I’m volunteering at a school at the moment and its quite acceptable, if not positively endearing, to refer to a pupil as ‘morenito’, which roughly translates to ‘little brown boy’. Don’t worry I won’t be adding (the translations, at least), to my regular vocabluary.

So to Mama Negra: the story behind the statue… At Latacunga’s fiesta of the same name, which happens twice a year, a white or moreno (brown) man dresses up as a woman and blacks up his face, riding through the town on a horse, as the centre of all the festivities. I’ve had a bit of a look online and there isn’t a lot about the background of Mama Negra in English. Some texts say that she represents the Virgin of Mercy. Which I don’t really get. Another site says she represents the liberation of black people in Ecuador. Which makes slightly more sense but I’m not sure why this tradition happens in Latacunga, where very few Afro-Ecuadorians live, or have ever lived. It certainly isn’t something I am entirely (or remotely) comfortable with, and the fact that the only texts I have found on the matter are academic type papers on racism says a lot. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? Hmmm.

Onwards from Mama Negra I ran to a nearby park, known locally at ‘la laguna’. Although maybe not quite up to the standards of some lagoons I’ve seen on my travels, it was still a pleasant little park. A large group of women were undertaking an aerobics class to hardstyle music. I got a snap from afar, including the lagoon and looking onwards to the mountains in the background.

So Latacunga is a smallish town, the kind of place where running gringos might draw attention. A guy stopped me on my way and told me he was a personal trainer and runner and we had a little chat where he asked me about my distances and PBs and invited me to his fitness class. All in Spanish! I felt quite proud about saying the right things at the right time, and for once my perpetual nodding and smiling being sincere (since I understood pretty much everything). I also caught the attention of a few other locals, including two impersonators; one young boy who followed me for a lap of the park, and one middle aged man on the good old urban gym gave a great impression of me running and stopping to take photos. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

rosarunningaway

My experiences running, around the world.

Tag Archives: female runner

Piha2

Piha

Auckland2

Whangapoua

Auckland

Lima2

Huanchaco

Cuenca

Quilotoa

Latacunga

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: