Reflecting on a nomadic year
Starts with semi-feral ponies, ends up trying to figure out the meaning of life
On this day last year I was running in Spain, according to Strava.
I was attempting a section of the GR123 and had run 22 miles through the mountains, fuelled by a giant baguette, stuffed with cheese, that I kept stopping to breaking chunks off. The hills were dotted with wild horses (called Pottok, apparently, a semi-feral breed of pony native to the Basque Country) and the conditions were perfect (blue skies, not too hot). There was some snow on the ground at the high points though and I got quite a few alarmed looks from walkers as I ran past in shorts.
The route took me longer than I had anticipated (too many baguette breaks) and I ended up sprinting the final 5km to try and make the last bus of the day back to Bilbao. I was late but luckily the bus was too. From there I met up with some friends for a weekend in San Sebastian, where we ate hundreds of pintxos and spent too much time in a tiny nightclub called ‘¡BE! Club’ (incredible use of punctuation??)…