by M Kochetkova
It all began on the 10th day of the lockdown in Trieste and 7 days after my last long run. I have been running almost every day for the past twenty years and I run long-distance races five – six times a year. On January 5th (a day after my birthday) I won my first ever 16k trail run – I was elated. All this not to boast (well, maybe a little) but to say I am a runner.
At the begging of the lockdown we were still allowed to go out for a run as long as we maintained at least a meter distance from other people (which is usually the case with running anyway). I went out every morning at the crack of dawn to ciclabile (an amazing bike and running path that starts in San Giacomo neighborhood and takes you all the way to Slovenia) or late at night to Passeggio St Andrea.
Lockdown was a breeze when I could get in my 10k run in the morning and go about my day. On March 11th our governor decided to put an end to all physical activity outside since so many people became improvised runners and flooded the streets of our region. After about four days without running I started feeling physically and psychologically uncomfortable. What was I going to do?
It was then that I got a message from a fellow expat and friend with a link to the Guardian’s article. It talked about a man who ran a marathon on his 7-meter balcony in Paris. I thought “how absurd”, and laughed it off. I tried initiating a jog around the house with my 2 year old but about a minute and a half into it she said “Stop! Now dance!” and that was the end of that.
It was not until day 13th of the lockdown that I put my running shoes on and went out on my balcony. Our balcony is about 8 meters long and has a nice view of the park. I felt silly, I was wearing my pjs but once I started running it felt good. I did about 2 km and then stopped.
The next day I tried again. I was still wearing my pjs and a sweatshirt but I had my running shoes on. I ran for about 3 km until my 2 year old started crying: she’d woken up earlier from her nap.
Today I decided I would actually run. I put my toddler to bed and got dressed as I usually would for a run: running pants, running bra, jacket, hat and my Polar watch to see just how long I could keep it up for. Turns out I could go for 7 km and something.
Once I started running and put my earphones in (music really helps, as any balcony runner would tell you) the world instantly made more sense. I didn’t care if I looked silly, I didn’t care what my neighbors would think – I felt good. At the end of the run I did my usual stretching routine and asked my husband (who is also a runner but hasn’t been converter to balcony distances yet) to take a picture of me for a potential article.
Thanks to my friend, the Guardian’s article and that guy in Paris my lockdown days have just become a little brighter. Perhaps you are a runner who needs to read this: any balcony will do.
