Freedom Run Report Number 2 from Paraguay

Though now in the capital city of Asuncion, the midweek training run was out in the campo on a red dirt road, which led to a fast-flowing river, for which the crossing was a narrow rickety hump-back bridge.

Nicely into my run rhythm, I set out over it. As I got the middle, the humped bit, so did a heard of grey hump-back Zebu cattle, coming the other way. They had sizeable humps, big ears, and huge horns. To go with their humps and horns, some had calves, some rolling eyes, and others only balls.

They snorted but did not stop coming towards me, nor I towards them. I was loath to turn back, or turn my back on them. But I did wonder about the colour of my shorts, bright red, and whether I was about to find out if there was any truth in the saying ´Like a red rag to a bull . . . ´

As we got closer to one another, I reflected on advice once heard, that, when facing a herd of cattle, whether on a country stroll in England or a hot run in Paraguay, it´s best to ´stand your ground´ and take your dog off the lead.

Suffice to say, I toughed it out, jogged on, took the right side of the bridge and they the left. In passing one another, within hot breath and horn-touching distance, we exchanged the occasional snort, the kind that some people do naturally part way through parkrun. Happily, I got to the other side of the bridge without mishap, except for putting my foot into one cow´s parting pat!

This Saturday´s Freedom parkrun proper in Paraguay was a city run. Since this part of South America is three hours behind Swindon and, of course, I wanted to be running in synch with everyone in Lydiard Park, even though your 3 degrees is somewhat cooler than our 30, just before 6am local time, I slipped on my trusty now dusty trainers and headed out onto the silent streets of old Asuncion.

Through an obstacle course of protruding paving stones, I ran past the occasional armed guard, sleeping policeman, or cluster of soldiers; past hard-working chipa women on street corners with their big baskets of fresh oven-hot chipa (begel-like buns made of maize flour and cheese, a breakfast staple in Paraguay) setting out their stalls for the day; past inevitable sightings of the indigenous poor sleeping rough; and past feral dogs beside them. Apart from these, there were virtually no other signs of life in a usually bustling city. 

Giving myself half an hour of running time, in true steady parkrun style, I headed for the big Rio Paraguay, a great sluggish snake of a river more than a kilometre wide.  On a newly built walkway for the traditional weekend paseos (walks) I ran along it, as the sun rose over the sleeping city. Bliss!

And bliss too on my return, was the cold shower, the endogenous morphine, and the jug full of freshly-squeezed ice-cold orange juice.

Hope yours was a good one too!

Saludos a Swindon.