Footloose: A Running Tour of Budapest

I ran a 10K race on Sunday.  Why?  Because I think running is the best way to really see a place.  It’s faster than walking and you’re necessarily aware of everything:  that tram to the left, the way the stones around the Parliament curve inward, the rush of the wind over the bridge.  By the end, you feel exhausted and surprisingly connected to the city.  Like somehow, foot and pavement achieved something together. 

Why a race?  Because that all sounds nice, but unless I have no other choice, I do my running on a treadmill.  Sometimes you have to force it.

Now, the first thing I would like to mention is that I haven’t run a road race since I was 14, and then with a full season of high school track under my belt.  So I was a bit nervous.  What do you even wear for a 10K?  In October?  In Budapest?  Jacket, pants, gloves?  I decided on spandex.  If you know me, this might surprise you.  I was hoping the combination of lightweight material and embarrassment would make me run faster, compensating for the last few weeks spent traveling rather than training.  I also reminded myself several times that if my friends and family can finish (and practically win) Ironmen competitions, I should be able to do a lap around Városliget.  Especially if I have an iPod.  All things are bearable if you have an iPod.

The start was on the Olof Palme Promenade, and the whole process was incredibly easy.  I was parked, registered, watered, tagged, chipped, and lined up at the start within an hour-and-a-half of leaving home.  After some awkward group calisthenics and enthusiastic dancing (both to unintelligable Hungarian music), we were off. 

Then… nothing.  Turns out the whole “see the city” concept doesn’t work at all in a race context.  I don’t remember much of anything about the course.  Breathing suddenly required my full concentration.  Following the bouncing ponytail of the girl in front me was infinitely more interesting than the great warrior statues of Heroes Square.  I do remember the sheer length of Andrássy and few sightings of my husband—me always, bizarrely, giving him a backwards peace sign, him simultaneously trying to wave supportively and take photos. 

Then, at the ninth kilometer, I hit a wall.  Okay, not a serious wall.  More like one of those baby fences that you put up so toddlers don’t fall down the stairs.  I turned to my iPod, looking desperately for my Power Song.  I had decided the night before that it would be none other than “Footloose.”  That’s right.  You can laugh if you want, but I DARE you to listen to “Footloose” and not get pumped up.

Alas, I couldn’t find the song on the playlist.  What’s worse, my frantic efforts made the iPod sort of skip and then pause in protest.  So I did the unthinkable.  I stopped.  I stopped running to find “Footloose” on my iPod. Oh, how the Ironmen in my life must be cringing.  After a few wasted moments, I gave up and settled for Rihanna.  “Run This Town” brought me in, and was actually quite a solid replacement: 

So I keep doin’ my own thing.  I ignored the 50-year-old lady who passed me. 
Walkin’ tall against the rain.  I stopped thinking about the cramp in my calf. 
Victory’s within the mile.  I started to pass some people in the home stretch.
Almost there, don’t give up now.  Yep, I thought to myself.  Rihanna and I are going to finish this.  We’re gonna run this town tonight. 

In spandex, baby.

Tagged as: 10K, Budapest, Hungary, Life, Running