Discovering and returning – celebrating my 20th year as a runner and book lover

The city of lights, the city of art, the city of love, and the city of running. Twenty years ago, in this city, I ran my first half marathon – Le Semi-Marathon de Paris – on March 8, 1998. I was unexperienced and I had always thought that races like marathons and half marathons were for professional sports people only who were good at running and fast; I didn’t think that anyone could participate in a race like that. My brother had run marathons but he was in a club and he was fast (SUB 3). Therefore, when the janitor at the gym in Paris asked me whether I was going to run the half marathon, I was surprised. Me? Well, running my first half marathon opened a new world to me.

I was studying French and I rented a room with an exotic old lady who had a great influence in my life in the years to come. She spoke several languages and had been living in the US, Japan and other places; a very independent woman with strong opinions. She was the one who taught me the value of a good book. She showed me the beauty and the magnificence of literature and thanks to her, I learned how to appreciate reading. I remember her reading Thomas Mann (unfortunately, I can’t remember which book) but that was too heavy for me at that time. She was reading the book for the x time; she said she always discovered something new every time she reread it. A Danish friend of mine lent me Immortality by Milan Kundera and that was one of the books that really got me hooked on reading.

Living in Paris with all temptations of good food, patisseries (éclair was my favorite) and wine (red, preferably), I soon felt that my clothes began to feel too tight and in fear of gaining too much weight, I started running in the park close to where I lived in the 14th arrondissement, Parc Montsouris. I ran at a slow pace; many runners passed me but I didn’t care; I didn’t measure neither the distance nor my speed. Soon the benefits of running were giving results. I didn’t lose weight at first, but I stopped gaining weight and I felt happier and I soon discovered that running was my sport. In January 1998, I bought a gym card at Gymnase Club and that was when I ”fell in love with” the treadmill. I had always thought it was kind of ridiculous to run inside on a belt; however, I was curious and I enjoyed it from the start. Yes, I am one of those runners who can run a long time on the treadmill.

Parc Montsouris (photo taken in 2010)

In class, we read abstracts from A la recherche du temps perdu by Marcel Proust and that was hard for me to absorb (I still have difficulties with too much descriptions in a story). We read Balzac, Victor Hugo, Zola, among others, but since the class was a French learning class, the focus was on language and on interpretation of the texts; I wasn’t really enjoying it as literature at that time. Also, I was working hard with learning French and I often got absorbed in the syntax and grammar. In class, we spoke French and with my landlady, I spoke English so I had those two languages in my daily life which was a great challenge.

The race started outside Stade Charlety next to Cité Universitaire. On the starting line I had butterflies in my stomach; I looked around and everyone was looking fit and self-confident. I felt honored by being there; little me, who had only been running for about three months, standing there in my cotton t-shirt and my plain wristwatch. The only fear I had, was finishing last. I knew that I was slow and all other runners looked so fast. During the first 10k, I just absorbed the atmosphere and people on the sidewalks cheering. When we entered Bois de Vincennes, there were fewer spectators and it was quite deserted. I became aware that I was running and I have a vague memory of the 11k sign; however, I didn’t really bother. A guy running next to me asked me how it was going. “Fine”, I said, “and you?”. “Pas assez d’entraînement”, he said; not enough training.

I can’t remember what was going on in my mind. Maybe I didn’t think of anything, maybe I was just being present and that was why the race was such an unforgettable experience. It gave me the courage and the will to continue running. The finish line was at the stadium and running into that huge arena with all the spectators on the grand stands made me feel like an Olympian, a famous sports woman and I had goose bumps the last 200 meters. Magic. No other word describes the feeling better. And I didn’t come last, far from!

Stade Charlety, March 8, 1998

Since then I have never tired of running nor of reading and I have many races behind me and many books as well. Immortality, I have read several times. I like coming back to cities to run and some books I read again and again. There are many advantages of coming back to a place and running the same race again as well as some books just must be read several times.
Cities where I want to go back to run a race (more information about why in blogs to come):

Paris (It’s Paris)

New York (Great atmosphere and support from spectators, and a marvelous city)

Boston (Lovely city, nice race, good logistics and fantastic spectators!)

Amsterdam (Flat and beautiful race, easy to reach – at least if you live in Europe)

Prague (beautiful, historical, nice people)

Copenhagen (my home country, and I haven’t run the full marathon yet, only the half marathon which was flat, easy and awesome!)
Books that I have read more than one time (and that I will read again and again):

Extremely Loud and Incredibly close – Jonathan Safran Foer (I always cry and laugh a lot)

The New York Trilogy – Paul Auster (I always discover something new)

Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë (A wonderful love story)

What I talk about when I Talk about Running – Haruki Murakami (Describes so well how it is to be a runner)

Oscar et la Dame Rose – Eric Emmanuel-Smitt (I cry every time I read this; also, when I watch the movie. Reminds me of how precious life is)

The Book Thief – Markus Zusak (Beautiful story and description of friendship)

Immortality – Milan Kundera (nostalgia and I just like the way Kundera writes)