Running Into Culture

December 30, 2024

As the sun casts its first rays over the horizon, painting the world in soft gold, I lace up my running shoes and step out into the unknown. For me, running is not just about movement—it’s my sanctuary, my meditation in motion. And as we travel through country after country, it has also become one of the most surprising ways I’ve connected with the cultures we’re exploring. On these runs, I’m not just passing through; I’m observing, interacting, and sometimes even exchanging something as simple and profound as a smile.

Take Morocco, for example, where we recently spent time on an organic farm. My morning runs there were filled with contrasts: the calls of roosters blending with the muezzin’s azan, the earthy scent of clay streets, and the occasional goat wandering into my path. One morning, I jogged past an elderly man sitting on a chair at a street corner, his expression as hard as the desert sun. I smiled—I try to smile at everyone I pass, no matter how unlikely a return. And then it happened: the faintest twitch of his lips, a begrudging acknowledgment of my presence. It was fleeting, but it felt like a triumph, a small moment of cultural connection amidst our language and lifestyle barriers.

In Greece, my routes wound through narrow cobblestone alleys, past whitewashed houses with bright blue shutters. Here, I often encountered women sweeping their stoops or tending to potted geraniums. Their nods and "Kaliméra" (good morning) were always accompanied by a warm smile. One particularly memorable morning, I found myself alongside a group of older men enjoying their early coffee at a café. They called out in Greek, gesturing at my running shoes, and laughed. Though I didn’t understand their words, their humor and curiosity about this out-of-place runner were clear. I laughed back, waving as I continued on my way, feeling buoyed by their energy.

In Southeast Asia, running often became a lesson in adaptability. Dodging scooters in the Philippines or navigating bustling markets in Thailand forced me to stay sharp. But even in the chaos, there were moments of connection: children waving and shouting “Hello!” as I passed, vendors pausing their work to watch me with bemused expressions. In these countries, my runs became more than exercise; they were a way to weave myself into the tapestry of daily life, if only for a few fleeting moments.

Running strips away the roles and expectations we often carry. In my shorts and sneakers, I’m not a tourist with an itinerary. I’m just a person moving through space, open to whatever the day and the world might bring. It’s a practice of presence—one foot in front of the other, one interaction at a time.

Not every run is a revelation, of course. Some days are just about the miles and the sweat. But even then, there’s something profound about being a witness to the world waking up around me. A quiet moment with a stray cat in a Moroccan alley. The first whiff of bread baking in a Basque boulangerie. The sound of waves lapping against the shore in Thailand. These experiences remind me that travel isn’t just about the grand sights and planned adventures. It’s about these small, unguarded moments that reveal the heart of a place—and its people.

Running has taught me to see the world not just as a collection of destinations but as a living, breathing mosaic of humanity. It’s a lesson I carry with me on every jog, every journey, and every encounter, whether it’s an exuberant child in Asia or an irritable man on a Moroccan street corner. And it’s why, no matter where we roam, I’ll keep lacing up my shoes, chasing not just the path ahead but the stories waiting to be discovered along the way.