Somewhere between Sofia and Belgrade, the aircraft banked right, heading more north, changing its direction. The Big Dipper was right outside the window, the lowest end of it dipping in the horizon line.
Because we were over Europe, the flight corridors seemed to get busier, I could see aircrafts whizzing past – it was impossible to believe that we were going at a similar speed. Where were all these people going?
We were surrounded by exotic names like Cluj-Napoca and Rostov on Don and the Ionian Abyssal Plain. The Black and the Mediterranean Seas flanked us. It would be a near night flight throughout, flying against dawn.
After meeting my wife Parul and the young boy and eating a garangutan breakfast, he and I went for a run in Central Park in pouring rain. It rained down on us in buckets as we looped around. He ran beautifully with grit and after I dropped him to the hotel, I went for another loop and more to complete the Sunday long run.
Never and nowhere else have I seen so many runners with perfect bodies in a public park setting. Even as it was pouring, plenty of runners were out.
After the long flight, I wasn’t sure I would manage, but then again it was just a matter of getting going and probably the best way to shrug off jet lag and begin a short trip.
Writing about Running 