This morning before catching the flight, I wanted to put in an hour on feet. The weather was crisp, cool and perfect.
On Sunday’s, this time in the morning, in the West, I usually have the roads to myself. More than half hour into my run, I hadn’t crossed a single walker or runner. I could hear my steps echoing back at me, and my bracelets clinking against each other like a steady metronome.
I took the U-turn at the same place as yesterday and it was on the way back, around 730 AM, that I saw a few runners.
Nearer to the hotel, there was a woman next to the lake taking a salsa class on zoom or perhaps she was practising to a recorded video.
The lake on my right, a woman dancing with some serious moves, a man sitting on a bench, the occasional runner but above all else everything seemed still, quiet, and serene.
Ciao, Switzerland, for now.
Writing about Running 