Running down a fear

 I am an anxious traveler. 

 I like to get that out of the way whenever the topic of journeying away from one’s home comes up.

 The aversion isn’t something I can pinpoint with any precision.

 My angst at its prospect has morphed over time. Initially, it started as a fear of flying, then turned into a fear of getting lost, and finally into a general panic about being out of place … an ugly American who is functionally illiterate everywhere I go. 

 I credit recreational running for easing some of the worst of my symptoms. However, it’s been a gradual revelation.

 Initially, I’d have all the best intentions of lacing up my trainers and taking a few laps around the block of whatever hotel I found myself.

 Instead, I’d end up in a gym, starting my watch on the treadmill so at least my location would be saved in Garmin as I slogged out a few miles scribbled in one place.

 But in time, and with practice, I found following the blue dot on my phone’s navigating map wasn’t as difficult as the picture my imagination painted. All I needed to do was reconfigure how to interpret the graphic waves of propulsion … and accept that the opposite of my directional intuition would always be the path on which I should embark. 

 Not that will always be the case, but when I go with my first impression only to realize later that I should have zigged when I, indeed, zagged, I will likely pretend this trajectory was always the goal. Then I will make a sweeping turn – at a slightly varied pace that I think seems more whimsical than abrupt – and continue onward.

 Typically, I will seek out the well worn paths of previous travelers. Consulting magazines and interweb advice on THE BEST PLACES ™ … Until I realize  I would likely have to run more miles than I have in my training plan just to get there from our hotel, then take some other type of ground transport to get back. 

 Usually I will substitute that idealic plan for the subtle observation of where folks are running nearby and let my phone map guide me.

 I recently traveled to Barcelona for Spring Break, the last-minute guest of my daughter, who —  because of a combination of jet lag and the midnight wake up call in the form of a raucus city-wide celebration honoring Barcelona winning a record-extending 32nd Spanish Cup title after Jules Koude's last-minute goal handed a 3-2 win against Real Madrid — decided to sleep in instead of accompanying me on a morning run as we intended. 

 Since our hotel was located on a main road, I found that the paved median with its expansive width and rows of tall sycamores on either side was a mecca for pedestrians waiting for buses as well as runners and walkers on a mission to get farther.

 After following it to a cross street that led to Ciutdadella Park - a 77-acre greenspace that features lush gardens, sandy walking trails, a zoo, and a magnificent fountain designed by Josep Fontsere, it is also the home of the Parliament of Catalonia and other historic buildings.

 After making two laps of the park's outermost trails – passing its two arboretums, a zoo and the Parliament building, as well as climbing the steps of the ornate fountain and descending to the other side, during both of the loops – and then venturing outside the walls for a single lap around the neighborhood – I had clocked about four miles … the extra two miles arrived while I was getting happily lost on the way back to the hotel. I had lots of sights to talk about with my well-rested daughter once we get to brunch.

 I might even convince myself it was the intention all along, who knows?