We went to Paris in late-August. It was an end of the summer vacation, grabbing and clinging to the dwindling years of family travel with the Kid as she ages out of our happy trio.
“I want to run there.” She told me. “I’m packing my stuff.”
So, of course I packed my gear, too.
The Kid is new-ish to the sport, but she’s jumped in with both feets and has been training against a plan and running local races. How could I say no to a run through the City of Lights with my only child!
The Sunday morning of our trip I woke her up bright and early and we headed out. I had formulated a plan after a few days in the city and it was not simple. Our hotel, after all, was about three klicks from anything that screamed Paris. We needed to run by the tower or the river or something scenic. Our hotel was not “running close” to any of those things… but it was close to the train station and thus the metro.
We brought our phones, tapped through the subway turnstiles, and took a twenty minute ride on a nearly-vacant train that brought us to a station just out the side-gates of the Louvre museum …and so a five minute stroll from the banks of the Seine.
“Start here.” I told her, and we activated our watches in front of that big famous glass pyramid and we set out towards the river.
Running along the river in Paris has got to be some kind of bucket list item, right? I’ve done it twice now. Is that bragging? Uh… yeah.
We traced a path along the near-empty sidewalk on the north side of the river, snapping a few selfies (of course) and admiring the view. What a view! And when we got to the bridge with another fabulous view, this one of the tower, that tower—still over a klick away—we took more pics and then turned inland.
The second part of my plan for this adventure was less cohesive: the plan was to find a way back to the hotel on foot through the maze of the city. Paris is a bit of maze after all, streets going off at every angle, nary a straight line longer than a few hundred meters in any direction, narrow streets obscuring any sense of directionality for explorers like us. We crossed over the river-side road, ran north, traversed the Champs Elysees, took a photo at the Opera house, ignored alluring scents from nearby boulangeries wafting the aroma of fresh breads out their front doors, and so ducked and weaved ever onward towards where I had a vague idea our hotel was situated.
I admit. I stopped frequently, squinting at the screen of my phone (without my glasses… I’d left them back in the hotel) to check our progress.
Six klicks, almost on the dot, we rang the front bell of our hotel and the guy at the desk who had watched us leave an hour earlier (with more than a bit of French skepticism) let us back inside the locked front doors.
Tired. Sweaty. And glad to be back… it might just be in the top three adventures of our trip. Travel running is definitely recommended.
