Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost by Lisa Selwood
I used to love this saying. It conjured up whimsical images of exotic travel in my mind, wandering theI used to love this saying. It conjured up whimsical images of exotic travel in my mind, wandering the streets, seeing the sights, and being completely disconnected from the world. However, after moving countries, an international work trip and still trying to stick as closely to my running program as possible, I can categorically state that if you wander off your Garmin dictated route you are, indeed, lost.
It’s my second day of work in Sydney and I set off for a 10km run, which should take me about 55 minutes. I have calculated my timing perfectly – one hour to run, one hour to get ready and half an hour to get to my meeting which is ‘across the bridge’. Fast forward to one hour and ten minutes later, when I should be at home and in the shower, I am traipsing through a national park, with no cellphone signal and no discernable path ahread. I have noticed in Australia if there isn’t a paved section for pedestrians and cyclists, you should not be running there. I end up pulling myself up a steep bank, holding onto trees, tripping over routes, moving branches out of my face and finally hit a tar road. ‘Finding my bearings’ is no longer an option at this point but as I look around, I see I am in the middle of a cemetry. I call an Uber, but unfortunately there are not a lot circling in the vicinity in a cemetry. I finally get into one, get home and spend 20 minutes frantically getting ready and trying to look presentable for my second day on the job. (I did find a small stick in my hair later on in the morning. I thought of keeping it there and trying to pull it off as unique hair décor, but instead pulled it out sheepishly).
A month later, I have to go to Copenhagen for work, as that is where our headquarters are located. The jetlag is something else. Australia is about 9 time zones away from everything else in the world. It takes 28 hours of FLYING (not travel time) for me to get from Sydney to Copenhagen. On the first night, when I felt as though I could sleep for 24 hours straight because I am so exhausted, my eyes spring open at 2:00 am. After tossing and turning for a while I decide to get up and go for a run, hoping I will be able to get a few hours of sleep in afterwards (Spoiler alert – I can’t). There is a mild drizzle outside, but nothing too serious. Two kilometres in, I slip on the ledge of a pavement and fall heavily and ungracefully on my right hand side, cracking my phone which was in my pocket, and ending up with a hand sized bruise on my thigh. I grit my teeth, pull myself up, try and get my heart rate down to a level that isn’t going to send me into cardiac arrest and carry on. I get to Fælledparken, a large park area with a lake in the middle, which I had planned to run through and around for a few kilometres. As I trot up to the entrance I notice very large padlocks around the gate, and no way of getting in whatsoever. (I am South African - I was looking for a way to sneak in, whether it meant going over or under the gate or squeezing through a side panel. Nothing will stop me deviating from my run. They had thought of people like me when designing the gates, as only Superman would have been able to scale them). Plan B – let’s see if I can simulate running through the park by running around the park on the road (Spoiler alert – I can’t. The roads are not laid out in a park shaped area). 10km becomes 16km and I arrive back at the hotel sore, tired and grumpy.
Following Copehagen I jet into Barcelona for an international conference. I plot a running route that will take me past some of the big tourist attractions, including La Segrada Familia, a Catholic Chruch which has been named a UNESCO Heritage Site. At approximately 170m tall, ‘you can’t miss it’. Well, surprise, surprise, I managed to miss it, and ended up circling around a shopping block in different directions a few times, which was incredibly frustrating. I FINALLY get back on part of the route, my Garmin is telling me I am ‘on course’ and the heading bug is happily pointing straight. I breathe a sigh of relied. Then I stop abruptly. My watch is telling me to run over four train lines, which have actively moving trains arriving and departing. Crossing is not an option. The confusion on my face, and the palpable panic radiating from me, saw an official walking over and explaining to me with hand signals there was a bridge underneath the trains which I could run through.
I get lost so often whilst running, that I realise each time I experience the five stages of grief in one way or another.
Denial – ‘I can’t possibly be lost’; ‘I am sure if I just turn right here, I’ll be back on track’; ‘This must be the right way. I know my watch is saying it isn’t but it probably needs to be re-calibrated’
Anger – ‘What’s wrong with you? The course is on your watch! What more do you need?’; ‘How on earth can you get lost again, you idiot?’
Bargaining – That sinking feeling in your stomach – ‘Please just let me find my way’; ‘I’ll prepare better next time, and try and memorise some of the route’
Depression – alternating with panic. ‘I don’t have time to be lost, I am going to be late’; ‘I don’t even know why I bother’
Acceptance – ‘This happens to me so often. I just need to accept I am useless with directions’
Getting lost isn’t fun for me. I panic, which doesn’t help the situation. BUT having said all of the above, I have seen neighbourhoods, suburbs and views which I wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t gotten lost. And, at the end of the day, I have started running with my cellphone – I can use Google Maps to re-orientate myself; I can call an Uber if I am really far away from home. So technically I am never really lost. I’ve just wandered a bit in a different direction to what I planned.
