Don't follow the locals!

Today I went for an aimless run. It ended up taking me through the backside of Parc Güell on a dirt trail, that was quite hilly with a human to toy dog ratio of 1:6. I noticed a few other runners while back there, which helped kick up the motivation to stride it out as I leapt over yorkies.

The first runner I saw was a man about 55 years old with some very ripped legs. He must be a tri-athlete, I thought. Too thick to be a hardcore marathoner, and he was actually running, which meant he couldn't be a cyclist or anything. I tried to run behind him, but he spun around at one point, like a collie rounding up cattle, and started back down the hill we had just slaved up. Since obviously an about-face on my part would unveil my lemming-style running mode of the day, and because I wanted to appreciate having just crested a large hill with a view of Tibidabo, I pretended to change the song on my iPod as he passed me. After that, I continued up the steep grade, looking for my next local to pace behind.

There he was, just a few dusty moments later. I spotted him, a white-haired fellow wearing an electric blue t-shirt and sky blue running shorts, as he was speed walking. But I could tell he was a runner, he just had that look about him. Since he seemed to be a local as well, and in great condition almost like the herding dude, I expected nothing less than the discovery of the fountain of Gaudi youth.

In no time, I saw him darting off the wide, dirt trail and between a couple of trees at a quickened pace. He was showing me the runner's mecca of Barcelona! I just knew it! Wait, where'd he go? Where's the blue? I leaned, looking...running, running...hmm... crunching rocks made a startling noice under my feet as the trail wound down to the left and I spilled off straight ahead, away from the beaten path....running, running...

Um...Whoops! Sonja, look at your iPod again. Pretend you didn't see the path curve. About-face. NOW...and FAST. Pretend you didn't see old man's backside as he took a mid-run pee.

(I'm sorry!!! I was sick of stepping over poodles and pomeranians, and I thought, well, I thought you'd lead me down some paths that were different. But no, you took me to pee. I hope you did not suffer cardiac arrest right there. I made a point to run around below your pee spot before returning up the hill and checking to make sure you and your blue were not laying there... well... blue.)