Horizon points are arguably some of the most magnetic visions we experience on the day-to-day, always seeming to draw us in by a magnificent sunset, mountains in a distant fog or waves slowly lapping on the beach far away. That being said, we never actually arrive at them; there is always another horizon waiting when we get to the point we had earlier seen. This is one of the beautiful things about running here for me. Driving, taking a train and other means of transportation are great ways to chase the horizon, but running is an unmatched way to appreciate it.
The obvious reason for this (at least in my case) is that you are going so slow you have plenty of time to take in the same horizons as you slowly move within them. I shouldn't say "the same", because the other incredible thing about running is you are able to witness the horizons change with the lighting, days, seasons and weather. Metoro is situated in a more or less flat area of land, but to the north the elevation does go down enough to get a breathtaking view of the expansiveness of some of the Mozambican mato (bush). We have one mountain (term must be taken with a grain of salt) visible in the distance to the north and three mountains off a ways to the south. The rest is flat. What this translates into is a lot of visibility on my runs.
As you might already know, I am currently training for a marathon at Victoria Falls in July. I try to get out and run every other day. After roughly four months I am up to 12.5 kilometers, which means I'm able to get some good range on my routes. I was worried that the scenery would get boring, as my 'routes' are in fact just down and backs on a highway, but I have been pleasantly surprised by how organic and dynamic they have turned out. Here are some of the beautiful things I experience and see while I'm out there:
Smiling, waving, greeting residents on their front porches or at the wells for the first couple kilometers of my run as I slowly leave the limits of Metoro's housing. Little armies of goats crossing the road to get home. The mesmerizing glow of burning machamba (field for farming)-cleaning fires blazing off in the distance at dusk. The smell of dusty earth that has drank its fill of a recent rain. The cool drizzle of running in the rain as a giant, red sun sets in the west. Cicadas. The rustling wind through the bushes alongside the road, sliding the leaves and branches together. Women carrying large capulana (cloth) sacks full of mandioca (cassava), charcoal or bread on their heads to sell in Metoro. Men balancing tens of long, thin bamboo stalks on ancient bicycles as they creak their way into town. Many types of birds singing their unique songs to each other as the light begins to fade away. The pregnant first moments of a sunrise at 4.15 in the morning as the sky slowly begins to blush in the east. Shadows caused by the full moon. The whole expanse around Metoro leaving the brown, dry, desolation and unwrapping into a green paradise pulsing with new life and energy. Inter-city chapas (vans converted for public transport) whirring by with incomprehensible loads of baggage piled and tied onto their roofs. Stars escaping from the Milky Way and scattering into the night. A soft, humidity in the morning after a light rain the night before. Mango tree branches bowing with the weight of hundreds of dense green fruits as they begin to ripen. Acacia and Baobab trees towering over other flora in the distance while looking off to the side of the road. Three mountains climbing up from the horizon, towering over the rest of the flat, stretching landscape. A cool, flowing breeze over my face as I move towards the east and the Indian Ocean resting 88 kilometers away. A road that unravels ahead of me, twisting and turning, urging me to tack just one more kilometer onto my route today to explore around the next bend. The quiet, empty stillness of the night. The gentle, rolling waking of the world in the early morning. Serene silence with the only the tempo of your breath to guide your thoughts.
These are just a handful of the reasons to run here in Metoro, as if the idea of running a marathon around one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World next year weren't enough for motivation! Now, time to get to bed, as tomorrow I plan on trying to go for an early morning (4AM) run.
The obvious reason for this (at least in my case) is that you are going so slow you have plenty of time to take in the same horizons as you slowly move within them. I shouldn't say "the same", because the other incredible thing about running is you are able to witness the horizons change with the lighting, days, seasons and weather. Metoro is situated in a more or less flat area of land, but to the north the elevation does go down enough to get a breathtaking view of the expansiveness of some of the Mozambican mato (bush). We have one mountain (term must be taken with a grain of salt) visible in the distance to the north and three mountains off a ways to the south. The rest is flat. What this translates into is a lot of visibility on my runs.
As you might already know, I am currently training for a marathon at Victoria Falls in July. I try to get out and run every other day. After roughly four months I am up to 12.5 kilometers, which means I'm able to get some good range on my routes. I was worried that the scenery would get boring, as my 'routes' are in fact just down and backs on a highway, but I have been pleasantly surprised by how organic and dynamic they have turned out. Here are some of the beautiful things I experience and see while I'm out there:
Smiling, waving, greeting residents on their front porches or at the wells for the first couple kilometers of my run as I slowly leave the limits of Metoro's housing. Little armies of goats crossing the road to get home. The mesmerizing glow of burning machamba (field for farming)-cleaning fires blazing off in the distance at dusk. The smell of dusty earth that has drank its fill of a recent rain. The cool drizzle of running in the rain as a giant, red sun sets in the west. Cicadas. The rustling wind through the bushes alongside the road, sliding the leaves and branches together. Women carrying large capulana (cloth) sacks full of mandioca (cassava), charcoal or bread on their heads to sell in Metoro. Men balancing tens of long, thin bamboo stalks on ancient bicycles as they creak their way into town. Many types of birds singing their unique songs to each other as the light begins to fade away. The pregnant first moments of a sunrise at 4.15 in the morning as the sky slowly begins to blush in the east. Shadows caused by the full moon. The whole expanse around Metoro leaving the brown, dry, desolation and unwrapping into a green paradise pulsing with new life and energy. Inter-city chapas (vans converted for public transport) whirring by with incomprehensible loads of baggage piled and tied onto their roofs. Stars escaping from the Milky Way and scattering into the night. A soft, humidity in the morning after a light rain the night before. Mango tree branches bowing with the weight of hundreds of dense green fruits as they begin to ripen. Acacia and Baobab trees towering over other flora in the distance while looking off to the side of the road. Three mountains climbing up from the horizon, towering over the rest of the flat, stretching landscape. A cool, flowing breeze over my face as I move towards the east and the Indian Ocean resting 88 kilometers away. A road that unravels ahead of me, twisting and turning, urging me to tack just one more kilometer onto my route today to explore around the next bend. The quiet, empty stillness of the night. The gentle, rolling waking of the world in the early morning. Serene silence with the only the tempo of your breath to guide your thoughts.
These are just a handful of the reasons to run here in Metoro, as if the idea of running a marathon around one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World next year weren't enough for motivation! Now, time to get to bed, as tomorrow I plan on trying to go for an early morning (4AM) run.
