I’m not sure if it was my pale, freckley skin, my red frizzy hair or the fact that I was running, but I turned a few heads while out on my first run in Cambodia. After a long bus journey and a day rattling about in the back of a tuktuk, I was ready to pull my trainers on and head off for a run through the town of Battambang.
The fact that I caused a bit of a stir isn’t to say that exercise isn’t common out here. In fact the town has a communal, outdoor aerobics class in the evening that takes place across the river from the evening food stalls. This may or may not be a coincidence. In Phnom Penh I saw two local joggers shuffling round a park and along the river outdoor exercise gym equipment was being used enthusiastically by locals of all ages.
My route took me through the town, along it’s river and back the other side, about three miles on total. It shouldn’t have been a taxing run, apart from trying to avoid being run over by a moped. The route was flat and the heat of the day had subsided. And yet for the last quarter mile it was hard. The air was thick from the constant stream of mopeds, tuktuks and other vehicles and the dust they kick up. If it wasn’t that it was the decreased mileage and the increased eating I’ve been doing while away showing itself. The local dish (Amok – see the clever post title now isn’t a typo) is too delicious to resist though. If that’s the case I may have more work to do that I thought in preparation for the marathon start line.
When I was travelling in Indonesia, I spent some time in Flores – I met two girls working there on the AusAID program. They told me that every time they went out for a run, people would line the streets and laugh from sheer bewilderment. The idea of running without a purpose (i.e. not running away from anything, or to anything in a hurry) was completely alien!