Running

Laura and I went running today, for what was shamefully only the second time since we arrived in Paris. Nevertheless, we hoped it might go some way towards counteracting the effects of numerous hazy party nights, an unavoidable hazard of attempting to embrace the local scene.

We ran under the overhead metro line, which created the disorienting impression of being in New York rather than Paris, and made me fell a tiny bit like Rocky. Further along, we turned onto the picturesque Canal St-Martin, lined with pretty barges; mostly houseboats or floating cafes and theaters.

A lifting bridge crosses the canal, opening to allow larger boats to continue northwards. At the safety barrier, the light showed red, so we waited to be allowed to cross. The were a number of black teenage boys, in baggy jeans and hooded shirts, hanging around by the crossing.

I was wearing my ipod, with my running music at maximum volume, in order to render myself as oblivious as possible to any distractions. A younger boy, about 13, made an indecipherable gesture at me, and I ignored him. As the lights changed to green I ran across the bridge, probably at a slightly faster pace, to place some distance between myself and the group. I noticed from the corner of my eye that the boy appeared to be running behind me. I felt a slight irritation - I wanted to focus on the running, rather than be forced into some sort of confrontation, however minor. At the end of the bridge, I stopped, and turned to look for Laura, bouncing on the spot to try and maintain momentum. The boy was standing in front of me, and said something urgent. I took out my earbuds, and said "Pardon?", with some annoyance. He reached out his hand, and handed me my house keys, with a grin. They must have dropped out of my belt pocket (the zip slips open), somewhere near the beginning of the crossing.

I thanked him, probably over-enthusiastically, and I'm sure he heard the note of apology in my voice. On the way back I felt a slight euphoria at having my prejudices so roundly discredited, and disappointed in myself for having held them in the first place, however subconsciously. I guess I still have some way to go to be the kind of person I'd like to think I am.