We arrived in Soria, Spain, two days ago. This is the hometown of my mother-in-law, where we spend a couple of weeks each summer. The small but dense city was built above the River Duero and grew up around a bustling wool industry. You can still see flocks of sheep on the outskirts of town, but domestic tourism is now the primary economic focus.
I love running here because you can very quickly get out of the urban center and into unpopulated spaces. Running is also the best way that I know to connect with an area – whether exploring a new place or catching up with a familiar locale.
Normally I would get out for a run the first morning, but my immune system has been worn down due to weeks of playing and running hard. It has rewarded (warned?) me with a huge cold sore and a celiac rash. A few long nights of sleep and siestas two days in a row have definitely been warranted.
We slept late again this morning, but I rallied for a short run after we all enjoyed a big, porky breakfast buffet. I left Javier and the kids at the park with 200 water balloons. He asked where I was headed.
“Down to the river,” I replied. I had no agenda beyond that. I left the park and found myself headed up the hill to El Castillo, the remains of an old fortress. I prefer to go up over the hill and back down to the river. I like the scenery and passing by remnants of the old city wall (la muralla).
I can’t believe how sluggish I feel, but it’s so good to be here, that I don’t care. I head up the river on a path that was brand new last year – it leads to a pedestrian bridge and you can loop back on the other side.
Next I’m on a road that takes me right through an old monastery. The road ends at a church (Ermita de San Saturio) built into the rocky hillside. Just before the church, I slip down a hidden staircase to another pedestrian bridge. I don’t need to think about it – my legs know the way.
Another new-ish (8 years old?) walkway takes me back along the river. There are large white concrete tiles along with decorative yellow and black bricks. My feet go immediately to the black brick path – I know from experience that they are the softest of the three surfaces.
This path goes under a defunct railroad and back up the hill to town. I remember when Javier first brought me here – before the path was constructed – the “trail” was a big ditch that ended at a de-facto dump. I’m already thinking about coming back here for hill repeats on Thursday, and later a long run along the river to the next town and looping back on the sheep trail (La Cañada Real).
For now, I return to the park to find my happy kids soaking wet, and I get a water balloon to pop on my shirt. Yes, it’s good to recover and even better to reconnect with my other hometown.
