PEOPLE DON'T RUN in Italy. I’ve never really seen them exercise at all in fact, aside from walking. I, an American, have to run. I need to de-stress: a few precious, peaceful moments for myself, taken out of my hectic, Post-It-commanded life. When I first arrived in Italy, I expected my own life to adapt to the slow, easy pace of cars without horns, meandering dinners, and no worries. Well, I was wrong.
      There’s a feeling I get when I need to run. I fidget, itch; my body fills with an almost fizzy, electronic buzz, and my thoughts fire spastically. Unfortunately, this ‘ready-to-run’ feeling happened today during class in Italy.
      After class, as most students were probably napping, eating, or doing their homework, I quietly, almost slyly strapped on my running shoes. I raced down the unfamiliar texture of Cagli’s cobblestone streets, and cruised on to almost non-existent sidewalks. I was laughed at, probably a spectacle down the roads of Cagli as I nervously navigated streets with names I didn’t understand. Despite my nervous high, the car honks (Aha! So they do use them!), stares, and the calls of vai, vai! (go, go!), I felt a cool, serene comfort absorb me. My legs, arms, and every part of my body finally felt right and my mind began to clear. I was running in a town of culture that didn’t exercise. I was blatantly, obnoxiously American, yet I was happy.
      I wish the laid-back Italians could embrace running, which can sometimes be a laid-back sport itself. I feel awkward, almost ashamed as I propel myself along to odd side glances. How could these people not know how great this is? I want to give them sneakers, run with them through the piazza, past the Roman bridges, the mountains, and all the intriguing scenery.
      But I guess since the Italians (as well as most Europeans) take the easy course in life, they may never have the stress, the bursting flecks of energy, the pure adrenalin that permeates a runner: me.

--Caitlin Rohan
(Loyola)