French Running.

I am very proud of myself, I have to say, because I actually did run on holiday. I was a little nervous as I was out of my comfort zone. That is to say that I was miles from anywhere and had to run along tiny country lanes in a foreign country with absolutely no idea as to where I was going. Actually that is not completely true. The first run I did was just " out I go, follow my nose, run for 20 minutes and turn back. " The second run I went and measured in the car with my Man, just so he would know where I had gone.

There would appear to be a large number of hills in the Dordogne. Good if you are after hill work. Not so good if you are a little plump housewife with a secret plan. Still, I ran 3 times and came back sweaty and happy. Always a good feeling.

I nearly gave up after the second run though. I was jogging along with the music turned off on my Nike+I-Pod thingy. It was hot, sunny, silent apart from the thud thud thud of my feet on the road and the humming of crickets in the tobacco fields. In the distance I could hear farm dogs barking. And then they were no longer in the distance. They pelted round the driveway of their farm and came straight for me. I was alone. I stood still and, strangely, let out a " NON!!!" in a laboured, terrified kind of voice. A strangely French accented kind of voice. Even as they ran around me barking aggressively I did wonder as to why I had groaned in French. They say one's life flashes before them in moments like this. Mine did. I hate dogs. Show no fear. Show no fear. To my amazement they turned and ran. Whether it was my " lack of fear showing " or the sweet smell of garlic that emanated from every pore of my sweaty being, I will never know. I started to walk. My heart beating like a tattered drum. Typical. If I'd have stayed in bed this would never have happened.

And then they came back. Just as I thought I was safe I heard their claws scattering up the road behind me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. I stood still and imagined newspaper clippings. " Small Englishwoman mauled to death on 4th Marathon Training Run " "Death on a French Road - proof that running is bad for you "

They must have sensed somehow that I would not make a tasty breakfast. Perhaps my English superiority overwhelmed them, or maybe there is no fun in a prey that won't run, but stands whimpering in a terrified French accent. Whatever their reason they left me alone and I made my way back to the camp site for a hot shower and a large croissant with strawberry jam.

All in all I was pleased to have gone out. It is , seriously, a bit of a worry as a lone female, but I did 3 runs, survived and can now keep going. Oh, and I thought I'd post a picture of the area so you can see the hills and sense the gorgeousness of the countryside!