So You Want to Run in Morocco?

Most things in life I have a pretty clear cut view on them. I either like them, don't like them or don't take the time to form an opinion. Running is one thing I cannot figure out. When I try and define how I feel about running, like/dislike are not strong enough adjectives, I have to move towards hate/love.

The entirety of my soccer career as a youngster, I hated running. My Mom always told me that hate was too strong a word but Mom, I am sorry, I hated running. I would have been a much better and more successful soccer player had I liked it just a little bit more.

When college started and I no longer had to run because someone else told me to, I started to enjoy it a little more. For a while I was a vigilant rec-center visitor and for a brief stint in South Carolina, a running-aholic. Running had started to grow on me.

After moving to Morocco and living in site for about 3 months I was having a tough time dealing with the many "dont's" of life here.

Don't wear short sleeves.
Don't talk to men.
Don't smile too much.
Don't make eye contact.
Don't. Don't. Don't.

Since running was one of those don'ts (since it violated the going outside too much- don't and the making yourself too attractive to men-don't) I choose it as my personal form of rebellion. The first day I started running I got up at 6 am, put on more clothes than a person should to go outside in the desert in the summer and ran a path that leads to no where. By the time I got back, my cooperative women were at my front door up in arms. They told me I couldn't run, that it just wasn't allowed. Aggravated, I told them that I was American, not Moroccan and that in America we run, freely.

I guess the elders were consulted and something of a small town meeting happened with the women, resulting in "permission" to go. After that, I had a fan club. Women would wait for me and cheer after my runs. They would pat me on the back and say how they wish they could run too. It was pretty good for a while.

Then, a volunteer not too far from me got attacked on her daily run and that was it, I was done running. With no 911 to call and no people within shouting distance, my run just seemed too risky.

Jump forward to July 2011, I have a new site, a site-mate and a better attitude. Sarah-Kate is a runner (I am more a jogger/ walker) so we get up every morning and make an hour long run/walk towards the outer villages. It's envigorating.

So as of now, I like running, but I definitely don't love it.



So you wanna run in Morocco? Grab your clothes. Despite the 100+ temperatures near the end of our run, it's long sleeves, long pants and something to cover your butt (or at least most of it). This yoga jacket from Mizzou and Claire's old yoga pants are lifesavers.