Running with Olives.

I knew marathon training would be tough in a town that is compact like an armario. Training could be mindlessly repetitive, and aptly I'd probably feel akin to a control subject in a rat race.

The problem being my natural tendency to sprawl. A tornado, as my sister phrases it, is my greatest by-product. To those unknown to this phenomenon, it's a pile of shit deposited wherever I have been. And this same spirit applies to running, excepting the deposit of shit. I love to sprawl wherever my legs will take me. Which in Baeza meant past a cathedral or two, up and down the curving brick streets, out to olive oil factory row, past the football field and back home. One hour could easily be burned, but sprawling like this isn't captivating after the first several months. I was like the rat who had already found the cheese, the chase lost its appeal, quickly.

Until, that is, I found another route. Running uphill, once again, I kept running even when the pavement ceased. It turned out to be Baeza's best trail, one that cuts through the olive trees and loops back into Baeza after 5k. An old memorial is among the sights along the way, but more interesting are the occasional workers shaking down the olives (who have since disappeared, the olive oil season is over). It's the essence of Baeza, especially with the old couples strolling through hand in hand.

Fun fact: 10% of the world's olive oil production comes from Jaén province (the smaller province within Andalucía, where I live). If you look at a map, it's quite impressive.