Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Raving for Rio
I don't normally indulge in magazines. By the time I flip idly through the glossy pages, sucked in by bold, courageous statements in various colours and fonts slapped on the front cover, I am so riddled by the guilt of money spent on such slack and tepid entertainment that I would have been better off leaving it on the shelf. I have rarely reaped full enjoyment from the slender publications, so shiny and enticing. One magazine, however, has been a recent investment that more than pays for itself: Runner's World.
It began innocently enough, stealing my father's old, well-read issues that he tucks away and keeps forever. In moments of boredom or leisurely waiting, I would toss open an issue, and inevitably devour every single word between the two shiny covers. Just a few pages into the delightful world of topical running articles, recipes, injury advice and training schedules comes the best part of the entire publication, the Rave Run. The two-page spread boasts a stunning photo of a remarkable place on this planet Earth, glossy and alluring. And somewhere, sometimes deeply hidden, is an individual running across the vast expanse of the page in the beautiful landscape.
I have seen the Isle of Skye in Scotland, deep in the Cuillin mountains. Vast sweeping rock faces, most staggeringly sheer in nature, tower around the woman mid-stride, overwhelming her as she cuts through them. I have seen volcanic monoliths skim the background of a sunrise run in Gran Canaria, the golden-pink haze of morning sun warming the icy black faces of the volcanoes as two women trot across a grassy perch at the forefront. I have seen a quiet road cut into the deep forest of Sintra, Portugal. The thick vegetation creates a wall around the narrow road occupied by one single runner, a solitary soul enveloped within the misty green of a Portuguese morning. I have even seen, delightfully, the coast of Vancouver, BC, crowded with boats to the right and fiery autumnal foliage to the left of a runner on a quiet bicycle path.
I have never sent anything into a magazine for publication. Not a photo, a letter to the editor, a question for an advice columnist. I am a voyeur of the magazine world. However, with a trip to Brazil looming in my very near future, I have to say I'm tempted to find my own run worth raving about. By the time you read this, I'll be landed in Belo Horizonte, the capital city of the state of Minas Gerais, the gargantuan state northwest of Rio. A state which produces the most coffee and Brazilian presidents, it is nestled inland, not touching the Atlantic at all. Instead, it is punctured with hidden lakes and waterfalls. I have dreamed for weeks about looping around the lakes in the early morning hours before the scorching Brazilian sun freckles and burns my all too delicate skin. I have romanticized those early hours, pacing myself in the warm morning air and greeting the sunrise in peaceful silence, save the pounding of my shoes and the beating of my heart.
Most of my time will be spent with my partner's family and friends, as I finally get to meet everyone he loves. But I will have a few precious moments to myself each morning, and one of those days, I'll drag Davi into my secluded heaven and entrust in him the task of capturing all the mystery and beauty of his wonderful country. And who knows, I might just get to see it glorified across the pages of my favourite magazine.
As I sit in the airport waiting for a plane destined for Rio, I know I'll jitter with excitement over seeing a corner of the world I've yet to glance at. And in the bottom of my luggage will sit my trusty running shoes, just waiting to hit the ground running.
