Mother runner Jacki Correll shares how she managed to maintain her fitness while traveling abroad.

When my daughter was accepted into a prestigious study abroad program in France this spring, I immediately began to plan a summer visit, imagining, as a mother runner does, all the incredible places I would get to run over 10 days in Europe. I could picture myself running past 16th century architectural marvels in Toulouse, France, and I was thinking about how cool a run inside the ramparts of Carcassonne would look on my Strava feed. I was excited about the sunrise selfies I could take on the stunning beaches in the south of France and in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, Spain. I optimistically packed four runs worth of gear (playing luggage Tetris to squeeze in a few regular outfits and comfortable walking shoes, too) before setting off on the vacation of a lifetime.

It may have been my daughter who studied abroad, but it was I who got an education. I learned that the effects of jetlag on my body have aggressively increased with age, while my tolerance for extreme heat has dropped precipitously. After 16 hours of airconditioned travel, landing in Toulouse, France in an unprecedented heatwave hit me like a ton of bricks fresh from a 2,000 degree kiln, and for the next several days, leaving the dark, cool apartment before noon was impossible.

On the third day, I was able to take a late afternoon walk along the Garonne River. The pavement shimmered in the 101 degree heat, blurring the arches of the Pont Neuf bridge and turning the whole scene into a Monet painting viewed too closely. I was slightly disappointed that I hadn’t hit my goal of running this town, but like in a marathon, I knew that going out too hard too soon on vacation never ends well.

While my jetlag did begin to wane as we left Toulouse, the brutal heat pursued us to our next stop: the medieval walled city of Carcassonne. Although I did lay out my running gear at bedtime that night, I slept through my alarm and awoke with enough time for breakfast before our tour of the castle itself. I was again disappointed to have missed the opportunity to run in such a unique setting, but having fresh legs for all the hiking we did there seemed like a smart move. 

A small respite from the heat and my first run of the trip finally occurred at the third stop: the beach town of Gruissan, where we stayed in an adorable doll-sized apartment that felt more like a cruise ship cabin. It had a lovely little balcony where we played cards that evening, overlooking the boats bobbing in the marina as pop music and rapid French conversations floated up to meet our ears from the lively restaurant below. Sitting across from my beautiful nearly-grown daughter, talking about everything and nothing, is a memory I will cherish forever.

Before bed I stashed my gear in the miniscule bathroom so I could sneak out early the next morning. Running along the empty beach walk at sunrise next to the caramel-colored sand, I felt incredibly peaceful and lucky. The pastel-hued clapboard cottages with their whitewashed shutters and window boxes of flowers looked like a picture perfect postcard, and the lighter, cooler air there made it easy to draw deep breaths of gratitude.

By our final stop, Barcelona, I was feeling almost normal. I woke up early, quietly dressed, and slipped out into the overcast humid morning. All of the shops and restaurants were still shuttered, their solid metal security doors painted with vibrant street art, and above the shopfronts I saw floors of apartment terraces, each decorated in a different style–some hosting myriad pots overflowing with bright flowers and others containing a single white wrought iron chair or boxy air-conditioning unit that dripped onto the sidewalk.

Under my feet were evenly laid square gray concrete tiles stamped with a rose detail. It was the symmetry, consistency, and leading lines of these tiles that appealed to me because they made running in this urban setting seem like following a fairytale path.

The air quality was poor in Barcelona at that time of the morning and it made picking up the pace difficult, but I was happy to keep the run slow to enjoy the sights. The Port of Barcelona was full of tall-masted sailboats and I could see a large Ferris wheel in the distance, but the only people around were a handful of other runners who were probably, like me, trying to get some kilometers in before the sun became too brutal for any activity more strenuous than strolling through the narrow, shaded streets of the Gothic Quarter, gelato in hand, on the way to the next tapas bar.

By the end of the trip, the disappointment I had felt about the missed running opportunities had completely vanished, replaced by a deep satisfaction and joy, knowing even though they were more walking and hiking than running, I had moved forward over 100,000 unforgettable steps with Grace.