Today I ran along the Seine River in Paris, France.

I won’t pretend to be a history buff, but I will convey what I felt: a presence. The ghosts of Parisians Past whispered atop those choppy river waters, the morning fog dancing with the tales of bygone times. As I clipped eastward, away from the Eiffel tower and toward the Cathedral of Notre Dame, I knew that I was running on ancient territory greater than my two runner legs had before tread.

The cobblestone underpasses and the loping river walls guided me through each mile, an aged and pleasantly worn way about them. The skies above were grayed and subdued, filling with an eagerness for a late morning shower. Thankfully, they held out for the entirety of my 13 mile run. Jacket-clad joggers shuffled together in groups of two, three and more, and neon-print cyclists rode alone on their own silent, athletic quest.

Small boats and yachts were clipped up against the river’s shoreline, boasting their meals within the vessels on menus plastered outside their front doors. Languages melted together around me like a flavorful sundae, topped with accents like nuts and syrup—delightful.

There’s a lustful aura to this city. Perhaps it’s within the beauty of the architecture and golden splashes of sculpted art, or the aroma of chocolate faintly following wherever you go. Perhaps it’s within the Parisians themselves, speaking in one of the most beautiful languages within the most fashionable dress in all the world. Whatever it may be, it followed after me with a sugary sweetness, followed as I ran, mile after mile, urging me faster and stronger with each step.

I can’t wait to run these streets again tomorrow. 

Thanks for the love. Run with your heart, xo Babs