Running while finding footholds in side streets.
Becoming familiar with a new city is always a daunting task. Whether you’re moving to a new city or a new county, senses become assaulted and your bearings are shot for at least a few weeks. And if you’re anything like me, not having your bearings can turn a fifteen-minute walk from the grocery store into an hour ordeal that leaves you sweating, frustrated and exhausted.
When I first left to live in Italy for six months, I found myself, for the first time, without grid system city streets. Consequently, my first weeks in Italy were met with dead ends and roundabouts that took me down winding alleyways and underneath silent porticoes.
Two weeks went by and I finally felt comfortable enough to lace up my running shoes and discover the streets of my new home. After a few days, I found myself memorizing street names and recognizing landmarks that served as mental checkpoints every time I ran. Sure, I didn’t have my grid system, but as long as the man selling chestnuts still stood outside of the supermercato, I knew I could find my way back home.
After a month, I knew which side streets would get me to la discoteca and which ones would take me past fish vendors, a place I learned to avoid during longer runs. I memorized the different porticoes, which ones had etchings, which one had the arrow stuck to its ceiling, which ones lead to Il Santuario di Madonna di San Luca. Bologna began to open itself up to me, and I felt like I had been let into some secret society, where only a privileged few were permitted to know the detailed intricacies of this red-roofed city.
These little hideaways and subtle side streets have given me an emotional foothold. Discovering the little traits and qualities of my new home created a sense of familiarity in a place that before had seemed so strange.
For me, the only real way to get to know an area is running.
A month ago, I moved into my new apartment on the north side of Chicago. Once again, I found myself disoriented, greeted by ambiguously slanted streets and crooked street signs.
I’m slowly starting to get the hang of it (now I know my cardinal directions!) and while I still get turned around, I can usually right myself before I go tumbling face first into Lake Michigan. I’ve even noticed a few unique landmarks—my roommates have given me major props for finding two bars that serve 35-cent chicken wings on Mondays.
