That time I ran on the beach with the Beautiful Marbella People

A couple of weeks ago we were staying in Marbella because Kiddo was going to rugby camp. It’s about an hour and 15 minute drive, and her days were going to be really long, so we decided to rent an airbnb on the beach, and make a holiday of sorts out of it.

This is where we stayed:

So the thing about Marbella is that it’s the playground in Spain for the Glamorous People. Or, the people who want to be glamorous, and who want to be in an atmosphere that plays to that sense of privilege and glamor. I’ve spent a fair amount of time around *actual* really magical places filled with really glamorous people, and Marbella seems like a knockoff Mulberry in comparison, but still, it’s a pretty well done knockoff that gives a sense of authenticity.

Marbella is filled with perfectly toned bodies in bikinis juxtaposed against pasty British tourist bellies hanging over their swimsuits. But there are enough Beautiful People to make normal non-genetically-blessed people like me a little nervous.

Anyway, there I was, having a lovely Marbella vacation when I realized I needed to do my daily workout. And unlike at home, where we’re out in the countryside and I can go outside and sweat peacefully without anyone seeing me, here I was surrounded by people. Lots of people in Lululemon.

I went outside in my shabby yoga pants from Target and old sweaty tshirt, and started walking on the boardwalk. But my heartrate wasn’t getting as high as I would have liked. It was hovering around 105, which was making the whole thing an exercise in futility.

Now, dear reader, I have not run in public in 20 years. I went through a Running Phase which lasted until I was about 25, and after that any running I did was on a treadmill in an empty gym. My body was not made to run, I thought. And if I was going to force it, at least I’d force it in private. Which is what I do at home. I run around our land making grunting noises, shedding articles of clothing as I sweat, and I do it all with the comforting knowledge that no one can see me.

Not here. If I wanted to get my heartrate up and make the whole thing worth it, I needed to run. In public. Past boardwalk cafes where people were sipping mimosas and people watching. I was about to be one of the people they watched. Running.

I picked up my pace. Both feet were off the ground at once. I was running. Sort of. But I was passing people! People who looked way fitter than me! I ran past the cafes. I ran past the mimosa sipping people in lovely white linen that they would never spill anything on, and I didn’t feel self conscious. Well, maybe a little. But soon enough I was in my own world, with my headphones on, working out my breathing, settling into a pace that I could keep up for 20 minutes.

And it felt….
Good.

When I passed by people going the other way, we smiled at each other. Some gave me a thumbs up or a wave. I was running! In public! Passing by actual people!

I had to stop way before I was ready (it was later in the morning than I’m used to working out, and it was getting super hot) but I managed a good 15-20 minutes of running on the boardwalk, and no one laughed at me, or told me I was too fat, or scoffed in any way.

And I’m really proud of that.

I’ll still stick to sweating on our private finca where no one can hear my grunting noises, but at least I know that if I *have* to run in public, the earth won’t open up and swallow me whole.