But when I first came to Hangzhou, I avoided running, largely because I found obstacles everywhere. Obstacles like people and impossibly long traffic lights and sidewalks that disappear into 30 feet of bus stop before reappearing on the other side and dogs in little outfits and more people. With the unpredictable traffic, it also seemed like I would have to avoid getting into a groove in favor of staying alive in the crosswalks. For almost a month, the only running I did was for the bus, either in desperate attempts to catch the 86 or to avoid getting flattened by it. But I couldn't ignore those inspiring Hangzhou Marathon billboards forever, and I needed a way to enjoy a daily milk tea and still fit into my jeans. One morning in February, I pulled on my running tights and sunglasses and went for it. I quickly learned that the marble-like slabs of sidewalk are much less forgiving on the knees than the (by comparison) pillowy blacktop and that you should really take those electric bikes seriously when they honk at you.
One of the highlights of my last two summers has been participating in an American race called the Ragnar Relay. This series of team races has recently popped up all over the US, encouraging runners to find eleven of their closest friends, cram themselves and their sweaty gear into a couple of vans, and run 200 miles together over hill and dale and through the heat of day and the dead of night. You don't sleep, you barely eat, and it is the most fun I have ever had while running. Chewing on liquorice and wearing a headlamp on the side of a backcountry highway at 3am, cheering for your friend- who's slogging through a hilly six-miler - reminds me why I love running and runners.
By Jennifer Rose Nelson (from US)
老外写杭州：在杭州跑步
The last time I ran for the bus, I realized that Ragnar has prepared me for life in China even beyond running: after packing your unshowered self into a small vehicle with five other people for more than 30 hours, riding the 86 home during rush hour is nothing. In fact, it can feel a lot like home. This is the scene back home right now, too: in snowy Minnesota, St. Paulites are emerging into the raw sunlight and naked trees of spring and remembering they like to be outside. This is the time that people are slowly increasing their mileage on the quiet paths that loop around our many lakes in preparation for the Twin Cities Marathon that 10,000 of us will run in October. As I dodge women walking arm in arm and talking buses that take corners on two wheels, I know my fellow athletes are working hard at home and sharing training experiences with other runners, just by virtue of using those same paths, those same strides. I think this explains the thrill I feel each time I see someone running in Hangzhou. I am 10,000 miles from St. Paul, and though I couldn't actually talk to any of the runners here who exchange small nods and smiles with me if we stopped long enough to have a conversation, we still share a common language. oreigners Writing about Hangzhou It took a while for the other Hangzhounese runners to appear. My good Chinese friend, Liz, told me that no one here wears sunglasses in winter, and I figured that running was a similarly seasonal activity. Since the weather's recently gotten warmer, I've started to notice more and more bobbing heads as they weave through motor bikes and pedestrians to be the first ones to cross the street. I actually got so excited the first time I saw a Chinese runner out jogging that I waved at him (and if he's reading this, thanks for waving back!).
