A Colt and It's Mother

My runs serve a dual purpose.  On the one hand, they allow me to blow off steam, building endorphins as I glide past families congregated on their porches and kids playing in the streets after school and work.  On the other hand, it allows me to become better acquainted with my city.  On the road to San Jorge, a small town bordering Rivas’ east side, I find ways to confront or ignore piropos, meet neighborhood kids who are all too willing to run right beside me, catch the sunset over my city, and meet unlikely animals.

At this point, it’s become more familiar to see wandering barn animals like chickens, cows and horses roaming the streets.  For the most part, though, they’re close to their homes or owners.  You can imagine my surprise, then, when on my way back to my house during one of these runs, I found myself face to face with a grey spotted colt and its mother without anyone near who could have claimed ownership.

As soon as my iPod chimed that I had 400 meters remaining on my run, I was ready to finish strong.  I was unprepared, however for the unaccompanied obstacles in my way.  As I continued running in their direction, the colt hid behind its mother as she stopped dead in her tracks.  Without instruction, she must have assumed I was herding them, as she turned to run from me.  Seconds later, right on her heels, I began to fear the massive blow of her kick.  Something I’d never experienced but had often been told of by my mother, a once fearless rider.

In the rainy season, the shoulder of the road can resemble a small river, with the sidewalk serving as its creek bed.  I jete'd across and was now running parallel, feeling as though we were racing one another.  I believe she knew I meant her no harm as when she realized we were neck and neck.  She stopped, signaling her colt to do the same.  Soon after, I leaped back over the river to presume my spot on the trail.  

This experience is not something to endure but rather something to enjoy.  A journey.