I am a lot less fit than I used to be. Either that, or going for a run at an altitude of just under 12,000 feet is a really, really stupid idea.
We have been in Lhasa for three days now, and are starting to get used to the altitude. We had a relatively smooth ride on the train from Xining, despite reaching over 5,100m during parts of the trip. Our altitude sickness strategy involved lying on our soft sleeper bunks for 24 hours, drinking mineral water and eating packets of Oreos, and I am proud to say that it worked rather well. The Chinese people across the compartment from us seemed to be relying on ginseng and chewing herbal remedies that looked remarkably like genitalia, and from the nosebleeds and nausea I suspect they had a considerably worse time than us. Tourists 1, locals 0!
But there is a considerable difference between happily wandering round the sights without getting too out of breath and jogging the pilgrims’ Kora around the Potala Palace. We had visited the inside of the Potala the day before, and had been suitably overawed by the place, despite the ever-present security. We had also joined the flood of pilgrim grannies and walked around the Kora. Did I really need to run the thing? Well, as George Mallory once said about climbing Mount Everest: “Because it’s there. And it will make an excellent blog post.” Also, my running shoes were giving me the (very non-Buddhist) evil eye. So off I went.
It was a very Tibetan mid-morning – warm and cosy on the sunny side of the street; cold enough to freeze the skulls off a protector deity in the shade. I ran down (nattily and traditionally named) Beijing Street, through the pedestrian underpass, past a deeply surprised security check point (no I didn’t need to have my ipod xrayed, and I wasn’t carrying a cigarette lighter) and onto the Kora itself.
At this point, the pilgrims’ progress became a potential problem. You see, there were hundreds of them, mostly pretty old, hobbling along with their prayer wheels wheeling in their hands and stopping every now and then to admire the architecture and ponder all those sins that were being forgiven by virtue of their being there. And they got in the way. Now, from my limited knowledge of Buddhist thought, I am guessing it is particularly bad for one’s karma impatiently to trample on a granny doing a holy pilgrimage. So I was forced to be patient.
And this was no problem whatsoever. Given the lack of oxygen, after the mile or so it took me to get to the circuit itself, jogging more than about 100 yards at a time had me hacking, coughing, hyperventilating and generally feeling like the poor, struggling kid bringing up the rear of the cross country runs at school (which was always me, since you ask).
So yes, I happily waited while pilgrims meandered about in front of me. I positively enthused when old ladies decided to prostrate themselves in my path. I was the model of politeness when elderly gentlemen paused to admire the (admittedly extraordinary) view. And when we came to the end of the circuit and they all turned right to continue their circumambulations? I made a nifty left and headed for home.
Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa Lhasa…