Running in Bulgaria
Note: I wrote this back in 2007. I was working for SAP at the time. Our software (a Java-based Point-of-Sale system) needed an application server, and we had integrated it with IBM WebSphere, BEA WebLogic, and JBoss. SAP wanted us to integrate the product with their own application server, NetWeaver, which was predominately developed in Bulgaria. As we started the integration, we found that NetWeaver had several significant defects. In order to resolve them, and speed-up the integration, I was asked to spend two weeks in Bulgaria. I wrote this towards the end of the trip.
Running In Bulgaria
It’s a personal crisis. It’s the beginning of the summer, I’m 11 days into a business trip in Bulgaria, and I haven’t run yet. My normal 5 or 6 day a week exercise habit has been skewered by a 7-hour time difference, long days at the office, and a general fear of being out alone on the streets of Sofia. I spent 30 minutes in the hotel gym one night, but the old equipment and no air conditioning in the dank cellar room did not invite me back for further sessions.
But now, on my penultimate night in Eastern Europe, I have decided that it is time to run. My fear of Bulgaria is for the most part gone. I feel safer on these streets than I do at home in Philadelphia. The Bulgarians love the outdoors, and every night the streets are crowded with people walking around, sitting in a park or a cafe, enjoying the air. It’s a very different environment from what we typically see in the US.
Across the street from the hotel is the British Embassy to Bulgaria. I start my run outside its white stone walls and wrought iron fence. As my legs try to find their rhythm, I pass a guard, his pistol prominently displayed on his hip, a night-stick in his hand. Good. The people that make me feel safe are out tonight. My neck and shoulders are tight, and I feel all the tension of the last few days in them. Every step jars them a little bit looser. I’m on a sidewalk crowded by holes in the concrete, slow moving groups of walkers, and parked cars. There are poles spaced every 5 feet–right in the middle of the walkway, separating the parking area from the walking area. I feel like I’m taking a slalom test as I weave in and out, making quick decisions for avoiding a bruised shin or running over an old lady wearing a babushka. I approach a bus stop, where about 100 Bulgarians are waiting. There’s no avoiding them, so I hop out into the crowded Boulevard. Thankfully, the bus stop is only about 50 meters long, so I can sprint back onto the sidewalk, staying away from the speeding cars. I honestly believe that Bulgarian drivers see pedestrians and speed up. I had one car brush me during my brief foray into their territory, as if to warn me, “This is our place. Get out of here.”
At this point, I’m grinning from ear-to-ear. People are staring at me, and I can understand why. I’m giddy. This is what I do, I’m a runner, I’m an athlete. I’m moving my body, the tightness in my shoulders dissipates. Major street intersections in Bulgaria typically have pedestrian tunnels underneath. I now hop into one, and when I come out, I’m in a park. I walked in this park earlier in my trip, and now, as then, I’m struck by the opposing forces in this country. On one hand, there’s this beautiful monument to Bulgaria’s military history. A small version of the Washington Monument, surrounded by bronzed sculptures of struggling soldiers. It’s an amazing monument, but many of the granite tiles framing these sculptures have fallen off and are lying on the ground all around. There’s graffiti all over. It’s quite a shame. But as I run towards this monument, I see a large skateboarding half-pipe, where about 15 young skaters are trying their moves. Even with the decrepit state of the monument, and the park in general, Bulgarians are out having a good time. Young couples are walking hand-in-hand, street vendors are plying their wares. I see a father and son kicking a small ball in a parking lot. Men and women sit in cafes, having a beer or a coffee, relaxing and talking.
Normally as I run, I watch the clock, paying close attention to my breathing, my pace, how I’m feeling. Today, I’m trying to fit in with the rhythms of this city, observing these people as they go about their daily lives. There’s something happening in my mind here, something that I can sense at the edge of my perception, but can’t get a firm grasp on. Perhaps I think that my American value system may be a little off, slightly skewed. There are things that drive me - having a successful career, being a great athlete, having the perfect body. This is why I look at myself in the mirror so frequently, log every run, work 50 or more hours in a week, agree to spend two weeks in Bulgaria. Maybe I make some progress on these grand goals of mine, but it leaves me constantly wanting more.
I watch these “Sofiaans.” They live in a former Communist country struggling to emerge from years of poverty. There are tremendous pot-holes in their streets, they make on average $500 per month, they live in these massive concrete apartment buildings called “Blocks,” and their most proud monuments are behind them–shattered. Yet they are happy. They walk around at night, breathing in the air. They sit down, share a beer and some laughs. If they want to exercise, they go run or play soccer or tennis. What’s important is not numbers - mile splits, how many pounds you are, what your salary is. What’s important is your family, your friends. Your spouse and children, and the moments. Time spent laughing, enjoying the run, not bearing it.
I consider all these things as I go through the biggest Bulgarian park I’ve seen yet. Past the National Soccer Stadium, fields of soccer pitches filled with happily sweating guys, grunting tennis players, stray cats and dogs, and pot hole after pot hole. I get to the top of a long hill, and stop to walk, breathing heavily. I survey Sofia and let the sweat roll down my face. It’s time to turn around. I let out a relaxed breath, and start comfortably jogging back down the hill.