Like the Corniche in Dakar or the Shining Sea Bike Path on Cape Cod, Rome’s Villa Borghese gives you something to think about while at the same time providing some space to think about nothing at all. It’s a largely open landscape that shuts down the mental calculations that come with oncoming vehicular traffic and limited spaces occupied by too many people. At least that’s how I find Villa Borghese when I go there—because I know that going in the morning is the best kept secret in the world.

I had something more written down that I thought would serve as a nice reflection on the opening of society here in Italy. Phase Two in this strange world of COVID-19. The reclaimed freedom that came with the government opening parks and green spaces back up for individual sport. As of today, Friday morning, this I have jogged three times through Villa Borghese as a daily “first things first” activity. It has been glorious. It has made me feel free again.

The park gets quite busy by the time the sun reaches midday. In a more normal touristy period, it gets even more crowded and then it honestly becomes the last place I’d like to be as the masses of people understandably take it all in. That’s why in the morning, my fellow movers are more enjoyable. The runners and walkers and dogs are largely quiet, and it’s easy to feel community with these folks. Even if we never speak. 

Once I get home, life resumes its chaos as I set to my day and see how the world has been turning for the past 10 hours or so. This week I have been waking up feeling a bit sick, as I know that the news has returned to familiar storylines that go beyond COVID-19. And this was the reason why I set out to Villa Borghese this morning with more thought and intention.

We all want to be recognized. To be seen for who we really are. But in the unfortunate truth is that this is far from always the case. Certain folks frequently get recognized as something that is so far beyond the focused lens how they and their loved ones view reality. This misperception is so exasperatingly wrong…and it can be hard to know where to begin in terms of conveying the injustice of the situation. Especially when the person doing the prejudicing isn’t exactly receptive to hearing why their view is flawed.

And then there’s the majority of us who are onlookers. In this case, I am talking about the white population of this earth who faithfully scans the news and then cringes when they read that an atrocity has been carried out by humans sharing our skin color. For me, my primary instinct is one of individual self-protection and a desire to not ever get involved in anything that fosters my reflex of ducking. I hate this about myself—that I never feel as though I am well-enough equipped to holistically defend and debate why I know a certain situation to be completely unacceptable. But that is of course the worst excuse ever. 

This morning I ran 2.23 miles as a show of solidarity for a person who was murdered in the United States while he was out on a run. This common bond pained me very much—especially in seeing the images of the video capturing this nightmare reality. And in taking in this news, I also thought about how my personal degree of danger in going into places seemingly safe—like neighborhoods and parks—is dramatically reduced because I don’t seem to fit a description. But as I have gotten older, I have managed to cultivate a higher degree of the “don’t give a shit” factor in ways that have served me well. I want to be more active. I want to be a better ally in the struggle for equality and fair recognition. I don’t want to be a part of the problem, thinking that I have done my part because I have pressed a “like” button on some social media page.

The effort surrounding the “Run with Maud” campaign is tragically nothing new. It’s a stinging reminder that the world has a long way to go before we can collectively feel proud about true and measurable progress. As I ran this morning, I contrasted the freedom I felt in running through the city with the freedom I felt on Monday morning when Rome once again permitted individual running. There are clearly two types of freedom at play—and I recognized that I was incredibly fortunate to fall into both categories. Not everyone person has the same luxury.  

I don’t have a great proclamation to say about this one. I’m a runner, in pain for another who was horribly wronged through the mere act of going out doing something that most of us take for granted. And no amount of regretful shaking my head and then turning away will do any good in making that right.