Over the past two and a half years, I can probably count on one hand the number of times where I have gone for a run towards the end of a day. Primarily this is because I’m a creature of morning PT habit- but I have also learned that serenity, the atmospheric kaleidoscope, and the presence of smoke-belching automobiles are all at ideal levels first thing in the morning. AM runs simply cannot be beat if you’re looking to spend quality time with any manner of local countryside.

If you find yourself waking up in mainland Senegal, running in the morning offers an experience with perks- especially if you are in a spot that boasts direct access to the pristine coastline. Here there is no chaotic occlusion of yawing motorists that must be negotiated, and conversely the entire terrain is yours to share with only an occasional clando taxi, sheep, xebu, or fellow pedestrian.

And because it’s the morning, the beaches as well as the roads are practically all yours too. 

I like the city of Dakar plenty fine, but one feels an incredible sense of release once you elbow your way off of the peninsula and zoom past the Kirène plant. Respire. I like that French word better than “exhale” or “breathe” because it really captures how one releases all the stresses of daily life that little by little pile up and suddenly send you to the back of an overfilled car rapide where daylight seems to be in short supply from where you now find yourself squished. Respire.

Getting away from the din. The open landscape – especially right now during the rainy season – serves as a stark contrast to the capital city.

So at the moment I find myself outside of Dakar and spending some quality time breathing on La Petite Côte. I can’t speak for all service members, but much like an impending deployment, the closer you get to transferring from a permanent duty station, the more your mental calculus starts to lose its precision. Your mind kind of wanders off without you noticing- likely propelled into your future existence where it will stubbornly sit and wait for the physical body to realize that it’s time to get with the program and catch up. 

But it’s always hard to pick up and leave a nest that you’ve worked so hard to feather. Over the past few days I have already started feeling the push and pull of my impending departure- and this transfer date is still weeks away! It was due to this confluence of emotions that I decided to get the heck out of Dakar and make a break for calmer waters.

There is not much in the way of noise pollution out here- save for the wind in the palms, the unobtrusive call to prayer and the obligatory hum of a groupe (generator) or an A/C unit. In the morning it is even more silent, and it is this aspect of life in the countryside that I love the most. You can hear the silence.

The roads of this country seem to be made for foot traffic, and try as the asphalt layers may- most people here are not affording the fancy 4x4s that zoom up and down these West African highways. Accordingly, I am quite at home while out on the road at first light. Here is where I blend in the most, even if I don’t see another toubab for the entire time that I do my running routine. People in this country get the concept of physical activity- les entraînements. Exercise as defined by the average Senegalese person serves an ideal way to cleanse the body and mind of toxins. Especially when you have too many thoughts piled up inside.

Nothing but you and the odd fisherman out here this morning. No better way to cap off a meditative run than by enjoying a cool-down while suspended in salt water. Besides the fisherman can’t tell- nor does he care- that your sports bra isn’t actually a bathing suit.

“In the ocean you are protected,” says a Lebou friend of mine, “nothing and no one can hurt you while are in the water.” The Lebou are a slice of the Wolof people who live by the sea-  and consequently they practically have salt water running through their veins. Their customs, livelihood, and age-old mystic rituals ensure that the ocean holds a place of complete reverence. I may be just another resort-loving toubab down here in Saly, but I totally understand what she was talking about.

After taking the time to clear my head and weave myself into the morning’s soundtrack by the water, I finally gain a sense of reconstitution that makes me ready to get back to the city and continue with my transition preparations.

As far as my naval career goes, I’ve got a few more duty station transfers lining up beyond my current horizon. You might not have believed it two years ago, but I can see myself journeying back out here for additional doses of Senegal’s true morning blend. You just can’t get this kind of treatment anywhere else.