After more than a week bumming around, I decided to reward myself with a good old run through the hills.

Having managed to hold out for nearly thirty minutes without stopping, I arrived back atop the hill to my mother's house sweating like a maniac. A tough way to end, uphill.

The dog Zoö could not keep herself off of me, and licked away most of the sweat dripping off my arms, legs and forehead.

Running up and down those hills is quite a different story, when I have been so used to the Dutch flatlands where the only slight obstacles are occasional bridges over the canal.

Of course, the wind there in Holland is ten times worse, so perhaps both types of runs are in the end an equal match.