In complete contrast to my barefoot run along the blinding white sanded Seven Mile Beach in the Cayman Islands, last week I got to run along the roadside of mountain passes in the French Alps.
In places the flanks of towering peaks were heavy with a thick blanket of snow, in others sheer cliffs fell hundreds of feet with layers of terribly scarred rock to appeal to the amateur geologist in all of us.
Fortunately for this runner, the roads were clear, apart from the odd manic Fiat driver. I could freely make my way past the untouched folds of bright white snow, with skiers in the background enjoying the last runs of the day amongst the pointy little pine trees, all set under a brilliantly blue sky. Just simply a picture perfect wintry scene.
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