Riga’s Kronvalda Park had taken on a Christmas-card look with icicles hanging from trees and the canal frozen solid. It was minus 14C so I’d lost the feeling in my hands but I ran on, crunching through the snow, avoiding black-ice patches and taking corners slowly.
“If you can walk on it, you can run on it,” was the motto I’d adopted. The park linked easily to other surrounding gardens, all ringed with theatres, kiosks, statues and churches, making for a scenic jog. I had been running for 40 minutes and soon I’d be back at my hotel, overlooking Vērmane Garden, in time for breakfast – Rīga’s famous sprats on dark rye bread – and a hot shower.
