Shortly after crossing the start line of my 12km race with a cheery crowd of fellow runners, I’m met with eerie blackened lava fields, pitted with craters. The excited chatter from our pre-race Zumba warm-up quickly dies down as we begin to tackle rising heat, a crosswind and – toughest of all – volcanic ash underfoot. The black, dusty gravel crunches and spills into my trainers with each step.
When I’d heard about a ‘wine run’ that was making a comeback after the pandemic, I was quick to sign up. I had visions of trotting through row upon row of green vines, stopping for the occasional glass of the good stuff while surveying lush surroundings in the sunshine.
