With a Lycra-clad tour guide by his side and a heart monitor on his wrist, Matt Rudd tries out a speedy new
kind of sightseeing.
0800 hours The 47 hotel in Rome. Denise hands me my heart-rate monitor. She
is wearing nothing but Lycra, and is, quite simply, perfect. Not an ounce of cellulite anywhere.
I don’t have an ounce of cellulite anywhere either, but I don’t have an ounce of anything anywhere.
No fat, no muscle, not even any gristle. If it weren’t for skin and bones, I wouldn’t exist at all.
Denise asks me if I exercise regularly, as I fumble amateurishly with the heart-rate monitor.
For no obvious reason other than ego, I start exaggerating wildly about my mountain-biking prowess,
the marathons I do for charity, my lifetime dedication to the rowing machine. Then the heart-rate monitor
kicks in and I stop mid-brag: 94 already and we haven’t even started running. It is the lie detector of
the fitness world, and I’ve been caught red-handed.
Welcome to SightJogging, the most ridiculous way to see a city ever invented. Carolina Gasparetto,
the appropriately named founder, thought it up a couple of years ago, presumably after one too many
grappas or one too many ab crunches, and it launched officially late last year. The theory is simple:
you have a city tour while running. Yes, you’re right: she should have called it Running Commentary.
“It’s because you’re nervous,” says Perfect Denise, looking at my lie-detector watch mournfully.
How perceptive of her. I am nervous. Perfect Lycra-clad women make me nervous, especially when I have
to pretend I can run for an hour by actually running for an hour.
08.03 We’ve done a couple of minutes’ walking to warm up — not sure that’s enough —
and now we’re running. In the hotel-bedroom mirror, before I went down to meet Denise, I lectured myself
severely. “Matt,” I said sternly, “do not dash off at a macho pace. You will drop dead halfway round.” But
a man running with a woman — Lycra-clad or otherwise — is genetically incapable of pacing himself. So, when
we run up one of Rome’s seven hills rather fast, Denise says, “How’s the pace?”, and I say, “Absolutely fine,
touch slow but fine” — which, as the lie detector is pointing out, is a lie. It’s reading 142 already, so
I run with my hand behind my back.
08.08 My heart rate levels out at the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, which Denise
points out with embarrassment: “Here is my city’s giant typewriter.” She’s already given me the lowdown
on Teatro di Marcello (which Americans exclusively mistake for the Colosseum) and some rather lovely steps
designed by Michelangelo. But, frankly, I’m more concerned with not being killed.
This is because we are sharing Rome with Roman drivers. I’ve encountered a lot of idiotic driving in my
travels, but the Romans are in a super-idiot league of their own. To a Roman driver, pedestrians on zebra
crossings are no different from bollards on an obstacle course: power-slide around them, lose five points
if you knock one over. If going around is not possible without committing manslaughter, screech to a halt
inches from the pedestrian, shake fist as they genuflect, then screech off again, preferably giving them a
little nudge with the wing mirror on the way.
The first time this happens, I try to memorise the maniac’s registration, assuming the police would
take a dim view of this attempt on an innocent tourist’s life. The second time, it is a police car.
While I’m playing Frogger in the traffic, Denise just carries on running, calmly pointing out this and
that, and this is how we arrive on gorgeous Piazza Navona.
08.15 First, I think: “Gosh, no other tourists. Aren’t I the early jogging bird?”
Then I think coffee break. Or at least a break from running, so Denise can tell me everything she knows
about the piazza. You wouldn’t want to rush it, would you? But she has a trick up her Lycra sleeve...
we don’t stop running, we just loop the fountains two or three times. “So you see that statue up there?
Hang on, we’ll go round again.”
Three workmen are having a slice of pizza for breakfast by one of the fountains. They all stop mid-mouthful
to watch us — super-fit Lycra girl and super-skinny bloke — looping the loop. Unsure whether to laugh or
wolf-whistle, they try both, which is impossible.
08.27 Gone all the way down a really old street. Can’t remember name or location because
I’m struggling a bit at this stage. Just aware that it is downhill and that, logically, means there will
be an uphill. I’m not even allowed to stop jogging at traffic lights. I have to jog on the spot or Denise
comes over all militant: apparently, it’s dangerous to stop. I can’t catch my breath long enough to suggest
it might be dangerous not to.
Incredibly, and despite her continuous commentary (it has to be: Rome really does pack in the places of
historical interest), Denise is not out of breath. Carolina tells me later that all her guides can run
and speak without getting out of breath. How wonderful that people with such a weird skill have found a
way of putting it to use. Unlike the people who can eat a Cornish pasty and climb a hill without choking.
Those people will never find a raison d’être.
08.33 Vatican. Up to 156 on the lie detector due to killer hill. Wave at Pope,
but gone before he can wave back. You’ve got to be quick to catch us.
08.40 Stitch upon reaching Tiber. Denise asks if I’m okay. “Absolutely fine,” I reply.
“Tell me more about the assassination of Julius Caesar.” Which keeps her busy for another couple of hundred
yards. Why can’t I just say I’m getting tired? Running past a 12th-century hospital, I’m nearly killed by an
ambulance that demonstrates as much contempt for the highway code as the police. But I’m getting used to it all
by now.
08.43 A bad three minutes, but by the time we reach the old Jewish quarter, I’m through
the pain barrier. Miraculously, the lie detector is back to 150 and I start to enjoy myself... I start
trying to run more stylishly, to impress onlookers. Sure, everyone looks at Denise first, but then they look
at me. They’re obviously thinking: “Ahhh, that man must be an incredibly busy film star whose time is so
precious, he must combine his city tour with his fitness regime. What a guy.” Obviously.
08.47 Best bit so far. Not the Forum or the Colosseum, which are great, but the sighting
of one of those open-top tour buses stuffed full of tourists, video cameras and a shouty person with a
microphone. It’s stuck in gridlocked traffic down by Ponte San Angelo, and we just strafe by, all healthy,
environmental and in no danger from deep-vein thrombosis. This is better than walking, too. As a member of
the web-surfing, PlayStation-playing, MTV generation, I have evolved into a human with no concentration span.
I drift off if I’m required to listen to more than eight or nine sentences in a row. A running tour ensures
only the briefest of narratives, a guaranteed precis.
09.04 Back at the hotel, only four minutes behind schedule, having run seven miles right
around the city. Heart rate 163, but showing signs of recovery. In just over an hour, I’ve got a pavement-eye
overview of the Eternal City. I can remember about half of what Denise said, which is plenty. And I know
which bits I want to revisit later in the day.
I want to do high-fives and go out celebrating with Denise, but she just jogs off, like the Duracell bunny,
presumably to do 400 press-ups or another run. It’s nothing special for her, but it’s been a cracking start
to the day for me. Even if I were an incredibly busy film star, I might do it all again.
SightJogging (00 39 347 335 3185, www.sightjogging.it)
offers a range of routes in Rome. You will be met at your hotel and, unless you hail a taxi, deposited back
there afterwards. An hour tailored to your fitness level and sightseeing requirements costs £50, with the
assistance of a private super-fit guide and use of lie detector. The company also plans to offer runs in Venice,
Naples and Florence.
Matt Rudd travelled as a guest of Ebookers (0870 814 6016,
www.ebookers.com), which has two nights in Rome from £181pp, including flights with British Airways from
Heathrow, and three-star accommodation. Or try Travelocity (0870 273 3273,
www.travelocity.co.uk) or Expedia (0870 050 0808,
www.expedia.co.uk)
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