It is hard to believe that any resident of Urbino could be without strong and shapely calves. When walking from place to place, you either walk uphill or downhill, upstairs or downstairs. But you must go up to come down. Therefore to go anywhere, you must go uphill or upstairs. All is well and good when after one month of studying in Urbino your legs look the best they have ever looked—firm and well formed.
My calves and thighs burn while I take my daily morning jog. After thirty minutes of running uphill, I begin to long for something that would usually be a simple desire—a flat patch of grass. I long for grass because Urbino is the town of stone and concrete. It is amazingly beautiful and breathtaking; the winding stairs and narrow alleyways are intriguing. The architects have craftily and ingeniously constructed a concrete world in a way that seems natural and fresh.
But I still yearn for green ground, for the cool comfort of soft grass beneath my spine. Where can I find this patch of grass? As I look through a brown alley that converges to green I sigh because I cannot get to that patch of grass.
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I know exactly what you mean. I thought my calves were in great shape before I got here, but I now know that I am using muscles I have never used before. The photo here captures well the place that represents your yearning–that patch of grass so far away, hanging like a mirage at the end of an intriguing, narrow passageway.