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Looking south from Zambia across the Zambezi River
towards Victoria Falls and the town
My right knee and Achilles tendon were both very sore yesterday afternoon following my long run in the morning, but they are very familiar injuries and I was optimistic that they improve overnight.  I was still stiff and a little sore this morning, but loosened up after my exercise routine.  Nevertheless, I was happy that I only had a 5km walk scheduled for today.

It was yet another beautiful winter morning on the Central Coast and my "no pressure" walk was a pleasure.  My Achilles tendon was stiff and sore to start, but I treated it gently and by the end was walking freely.  I thought briefly about tacking on a 5km jog to my walk, but decided to stick to my program.  I have some heavier training planned for the next few days.

Livingstone hasn't changed much in 25 years
Many years ago, on another sunny morning, my friend, Keith, and I were staying in the small town of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe with our spouses.  It was early 1986, not long after Zimbabwe had gained its independence, and the country was quite prosperous, relative to it's northern neighbour, Zambia.  Keith suggested that, to add some interest to our run for the day, we take our passports and run across the Zambezi River into Zambia and to the town of Livingstone, thirteen kilometres away.  I readily concurred and we set off in the morning sunshine.

We first ran the three kilometres to the bridge over the Zambezi River, near the thunderous Falls, which also marked the border with Zambia.  We stopped at the very quiet Zimbabwean border post on our exit where our passports were methodically examined the black woman behind the counter who she showed no glimmer of interest or suspicion in the two white guys in running shorts and T-shirts with no baggage leaving the country.  Our papers were in order and we then transited the Zambian border control without incident and set off towards Livingstone.

The run was unremarkable, apart from some cat-calling (which we couldn't understand, but could guess at) from female farm workers in fields we passed, and Livingstone, which was very run-down, had nothing to particularly recommend it.  We had a quick look around and then reversed course and ran back to Zimbabwe, past the same field workers.  An hour or so after exiting, we returned to the same Zimbabwe border post and the same black female official.  She looked at us absolutely without any hint of recognition and proceeded to examine our papers again and ask us the purpose of our visit to Zimbabwe.  Obviously we weren't as unique as we thought.