My first running destination in Latacunga was a statue of Mama Negra. That’s right, black Mama. Yep I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. But I’m not sure if being PC is really a thing in Ecuador (or South America). I mean, I’m volunteering at a school at the moment and its quite acceptable, if not positively endearing, to refer to a pupil as ‘morenito’, which roughly translates to ‘little brown boy’. Don’t worry I won’t be adding (the translations, at least), to my regular vocabluary.

So to Mama Negra: the story behind the statue… At Latacunga’s fiesta of the same name, which happens twice a year, a white or moreno (brown) man dresses up as a woman and blacks up his face, riding through the town on a horse, as the centre of all the festivities. I’ve had a bit of a look online and there isn’t a lot about the background of Mama Negra in English. Some texts say that she represents the Virgin of Mercy. Which I don’t really get. Another site says she represents the liberation of black people in Ecuador. Which makes slightly more sense but I’m not sure why this tradition happens in Latacunga, where very few Afro-Ecuadorians live, or have ever lived. It certainly isn’t something I am entirely (or remotely) comfortable with, and the fact that the only texts I have found on the matter are academic type papers on racism says a lot. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? Hmmm.

Onwards from Mama Negra I ran to a nearby park, known locally at ‘la laguna’. Although maybe not quite up to the standards of some lagoons I’ve seen on my travels, it was still a pleasant little park. A large group of women were undertaking an aerobics class to hardstyle music. I got a snap from afar, including the lagoon and looking onwards to the mountains in the background.

So Latacunga is a smallish town, the kind of place where running gringos might draw attention. A guy stopped me on my way and told me he was a personal trainer and runner and we had a little chat where he asked me about my distances and PBs and invited me to his fitness class. All in Spanish! I felt quite proud about saying the right things at the right time, and for once my perpetual nodding and smiling being sincere (since I understood pretty much everything). I also caught the attention of a few other locals, including two impersonators; one young boy who followed me for a lap of the park, and one middle aged man on the good old urban gym gave a great impression of me running and stopping to take photos. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?