Making It Worse

or...How Not To Run 21KM

This last weekend the city of Pereira hosted the 4th Annual Eje Cafetero Half Marathon.  I ran this race two years ago, implausably as the "3rd Annual," and achieved my personal best time for running 21 kilometers (13.1 miles).  This time around was a little different.

I finished in a reasonable one hour and 43 minutes, about twenty minutes slower than my last and best attempt, but given the circumstances (read: excuses) I can live with the time.  Pereira is in the coffee region of Colombia and is quite hilly and a slightly higher elevation than Cali, however, not enough to really blame altitude for my poorer performance.  The race started off gloriously cloudy at 9 am but began clearing about thrity minutes into the race.  The sun, while scorching, will also stay off my "blame list."

Yes, its gross.

First on the chopping block is the fact that I got sick during vacation two weeks ago.  This took some time to recover from and, combined with the start of the rainy season, afforded me only three solid runs last week.  Also to blame: myself, for forgetting my current running shoes in my locker at school and having to use an older pair that just do not fit as well as they used to after my dear maid sent them through the wash.  (Although they are impossibly white.)  This unfortunate mistep resulted in the pain of a blood blister the size of my thumb, pictured at right.

Finally, and the proverbial nail in the coffin, was the decision to eat a buñuelo 45 minutes before the starter's gun.  A buñuelo is Colombia's delicious answer to a donut hole - a deep-fried salty mass of white flour, corn meal, and cheese the size of a billiard ball.  Obviously, this is not the fuel of champions; don't ask me what I was thinking.


All in all though, it was a great day for a race.  The water stations, route, traffic controls, and military presence, were all organized well and its always good to have a feeling of accomplishment to start off a Sunday morning, even if it is with a sore foot and a little nausea.

Ultra-Crazy!

An ultra marathon is a race that exceeds the distance of a traditonal marathon (26.2 miles). Usually these events are of a masochistic distance, like the London to Brighton race, which covers 54 miles, or in insane conditions, like the Badwater Ultra Marathon, which takes place in Death Valley and covers 135 miles.

On Sunday I participated in my third half-marathon of my running "career." This was also the worst most miserable I have ever been while participating in a running event. My frequent race partner and colleague, Adriana, and I decided that this was not a normal run-of-the-mill half marathon, as advertised, but a horrible abomination of an "ultra half-marathon," if such a thing even exists.

A seemingly thrown-together race, it began in the small town of Restrepo, less than an hour north of Cali, near to the resort and vacation area of Lago Calima, a weekend spot for many Cali residents. Ignoring the fact that the race began with a blow horn from atop a fire truck and that water stations sprung up like weeds on the side of the road where ever the water-carrying motorcyclists decided to stop, the race failed for several other reasons.

First of all, it didn't begin until almost 9:30am, and in the high country around Lago Calima, that means it gets hot very quickly. Secondly, there were no clouds. More accurately, the clouds just never went near the blazing sun. Next, the course was hilly - as expected when one is running in the mountains - however, of the last 7 kilometers, the first four were straight uphill. To make matters worse, the organizer of the race coordinated with a bike race doing essentially the opposite route, so that we all would pass each other. Runners struggling up a mountain road and cyclists barreling down one, do not a happy combination make. Finally, as an added bonus, the distance between Restrepo and the finish line, a tiny hamlet called Pavas, was not exactly 21.1 kilometers (the traditional half-marathon distance), but about 24 kilometers instead.

All compounded, I finished in a painful just-over two hours. Thankful to be done, we escaped to the shade of the car and left immediately, despite the fact that Adriana had finished third for the women (I was 73 for the men out of some 300 runners). If I ever see a fire truck at the starting line of a race again, I'm going to take it as the warning it probably is.

Drip Drip Drop

Most athletes know that the reason a marathon is called a "marathon" is because the Greek messenger Pheidippides, ran from the Battle of Marathon to Athens, a distance of 42.2 kilometers (26.4 miles). In a similar spirit, Sunday there was a race in Cali, organized by one of the local universities, Universidad ICESI, to raise awareness of water care and usage. The race, called Nuestra Carrera Es Por El Agua (Our Race Is For The Water), was 6 kilometers in length, which is, evidently, the average distance most people in impoverished areas of the world must go to get clean and safe drinking water. There were similar races run in a multitude of countries around the world on this day in a show of unity.

The fact that we are in the midst of one of two rainy seasons here didn't seem to poke its ironic head out on race morning and we were greeted with pleasant sunny weather. The course was through the picturesque Ecoparque Rio Pance (a nature reserve along the Pance River just outside the city) and more resembled a trail-run than anything else. The beginning was rough with all the runners trying to squeeze onto the narrow and muddy tree-lined path, but once everyone found their pace, things spread out. As the course wound its way though the trees and along the river, up and down hills, I just tried to not trip on a root or slip on one of the wet foot-sized leaves carpeting the way; for me, not biffing it and face-planting in the mud was going to be the victory!

I finished in around 22 minutes and 40 seconds and was informed soon after crossing the finish line that I was "el primer niño" to arrive. I told the man who celebrated this fact with me that I was 28, and therefore not a "niño," to which he tried to recover by telling me I was "the second non-Colombian" to finish. This only only made me think, "Wait! Who was the first?!?!"

I ran the race with my usual race partner and colleague, Adriana, as well as a few other teachers who were up for a good cause and a shorter distance. Four students also took part; hopefully Adriana and I can recruit them to do more races with us and increase the youth interest in a near-non-existent sport here in Colombia.

Whip it! Whip it good!

"An iguana's tail can cut you like whip. It is extremely dangerous when provoked."

With these words the lady from the zoo who visited my class in elementary school terrified me forever of those spiky gray-green lizards. Ever since then, every time I've seen an iguana, and up to two years ago that was primarily in captivity, I've pictured that woman and her giant glove holding this grumpy-looking reptile with it's potentially dangerous tail dangling toward the floor, ready to leap into action and slash gaping wounds into all of our flesh at any moment.

Dramatic enough? I was eight. Some things stay with you.

The track at school where I log much of my running time is usually a place I can space out. I don't run with music but I'm used to the circular monotony from years of going up and back in the pool for swimming. The biggest hazards I have to be aware of are errant soccer balls and the ugly little territorial dive-bombing birds when they have eggs or chicks to protect.

The evil chick spawn have flown the coup and soccer season is over, so I was mentally prepared for an obstacle-free run when I rounded the corner and two (plural, mind you) very large iguanas darted across the track in front of me. They had been sunbathing on the side of the track and conveniently camouflaged right into the gravel and grass. I know my adrenaline kicked in, I'm pretty sure I jumped, and there is speculation that the security guard near the gate heard me yelp. (The later is all hearsay and gossip, of course.)

On my running routes in Minnesota and Wisconsin the only thing I had to worry about looking out for were cars and leashless dogs. I suppose this is a good reminder to start preparing again for random attacks from, well, anything.

Next year I'll ask the guards to start shooting at me if I start looking bored maybe...

Runways & Running

What do fashion models, children living in poverty, river bathing, and getting body-checked have in common? They were all part of my abnormally entertaining weekend!

Starting Saturday, my roommate, Nira, and I went to an event to benefit CreeSer, a foundation aimed to help children living in areas of Cali below the poverty line with schooling and getting a good diet. It was started by a recent graduate of Colegio Bolívar, Mariana Cobo, who now attends the University of Virginia and continues her work with the organization from afar.

The event turned out to be a fashion show with collections from three Colombian designers: Hugo Puentes, Lulu Borrero, and Jhon Mesias. I've never been to a runway show before, so I didn't what to expect, other than the fact that Tyra Banks would be judging the models afterward and one of them would "no longer be in the running for America's Next Top Model." What I did not expect was to see some of my current and former students in the show! Sitting there on the side of the catwalk looking down it's length, the first one emerged from behind the wall and I thought, "Wow, that looks a lot like...is it?...it is!!!" Fortunately, none of them were hired to model the barely-there "beach-wear." Some of them were really nervous but no one fell and they all looked great! Also, note to self, everyone looks taller on a runway.

On Sunday, in the wee hours of the morning (try 3:30am) I got a cab and headed to the house of my friend and counselor at school, Adriana, to head to the small city of Pereira to run a 1/2 Marathon with her brother and a few students. Two of the students, Camilo and Juan Sebastian, both seniors, were already in Pereira. The other two, Diana and Manuela, both juniors, rode from Cali with us. I ran the full marathon in Calima with Adriana and the boys back in October, but this was the first road race for the girls who are basketball and soccer players, respectively. Oh, and there were the three body guards too; one was driving our car and the other two followed in another.

The course was all through the city, across the famous Viaducto César Gaviria Trujillo (the longest cable-stayed bridge in Colombia), into the neighboring village of Dosquebradas, and back to Pereira. Traversing the bridge (at right - I stole this from Wikipedia) was by far the best part of the run, with the exception of the exhaust from the buses passing by. Unlike the marathon in Calima, this one was not through the country-side so there were plenty of spectators along the entire route; since running is not a popular sport here in Colombia they could be considered "gawkers" as well. Because of this, I lost count of the number of times I got called "mono" or "gringo" along the way. As my eyes were fixed to the road ahead, I would undoubtedly hear "Aye! Mira! Es un gringo! Vamo' mono! Vamo'!" I kept thinking how weird that would be in the States if an Asian man was running down the street and someone started yelling "Look at the guy from China! Go Asian man! Go!" I just can't see it!

I finished in 35th place with a time of 1 hour 28 minutes 22 seconds. The course was quite hilly and the elevation higher than that of Cali by about 400m. Also, this guy that I had passed about 2 km from the end came sprinting back right as we rounded the corner for the finish and completely body-checked me! Running is not a contact sport last time I checked and, if you are going to pass someone, the proper way to do it is to go around the outside, not squeeze in between the curb and the runner, shoving them in the process. Regardless, it was a personal best by over seven minutes; I'm looking forward to the full marathon in Duluth, MN, when I get back Stateside at the end of June!

In the end, everyone finished, including one of the body guards, in one piece, and we all had stories to tell. The crazy drunk lady, the black dog that tried to attack everyone, the lady who cheated by cutting a block, the "spitter," etc. After the run, we went and found a spot in one of the many mountain rivers to wash off in and then headed back to Cali, completely spent!

3:29.34 Later

I can now say I am an International Athlete. This past weekend I completed my first marathon. (I say "first" because although today I am hobbling around like a ninety-year old man with two new hips who forgot his cane, I plan to continue this athletic endeavor.)

The race took place along the beautiful Lago Calima in the northern part of the Valle de Cauca region (where Cali is located). The lake itself is actually a man-made resevoir created by the damming of a river and it is high in the mountains. This meant the course was hilly, the air was thinner, and the climate was perfect.

I did the race with one of the guidance counselors (Adriana) and a few senior students. One of the seniors had a family finca ("farm" or cottage) in the area so we all drove up the night before, had a great pasta dinner and relaxed. Being that I was traveling with people from school who do not want to get kidnapped, etc, we had a bodyguard escort us on a motorcycle and the car was bullet-proof. The bodyguard stayed with us all weekend, obviously.

My favorite conversation during the ride up included the sentence from Adriana who stated matter of factly that "If the guerilla stop us and try to shoot us we can just sit in the car and 'Miguel' [the body guard] will have to drive thru the cane fields to get help. If they pull a bazooka out though, we should probably get out of the car." Where are you people taking me that this conversation even needs to be brought up!?!

Anyways, the race began at 6am while the sun was still trying peak over the mountains. The starting of the race was a little anti-climactic because there were only about 500 runners total and at least half of them were only running the 1/2 marathon; running is not a very understood or popular sport here in Colombia.

The course was gorgeous but the hills were awful. I felt as though I was either running up or down the entire time; climbing or jamming my toes - pick one. Adriana has run several marathons in her life, including New York, and she said that this one was by far the most difficult one she has competed in yet.

I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story for me:

This is around km 9 going throught the pueblo El Darién. The course started in the town, went 5 kilometers south and west, then returned to the town to go to the northern end of the lake.



At km 22, just past the half-way mark with a split of 1:36-something, and still feeling good enough to whip out the camera and snap some pictures. This is the dam at the northern-most end of the lake. The course continued around the tip and climbed away from the water for a solid 4 kilometers or so and then turned around to head back.



The military was present about every 1/2 kilometer or so. If I didn't want to count the painted kilometer markings on the road, I could have just waited to see army men. It would have been about as accurate.



Some of the aid stations had tables, others did not. This one did not. The girl working her assigned stop at km 24 was handing out the typical refreshment: bags of water. You can get these all over Colombia and they are a lot more environmentally friendly than bottles since they take less energy to make and less space in landfills. They are GREAT for races though because you just bite off the corner and squeeze the water into your mouth instead of clumsily spilling all over yourself with a paper cup.



The turn-around back to El Darién happened at km 26. This is right before km 28. Yes, the scenery is unbelievable, but sometimes it felt like the entire course was uphill.



KM 36 had cows in the road. Typical...
I hit my "wall" soon after this and the camera was forgotten temporarily. KM 39 got walked as I was tightening up pretty badly and it was uphill. It got to the point where I realized I could walk as fast as the tiny running steps I was taken - so I did.

When I got to El Darién's town square everyone was cheering and encouraging me on. The finish line was facing the "wrong" way and I wanted to walk across is so badly but I didn't know where to go in my exhausted state. Forget about speaking Spanish, I could barely function in English! I threw out the universal "where-do-I-go?" arm position and picked out one guy's voice who was telling me I had to "run around the park." I know it was a small block but seriously? The finish is RIGHT THERE and I just did 42 km! "Around the park" is an eternity!


After that eternity I finished and my new friend Juancho Correlón was there to greet me. 3 hours, 29 minutes, and 34 seconds later...

After I finished and waited for the rest of my group to come a lot of other runners were shaking my hand and asking me all kinds of standard questions like where I was from, did I like Colombia, did I like running, what was my time, will I do more, etc. As the sole foreign runner (and a pink freckly one at that) I was getting a lot of attention. As we were leaving an official came running over and said to Adriana, "You can't leave! You won a prize!" She asked him what he was talking about and he tells her she was the first finisher in the womens' division. Needless to say, by the time we left the area both of us had become minor celebrities.

I don't think I'm going to visit the track for the next couple days though.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round...

Hola y buenas dias!

So, it is about 7am and I just arrived at school fifteen minutes ago. Just for reference, that is fifteen minutes earlier than I even woke up last year. Just for reference. I get chauffeured to school each morning in a stretch...okay, its a bumpy old school bus from circa 1972 with a bus driver who looks like Saddam's brother. People generally don't talk on the bus. If you do, you get some "looks". I have subsequently started bringing my iPod for such occasions.

So far, after almost two weeks, the school days have been going really well. The kids are unbelievably polite, saying "good morning" or "hello Meeester" every time they come in and "goodbye Meeester" or "thank you, Meeester" every time they leave. Honestly, after awhile, especially because this is not a practice I'm used to, it gets a little annoying. (They call me Mister since the Spanish equivalent, Señor, can stand alone as a title, whereas when we call someone "Mr." or "Miss" all by itself, it usually denotes some sort of unfamiliarity.) Basically they are really nice and polite all the time and it is hard to tell if they don't like you or not because they will not show it. They will whine...but what 9th grader won't, eh

I feel like I've mentioned this to some people but the main difference I've noticed between the way students in Colombia "do school" and the way students in North America "do school" is the volume of the classroom. Despite all the politeness, Colombians love to talk. Any chance they get they will start chattering. Anybody remember the scene in the Music Man when all the society ladies are gossiping..."Pick A Little Talk A Lot"??? That is what it is like. Chatty-Cathys all around! This is the one common complaint all the import teachers have no matter what grade level they teach.

In North America, if you borrow a pencil from someone next to you during class you might nod thanks or at most whisper it. Here its a great big vocal "GRACIAS"! It is interesting adjusting to such cultural differences especially when it is perceived as rude by me and not by them. Right now there is a lot of wait time and staying after class into break or lunch or after school. I've told them I will not talk over them (something I wondered if I was lying to them when I originally said it) and so far I have resisted. Other than controlling the constant motor mouths, I really like my classes!

The schedule here is a bit confusing but I think I really like it. They have eight classes and each class is roughly 70 minutes long. All the classes go all year round but they do not necessarily meet every day. Each day there are only five periods and all eight total periods rotate through these five periods. (For example: Day 1 would see periods A, B, C, D, and E. Day 2 would see periods F, G, H, A, and B. Day 3: periods C, D, E, F, and G. And so on...) I like this schedule because 1) you don't always see the same group of kids the same hour of the day every time, 2) 70 minutes is a great amount of time to get a lot of things done, and 3) some days I teach four classes, some days three, and some (like today) I teach two. Even the four class days aren't bad when one of the hours is a 70 minute prep. I know it has only been two weeks, but I have yet to even come close to needing to bring something home. In conclusion, I am a fan of the schedule.

We usually have meetings after school but if we don't, the first teacher bus leaves at 3:30 and another at 5:00. I have taken both and they are equally as terrifying as riding shotgun in a cab. I swear we've both gotten "air" off a speed bump and been on less than four wheels going around some corners. These bus drivers must moonlight as demolition derby guys on the weekends. (They actually do double as the grounds crew and maintenance during the day. One even came to our apartment to fix the oven on day!)

Most days I either take the 3:30 bus home or go for a run in the country around school and then run home. (It is about 3.5 to 4 miles from my barrio to school so I estimate I'm putting in around 6-8 miles a run.) Running outside of the city is an interesting experience. You always have to be ready for giant horse poop in your path or the cow parade that comes around the corner out of nowhere. But the air is cleaner out there than in the city. It is amazing how much good emission standards on cars really does!

Alright, I'm sufficiently awake now. Time to do some work before my first class comes...in two and a half hours. Uff dah. Hope all is well and good luck with the new school year!!!!!!

I SWEAR PICTURES ARE COMING!!!!