Kicking Things Off

Last summer the world - most of it - was engaged in the FIFA World Cup Soccer tournament hosted by South Africa and singing along with Shakira to a little ditty called "Waka Waka (This Time For Africa)".  A short month ago, things were repeated in Germany with an epic showdown between the USA and Japan for the title of the FIFA Women's World Cup final.  Well, low and behold, I arrived back in Colombia to the start of the semi-final round of competition for the Copa Mundial Sub–20 (U-20 World Cup tournament), with games hosted in cities all over the country!

Rita, Rob, Samantha, and me, after Portugal's vistory.

This afternoon a few friends and I had the privilege to attend the semi-final match between Portugal and Guatemala right here Cali in the newly renovated stadium downtown.  Portugal won 1 - 0 with a penalty kick early in the first half to advance to the quarter finals.  There was so little action the rest of the game that the fans around us started called the losing team "Guatemalo" (malo = bad).

Afterwards we headed to a nearby bar to watch Colombia take on Costa Rica live on television.  The game was being played in Bogotá, but most of the fans at our particular watering hole were decked out in full Colombian soccer regalia.  It was a close and tense match ending with a national victory 3 - 2.  As I sit in my apartment now, there are still horns being honked several blocks away near the bars and clubs that are open celebrating.  I'm looking forward to the craziness if they advance even farther!

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.

Are We There Yet?

Once, after graduating from college, I went back and swam in the alumni meet, which pitted the current team members against graduates from years close and distant. As a collegiate swimmer, my specialty had been the distance events and so it only seemed logical to me to compete in one of those. "The 500 is short," I remember thinking, "I'll do that one." Never in my life have I ever been less trained or conditioned for an athletic endeavor.

Until now.

Last weekend seven teachers from school took our mountain bikes and headed north to the small city of Tuluá, an hour from Cali. Here we began an 8 hour Travesía (bike tour) of the neighboring mountains visiting remote pueblos such as San Pedro and Buenos Aires.

Now, I ride my bike ever Sunday morning with, more or less, this same group, but its only once a week and never more than four hours, at the most. We stop every so often to make sure no one is lost and then push on some more. These Sunday rides are challenging, now doubt, but the end is always in sight.

This Travesía had no end. While the terrain wasn't horrible - I've ridden on trails with rocks the size of my head - it was still rough and bumpy much of the time and several streams or stream-beds were traversed. The grade of the climb was not impossible either, it just didn't ever let up; seemingly always inclining, an angle of 15° seemed might as well have been flat ground at times.

The entire event was amazingly well organized. A Jeep and motorcycle followed along with the approximately 100 or so bikers as we covered over 60km of mountain trails. The large man with the scruffy beard, greasy hair, baseball cap and red shirt, who we began secretly referring to as el gordo rojo took many pictures of all the participants and provided vocal support from his comfortable seat in the Jeep, much to our exhausted chagrin.

The scenery was outstanding. I'm not sure what our final altitude was but the ride down into the valley was stunning. Cloud-topped mountains displayed their full greenery of virtually untouched forest. Even on the lower slopes as we passed small family farms with fields of banana trees, the majesty of the hills was humbling. I kept saying to myself, "I was just up there!"

Rodrigo and me at the "end" of the course.

At the end of the course we were served lunch (and then had to bike another 7km back to the start) and given a medal of completion. This is possibly the biggest and nicest medal I've ever received for anything, let alone just finishing a bike race. I think maybe it's for gluing my butt to a bike seat for 8 hours; that's definitely worthy of a big fancy medal.

Today, two days later, my legs are a little sore and my lower back is still stiff. I take this as a sign to either bike more than once a week or find shorter Travesías!

A Cup of Insanity

Copa de la Amistad
This week, for one reason or another, was insane. In hindsight, I guess, it ended appropriately enough.

Friday was the annual Copa de la Amistad, or the soccer match against Colegio Bolívar's rival school, Colegio Colombo Britanico (CCB). I would liken the spectacle to a North American Homecoming game. Except the focus is the competition. I loved homecoming in high school, just not for the actual football game. If I'm being honest, the Roseville Raider football team's record during the late 90's left something to be desired. I know for a fact we didn't win any of our homecoming games - and aren't you supposed to schedule those against teams you might have a chance at beating? (Those were the only football games I recall going to in high school. Sadly, I'm not alone.)

Part of the reason homecoming week was so fun was the spirit days and activities leading up to it, the dressing up in whatever black and silver attire we could find, and painting your class numbers on your face - and some poor unlucky under-classmen's as well. ("Double O! Double O! Double double double double double O!") Reflective fire blankets made great capes, by the way.
One major difference between my North American homecoming football experience and the Bolívar students' "Friendship Cup" futbol experience is that theirs happens during the school day. To be precise, two and a half class periods into the school day. Also, attendance is mandatory.

First hour was fine. Some of them were still waking up and wondering how they succeeded in remembering to dress themselves in school colors in the first place. By second period the excitement was building. I was able to keep my class on task because they were behind the other classes, they could not afford to get further behind, and they knew it. Then break time hit and all semblance of a working school day vanished. When break time had last ten minutes longer than it should have, I wandered to the other side of the science balcony, which overlooks the high school quad and was treated to a bird's eye view of a chaotic sea of blue and white. It seems going back to class had become optional.

I got the attention of a few of the students who should have been in their seats for ten minutes already and had them round up their other classmates and hightail it to biology. Thankfully, they did as they were asked. Other teachers were not so fortunate. After acquiring about 75% of my class and succeeding in getting and keeping their attention (no small feat on regular days) another severely tardy girl walked in and innocently asked if she can go paint her face. I believe the court reporter would have written this:

"Paint your face. You want to go and paint your face during class time? Class time that you are already 15 minutes late to? Class time where you just had almost 45 minutes to find a bathroom mirror and paint your face 5 times if you wanted. Please have a seat.
"Let me explain to you all why this is frustrating to me. I realize this is an exciting day. I get that. I realize that [as ninth graders] this is your first year going to the Copa. I understand. And I know that this class is only 45 minutes long. That is why I was not planning on have a 'regular' class today. That is why I wrote some simple instructions on the board and that is why I was planning on playing a game with you today. But when I have to find you to come to class, fight to get your attention, and then have to deal with people who want to paint their faces because they didn't have enough time in an extended break to do it...well, I get a little upset.
"I should bust out some genetics problems and have us work through those for the next 20 minutes. I'm really tempted to do that. But we're not. You are going to read the instructions on the board, you're going to follow them, we are going to sit in a circle on the floor, and WE'RE GOING TO HAVE SOME FUN, DAMN IT!"

And we did. Then we all boarded busses adorned with blue and white flags, thundering with various types of drums, whistles, and horns, and headed all the way around the block to CCB. Once at the game the kids could finally let loose. And they did - the school song, streamers, and flags were everywhere. The best part was when the ninth graders ran out of steam; their lack of fan endurance was sad, really. But I suppose starting your engine four hours before you back out of the driveway will affect how far down the street you make it.

Appropriately the "Friendship Cup" ended as a tie and, in the spirit of Amistad, it was agreed that it would stay a tie. I do love how much the Colombians love their soccer...even to insane levels!

"Solo Valle Solo!"

Every four years Colombia holds its Juegos Nationales (National Games). The event is officially hosted by one department, although some events are inevitably spread to other locations. The 2008 Games are being hosted by the department that includes Cali, the Valle del Cauca, with a few competitions happening in Buenaventura and the islands of San Andres and Providencia.

Last night I went to the fourth night of swimming competition. One of the highlights was getting to see a 2008 Bolivar graduate, Mateo De Angulo Velasco, win the 1500 M freestyle in 16:06.66. The hometown crowd went crazy with pride!

Another Vallecaucano swimmer, Camilo Becerra, has swum in three Olympic Games, including Sydney, Athens, and Beijing. I read in an article surrounding the event that this would be Camilo's last professional competition and how proud he was to end his career in his home department. Last night he got third in the 100 M butterfly. He was then carried off in a stretcher so there could have been something wrong...

I wore my UWEC Blugolds Swimming & Diving t-shirt and my red Manitowoc Swimming jacket (it was drizzling off and on) which turned out to be a good thing since 1) Valle's colors were red and silver and 2) I ended up sitting next to a section where a group of exuberant Valle supporters with drums and songs to boot positioned themselves. Never been to a meet with a drum section before!

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.

I Start Walkin' Your Way...

Saying it has been a wild news week in Colombia would be an understatement. Saying that things have actually been wild in Colombia would be quite the opposite. Despite the shocking headlines of Colombia being “on the brink of war” and statements about “sabers” and the like, life in Colombia this past week was essentially the same as it has always been.

I did find it interesting to read the headlines each day on Yahoo! News or CNN.com and find out what had happened politically and how it was being sold to readers. Granted, if this had been a year ago and I was reading such headlines about my future home I would have been concerned. Being in the midst of it, however, was a whole other story; mainly that there wasn’t much in that midst.

A little background to put this into perspective: The FARC have been terrorizing many in Colombia for decades. They are one of the biggest para-military groups in the region and are very leftist and get their money through the cocaine trade and ransom from kidnappings. The current president, Alvaro Uribe, has made significant strides to limit the FARC and their activities.

The problem is that other countries in the region, namely Venezuela and Ecuador, have not. This could be due to the fact that the people of these countries were not, until recently affected by their activities, or that the leaders may or may not have been getting monetary kick-backs.

When Colombia stormed a mile or so across the Colombia-Ecuador border to attack a FARC camp in the jungle, and incidentally killing one the top FARC leaders, this upset a lot of people. The only ones who should have realistically been upset would have been Ecuador, whose border was crossed without permission. Venezuela, or more accurately, Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez, lead the charge and made a big stink, often times speaking for the Ecuadorian president. (To make a point, I can’t even tell you without looking it up what the Ecuadorian president’s name is since he had such little voice in all this with Chavez shooting his mouth off all over the place. The Ecuadorian president's name is Correa - but I did have to look it up.)

Uribe issued an apology saying something along the lines of “we will not invade another country without permission again…so long as they are not harboring terrorists at their borders.” I love the added clause which, in my opinion, is completely justifiable.

In the mean time two things are happening. First is that the contents of a laptop found at this FARC camp is being analyzed and accusations are flying all over about all kinds of people and connections, namely that Chavez was funding the FARC. Ah! No wonder he is getting all hot and bothered over this. The second thing that is going on is the Chavez keeps running is mouth and orders troops to the border. He eventually closed the border for a few days.

The thing about this border, and why it sounds worse in the media than it really is, is that there is nothing there, really. Now, I have never been to this area of the country myself, and I probably never will, but I have not found one person who has either. If you look at a political map of Colombia, you will see that most of the population resides in cities or towns along the Andean Mountain range, mostly running north and south along the western half of the country. A whole bunch of Colombia is unpopulated. This includes a lot of the Venezuelan border. (This is also true on the other side in Venezuela!) In all seriousness, Chavez could have secretly had his troops cross the border and not man people would have known about it – since no one lives there!

So, really, it was a very safe threat to make. It sounded really intense and volatile to the international community and media, who are used to having people living near borders, and yet those in the involved countries collectively shrugged.

Well, the politicians didn’t shrug, just the rest of us. (Except for Ecuador’s nameless president who didn’t get many sound bytes out of a situation involving his country. He probably shrugged a little.) There was some head shaking too over Chavez. Every taxi driver I talked to, out of curiosity over their opinion mostly, told me they think he is certifiably nuts. This is true of the common people in Venezuela as well, where Chavez has cut off trade and thus dairy and meat products to his own people. His approval rating is dangerously low – as in overthrow low.

(Another reason Chavez may be having a bad taste in his mouth, so to speak against Colombia, many feel is out of jealousy. Colombia is U.S. backed AND has a lot of the rest of the world more willing to associate with them than Chavez or Ecuador. Some countries, Cuba and Castro most recently, like to throw the old "America trying to run the world" card around. However, in this situation it is important to remember that the U.S. does have a say because they fund a big part of the Colombian military and have since about 2000 because of the increased effect the narco-trafficking was having on the U.S., on U.S. soil. This does concern them.)

Well, this past weekend, all these fine leaders met in the Dominican Republic and signed a peace statement agreeing to play nice. Uribe also extended his apology again, reiterating his initial clause.

In unrelated but ironic news, with the “threat of war” gone, the good people of Cali decided to riot at a soccer game between the cities two major teams and major rivals. (Think Green Bay Packers and Minnesota Vikings x 10 and then remember that it is soccer and we are in a Latin American country.) The riot resulted in two dead and a bunch more injured including a stabbed pregnant lady.

But at least we aren’t at war, right?