I have recently decided, probably against my better judgment, to run a marathon here in Peru. Training for this marathon has been anything but easy. Not that I expected it to be a cinch; I was prepared for the blisters covering my feet, the aching in my legs and even the daily dose of “I just don’t feel like it.” I was not, however, prepared for the unexpected perils that have come along with maintaining a running program in Peru. First of all, I live on top of an Ande. That means 99% of our “roads” (I use that term VERY loosely) require me to run straight downhill, then back up. Better go ahead and pencil me in for a knee surgery Dr. Jorge! Fortunately, I have found two roads that wind around the mountain, and are thus relatively flat. One of the roads is only about three miles long, so I end up having to back-track to get my long runs in. Imagine how puzzling this is for the people I pass along the way… four times.
Problem number two is that I live in a region which blesses us with five straight months of rain. Again, please try to picture the locals watching this weirdo white girl running (for no apparent reason) in the rain, while the rest of the town is desperately seeking shelter. Now when you combine these issues: mountains + rain + dirt roads, you get massive puddles. I have to cross several of them along my routes, and they are getting larger and larger with each passing rainy day. I’m pretty sure some of them are deep enough to drown a donkey. I’ve yet to fall into the abyss, but my pretty white shoes are now indistinguishable from the russet-potato color of those puddles. How appropriate, my entire existence here really does revolve around spuds.
In addition to the terrain matter, I am also dealing with an excess quantity of animal aggression. For some reason, the animal kingdom here in Peru is more troubled by my running antics than my body is. I’ve been keeping a mental tally, and to date I’ve been chased by thirteen campo dogs (campo roughly translates to mean “redneck”), six geese and one inexplicably hostile turkey. I am able to take most of this in stride, but one new menace has threatened to derail my marathon training for good. This pest is of a particularly evil nature and appears to have no natural enemies. What could this thing be, that is multiplying in horrifying numbers? My friends, it is none other than the water balloon. I was hit by the first water balloon in mid-January, and since then I have yet to leave the house for more than three minutes without being hit by another. This tradition revolves around Carnival, which is the celebration leading up to Ash Wednesday. In some places, Carnival is a one-day affair, also known as Mardi Gras. I just happen to have landed in the Carnival capital of Peru… Cajamarca celebrates longer and harder than most places on this planet. I’m not sure how the whole thing got started, but I have a feeling it came from too many bored kids with two months of no school and too much rain. I suppose the theory toward getting wet around here is, “if you can’t beat it… join it.” The result is a full-fledged water war between everyone in town, with no apparent winners and at least one big loser. The balloons and, when people run out of balloons, buckets full of water, come from everywhere: balconies, second-story windows, sometimes even from passing vehicles. So after weeks of running with fear and paranoia, this gringa was ready to get even. My means of retaliation came in the form of 50 other volunteers descending upon the city of Cajamarca last weekend for the climax of Carnival celebrations. Let’s just say I am no longer cursing all inflatable devices, but instead embracing them as my friends. But that’s another story for another day. Stay tuned.
In conclusion, my training schedule has remained intact, and I’m feeling better than ever. Although I’ve never run anywhere close to 26 miles, it is particularly appealing to me at this point in my life. I guess I’m attracted to the seemingly impossible length of distance and time. Trust me, the congruence between marathon training and two years of foreign service is not lost on me. Nor is the struggle to stop focusing so much on the finish line and just enjoy the journey. I’m taking that goal one day at a time, even if that means dodging a few frustrations along the route.
Enjoying a little run in the sun
(please note this picture was taken months ago... the skies haven't been that blue since October)
One of the frienlier beasts I pass along the way
They look sweet and innocent, don't they? Don't be fooled reader! Those black bags are chock full of ammunition
See the yellow one floating in the air?
