I don’t need routine, I thrive off not having one. But when each day brings a new project, family or country, it is nice to have one thing that doesn’t change. For me that one thing is running. I know that no matter how I feel I can always put one foot in front of the other, and I will finish with more energy than when I began. Running has always served me this way, something familiar to escape to, it is my vice in life to keep my balance and my sanity.
But I’m now learning that there are in fact places in the world where one simply cannot run. Long gone are the days of seven mile beach runs in Mal Pais, Costa Rica. The days where the packed sand nursed my splintered foot back to health, the days when each morning was marked by an hour of sun and fresh ocean air, and the days when all I needed was a pair of sneakers and a sweaty sports bra.
Since white sand land, options have been limited. There was Nicaragua where running could only be done on La Carratera (the highway), but in a country without speed limits or driving laws of virtually any kind, one run on La Carratera was quite enough for me. Then of course there was Honduras and as much as I would have LOVED to get abducted, mugged, and then sold into prostitution in Tegucigalpa, a leisurely jaunt just was NOT going to happen there.
Thus here in Guatemala, I found myself on the verge on insanity. After bussing for days on end, living in a city where I couldn’t go out after sunset, and being subject to the schedules of my host, I was feeling incredibly claustrophobic upon arrival. Top that off with beginning work behind a desk, a concept that seems so foreign after being away from it for two months, and I was on the brink of mental break down from pure antsyness. Every fiber of my body just needed to move, rapidly. But where?
We live on Lake Atitlan now in a town called San Pedro. It’s absolutely gorgeous, but the last rainy season eroded any paths that might have existed and left all the beaches under water. That leaves only cobblestone, quaint and scenic, but awful for running. Combine that with with tuk-tuks, the local mode of transport (cross a moped with a plastic fisher price car and you’ve got a tuk-tuk), and the roads are simply inundated with obstacles.
But that didn’t stop us. Walking home from work, we ascended the steep hill to central San Pedro, and Aeriel, laughing, suggested we should just do a hill workout. One hour later, as we prepared to ascend the stony beast for a fifth time, I think she might have regretted the suggestion. Legs burning, gasping for air, the cobblestones became vital footholds up an 80 degree incline, the tuk-tuk horns and drivers morphed into our cheerleaders and quickly the obstacles of the road just turned out to be added workout bonuses.
We collapsed in the parque central and stretched muscles we’d long forgotten. I looked up to find 3 children standing over us, eyes fixed. What started with a simple question, “Como te llamas,” developed into an intense set of relay races with 7 local children ages 3 to 11. Their game was simple. The leader of the pact, a beautiful Guatemalan girl laid down the law. She donned the traditional garb of the indigenous people of San Pedro, a waste high skirt of brilliant purple and gold, with a loose white shirt tucked into it’s sitched brown wasteband and jet-black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She seemed more of a small grown woman then an 11 year old girl and was not about to slow down her rapid Spanish rules for any gringas no matter how tall we were.
Luckily the games of 8 year olds are pretty easy to pick up, two kids run to the church steps, touch them, do a random figure-eight around the courtyard, and sprint back. When they get half way back, it’s my turn, accept I have to run it while holding the smallest team member’s hand. As I set off through the courtyard hand-in-hand with a 3 foot tall, five-year-old, I have but one thought…
There may not be pristine dirt paths along the Hudson River, there may not be packed sand or white beaches, and yes I am breathing in more carbon tuk-tuk backwash then my lungs know what to do with, but sprinting up cobblestone mountains and racing Guatemalan children though the central Plaza of San Pedro is probably the most fun I’ve EVER had running. And today it was exactly what I needed.
Gracias Guatemala.
(Our finish line...ironically adorned with cross-country-esq flags)
I think attempting to write coherent sentences about what Central America has taught me would be more of a thesis project than a blog, so I’m going to be short and sweet and do this bullet style and test my long forgotten abilities to be concise. So here they are, Manda’s lessons from somewhere South of Mexico.
