My get up and go got up and went

On Saturday I thought it would be a great idea to run 4 miles with my friends Ali and Sarah, who are also participating in an event for the Pacasmayo International Marathon. Sarah was smart and concocted some story about a major ear infection (okay, so she really did have an ear infection), but Ali and I both actually showed up. The mere presence of the other actually compelled us to run.

Ali, of course, waited until after we were done running to inform me that we had run closer to 4.5-5 miles. I had a few reactions to that:

• You (heave in, heave out) bitch (heave in, heave out, keel over from heart attack).
• Seriously? And I didn't die? (yet...)
• I am an old, rusty, worn-out fart.

Since my half-marathon training hasn't gone as planned, I decided to listen to my old creaky limbs and change my run from 13.1 miles to something closer to 6.2 miles. My body is already thanking me, but its considering a change of heart after that run.

All my self-deprecating, old age jokes aside, it was a good run. We stopped a few times - to stretch, to see if Dave was home so we could get Ali's headphones back before he leaves country, and to stop at the LarcoMar mall so I could potty (I blame da' Momma for my miniscule bladder and my inability to hold the pee inside of me) - but we more or less kept moving. At least enough that I felt like it was an accomplishment.

I then amply rewarded myself with a noontime brunch of eggs, bacon, and beveraging (a double capucchino and maracuya juice, anyone?), which was followed by a much needed shower and an afternoon at the movies with Ali.

My hope is that I can keep this up and not bite it when it comes time to run at the actual event. Since Ali is kind enough to pretend that she runs at my slow-ass pace, she has now been nominated to carry the cell phone that she will be using to call an ambulance come the 4th of July weekend.

What happened to May?

I didn't post at all in May and there are 2 really, really good reasons for that:

1. Finals. I passed in my last assignment for grad school on May 10th. So I am all graduated!
2. Visitors. Friends from the States - Celia, Eric and Marilyn - arrived on May 12th and the last of them left on June 1st.

So I celebrated the first by partying with the second - Colorado-style. We traveled to Cuzco for a week, the highlight of which was our trek from some small town outside of Cuzco city, past the peak of Salkantay, and into Machu Picchu.

Mother nature threw everything at us on our hike, from wind, freezing cold and hail, to rain, heat, and high humidity. There were times our trip was distinctly uncomfortable, which included our first night's camp in the shadow of Salkantay peak (the temperature had to be close to freezing; I don't think any of us was warm enough to sleep); the day after the sky opened up and poured torrents on us and all of our clothes and packs were still soaking wet; and the night we spent in a moldy, mildewy, humid hostel in Aguas Calientes. But there were also really wonderful moments that more than made up for the difficulties: like surviving the hike up near Salkantay and reaching my first destination over 15,000 feet (4600 meters, or 15, 092 feet), walking through such beautiful scenery (woods, mountains, an eerie mist-filled "valley", jungle), and finally making it to one of the manmade wonders of the world, Machu Picchu (although the climb up Wayna Picchu nearly killed me - damn you, Incas; you and your freakin' stairs!). Oh, and I mustn't forget the discovery of such wonders as Romeo, so nasty. That one alone kept us going for the whole week...

This first image is of Salkantay peak, taken as I huffed and puffed and nearly had a heart attack climbing up to our first camp site. The altitude and lack of oxygen had me chowing down on coca leaves the whole time, or at least attempting to when I could breathe well enough to chew.


This, of course, was our campsite under the peak of Salkantay. Saying that it was cold is an understatement. I stupidly packed at 5AM for this trip, the day I left, and therefore forgot a few key essentials: a hat, gloves, and a change of underwear. That last item wasn't exactly essential on the first night, but by the time we returned to the city I am sure that even the rural folk could smell me coming.


I look stupid, but that's likely because some of my better brain cells died off due to the altitude. So here I am, vacantly contemplating the pile of stones some other hiker (or potentially a Peruvian just traveling through) created in the hopes of attaining some wish.

Despite the fact that this was the day that it rained on us all afternoon, this was my favorite part of the hike, and not just because we were coming down off of that damn mountain. You can see that we were basically hiking in the clouds, which lent the whole scenery this eerie glow, kind of like the effect you get from dry ice or a fog machine. The rocks and greenery also really reminded me of Ireland. Go figure.

This is what I lovingly refer to as a "banana bush." Marilyn thinks these plants are something right out of The Lorax. Whatever; they're just pretty.

This was our camp the second night - there were actually other people there, amazing! Clearly we were staying on some rural Peruvian's farm, but we were happy because they had an outhouse (an outhouse!). And it was pretty clean, considering how many backpackers were staying there.

This shot is our entire hiking group at some ancient observatory just across the way from Machu Picchu. From l-r: Eric, Marilyn, Luis (our guide), Kasey, Celia, Rachel, and me. We probably look so happy because we actually stopped hiking for more than 10 seconds.

This was supposed to be a picture of us jumping over Machu Picchu, but you really can't see it in the background, now can you? Well, trust me, it's there. It would have been a mere speck, but it was there. And so we just walked down this mountain and up the next one and we were there.

Just a lovely hiking shot.

Watch out for falling rocks.

Finally! Machu Picchu, in the mid-morning sunlight. We had probably already been there at least 4 hours (something about being at the bus stop around 4:45AM to be on the first shuttle up). That pointy looking mountain thing in the background is Wayna Picchu.

Requisite self-portrait - if by self-portrait you mean "Make Marilyn take your picture."

Marilyn, myself, and Celia made it (in glorious fashion) to the top of Wayna Picchu. In the distant background is Machu Picchu. Note that if you turn your computer screen completely upside down, the outline of Machu Picchu is the shape of a condor, an animal that was very important to the Incas.

Also note that a lot of tourists die each year by falling off the top of Wayna Picchu. There is no limit to the number of people up there, other tourists will not move to make room for you, and you are scrambling across open rock. It's not exactly pleasant. Three days after we took this photo, another American tourist fell to his death from there. Luckily for us, all we accomplished was overcoming Marilyn's fear of heights.

No words are needed to describe the joy.

Musings

Sometimes it is difficult for me to internalize the fact that really horrible things are happening in the country in which I live. For those of you in the United States, and particularly those of you livng in DC right now, it might be tough for you to sympathize with the victims of the Holocaust Museum shooting. Part of this is because we're all inured to the violence blasted at us on a daily basis from our televisions screens, but I think more of it has to do with not being physically present at the scene. It's not that we do not care for the people who we see suffering on the nightly news, but I believe we do not feel the full impact without being at the scene (or perhaps without experiencing something similar).

In a like fashion, I find it difficult to fully comprehend the increase in violence that is happening here in Peru. I hear snippets from my friends in Lima or read about what is happening in online news forums, but it's almost not real for me. For example, in northern Peru this past week, there was a violent confrontation between indigenous Peruvians and the police, which resulted in dozens of deaths. Yet the reporting is so clinical, so statistics based. What is missing is basic human emotion, I suppose.

Yet I am so removed from these kinds of occurences while I live in my limeño bubble. The only thing that makes the news a little less removed is seeing the difficulty Anthony has in dealing with the effects of these situations. This week, for example, Anthony created a report for the Ambassador about the situation in northern Peru and he had to edit the number of photos that would accompany the report. The photos contained grisly images of Peruvian police officers hacked to death by machetes. To say the least, they were disturbing to Anthony - I imagine this is the kind of thing that makes a lasting impression on a person (to state the obvious).

For Anthony, I am sure, the reality of what is happening here in Peru is much more personal (and that feeling was only magnified by the discovery of a fetus at nearly 7 months of gestation abandoned on the embassy grounds yesterday). But that is the price that our police officers and security personnel (and military!) around the world pay to help keep us safe. They expose themselves on a regular basis to the atrocities that many of us cannot fathom and likely do not want to face (or recognize as existing) so that we can continue to live in a comfortable bubble of security.

For these reasons and more, I just want to take this moment to acknowledge the worth and dedication of our protectors, from the security guards at the Holocaust Museum and the uniformed police officers in our cities and towns, to the military men and women serving in posts worldwide and (in my case, particularly) the security officers at our embassies.

The bright spot in my day

Why grad school is not the best choice for everyone

The semester started on January 21st, but it wasn't until April 15th that I received the syllabus for one of my classes this term. And I still haven't heard from my professor at all (the ladies who run the front office for my department sent me the syllabus).

Moreover, I still have to complete all the work of a semester in less than 2 1/2 weeks time.

And this despite repeated attempts on my behalf to contact my professor and receive my assignments. In fact, the only reason that the syllabus was given me was because of my last attempt to contact the department so that there are no issues when it comes time to graduate in May.

I don't point this out to give my university a bad reputation, or really even to drag my professor through the mud. But it did remind me of all the times in my undergraduate and graduate career that teachers failed to live up to their responsibilities as educators. While the work isn't really that difficult, it is really disappointing that my repeated emails and phone calls go unanswered. Especially because I pay full out-of-state tuition. And because I want to do well.

I spent the past 3 years living like a hermit, focusing all my energies on my studies (if you don't believe me, just ask Anthony, my poor neglected boy), and it upsets me when professors at my university do not recognize that. It's a simple courtesy to send a few lines by email or to pick up a phone, even if it's just to say that you're too busy to respond fully at the moment or to help out in a project. That is the kind of thing I appreciate, particularly considering the fact that for every 3 credits (1 course), I shell out approximately $3,000.

So if you are a teacher, please make those of us who pay tuition feel like we're receiving the service we pay for: return our phone calls, write us an email...heck, a messenger pigeon would be pretty darn awesome, too.

I’m now in week three of Hal Higdon’s novice training program for running a half marathon. I’d like to say that I’m kicking a$$ and taking names, but the reality is that my body currently hates me and is staging a revolt. A very painful revolt.

It didn’t help that I volunteered to take part in the Regional Security Office’s volleyball team for the Embassy Games – the Embassy’s version of the Olympics. Not only did we lose three games in a row, thereby ensuring that we wouldn’t be playing in the semi-finals, we also made sure that my legs, back and arms were in so much pain that I remained in traction on the couch all day Sunday.

Thankfully, by Monday, I was enough recovered for a 3.5 mile run. The only thing that remains to remind me of my volleyball days is a few greenish bruises on my forearms and the back of my hands, some mild nerve damage in my fingers, and what feels like a charlie-horse in my left quad. But these things will all heal in time, and I can continue to train for that half marathon I (insanely) signed up for.

So, what is this half-marathon in which you were crazy enough to enlist, you ask? It’s called the Pacasmayo International Marathon and runners of all ages and abilities are invited to participate in a full marathon, a half marathon, a 10k, or a 5k. The event takes place over the 4th of July weekend in Pacasmayo, a small beach town on the northern coast of Peru known for its surfing. This year the proceeds from the race will go to purchase supplies for Olga Enders de Ugás, a Pacasmayo food kitchen for children and the elderly.

Of course, I immediately signed up for the half marathon, thinking that the full marathon would be too much for my first attempt at something of this sort. What I didn’t stop to consider was the fact that, even at my peak form in high school, the farthest I have ever run in my life at one time was 5 miles. And a half marathon is a little over 13 miles. At this stage in my training, I imagine I will be eating the dust of little old ladies as they pass me by with their speedy aluminum walkers. Good times.

Clearly, you should be wishing me luck now. Barrels of it.

The intern

There is yet another warm body living in our house these days: Anthony's office's intern. He moved in last Thursday and he's already putting us to shame. He's the guy who still survives on 2 hours or less of sleep at night, drinks until 4AM and still gets to work by 8AM, and crushes the ladies at all the local bars and clubs. I think we see him, on average, for 2 or 3 minutes a day.

I like to think I'm setting an example by being so studious and staying at home like a hermit, but secretly I think he prefers his own lifestyle. Not that there's anything wrong with that (a little Seinfeld humor, folks).

Well, I certainly didn't turn the tide in my favor this past Friday. I was going grocery shopping and he decided to come with me. On our way home, we hit the dreaded rush-hour (which lasts a good 6 hours a day here) traffic and I decided (stupidly) to try to take a side road to avoid the main route. What we ended up doing was circling back to the supermarket parking lot. TWO HOURS LATER.

And let me clarify this, guys: the supermarket is a 5 minute drive from my house under clear traffic conditions.

We traveled through some of the nicest and not-so-nice neighborhoods in the surrounding area, without once finding a street or reference point that looked at all familiar. I eventually stopped for directions and we slowly, painfully, and embarrassingly (for me) made our way, defeated, back to the Wong's (the supermarket).

All I can say is this: Russell will never, ever, NEVER volunteer to go to the supermarket with me again.