Currently, I’m sitting in the Entebbe Airport terminal wondering how in the world my bag continues to just explode all over the floor whenever I open it. Let’s back up. Maybe some of you don’t know that I’ll be spending the holidays in Europe! Yes, Peace Corps Volunteers get vacation, and we’re actually pretty particular about when we’ll take it. We only get 48 days of vacation during our whole service, and we all want to travel, see friends and family and just take a break. For this particular trip, I decided “shell out” 23 days. Wowzers right?! Thankfully, we get Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year’s as holidays, and we don’t have to claim the first and last days because we’ll be travelling. So technically, I only asked for 19 days. Phew.
Long before starting my service, I decided to not come home (home home) for a vacation. I thought it would be way too hard to fall back into American life for a few weeks, and have to come back. I don’t mean to say that I’m unhappy in any way, but leaving the first time was miserable enough. In fact, due to this very strict rule, my older brother is actually delaying his wedding until I come home in 2013 (love you and Bridge both!). When we started thinking about a trip over the holidays, we decided that Europe was a happy medium. I could take a breather from my life here, get some good food and still not feel like I’m back home.
Despite my logical reasons for not going back home, I still can’t believe I’m missing Christmas. For the last week, it’s been so hot that I feel like I’ve been melting, so I have to keep reminding myself that it’s even December, let alone three days until Christmas. I was a little disoriented when my mom told me about how she still decided to put candy canes on the Christmas tree this year, and (surprise surprise) the dogs still tried to eat them. Only this time, she put tinsel on the tree, so she knows can catch the dogs “silver-nosed” because the tinsel sticks. It’s a silly story, but it made my heart ache. Suddenly, it hit me that, oh yeah, I won’t be there. Even though Christmas has never been quite as magical once I found out that Santa wasn’t real, I still get goose bumps when I wake up on Christmas morning. It’s all about tradition, and I’ll be missing ours this year.
Although my present this year won’t be wrapped under a tree, I can’t think of anything I could want more. Tomorrow I’ll be meeting Nathan, my boyfriend, in the London Heathrow airport. We haven’t seen each other in over ten months, and no, video skype doesn’t count, but we’ve only done that a handful of times anyway. Don’t let anyone tell you different: long distance sucks. International long distance? They need a new word for how much it sucks. I keep hearing all these people bellyache that they live in LA but their boyfriend lives in Dallas. Big whoop. You skype all the time, you see each other every eight weeks. I have no sympathy for you. Ok, a little, but not very much. Now, let me make myself clear, or I’m going to seriously upset someone. Nathan and I are great- we don’t suck. Just the situation. Of course we’ve had some low points, some very stupid fights and some drama, it’s to be expected. It is a very frustrating situation. Despite the odds (we started with 10 long distance relationships in my training class. We’re down to three remaining, so the odds are not good), we’ve done surprisingly well especially considering that Nathan was not a phone person in February, and I live in a developing country. I don’t think I can put into words just how excited I am to finally just be with him. On the phone, you always have to keep talking. Why would you pay 16 cents per minute to just sit in silence?
I know what some of you are picturing. It’s going to be some movie worthy reunion in the airport- you must not know me very well. But maybe romantic comedy worthy? Nathan lands first, but he’s the one who has the luggage. It’s not like I own any London-ready clothes to bring with me! So, yes, my wonderful boyfriend has been forced to carry warm clothes, boots, face wash, candy and all kinds of goodies for me. I actually am starting to wonder if he had any space at all for his own things. I land in a completely different terminal, but it was decided that I should come to Nathan’s because he’s got all the bags. Logical right? Well, I told Nathan. “Hey, if you see me walking towards you, you have to stay with the bags!” Yeah, it would suck if they got stolen. But can you imagine if someone called a bomb threat? I really don’t want to spend my first night in jail! Nathan was none too pleased. He’s way more romantic than I am, so this completely went against all his beliefs. My mom also thought I was being way too dramatic, but suggested I could be the one running to him. Considering that I’ll have at least 40 lbs in my backpack and 15 lbs in my purse, the best I could probably manage is a waddle.
I keep talking about Europe Europe Europe, but what am I actually doing? I’m spending 10 days in London with Nathan, and then we’re flying to Florence to meet my mom and younger brother for 13 days. Remember Grant from pre-Peace Corps? His Uga-stache has really matured, so I’ll be sure to post an update on that front.
Although it’s going to be amazing to be in Europe, and after I post this, I bet I’ll get at least one email telling me to go to this museum or go to this restaurant, I’m not going to Europe for the sights. Sure, it’ll be great to see and do somethings, but I just want to spend time with the people I love and miss. It’ll be hard to leave them again, but I’ll do it knowing that I’ve only got a little over a year left. We already know what Peace Corps like, well I do at least. I can do another year.
Even though it was eleven years ago, I can still distinctly remember that first car ride up in the Santa Cruz Mountains searching for the “Camp Kennolyn” sign.I was so anxious, excited and had no idea what to expect.It was going to be my first time away from home for more than a weekend.When we finally arrive, we pull up to a scene so crazy that I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.There were kids running around everywhere, semi-adults singing and welcoming us, my mom telling me to have a good time and before I know it, my trunk had already been taken to the cabin and I was left in the care of some overly cheery 21 year-old.What just happened?My first camp experience is a complete blur, although I think all camp experiences are.Within three hours, you’re plunged into to this new world of songs, cheers, chants, late night cabin talks, dining rules, camp gossip, new best friends and this bizarre role model called a camp counselor.
Once I got too old to be a camper, I graduated to counseling when I was 16 years old.Being a camp counselor is one of the most demanding and unique positions I’ve ever experienced.It’s a 24 hour job that requires you always to be overflowing with energy, create positive relationships with campers while enforcing camp policies, endure near sun exhaustion, strain your voice, act like a fool for the enjoyment of others, and constantly panic about safety.By the end, the only thing keeping you going is coffee and adrenaline.Once all the campers go home, you nearly collapse from exhaustion and relief.It usually takes my body a week to recover from caffeine withdrawals, a sore throat, a painful sunburn and general fatigue.I’ve taken a week of hibernation and isolation to gain back my strength- sorry the post is a little late.
Two weeks ago, I participated in Peace Corps Uganda second annual Camp GLOW: Girls Leading Our World.One hundred and fifty 13-17 year old girls from all over Uganda travelled to Entebbe on Sunday, December 4th to attend a weeklong girls’ empowerment camp.Camps do not exist in Uganda for children, so these girls were in for quite a surprise.
Each girl was placed in a group with one American counselor and one Ugandan counselor.Upon registering, I picked up the list of my Cheetah girls.Nine in total, plus a note to see the directors.Sounded suspicious, but I was not prepared for what they told me.Our Peace Corps Education Program Manager, Mary, wanted to participate in the camp as a camper.Let me make this clear: Mary is my Peace Corps boss.She was going to be my “big cheetah.”For the first day, I was nervous that I was going to do something seriously wrong, but Mary turned out to be a very good Cheetah, except she tended to stray from the group.Considering that she’s at least 50, married with six kids, I figured that I didn’t have to sound an alarm of “lost child” when she went missing.She participated in all the activities, worked well with the other girls and was only concerned that she kept making the group late to activities!It was actually a great opportunity to get to know her better, to hear her opinions on prevalent issues and to see how she supported the other Cheetah girls as a successful Ugandan woman.
As we were eating our first meal together, I tried to get to know the girls by memorizing their names as fast as possible and asking them to tell me something special about themselves.Not only were the girls speaking so quietly that I couldn’t understand them, some girls refused to answer me at all!I wasn’t exactly prepared for that, and I realized quickly that this camp was going to be a different.It took me one whole day to figure out the mealtime problem: at boarding school, girls at not allowed to speak while eating.At first I thought it a cultural difference concerning manners.In reality, this rule is intended for time management.The students are expected to eat as quickly as possible; therefore, talking would slow them down.Once I explained to our girls that we are most definitely not in school, they gradually began to chitter chatter.By Friday, the dining hall was so loud that we had a hard time making any announcements!
The camp’s schedule was jam packed with activities, which kept us all very busy. Each day, we had four sessions relating to Life Skills, Healthy Living, Teamwork and Arts & Crafts, which were taught by a two counselors or staff members.I taught a session on HIV Myths and Truths.To begin the session, each girl was given a piece of paper with different instructions.Most of the papers said “Shake hands with five people.Write their names below.”One person’s card had a special star in the corner.After the activity, I asked the person with the star to come forward.Anyone that shook hands with this girl, would they please stand up?Anyone that shook hands with the girls standing, would they stand up as well?Anyone else?At this point, basically the whole room is standing.Now, you reveal that in this game, hand-shaking represents having sex, and the star represents HIV.Anyone standing is now infected with HIV.At this point, the girls usually wore a very startled look and tried to sit down as quickly as possible.There were other instructions, so I ask the people that had remained sitting to stand.One card said “Don’t shake hands with anyone” to represent abstinence, and the others said “Find the other person who has a heart and only shake hands with that person” to represent faithfulness.Before the activity began, I asked a counselor to wear a kavera (plastic bag) over her hand as she went about her hand shaking business.Of course, the kavera represented a condom.Before we moved on, I made two points very clear.“Can we get HIV from shaking hands?”NO!“Is a condom a kavera?”NO!
By now, I thought I had heard every HIV myth Uganda had to offer.Sadly, I was mistaken.Some examples:
“If I drink a soda before getting an HIV test, it will be negative, even if I’m positive.”
“Young children under 10 cannot transmit or contract HIV if they have sex.”
“If I’m HIV positive and pray hard enough, I may be cured.”
“Lesbians cannot get HIV.”
Hopefully, we got it all straightened out.
Examples of some of the other sessions:
-Money Making Jars.After learning about the importance of saving with a specific goal in mind, the girls decorated jars to serve as piggie banks.
-Islands.The girls had to move from one “island” to another by crossing the “ocean” only using the materials available to them, such as basins, banana leaves and cardboard.The team had to work together to get the girls across the ocean.If someone “fell” into the ocean, the whole team was sent back to starting point.
-Picture Yourself in 10 Years.The girls were asked to imagine where they would like to be in ten years.They were given a card folded in half.On one side, there were asked to draw where they would be, what they would be doing, what they would look like, etc.On the other side, they were to write the steps they would need to take in order to achieve their dreams.
-Malaria Prevention.We learned an awesome parody of a popular Ugandan song that described how to prevent malaria.The girls sung it all week!
-Self-defense.Although I gave an exercise session on kickboxing, Andrew gave a more formal lesson on self-defense.The girls thought it was hilarious that an actual survivor tacit was to knee a guy… well you know where.
-Blind Obstacle Course: By only verbally directing your partner, you had to help her move from one end to another by avoiding hippos and alligators (which were drawn on the ground of course.We didn’t ask Entebbe zoo for any loaners, I swear).
We didn’t spend all of our time in sessions!We received four successful female guest speakers to inspire and motivate the girls.We played camp-like games, such as kick-ball and relay races.Each day, we had a theme, such as “GLOWing with Self-esteem” or “GLOWing with Leadership.At the end of the day, we met as a group to discuss the meaning and importance of the theme.
Each evening, we had a different activity to keep the girls busy before bed.One evening, we projected an episode of “Planet Earth” onto a screen and we all sat in the grass under the stars.The girls couldn’t stop asking questions!They had never heard of a penguin, a shark, a caribou… the list goes on.At one point, a wolf is chasing a baby caribou.The girls started cheering, urging the wolf to run faster, would boo when the wolf charged and missed.Let me tell you- that would never happen at a girls’ camp in America.The girls would be crying to save the baby caribou!I may or may not cringed a little when the wolf finally catches the caribou.I guess Ugandan girls are more exposed to the harsh reality of the natural world: the fuzzy, cute ones are usually eaten.At another part of the episode, a male bird was shown preparing to court a female bird; therefore he was cleaning the area by removing leaves and twigs.Another surprise: the girls could not believe that a male bird was cleaning.They were convinced that we were mistaken!
By the end of the week, I felt like I had reached every girl in the group in some way, except one.No matter how hard I tried, how many questions I threw her way, how many opportunities I gave her to shine, how much encouragement I gave her, I could not get Irene to open up.I was beginning to wonder if she was even enjoying herself!As we were finalizing our Cheetah Cheer, the girls wanted to add yet another section.We chanted “Cheetah-Cheetah-Cheeti-yah”- it’s the to the tune of “Sawa-Sawa”-while clapping.The girls wanted to use this chanting time to free-style.Who wants to dance during this chant?You can imagine my shock when Irene raised her hand in interest.This is the girl who wouldn’t look me in the eye when answering a question, but she wants to dance, alone, in front of the whole camp?And wow, that girl can shake her hips that you wouldn’t believe!All of the other Cheetahs were just as shocked as me!After everyone congratulated her, I finally saw Irene break into a full smile.When the American ambassador came to visit the camp on Friday, we were asked to perform our cheer!Although Ugandan girls are taught to be quiet and humble in the presence of a visitor, yet all the Cheetah girls were so energetic and yelled with such intense and self-confidence.Even Irene.
On the final day, we merged with the boys camp- Camp BUILD - to have a Field Day.It was not boys versus girls!Each girl’s group was paired with a boy’s group as a team to play other boys and girls.When we first met our brother group, things were a little awkward.Even as we prepared for our first event, Tug-of-War, they weren’t quite a team yet.Once the referee yelled “GO!” the kids really dug their heels in, while I was jumping around screaming "GOOOOOO CHEETAHS" (it's no mystery why lost my voice).When our team emerged victorious, it was amazing.Less than a minute before, these kids wouldn’t even look each other in the face, and suddenly they are high-fiving, cheering, running circles to celebrate- boys and girls.It was an awesome way to show that we can all work together and help each other.
In only one week, we witnessed a distinct transformation in the girls.In the last ten months, I’ve accepted that development is extremely slow, but it was so rewarding to see such a positive change in such a short amount of time.Although by Saturday morning, I was nearly hallucinating from exhaustion and wishing to be back in my own bed, not in a dorm of 90 girls trying to get ready for early buses at 4 am, I was sad to leave the camp atmosphere and my Cheetah girls.I sincerely hope that when they returned on Saturday, the girls returned with happy stories to tell and knowledge to share.Mostly, I hope they learned that they are beautiful, unique, intelligent, talented and strong girls who are in charge of their lives and bodies.If they believe that they were every bit as good as the boys, I know they will change Uganda.
Over the past week, I hosted my first non-Peace Corps visitor at my site. Nearly three years ago, I studied French in Senegal for a brief stint. Remarkably, my roommate, Tristen, rediscovered me on Facebook only to tell me that she was working in Rwanda right now! For those of you who are geographically challenged (I'm not judging you! My geographical knowledge is limited too), Rwanda is a bordering country to Uganda. So, she suffered the 8 hour bus ride to reconnect.
Unfortunately, Tristen came into Kampala post-marathon, therefore we were all quite subdued trying to recover from our injuries, chafing and general fatigue. However she may have been grateful due to her early morning start on the 5 am bus! Traveling back to my site was an adventure, but we arrived safely.
While Tristen was in Uganda, she wanted to visit my site, but it can be pretty boring (no offense Butaleja) if we didn't have a project. A volunteer nearby was planning on painting a world map, so I stole the idea for our resource center. The resource center is supposed to be, well, a center for resources. It should have all kinds of instructional materials to inspire teachers, sample lesson plans, even books. My center is basically just that- a center, without any resources. Although paper covers the walls, it's just notes from meetings. Nothing inspirational in the slightest. Sadly, I have neglected my duties of improving the resource room because I wasn't exactly sure where to start. I have "blank page" syndrome sometimes, and I felt overwhelmed any time I thought about that stark room. Painting an instructional material on a wall is actually a great solution to many of the problems faced by schools. Posters and pictures don't stick to the walls very well here, either due to wind, humidity or water-based paint. For whatever reason, these instructional materials tend to be stolen as well. Painting can really add to the classroom environment, while avoiding those common problems.
In order to accomplish this task, I recruited Bethany, the volunteer, who had initially sparked this project idea. She an artist, knowledgeable in local paints and had already printed the world map on 16 sheets of paper. Bethany saved us because it quickly became apparent that Tristen and I were clueless. Bethany had to explain multiple times the grid system we were using and how to freehand these complicated land masses. The entire task seemed daunting, but we managed to finish drawing in less than three hours.
To increase the sustainability of the project and to encourage teachers to decorate their classrooms in a similar fashion, we used locally made paint. The ingredients for the paint:
Clear Varnish (4,900 UGX/$1.50)
Flour
Hot water
Food Coloring (2,000 UGX per color/$0.75)
Although Bethany was the one who knew how to concoct this cheap paint, she had to leave immediately after we drew the map. She tried to give us some pointers, but mostly just said, "Well, you know what latex paint looks like. You want it to look like that." Huh. Well, ok. Tristen and I mixed the hot water and flour together until it kind of looked like chunky paint. No matter how much we stirred, it still had chunks. Next, we added the varnish. Tristen was the one doing the stirring, and suddenly became faint from the evaporating fumes! Thankfully, we finished the job without any incidents, poured the mixture into different jars, added the food coloring and just prayed that it stuck to the wall. The varnish certainly stuck to everything else.
Within four hours, we managed to cover the entire map in two layers of paint. Our record speed may have comprised our health because the fumes were very strong. If I ever do this project again, there will be mandatory "fresh air" breaks! Despite our concerns, the paint looked pretty snazzy for under $5 of materials. I'm looking forward to my teachers to see our work! It felt good to accomplish a project and physically see results. See for yourself:
Trying to freehand the world. It's harder than you think.
The finished penciled map
The completed project. Next week, I will add labels for all the continents.
East Africa!
Post-lunch photo with all the children in my "family" and our visitors
I may have been living in Uganda for too long, but having visitors was stressful! In Uganda, a visitor is treated like a king, or in this case, a queen. I was very concerned, borderline stressed, about catering to my visitors. Even in my head, I realized that I should have relax a little bit, but I just couldn't. Was the food enough? Did we need fruit too? Should I fetch water? Is the latrine clean enough (well, it's never that clean)? Should we watch a movie or just go to bed? Ugh, power's out again.
But the most stressful part was the visitors' effect on my community. By now, the community has gotten used to Audrey, my closest visitor, and it's not very exciting for them when she comes to stay at my house every week. But two visitors? This caused a field day! Greeting is very important in this culture, and I was on lookout for the next person we had to formally greet. If we formally greeted everyone, we wouldn't have gotten anything done! And, the community put a lot of pressure on me to be a good hostess. "Chelsea, the visitor can't walk in the rain!" Well, how else were we going to get home? "Chelsea, has the visitor eaten posho/millet bread/potatoes." We haven't spent the whole day eating, so no. "Chelsea, you can't feed the visitor beans!" She doesn't meat... so do you want her to starve? In the end, everything went great. My family really helped out, and even cooked us a local lunch that was absolutely delicious.
Note: I hope this doesn't discourage anyone from visiting! It was my first time hosting, and I think I've learned a lot. Hopefully, I can chill out a little bit more next time.
One great thing about having Tristen come: she had no reason to shy away from photo taking. I tend to avoid snapping photos because I don't want to create more distance between my community and I. But Tristen got some great ones.
The main road in my trading center
Tristen's first papaya
All of the rice fields were flooded as we tried to leave my site. The trip is usually an hour and a half, but we spent well over two hours on our way to Mbale. The water flooded the floorboards of the vehicle.
Tristen's visit was short, but I didn't want her to only experience my site! I wanted her to see something at least mildly touristy. On Thursday, we headed to Sipi Falls, a beautiful valley with three waterfalls north of Mbale. Accompanied by a guide, we hiked through the valley and visited each fall. As climbed up, we fiercely battled muddy trails, which would only carry us back down. We had to forge a freezing river with a disconcerting current. The guide showed us coffee plants, wild banana trees and cabbage fields. By the end, we were covered in mud but had thoroughly enjoyed our adventure. Unfortunately, the "shower" was a very cold dribble, so we remained mostly dirty for the evening.
Cabbage is the prettiest vegetable in the ground
Bootleg chunky peanut butter
Although I am smiling, I am also about to slide down this rock face on my booty
In the end, Tristen's visit made me realize that I've been in Uganda for quite some time and that I've adapted quite a bit. Apparently it's not normal to shove seven people into a Toyata Corolla. Go figure. The entire week was jammed packed with so many activities, which is very different from my usual pace. Although I am dead tired and really looking forward to vegging out tonight at home, it was so much fun to have a week of girl talk and giggle fits.
On the eve of our epic feat of endurance, we all fussed about proper marathon preparation. Does carb loading mean that we should get Italian food or sandwiches or does my afternoon milkshake count? Should I wear a shirt under my jersey? Do I have safety pins for my number? Did my tracker get crushed during transport? What should we eat in the morning? What time do we need to get there? Where is it exactly? How are we getting there? I'm not walking to a marathon! In the spirit of getting pumped for the race, we all tried on our yellow MTN jerseys. This marathon is actually a genius PR stunt for the cell phone company because every runner wears an MTN jersey, so the entire race is like "free advertising," but we were the ones that paid to register! Don't we look like beasts? We were ready.
That night, we all tried to go to sleep by 9 pm because we had to be at the field by 6 am. It was a rough night though because the bar downstairs was having an intense karaoke session. Not only was the music blasting through the floorboards, but the singers were disgracefully bad. Thankfully, I managed to get enough sleep that I woke up feeling slightly refreshed by the time our alarm started buzzing at 5:15 am. After wolfing down three bananas, a few handfuls of peanuts and a liter of water, we headed out into the cool dawn.
Upon arriving to the field, I was thoroughly impressed by organization of the event and by the sheer number of the people participating. There were at least 10,000 people sporting those trendy jerseys, but most people were running only 10k (6 miles), while our crew was signed up for the 21k (13.2 miles) event, except for Erik who ran the full marathon. A lot of the participants were intimidating. Some ran to the event. Some were just jumping up and down while we waited for the race to start. Most people were stretching. Were we serious? Nope. We were just goofing around taking silly pictures.
You get the idea.
By the time the race started, we were all nervous and jittery. I just kept feeling like I had to pee! It was a nervous thing, I know, but I was still worried. We weren't sure what the race lay out would be like. Apparently in the states, it's common for a race to have numerous porta-potties along the route. Ends up this was not true in Kampala. So, I used the latrine at the field twice. I actually almost missed the race due to my last minute "short call." And, the latrine that the field was nasty. I've had my fair share of disgusting toilet experiences, but this latrine was full. If you don't know what that means, consider yourself blessed. Sorry for all the toilet talk, but this is just funny. One volunteer during the race had a more serious business to accomplish, so she just ran into a restaurant. The restaurant acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a sweaty marathon runner sprint into their bathroom to take a dump! Another volunteer had to pee, so she did the extreme thing. She just peed her pants mid-run! The guy behind her figured out what was happening and couldn't stop laughing. Now that's commitment.
I have never ran a half marathon before, and I wasn't sure what to expect. During the first 20 minutes, I had a horrible cramp in my right side. I couldn't think about anything else as I tried to stay even with all my friends. I'm sure it can be attributed to the early morning, the quick breakfast and anxiety. Regardless, once that pain subsided, I felt like a rockstar, and I started to enjoy the sights, the rising sun and the camaraderie with my fellow runners.
The marathon had shut down all the streets we were running on, or at least I thought. Around the fourth mile, the road opened to motorcycles, cars, buses and semis! We had to share the road. This is a terrifying thought in a country that doesn't respect the right of pedestrians. They set out these really flimsy cones to keep runners safe, but that didn't stop boda drivers from veering in and out to avoid the traffic jams. I finally understood why the marathon rules had to explicitly state "boda riding would disqualify a runner" because that could be tempting. Thankfully, we survived with only a few close calls. At one point, a car started to slowly back into our path. My friend, Bethany, had no qualms about yelling at the driver and smacking his car twice with her bare hands to send the message home.
My energy level was surprisingly high throughout the race despite my inadequate training. The most difficult part of the race were the killer hills. Kampala hills are abrupt and steep! Although going up them were torture, I think more damage was done during the downhill. By the last mile, my right knee was seriously complaining.
At a few water stations, there were signposts to inform you of your mileage. When I saw one that said "2k to finish," I was stoked and shocked. I had only been running for 1:45. How fast could I be going?! I was so pleased with myself. My goal had been to finish, but this was going to be a very reputable time. I picked up my pace and was juiced to cross the finish line. Twenty minutes later, I began lagging. What could have happened? 2k is a little over a mile! Why wasn't I there yet? I started feeling like I would never make it. My pace slowed a lot, especially because the final section was mostly uphill. Regardless, I never slowed to a walk. Miraculously. Another signpost boasted, "1k to finish." I wanted to die. Is this one right?! Or do I have another 30 minutes to go? Ends up this one was appropriately placed, and I was in the final stretch.
When I approached the straightway, I was running on fumes, but I wanted to finish strong. I started to sprint, only to realize that I started my glorious finish too soon. The finish line looked so far away! I managed to run across, only to immediately hang my head over the side barriers because my body was threatening to reject my morning breakfast. I didn't end up tossing my bananas, but I desperately needed water. It was my number one priority. Sadly, all the 10k runners had demolished the water station at the finish line! I don't know what happened to all the water, and it was nowhere to be found. I spotted one crate that was being guarded by a backpack. It was quite obvious that someone was saving it, but I didn't care. I scavenged the crate for six bottles of water. From a distance, I noticed that the owner was not happy when he returned. Sorry. That was probably not very spiritual, right John-Paul?
My finishing time was 2:18. Honestly, I wasn't too hung up on the time. I'm most proud that I finished my first half marathon without walking one step. I felt like hell for the next few hours, but my post-marathon meal couldn't have tasted better. We're already planning for the next marathon in May. Only next time, we're hoping to have sweet costumes for our Peace Corps team.
