18 January 2007

Yellow Town

Far outside of Cancun, lies a tiny town that tourists have never heard of. It is a sleepy place with dusty streets, where the friendly locals nod as you walk by. There are no nightclubs, no cocktails with umbrellas, no beautiful people. But you can get a cool drink and plenty of hospitality.

I was 16 and wide-eyed. This was the first time I had been to a different country without my family in tow. I was in Mexico with my Spanish class, two chaperones, 7 other giggling girls, and Max: my best friend and the only boy on the trip.

We had spent the day exploring Chichen Itza and were on our way back to the hotel in Cancun. Our little group stopped for lunch, and a break from being trapped in a VW bus with no AC. We tumbled out of the bus into the hot, dusty streets. The sun shone on a village with buildings painted in an equally sunny hue. They all had white trim on their stuccoed facades, lined up like old friends.

Our first stop was a small, open air church with large shady trees bowing over its wide open doors. There was an immediate hush as we walked into its cool interior. There were a few heads bowed in prayer, a few faces upturned below the altar.

The thing that struck me the most about the church were its statues. I have never seen anything like them, before or since. They all had human hair and glass eyes that shone in the dim light. Everywhere I looked, there were life-sized statues in alcoves, hair sweeping across their faces in the breeze. Hands outstretched, eyes pleading to an unknown recipient. I felt goosebumps rise on my skin as I gazed into the face of Jesus. Hair softly blew across His face, while sorrowful eyes peered out from behind. I remember sunlight filtering through the open windows, flowers clustered around the feet of the beloved statues. There were candles flickering and dogs barking off in the distance.

The spell was broken when my Spanish teacher called to us. I reluctantly broke away, spilling back out into the sunny streets. Our next stop was a tiny cafe across the alley. The screen door banged behind us, fans whirring crookedly above our heads. The man behind the bar smiled as he set cold Fanta on the countertop. We sat in groups of 2 and 3, chatting and laughing. A small group of men watched bullfighting, the handsome matador teasing his old foe on the screen.

I recall my contentment as I surveyed my surroundings. I felt lucky to be there, in that tiny town with its yellow buildings.

15 January 2007

Mickey and Me, Part 2

Amid crowds of hopeful runners dressed in Mickey ears and Tinkerbell wings, Laura and I set out in the pre-dawn blackness. The air was thick with excitement from all the bodies jostling for position. Adrenaline was coursing through our veins, as we blindly entered our first emotional phase of the race: euphoria. This phase is exemplified by cockiness and the phrase, "hey, no problem!" We maintained this air of false confidence all the way through the 6th mile ("if we keep this pace up, we'll finish in 4-and-a-half hours!") and well into the 12th. The sun was shining, we both felt good,untouchable even. Little did we know that we were getting ready to hit our first wall....funny how it happend at mile 13.

Ironically, things started to fall apart after our first food station. This is when we arrived at the next phase of the race: doubt. The first phase was so blissfully long, that we were lured into a false sense of security. Which is why the next one hit hard enough to make our back teeth rattle. Doubt crept in typified by the words: "what if I can't do it?" It was scary to let thoughts like this creep into my mind. I began to worry incessantly: did I train enough? what if I can't finish? what if my knee doesn't stop hurting? will I have to cross the finish line on a stretcher?

Doubt morphed seamlessly into the phase of crankiness. : "This sucks," was muttered from every pore. Why does the sun have to be so darn hot? My shorts are chafing. Whose idea was this anyway? The litany of inner complaints was nonstop all the way to Mile 25....Is my blister getting bigger? What's that smell? Why is that b*@#% not sweating? But right around the time I crossed a bridge into little France, I allowed my last smile to come out. I remember thinking, "at least I made it to Paris." We continued a slow jog past a perfect miniature of the Eiffel Tower into the last leg of the race.

The last 1.2 miles passed in a haze of pain. Enter the worst emotional phase of the race: despair. "Will this never end?" My thighs screamed and I felt like I was wearing concrete socks. A thin layer of salt had formed on every visible centimeter of my skin. From time to time I would turn my head to look at Laura, just to make sure she was still there. That was not the first time during the race that I felt reassured by her presence, lucky to have her by my side. We passed an Italian villa, a Mayan village, a gospel choir, a growing crowd of spectators on our way to the home stretch.

The final phase of the race, both literally and emotionally, began at Mile 26. Elation grew as we rounded the last corner...."Am I dreaming?" There were trees blocking my view, but I could hear the crowd ahead, the sound growing as we drew closer. Then everything started happening at once. Laura and I saw the Finish line at the same time: "I think I'm going to cry," she said. I could barely answer her for the lump in my throat. Tears pricked my eyes, the people in the stands screamed as they came to their feet. My heart leapt, knowing that I would always remember these moments. I looked up at the giant clock marking my time as I moved in slow motion across the Finish line.

Triumph: the one word to describe how I felt at the end of the 26.2 miles. I was so proud of me, of us. I was thankful my body allowed me to accomplish my goal. I was amazed my mind stayed along for the whole ride. And I was grateful. Thank you, Laura, for never straying from my side. It was an honor to run my first marathon with you. 8426 and 15122 made the 2007 Disney World Marathon look good!

09 January 2007

Mickey and Me, Part 1

This past Sunday I visited three amusement parks, got a suntan and ran a marathon: all before lunch. Not to mention going through every possible emotion and getting a blister so big it earned its own nickname (Pinky and the Brain).

I felt as though I was running for days, even though it was only for 5 hours and 47 minutes (and 3 seconds). It seemed so long partially because the race began a couple hours before the sun rose. The wake-up call came promptly at 3 am. I remember my first thought being: "whose idea was this?" But it didn't take long for the adrenaline to start flowing. Tying on my pink bandana and strapping on my shoes felt like putting on battle armor. By the time I walked out the hotel door, I was ready.

I joined my running partner, Laura, at the staging area where we chatted nervously and sized up the competition. After a final visit to the all-important Port-o-Potty, all the runners made the solemn 10 minute march to the starting line. Hip-hop blared from speakers while Laura and I waited with 15, 998 of our closest friends for the 2007 Walt Disney World Marathon to begin. Some people stretched, some talked, and one was actually doing a little run (what?! isn't 26.2 miles enough?!)...silly girl.

All the runners were divided into 2 groups and 8 sub-groups so that not all would begin in a frenzied crush at the same time. After a short speech from Mickey, Minnie, Goofy and Donald; it was time. "Love you, girl." "Love you too," Laura and I moved forward expectantly as fireworks exploded above our heads.

04 January 2007

The Pilot and the Constellation

It was the last plane out from San Juan to St. John. I was the only passenger on the tiny, eight-seater plane. The pilot was a local who was going home for the night. When he realized that I was his only passenger, he quickly invited me to sit next to him at the very front of the plane.

As we climbed higher into the night sky, the pilot encouraged me to lean closer to the curved window at the front of the plane. He assured me that this was the best way to view the myriad of stars on display. The glow from the stars was brilliant, and became even more so the farther we got from the lights of San Juan. I had never been so close to twinkling stars, it felt as though I was among them.

As we made the short descent into St. John, I was briefly sad to see the constellations get smaller and smaller. But one first was replaced by another. I had never been the only passenger in a plane, and I had never had the pilot morph into personal taxi driver. It turned out that the pilot lived close to the marina that I was going to. He was concerned about a young girl getting a taxing alone at such a late hour.

After he filled out all the necessary flight paperwork, the pilot and I zipped away in his small car. Following a quick stop to pick up his girlfriend at work, the friendly couple deposited me at the marina entrance. The pilot tipped his hat out the window, waving merrily as he drove away. It was a memorable beginning to what would be a wonderful vacation at sea.

Mother Doing Good

Self Magazine has an award contest called Women Doing Good. It honors women who give their time and talents to charitable organizations. I k...