Nike 10K

So, I took the opportunity on the 28th of November to run a 10-Kilometer footrace put on by Nike through the middle of Asuncion. In October, Milciades and I had begun jogging before breakfast, just to mix a little cardio conditioning in for general health so, in late October, when Shaun brought home a pamphlet for the race, it seemed like a pretty natural line to step up to. We trained independently for a month, as encouraged by our differing schedules, preferences, and paces. The discipline of conditioning for a purpose, rather than being burdensome, surprised me be being as intellectually envigorating as it was physically tiring. I kept my own records, developed my own theories about distance running... really... I can't believe I hated running so much in High School.

Anways... that's the background for this reflection from raceday:





Ran the 10K this eve. interesting thing, that... revealing of my psychology, perhaps. I ran the first 5K without stopping, but with great variance in pace. Part of this was due to the fact that I had to weave in and out to pass people... (or jog behind them) at the beginning... but even with open space, I found myself thinking:

"ok... I can walk a bit when I pass the 5K mark...
where am I now?
3K?
aaargh.

Ok... just keep going...
Hey! Is that yellow thing up ahead a Km marker?
no?
aaaaargh.

I should mix in walking when my body feels right. I don't want to push it to where my arms tingle... Optimization, Hans... it's about optimzation... a little walking to keep from overburning the machine by km 6.
There... What's that sign?
Km 4?
Aaaaaaargh!

At some point in this discussion, I passed by a scruffy old dark-skinned, grey-haired man in an unofficial shirt. He wasn't supposed to be there. As I passed him, he passed another runner who had resorted to walking. "Fuerza, joven!" He prodded, splashing water almost ceremonially down the back of the youth.
Both I and the young walker chuckled with shock, but the old man kept running... splashing and encouraging one or two more as he went. I ran ahead, leaving them behind, but still carrying some of the blessing of knowing he existed with me.

At last I reached km 5, took water from a staffer, and trotted to a brisk walk.

"I wonder how much time this costs me, actually."
A man I'd been even with when I crossed 5K was passing a pole up ahead.
"Let's find out."
I counted the seconds between the point he had jogged to and my arrival there at a walk: 12 seconds.

Suddenly, I felt the shock of chilled water hit my back as the scruffy old man trotted past me.

"Fuerza!" He crowed.

I knew from this man's manner that he knew about running. He had maintained the same pace without stopping for over 5K. He was not anxious about winning, passing, losing, walking. He was only encouraging others, and enjoying the run.

I tugged my legs into a run. I had found my master. I would do what he did until the end of the race. I would not lose him, nor would I pass him, out of respect.

6 km.

I think if he had been Asian, he would have understood what I was intending by staying with him. As it was, I feared he might think I was angry at him for getting me wet.
"Maybe if he sees my manner, he will know I am not angry... "
I lightened my face and held my water bottle until there was a trash receptacle.
He didn't really notice... just kept running, splashing and encouraging people.

7 km.

I am tired. Normall I would have walked a great deal by this point. I would already be back on the farm, climbing that dastardly hill between the tambo (dairy) and house 8. I peek across the crowd to my left. The old man is still plodding along at the same pace.
I will follow my master.

8 km.

There have been people along the sides of the road in increasing concentrations. Some of them just watch. Many of them cheer. Many of them cheer for the old man. Twice now there have been people who stretched garden hoses form their houses and are spraying a stream across the road for the runners as we pass. The old man got wet one time. One time he didn't. He is just running. I ran through them both... opened my chest and arms to the water that the thoughtfulness of the sprayer may be rewarded. The old man is pulling ahead. I loosen my arms and increase my stride.
I will follow my master.

9 km.

I could swear that the old man is running faster now... but I doubt it.
We still pass the occasional person.
I can never remember if they are the same young snots who blew past us earlier at clocked-sneeze velocities, or if they simply started ahead of us and we're finally catching them.
I like to think we are passing them back.
We pass a balloon archway. The end must be up there somewhere. Odd that they would put a big thing like this so early...
The old man slows... is he ok?
I slow. Oh dear. He's overdone it! I should help him.
He crosses to the barricade and casually steps over it.
I look up. 10K is ahead.
I resume my pace.
He is fine.
I trot on puzzling. I remember the old man's shirt. It was Puma. Mine is Nike.
He's not allowed to finish.
I feel empty.
I have followed my master.
Now... there ahead is 10 km... and I feel like I have been carried here, although it was my own body's achievement.
If I must finish without him, I will make it such a finish! I will honor my master where I cannot follow him...
This is my choice now... where before I was submitted to his.
I open my stride, dig deep into my chest and fly the remaining 100m or so.
The big clock above the finish line reads 54 minutes. I have reached my goal!
I look at my watch (started when I personally crossed 0k, not when the race began).
51 minutes! I have cut 6 minutes off of my best time!
I am happy.
I am sad.
I think of the old man. Really...HE cut 6 minutes off of my best time.
I would have walked.
Whose acheivement was it?
I only submitted my rhythm and arrogance to his experience.
HE ran at pace.
HE didn't let me quit.
HE threw water on my back and tugged my legs into a run.
I did not know how... or at least did not believe that I did.

I kneel to untie the timing chip from my trembling right shoe.
Where is he now? Going home, contented to have run?

I hand the chip to the Nike postergirl and receive my medallion.

He didn't get a medallion... even though he ran it better and with more purpose than I did.
Maybe he didn't want one, I though, otherwise he would have entered! I don't think he was poor. The Puma shirt was nice. Still... it seemed like a lot of work and trouble to have nothing to show for it. I should give him mine. I would appreciate it... if I were him.

But... what if it wouldn't mean anything to him? People use each other for pacing all the time! What if he thinks I am weird? What if he shakes his head and laughs at me? I bet he was a soccer coach. A soccer coach would laugh at me. All this business about him being my 'master...' this all happened in my head. He never agreed to any of it. I though about asking him at 5K if I could run with him, but didn't.
Besides, I think, glancing at the textured bronze ring in my hand... I like this. I'll keep it to remember the race by. Nevermind that I have the shirt. THIS means that I finished.

Still... I want to find him. I might get to see Shaun finish, too.
I left through security and walked through the crowd, back towards the finish line. Shaun came through.

"Hey! Congrats! How did you do?," I query.
"Less than an hour!!"
"Way to go!"
"Seen Milciades?"
"No, not yet."
"Maybe he went back to the van..."
"Yeah."

We were excited to have both surpassed our goals... Shaun under an hour... Me specifically under my best time previously (~57 minutes).
I guess we were talking too loud. A little girl looked up at me with face scrunched in reprimand. "Shhhhhh!"
Not quite sure how to respond, I left Shaun and continued in search of my master.

Just short of the finish (still) I found him bent over the railing watching the runners pass the big, final, flashing yellow archway.

"Hi, I just wanted to say thanks... I've been running with you since km 5. I saw you encouraging the other runners and said to myself 'I'm going to go with him.'"

His spanish was somewhat garbled and hard to understand, but he was cordial. He explained something using the word 'escribir' which I took to mean that he hadn't signed up in time, but still wanted to run. I planted my forearms on the rail beside him, and we chatted for a short while. He asked me how old I was. "Twenty-four" I said, though I let pass the opportunity to find out his age.

What I was waiting on him to say was... "Hey! You seem like a decent chap... why don't you come visit sometime! I'll teach you everything I know about life, love, God, and the world because you earned it, staying with me so respectfully these last 5 kilometers!"
... but he didn't.
I turned to leave... "Thanks so much... I owe you everything" I said... shaking his hand with my right, and feeling the cut of the medallion's celophane wrapper in my left. "Everything..." I thought as I walked away, "Everything but this stupid medal."

If you read this... and If you are ever in a situation like this...
Give the old man the medal.
It doesn't matter if he laughs at you uncomfortable and doesn't understand. He may think you foolish, but he will be blessed by it... and it will change the way he views the world and the people in it, just a bit.
He will know he was sacrificed for.
He will know he was loved.
Shaun and Milciades may think it a waste... may scoff or smirk, but it will challenge them and make them uncomfortable. They will know that you loved. They may even remember it, knowing what their medal means to them in that moment, and dare to love later of their own sacrifice in some form... be it ever so small... and you will have brought about infinitely more good in the world than the two cents worth of nostalgia the medallion might otherwise bring about when you stub a finger on it in 20 years at the back of your sock drawer.
There is no comparison. The value difference between the two options is enormous.

I have learned pebbles about running. I have mountains to learn about love.

Dogs: 8-10-09

Thinking of dogs today... and how much I want one. Thinking of Booger... and all he represents. This dog... this beautiful, tall, deep black lab came to us slinking low... tail and body arched as though some invisible strings were pulling it up out of the ground... a reanimated shadow of the dog he could have been.

People had hurt him and as such, much fear filled the air between the erect hairs on the scruff of his neck and I would suspect (were I to understand him as another dog might) much hurt and anger as well. Of course I cannot know any of this for certain, but I do know that shadows of dogs and men are not made by regular meals, loving acceptance and a warm bed in the corner.

He came for the free meals he could pirate from our garage, but eventually stayed because my dad caught him and tied him to a calf-hutch with rope. Perhaps this much didn't surprise him... I doubt he expected to be consulted on the matter. But something did happen then that he did not expect. He was given regular meals, loving acceptance, and shelter.

I imagine that somewhere amid his cowering and snapping there was some form of doggy curse that would have offended if we had understood it, or at least some conversation that would have lost him our respect, but our ears, and consequently our hearts were closed to this judgment. We had no cause to think or gossip about what a dirty useless lizard this vagabond was... how long he had been thieving the food of respectable dogs, or how many pups he may have fathered illegitimately in his wanderings. We didn't look at him sideways, or try to keep children from speaking with him... because he's a dog... and dogs are known to do things like that. No surprises.

We don't want our kids to do these things: Stealing, vagabonding, sleeping around... but we have confidence that they can differentiate between how a dog acts and how they should act. Why? Who knows? Somehow though, this gap in communication and expectation practically resulted in a love toward this dog that was selfless, unconditional, blind, longsuffering, gritty and fibrous. It endured many months of struggle and rejection until the heart of the dog had been won over, transforming him into perhaps the most affectionate and loyal member of our odd family.

Love, unasked for, redeemed the heart of a lost, broken mutt... a phenomenon Christians proclaim to pursue and be specially privy to, but which most have secretly and practically given up hope in the existence of.

We can love this way. We have been told we cannot... but we can. When our expectations of others, and views of our own righteousness change... when our hearts are more honest with their own potentials/capacities, and more willing to waste love in the name of giving more of it, then we may understand Christ again... may see a love like he bore: a love that redeems mutts like us.

Pitogue

Ok... I've not been around blogger in a long time, and I don't have much time now, so those of you who follow will get a taste of some journals this time... if you're interested in life here... it's a window.

It's quiet here... empty. I should like it, or at lest prefer it. Yes... I prefer it. Lorena brought me a muddy, half-dead Pitogue (Great Kiskadee) fledgeling this morning. It is wrapped up in my shirt in a tupperware on my desk. I'm going to let the little guy dry off. I walk to the end of my walkway: look up and down the road. Field flickers and doves are perusing the soggy sand in front of house 1o, unaware and unconcerned with the little one's plight. They are the lucky ones, I realize, sipping another drag from the guampa in my hand. I am at peace watching them, yet aching... they were lucky... that it wasn't raining, cold, and in proximity to the dog where they fledged. Yet... there is no sadness in them... They almost take life for granted. They do take life for granted. Who are they to muse over who lives and dies... whether it is just or not... They are the pawns in nature's play. Whether it is cruel or good, right or wrong. Nature is not cruel... just hard. The realization gives no additional struggle... they do not accuse. They just live. Death is not mourned, it is accepted.

I think this is missing among humans. We have protected ourselves from death somewhat by separating ourselves from nature. I think of the soggy fledgeling on my desk with another sip. I should be him. I am cold and muddy and alone. I too jumped out of my nest early in a storm... was chased by a few dogs that wanted nothing more than to feel my bones crush in their jaws. I am weak, trembling and dripping in my failures. Is it unfair? No, not really. It's just life... it's the people I landed among. The setup for failure by my ambitions and fears... He and I should both probably be dead for failure of heart and limb... And nature will continue, neither blind nor cruel.

Hope will live despite me, hopping after the rain, pulling insects from the muck... and I am noone to complain. Yet... Lorena snatched him up from the ground... didn't quite let the dog have his way... brought him to me. I will care for him. Am I screwing with nature, or am I now some unpredictable grace that is part of it? Surely nature is as full of grace as it is cruelty: breaks in the clouds to warm a cold creature... The antelope in planet earth whose pursuers (wild dogs) abandoned an inevitable kill because their kin had made a kill somewhere else... a timely rain that revives something small and herbaceous.... every fallen carcass that keeps a hagfish alive in its shadowy depths.

Pitoguei... do you and I deserve to live? Deserve to die? No, neither really... but since we are alive... let us live!

(note: a reflection on the moment, given the situation in focus... I do in a grand sense of spiritual justice before the giver and inventer of all life, in view of my direct offense to His central idea and personal investment deserve death, but I cannot compare this with the Pitogue as the gospel was written for man's situation and not that of the birds. Accept this entry as art in context, not as an absolute faith statement.)

Excerpt from an e-mail home. Thought it would serve as a quick update for the rest of you lovelies as well:

...

The rabbit project is going well. The pastured pen works like a dream. (must send pictures) The first litter was born recently. Seven babies in total. Not very cute yet... but they have passed the one week mark, are growing more fur and are beginning to explore a bit. This brings the total from 5 to 12. The next two does will not be ready to breed until december, so this will probably be the only litter I see born.

Remnants of my chicken flock were attacked by a dog or wolf or something. I've been handfeeding the one it caught. A few days ago it began eating solo and now enters my house looking for me if the door is left open. lol. I felt a bit ridiculous putting so much time into one chicken, but the spiritual value of it, I think exceeds the value of the chicken. I felt affirmed Sunday reading in proverbs when I stumbled across a verse commending the man who cares for animals. hahaha... anyways, I now have a ridiculously tame, half-blind chicken as a pet in my front yard. Pen for these is built and awaiting 3 men to help me move it. (it was designed originally to be mobile, but the weight turned out to be a problem, and we don't have a tractor of any kind, so it will be stationary for the time being. Potentially it will be moved over the tilapia ponds. We'll see. For now, it will be close to the houses, under a tree.

Bees hopefully coming in the next week or so?

The main thing keeping us busy right now though is construction on a guard shack in the middle of the farm which the brother of the main farm guy will be living in in exchange for some security services. We've had three robberies here in the past month, only one time they entered a building thankfully, but when they did they stole a refrigerator/freezer and a ceiling fan. The other two times they had cut the fence and entered, but were chased off. Once, when Milciades and Shaun went to investigate and the other time by Roberto (the farm hand) with a shotgun and 9mm. What we lost is nothing compared to what has happened to the neighbors. There have been animals butchered in the field, sound equipment carried off, etc. We are fortunate.

So, that to say I've been helping dig footers/cistern and doing masonry-related things. I got to try my hand at stone masonry... which was a real hoot. I both love and hate it, but I spent yesterday and today working on that.

The past week I've been taking books up and reading to small groups of the kids: A spanish kids picture book, and then a bible story out of an illustrated spanish Bible that the last mission team brought for each of the kids. I've only just this evening read to the last of them for this first rotation... but I like it better that way. Reading with three is very different than reading to 11. I tried to read to 11 but it was too much like a classroom... God bless the house parents richly for all they do! I mean... I finished the book.. but I just value the other experience for them... much more than the former. They have school for the former. I've been enjoying it immensely. It's been good for my spanish as well.

So... that's the basic run-down. More to come!

Bunnies and such...

Its been awhile, eh? Sitting down to this entry, I realize that I've been here in Itagua for roughly three weeks already, and most of you haven't heard so much as a peep from me. As a result, I went out this morning to shoot photos that I will be uploading in the following days. The first few members of a volunteer group from North Carolina arrived today along with a couple from another town an hour or so away that are good friends with Shaun and Sara. Their arrival culminated a multi-week push to renovate a building here for use as volunteer housing, and eventually the meeting place for the church here. I've been busy with other projects you will learn about in the near future, but was able to help some with patching the roof, tearing out and re-making a wall in the bathroom, and of course the final furnishing and cleaning efforts of the past few days. It's been an amazing transformation. More detailed pictures and explanations will follow (probably tomorrow) but for today, I wanted to catch you up with the details of the blog that was lost. Apologies, this isn't nearly as creative as the one that was lost... but... asi es la vida.

A few weekends ago, I had the joy of going to the national 'Expo.' Basically it's like an enormous county fair, with rides, games, and funnel cakes, but there are also enormous animal barns, competitions, and booths for any business that wants to set up. There's everything from cultural demonstrations to motocross. It's big... a sea of people. Anywho... I went with a British magician to find information on beekeeping and generally explore the agricultural end of things for ideas that could be used at the home in Itagua. One of our stops was a building dedicated to 'cunicultura' in which you could buy rabbits, gawk at 6 kilogram breeding stock, and even eat empanadas (like a hot pocket) made out of their kin. I did all three.

Seriously though... I bought a box of rabbits... 3 females and a male for $5 each. As spontaneous as that sounds... it really wasn't. We had been brainstorming ways to provide new protein sources on site for the kids through projects that they can eventually take leadership in. I have very fond memories of Dad's experiments with pastured rabbit when I was younger, and of all the options that I have considered, this one seemed the most promising. Rabbits reproduce quickly, are voracious herbivores, and are easily cared for by someone less than 100 lbs (as opposed to cows, pigs, goats, etc.) The meat is fantastic and healthy... and one of the house parents here has previous experience with them, and is therefore a resource both before and after I leave.

So anyway... the morning after the expo found me bouncing up the ruta between Asuncion and Itagua in a rickety 80's model Mercedes bus with a box of rabbits, watching Paraguay flash by my open window, and thinking what a wacky and whiz-o thing life can end up being if you pick up your feet for even a moment. Hysterical, I thought... riding a bus with a boxful of rabbits... hiking through a market in San Lorenzo to change busses and feeling the different buzz of this hive... hiking the 2.5 km between the Ruta in Itagua and the Home just out of town while motos and oxcarts bounced past on dusty stone streets... and I was happy.

But then, walking down the row of houses as curious kids came running to see what was inside the box... and watching them come alive over so small a thing as a boxful of rabbits... just torqued some little thing inside of me that I think every person needs adjusted now and then. It was beautiful in a way .... well... in a way I cannot possibly explain to you until you have surprised a child with a rabbit from a box.

Plants...

The natural world is full of the human, as human psychosocial ecology reflects the natural. My own inner struggles in the past few weeks and months have brought me to a soothing realization, yet one that I suspect could blossom in a bigger pot, given more time.

I was watching a movie the other evening with the English teacher and this scene provided the foundation for the meditation that has followed. (Protagonist is a wine connoisseur discussing 'pinot' a type of wine... referring to the difficulties in growing the varieties of grapes from which the various pinots are made)



...what determines the value of a plant? what characteristics of an imperiled species would knit a conservationist's eyebrows? Must it smell good? Possess a photogenic flower? Is it more valuable for being a survivor, on the edges of civilization? Do we love it for its hardiness, the multiplicity of the seeds it produces, or the thoroughness of its root system? Do we pity more the weak ones, or celebrate the tough ones? Could you appease a botanists desire to preserve a species of exotic grass by showing him Blue-eyed grass?: (technically not a true grass, but cut me some slack)


Pretty little thing... and common as a skeeter. I mean... who needs to go to the trouble of saving that plain-jane looking Congolese species when we've got things like this to look at? Really people...

But of course few would dare to suggest such a thing openly. The wonder and richness of the natural world is due in large part to the intricate complexity which even the most mundane ecosystem possesses. Losing another species is not tragic because that lost species was the flashiest, tallest, strongest or most fragrant. Rather... we mourn it because our world, in its absence, is just a little less interesting. It was, regardless of how it compares to the other roughly 270K known plant species on the globe, an awe-inspiring work of art... fascinating and precious for even a single difference.

The human genetic code (and infinitely moreso the human psychology) is more complex than that of a plant. You and I are not more or less valuable for our colors, smells, strengths or weaknesses either. we simply are valuable. Not a little valuable, or a lot valuable... we are valuable... you are irreplaceable, and no other plant can be you. No other plant can fill the niche you fill in your 'ecosystem.' If they did, it would be a different ecosystem, even if it continued to function.

The whole 'everyone is special because Jesus loves you' mantra has, for a long time, struck me as almost offensively cliche. This however... casts the tired old adage in an entirely new light for me.

God is a conservationist. when a heart is breaking, yours or someone elses... when yours or someone else's psychosocial 'habitat' is being ravaged by fear, bitterness, shame... and as you feel your petals paling... your roots drying... your leaves wilting... and you cry out... I like to think God's eyebrows knit, he grabs a steno pad, and laces up his boots.

If you have no other reason to love a stranger. Love them for that.

Little things...

It's the smallest things that broadside me these days... like riding a unicycle. I am not unbalanced entirely... but it only takes small things anymore... I just emptied my mini coffee jar of spent matches by the stove... and realized that with only three weeks left, I will never see it filled again. Hits you hard...