Saturday's Run

Saturday's run came and went.
It was a breezy night in Montevideo, Uruguay, about 19 degrees and we had the pleasure of running up and down the coast. 
Earlier on in the day, walking around the town, I had noted to my partner "If this wind continues, tonight is going to be a disaster."
Amongst a sea of florescent orange race shirts, I stretched, completed some plyometrics, and within 15 minutes of arrival, the shot fired to set off.  The shot was a little bit scary.  The Uruguayan military was responsible for it and somehow there was smoke and what sounded like a loud explosion.  It was interesting to see people's bouncy beginning of the race energy drop in 2 seconds, stone faced, confused, and then swing back 30 seconds later once they realized it was just the gunfire to let us know the race had started.

As we moved along the coast hugging the shoreline, I thought, this isn't that bad.  I started off slow but passed the 2:00 pacer quickly, aiming to keep the 1:50 pacer in sight throughout the course of the race.  Around 2 km in, I saw a group of super runners already coming back.  Wow! I thought and simultaneously, picked up my pace.. Later on, I then realized that those were the 5 km runners.  Thank Goodness. I sighed, letting the guilt of running slower pass over me.

All at once, we arrived quite quickly at the turnaround point for the 5km.  I picked up my pace, enjoying the extra push the wind was giving me.  A few old wise men looked at me skeptically "Bueno.  Necesito hacerlo cuando puedo, porque cuando volvemos vamos a mourir." They laughed a little bit but maintained their pace, solid and strong. 

Soon, I was sprinting up the hill, and coasting past the start of the race, the 10 km mark.  Pablo on Andres' shoulders stepped out into the street waving me down and cheering me on.  Super special.

As I ran the next 5 km, I took advantage of the grass median in the middle of the road, jumping up on it and completely adoring the fact that there was lush, soft grass to cushion my knees, hipbone, feet after cruising on solid concrete for the last 10 km.  A little bit of trail running goes a long way and I was feeling okay, even though that 5 km still seemed to take forever.

Finally, we turned around uneventfully in a man-made turn in the middle of the road, and all of the sudden, I felt a giant force.  Pushing me back like I have never experienced before in my life, the wind drew out it's big hand and pushed against me as I tried to move forward.  I continued on, dredding the fact that this was starting at 15 km and there were 6 more km to go. 

As I swayed in and out of the grass median, the only thing making it a little easier, and tucked my head in to push through the wind, I passed a number of people struggling immensely.  Being a runner, part of our job is to pick one another up, and as I hit the 17 km mark, I continued with a girl for a km until she said to me "Aqui, no puedo mas." 

At 19, I had almost had it and started to slow down, only 2 seconds later to be swept up by a lovely Venezuelan man who said "No! No! No!" and forced me to keep running until the end.  With him and the 2 hour pacer on my tail, I finished just under 2 hours at 1:59:44.

Autumn is here.

It starts with a high, the fall air inhaling and exhaling onto my face, sprouting goosebumps under my fall coat, but so content with that fact that autumn has fully arrived and basks in its glory.

Autumn has always been my favorite season.  When I was 5, it was helping my parents in the yard, rake up the leaves, followed by afternoon touch football games and evening parties complete with soda and popcorn and barbecues.  Windows were left cracked open making your room seem the perfect temperature to fall asleep. 

Autumn in the US came with Halloween, treats, the wine colored leaves bursting spontaneously out of trees until they were left dry for the winter.

Autumn in the US came with chili and potato stews, tomato garbanzo soups and fluffy wool sweaters, fun colored and patterned rain boots.

Autumn in the US came with farm parties, Studio 54 parties, volleyball season.

Now, autumn is in April and I am having a little bit of an identity crisis.

Thinking it was spring, I was out looking for bugs for my son's bugnoculars and realized most of them are starting to hide themselves away from the crisp air.

Easter is coming and I am thinking of egg hunts and cute dress up clothes, which will look a little more like Thanksgiving.

And to top it all off, just behind the back wall of our yard, a palm tree looms over the house.  I know four seasons are possible with palm trees but it does seem a little peculiar and hard to fathom.

Still, autumn is here in Argentina and I look forward to snuggling with my family, creating new traditions, since Pablo, Andres and I haven't ever had an autumn together. 

Mama, Mama, Mama.

When I got home from Oula tonight, I had a bit of energy so decided to take Pablo to the park.  He trotted along,  He goes between platypus slow moving, waddling, to what I imagine a mouse would look like running on its hind legs, scurrying along but still not overly elegant. 

We get to the park and Pablo is firing on all cylinders.  He points at trains shouting out "Chu! Chu!"  I make his Miffy stuffed bunny do all the park events: slide, climb up the stairs, ride the swing, which makes Pablo have more fun and want to participate in everything two fold.  It's obviously even funnier when Miffy lands on her head from falling out of the swing or tumbling down the slide.  I don't think I could ever get enough 21 month old giggles. 

We strut back home and stop to pick up some ice cream on the way.  Pablo's happy that the older version of Pablo, who owns the ice cream store, knows who he is.  He passes him a high five, a grin and sparkling eyes.  Pablo offers my Pablo a free cone, but I sway him away before baby Pablo sees it.  Perhaps, it's the blonde hair in a sea of dark haired babies, or the luck of all babies or maybe that Argentines are really kind people who love babies but I think Pablo gets something free everywhere he goes, whether it be an avocado or a alfejor or dried apricots. 

As we get home, I feed Pablo a dinner of veggie burger, a couple potato chips, some pieces of apple and some slices of avocado.  Topped off with some coconut and chocolate ice cream, he is pretty much in heaven. 

More laughter pours from the bathroom as papa does the bath with him.  When papa later goes to the store, I take book duty and at one moment, Pablo crawled on top of me and embraced me and just said "Mama. Mama. Mama."  I held him back sucking in every second of this moment, my life speeding before my eyes not wanting it to ever end.   If you are lucky in life, your child will never stop calling for you.... "Mama, Mama, Mama.."

A Brewing Storm

There's a small storm stirring.
People threatened by power.
People craving power.
People wanting to redistribute power.

Power falling on the weight of tradition.
At least 8 years at stake, but really engrained
Rooted deep down in the earth,
20 years at least.

Power being shifted from one mountain to another.
One mountain wants to grow new trees, new ideas,
give birth to more life.

Another mountain wants to stand still
Let things pan out
Let things be
Believing that things will work
Themselves out
Or remain calm.

Neither mountain is overly confident
As the mountains as are have been laid
By others

Neither way is right nor wrong.

But people who live beneath the mountains
Are spirited
Want something different
Know something different
Is in the cards
Know the power of something
Different can rise up
And rejuvenate
Cultivate.

#SOL19 

The Flight Home

The white cotton fields were spread out for what seemed like miles, with little puffy icebergs popping out spontaneously as we cruised through the air.
Baby boy sucks down his last drop of milk at take ooff and his eyes roll back, eye lids fluttering still, sinking into my left arm which I know will be numb within minutes.
It's short and sweet, a rise and fall, with no ear pressure and a gentle flight as we pass by the Riva stadium packed full of people during game hour.

Short and sweet.  Day is done. Gone the sun, more this week.  

Pablo’s Pace

It’s 8:15 and every bone and emotional neuron is saying “Go back to sleep” but my intellect won’t switch off and it doesn’t happen. I tell my husband I am going downstairs for breakfast in peace.  

He says “Is Pablo up?” 

“Nope.”

“Espera y vamos todos juntos.”

I shrug. I am a slave to my child’s vibe and agree halfheartedly.  Soon, he wakes up a little bit more of a hot mess than normal, so I throw him in the rain shower with my husband for 2 seconds. Initially, he freaks out but when I open the door to grab him and wrap him in a towel, he says “Mas! Más!” Wanting to stay in the water longer. Still, I know this drill and get him, because I know the dressing will take awhile. He basks in the piles of pillows, blankets and sheets on the hotel bed and frolicks around with splendid delight. Finally, I pin him down for diaper and fresh clothes. Between pPablo and my husband’s pacing, my hunger is skyrocketing. Eventually, about 40 minutes later we go down to breakfast.

Airports

Every single person
Holds a different story
Of where they come from
And where they are going.

Most are lost in a device
Prepping to return to their
Monotony or lost in a book
Dreaming of where they are
Off to.

As the parent of a young child,
My airport time is spent
Chasing around a Pablo
Trying to keep him off the floors
Playing with the Duty free toys
That are too expensive to buy.

Still we will go.
We will fly.
We will do.
We will be.