and ended up at an impromptu house party. There is one more Volunteer left who has finished her service and is on her way out of my oblast. I wanted to see her site before she left for good (on Sunday!), and so I arranged a trip. This is no easy feat, as there is only one bus to her town, and I first have to travel to a different town to catch this bus. The plan was that we would hang out for the day, then her neighbor would take me to the town where I could catch a bus home.
Well, the neighbor's car was not working. We couldn't catch any other friends/neighbors/acquaintances either, so we decided to try a taxi. The price wasn't bad at all, so I decided to go with it.
"It" meant a quick detour to my friend's landlords, who are somehow related to the taxi driver. An hour later, we'd had probably 6 "shots" of wine, cheese, bread and tomatoes, and it was time to move on. On the way to my house, my driver stopped by a landscaper's to ask the price of fencing. Well, the landscaper hopped into the car, and off to the driver's house to take measurements. All that hard work then required a beer (my driver didn't drink anything...neither wine or beer), and we returned the landscaper to his house. On the way to my house (again), we picked up a woman who seemed to be my sub-let passenger. 3 1/2 hours after my driver pulled up, I returned home.
It is a 20 minute drive to my house.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
42.195 km (or 26.2 mi)
Since November, May 10th has loomed red-lettered on my calendar, towering over weekends to Kiev, a trip to Poland, softball in Kirovograd, my lessons and activities, birthdays and holidays. May 10th was to be the culminating moment of my entire first winter in Ukraine; a glorious defeat of the cold and gloom with a triumphant stride across the finish line of my first marathon. The time between November and May, however, did not go as planned, and it is impossible to say that the upcoming marathon was what got me through those long months.
I should probably back up a little. In January, I managed to injure my knee pretty bad trying to kick off the 8-pound brick of mud that had cumulated on each shoe. Shortly thereafter, I pulled a tendon in my hip when I only half stepped on one of the bricks leading to my outhouse. Both injuries were tendon-related, according to the PC doc, and would require a loooooong recovery time. And they did. Ice, ibuprofen and severely limited distances and long rest breaks between runs followed, though my knee just didn’t seem to be getting better. In March, it was pretty doubtful that I’d be able to run the entire marathon. In April, I had to come to terms with the fact that I might not even be able to start the marathon. I had to give myself permission to be ok with that. After all, my longest training run was eight miles in January. But still, it had been my goal for months. I had decided to make the marathon my carrot. I wanted to run it!
So on the beautiful morning of May 10th, after many looooong hours of travel (an entire blog in itself), I laced up, put on the Peace Corps “team” yellow shirt, popped three ibuprofen, stretched and warmed my legs, and lined up with the other 17 Volunteers. It couldn’t have been a better morning. It was warm, but cooled off almost immediately to a comfortable level. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the sweat drying, but not so much that it felt like an added oppression. The 5,000+ runners were in their full splendor: there were team uniforms (go Team Diabetes!), crazy hair colors, outfits, lots of dri-weave and so much rubber to burn.
The first 10 km or so felt great. This is why I’m alive, I remember thinking. With no pain in my knee (miraculous in itself), my body felt like it was following a rhythm it had been created for and was simply and naturally settling into. We were running along the river, which had more glorious vistas than I’d ever expect from one river. Immediately we saw the Charles Bridge and the Prague Castle high on a hill. Even the non-famous buildings and bridges were beautiful and picturesque. Green was the goal of every tree, and even the river seemed to respond to the energy of the day.
Then there was the 17th km. It was about this time that I wanted to stop seeing the distance markers, which I had previously celebrated with my friends with a high-five. There were three of us, and we had settled into a quiet rhythm. One girl had run several marathons (including the Chicago) and the other was a neophyte, like me. We stayed together until about the half-way point, when the other two strode ahead of me. I was definitely starting to feel the proverbial burn. My muscles were getting tired, and I knew that my mental stamina was starting to waver.
By 25 km, just over the half-way point, I was absolutely ready to throw in the towel. I don’t need this. I’ve done enough for not having trained. I totally psyched myself out by continually doing the math of how many kilometers I had left, how fast everyone else was running, the time goal I had set for myself in November (5 hours), and just about everything else. Those were some bleak kilometers. I began walk/running around 27 km, setting little goals for myself to run to. Run to that bridge, that streetlight, that building, then you can walk. I wanted to cry. This was not what I had in mind when I decided to kick winter’s ass with a marathon. This was not the strong stride I had envisioned while I dominated the loneliness and the confusion about my purpose here. This was a struggle, a battle, and it was starting to feel alarmingly like defeat.
By 35 kms, I was only jogging when there was a downhill. The first entire kilometer I walked actually turned out to be a relief, as I felt my body recover. Trying to run after that was almost impossible, so I gave in and decided that my body could still have its natural rhythm, just slower. A sense of peace also came to me then, as I decided to stop caring what other people would think about my time. I got over the feeling that I was making a mockery of what the elitists did by walking where they had flown hours before. And I walked.
What I had forgotten was what I had been telling people all along: “Running is 90% mental.” My 10% of non-training was definitely wearing on my body, but my mind was forgetting its power. I was feeling defeated by the obstacles I had planned to destroy. Toward the end, another runner (a member of Team Diabetes, no less) made a comment about my shirt. “How far will you go?” the Peace Corps’ motto, was printed across my back. I thought about it.
All along, it had been about the distances I was willing to go. Then it was about the distances I was forcing myself to go. Then it was the distances I’d resigned myself to going. And then it was really just about the going. Nothing ever looks the way we had planned it to look. The surmountable goal is sometimes not the glorious victory, but sometimes it’s the long struggle. There are beautiful things and people along the way, and that’s what makes those little distances worth it. More than being willing, more than slogging my way through, I was finally doing it because I could and because it’s what I wanted. My service is not much different, I imagine.
I gathered enough strength to actually run the final kilometer. It was a long chute to the finish, with many friends cheering me through. My stride felt powerful again. I felt strong, even if only momentarily. I knew I had achieved something great, not for the world but for myself, which I can now give back to the world. I tested how far I would go, pushed the bar up just a little higher.
Oh, and my finishing time? 4:59:17
I should probably back up a little. In January, I managed to injure my knee pretty bad trying to kick off the 8-pound brick of mud that had cumulated on each shoe. Shortly thereafter, I pulled a tendon in my hip when I only half stepped on one of the bricks leading to my outhouse. Both injuries were tendon-related, according to the PC doc, and would require a loooooong recovery time. And they did. Ice, ibuprofen and severely limited distances and long rest breaks between runs followed, though my knee just didn’t seem to be getting better. In March, it was pretty doubtful that I’d be able to run the entire marathon. In April, I had to come to terms with the fact that I might not even be able to start the marathon. I had to give myself permission to be ok with that. After all, my longest training run was eight miles in January. But still, it had been my goal for months. I had decided to make the marathon my carrot. I wanted to run it!
So on the beautiful morning of May 10th, after many looooong hours of travel (an entire blog in itself), I laced up, put on the Peace Corps “team” yellow shirt, popped three ibuprofen, stretched and warmed my legs, and lined up with the other 17 Volunteers. It couldn’t have been a better morning. It was warm, but cooled off almost immediately to a comfortable level. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the sweat drying, but not so much that it felt like an added oppression. The 5,000+ runners were in their full splendor: there were team uniforms (go Team Diabetes!), crazy hair colors, outfits, lots of dri-weave and so much rubber to burn.
The first 10 km or so felt great. This is why I’m alive, I remember thinking. With no pain in my knee (miraculous in itself), my body felt like it was following a rhythm it had been created for and was simply and naturally settling into. We were running along the river, which had more glorious vistas than I’d ever expect from one river. Immediately we saw the Charles Bridge and the Prague Castle high on a hill. Even the non-famous buildings and bridges were beautiful and picturesque. Green was the goal of every tree, and even the river seemed to respond to the energy of the day.
Then there was the 17th km. It was about this time that I wanted to stop seeing the distance markers, which I had previously celebrated with my friends with a high-five. There were three of us, and we had settled into a quiet rhythm. One girl had run several marathons (including the Chicago) and the other was a neophyte, like me. We stayed together until about the half-way point, when the other two strode ahead of me. I was definitely starting to feel the proverbial burn. My muscles were getting tired, and I knew that my mental stamina was starting to waver.
By 25 km, just over the half-way point, I was absolutely ready to throw in the towel. I don’t need this. I’ve done enough for not having trained. I totally psyched myself out by continually doing the math of how many kilometers I had left, how fast everyone else was running, the time goal I had set for myself in November (5 hours), and just about everything else. Those were some bleak kilometers. I began walk/running around 27 km, setting little goals for myself to run to. Run to that bridge, that streetlight, that building, then you can walk. I wanted to cry. This was not what I had in mind when I decided to kick winter’s ass with a marathon. This was not the strong stride I had envisioned while I dominated the loneliness and the confusion about my purpose here. This was a struggle, a battle, and it was starting to feel alarmingly like defeat.
By 35 kms, I was only jogging when there was a downhill. The first entire kilometer I walked actually turned out to be a relief, as I felt my body recover. Trying to run after that was almost impossible, so I gave in and decided that my body could still have its natural rhythm, just slower. A sense of peace also came to me then, as I decided to stop caring what other people would think about my time. I got over the feeling that I was making a mockery of what the elitists did by walking where they had flown hours before. And I walked.
What I had forgotten was what I had been telling people all along: “Running is 90% mental.” My 10% of non-training was definitely wearing on my body, but my mind was forgetting its power. I was feeling defeated by the obstacles I had planned to destroy. Toward the end, another runner (a member of Team Diabetes, no less) made a comment about my shirt. “How far will you go?” the Peace Corps’ motto, was printed across my back. I thought about it.
All along, it had been about the distances I was willing to go. Then it was about the distances I was forcing myself to go. Then it was the distances I’d resigned myself to going. And then it was really just about the going. Nothing ever looks the way we had planned it to look. The surmountable goal is sometimes not the glorious victory, but sometimes it’s the long struggle. There are beautiful things and people along the way, and that’s what makes those little distances worth it. More than being willing, more than slogging my way through, I was finally doing it because I could and because it’s what I wanted. My service is not much different, I imagine.
I gathered enough strength to actually run the final kilometer. It was a long chute to the finish, with many friends cheering me through. My stride felt powerful again. I felt strong, even if only momentarily. I knew I had achieved something great, not for the world but for myself, which I can now give back to the world. I tested how far I would go, pushed the bar up just a little higher.
Oh, and my finishing time? 4:59:17
Friday, May 1, 2009
The doctor is in
Today, my ninth form again knocked my socks off with their imaginative selves. Their assignment: "Doctor Dialogues." Annnnnd guess who happened to have their camera to catch the creativity in action? Here's what they came up with!
These "schoolgirls" were plotting how they could ditch school. The solution? A faked toothache and a rattling chest...that piece of cellophane was used to make some bronchitis happen when the doctor examined her.
They brought in all their own props, including doctor's coats, stethiscopes, tongue depressors, fake thermometers, tablets, actual x-rayed appendages, bandages...should I go on or continue to let the pictures tell the stories?
These boys brought in an actual X-ray from some wrist injury. It was awesome! (Oh, and feel free to ignore the misspelled "stethoscope"...)
"Doctors" wrote out prescriptions, patients argued about the price. It was hilarious!
If ever we had this kind of injury or sickness rate...we'd be quarantined for sure.
Good actors!!!
So basically, these kids rock. I'm so glad to work with them!!!
These "schoolgirls" were plotting how they could ditch school. The solution? A faked toothache and a rattling chest...that piece of cellophane was used to make some bronchitis happen when the doctor examined her.
They brought in all their own props, including doctor's coats, stethiscopes, tongue depressors, fake thermometers, tablets, actual x-rayed appendages, bandages...should I go on or continue to let the pictures tell the stories?
These boys brought in an actual X-ray from some wrist injury. It was awesome! (Oh, and feel free to ignore the misspelled "stethoscope"...)
"Doctors" wrote out prescriptions, patients argued about the price. It was hilarious!
If ever we had this kind of injury or sickness rate...we'd be quarantined for sure.
Good actors!!!So basically, these kids rock. I'm so glad to work with them!!!
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