feet to the pavement

Hope you all take my words with a grain of salt. I'm just some Jesus-loving ragamuffin trying to figure things out, nothing more.

I've been training for the Peace Corps marathon for many weeks at this point. My last run was the 12-miler, a big mark for me. Not only was it the longest run I've ever accomplished, but I did it in Sincape which is hilly when I've been training on flat ground. The view was stunning. I could see the rolling hills in the early morning hours every time I reached a peak. The hills were not as hard to take as I had anticipated. I finished it in 1 hour 25 minutes, a very good time for my abilities. But for the last 5 or so days since that run, I have been limping around in pain, walking like an old person. I should probably be stretching more, running more intensely throughout the week. I could take my speed up a notch or two. Truthfully, if I did all of those things, I probably wouldn't be training in the first place.

I'm a girl that once said, "why run unless someone is chasing you?". It dumbfounds me how I'm even here. The question doesn't just apply to running, but my life. How did this girl from Texas, raised by Lloyd and Gina get here: in Peru, running 'til I'm limping, living with people who are often overlooked and left to themselves, here with a heart for Jesus and deep desires for things that have been said to be far from him. My faith, my walk with Christ, me trying to do what is best and helpful with this life of mine is a lot like training for this marathon. I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing. It sure seems a lot easier to do when I'm just thinking about it. On paper, decisions are easy. I know what is best, where I should go, what I should do. I felt like I had it pretty much figured out. Peace Corps. Possibly get married with grand signals from the heavens to tell me who. Go to seminary in Denver. Move to Guadalajara or some place like it. Start an intentional community. I'm not sure if you all can relate to those kinds of feelings of certainty. It is kind humbling when possibilities get more complicated.

I'm reading "The Last Lecture", a book about a professor who participated in the last lecture series as if he was going to die, but this professor actually was going to die. I found myself thinking the other day about what I would want to have done when I die. I started a prayer to God. "I just hope that I can say I sacrificed enough". Before I could say the word sacrifice, I could feel God interrupt my prayer with a verse from Matthew: "I desire mercy, not sacrifice".

I get so stressed out about every step I take in life, so completely crippled by the fear of screwing up. I almost quit training for the marathon for the same reason. The first week, I had to walk within the first mile. I ended my runs so very angry at myself, beating myself up for not looking like Dani or Carolyn when they ran. (These girls were doing 10 miles before the real schedule even started.) My fat legs rubbed together. I was breathing heavy almost immediately, feeling pain in my side. I felt God asking me over and over again "why are you doing this?" It echoed in my head over and over. "Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this?" When my answer became about improving me for me and not for others, my runs got easier. I let myself walk when I needed to. I cut the runs during the week when necessary and took the long runs easy.

It was when I started to think of my runs in terms of who I am, finding my stride, that I actually could say that I was a twelve mile runner. Running isn't easy. When I do it, it certainly isn't pretty. In fact, I usually start out wobbly and limping. But that Lord is reminding me that it is about doing it. My running and my faith aren't theoretical. They aren't comfortable ideas that I can simply imagine working well it my head. But my feet are on the pavement. I'm doing it. And that is the only way I'm going to be able to do anything.

P.S. This blog is being written in the lovely city of Chachapoyas. So incredibly beautiful. I'm not sure there would have been a better way for God to show us how great we are loved than this earth we've been given and the people we enjoy it with. If you come to Peru, you should definitely check out Chachapoyas, aka the poor man's Machu Picchu.

Peru 16, how I love thee. Let me count the ways.

Last week was Early In Service Training (Early IST). We spent the week in Tina's sight of Chongoyape and visited the animal reserve Chaparri, home to a Peruvian bear that makes nests in trees. I hadn't seen all of my friends from training since the end of November when we swore-in together. We didn't get to have all 70-something of us together for safety reasons, but all the environment volunteers were together again. I didn't realize how much I missed them until I was en route to meet them. We had such an amazing experience together in training. Let me tell you, environment volunteers know how to have a good time. We spent the better part of the week making jokes and drinking cold beer after a long day of work. Brock had just left, decided to go home and work on the farm. Tina printed a picture of his bearded face and put it on a Barbie doll with a yellow dress. He came with us everywhere, taking photos of Brock eating lunch with us, looking in the mirror, hanging out with the bears.

Eliot decided to quote famous lines of American movies in Spanish. There is that scene in "Anchorman" where Will Ferrel's character is trying to woo Miss Veronica Corningston by working out and he says something like "1001, 1002...oh, I was just doing my arms and back. It's boring, but it's part of my life." And so, all week long, people were walking around quoting it: "Es aburrido, pero es parte de mi vida". It became so popular that people worked it into their diagnostic reports. Each time someone would creatively slip in the phrase, we would crack up, which confused the boss man. After John's presentation, he put a poster up that was making fun of Tina for being old. She's actually only 27 and isn't the oldest person in Peru 16, but has become the brunt of a running joke about her being ancient. The picture included her drinking some Fiber Max, watching Matlock while reading a Reader's Digest featuring Agatha Christy, getting ready for bed at 5:30, thinking about how she wished FDR could run again. Hilarious!



There was a mustache competition among the boy volunteers. Our boss Diego has this mustache that has been a part of him for over 20 years (never shaving it off). In his thick accent, he explains that men should have a mustache because "keeeesing a woman without a mustache is like eating an egg without salt" All the boys of our group showed up with all sorts of funny facial hair, all sorts of mustaches. On the last day, Diego judged the competition. Losers were pounded with water balloons. And then we all joined in on the fun. Everyone got soaked!

For April Fool's Day, we decided to play a prank on Diego. (And he got us back with the water balloon attack.) I suggested that we talk to the local jail in Chongoyape and get them to "arrest" a couple of volunteers and Diego having to come to the rescue. We got the PC doctor, Jorge, and the safety and security guy, Enrique, involved. They kept Diego calm. Our coordinator, Brian, called him and told him that volunteers Boy Alex and Ali were found them drunk in the dark, passed out...naked from the waist down. He asked him to go straight to the jail. Diego was there within 2 minutes! He was furious, and he said it all with just his face. We all came out yelling "April Fool's". It took him a few minutes to realize it was a joke. He thought we were just happy to see him there to rescue our friends. The best part was how into it the police were. They hand-cuffed Ali and brought out guns, loading them and waving them around. That part was kinda scary. But they all were so giggly. I would have to say it was a sucessful application of Goal 2: bringing the U.S. to Peru.

We had a good among of downtime to drink on the roof of our hostel, go to the river, dance in Chiclayo. The last night on the roof Ali and Patrick were beatboxing while Eliot and Hobo Alex took turns free-stylin'. Impressive. Even more incredible was Hobo Alex sharing the slam poetry he writes with us. We were all blown away by the power of his words, the rhythms, his passions expressed so brilliantly. Alex talked about his his travels, his vibrant way of living, the pain of love and a critic of the necessity of diplomas and higher education. He left us speechless. All we could manage to say was thank you. After the week of training, we went to a club in Chiclayo and danced until at least 3 in the morning, some until much later. The club put on an "hora loca" (clowns on stilts) around 2 and dropped confetti on the crowd at 2:45. I hadn't cut loose like that in Peru before in terms of dancing.

So, Peru 16, I love you all. Thank you for a wonderful week. You guys are such an amazing group, and I'm proud to call myself a 16-er.