8:05

When I first got to site, I put an alarm on my watch to go off at 8:05 AM everyday to wake me up. After training, it was really nice to get to sleep in. 8:05 was usually the time when volunteers were beginning to gather at the training center. We'd take turns making coffee for the rest of the volunteers. And slowly a group of us would form a circle and watch it brew. But, when I got to site, I bought a really comfortable mattress and loved to sleep til 7:30 or 8. I put the alarm as a back up to me waking up naturally. To Peruvians, waking up at 8 AM is late. By that time, my host mom has usually swept the cement and dirt patio and kitchen areas. She's cooked breakfast and is on to more chores. I was also struggling with a depression when I first got to site. Life in the campo is difficult, really boring a lonely a lot of the time. So sleeping became a lovely escape in addition to feeling good.

But I felt like I needed a change. I started training for the marathon, and that got me out of bed earlier. It's too hot to run past 8 AM. I'd wake up around 6:30 or 7. The runs became more and more energizing and rewarding. I'd end them dancing, singing, praying. And slowly, life got better and better. I'd wake up earlier, but the alarm would still go off. I began to gauge how my life was going by what I was doing at 8:05, and now it's a thing. It's a way to check on myself. Sure, sometimes I'm sleeping (and that is a wonderful thing), but I'm delighted by the variety of activities taking place at 8:05. Cooking breakfast with a special someone. Singing. Reading. Stretching. Laughing at my little brother Anderson shaking his booty and getting in trouble at breakfast time, that sweet face, that boisterous cackle that makes me want to hold him tight and tell him to never change.

Sunday, Carolyn, Dani and I were 2 hours into our 15 mile run in the Bosque do Pomac (part of the dry forest) when my alarm went off. I was overwhelmed by the beauty, in pain and hoping I'd make it back to the town. We still have 50 minutes to go. Dani had taken us down a shadier route, but it meant running in sand - good training for what Pacasmayo will be like. From about 50 yards in front of me, two white horses, one fully-grown and one foal, came galloping across our running path with their manes were flowing, kicking the sand as they left our sight again. "I'm really living", I thought to myself. And 8:05 often has that effect on me. It's a moment for gratitude. Diarrhea and my weekly sicknesses aside, life is good. I look forward to figuring out ways to make 8:05 even better!