Runner's Strain

I had forgotten how difficult it is to run in this country. Indeed, that was one of the first things that I was struck with upon returning to the United States: the ease of access for runners to do what they love.
To give an example, I need to hike roughly half a mile up a steep hill before I can begin my run here in site. I certainly can’t drive there as I might do at home. Then there is the question of the time of day to go running. Placing work schedules aside for a moment, there are only a certain number of hours in the day that I am able to go out: 12hrs of daylight (give or take), no daylight-savings time. Within that time frame, I must deal with the weather (rains all afternoon during the rainy season, sometimes throughout the day), dogs and people (often unfriendly and condescending respectively… maybe both?), and the terrain (mountainous, rocky and uneven, extremely muddy during the rainy season). Clothes and proper running shoes can also present themselves as something of a problem. Both tend to ware quickly out here, and clothes are dried out on the line, which can often take days during the rainy season. Translation: wet running clothes, whether from rain, sweat or both, tend to stay that way for quite a while.
Being back home was wonderful, because at any moment I could decide to get up and go for a run. It didn’t matter the hour. The streets are lit and close at hand, the weather and terrain more permitting, the clothes easily washed and dried. I can dry off and warm up quickly after runs, don’t have to hike to or from my route, and runners gear, (shorts, shoes, watches, internet resources, etc.) are all readily available. What’s more, the routes themselves are often designed with runners in mind, and the social culture in the country is such that it is at least somewhat acceptable for a person to use running as a form of exercise. To many here in El Salvador, the vary concept of “exercise” simply does not exist. They only “train,” as a professional athlete might train before an event, say, a soccer game. Your common man does not “train.” You are therefore something of a spectacle, for good or ill, and will have to endure more than your share of indignities.
Nutrition can be something of an issue as well, which I think is particularly true in my case. Because I eat with my host family for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my diet is defined by what is both seasonally and locally available, and by the whim of those preparing the meal. Thus I often am left wanting of certain nutrients that might help me to recover more quickly, retain my energy and alertness, or build muscle. Often times, after the midday meal I will feel extremely sluggish and tired, due in no small part I am sure to the copious amounts of carbohydrates and starches in each meal, along with the high noon heat of the sun.
Travel is another challenge that can often complicate my intentions to run. It is admittedly more difficult to do any form of exercise while traveling, whether through the United States or to other parts of the world. Your standard routine is broken up or wholly ruined, and your are greeted by new and unfamiliar, perhaps even dangerous places. This is never more true, however, than here in Latin America. As part of being a Peace Corps volunteer I travel a lot, and here in El Salvador that means anywhere from a few hours to an entire day of travel in buses. The main highways are always crowded with traffic during the day and rarely have shoulders provided, only then when nearing a metropolis. Beyond that, the streets are further congested with street vendors, pedestrians, and stray dogs. Get off the main highway and you are lucky to find many paved roads. These roads can be just as dangerous as the highway if not more so because of their isolated nature. One can never take for granted that this country has the highest homicide rate per capita in the world due to its ongoing problems with gangs and drug trafficking.
That said, I must admit that despite all of these difficulties which conspire against an avid runner, they concurrently engender great returns for those who decides to overcome them. The scenery which abounds in many parts of the country is just another added perk. The topography of much of the country can only be characterized as hilly, the land laying across a fault line and littered with volcanoes, which can do wonders for strength and endurance training. And certainly the higher altitudes of my site have done much to help further my training results. It is something of a trade off then, gaining a little here, losing a little there.
In the end the run is what you make of it, and though it has been difficult the gains made from running have been significant.

The Long Road Home

I have been back in El Salvador for one week today and it has been a challenge, to say the least. I quite forgot the rough edges of day-to-day life that is the Peace Corps El Salvador experience. After being away from the cabin for more than 40 consecutive days it was in a state of messy disarray when I finally returned. In fact, my second night home, after coming back from my host family’s house after dinner, I interrupted a rather large rat inside the cabin perched on a shelf against the wall adjacent to the front door where I have all my bathroom finery. Wonderful, I think to myself as I hastily grab for some fatal weapon to duel with this intruding, pestilent fiend, having overcome the initial surprise of the unwelcome visitor. I later discovered a soap bar half eaten, left in its wake. It seems that soap has a rats version of cat nip stored within; they can’t seem to get enough of it. I found the remnants of two others the day before, eaten sometime during my vacation.
The weather has been depressing me further, with long, dark, rainy, and overcast days. It had rained three days consecutively since I arrived, another three prior to my arrival I had been told. The consequence: everything is wet, impregnated with mildew and rot or flirting with the idea, and mud scattered across cloths, floors, hands, and faces. This will take some getting used to, I think to myself.
I had done it all before, and with a light and enthusiastic air more times than not. But this time around my reactions are quite different. Fresh from the good life, surrounded by the abundance and comfort which characterizes so much of American life, my outlook on the situation is now admittedly colored, playing to a different tune. And I can’t help but wonder, why? Why have I come back. At once I feel very selfish and self-involved for pouting over my sudden (albeit planned) change in living circumstances. Carlos, a 16 year old in the community had recently lost a greater portion of his right thumb just last week after having caught it in a chain linkage while working in the field. How can I even begin to lament the difficulties of returning in light of the challenges Salvadorans daily face? It’s comforting really to reflect on our comparative realities, a humble reminder of how fortunate we are, a reservoir of strength to draw from. I’m okay, I say. I can do this…

Pan-Am

The following are passages from a book I read recently, Road Fever by Tim Cahill. The book, published in '91, chronicles two mens attempt to break a world record for a 15,000 mile north-south drive from Tierra del Fuego, Argentina to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. I Thought some of his observations of the highway systems while driving through Latin America to be interesting and informative. I've added a bit of my own to clarify what I have seen, the particular peculiarities of the El Salvadoran road system.

In South and Central America, there are still (road less) areas, or places where a cross-country road is nothing more than a path scraped out of the jungle.

There are good drivers on the Pan-American (Highway), and there are bad ones. The rules of the road are informal, and it is assumed that a certain amount of blood will flow...

Everyone has access to the roads. Businesses, rushing to take advantage of traffic on the Pan-American, literally line the road. Patrons in bars and cantinas could stumble out the front door and onto the Pan-American in a matter of steps...

Theres really not that much in the way of side-streets or developed suburban areas. The only places for significant exchange of commerce away from city centers and their subsequent marketplaces are the roads, the only other place where there is an appreciable level of human traffic.

People walk along the (shoulder-less) road because the jungle was thick in places, and , even on foot, the highway often (was) the fastest way to go. Sometimes the road was the only clearing, the only flat spot, and if there was little traffic- for instance, on the alternate route over the Mountain of Death out of San Jose, Costa Rica- people might use the road to work, to slaughter sheep, for instance.

Actually, the roads are often used during harvest seasons for drying crops, corn husks and cobs, coffee bean or frijoles for example. Sheep aren't very common here, but its certainly not uncommon to see livestock ferried between ranges across the roads, usually cows, and distances between ranges can sometimes extend for miles. Slaughtering of animals, though not frequently seen on the roadside, is not unheard of. And roads serve as a major thoroughfare for pedestrians as well, simply because it is the most simple means of conveyance for many who are traveling small distances. The ground is flat and clear, full of others to run into, and for those living in roadside communities, right outside their doors.

The Pan-American was a form of entertainment. Whole families- men, women, toddlers- stood on the side of the road, watching semis howl by two feet from their faces. Lovers walked hand in hand under the trees, on the pavement, in the darkness. Children dodged traffic for fun and kicked soccer balls to one another across the Pan-American.

Late evenings, sections of road have been known to become almost entirely pedestrian. People come out to the road to congregate, for easter marches or funeral procession, for the Salvi's version of a block-party, or simply as the community meeting center in absence of a local town hall or church.

In (Garry's) opinion, drivers on the Pan-American were very good indeed, and he thought that most of them possessed better skills than the typical North American driver.

Joe and I objected to this. Drivers would consistently pull out to pass in the face of an oncoming car or tuck. Sometimes both vehicles pulled back into their own lanes simultaneously, inches away from death. Bumpers missed bumpers by feet, sometimes inches.

"People grew up driving like this," Garry shouted... "It's what they know," he bellowed, "this kind of driving is all they know, and their good at it. North American rules don't apply. They've got people driving vehicles at twenty miles an hour here, and if they pass safely- what we'd call safely- they'd never get anywhere. So everyone passes everyone, at any time. That bus back there? When we were coming at each other? He saw that I needed more room than he did and feathered back on the throttle. He was good. Different rules here, and if you know the rules, you can see how good the drivers are."

Garry, I could see, was in a kind of ecstasy, his teeth bared against the sting of rain on his face.

"Yeah," I shouted, "but how do you know that someone isn't drunk, a crazy macho, or suicidal?"

"Well," Garry screamed, "you usually have about ten seconds to decide."

Through the inch or so of moving water on the glass (of the windshield) in front of me I could see the looming grill of a large truck as it peeled off into its own lane.

"These people," Garry howled, " are either good drivers or they are dead."

What seems to many foreigners as utter chaos, is in fact a complicated and integrated system under which functions without many laws and virtually no oversight. Perhaps not as safely or as efficiently as it could, but functional all the same. In fact, the system of driving seems often to produce better drivers than most in the states. Driving is a luxury here, most are unable to afford it, and for many of that minority who do, its their job. More importantly, however, is that this is all they know , very much like their spoken language. In short, the roads are an adventure to travel, and they have their own confounding language to intemperate.

Closing In

COS (close of service) conference was held last month, the moment when those who intend to extend for a third year declare their offical COS date and those who are finishing their service begin the process of leaving the country and their communities. This has given me ample time for reflection on the work I have done here over the past two years, and my reasons for staying on for a third year. I will share with you some of those reflections and details on current projects so that you might get a better idea of what is happening in site today, and the typical work of a volunteer.

At the moment I am busy with a rabbit rearing project intending to teach community members the basic methods in raising rabbits for either consumption or sale, and the many benefits it provides: a means of secondary/domestic income where unemployment and underemployment are high, white meat with a low fat/high protein content, excellent nigtrogen/carbon rich excriment usefull as an organic fertilizer, rapid sexual reproduction (1 1/2 mths btwn litters), and low mantinance animals (2oz. food feed once daily, virtually soundless, clean animals when reared in cages raised from the ground.)

Aside from the rabbits project, my focus has been drawn to collection of funds for amplification of the current potable water system in the community and construction of composting latrines.

Currently, 16 of the 30 homes in la Joya are without a fixed potable waterline to their homes. Beginning in December 2009, after aquiring $500 for a small projects initiative through clearwaters.org, we constructed 30 "water boxes" in front of each home, water valves housed within reinforced cement boxes and locking tops such that service to each home can be shut off or turned on, depending on whether or not they pay a monthñy usage fee which goes towards the systems maintenance. This phase, phase one, will be completed at the end of February. The second phase, beginning in early April, concerns the formation and training of a Water Committee and repairs to all existing components of the system. The committee will be responsible for collection money for the monthly fees, maintenance of the system, and clorination/filtration of the water. Phase three, the final stage of the potable water project (dependent on the aquisition of funds amounting to $3k) will be the extension of the existing systems to the majority of the communtiy still without service anf thus left to draw from potentially contaminated water springs and creeks/rivers. The $3000 budgeted for this project is being solicited through the Peace Corps Partnership Program, which can be accessed through the organizations main web page. Posted in mid-February, this water porject can be found through a simple crossreferenced search using my name and country of service. The advantage of this is its transparancy, accessability and tax exempt status for all donations.

The latrines project is an effort to counter the problems inheirent with the existing pit latrines with are prone to flooding each rainy season when the water tables rise. Only 4 homes currently have composting latrines, which offer a number of advantages over pit latrines: perennial units (as opposed to pit latrines needing to be reconstruced every 7-10 yrs once filled), no threat of contaminant leaching into the soil or water table, and production of an extremely fertile compost soil. However, for many it is prohibitively expensive because of materials costs, often three times the price of a pit latrine. To build the remaining 26 latrines in the community, I have budgeted approximately $7000, solicited via the internet and friends and family through a 14 page project proposal. At the moment we have succeeded in collecting $4200, and are awaiting the final $2800 to start construction, preparing community members with trainings on proper use and maintenance of composting latrines in the interm.

It is for these projects, and other pipe dream projects, that I decided to extend for a third year. All the same, I have been at pains to remain motivated in light of all my friends leaving to begin the next chapter of their lives while I put my own plans on hold. I´m certain I´ll be happy with my decision in the future, but it is at the moment difficult to see in light of all that´s happening presently; and of course, thoughts of the future never seem to leave me with a moments respite...

Well, it has been quite some time since my last entry, something which has been bothering me of late and towards which I now attempt to make ammends.

The following are just a few digital copyies of journal entries and poems I have written over the last few months. Its my hope that these will be of use to those few readers of this blog, interested in the details of life and living in "The Savior." Barring any latent catastrophies or laziness, I hope to post a few others soon which will ellaborate on that theme.

So I hope you all enjoy!

journal entry dated 10/26/09

A preferential option for the poor. A worthy pursuit for one’s life, a guiding force for one who cannot identify fully with with the profuse theos of the world, nor be fully satiated with the gaping uncertainties inherent in ology. Indeed, it has been startlingly refreshing and empowering to lend one’s self to such pursuits. Paradoxically, one might say, as I can’t imagine a struggle more difficult, a challenge more endemic and pervasive with suffering and grief, or so deeply entrenched, and ultimately, destined to fail. But if my experiences over the past 19 months have thought me anything, it is that eminent failure is no reason at all to stay some attempt against. Indeed, to think justly would be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as would political slothfulness for conviction that one’s voice is unable to incite change. Absurdly, we hope to indemnify ourselves from the suffering of failure, embarrassment; what ever it is that restrains our better selves. And in so doing, we succeed in nothing more than the perpetuation of suffering; a self fulfilling prophecy.

Truly, as theos of the East contest, life is suffering. This is not intended for the masochists, sadists and pessimists, or a truism satisfying the dejected, despondent, or downhearted, to acquiesce defeatism or negativity, quite the contrary. Name some worthy (or for that matter, unworthy) pursuit in life and I will provide you with a catalog of pains to which one must submit in its attainment.

journal entry dated 11/11/09

I was on medical brigade today in Carisal. By all accounts a relatively tranquil day, though the north winds began to pick up in the early afternoon, near about mid-day. In fact, poetically minded as I have recently been, these gusts seemed to me a rebuke to the early mornings beginning; a reminder of the perceptions of time and the speed (or languor) with which all things change.

And a foreboding of things to come…

An elder of the village, we were informed, had recently fallen ill and now lay bedridden and coughing flem. We ate a hasty late lunch, as is our wont on Tuesdays, before setting off to Señor’s home. Arriving, we were greeted by a cavalcade of family members, come form all directions on news of Señor’s convalescences.

With taking of vitals and medical history, it soon became apparent that he had suffered a stroke, his entire right side paralyzed. It had been just 36 hours hence. He was also producing considerable sputum, which he more than once turned to spit from the bed to the floor beside him. There was a noticeable rasping wheeze with each labored breath. He had great difficulty speaking, much of the sounds he produced being unintelligible.

On his face was the look of fear and depression, battling with a resignation to his last days on this earth. He was well into his seventies, and apparently had sufficient time in his waning years to consider his own death.

We were asking him what he wanted to do: remain in his home, his community, which in his more youthful years had undoubtedly been loath to leave, and were he presently faced a near certain decline in health and death; or leave this modest house, go from the warming embrace of his considerable extended family which now crowded the room and looked down on him pityingly; place his life in the hands of a new and different world to him; forgo his fear of science and compartmentalize his faith in God, for a chance to improve his carnal condition. In the end, and after much cajoling and coercion, he conceded to be carried from his bed, shoeless and soiled as his children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren, brothers, mothers, sisters and fathers-in-law looked on. A proud man, strong in his youth, now prostrate to the indignities of age and infirmity. For he is not ready to die…

The Oppressed His Burden

His life of pittances and hard toil

Is of’t bereft of necessities met.

But onward still he plods in persistence

Phased not by grave challenges he ‘ever meets.

He seems to retain some vague understanding

Of the injudicious confines of his

Life, which bare him up to the elements;

Callous, cold, unfeeling, unforgiving.

Nevertheless, he appears unconcerned

As though resigned to the manner of his

Paltry existence; habituated

To the standards of so meager a lot.

Indeed one might believe it to be so

Were he not to consider their true plight,

By nature imposed and by man maintained.

As much by his fellow as by himself.

For thus his burden will be recognized

As a plant let to take root in poor soil,

Resplendent with blooms or pride and beauty,

Does soon fester in root and succumb

To it’s end without intervention.

Unwilling of itself\ or unable

And without the support of it’s neighbor

There is but little chance for survival.

The loathed Visitor

It is not but frenemy, as it were.

Welcomed begrudgingly, as with all else.

Known for decades well to the olds and wise,

Having paid visit to their families

Since time immemorial. And Children

So curious to know their circumstances

Of being, do soon come to learn about

Their omnipresent neighbor, the reaper.

It works not with malice, they know or soon

Find, but with fate and odds it’s faithful dice.

And they with scant resources to protect

Or prosper, with nerves wrought of iron hard,

Do make with a willful submissiveness

All the rights of hospitality to it.

Obliging their visitors dark shadow

With but indulgence, and so with themselves.

Condition

We are told it is but Human.

Collusion of the masses to tear down

That which proves an obstacle to himself.

Monitary amelioration,

Jackles cavorting over shadowed carcass

Only just aware of prey’s suffering/

Inured by isolated existence,

Placated by natures distinct cycle,

Wanting to stay their hand, if but for

Exacerbation of his own creature

discomforts…