Media Maratón

Today some PCV friends of mine got up around 5am and took a taxi to the stadium - they were going to run a half marathon.

I was not running a half marathon.

So I, coldhearted person that I am, did not get up at 5am to see them off.

After sleeping in a couple extra hours - hours during which my friends were running, panting, sweating, battling amoebas, and praying for it to just be over - I got up in time to meet them at the finish line.

Smiling faces abounded.

And somewhere along the 13.1 miles (21 kilometers), friends were made. The kind of friends who pace with you. The kind of friends who grab your shirt and drag you along when you start to lag behind.

Check out the snazzy shirts the girls wore:

Very official. And on the back:

This pretty much holds true for running in the city as well as the campo (countryside), only substitute "buses, cars, and taxicabs" for "livestock."

And my inner grammarian must point out that "campo running" is not a verb; it is a noun. A gerund, to be exact. Nonetheless, it is for such a T-shirt that I desire to run the half marathon in Guayaquil come October. I must train...especially because everyone today finished right around 2 hours, and my delicate sensibilities would be forever ruined if I could not at least meet the same standards of these highly trained runners who take their sport COMPLETELY SERIOUSLY, no fun allowed.