Nothing says I love you like “let’s run 10 miles”.  I started running 2 months ago because I was burnt out from cycling 3 hours a day.  Running seemed like the logical choice– less time, and no more eating 5000 calories a day (it gets old after a while, not to mention the food bill).

My first week as a runner was everything I hoped.  Run 4-5 miles.  Done by 7am.  Have the whole day to myself.  Now how did that turn into running twice a day and logging 50-60 miles a week?  Mind you, those are miles at an excrutiatingly slow pace.  7 minute miles are still considered a sprint, but still…

Somehow I thought that running with Yano would add quality time to our marriage.  Instead, it’s turned into a monologue in which she tells me all about her day, while I answer with grunts and nods– all for about 20 minutes, after which, she warms up and is gone– never to be seen again until the end of our run.

We’re in Chiriqui, Panama, staying with one of Yano’s 39 cousins (on her dad’s side alone).  Lush green forests, volcanoes, mountains, and rivers.  Quite spectacular!  We met a runner at the track yesterday, and somehow the chance meeting turned into “let’s meet tomorrow at 6am to run 12k in the jungle”.  Me, being the protective husband that I am, decided to tag along to protect my wife from snakes, bears, and sexual running predators.  Big mistake!  Our running partner was a guy whose best 10k time is 30 minutes.

At approximately 10 seconds into our run, I realized I was going to get dropped in about a minute.  Yano and him were chatting away, warming up at sub 8 minute miles (uphill)– and we still hadn’t even started.  Sensing my pain, Echevarria said “we’ll turn here, you keep going until you see a branch… turn right and you’ll complete a 6 mile loop”.  Somehow I misunderstood “keep going” into “turn right”– after all, my brain doesn’t work when my heart is beating past 170 beats a minute.

Within 5 minutes, Yano and Echevarria were gone, and I started soaking in the scenery– river crossings, cows, indians cooking in an open fire.  However, 45 minutes into my run I realized I hadn’t seen any tree branch left as a sign, and I was slowly digging myself into an anaerobic hole.  I started entertaining thoughts of kidnapping a horse and riding back, but tired as I was, I doubted I could catch a sick pregnant mare, let alone a healthy horse.  A few kilometers down the road I saw a donkey, but alas, it slowly outwalked me.  I looked around, panting in despair, but all that was left were cows– with horns.

There is no shame in walking– indians have been doing it for millenia.  So, I turned around and walked until my heart rate returned to something less than a hummingbird’s.  After a few minutes, the walk turned into an injured trot, and I managed to limp back to the open road and turn around.  By the time I got back, Yano had run, stretched, had a Coke, swapped stories, and asked Echevarria for his phone number so we can do the same thing again tomorrow.  

Isn’t life grand?  Good thing I’m on vacation…

I’m going to crush the injured walking category on Sunday.