26.2! WOOOOHOOOOOO!

It's done! No more running (at least for a little while). I'm sorry I didn't write yesterday, but I have been trying to figure out how to describe what's going on in my head. Primary emotions = relief and gratitude. Relief I didn't fail. Relief I didn't hurt myself. Gratitude towards my priceless friends/family. Gratitude towards my now very achy body.

It was tough and hot. Way harder than I ever thought it would be. After all, I had run 20. 26.2 didn't seem like that long after that very painful run. Little did I know, it would be the hottest day of the year in Madrid on marathon Sunday. The first half went really well. We started on the Paseo de Recoletos (one of the main streets in Madrid) and went north towards the business district and the Estadio de Bernabeu (where Real Madrid plays) and then looped around a residential area before heading back towards my neighborhood (about a block from my house) and the very center of the city. The crowds were great, and although it was hot, I trailed a man and his wife to keep pace. All in all, my stride was good and I was coasting. Until mile 13, where I quickly realized I was DEAD.

I have read and heard about the dreaded WALL. Most people have described the feeling of helplessness that awaits marathoners around mile 20. The body simply cannot produce more effort. Glycogen debt and all that business. Needless to say, I was a little concerned that my wall came about 7 miles early. I met up with a friend (thank you Julia) at the half way point, who kept me going through my beloved Casa de Campo. Turns out the trees and sun are not so beautiful during a marathon. I tried to focus on my breath and getting back into a rhythm but my ipod broke soon after going into the park which threw me off the rest of the way. Instead I focused on Julia's back in hopes we would hit mile 18 soon and I could walk through the water stop.

Instead, we emerged from Casa de Campo to see a HILL (another one, eeek). I really did think it was over. "Screw it, I'll walk to the end" just kept going through my head. Then, my saving grace. Nicole (my roommate from Colby who FLEW from Germany to help me finish this race) and Cameron (my roommate and former Hockadaisy teammate who ran around Madrid all afternoon with extra supplies) were standing halfway up the hill. I can safely say that I don't think I have ever been more happy to see two people in my entire life. A little bit of water and some extra gu helped me get going again (verrrryyyy slowly). Nicole finished out the race with Julia and me. Not only did she give me her ipod when mine stopped working but she also ran ahead to get extra water to dump on my back. This all after she completed her very own half-marathon last weekend. Definition of badasss: Nicole Veilleux.

Highlights of the marathon:

There was also a 10k that started with the marathon. The 10k-ers ran with the marathoners until the stadium and then turned off to finish their loop. When the two groups split, the 10k runners started cheering and applauding all the marathoners. It was awesome. It was also near the beginning when I could still process things like noise and sight.

Running through my neighborhood. This was pretty badass and included a cameo from another coworker who ran about 5 miles with me.

Running through the center of Madrid (Sol, Palacio, Plaza Mayor)

Everything after this was absolutely horrible until I saw Nicole and Cameron. It included a man running without shoes beating me in Casa de Campo. Slightly embarrassing.

NICOLE AND CAMERON!!!!!!!

Watching Nicole run to water stations and then dump so much water on my back that a man actually asked me if I had showered. Also embarrassing.

The fans were awesome throughout the whole race. There were only 500 women out of a total of about 10,000 runners, so people were especially impressed with the female runners, even if I was running so slow I could have been going backwards. Venga! Guapa! Anda! Campeona! Esas chicas! Ya está hecho! Queda poco!

Actually running past some people near the end.

A impromptu rendition of "Faith" by George Michael near km 36. Actually helped a lot. Especially cause I stole Nicole's ipod and she was excited to hear some music....even if I was wheezing the lyrics by that point.

Seeing another group of English teachers in the last mile. Total surprise.

Knowing I was sort of almost done.

Running through the 10 arches at the end that I thought were the finish line to actually get to the META and knowing I had finished without dying (even if it did take a LONG time).

Getting my cheap finishers medal. BOOYEA!

Thanks to everyone for your constant support. Knowing that so many people were behind me was very helpful during that come-to-Jesus moment in the park. I will be sure to update with more photos from the marathon and plans for the Gandhi Ashram in future posts. THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! GRACIAS A TODOS!

Un abrazo,

Whit

The course

http://www.maratonmadrid.org/recorrido_prov_2010.pdf

http://www.maratones.com.mx/mapas/MadridMap.pdf

article from El País on the Madrid Marathon (it's in spanish)

http://www.elpais.com/articulo/deportes/42/kilometros/gota/gota/elpepudep/20100425elpepudep_7/Tes

$4,169.20!

$4,169.20! I am so proud of this number and so grateful to everyone for their unwavering support. This amount (and any donations received this week) will surely help when I hit "the wall" and pull me through to the end. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE! Let me know if you want to come over and finish the last few miles with me...

I'm becoming obsessive, but I thought I might share some history with ya'll. See, I really can't think about anything else.

Wikipedia entry on history of the marathon:

The name Marathon comes from the legend of Pheidippides, a Greek messenger. The legend states that he was sent from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon (in which he had just fought), which took place in August or September, 490 BC. It is said that he ran the entire distance without stopping and burst into the assembly, exclaiming "Νενικήκαμεν" (Nenikékamen, 'We have won.') before collapsing and dying. The account of the run from Marathon to Athens first appears in Plutarch's On the Glory of Athens in the 1st century AD which quotes from Heraclides Ponticus's lost work, giving the runner's name as either Thersipus of Erchius or Eucles. Lucian of Samosata (2nd century AD) also gives the story but names the runner Philippides (not Pheidippides).

"I always loved running...it was something you could do by yourself, and under
your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted,
fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the
strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs."

Jesse Owens

"Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who has the
most guts."
Steve Prefontaine

"Now if you are going to win any battle you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do. The body will always give up. It is always tired morning, noon, and night. But the body is never tired if the mind is not tired. When you were younger the mind could make you dance all night, and the body was never tired...You've always got to make the mind take over and keep going." George S. Patton, U.S. Army General and 1912 Olympian

"The marathon is like a bullfight. There are two ways to kill a bull, for instance. There is the easy way, for one. But all the great matadors end up either dead or mauled because for them killing the bull is not nearly as important as how they kill the bull. They always approach the bull at the greatest risk to themselves, and I admire that. In the marathon, likewise, there are two ways to win. There's the easy way if all you care about is winning. You hang back and risk nothing. Then kick and try to nip the leaders at the end. Or you can push, challenge the others, make it an exciting race, risking everything. Maybe you lose, but as for me, I'd rather run a gutsy race, pushing all the way and lose, then run a conservative, easy race only for a win." - Alberto Salazar, 1981

Hahaha, I thought this last one was especially relevant for the Madrid Marathon although there will be no racing involved. The goal is to finish. Just to finish and then maybe to do so without crying at the end.

slowwww downnnnn

Seven days. Run. Marathon. Run. Hills. Run. Body glide. Gel. Carbs. Shoes. This is pretty much all I think about right now which is a little bit sad. I do live in one of most exciting cities in the world and all I can think about is how I will carry gel with me on the run. Needless to say, I'm a little bit anxious. This has manifested itself in way faster running times, which sounds like a good thing but not the week before the marathon. Like the rest of Europe, I blame the volcano

Subarna's essay

I have asked a few students from the Gandhi Ashram to send me essays about their lives in Kalimpong and relationship to the school. Having experienced this magical place, it is hard for me to explain the beauty and kindness of the kids and teachers at GAS. Hopefully, Subarna's essay will help demonstrate not only the impact of the school but also the strength and intelligence of its students. Enjoy!

Subarna Pradhan, Gandhi Ashram School, Class 12

The day I turned seventeen, I saw a wild peacock in my garden, with its wings spread out in the early morning sunlight, showing all of the colours of the rainbow. My mother had prepared a special sweet dish—rice pudding with almonds. Later in the morning, I went to the temple and prayed, stopped at the Gumpha (Buddhist monastery) at the crossing of 7^th mile to seek the blessings of the lama. He gently placed his hand on my head and recited a prayer.

Soon it was time for violin practice: we were learning a new piece from Bach, a difficult piece, and I had only 20 minutes to reach school. I was very happy that day, and as I made my way through the hills to my school, hurrying along, I began to hum a melody that combined Bach with an old Lepcha folk song. Indu asked me: is it your composition? I just smiled at her. There were lots of wild flowers swaying by the wayside and dogs lazing in the sun. When I reached school, Father Paul took me to one corner, and gave me the news: my father had met with an accident while pushing a wheel barrow up the hill at a construction site near 13^th mile and had to be taken to hospital for surgery. I looked up at the skies and wept.

My board exams began the day after I turned eighteen. A year had passed since I saw the wild peacock in the garden. My father was sitting out in the sun: he was still in the wheelchair, unable to walk. But he had his flute and was playing a tune that reminded me of my childhood. The vegetable garden nearby looked wild: no one had the time now to grow vegetables or take care of the flowers. My mother had taken up a job in a nearby flower nursery to bring in some money. The doctors had said that it would take my father another four months to be back on his feet. I had spent months preparing for my exams: sociology, political science, English literature, Nepali, Geography, and Maths, and had no time to do the regular housework or take care of my little sister, Meghna. The neighbours were kind enough to help: we would pick vegetables from their gardens, go to them when I needed an extra pen, use their cell phone when I wanted to ring someone. My younger sister, Nikita, was also taking her Board exams and studying hard. My mother always said: Concentrate on your studies. You don’t have to do any housework. I can manage. Often, we would peep out of the window nervously, and see her toil away at the break of dawn before she left for work. If we went near the kitchen or picked up a broom to sweep, she would shoo us away.

The day the exams ended, I noticed that the wild peacock had returned, and the very next day, on Buddha Purnima—the day of Buddha’s enlightenment—my father rose up from his chair and took his first step with the help of a cane.

My name is Subarna—which means—shining or lustrous. I have two sisters, Nikita who is a year older, and Meghna, who is only twelve years of age. Meghna is named after the clouds that surround us in Kalimpong. She is a mischievous young girl, very fond of climbing trees and picking wild fruits. My father worked as a mason in charge of laying bricks, and we have always been poor but happy. We don’t own the land on which our cottage stands. It is a small 2-room cottage, surrounded by a small garden, and an equally small field down below where we grow our vegetables. There is a mountain spring in the field below that provides water for our daily use. Outside the hut is a small shrine dedicated to the Mother Goddess: it is a shrine that belongs to my mother’s family, and she is now its priestess.

Nikita and I both went to Gandhi Ashram School till class 6 and then moved to another school, Saptashri in 10^th mile. I remember that I was only five when Father McGuire lifted me up in his arms and asked me in Nepali: Do you want to pull strings? He had come that morning and, after talking to my parents in Nepali, decided that both Nikita and I were to attend Gandhi Ashram! I had no idea what was in store for me. We were both admitted to class 1. My sister and I would walk for an hour to get to school—from my village situated on top of a hill in 7^th mile to the end of 5^th mile where the school is located. At first my mother or our neighbours would walk me and Nikita to school. But when we were older—that is, seven years of age—we managed on our own. In fact, all we had to do was climb up the hill next to our cottage to the main road where we would join a stream of students walking down the mountain to Gandhi Ashram. We would sing as we walked, swinging our bags in the air. Those were the days. I loved to read books—stories, poetry, and soon developed a fondness for writing. Some of my essays have appeared in the Gandhi Ashram newsletter. As a violin player, I practiced very hard during the chamber music lessons offered during Colby College’s Jan Plan. Michael Sir encouraged me by saying that one day I would be an accomplished violinist if I kept practicing for the next five years! I think he was just being nice. As a student I have, on occasions, travelled to far away places in India to play at concerts. But every time I left Kalimpong, I would miss the clouds, the mountains, and the steep winding paths.

Now it is time for me to make the next step— to leave the hills for higher education. I have decided to get a degree in Social Work at Viswabharati—a university set up by the great Indian poet and Nobel laureate, Rabindranath Tagore. Situated in Santinikatan, an overnight journey from the train station in Siliguri, Viswabharati has a reputed programme in Social Work. I realize, from talking to others, that a degree in social work will help me to train as a professional community worker. I am particularly interested in working on counselling young people from the hill communities, many of whom drop out of school and start taking drugs due to poverty and lack of education. I would like to start by working for an NGO after I complete my degree. Working for an NGO will help me build a base in community outreach work, but eventually I want to work with village communities in my area in Kalimpong to set up after-school learning and recreation centers for young children and youth where they would receive counseling, find books and resources to further their education, make new friends who shared common interests in music, reading, mathematics, and in environmental studies.

Now I have to prepare myself to face another world-- to learn new things, meet new people, and travel to new places. But I will always carry the music in my heart and the wild peacock in my mind as I do.

oh shit.

Despite not sleeping very well last night and having to get up early, I was actually having a fairly decent morning. I left on time, popped in my headphones, put on my favorite song and headed down the elevator looking forward to watching my first graders try Reeses for the first time. Then, as I walked down the stairs of the metro and reached for the morning paper, I saw the headline..."Un corredor falleció en la media maratón de Madrid." For all you non-Spanish speakers out there, this means that a guy died yesterday at the end of the half-marathon in Madrid. Let's just say, this did not help with my ever-increasing anxiety about actually being able to pull this thing off.

This past weekend I wandered around Madrid looking for new running shoes. For some reason, the most simple things tend to be WAY more difficult over here. I have no idea where most madrileños get their running shoes, but they must have some secret code to an underground warehouse of hi-tech gear. With that said, I found a store fairly close that sold Asics and decided to give it a try. Upon entering the store, I was immediately told that I could not have access to the women's section of the store because there was a conference. Clearly I was inconveniencing them by trying to buy shoes in their store. Thankfully, they had gels (those gross things I have to eat while running to make sure I don't fall over and die like that above-mentioned señor). While checking out, the sales clerk asked me if I was running the half-marathon. After I explained I was running the full, he stared at me for a second and then continued to tell me that the Madrid Marathon is really hard (shocker). I left the store with him repeating the words paciencia and tranquila as I walked out the door.

Needless to say, these two experiences combined with a week of not so good runs (minus the 12 mile on Sunday, that one was good) have made me have what I like to call an "oh shit moment." You know what I'm talking about - those moments when you look at yourself in the mirror and think, what the hell have I gotten myself into? Hopefully, this rest day will lead to a plethora of good runs this week as I prep towards the final run a week from Sunday (April 25). Just thought I would share a freak out moment in hopes that positive responses will calm me down. I mean, I know I will cross the finish line, let's just hope I don't die trying...just kidding.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!

Let me start off my saying that I am very jealous of all of you who were able to make it to my Dad's birthday bash last night. Ice luge? Check. Sushi Bar? Check. Awesome band on a stage that covered our pool? Check. That sounds awesome, and I really hope everyone enjoyed themselves. My parents also tell me that a few people brought donations for the Gandhi Ashram. THANK YOU! I have been completely overwhelmed by the amount of support from everyone. I assure you that this money will be put to good use at the Gandhi Ashram and will make a big difference in the lives of these kids.

On another note, I would like to dedicate this post to the awesomeness that is Mike Lynn. Dad,

I'm so sorry I wasn't able to make it home for the big 6-0 but it seems like you made me proud and had a truly amazing party. I am continually grateful and amazed at your unwavering support for my crazy ideas. Whether it's going to India or living in Spain, you and Mom have not only backed me up 100% but also offered support and guidance. I admire you and love you for all that you have achieved and value your opinion more than almost anyone on earth. You have served as the ultimate role model with your commitment to hard work and being a good person. Thank you for all that you do and say. I look forward to our next bike trip this summer. Hopefully, it will bring more bruises and good memories.

Un abrazo fuerte,

Whit

run, run, run

$3,048!!!! Thank you all so much for your donations. It is so exciting to know that this will all end in a great cause.

On another note, I know that some people say that it's cheating to run with music, but I don't think I would survive without my ipod. I mean, honestly, what do you think about for three hours if you don't have a beat. On that note, I have recently discovered my favorite running song. This newfound love for British rock is very convenient considering my recent decision (I think) to move to London next year for grad school. This song is especially helpful for those last few miles...I don't really know what the lyrics mean, but the fact that "run" is part of the chorus helps.

"the dog days are over, the dog days are done

the horses are coming so you better run

run fast for your mother run fast for your father

run for your children for your sisters and brothers

leave all your love and your loving behind you

can't carry it with you if you want to survive

the dog days are over the dog days are done

can't you hear the horses cuz here they come "

parlez vous anglais?

Sorry for the hiatus, turns out I'm not so good at this posting thing, but I will try and be a bit more consistent as we are in the final countdown for the marathon. April 25. T-20 days.

At least the delay has a sort of logical explanation this time. One of the great perks of being a school teacher

AND living in a Catholic country means that I get an insane amount of time off work around the Easter holidays. I was fortunate enough to have two of my Hockaday friends, Taylor and Amy, come over and wander around Spain and Morocco for a while. It was really nice to be a tourist in Madrid again and experience Spain with fresh eyes.

We spent a few days in Madrid (with a day trip to Toledo) before heading over to Marrakech for three days. I don't really know what I was expecting to find there but it was way more crazy than I could have imagined. I didn't really think I could find a place that could

compete with the smells of New Delhi but Marrakech's streets challenged my senses from the first morning we arrived. Donkeys, freshly slaughtered meat, stale pee, vegetables, spices, fruit, bread. It was crazy. We were all a little hesitant about negotiating the crazy streets of Marrakech but adjusted after a few hours.

I'll update later with some details and pictures of the trip, but I'll leave you for now with a summary of recent runs.

14 last week: one of the most horrible runs ever. OUCH

10 mile this past Friday: actually really great (especially with some help from Amy) and a nice surprise considering I took a 3 day break in Morocco

20 miler on Sunday: the BIG run. It was big. And painful. All of that optimism from the 10 mile pretty much went out the window in the first twenty minutes. Even though I was grandma running near the end, I did finish. My legs aren't really working properly today which is a precursor for how fun it will be to run after children the day after the marathon. Ouch.

Talk soon, Whit