Pacing Tammy

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Reflecting

Yesterday, I paced my first Ultra.  Yes, there's a first time for everything and this weekend was my first of many.

Understanding

When Tammy called me a couple of months ago, I thought one had to be insane to be running such a long distance non-stop, day in and night out.

Running a (half) Ironman was itself a balanced feat, but running an ultra is extreme beating on your feet.

Negotiating

So, I told her "no" at first.  Had other commitments -- the National the week before, and of course my dreaded midterms (George Washington University).  Surely, this was an excuse to cop out.

But after much contemplation, how could I say        
"no" to Tammy -- sweet, unique and sensational.

Yes, she's really quite an inspiration and the Umstead 100 would open many doors, I know, even if it slams back on me.

Inspiring

So the race started promptly at 6:00 AM.  And 11 hours later, I had the pleasure to accompany Tammy on her 6th lap, just over the midway hump.  What should have been an opportunity for me to support and encourage became an interval of inspiration and encouragement I gained on each and every excruciating step.

Jill and Annette during their 6th lap

Navigating

So finally 3:30 AM crept up on us.  We had been up for nearly 24 hours -- Tammy had been running for over 21 hours and I had stayed up at the Aid Station, meeting other runners, pacers and seeing where I could be of help.

It was this time that I met Jill Perry and heard her amazing story of how she set a course record for the race.

For one, I was extremely impressed with the staff and support crew.  Everyone was amazingly helpful.  They treated the runners like royalty and even the pacers received first-class treatment, too.

Secondly, the food, both hot and cold was out of this world.  Besides your typical bananas and bagels, there was pizza, chicken breast, burgers and dogs.  I felt I was visiting In-N-Out rather than Running In and Out.

Mixing delicious Umstead Spaghetti sauce the dinner before

When we started in the pre-dawn darkness -- it seemed so thrilling that Tammy was starting on her 8th and final lap. Excitement filled the air but the air would soon grow cold and unforgiving.

Despite the full moon, in many spots, the trees towered over the dusty trails and darkness easily enveloped us.

But in no time, we were making good headway, only to face the rolling hills -- hills that got deeper and steeper, trails that got longer and stronger.

One of these days, I'll do a ultra, I thought.  Not Umstead, but just a simple ultra -- something slow and less rolling.

Finally, with just a minute to spare, Tammy, her husband Tristan, and I all crossed the finish line at just under 25 hours (24 hours, 58 mins and 30 secs) -- hand in hand, face-to-face, smile across brow.  I was so proud of Tammy that now I truly began to appreciate the sacrifice one has to make -- a sacrifice that I myself may be willing to take this October with the JFK 50.

But who knows, where I'll be then.  The summer is long and lots of events between now and then.  An ultra is a great goal but pacing is just as swell.

A Church Rebuilds in Haiti

Haiti: The Streets, The People

A Church Grows in Haiti

I have never seen anything close to this.  Not where I grew up onboard a 40-foot yacht sailing to remote parts of the  Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia.  Not two years ago, on the hot, dusty streets of  Kabul. Not last summer on my marathon train ride from Turkey, Romania, Hungary and Poland.

"Nice to meet you Pastor Luke.  It's a tremendous honor."  Pastor Luc St Felix is a gentle, kind-hearted minister whose total lost not only affected his intermediate family but his entire church family.

National Marathon and Half

Running with "the Runs"

Reflecting

This was supposed to be my hometown run.  After doing the Goofy, the Miami and the New Orleans Rock-N-Roll, I was looking forward to staying home and running my hometown streets.

Understanding

In the beginning of the year, I set a personal goal: To run 12 major marathons, half marathons or triathlon events this year (whether formal or unofficial).  Running the National full would be my 4th race and on track to make my goal by year's end.

Last year's National had a surprising twist.  Since I had a good track record with the race (this is my 4th year running it), I expected it to be more of the same.  Boy was I WRONG.

Negotiation

And I was facing some obstacles.  In Haiti the ground was too damaged and the skies too dirty to run.  I was very strict with only drinking bottled water, but I had to eat the food.  Whenever you go to a third world country, you come home, but the bug stays with you. So, I had come back with a mild fever and well the "Runs".

Inspiration

When I started to feel weak, I realized that villagers all over Port-au-Prince are facing immense difficulty everyday. Coming back from the trip gave me all the inspiration I needed.

I was also very glad that my friend, Chris, who just the day before I suggested he join me in his first marathon was making a good time and feeling invigorated.

Navigation

I felt inspired, but still felt ill, both gastrointestinal and a slight fever that precipitously got worse by the minute.  I remembered that I had to pace my friend Tammy for the Umstead 100 Endurance Run near Raleigh the following weekend.  I wanted to be healthy for that run and also run this week to prepare for it.  So while last year I started out with the half and finished the full, this year was just the polar opposite.

Laptops and Hotspots

Patrice Richard from Paris knocked timidly on the front door of Ms. Ederne Edouard, a 31-year old woman, unemployed and illiterate and hoping for a brighter day.

The French man who went by Patrice was surprisingly nervous and shockingly lost for words.  In his hands he carried a picture of his adopted daughter, 15 years old, Sophia.  From his lips, he mouthed the words from Sophia to his birth mother, "I love you Mama. I hope to see you one day, very soon."

What particularly chocked me about this story was the fact that Ederne had never seen a picture of her daughter -- never held her hand since she was abandoned at age two.

Now, Sophia was living in Paris -- smart, athletic and witty.  She loved to study and had many friends. Like most girls, her age, she had a cell phone and a facebook page.

And like most people in Haiit (over 30% are illiterate), Ederne did not have access to a phone or the internet, didn't even know how to boot up a computer, how to type together complete sentences or even write them down for that matter.

To me Ederne's story is sad, uplifting and wholly emotional.  It is a testimony of love and a testament to the fact that Haitian's need laptops, internet, and a portal to the rest of the world.

My dream is to provide laptops and high speed internet access to everyone in Port-au-Prince.  Yes, this dream seems extreme in a land where the biggest need is a tent to cover their heads and flip flops to protect their feet.  But how are we going to get them these materials quickly, proficiently and completely if we don't know how to request them, ship them, deliver them so that passion and compassion can be displayed with the best of humanity.

Here's what I'm thinking: tap off the existing backbone by building dozens of antennas strategically located throughout the city and connected via line-of-sight. Lend the laptops to women as part of a microfinance program and provide WiFi access via individual passwords.

Once built, the system is permanent and self sustaining.  Besides providing security, we would have to provide technical assistance to use and maintain the laptops.  We will hire local Haitians and provide them an opportunity to be trained, intern and return their knowledge and skillsets to the local population.

Providing laptops with high speed internet access is not just for the Haitians. First and foremost, this capability should be provided to relief workers and non profit organizations who are providing their time and capital to save lives and make life better in this country.

Often times, these organizations are comprised of very large groups where nearly 100 people per organization may need simultaneous access to high-speed internet.  These relief workers depend on the power of internet communication to ensure that their equiptment and resources (tents, flip flops, medicine, clothing, Bibles, etc) as well as people get moved smartly, quickly, touching as many Haitians as we possibly can.

Once the backbone is built, there is no reason why the appendages cannot be extended to the Haitian people so that every individual can enjoy the power and speed of the internet.

Critics may say, that people are not familiar with the use.  My response is that we can teach them, create skilled labor through internships and thus create more jobs.

Some may add that this country has a 30% illiteracy rate.  If people can't read a book, how can they read what's on their computer screen  -- my answer: Perhaps the computer more than the book with actually be the vehicle that introduces them to the power of language.

I have additional ideas how we can provide a large amount of laptops to the Haitians that can not only be a Win-Win, but a WIN-WIN-WIN-WIN for the folks at home involved in this large-scale endeavor.

I also have an idea how an application can be created in Creole that will be more icon intensive with fewer words and less complexity that I hope the Haitians will happily embrace.

I also don't want to bore you with these logistical and technical details.  If you would like to discuss with me the specificity of my plan, please drop me a line.

I hope that this vision will soon come to fruition and we can provide free high-speed internet access to every Haitian in Port-au-Prince.  Meanwhile, at home, I am hard pressed to find a WiFi signal even in the most busier parts of DC.  Yes, I know that this vision can be a hard endeavor, but if you don't try, we will never know life's true possibilities.

Here Comes the Rain Haiti

It poured hard early on. The anticipated down pour at dawn rocked my frail tent like a bucket of hail or a barrage of barrel-sized buckshot crashing down on a hot tin roof on a dusty, summer day.


I tossed then turned and rolled as much as my sleeping pad could take. Then I popped out, greeted by wetness that made me feel freshly renewed, the aroma of spring, soaked wood chips, like a tropical waterfall amidst a rich, thriving rain forest in the middle of some Caribbean isle, no where close to man.

Back home, the weather is warming drastically, around the tidal basin the first buds of cherry blossoms are popping, their eyes gleaming -- a welcomed harbinger of spring. baseball and half smokes roasting. Here in Haiti, the woesome rains bring clean water for washing, for drinking, to cool off the sweatness after a long day of hectic heat and harsh, muddy humidity. But in conjuction with the rains come the deluge, the dreaded diseases, the dawn of a new season of harsh, bitter realities.

From patty to patty, block to block, pityful tent city to supposed village, corner upon blunted corners, people are spread out in all shapes and directions wherever existence will allow it to thrive. They are utterly surviving on the streets not even a blanket to cover their souls from the torrential downpours, but perhaps a tattered piece of canvas strewn together by some duct tape or jagged pieces of wood or anything that closely resembles a possible solution or a cure. Here in Port-au-Prince, anything goes. A tarp tied together with rigid pieces of PVC molded in the shape of a shelter becomes suddenly a marvel of 21st century engineeering. Here in this country of dread and destruction, improvisation takes a new name, resources clawed out of dumpsters and trash from supposedly middle-class denizens, suddenly becomes something to sit on, something to put on, something to make life better to see yet another hopeful sunrise, another bitter sunfall.

And the rains bring not only flooding, they don't just wash away the only pieces of shelter they hold dear to their name. The rains brings diseases, of all types ever imagined or wanting to forget. Dysentery, Typhoid, Malaria. Those who were fortunate to survive the earthquake, those who lived to bury their dead may be faced with another calamity of epic proportion later this spring. The torrid rainy season will bring days, nights, sleepless weeks of rain to the tippy point of desperation that even the beating sound of barrels of fist against a strained canvas tarp will be endearing sound compared to the brush of torrid downpour or horizontal rain at the edge of a Haitian horrid nightmare.

Suddenly and dramatically, like a bases loaded walk at the bottom of the 9th innning, the skies stopped pouring overtaken by the freshness of a rich dew drop on a fresh spring petal, a hustle of honeybees buzzing and stirring with glee; even the tatterred sun took an occassional peek through a musky cloud cover offering hope, new life, happiness for humanity, but not for all. Around the campground, a bold rooster cranked its rich, deep horn, signaling to the rest of the world that the night had drawn and it was now time to start a new day and earn a day's wages, even in a city where work was almost non existent, even living was day by day.

Water For Haiti

I sat for dinner in what I considered a 3-star restaurant in the nicer part of Haiti.  Outside the stank from the debris that littered the streets filled the air with a bitter pungent aroma that despite my hunger wiped away any cravings for food.

The waitress brought over a pitcher of water.  I was grateful to see it but I wondered where the water came from and whether it was safe for me to drink it.

Then the waitress returned with a pitcher of lemonade. This should be better. Actually worse, I said.  At least the water, I can see the squirmies swimming around.

Luckily I carried a water bottle filter with me -- with the capability of filtering over 100 gallons of water.

The pitcher of water brought back memories this summer in the Emergency Room of the Washington Hospital Center, after I ate a chicken salad sandwich at Fiesta DC.  I knew food poisoning, but food poisoning didn't get along with me.

A severe water problem exists in one of the poorest countries in the world.  Even before the earthquake, this nation was mired in a severe crisis -- lack of clean water for its people of 10 million.

Haitians had to make do with water.  They were able tap water from rivers, springs, wells and even water from the city's  municipal water system.  But the majority of the water was loaded with bacteria, parasites, chemicals, causing dysentery, hepatitis, and typhoid.

It didn't seem fair, that Haiti was losing over 1 million people a year to water-borne illness.  At worst, they would succumb to these deadly diseases, at best, they may just get diarrhea.  But in Haiti, even diarrheay, where one can get dehydrated, can be deadly.

As we drove around the city, I could see the empty water pipes exposed to sewage troughs.  Little boys splashed around happy to get water of any kind, even if it was contaminated.

In Haiti, people eat dirt.  They make thin patties which they boil it with butter and spices.  Eating dirt is something I would never do, no longer how hungry I get. Eating dirt can make one fiercely sick -- but drinking sewage contaminated water can kill and kill in the most painful, severe way.

A Church Grows in Haiti

I have never seen anything close to this.  Not where I grew up onboard a 40-foot yacht sailing to remote parts of the  Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia.  Not two years ago, on the hot, dusty streets of  Kabul. Not last summer on my marathon train ride from Turkey, Romania, Hungary and Poland.

"Nice to meet you Pastor Luke.  It's a tremendous honor."  Pastor Luc St Felix is a gentle, kind-hearted minister whose total lost not only affected his intermediate family but his entire church family.
 
As we stand next to the mountain rubble that used to be the 3-story Port-au-Prince Pentecostal church, we are forever touched by the great attitude and amazing fortitude of his congregation.

One feisty jackhammer cranks away, smashing full-sized walls into a clump of bricks and large, jagged balls of concrete and rebar. But the main tool of the undertaking is not machine or automation but one rusted out wheelbarrow and a dozen shovels loading pile after pile of dirt and debris only to be dumped just 20 feet away.

Here at the church, everyone helps out. There is one lady wearing a night gown, a wide-brimmed hat and flip flops that had seen its last days, sometime over a year ago. Initially, there appeared that there was little for her to do  to contribute. Yet, she methodically bent over and grabbled whatever pieces of rubble she could carry.  Here in Haiti, people of all ages claw away with their own hands the debris -- anything they could do to make a small difference. In the back, several ladies helped out, concocting a nice pot of bean soup and stew.  They were cooking on a large stainless pot over charcoal and wood.  It didn't look good -- I wouldn't eat it.  But if I was hungry like they were, anything that nourished my body was fine cuisine for me.
Already the church is on the second round of debris removal -- which was positive news, considering that the debris had already piled over rooftops, jagged pieces of rebar, so flexible that you could easily bend it 90 degrees with a quick flip of the wrist.

"Pastor Luke, what do you need the most?  Would you like a team from the US to come down and assist with debris removal?"

"Yes, that would be great. I have a team of 20 plus coming from Alabama tomorrow. Some will be doing medical work."

"But I also need money to rebuild and my people need tent and flip flops.  Pastor Luke had lost several of his congregation to the earthquake -- a few were still buried in buildings.

But he would not lose hope.  He would keep his faith that his church will be able to clean up and rebuild.

"After all, "The church was too small anyways.  We don't need to just rebuild.  We need to grow."

Tomorrow, Pastor Luc will be heading up the mountains to visit three disparate villages. Some very remote, they are a stone's throw from the Dominican Republic.  In the villages, Pastor Luc conducts a feeding program that feeds 43 villages.  He provides three different feeding programs, church and school --something that is never taken for granted in this desolate country.

My Hope for Haiti

I sat lucidly in the American Airlines Admirals' Club staring wide-eyed and dreamily into my laptop screen. I was applying the final touches to my relentless midterm -- an online, take-home test, soon realizing it would be nearly impossible for me to get out of this exam unscathed and in one piece. Truly I needed to tend to things back home. But the announcement had already been made on the American Airlines' Intercom System that my flight from JFK was ready to board mosh kosh. I was once again in a hurry to get somewhere -- anywhere, other than here in the present moment -- and in this case, I was heading to Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

I had heard it several times over -- almost in a trance -- every excruciating syllable as I read and re-read the key paragraphs of my take-home mid term for my Technology Entrepreneur class at the George Washington University school of Business.

No Bed in Haiti

I sat tired and exhausted in the American Airlines Admirals' Club sitting silent, staring  dreamily into my laptop screen. I was applying the final touches to my seemingly-endless midterm -- an online, take-home test for the MBA Entrepreneur Technology class at the George Washington University in Washington, DC.  I had a week off from school. Truly I had things to do back home. But the announcement had already been made on the American Airlines' Intercom System that my flight from JFK was ready to board lo mas pronto. Once again, I was in a hurry to get somewhere in a jiffy and in this case, I was heading to earthquake-ravaged Port-au-Prince.

Heading to Haiti

I am so glad that Haitian President Rene Preval met with President Obama today at the White House.

Although there are many issues and contention, we must look forward.

In less than six hours, I will be boarding a flight from DCA to Haiti. 

Besides my backpack, I will be carrying a piece of important equipment for the monastery - a laptop projector.

Phanuel,

Thank you so much for the detailed directions.  I am looking forward to arriving in Haiti, to help, to learn and hopefully make a difference.  Best to you.  I am hoping Pere Firto Regis will also connect me with people so that I will have an opportunity to document and report on the story.

Sincerely,

Chito

NOLA Marathon RUNIN Rose and Friends

Here is the beginning of my post. And here is the rest of it.

Amazing Stories from NOLA

The whole concept of an aftermath is as strong as you are yourself.  If  you just sit there, and cry about it, you won't get anywhere. 

 

Reflecting

There are very few things in life that is as physically painful that actually produces so much joy that it's something I LIVE for.

Understanding

Running is the quintessential sport because it brings so many people together and you are given a priceless opportunity to listen to so many precious stories.

Negotiating

Running is also bout making decision and many of the people I've met have made some amazing decisions

Inspiring

These are the inspiring stories of Noel Carter whose house several blocks from where the levee breached was flooded nearly to the roof.  He eventually evacuated to Memphis and considered moving there permanently, but his love for New Orleans was so immense that he decided to come home and rebuild.

 

Here is a house just several feet from the levee that was totally destroyed.

The amazing stories of  Melissa Landry a wheelchair athelete, in her first marathon. The following is an excerpt from the blog: www.gorunla.com:

French Quarter

Colorful Collage of NOLA

New Orleans Mardi Gras Marathon

Map your trip with EveryTrail

Runners pose with a Costume of a Mardi Gras parade queen as we wrap up the final stretch of the Inaugural Rock-N-Roll Marathon.

One of the neat things about running the race a week after Mardi Gras is the plethora of beads and oranaments hanging from the trees and wrapped around power poles.  In many ways, I felt that Mardi Gras just happened.  The air was definitely festive, and people were out and partying.  New Orleans just experienced a three-part venue smash -- the amazing Superbowl championship, the annual Mardi Gras celebration and the Inaugural Rock-N-Roll Marathon.

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Bagpiper in the park.  There was lots of eclectic music in the air ranging from the obligatory Rock-N-Roll, the local jazz and even Scottish Bagpipers in the French Quarter.

Water, Beer of Martini: 

Only in New Orleans, is there beer and martini almost as plenty as water and cytomax.  Here the author had to sample the local watering hole.  Meanwhile the BBQ pits fired up in the background serving up delicious dogs and burgers.  The aroma itself was mouth watering and tempting.

 

 

Cheerleaders cheering "GO RUNINDC" gave me all the inspiration I needed to finish up my last mile.

Messages from Katrina Survivors

While running the New Orleans Mardi Gras Marathon on Feb 28th, I had the wonderful opportunity to meet three wonderful and inspiring Katrina survivors:



Never in any race or run had I had the unique opportunity to be given a first hand look at so much damage, yet so much hope and promise for the future.

RUNIN Katrina

Push on Survivors!  We will never forget, will always praise, and will one day applaud your revival.


Reflecting
     I remember vividly that desolate summer morning when Katrina hit land and turned this once magnanimous city upside down.

Understanding
     Since my endearing college days, when I would embark on an yearly pilgrimage to N'awlins for Mardi Gras, this vibrant city of Cajun and Creole has been mythically close to my heart and cuisine.


     But for the last ten years, I had failed to make my trek even after the levees separated and after my heroic hospital ship COMFORT sailed south to deliver aid.

Negotiating
     Just like many cataclysmic events of grand enormity, Katrina is rifed with tragic controversy. Surely evacuation could have occurred earlier. The Convention Center and Superdome where hundreds of thousands of refugees stayed had no food and water. Where in the matter of mere hours, New Orleans had slipped from a popular tourist hub to third world decadence livid with homeless people, missing children, damaged homes and dead bodies.

Inspiring

     That is why this purposeful run was so mega inspiring. It wasn't the run through Bourbon Street or the French Quarter that was so mythic or romantic. It was the marathon that took us through Mirabeau Avenue that gripped my heart and gilded the inner reaches of my soul.

Navigating

     So as I pushed on, the realization sinked in that the pain that I was feeling right now, paled in true comparison to the pain that these victims of the most devastating hurricane ever felt -- the remorseful pain that seared our collective images as we clicked our remotes -- the storm that Louisianans had always known would come, but forever feared it deathly.

     Putting things in perspective, the last five miles became a dreamy cake walk and I look forward to remembering and revisiting the nice people (Noel, Joelle, Oliver) who so magnanimously invited me to their homes and gave me a slim but sensational taste of the sights, sounds and sorrows that echoed from the deadly eye of the storm.


     Push on Survivors!  We will never forget, will always praise, and will one day applaud your revival.


     The rest of us will always support you.

Melissa's First Marathon

Dixieland Jazz Band during Mardi Gras Marathon

Although there were over 50 bands in 24 stages, very rarely is the music so good, that it makes you stop in your tracks and just rest while enjoying the peaceful tunes.  In this case, "The Last Straw" an amazing Dixieland jazz band that plays great tunes from the 1950's and has been performing since 53 years old, kept me riveted and relaxed.  This amazing, iconic band played beautiful orchestral sound from their banjos and sax that richened my run and inspired me to push on.