As my half-marathon quickly approaches, I have lost the ability to avoid stress with the occassional piece of chocolate or even more rare... cigarette. Better for it. I found myself running to the next department, Estelí the other day. I was told when I got there that I had already run 15 km. Running the way back, the my only thought was pride that I was running more than a half-marathon (21 km) in one day. Once I got back, I was told that I had only run 16 km in total! Disappointed, but no where near defeated, I´m still cross training daily.

Saturday, I found myself hiking uphill with my sitemate and a group of girls I teach. In a defiant act of masculinity, or perhaps testosterone based stupidity, once lost I would not allow the group to rethink directions. Instead I took out my trusty machete and slashed our way through the cloud forest, uphill--ughhh!--until we reached the summit of one of the tallest peaks in Yalí, El Volcán. After being called cochón (faggot) repeadetly the week before, it was an even more necessary and invigorating Indiana Jones experience. The entire top of the mountain was covered in thick vines and pillowy, green, lichenous trees. It looked more like a movie set than reality. We found an easier way down once at the summit, but low and behold, I came to the rescue again! Forced into service, I killed a snake for the screaming masses of helpless damsals.

The next morning I found myself handwashing (per usual) all of my days garments, just to give myself a little gender balance. I then ran up to the base of El Volcán and tacked on my usual hour of Yoga. I´m not sure if I´m going to be in shape for this mini-marathon, but I´m sure trying.