On a Scale of 1-10, I'm a 13.1

Holy Moses.

This past Sunday, June 4, 2017, I ran my first half marathon.

I'll let that sink in.

I RAN MY FIRST HALF MARATHON.

Remember how I decided to take up running because I was bored? (Seriously, why? Why didn't I take up sun bathing? Or gelato tasting? Or kitten cuddler? Why running?) In Decemeber-ish, maybe even January, I signed up for a couple of 5Ks, almost fell down the rabbit hole of ordering WAY too many virtual run medals, and then challenged myself to run one race each month. #12monthsofraces My intention was to stick to 5ks. Only 5Ks. Quick, easy, fun, done. 5Ks.

So how did I go from a lover of 5Ks to half marathoner in just six months? (Seriously, I don't even believe it when I say that out loud. Or in my head.) Honestly? Mostly stubbornness, pride, and the fact that I didn't want to lose the money I had already paid.

Despite constant searching, there were no 5Ks to be found in/ around Rio de Janeiro during the month of June. (Even though June/ July have the mildest weather here in Rio, so it seems like the perfect time for some races. But what do I know?) It would be hard to complete #12monthsofraces without a June race. So I looked around and somehow stumbled across the 10th Meia Maratona das Cataratas in Foz do Iguaçu. They were offering an 8K and a 21K race and while I would have been happier with the 8K race, I figured that if I was going to pay the money to fly out to Foz do Iguaçu, I was going to do the whole thing. All 21 stinkin' kilometers of it.

Unfortunately, I paid for the race, but then flights and hotel prices kept creepin' up and up. Upwards of $600 for both for the weekend. Which is a lot of money to pay for a race that I wasn't even sure I was going to like. So I kind of figured that was that. No half marathon, no June race, no #12monthsofraces. But then about two weeks before the race, I checked flight prices and hotel prices on a whim. It was about $200 for both, for the whole weekend. Sigh, fiiiiiiine. For $200, I could do it.

The next thing I knew, I had booked a hotel, a flight, and was officially 13 days away from completing my first half marathon.

At which point I had started to panic because I hadn't really been training due to injury, travels, and friends visiting me in Rio. I spent a couple of days running around the Lagoa and a couple more days running at the gym and the whole two weeks panicking.

Next thing I knew, May was over, June was here, and it was race freakin' weekend. On Saturday, I went to Marco das Três Fronteras, which is where Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina all come together, to pick up my race kit. Unfortunately, I had a taxi driver waiting for me and the meter runs quickly in Iguaçu, so I didn't get to stay long. So that makes two trips to Marco das Três Fronteras and two times without actually seeing the monument.

My Saturday plan mostly included laying around in my hotel room and reading a book/ watching TV, but the TV was only in Portuguese, it was nice weather, and part of the race kit included free admission to Parque Nacional do Iguaçu, so I decided to leave my hotel room and head to the park. As always, it was so worth it.

Seriously, the falls are flippin' awesome. I would spend all day, every day at the falls, if I didn't have to have a job and such. It was also a little bit sunny and a lot a bit misty, which made for some killer rainbows all. freakin'. day.

Before, during, and after. 

All weekend, the weather was predicting 100% chance of thunderstorms for the entirety of the race. It was freakin' me out. I felt like I wasn't prepared, clothes wise, which was causing me far more anxiety than necessary. And despite telling myself to have little to no expectations, 3 hours of running through a thunderstorm was NOT how I envisioned my first half.

Luckily, it was all for naught, as it didn't even rain once single drop. Not once during the race, and only for about 3.5 seconds after I crossed the finish line. Thank goodness, too, because I had enough to deal with without the rain.

13.1 miles is NO JOKE. It's far as heck.

Foolishly, I'd only been training around the Lagoa or on a treadmill and not including any sort of hill workouts. Dumbbbbb because so much of this course was hills. Not major hills, I think there was only a 750 feet elevation gain throughout the entire course, but goodness gracious, we were going up and down those 750 feet the entire time.

It's just so beautiful.

The first 13K were completed outside of the park, and then, at the 8K mark, we entered the park and ran to the falls. I'll admit, it was gorgeous. And I definitely kept reminding myself to enjoy my surroundings, to look around, to soak it all in. I was doing my first half marathon in FOZ DO FREAKIN' IGUAÇU for cryin' out loud. I thought I was dying, but it was pretty amazing.

My goal was to run a sub-2:45 half and I DID. Which is something that I still cannot believe. This half marathon represents so much-- working hard(-ish) for something that I didn't think I would ever be capable of (or even want to do), pushing myself when I wanted to stop, traveling somewhere alone without meeting anyone on the other side.

I don't think that half marathons are going to become my distance of choice (have I mentioned how FAR 13.1 miles is?!), but I did it. And now I know that I can. And on a scale of 1-10, I can now say that I'm a 13.1.

Cardio Is Hard-io: Part 2

Not only did I decide it was a good idea to start killin' it at the box three days a week, I decided that I was going to start running on the reg. New year, new me-- or something like that, amiright?

It started out innocently enough. It was November and I was feeling pretty homesick. I wanted something that was from the States. I needed something that was from the States. It might have been a randomly placed Facebook ad, it might have been a spam email, I don't know how the thought of the Cleveland Turkey Trot crossed my mind, but the fact is that it did. 

I looked at the website, figuring that was as far as this thought was going to go. I mean, I live in Brazil. It's pretty difficult to do a 5K in Cleveland from 5,000+ miles away, right? Wrong. The Cleveland Turkey Trot was also being offered virtually which essentially means that you pay the money and run the distance wherever you are around the world. 

So I paid the money, completed the distance, got the medal and the shirt, and haven't stopped signing up for races since.

"Cleveland" Turkey Trot 2016

After the Turkey Trot, I quickly found myself running in the Circuito das Estações: Verão, which was my first live race besides the Color Run I ran in San Pedro Sula, Honduras a few years back. It wasn't as easy as I would have liked, but I also didn't die. Which might not be the best criteria when talking about how much you like a hobby, but haters gonna hate. I do it for the medals anyways.

Circuito das Estações: Verão 2016

And since it's approximately ten thousand degrees with about 3429% humidity all day, every day in Hell de Janeiro, I joined the gym down the street so that I can run on the treadmill instead of outside.

Since then, I've completed a handful of other races. Which are really nothing to brag about, but yeah, I'm going to do it anyways. Waking up early on a Sunday morning is already a feat in itself.

February: Circuito do Sol- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

March: Circuito das Estações (Outono)- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

March: Athenas 6K- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

April: Serie Delta (Etapa EUA)- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 

 I had poured water on myself, I wasn't that sweaty, okay?

April: Color Run- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 

April: WRun 4K, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

In following the example of my one my friends, I thought it would be a good idea to do "12 Months of Races". AKA, complete a 5K or higher each month for the year of 2017. I've done live races for the months of February, March, and April, and a virtual New Years run for the month of January. I don't know if a virtual run counts, but it's my challenge, so yeah, it counts.

....It's crazy the things that you get yourself into because you are bored and need something to do.

Cardio Is Hard-io: Part 1

Guys, I did a thing.

As in, I signed up to join a CrossFit gym (or "box", as those in the CrossFit club call it) and have dragged myself there (almost) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the past five or six months. Before joining the box, I couldn't even tell you the last time I set foot in a gym. I don't know if I have ever lifted a weight.

Now I do it regularly. And despite the words that come out of my mouth (I complain, a lot) and the expressions on my face, I actually enjoy it. 

On more than one occasion, I've conquered the rope climb. Once or twice, I've even done it without standing on a box to start out. I've had less success conquering the handstands and accompanying handstand push ups. Gonna chalk that lack of success up to psyching myself out, bending my elbows, and then bashing my head into the ground. 

This weekend marks the end of the CrossFit Open 2017. Basically, anyone throughout the entire world who does CrossFit can sign up to complete in the open. It's a five week long event with the winners going on to Regionals and then the games. Each Thursday the workout is announced, both the modified and unmodified versions. Everyone completes the same workout, submits their scores, and then you can see how you compare to everyone else, worldwide.

I'm not doing it for the ranking. I know that I'm not elite, nor will I ever be elite. I'm not the best in our box, I'm not even the best in our class. But throughout the Open, we encouraged each other and we pushed ourselves. PRs were set and new skills were attained. 

17.1, 17.2, 17.3, 17.4, and 17.5

It was hard and it was awful and Dave Castro is the spawn of Satan. In my extensive experience with working out, I've never gotten nervous before a work out before. I was nervous before every single Open workout. But it was also awesome. It was awesome to see what I would do, it was awesome to cheer on my friends. 

It's also over. Which might be the best part.

Two Years.

October 5 marked that time of year again. Not the time of year when all of Cleveland celebrates the fact that the Indians are AL Central champs, although that was happening and was fantastic and wonderful and one of the best times of my life.   

October 5 also marked two years of living life as a Carioca-- aka a person from Rio. 

Two. Years.

It's been two years filled with teaching math until I could do long division in my sleep and science until I could recite the Scientific Method on command. Two years of meeting and observations and birthday lunches and popsicles for desserts. It's also been two years of caipirinhas and weekends at the beach and sunsets at Arpoador.

It's been two years of ups and downs, smiles and tears. It's been two years of this wild and crazy Carioca life. 

Indian Summer.

It's been almost a month and it still doesn't seem real. I still cannot look at any of these photos or watch any of these videos without getting goosebumps. 

The Cleveland Indians went to the World Series.

Let me say that again. The team that no one thought would amount to anything. The team voted "most disappointing team in the playoffs" swept the Red Sox to win the ALDS, held the Blue Jays to win the ALCS, and then took on the Chicago Cubs and their 108 year drought in the WORLD SERIES.

And, in the end, we lost. BUT WE WERE THERE.

Seriously. I used to pay $7 for tickets when I was in high school because it was one of the cheapest forms of entertainment in Northeastern Ohio. This year they were in the World Series. And I paid way more than $7 to see them play, but it was worth it.

I went to a couple of games while I was home in August, when playoff dreams were just close enough to start entertaining, but far enough away to not get our hopes up too much. (We are Cleveland fans, after all.) I even tweeted about how sad I was to be at the Jake for the last time until the 2017 season. 

At the end of October, I returned to Rio de Janeiro where I really got my money's worth of MLB.TV when I tuned in to the game almost every night. I watched the Magic Number get smaller and smaller and smaller. And then it happened-- our Magic Number was zero. 

We started talking more and more about the Cleveland Indians in class, and I had the students write good luck messages to the team on our whiteboard. Some favorites included "The Boston teams looks like a baby next to you, Cleveland Indians" and "For the hot dogs!" We might have been big fans of the hot dog races...

Each night, I stayed up waaaay past my bedtime (thank you, two hour time difference) and watched as the Indians were up 1-0, then 2-0, and then as they swept the Boston freakin' Red Sox. It was like a dream come true-- the Cleveland Indians were Central Division Champs. 

I'll admit, I kind of thought that's where things would end for us. We'd done so well, I figured that the other shoe just had to drop. 

Sweeter words have never been spoken.

But it didn't.  We went on to play the Toronto Blue Jays, and I spent all week receiving picture and video messages of the games from my best friend and brother.  At the end of the week, against all odds and circumstances, and a really unfortunate drone accident, we walked away ALDS champions. 

I think that I went to school with a smile on my face every day for two weeks. The Cleveland Indians, MY Cleveland Indians, were going to the World Series.

I watched Games One through Three on MLB TV and cheered alone in my room. And then I started making plans. I spontaneously bought an incredibly expensive ticket to be home to attend the watch parties for Games 5-7, although I secretly hoped we would have already crushed the Chicago Cubs by then. I didn't, and don't, regret a single penny spent on that ticket.

Upon boarding my flight home, I looked for a flight attendant who looked like they would know a thing or two about baseball and asked if there was a way for them to keep me posted on the score throughout the flight. He looked at me with a questioning look and asked "...What sport is the World Series for?" I had clearly chosen the wrong flight attendant. 

They weren't able to keep me updated, which is okay because I passed out cold for the entire flight and I woke up to at least 50 text messages from my friends and family telling me all about how Cleveland had killed the Cubs in a 7-2 game, how Kipnis hit a three-run homer at Wrigley Field, and how the Indians were up 3-1 in the WORLD SERIES. I couldn't wait to be home.

That night, my family and I bundled up and headed down to the stadium for the watch party. It was freezing, but it was worth it. After all, it's not every day that your team makes it to the World Series. The only thing that would have made it better would have been, you know, a win. But it was okay, the Indians were coming home to win it all in Cleveland.

Over the next few days, you could feel the excitement in Cleveland. It was everywhere. Everywhere I turned, someone was wearing a Tribe shirt. Every single cashier and I talked about how this year was our year and how we couldn't handle the stress of going to Game Seven. Cleveland felt so alive.

Obviously, Joey and I were unable to actually purchase tickets to watch the games from inside the stadium, but that didn't stop us from driving downtown and watching the game in the plaza next door. It was packed. It was crazy. It was the next best thing to actually being inside the stadium. 

 On the first night, we watched the Indians fall to the Cubs again. But it was okay. We were disappointed, but we still had Game 7. We could do this. Plus, we all had free Doritos Locos Tacos waiting for us at Taco Bell the following day, courtesy of Fransico Lindor and his stolen base.

Thanks Frankie, you da best. 

The next night, we headed downtown again. And again, like the night before, we stood in the plaza between the Jake and Q and cheered on our Tribe. We were bummed, and upset, when we were losing in the first. We shouted angry cheers when Joe Buck was shown on the screen. We all cheered Jose, Jose, Jose when my dude, JRam, was up to bat. There has never been a happier group of people than we were when Rajai Davis tied the game in the eighth. Strangers hugged each other. People cried. We were in it to win it. Lebron knows what's up.

via GIPHY


In the end, the Cubs won. Their drought was over and ours lives on for another year.

For the next few days, Cleveland fans were met with many "who blew a 3-1 lead now" a la Golden State versus the Cavs. And, of course, we came back with a "Well, we were missing three of our best players and lost by one run in extra innings of Game 7, sooooo..." The fans took their lead from the players and the management, who must be some of the best in baseball. The players were proud of what they had done and they were disappointed in the loss, but they weren't angry. And, in turn, the fans weren't angry either. Not the real fans anyways. We shared in their disappointment and in their pride. We were all consoled, and even congratulated, by Cubs fans who recognized what it meant for Cleveland to be in the World Series and how hard of a fight we put up.

Cleveland against the world. Cleveland or no where. Cleveland that I love.

If You Come to Utila, You Will Never, Ever Leave [CAT2016: Honduras]

The Bay Islands and I just aren't meant to be friends. Sarah and I planned this really great trip to Roatan during my second year and, unfortunately, all of our plans were thwarted by both rain and stomach illnesses. We were ready to give the Bay Islands another try this time by heading to Utila. Snorkeling, boat rides, beachside bars-- what could possibly go wrong? More stomach illnesses. That's what could go wrong.

Unfortunately, we weren't able to "live it up" in Utila like we were supposed. But we really tried our best despite our diet of Cheerios and sips of water.

Our first day was great. We arrived on the early ferry and got settled in to our apartment before heading down to the public beach. After hanging out there for awhile, we headed over to Rehab, which is a bar overlooking the ocean. I was able to lay in my hammock, chow down on some bangin' chicken wings and sip my strawberry daiquiri. Really? Could anything be wrong with that? (The answer is no, in case you are wondering.) We enjoyed Rehab so much that we even returned there for dinner that night.

The first night was when disaster struck and we spent the rest of our time in Utila functioning at about 50%.

Since walking was out of the question, we rented a golf cart and drove around the island. While driving around, we came across the private beach, which is located at the opposite end of the island as the public beach. We paid a few lempiras to have the beach (almost) entirely to ourselves and we spent the rest of the afternoon laying on the beach or in the water. Our first day in Utila was very low-key despite the party reputation that the island has.

Our first night wasn't any better as we had a wonderful Cheerio dinner. I slept on the wooden floor, sweat off at least five pounds, and honestly believed that I was going to die. By the time morning rolled around, I was covered in mosquito bites which, honestly, rarely ever happens to me. And they itched like crazy. I almost wished that God would just take me then because between the stomach issues, the heat, and the bug bites, I was miserable. Sarah wasn't any better, so  you can imagine how much of a joy we were.

While we really wanted to just lay around in close proximity to a bathroom, we also really wanted to take advantage of the beautiful island. So for the next two days we took our golf cart past the public beach and boarded a little boat to Neptune's Coral Beach Village. It had a restaurant, a bathroom, a dock, and hammocks in the shade. Basically, paradise. Even for a couple of people plagued with a stomach virus.

After three days in Utila, we were finally starting to feel better and it was time to leave the island. I'm going to give the Bay Islands one more chance, because, as they say, "third time's the charm". I've really got my fingers crossed.

Welcome Home, Gringas. [CAT2016: Honduras]

Our entire trip was planned around one event-- CEE high school graduation. Come hell or high water, or a 12 hour bus trip turned into a 15 hour bus trip, we were going to be at graduation. 

Almost two years to the day of our dramatic, tear-filled goodbyes to the town and the people that we had grown to love, we were back in Siguatepeque.

Although I have been to Sigua since leaving, I hadn't been back with someone who had lived the experience with me. I'd been back to Sigua, but I hadn't been back to my Sigua. Having Sarah there made it feel like we were reclaiming the Sigua that we once knew and loved-- even if only for a moment.

Of course, our first stop was for baleadas at Norberta's. I'm not even going to pretend it wasn't.

We weren't able to fit everything in to our short time in Sigua (lookin' at you, Foster fam), but we made sure to make a trip up to the Children's Home. After laughing with them every day for two years, it's hard to hug them only once a year. Honestly, I think my kids in Honduras taught me way more than I ever taught them. 

After hanging out with some of our little Hondurans, we spent the evening hanging out with some of our big Hondurans. And yes, we always look this glamorous, thank you for asking. Graduation was great because we were able to support the students in a very important moment of their lives, but we were also able to spend dinner catching up with some of the other teachers who made our years in Honduras bearable.

I've said it once (in this post, in fact) and I'll say it again. There's something to be said for seeing the same people every day for two years and then suddenly, not seeing them for an entire year. There's something more to be said for being able to jump right back in to those friendships-- especially when you're speaking two different languages.

There are a couple of things that I could always count on in Honduras. Getting KOBS ice cream after baleadas, an upset stomach after said baleadas, hearing the commerical for the grocery store as it was blasted from the speakers of a passing truck, getting carsick on the way home from Comayagua. Among these "certains" was the certainty that it would always be raining when I went to Lago de Yojoa.

Seriously. There could be a 0% chance of rain and not a cloud in the sky upon arriving to the lake and, never fails, it would start raining at some point while I was there. And I went to the lake fairly frequently.

This trip didn't disappoint either as it started pouring while we were there. The good news is that, since we were there during rainy season, it was generally pretty sunny during the day, but slammed by rainstorms in the late afternoon/ evening. We were able to snag a great hike at Panacam with beautiful views of the lake AND some acrobatics at Pulhapanzak before the evening rain.

There's never enough time spent in Sigua. My heart will always be longing to return the second that I leave the city limits. But for a brief moment in time, I was able to recapture some of the goodness that made up two crazy, yet wonderful years in Honduras.

What's New, Buenos Aires?

Once upon a time, I was on Facebook reading scholarly articles and came across one that said that the Honduran and Argentinian soccer teams would be playing a friendly match against each other on May 27 in Buenos Aires. Which just so happened to be during one of our long weekends (shout out Corpus Christi) and flights just so happened to be less than $300. So we looked for a flight, looked for a hostel, and less than an hour later, we had booked both.

Kenny, Kelly, and I stayed at America del Sur Hostel located in the neighborhood of San Telmo. I'm not a hostel connoisseur or anything, but I have stayed at a number of them within the past year or so. America del Sur definitely wasn't the fanciest hostel that I've ever stayed at, nor did it have the most amenities, but it was, by far, the hostel with the best environment. The hostel had a great staff and a great common area, as well as daily activities such as tours and excursions, that was really conducive to hanging out with the other hostel guests. We did a handful of tours, but we also spent a large portion of our time hanging out with other hostel guests, both inside the hostel and around Buenos Aires. 

Our first 24 hours in Buenos Aires were nuts. We arrived in BA at 1:00am, stood in line for way too long to convert reais into pesos, and didn't arrive at our hostel until almost 3:00am. At which time we fell face first into our bunk beds and were dead to the world until morning. We went on a walking tour of Recoleta which is one of the historical and affluent neighborhoods of BA. We wandered the aisles (rows?) of the Recoleta Cemetery which is unlike any cemetery you've ever seen in your life. Seriously, it's like art and mausoleums and tombs, all rolled into one. To top it all off, you can see where Eva Perón is buried. I'll be honest, I didn't know anything about Eva (AKA, Evita) before going to Buenos Aires, but I left basically an expert. 

Once our walking tour was over, we decided to become our own tour guides and went in search of the Floralis Genérica, AKA, the giant metal flower. Apparently at one time the flower was mechanical and opened during the day and closed at night. I think it's broken now though, but that's okay because we were saw it during the day anyways. Our self-led tour made a little pit stop for some lunch (oh hey, empanadas) and then we continued onwards to walk down the widest avenue in the world in search of the obelisk. We were successful in all endeavors which basically means we're all prepared to be tour guides, am I right?

Clouds for days.

I wear my sunglasses at night. Or in the rain.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was when we went to see the Casa Rosada, which is Argentina's verison of the White House. Minus the fact that the president doesn't actually live there. A fact that I know because I asked some of the guards. Uneducated North American much? Anyways, the Casa Rosada in located in front of the Plaza de Mayo. It's in the Plaza de Mayo where a group of mothers, called the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, gather every Thursday. Why? Because in the 70's, their children "disappeared" under the military dictatorship during the Dirty War. During this time, there were also babies that were stolen and given up for adoption illegally when their mothers were killed in the Dirty War. Originally the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo and the Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo were getting together to get answers and to find their loved ones. Today they are still fighting for human, political, and civil rights throughout the world. 

When I was in Spanish 3, we watched a film called La Historia Oficial which was all about the Dirty War. I highly recommend watching it. Even though it's been ten years since I saw the film, I have never forgotten about it and when I realized that I would be heading to Buenos Aires, where La Historia Oficial was filmed, I knew that I had to see the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo. And I did. It was like history coming to life. It was heart-breaking, but it was real. 

Since we didn't cram enough stuff in the first day, we decided to go to a tango dinner show that evening. And we ended up sitting front row. For about $95 dollars, we were treated to a tango show (obviously), unlimited wine and non-alcoholic beverages, four choices of appetizers/ main course/ and dessert, andddd transportation. It may have been the best $95 that I have ever spent. If you ever find yourself in Buenos Aires, head on over to Café dos los Angelitos, you won't regret it at all. 

Front row to the dinner show.

Apps: Crisy Philo with Duxelles of mushrooms and sautéed vegetables in curry carrot coulis

Main Dish: Angus beef with rustic style potatoes and caramelized onions

Dessert: Cointreau's chocolate mousse, strawberry coulis and chocolate, dried fruit praline

Seriously. Who knew that I would even food with names like that? But I did. And I loved it. 

We did another walking tour on our second day which took us to the neighborhood of La Boca. From what I recall, La Boca is where people who used to work in the port lived, so they took left over materials and paint from the port to make their homes. So it's the beautiful, colorful hodgepodge of buildings. It's also home to this cross-eyed statue of Messi who just so happened to be playing against La H the day that I saw it. Photo ops all around. 

We took a break from walking tours, but not a break from walking, on our last day in Buenos Aires and went out in search of El Ateno. It's an old theatre that has been changed into a bookstore and it's freakin' beautiful. In all honestly, it's just like a fancy Barnes and Nobles. The books aren't fancy or anything that I couldn't find at any other bookstore, but the theatre part was incredible.

Argentina, that's a wrap.