A Hilton Holiday

It's six in the morning as we drive along the road picking up fellow runners waiting on the corner and on the side of the street shuttling them to the race. There are now four of us as we drive to the Hilton hotel. As we arrive we see more friends still bloodshot and hair on end from a late night. I am wondering how my body is going to hold up after attending a murder mystery dinner last night which included four bottles of wine (the murder mystery still remains a mystery to me).
I am expecting over a thousand people but it turns out there are no more than 40 runners. I know about 30 of them. They are the ones I term "fasties". My stomach begins to turn; the butterflies are not flying in sync. I know my body is going to suffer.
We walk out in front of the Hilton hotel and a small marching band begins to play sans cheerleaders. An Indonesian woman with tight spandex shorts leads us all in stretching exercises. The group of forty is then led to the starting line and told to follow a motorbike around the race course.
The pack quickly takes off and I try to hang on as long as physically possible. I partner up with a friend with a similar pace and we turn the corner to find a long line of traffic. The lead motorcycle is now stuck in traffic as the pack of “fasties” leaves him behind. “Right or left?” my friend yells to me as we weave through the traffic. We bang on car windows to avoid getting squeezed between them and quickly dance our way around the side mirrors. My partner makes loud grunting sounds for motorcycles, pedestrians, and carts and carriages to make way for us. They are oblivious. He goes right and I go off left; I go left as he maneuvers right as if synchronized. It’s not yet halfway and my shirt and shorts are dripping wet.
I breathe deep of the oppressive polluted air and wonder how many IQ points I am losing - So much for being a MENSA member. I’m pretty certain you get dumber the more you run in Jakarta and after you add on the free radicals you not only become less intelligent but you reduce your chronological life years by at least ten! This comes in handy when you become forgetful. Oh sorry, yeah, what were you blabbering on about? It's that darn pollution again.
The 5 Km race takes less than 20 minutes of suffering. At the finish line we watch, cheer, and congratulate the others arriving pale faced, sweaty, breathless, and disoriented. Their faces are contorted and they resemble little of themselves.
After the race we are lead to the Hilton hotel and provided the reign of the pool, a catered buffet breakfast, and prizes.
As I start to regain consciousness my friend asks me if I will be present at the “Ball Buster” 15Km on Saturday as my other friend reminds me of a Highland Games 10Km on Sunday.

Is this a boy or girl prodigy? 

No, It's not an alien!

So Vanessa and I are in the docs office andthe doctor continues to squirt gel all over Vanessa's big belly running the instrument here and there. I squint as I look and try to see if I can make out the sex as I watch our little prodigy move about as it is projected on the big TV screen on the wall. I think I might see something. It's.. - whooa, that is big- and then realize it is the umblical cord. I see the little hand and quickly count to make sure there are five little fingers. Pheww. My heart begins to race as the doctor takes measurement of the head, femur, and arms. "Yep," he says, "that looks good, yep, normal..." NICE! I can feel my eyes get bigger as we watch the blood being transported from the little kidneys, the placenta, the umblical cord...whooaa. The doctor laughs and asks if we want to know the sex. He says he knows the sex and starts calling the baby "Honey" - so does that mean it's a girl? Or boy? The doctor grabs my arm and rubs his hand through my forest of hair and smiles. He looks deep into my eyes and says, "It is very good." Maybe YOU can tell if it is a boy or girl from the picture? It is exciting. The wonderful thing is Vanessa and Baby "D"ickey are healthy and doing well. So, do you think it is a boy or girl?

Running with the rats

So, Barb and I are up before cockcrow running through the neighborhoods. We try to mix it up as much as we can as we weave through alleys, streets, and dirt paths. This morning we come to what seems like an impasse. Yep. An impasse of the local rats….As I lift up my legs to run through the garbage some of the rats spread while making loud chirping noises while some actually run towards me. Fortunately, we discover a dirt path and a ladder leading over a brick wall before running in waist deep grass…as if the rabid rats weren’t enough..what lurks in the green.

Teaching Heaven

Ok, don't mess yourself, because I almost did. As a teacher in the states you usually get some nice perks: A 15% coupon for a large sundae at Dairy Queen, or a 2 for 1 Big Mac deal at McDonalds with large fries. Pretty cool right? If you are an exceptional teacher you might get a certificate and a coupon for $5.00 off at Tony Romas or Chilis and maybe even a free buffet if you stay a night at the local Motel 6. Pretty sweet right? Makes you want to become educator of the year right? Well, here is where it gets kind of wild. Hold on now. See if you can follow this. We had our end of the year party the other night for over 200 teachers at the Four Seasons hotel. Ummm, that's the five star hotel Four Seasons *****. We aren't talkin' about a public school (mis) education stateside folks. As Vanessa and I walked in we were greeted by other teachers in tuxedos and security out the wazzooo...no, I didn't have a penguin suit on or a tie...but I did have a suit (Ties cause glaucoma as they raise the blood pressure to the eyes and I can't be setting a bad example.) Vanessa looks good no matter what she is wearing (which was a sexy strapless top and beautiful sash draped around her shoulders). Anyway, to make a really sweet story short, the Shiraz and mixed drinks provided on the house flowed non-stop the entire night as the waiters hovered about, the endless food buffet was there, and the live band entertained those smitten with alcohol. A good night had by all.

Hit and Run

So me and Old Blue are in Easy Rider mode. Nothing fancy, nothing quick. Just cruisin' in Big Smoke (Jakarta) traffic. It's all good as I pass the long line of cars cued up to turn right...just another day. As I near the front of the line I am suddenly jolted and knocked sideways...I hold tight as I feel a sharp pain in my right knee and right wrist. I realize a car has just pulled out and smashed into the side of Old Blue. A Benz no less. There is no time to stop as the traffic whizzes past and I manuever injured Old Blue onto a sideroad and then home. I was hit and then ran...

Hurling

Today we competed in a 5KM run. It was a good run in that we ran through the neighborhoods, hurdled chickens, breathed in lead from the exhaust of cars, avoided the ruts in the street, and nearly passed out. At the finish line 15 people hurled whatever they had in their bellies and one guy passed out and hurled once revived. Overall, a good run.

Absailing  

Head On

I finally separate myself from the swarm of bees (other fellow motorcyclists) and me and Old Blue (now fully recovered from the accident two weeks ago) are in easy rider mode. I am flowing with traffic and keeping a safe distance behind the bus in front of me. As the bus slows and manueveres left to pick up a passenger I take the opportunity accelerate and pass on the right. Now, almost about to overtake the bus, a man runs out from in front of the slowing bus without checking both ways. A foolish mistake. He is now in my direct path. He starts to emulate John Travolta in Saturday night live in order to avoid me but his moves aren't as polished. As I skid out of control I know his efforts are fruitless (I did like his moves though)as are mine. I plow into him and lift him off the ground head on. He wraps around the front of my Vespa and our wide eyes meet for a brief but seemingly long second, and then it' all over. I reach out a hand to him as he tries to catch the breath that has been knocked from his lungs. He walks away stunned and waves me on. I start Old Blue and the oncoming traffic allows me to get back in my proper lane.

Feeding the kitties

So on Sunday we did our normal 27KM run downtown to the famed Monas. Rainy season is over and it was hot, humid, and more polluted than ever. The particulate matter (PM) count was hovering at 10 which essentially means you can actually chew the toxins with your teeth. Anyway, I went home and later ended up vomiting out my innards...my running partner also fed the kitties the next morning. Nothing like running in polluted Jakarta (Big Smoke).