How the real (Maseru) West was won!

Hello Dear Reader,

I'd like to tell you the REAL story about how the (Maseru) West was won! First, a little background.

As with most cities, Maseru is divided up into small communities. One such friendly community is known as Maseru West. This area of town boasts several notable Maseru movers and shakers such as the US Ambassador, the Lesotho Prime Minister, the guy down the street, and my boss!

My boss- a Belgian guy who reminds me of the grown up version of Denis the Menace. From Day 1 of my quest to conquer the Publix Georgia Marathon and my own fear/misgivings/misperceptions about running, he has relentlessly teased me. My running style has been compared to a "geriatric penguin" and an "old tart". He constantly teases me about my "poofy arms" despite losing the weight equivalent to a young child. My boss doesn't believe in marathons. He says they're "unnatural". When I first told him about my endeavour, he reminded me of the first marathoner...who died when he reached his intended destination. Don't get me wrong, he's no couch potato. In fact, I always recommend that he treat his severe case of ADD because he always has to keep moving, and he is a regular at cycling competitions. Furthermore, he is one of the most active and physically fit people I know.

Our offices are on opposite sides of the floor, yet I can always hear him blabbing about wanting to cycle to Ladybrand (a town across the border in South Africa and up one of the most ginormous hills I know of). My response to him, "blah, blah, blah" and "you should try a REAL sport like running!". If I come into the office after a particularly great morning run, I'll stroll into his room with my arms pumped up body-builder-style and say, "Gosh, I'm so fit! I just can't help myself! I was just born this way!". His rebuttal is that he's not a runner, he cycles and plays football. Blah, blah, blah.

As you can see, we have a healthy and all-in-fun competitive spirit!

Monday, after he again referenced my "poofy arms", I said, "dammit, I'm so fit and you're just jealous! Let's compete in a 5k and I'll show you what my 'poofy arms' can do!" He laughed in agreement. Game on! Wednesday, January 12th after work. He'd map the course.

At 6-something pm, he called me. I'd just returned from a 7km run. He said to meet him at his place...Maseru West! I told him that I'd be over in a hot second. He didn't understand what a "hot second was". I had to explain. Boring!

Where he lives in Maseru West is about 3km from my house. I met him outside the gates of his home, he was on his bike preparing to chart the course. He called me a "showoff". I laughed while patting myself on the back!

While waiting, I chatted with his wife and kids, and played with his very big dog Aila (this is Couch Potato #2's girlfriend. I forgot to mention that they have weekly play dates). His wife thinks that the frequency with which I run and the distances I attempt are pure crazy. She detests running, but I'm working on her to stick with it. We're also planning to meet up for yoga once a week.

I digress.

Ready. Set. Go! Maseru West is a beautiful, shaded area with sloping hills throughout. The route took us past the Prime Minister's house, past one of the most beautifully maintained home gardens I've seen in Lesotho, several barking dogs, kids playing in the street. It was great. At every kilometer, my boss would call it out.

First sign of defeat: After 2.5 km, he started shaking his arms saying that they were getting tired from having to hold them up. I reminded him that he had ADHD and needs to stick with the meds. Boring!

In the interim: He told me that I run funny. Said I don't run like a professional athlete. He proceeded to show me exactly how a professional does it by kicking his legs up close to his bum. I told him that he was wasting energy. Reminded him that I wasn't trying to be a professional. I just want to finish!

Second sign of defeat: At around the 3rd kilometer, we ran up a street with a slight and steady incline. His exact words, "Now this hurts." I, on the other hand, was just getting started.

In the interim: We talked about the facts and fiction of development work and if "sustainability" really works. Blah, blah, blah.

Third sign of defeat: He was sweating buckets, while I only had a light mist on my face. This might not be a fair sign cause he sweats sitting down. I suggested that he down a tube of Botox. He said it is related to his early menopause. I agreed.

Fourth sign of defeat: When the race was over, he started stretching as though he just completed a 1/2 marathon- a true spectacle. To my numerous comments, he replied, "I'm old, remember?" I agreed.

Final sign of defeat: He requested a rematch on Saturday. His wife and children will be the judges.

All in fun! So much fun! And this is, Dear Reader, is how the real (Maseru) West was won!

Until next time...one foot in front of the other...keep it movin'!

Yours in (making training fun) training,

Dani