My housemate and I woke up at 5 a.m. in preparation to leave around 5:30 for San Jose, which is a busy city that vaguely reminds me of San Francisco. Upon getting out of bed, however, I realized that I had a severe stomach ache (an occurrence neither surprising nor uncommon here, however extremely inconvenient for this particular day). My host mom was so elated for this event that I couldn't bring myself to not go. Keeping my pain to myself, I stashed my breakfast when no one was looking and Hilda, Anna, and I, along with our next door neighbors Sylvia and Antonio, set off for the race.
The car ride to San Jose was rough. Somehow I ended up in the middle seat, and throughout the bumpy roads, 90 degree right turns, and sudden breaking, Costa Rican driving wasn't doing my stomach ache any favors.
Before I knew it, we had arrived! The place was crowded with over a thousand runners, all there to support the Clinica Biblica, which is a local hospital.
ran out of t-shirts by the time we signed up.)
We stretched and joined the line, somehow arriving in the very front for the start of the run.
An announcer said a prayer (perhaps a cultural custom, or possibly a reflection of the biblical hospital), and instructions were given, of which I understood none of. A horn then sounded and we were off! Anna and I quickly passed Hilda and Sylvia, and within no time at all Anna accelerated past me. I enjoyed running solo because I did not have to think or worry about looking stupid in my out-of-shape state. I kept pace with people who appeared to enjoy eating as much as I do. After about a half mile I started second-guessing my excitement for this event, and remembered why I had chosen to pursue softball on my younger years-- limited long distance running!
I soon entered the zone. I had found the perfect pace for myself, and settled into an athletic mindset in which I felt as though I could have continued running all day. Up and down the streets of San Jose, passed my internship site, through stopped traffic we ran; time passed quickly. And then my morning handful of Pepto Bismol and Advil pills wore off.
I had seemingly never felt such excruciating pain! Knives were drilling into my stomach and rib cage. I knew that other students had been experiencing similar pain, so I was not worried about the sickness itself; my fear was solely that I was not going to be able to finish the race. I simply could not run anymore due to the feeling of a rapidly increasing number of knives chopping up my internal organs, so I swallowed my pride and slowed to a walk. I knew that the result of me not finishing the race would be getting lost in the streets of San Jose and a very worried Hilda, so with every ounce of strength I had, I trudged on. At this slower pace I noticed that there were a lot of townspeople lined up watching the race that I somehow did not notice before. Either in encouragement or in mockery, they started to boo me for walking! I wanted to boo them back for sitting on their porch drinking ice tea in their lazy superiority, but I bit my tongue and continued to trudge on, painful step by painful step.
Surprisingly quickly, the wave of pain died down to a bearable level, and I was able to accelerate to a jog just in time for the plethora of cameramen waiting at a checkpoint.
Shortly after, I reached a point where there was music, cheering, people in costumes and masks (one actually terrifying clown), and fans covering the roped path. I guessed that I had made it to the halfway point, and was glad to have an idea of where I was. I was shocked to learn that it was actually the finish line; I had made it! There was no clock or timer, but Hilda said she thought it took me around 20 minutes. I believe she is very optimistic.
(Above: Anna and I after the race.)
When our little group reunited afterwards, we were directed into a gymnasium which had free samples from all the sponsors of the race. Hilda and Sylvia were like children in a candy shop, ecstatically taking one of everything. Free shampoo! Free sunscreen! Free tablespoon of a quinoa-based energy drink! To top it off, the hospital was providing free massages. It was like Christmas.
In prime Costa Rican fashion, there was also a dance party taking place in the gymnasium! Gringos might identify the gathering as a Zumba class, but to the Ticos it was simply dancing. There was an instructor in the front, and a bunch of elated people high on endorphins were following his lead. One of the songs was a spanish version of "Who let the dogs out." It was a fiesta if I've ever seen one.
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