Frankenfoot

They say running is not a spectator sport. Well, that may be the case in the U.S., but in Latin America if you go for a jog the entire town stops to watch as though it's the oddest thing that's passed by in the last 10 years. (Mind you, the onlookers are completely normal in that they're walking a herd of goats or maybe a flock of piglets down the dusty road.) If you stop to do a quick ab routine in a park (or more likely a dirt field), you soon have 20 neighborhood children flocking around you as they suppress giggles and attempt a push up. Or they just throw rocks at you. Largely (with the exception of Buenos Aires and our fellow Santiago marathoners), people in Latin America don't run or exercise. And in some places, seeing 2 tall blonde runners in shorts may in fact be the strangest spectacle of the decade.

Throughout our journeys people frequently asked us: how do you train while traveling? The simple answer to that is you lace up your sneakers and go, same as always. But the longer answer is that running while traveling was partly about maintaining our sanity through physical activity, but also that some of our best and most interesting moments have come from our travel runs. We used our runs to plan our next destination, our monthly schedule, our futures. We ran to shake out 24 hour bus rides and to discuss the existential meaning of life.

But while these runs were necessary, they were not without struggles at times - mostly in finding a decent place to go, preferably a dirt path and somewhere we wouldn't get ogled at constantly. Amanda and I have run through the crowded streets of Santiago and Buenos Aires, dodging human traffic and praying that we wouldn't get hit by the insane drivers that ignore both stoplights and lanes. We spent several weeks running around crab farms through frustrating slimy mud that stuck to our shoes giving us 3" platforms. We ran in Cuzco at 11,200ft, and we've run at sea level on the beach. And we've dodged more stray dogs than I care to count. In short, the places we logged our weekly mileage varied as much as my career ideas do (which we all know changes hourly). The only thing that was consistent throughout our Latin American running endeavors, was the fact that no matter where we were, we were - at the very least - a spectacle.

So after running almost every day through small towns, big cities, and along highways of South America, after months of being stared at like we were a traveling circus act, I must admit that I was excited to return to North America where donning spandex and a sports bra and hitting the pavement for miles is not only normal, but ignored. I made it out for 6 runs once I got home to Albuquerque. Just enough to get used to the altitude and have 6 miles feel easy again. It took 2 years, 4 South American countries, and 5 months of running side-by-side mi hermana Amanda to get over my post-college frustrations with running. I was finally enjoying it again (even in the States!); I began calling myself a "runner."

And then one day I returned home with a sharp pain in my foot. An ache that killed while running, hurt while walking, and was annoyed by my biking an hour downtown to work every day. Now the doctor's verdict is in: stress fracture.

I am back in the States, a place where I can once again wear shorts and a tank top without feeling uncomfortable, and I am sporting a boot. Really universe, how is this fair?

Apparently it not only takes leaving the country but also getting injured to realize how much you truly do like something...