The Panama Chronicles: Episode 5 – The Rearview Mirror

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

A good friend posted this quote to her Facebook page this week and I’ve reflected on it as I grappled with writing my last post on Panama.  I put these Panamanian vacation chronicles aside nearly three months ago, thinking that it would be interesting to write the concluding chapter some months later.  How would my perspectives about the trip change? What would I remember? Which final moments would stand out?

But sitting here in snow-covered Denver, the early November trip to the tropics is a foggy memory.  So much has happened during these winter months; so many days I’ve awoken with that high spirit and dived head first into new adventures, new hobbies, new outlooks on life and work. Simultaneously, I believe strongly in reflecting on the experiences we have and making use of them, so that each of Emerson’s new days can be approached with wiser eyes, a resilient spirit, and that serene attitude.

A few notes I jotted down on our car ride to the airport for our return flight home from Panama probably capture the essence of my final reflections about the trip. Our van driver was quite talkative, especially after he learned that Lindsay could speak excellent Spanish. “F****ing Hugo Chavez,”  he switched to English making sure that we got the main points of his diatribe on politics and the economy and life in Panama.

He offered a perspective on all these issues, a perspective that we assumed, but no one had yet confirmed. Beach resorts are not the best place to really understand a culture or a country.  We’d been making fun of ourselves just a bit, sitting on the beach for six straight days, sipping bad beer and strong Pina Coladas, watching the sunset, reading, and contemplating life. It was all a rather stark contrast to the neighborhoods and small towns just outside the boundaries of the resort.

The van driver’s explication on the success of the wealthy and the plight of the poor in his country put our time at the resort into even more perspective. “Everyone wants to go to heaven, but no one wants to pay the price.” He shared his thoughts on the unemployment rate, the necessary work ethic to live, and his own drive to lead a life of contentment, but not one satisfied by material goods or excessive needs.

“I am happy,” he stated proudly as we pulled over to a road side stand for a snack of freshly roasted cashews. “Just like that,” he commented on the cashew vendors, “doing what they can to make it. The rule is, survive.” I think Emerson and Buddha and many other profound thinkers would agree with our van driver’s philosophy.

We rolled on down the highway, alongside the roaring green hills of the rainforest, with the sun shining on both North and South America, and the Pacific ocean beckoning on the horizon. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful country.

So is today.

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Up and Down Above Boulder

This will be my last post on running for a while here at graywanderings.com . . . if you are interested in more running adventures, check-out my latest collaborative project, and what motivates me to run at: http://lymphedemaawareness.blogspot.com/

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Sometimes my runs are squeezed between a long to-do list.  I often push the amount of time I have and the miles I can accomplish. Today, I need to complete this run in about two hours.  Despite the time pressure I’ve given myself, I jog slowly over the crest of a familiar hill. Jogging slowly?  Yes, a redundancy indeed.  I should call it a shuffle . . .

I shuffle over the crest of a familiar hill, well-aware that a nice descent awaits me on the other side.  In long-distance trail running you look forward to changes in direction, inclines, declines, and variations in scenery. What I didn’t think through is that at this time of year, the next section of trail will be covered in snow. Continue reading

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Lost in Suburbia

I’m not sure how it happened, but about ninety minutes into the run, I’m no longer on the High Line Canal Trail.  There’s a puzzling detour sign at the end of a cul-de-sac in a nice neighborhood. Sporting my classy jogger costume once again, I’m tempted to flag down the next car, but the passing stranger is probably more likely to call the cops about the sweating beast harassing the locals than give me directions.

I scratch my beard in contemplation.  The map pinned to the bright orange road sign doesn’t make sense.  I just passed mile marker 29 (the trail runs for nearly 50 miles across Denver through an urban greenway). How could the trail go that way, into the depths of suburbia?  And why is there a detour on a trail anyway?

Continue Reading . . .

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Running to Metamorphose

I’d like to spend this week promoting another project I’m working on and sharing some background as to why I’ve taken up long-distance endurance running.  The following post was originally posted at the home site for the Lymphedema Awareness Team, where I’m actively blogging about my running adventures.  This is really important and personal writing and organizational development work for me, so I hope you check it out!

Life has a way of metamorphosing: caterpillars transforming into butterflies; a love for the outdoors turning into an obsession; an unexpected health issue inspiring positive action.

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On June 2nd, 2012 I held my two-week old niece for the first time.  By far the youngest baby I’ve ever interacted with, and the first of her generation in our family. The immediate love for her, as I was told it would be, was remarkable and quite unexplainable.

Later that month, after that visit, my mom called to explain to me that my niece had been diagnosed with Lymphedema: a rare disease for newborn infants.  The swelling in her leg had not been from an allergic reaction or a bug bite as we first assumed, but from a genetic mutation that kept her lymph system from working properly.  While it’s a manageable condition, Lymphedema certainly alters one life.  For a precious little human who has only been around for a month, that’s not a metamorphoses you are ready to understand.

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Within those same few weeks in June, I went out for a trail run, something I’d never really done. The mile-high air of Idyllwild, California filled my lungs with a beautiful rush.  I’ve hiked all my life, but jogging through the woods was a new and wonderful sensation. Continue reading

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I Went Out For A Run And Came Back With A Protractor

Mile 10, as it so often is.

The concrete vibrates through my running shoes, into my feet and ankles, up into my legs, and even begins to rock my head.  I turn up the Led Zeppelin on my ipod, focus on my form, and try to tune-out the pounding. But I can’t.

I spent the last 90 minutes running from the R.E.I. near downtown Denver, past industrial zones of warehouses, factories, and power plants, alongside and under interstates, highways, and busy surface streets, through the projects, and next to the Platte River in all its urban might.  While I knew my route before I began, and though I smiled at the guts of the city, there’s no way in hell I’m running back. Continue reading

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Still Wandering!

Hey fellow readers and writers-

Yes indeed, I wandered away from the written word for a little bit too long.  I suppose I needed a break from blogging to refocus and reevaluate for 2013. But I’m back, outlining and planning new content for my Sunday morning posts.  Please join me again for more wanders starting February the 10th.

More soon . . .

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The Panama Chronicles: Episode 4 — Beach Time?

A Panamanian Vacation

The beach faces due south, so the sun sets over the shoreline to the west, not directly over the ocean as I’m accustomed to in most parts of California. But nothing in Panama is quite what I’m accustomed to anyway, so the orientation of the sun is par for this tropical vacation. I angle my recliner that direction and line my table up so that the crisp local beer remains close at hand.  I gaze into the sky’s changing colors, marvel at the clouds as their forms evolve and shift into new shapes, and loiter on the cooling sand just a bit longer than most other vacationers.

A few sandpipers chase the waves, hunting for their evening meal; pelicans fly over head, doing the same; and several couples and groups of people walk along the path between the beach and the resort, also in search of their evening meal from one of the ten restaurants, buffets, or grilles available to them . . . a bit easier hunting than the pelicans’ nose dives. I take a sip of my lager, and feel the earliest twinge of hunger.  Where will we dine tonight?

But what the heck am I doing here? Continue reading

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