Friday, January 9, 2009

back at the track

Shortly before Thanksgiving, my treadmill sounded like it was about to give up the ghost. I called the Gym Shop and managed to convey the problem in incomplete Spanish and bits of English that Maria Leonor understood before resorting to my best imitation of a clunking rattling screeching deck. So David paid a visit on his moto and took apart my treadmill and promised to make it all better. He retooled a part of the back roller and for two weeks after, running no longer sounded like a car wreck.

I called David back again this week after suggesting to Maria Leonor that the Gym Shop just go ahead and order a new roller. "He tried fixing it last time," I explained, "And it didn't work."

"I am not understanding, Miss Sarah."

And that was the umpteenth (hundredth?) time since moving to Colombia that I wished I had paid better attention in Spanish class. Maybe one of the many conversational movies we watched was about a runner trying to get her treadmill fixed. Oh, and I should have taken notes too.

So David returned today with my old roller again retooled. It (surprise) didn't work. Poor treadmill sounded like it should be put out of its misery. So (surprise) the Gym Shop is finally ordering a new part. I don't know how to say "I told you so" in Spanish but I'll be sure to look it up.

Meantime, I get a chance to return to the Bolivar track. This week I've been practicing my early mornings. Shiver. Early. Mornings. I set the alarm for five and feed Claire while she's still asleep and then have breakfast, read the news online. Some mornings I'll be able to run before school (yea!) but others I'll be out the door at six-thirty for a first period class. This morning Justin and I biked to school and I ran at the track. Around and around we go. It poured. It felt good. I'll do the same tomorrow.

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