Chewed Up, Spit Out and Rejected... But A Pretty Good Week

I have 8 weeks left until Ironman Cozumel and if you had asked me a few days ago if I was feeling extremely confident, I have no idea what I would have told you.

Every week has been and will be hectic, but I am slowly learning how to use every second of the day more effectively. Still, I had to miss a run (I had only slept for 3 hours the night before and had to return a recorder to one of my classmates at an exact time that wouldn't be feasible to do if I ran) and a swim (I was out with one of the ABC 11 reporters covering the set up of a U2 concert and barely made it back to the station in time to head off to work at the rock wall). Busy, busy, busy.

I also had two interviews this week regarding my post-grad plans: a telephone interview with Teach for America and an in-person interview in front of a nominating committee for the Luce Scholars Program. On Tuesday, I find out if I will be granted a final interview for Teach for America and unfortunately, I already found out that I did not receive one of the nominations for Luce. While I'm disappointed, I think I will be MUCH more disappointed if I don't make it to the final round of interviews for TFA. Luce is an exciting opportunity, but one that might be better suited for me in a few years once I've gotten to have more experience outside the realm of broadcasting and also, when Morgan and I aren't still living on two different continents.

BUT I did say that I would share the good, bad and the ugly in this blog, but I didn't mention this hilarious. I try to always look on the positive side of things and even though Luce didn't work out for me, the interview itself was quite an experience! I went down to the UNC Kenan-Flagler Business School and waited in a room of refreshments and large couches until someone came to escort me to the boardroom where my interview would be held. On the walk there, the man escorting me (also on the nominating committee) informed me that the interview would be taped and there was a camera inside, so not to worry. Upon walking in, I noticed five deans of various schools at UNC sitting across from me at a long boardroom table. They greeted me politely and got straight down to business.

First question: "Where will you be in 10 years?" This is the oldest question in the book. Furthermore, I feel that anyone who thinks they know exactly where they will be and what they will be doing in 10 years is kidding themselves. So of course, I talked about the things I wanted to accomplish in the next 10 years and places that I wanted to go, the type of work I wanted to do, etc. One of the women on the panel looked up and asked me if I didn't know what I wanted to do and implied that I was lacking direction because I couldn't tell her where exactly I thought I would be in 10 years. Haha, I probably should have just lied and pretended I knew exactly where I wanted to be 10 years from now.

Second question: "I see that you have been to South Africa... tell us about AIDS in Africa." Well, isn't that a controversial question and also the world's most general question. AIDS IN AFRICA. While I recognized all that this question encompassed, I felt confident in the responses I gave. But really... "tell us about AIDS in Africa"?

There were a few other questions in between, but this was the kicker and the final question: "Do you consider yourself a feminist and why?" Somehow, I felt as though the topic of reproductive rights (i.e. abortion) was unavoidable and that is how I ended the interview. I also may have inadvertently referred to my dad as a homophobe (he isn't) and I happened to mention how often I was told that people were "praying for my soul" the summer that I worked at Feminist Women's Health Center. None of the above are wise things to mention in an interview, particularly an interview in the South.

But you know, these are growing pains and lessons learned. I definitely found the interview situation, looking back, quite funny, but I am somewhat disappointed, too. The fact that my workouts have been suffering so much because of my school/internship workload hasn't been great either. This weekend's workouts, however, began to make up for some of that.

Yesterday, after two days of missed workouts, I ran 18 miles without a second thought. In fact, I rushed back and then jumped on my bike to go to an interview at UNC's football tailgate. I woke up slightly sore this morning and was happy. Today, I biked 75 miles and then ran for an hour afterward, all at a moderate pace. I worked on my nutrition and hydrated more, which helped a lot. I also had GU packs and tried electrolyte tablets for the first time today. Even after 75 miles on the bike, I managed about an 8-minute mile for about 7 miles, which I was pleased with.

All in all, a pretty good week.

9 Weeks To Go! (Not Such a Good Training Week)

Blogs are interesting in the sense that you are never sure if anyone reads them or not. Occasionally, someone will post a comment and you will know that at the very least, that person reads what you decided to write that day. I would be elated to know that someone took an interest in my travels or training, but for now, I'll have faith that a few people do.

This past week was HARD. Between the radio and TV news stations on campus, my two part-time jobs, regular academic classes, an internship AND training for an Ironman, life can get overwhelming at times. In terms of training, my setback this week was swimming... I didn't make it to the pool once. The pools at UNC are closed until 2010, so I've been bouncing back and forth between Chapel Hill community pools and making the trek over to Duke University to use their pool. I also haven't really been doing the "rest and recovery" bit. I probably averaged about 3-4 hours of sleep per night this week.

But enough of the negativity. Yes, this week was definitely hard and yes, it will continue to be difficult. Nonetheless, I'm keeping strong. My running is gettting better. Thursday I ran an 8-mile tempo run and averaged a 6:45 minute mile. Yesterday, Eloise (my friend/neighbor) and I did an easy/moderate 15-mile run and by the end of it, I felt as if I could have easily run another 15 miles. Today I had brick traning. For those unfamiliar with this term, brick training is when you ride on your bike and then switch immediately to a run. The format of a triathlon is swim, bike, run, so brick training prepares you and your muscles for the transition from the bike to the run. Today I rode 85 miles on the bike and then did a 30 minute recovery run afterwards. After about six or seven GU packs, gatorade and water, I was feeling completely sugar-filled.

A bit awkward, but as a side note: I thought that I was allergic to the new UNC Triathlon Club uniform because last time I did a long ride, I got a rash on my legs that was only where the elastic of the shorts sat. I wore different shorts today and guess what? The same swollen rash. This makes me feel worse, but is anyone familiar with the Dr. Doolittle movie with Eddie Murphy (the first one, I believe)? Eddie Murphy gets called into his office to administer a shot in the buttocks of a woman who knew she was allergic to shellfish, but ate some anyway and had an allergic reaction. Well, if you ever saw the rash that she had... Yup, on my leg.

All in all, today was a solid workout. Swimming will definitely be in the plans, this week!

The Final Countdown: 10 Weeks Until Ironman Cozumel!

I realize that I have commitment issues with my blog: it waits around for me and I leave it sitting here online, waiting. I promise it (and those reading my blog) that I will get better.

For a recap: My time in Cuba did come to an end in May, but not before I hopped on a government bus with my cousin, Maria and the two of us set off to Chaparra, the small rural town in eastern Cuba where my Abuela grew up. After a cramped and FREEZING 12-hour bus ride (I was told to dress warmly and didn't take the comment to heart), Maria and I made it to Chaparra, a town which still uses horse and wagon as its primary means of transportation. Up until then, I had never been able to imagine what Abuela's hometown - the town that I had heard stories about throughout my childhood - looked like. Somehow, being there seemed to satisfy so many of my past questions of identity and my cultural "roots." With government permission, I stayed there for a week with Abuela's younger sister, Tia Eva and her two daughters as well as my two cousins, Evelyn and Elisabeth. The bond that Evelyn and I formed in that week was almost unbelievable. We shared views on politics, culture, friends, love and a general passion for life. We both cried when I had to leave, but now we write every so often and I think about her and life there in Chaparra more often than that.

After coming back from Cuba, I worked as an intern at CNN's headquarters in Atlanta, GA with CNN Productions, CNN's documentary unit. It was a fantastic internship (NOTE: I cannot go into great detail about my work) and I had opportunities to meet many interesting people and do work on several documentaries including Black in America 2, Generation Islam, Michael Jackson: Man in the Mirror and Latino in America, set to air next month. I actually did quite a bit of work on LIA including (but not limited to): transribing tapes, translating interviews (from Spanish to English) and even some script-writing. It was phenomenal.

Fast-forward to the present: I have been training for a full Ironman since February and now I'm in the final homestretch. Keep in mind that I am not looking to qualify for the Kona Hawaii World Championship race or anything remotely that grand, but I am training to run a good race and complete the full 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike and 26.2-mile run. I have 10 weeks before I fly to Cozumel, Mexico, where the race is going to be held. It will be my first time in Mexico, I am probably going alone (which is disappointing, but I understand that it isn't cheap to fly and stay in Mexico for four days) and I am running an Ironman. A mixture of excitement, terror and suspense runs through my veins when I think about November. But I am dedicated and have been training hard so I feel confident. However, if anything DOES go wrong or funny mishaps occur then you, my blog readers, will be the first to hear about it. Stay tuned...

Finally, in preparing for the Ironman (aside from daily training), I thought it would be wise to sign up for a few shorter triathlons. I ran my first race this morning since last November (when I completed the Beach2Battleship Half-Ironman). It was a sprint in Waxhaw, NC and it was definitely a "rolling" course. But it was great to get back out and I won a bottle of wine for placing 1st in my age group! Next race: Pinehurst Olympic-distance tri on October 10th.

More to come...

Damn, It Feels Good To Be A Tar Heel!

As any former or current UNC student can tell you, this statement always rings true. But in my three years at UNC, the statement above has never been more true than it was Monday night…when we won the NCAA National Championship!

My dad said it would happen. “They’re going to go all the way this year and you’re not going to be there to see it,” he lectured as I told him of my acceptance to the Cuba Study Abroad program. Granted, many people thought it would be this year. It’s Tyler Hansborough’s last year on the team, we had the majority of players return from last year (when we played in the Final Four) and well, as a Tar Heel family we were all pretty much feeling unstoppable. On Monday morning, knowing we would play for the national title that night, I suddenly wished I was back in Chapel Hill, NC.

Still, our celebration here in Havana, Cuba was a good second (to Chapel Hill, of course). We all crammed in one of the rooms at the residence to be able to watch the game together, doing all of the cheers and shouting purposelessly just as we would have had we been there at the game.

“TAR,” one of us would cry.
“HEELS!” the other side of the room would shout.

We did some of the same cheers after the game had ended, as we all “rushed” Avenida G screaming and shouting with delight. The great American annoyance/boisterousness that stereotypes us as a nationality, but on Monday night, we were willing to fit a stereotype. We ran past the Hotel Presidente, where our program director was staying for his two-day visit, shouting up to the eighth floor where we knew he’d be. We continued on until we reached the Malecon, stopping only to catch our breath as we breathed in the ocean air. We then proceeded to dance and sing, taking pictures and essentially, savoring a precious moment in time.

UNC had won the national championship and Tar Heels all over the world were celebrating the fact that our blood runs blue. Carolina Blue.

The Day I Ran a Half-Marathon, Jumped Out of a Helicopter and Starred in a Comedy Show

I would hardly describe myself as a girl of many talents, but Friday was just quite the productive day.

This weekend, the majority of our study abroad group and a few of the girls from American University decided to go to Varadero. Alyssa and I had already been, but three of the guys that were going had arranged to go skydiving and I really couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

With my Ironman training though, it sometimes makes it difficult for me to do what everyone else does with ease, because they’re not worried about their running or swimming schedule (I’m not able to bike here). My long runs are usually on Saturday and this Saturday my run was 13 miles long. To ensure that I would have a relatively care-free weekend, I got up at 5:30 am on Friday and did my 13 miles before class. After that, the fun could begin…and it did.

There were six of us that took a maquina (one of the old 1950’s Ford cars that function, here in Havana, as a version of a cheap taxi) to Varadero and then proceeded to check in to the resort that Alyssa and I had stayed in the last time we went to Varadero. (For $35 per person, the room and all-you-can-eat breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks and drinks are provided.) After checking in, I went to look for the boys who were skydiving and at the last minute, two of the AU girls decided to jump as well.

While this blog entry may make me sound brave, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared. I was terrified! I was thinking about it all day and although I’d been really excited, I hadn’t ruled out the possibility that I would back out at the last moment. But in the end, my excitement had gotten the best of me and by the time I had realized what I was actually doing, I was moments away from willingly flinging myself out of a helicopter.

Originally when reservations for skydiving were made, we were told that we were going to jump out of an old USSR war plane and land on the beach. However, I think the plane was in disrepair and due to the direction of the wind, we couldn’t land on the beach and we were told that we would be landing on the grassy area where we took off from. Just as we began to wonder where the plane was that we would now be jumping out of, a helicopter flew overhead and landed on the landing strip in front of us.

We were going to jump out of a helicopter!

As we climbed into the helicopter and we gained altitude, I realized it was too late to change my mind. First I saw the two camera people go: it looked like they literally just fell out of the helicopter. Next, Heather (one of the AU girls) dropped out and she looked absolutely horrified. Finally, it was my turn. I was literally strapped to the instructor at four different points of my suit and he turned his back to the open door of the plane. “Ready?” he asked. I was singing Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” to myself as we jumped out.

What a rush! Had I not been wearing goggles, the speed at which we were falling felt like it might have been enough to peel back my eyelids! Before we jumped out, the instructor told me to keep my eyes open the entire time so I wouldn’t miss a thing. “Right…” I thought. The only way I could see myself jumping out of the helicopter was if I didn’t have to look when I did it. But instead? I kept my eyes open the entire time.

The free fall ended when the instructor pulled the parachute open. When he did, it was as if time itself stood still. The rushing downward stopped and I looked around to take in all the sights. All around me were farm lands that, from that high up, looked perfectly manicured and green. And the ocean…wow. When we went skydiving, it was about 7 pm and the sun was just beginning to set and the rays of light danced across the ocean’s surface. The instructor even let me steer the parachute for a minute or two and as we floated back towards the ground, I can’t imagine that the smile on my face could have been any bigger.

After skydiving, we went back to the resort to have dinner and a few drinks. According to the itinerary, there was going to be a comedy show at 9:30 pm down by the pool and we all figured it would at least be a few good laughs to watch while we thought of something better to do. While we sat at the bar and waited for the show to start, the show “host” recognized Alyssa from the last time we had stayed there and pulled her towards the stage to come “help with the show.” Having had a mojito and a fabulous day prior to that, I eagerly followed her on stage. Following me was Louisa and Caitlin (from AU).

What we ended up doing hardly constitutes just “helping with the show.” For all intents and purposes, we WERE the show. The comedy show was actually a series of five competitions, with four female contestants competing. Our first competition was to pretend to be a model on a catwalk doing “sexy moves;” the second challenge was to make the male host of the show “fall in love” with us by saying sweet (generally corny/ridiculous) things to him; third, we had to act out the scene of a man waking up in the morning (scratching inappropriate places, etc.); fourth, we had to sing “Guantanamera” with our mouths full of water (similar to playing Chubby Bunny) and finally, beans were scattered on the floor of the stage which the four of us had to scramble to pick up. Whoever picked up the most beans won that competition. Alyssa ultimately won overall and all four of us were probably the resorts most popular people for the rest of the night. What a show!

After the excitement of the day before, we spent most of yesterday lying on the beach, which looked as beautiful as something you might find on a postcard.

*Last but not least, last night we watched UNC play in the Final Four – and we watched the game at the house of the head of the U.S. interest section. We had gone there to visit a few weeks ago, but because the game was only going to be on CBS and we definitely don’t receive CBS via Cuban satellite here in the Residence, we asked if they wouldn’t mind us watching the game there with them. They were kind enough not only to say yes, but to provide us with the means to stuff ourselves silly (popcorn, candy, cake, cookies, soda, etc.). Maybe they’ll invite us back over tomorrow to play for the national title?

Let The Games Begin!

Every year, la Universidad de Havana holds a series of athletic competitions in the spring, known as los Juegos del Caribe. Events range from everything as common track and field to those like karate to ping-pong. Each team is made up of students from a particular area of study/faculty and the different faculties try their best to have at least a few people compete in each event.

The biology faculty, the same faculty that has been giving us free dance lessons, was nice enough to also let us compete in the Juegos as students of their faculty. Some of us competed in the 1500-meter run, another girl from my study abroad group ran the 400-meter and two of the guys from my group competed in ping-pong. When we were asked to write down a list of athletic capabilities, I wrote that I could run and swim. As a result, I was registered to compete in a duathlon of sorts: a 400-meter run, 50-meter swim, 400-meter run.

The morning of the race, I was excited, but also a little nervous. I hadn’t run a 400-meter race since 10th grade and even then I wasn’t very good. I also looked around and saw students from other faculties that had the indisputable build of skilled swimmers. What I didn’t anticipate being the problem was understanding the rules and regulations of the race. How mistaken I was.

The race was at a beach, Bacuranao, just outside the city of Havana. It took race officials about an hour to set up, but the course wasn’t very formal and/or structured. The race began with the 400-meter run in the parking lot, then taking off your shoes and jumping in the ocean to swim to a buoy and back, and finally repeating the same run in reverse. “That’s simple enough,” I remember thinking. I had also “sized up” the other girls in my heat and after realizing that two or three of them had muscular thighs that each were about the width of both of mine put together, I figured that they would be in front of me and I could just follow them. And then the whistle blew.

I set off running and about 200 meters out, I took a look around me: there was no one there! “Awesome!” I thought to myself. I really hadn’t anticipated being in first place and while these competitions are mostly for fun, I was excited. I made it to the beach, kicked off my shoes and jumped in. As I was swimming to the buoy, I heard race officials shouting at me and Spanish and then finally realized what had happened when I swam into the girl who had been behind me. “What are you doing?!” she yelled in Spanish.

If you can get a mental image, picture this: we had to swim 25 horizontally, parallel to the beach. What I had not fully understood is that we were originally supposed to swim on the side of the buoy that was closest to land and then swim back to get our shoes on the side of the buoy that was farther from land; I had done the opposite. As a result, I came out of the water in second place. Then another problem: my shoes.

I couldn’t manage to squeeze my sand-covered feet back into my shoes and then I just decided to leave my shoes and run barefoot on the asphalt. It was only a 400-meter run anyway. So I left my shoes in their designated basket and proceeded to start running. Again, race officials shouted at me. “Grab your shoes!” they said in Spanish. “Even if you’re not wearing them, you at least have to have them in your hands!” As I turned around and went back for my shoes, another girl passed me. I was now in third place.

Funny enough, all of this is now irrelevant because I ended up getting disqualified. Because of my misunderstanding in the water, I had not “followed the rules” and thus, my race results did not count towards the total points of the biology faculty. It’s funny now, but at the time I felt pretty dumb.

Haha. As if I didn’t stand out enough as the American, I had to go and swim the wrong way.

The Cubacar Diaries

I wish our adventure to Maria La Gorda has been as noble as Che’s ride through South America. And while “noble” isn’t the word I would use to describe our road trip, it was nonetheless a road trip through Western Cuba and as such, an adventure.

We started out as a group of nine American students in two small rented cars departing from Havana two weeks ago. It was only a weekend trip, but we planned to make the most of it. Heading west, we saw lots of farmland, billboards praising the Cuban Revolution and other billboards urging the release of the Cuban Five. At one point, we even saw a military tank on the side of the road! They must have been conducting an army training exercise, but to have only seen billboards and farms for the first 30 miles and then glance to the side of the road and see a tank rolling around, its artillery aiming in different directions – truly a Cuban experience.

Then nightfall came and although we had made plans to stay at a beach villa, we were turned away and told it was full. That also happened again at the next place we tried. Before we knew it, it was half past midnight and we were parked at a gas station, ready to sleep in the cars for the night. On a whim, we decided to ask inside if anyone knew of a casa particular [*houses in Cuba where guests rent a room] nearby where we could simply sleep for the night. A woman and her daughter said that they had a friend that they would call, but it ended up that they couldn’t get in touch with her. So rather than letting us sleep in the cars in the middle of nowhere, the woman and her daughter welcomed us into their own home, no questions asked. They offered us food, let us park the cars in their yard and the next morning, went to the bakery and purchased a bread roll for each of us. They also introduced us to the litter of puppies their dog had recently had and we were awakened by the loud grunts of their two, very hungry, 800-pound pigs! While aspects of our stay were quite funny, the generosity of their family was all too kind. After breakfast we thanked them for everything and continued on our journey.

The morning drive went much better, but the dive time that we were trying to make was 11 am. We pulled into the parking lot of the scuba dive office at 10:45 am and somehow, made it on the boat clad in swim wear and scuba/snorkel gear by 11 am. Only two of us (including myself) were certified to dive and while everyone else snorkeled, we explored the ocean floor of the western-most point in Cuba.

Unfortunately, there really wasn’t that much (in terms of fish and other ocean creatures) to see, but we did see a manta ray and an eel and a few species of very colorful fish. The water, though, was crystal-clear. I think my favorite part of the dive was when our dive instructor led us through two high walls of coral that were so large, it felt as though we were swimming through an underwater cave. It was incredible.