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Last Monday night Alana and I went on our first ever Hash Harriers run here in Panama.  For those of you who haven’t heard of the Hash Harriers it’s generally referred to as “a drinking club with a running problem”. My pal Henrik Flodhammar has been running with the Panama Hashers for years, but he first started running and drinking with this global community in Malaysia, the birthplace of the Hash Harriers quite some time ago.

The group met at the base of the Canal Administration Building at the Goethe fountain.

The run was a chaotic delight.  The “Hasher” did not set the “Hash” prior to the race so we ran circles throughout the Byzantine roads and switchbacks that cover the base of Ancon Hill and eventually returned to the Goethe fountain to drink ice cold Balboas. At the Goethe, Henrik introduced Alana and me to Lorena Riba, an entrepreneur of a vertical garden company called Vida Verde.

As we drove to get pizza with about half the Hashers, Lorena’s husband, Rumpi, and I discussed cars, paddling the Pacora, the Cayuco race, and all things outdoors. Over dinner, Rumpi convinced Alana and me to attempt a 21 kilometer (13.05 miles) race in El Valle de Antón the following Sunday.  Knowing some of my friends have places in El Valle, I set into motion a weekend of relaxation and half-marathon running.

Later in the week Alana, my pal Henrik and I visited Lorena’s company, Vida Verde.  I really liked what I saw and looked forward to spending more time with Lorena as she is an incredibly knowledgeable woman.  We compared reference books, checked out some of her projects, and spitballed ideas for future projects at one another.

As for race training, I should say it was sparse. On Thursday, Alana, Kimberly and I embarked on another exhilarating challenge: investigating an alternate road into Kalu Yala.   It was good exercise as we ended up hiking seven kilometers and ascending at least 800 meters and down again.  We expected this route to not be feasible, but we had to do the diligence.  Sure enough, we discovered that it was far too steep, washed out and contained too much virgin forest.

Photo Credit:  Alana Armstrong

Friday finally arrived and before weekend traffic started we hit the road for El Valle de Antón.

The beauty of El Valle is hard to put on paper, but I shall endeavor to do so. Picture yourself peeling off a highway onto a rustic country road. As you drive in deeper stunning images of rolling green mountains and hilltops play out before you. The road becomes more and more erratic, switching this way and that, up and down sharp peaks and valleys. The setting sun paints the rapidly moving clouds a majestic golden hue as they eagerly drift across the peaks. You drop into a valley surrounded by steep slopes and vibrant clouds and enter a sleepy mountain community. From any porch in the valley you may gaze upon this dramatic backdrop and find a little inner peace.

My friend Carlos spoke to a campesino on Friday about meeting us with some live chickens early Saturday.   He arrived at dawn as promised and we spent the morning slow cooking one of them with damp charcoal on a Weber. Cold Panamas helped us combat the intense humidity of El Valle.  Rain provided us with the excuse to lounge around the house all weekend.

We ran into Lorena in town and she invited us to her home.  It was a beautiful with a budding herb garden in the back that instigated a discussion about using kitchen herbs in her hanging gardens- especially useful in an urban environment where space is scarce.

That night I went to bed early, knowing how difficult the following morning would be since I was wholly unprepared to run a half marathon. I awoke in darkness and bumbled around the house knocking things over, waking up my friend’s dogs and conducting a cacophony of noise before 5:30 am.  I remembered to grab a half eaten potato from the fridge to munch on like an apple as I set off down the road looking for the starting point.

My first thought was to play some motivational music on my iPod, however the symphony of dawn, that gentle transition from the music of the night into the rhythm of day gave me all the motivation I needed. As the sun began to wake and illuminated the cloudy morning, the same indecipherable feeling I felt at El Chorro de Ola invaded my thoughts- an inescapable and powerful sense of wonder.

Still looking for the starting point, I could tell I was on the right track when I noticed an ever-growing flux of running-gear-clad marathon participants, stumbling through the weariness of the morning towards registration tables. I know every outdoor sport has lots of expensive gear designed to shave tenths of a second off one’s race time but I couldn’t help giggling at the plethora of objects now deemed vital to simply go running. Not to sound condescending though, I was also decked out in pure silliness, with my camo Camel-Back and my Ninja Toes, aka Vibram Five Finger shoes, a parting gift from my brother.  While most of the race participants were familiar with Ninja Toes, there was a general sense of surprise and confusion as to why I was wearing them on that day.  I would realize why several kilometers and a mountain accent later.

The start of the race went as expected, a hundred plus people crowded together like cattle, running up a paved road then onto a trail.  It took a while for the pack to thin out, but once it did I found a good running partner and we passed through a meadow of lovely little red flowers.  We descended from there into a sub valley covered in clouds but alive with the sounds of chicken coops that stood hazily on either side of the road we now ran on.  At this point I broke free and ran by myself for several kilometers blasting music into my ears knowing I still had far to go.

Eventually, I reached the base of a mountain we were to climb and there my troubles began.  After the race I learned that most people also had trouble getting traction on that mountain, but I had an especially difficult time in the Ninja Toes.  The trail was wet and muddy and every time I stepped up I’d lose my footing and slam my shins into the mountain.  This incessant falling proved to be little more than a precursor to my trials on the ridges of the mountain tops.  Rumpi had given me a general overview of the race course back in Panama, but I did not realize how much of the course covered jagged rock faces and sharp, loose boulders which were murder on my footsies. Most of my time on those mountains was spent looking down at my feet rather than at the spectacular, 360 degree vista before me.

It wasn’t long before the balls of my feet went numb.  True to form, every racer that passed me asked if I was okay, such is the friendly demeanor of the running community. Upon passing me, Alana offered up a cereal bar which did wonders for my attitude. With a lifted spirit, I began to walk and run with others calmly conversing in mixtures of Spanish and English.  Coming down from the mountain, my feet were aching and despite having the energy to soldier on, I was jogging slower than my fastest walking speed.

Upon reaching the finish line, I stripped off my Ninja Toes and felt a sudden rush of blood to my feet which momentarily made the pain subside. Luckily I got to recover in El Valle one more night.  It’s been a few days since the race and I’m no worse for wear.  Overall I can say it was quite the experience, a memory I’ll not soon forget!

Photo Credit:  Alana Armstrong