running – A Life Overseas |

Just Keep Going: Lessons From a Newbie Runner

You know who you are. You’re the one who’s been on the border of transformation so many times. You’ve pulled into the parking lot of that gym multiple times only to pull a uwee to the first coffee shop because who actually has time for that and 5 am is out of the question. You’ve picked up that budgeting book because you know you want financial peace but the automatic transfer to your savings account eludes you. You’ve pulled out your computer to email that missionary therapist but quickly numb yourself with Facebook for the umpteenth time today instead.

I’ve been there too.

I’m the one who ran all through high school, college, and young mommy days and then let life’s demands crowd out my passion when I moved overseas for missions. I’m the one who sat on the couch and watched my sister-in-law push herself out the door day after day to crush tar with her Adidas. I’m the one who longingly scrolled past pictures of my friend jogging with her family and wanted all the same rewards but just . . .got busy.

I’m also the one who walked into our town’s family-owned shoe store a dozen times to buy all the right shoes for my kids and ask about their running programs. I hoped that my questions would unlock the mystery of what held me back from committing. And I’m the one who received a gracious and genuine answer every single time from the shop owner, Scott Gall. Scott gave me and my husband all of his attention and talked to us like we were already in the worldwide club of runners. Oh, how I wanted to be in that club, the club of people who possess discipline and who commit to run. Regularly.

Scott never judged me for not starting. He was just always there to answer my questions with kindness and patience. Then one day the seeds of a dozen conversations finally sprouted. I mustered up the courage to ask him for his 5K training program, even though I felt like a baby. He sent it to me, and I set a date on my calendar to start. I knew that I needed external accountability, so I asked my friend to do it with me. “We have to send each other pictures every day to prove that we did it.”

I was scared that I would last two weeks and then life would get busy as it always does. Or that the interruption of my move back to South Africa would interfere with my goals. Like it always has. But I set the start date and sent my friend a picture of day 1. Then I did day 2. I found out that I could re-prioritize my life and actually follow through with running when I moved back to South Africa.

Then I just kept going. I missed day 19 but made up for it on day 21. And yes, I felt like a baby. Yes, there was a day when I cried through my last mile at how slow my pace was. Yes, I was sore and slow. But the days turned into one full month of following the program every single day. Then two full months. Then I shaved a few minutes off my time. I wasn’t as sore, and I could breathe a little easier up that hill by the beach. And yes, I got plantar fasciitis my third month and had to take a break. But guess who’s back on the trails this week?

Through it all, I kept sharing photos with my friend, because some of us need support to crush our goals. Eventually, sharing daily photos was replaced with using a tracking app. As I reflected on all those visits to the shoe store, I began to think about the importance of patience and encouragement. I thought about all the times Scott answered my questions even though I hadn’t started. I thought about how many people walk in those doors asking him identical questions, promising themselves that they’ll start tomorrow. And I finally understood how vital it is for seeds of curiosity to be watered before they take root.

I slipped on my Brooks and thought about how many times I’ve shared about the God who transformed my life and it seemed to fall on deaf ears. I pounded through the trail and thought about the people who have needed to ask me questions about faith but weren’t ready to commit yet. I jogged past an eight-point buck bedded in the woods and contemplated how many times we need to ask the same questions before our hearts are prompted to action. I remembered how many times my sister-in-law talked to me about hope in Christ on our high school campus before it finally took root in me.

I was reminded of the patience, the conversations, and the people who had been part of my story of turning to Jesus. Sometimes we need to hear the same patient message repeated before something clicks and . . . it changes us. I clocked in my last slow mile and was glad that Scott hadn’t given up on our countless conversations about running. Because the day finally came when it took root in my heart and changed my life for the better.

So don’t be dismayed by the revolving door of conversations about faith that you’re having with the same person. Don’t push or judge. If they’re coming back for more, something might be happening under the surface. Those tenderly watered seeds might be ready to sprout. Keep nurturing those conversations, and you may become part of a beautiful transformation.

A Philosophical (Running) Life Overseas

Other posts in the series:

A Practical (Running) Life Overseas (tips for starting to run as an expat)

A Communal (Running) Life Overseas (building community while doing what you love)

A Philosophical (Running) Life Overseas

I run with my iPhone. In an armband. With earphones. In Djibouti this makes me feel excessively wealthy, especially when I consider that runners I knew, interviewed, ran with, have died in search of a better life than the Horn of Africa can offer.

The armband Velcro melted off months ago so I twist it all around itself to keep it on. The earphones are missing the cushiony part on one side and only one earplug actually works. In places were suffering means you still use the iPhone 4 or can only go out to eat twice per week, this constitutes severe deprivation.

I wear a waist belt packed full with four bottles of water I freeze overnight and Gu and Chapstick and enough change for a taxi or a phone call or another bottle of water. The zippers rusted out on the pack so none of the pockets close. The Velcro salted over and I have to continually retighten it to keep from losing the belt. This means I drink more water while running than some people drink in a day. I have more money in my running belt than some earn in a day.

I alternate between Asics and Saucony shoes. I wear running pants and shirts and sports bras and socks that, even though I bought them on clearance and keep them until they literally fall apart, mean I spend more on my running clothes than most of the people I run by in the early mornings will spend on clothing for the year.

I struggle with this. Here I come, burning calories because I have more than enough to eat. Here I come, with the leisure time to spend running. Here I come, wearing my rich clothes. Here I come, with my fancy gadgets.

Am I not supopsed to run until everyone, everywhere, has the time, money, and energy to run? I could stay inside and use exercise DVDs to stay in shape, I could join a club (if there was an affordable one with functioning machines) where I would exercise indoors and street kids wouldn’t see me. I could quit exercising altogether.

But. I am very aware of my privilege, running is an example of that privilege. Not running, or running in secret does nothing to address this issue. It would simply mask my abundance. There is a subtle lie here, easily believed, that hiding behind walls or being ashamed of quality running shoes would somehow make the economic difference between myself and many Djiboutians less true.

So I’m not going to stop and I’m not going to hide and I’m not going to run in terrible shoes that will cause an injury.

What should I do? I can make wise choices about my clothes and shoes and gadgets. I can make them last as long as possible and can not be pressured to buy the latest model or fashion when there is nothing (drastically) wrong with the one I have. I can give my water bottle, still half-full, to the boy begging, when I realize I won’t need it all today.

I don’t plan on quitting running. I don’t plan on running barefoot (tried) or without water (tried) or naked (never tried). But I do think about the people I run by and pray for them. I smile at the kids and slap their hands, high-five style. I greet the older women, macooyo, grandmother. I cheer on the few other runners.

When I run in Djibouti, I’m entering the dust and heat and sunrises of this nation. I’m passing the donkey carts with loads of grass and sticks, jumping over cat carcasses. Smelling rotisserie chickens and fresh baguettes. I’m waving at women weaving baskets and humming along with the call to prayer. I pound my fist on taxis when they drive too close and explore side streets that lead to the ocean. I’m greeting shopkeepers and promising fruit stand guys that I’ll come by later for their delish-looking mangoes. I know when construction starts a few blocks over and when a new family set up a shack in the empty lot on the corner.

Instead of hiding my abundance from Djiboutians, when I run, I am learning to engage with them.

And I don’t feel the disparity in those moments. I don’t know, maybe they do, but I have had men selling bananas tell me the only reason they went out to watch the half marathon was because they thought I would be running in it, felt they knew me, and wanted to cheer.

This idea of ‘relationship’ doesn’t solve issues of economic divides. But at least running in the streets makes me aware and forces me to think, relate, respond. I’m still working on how to live with my plenty with integrity, how to be generous without feeling pressured, how to live with gratitude without guilt, how to live with my eyes wide open and my heart tenderly malleable.

This issue is a marathon issue, probably even an ultra. I have a long ways to go.

Do you run (or engage in other similar activites) in a developing country? In what ways do you feel compelled to mask your abundance?

A Communal (Running) Life Overseas

*Read the first post in this series here: A Practical (Running) Life Overseas

I didn’t intend to build a running community. I didn’t even intend to start running. But loneliness will make you do incredible things and five years later, I am amazed.

I started running when we had a woman working with us for one school year. Heather had recently run a marathon.

“Is it safe to run here?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “You should go with someone at least the first time.”

“You’re the boss,” she said. “I’m running. You’re supposed to keep me safe, so I guess you’re coming with.”

And voila, I started running. I liked running fine, but I adored Heather. I would go through anything, even a 110-degree run, to spend time with her, to listen to her talk while I huffed and hacked, to pray, to review scripture together.

Eventually we got more serious about training and wanted to do speed work. Through another American and her friendship with Djibouti’s only Olympic medalist (1988 Seoul Olympics, bronze in the marathon), we were given permission to run at the stadium.

running djibouti

A handful of local girls trained there. They were young, not in school, friendly, and often injured. They rarely stretched and ran in bare feet, didn’t know about hydration or post-run fueling, and were often kept out of competitions because they didn’t belong to a club. These girls were fast, they lapped us during workouts, but on warm-up and cool-down laps, we chatted and developed friendships and we started to dream about an all-girls club.

Girls Run 2 launched in 2008 and now includes two coaches and 27 girls in two towns. The club provides running equipment, water at races, transportation to races, academic assistance, and some job skills training.

Running is by nature a solitary endeavor, but all runners can testify to the strength of a running community. A running team, race camaraderie, someone to complain about knee pain to, someone who will ask if you are meeting your goals, someone who understands why you push your body to the limits.

Living overseas isn’t always, but can sometimes feel like a solitary endeavor. My husband has a job and through his work, has a natural community. Over the years I have been much more fluid in how I engage and it has often been a lonely struggle. Running has helped meet a relational need through the development of this community.

How can those of us without a clear-cut niche develop a community overseas? How can we be intentional and creative and get involved?

You don’t need to start a club. It could be one other woman, like Heather and I. What about finding out if any of your local friends run or walk or want to start? Gather one or two and hit the road, the time together might become addicting and attractive to others. You don’t have to be fast. I began participating in races, sometimes one of three women out of a field of over 100. I have been the last person, the.last.person to cross the finish line. The first time that I finished in last place I got on television, shook the hand of the minister for sports, and posed for photos with the national running team, a gigantic trophy in my hands for finishing as the third-place woman. Third out of three. Last place. Champion. There is probably a lesson there, I was just glad to stop running.

You don’t need a lot of experience. Neighbors began talking to me about running, some asked if they could run with me. When university students found out I ran, some came to the train to join, even though they had never run before. Since I was still a beginner, we had a lot in common.

It doesn’t have to be running. Figure out what you love to do and then do it with the people around you. Notice, I didn’t say: figure out what you do well and then do it with the people around you. I do not run well. I have terrible form and turn red as beet juice. I terrify children and make them scream when I try to smile at the end of long runs (true story).

Want to build community? What do you love to do? How can you do it together?

(here is a link to the preview for the movie I mentioned in my last post about running: Finding Strong. If you get Runner’s World magazine, the December issue has a fully page ad for this film and the photo is of three of our Djibouti girls at Lac Assal, the lowest point in Africa, Djibouti’s salt lake).

-Rachel Pieh Jones, (slow) marathoner and development worker, Djibouti

Blog: Djibouti Jones, Twitter: @RachelPiehJones, Facebook: Rachel Pieh Jones

A Practical (Running) Life Overseas

I used to hate running and at the end of the first run I completed in Djibouti I put my hands on my knees, nearly tumbled to the ground, and said (through heaving breaths), “People do this, like, for fun?”

Apparently they do. And then I started to do it, like, for fun too.

A (Running) Life Overseas will include three posts. First: practicalities. Second: building community. Third: digging deeper (issues like running in expensive shoes in developing countries, etc).

Some of the first practical issues when running overseas are:

Getting started
Clothing and Gear
Nutrition and hydration
Safety

Getting Started

The best thing to do is to ask a local, a longer-term expatriate, or to observe. How, where, when do people run? What do men wear? Women? Even if you are an avid runner already, it might be good to start with leisurely walks to learn the neighborhoods. Invite a friend, spouse, or neighbor. When you drive around town, keep on the lookout for where people are running. Find the local sports stadium and introduce yourself, ask if there are any races or clubs.

Try to be sensitive to cultural norms but don’t be locked into them. People might think you are bizarre but guess what, expat? You are bizarre. Own it. Sensitively. This is something that takes years to settle into, so I say that lightly. In the beginning it is a good idea to learn and follow most cultural norms. But as you become more knowledgeable, you will discover which boundaries you are comfortable bending or crossing and which you aren’t.

Clothing

I run in clothes that are more modest than French runners and less modest than Djiboutian runners. I wear t-shirts and capris that cover my knees. Djibouti is so incredibly hot that loose clothes gather sweat, flap around, and chafe so I tend toward more fitted clothing. My number one favorite piece of running clothes is a pair of spandex pants with a skort attached. I also look for shirts or pants with pockets for keys, coins, Gu. Trail shoes are great for less developed locations. Because quality running shoes might not be available in many parts of the world, find a pair you like and stick with it so you can order online and have visitors bring them in a suitcase.

Listening to an iPod can be motivational and inspirational and can provide a good distraction from onlookers’ comments but they can also be a magnet for getting robbed or a distraction from looking out for wild drivers so use them with caution. I find music grating after a while and prefer sermons and audiobooks, or I plug in the headphones without anything playing. Then people are less likely to try and talk to me. I cherish that quiet, alone time.

Nutrition and Hydration

In steamy countries, this is so important. In August in Djibouti we are breathing fire and I can feel the air sucking life moisture from my body. It is too dry to sweat, making hydration that much more important. In the spring and fall, it is so humid we can slice the air with a knife. At those times, salt intake is of extreme importance, not just water. These are important things to know about your location and the seasons and your body. In the dry season, I freeze water bottles to carry. In the humid season I bring Gu packets, bananas, or salted snacks. It can be hard to rehydrate adequately if you run every day so either take days off when your pee isn’t clear or chug-a-lug the water during the day. A side note about eating on the run – in many developing nations, litter is everywhere. This doesn’t make it okay for you to drop the Gu packet or water bottle. Try to care for God’s creation, even when exhausted.

Safety

Don’t be stupid. Don’t go on a long run in the hot season without water and without telling someone where you are going. Bring a phone if possible. Run in a group if that is safest. If mugging is common, take appropriate precautions or don’t go to certain areas. If you feel doubtful about a specific street or something just doesn’t feel right, trust your gut, cut the run short or make it long by going around. In some places, running simply might not be possible. Invest in good exercise DVDs like P90X or Insanity for running-quality workouts and learn to be okay with that.

So many things about living overseas are never finished. Language learning, cultural adaptation, development projects, fund-raising. But I can start and finish a run, it is one of the only things I can actually cross off my to-do list. Running helps me appreciate unique aspects of Djibouti, builds community, and makes me stronger. It is an hour or more a day not spent parenting or team-mating or studying, running has become a sort of refuge. A space for me, my breathing, my feet, and God.

Your turn. What are some beginning or practical tips you have?

*The first and last photos are of the Girls Run 2 team in Djibouti, the only all-girl running team that I helped to start a few years ago. On November 2 a Runner’s World/Saucony film featuring these girls will premiere in New York City. Thanks for letting me indulge in a little film-promotion. I am so proud of these girls!

-Rachel Pieh Jones, introverted development worker, Djibouti

Blog: Djibouti Jones, Twitter: @RachelPiehJones, Facebook: Rachel Pieh Jones