So it’s the day after my birthday, and as such I am taking the opportunity to write about what I want. So yes- welcome to Entry #341 on running.  My blog. My rules. And be forewarned, I’m feeling chatty….

While the majority of the population observes Ramadan, I take to my own version of worship.

Often when I call my Dad to randomly check in, he likes to piss me off by announcing that it’s a “gray, overcast Cape Cod day”. There is no doubt that I’m his daughter, because for both of us this tops out as our favorite weather. It’s murky, softly quiet, and you know that somewhere nearby a boat is pierside and slowly knocking against weathered rubber fenders.  Good stuff. That’s home to me.

The morning after my birthday I made sure to get up extra early in order to accomplish my Long Slow Run. How important is it that I complete this weekly task? Well, to give you an idea, last night I fêted my 33 years by drinking only sugar-free purple Kool-Aid as everyone else enjoyed beer and wine. Lame? Maybe. But was I able to run this morning without feeling like a 33 year old who just spent the night drinking? Indeed.

I was glad I did it, because the morning couldn’t have been more suitable for this New Englander. I set out about 15 minutes before sunrise (it’s a race against the sun out here), and the overnight soaking left more than its share of puddle deposits and mud-clogged streets. It was still sprinkling, and I wondered if I would get caught in one of the rainy season’s signature downpour sessions. Like this one:

As luck would have it, the rain was finished for the morning.  I was free to head out and aim for completing ten miles. When I run alone, I like to bring my phone- yes, for emergencies, but also for those happy occasions where I need to document the crazy shit that I always see. So with that said, let me take you on another run (I hope you drank enough Kool-Aid):

Saw this about three miles into my puddle jumping. Another compelling reason for me to buy a car and forsake the questionable taxi network of Dakar.

Dakar’s main lighthouse. It’s not Nobska (or my backyard), but I’ll take it. See how it’s nice and overcast?

The view I get from the highest elevation of my route. This is the corniche that I always reference, and here you can see into downtown; I run around this peninsula all the time.

While the clouds were burning off, it was pretty humid. The lens on my camera phone was a little foggy but I wanted to capture the Mosque of the Divinity.

Almost everything for sale in this country is vended street-side, but I keep asking myself who is going to buy this particular trinket.

And while we’re on the subject of stone lawn ornaments…

  …the houses in this country don’t even have lawns, so where is this stone baobab tree and naked woman supposed to be placed?

I have been meaning to take a photo of this one for awhile. You’re welcome.

At about the 9.5 mile mark I passed “Muscle Beach”. This place is usually packed with people working out. During Ramadan however, people opt to conserve their energy as they observe their daily fast. Can’t say I blame them.

I finished my run at the eleven mile mark, just before 9am. I got back home and celebrated with some banana-fortified victuals and a few minutes of torture on my foam roller. Ahhh. A great run completed under weather that you would never expect to find on an August Dakar day. I would say the creator gave me a fantastic birthday gift, and a great entry into my next year of question marks.

P.S.

Some of you might be wondering why I willingly head out to torture myself in the hot African sun. Really, it’ s not that I want to spend my Saturday nights drinking purple Kool-Aid. Let me give you a quick recap:

It started (like everything else), back on the Cape with a little bet/exchange with my brother. I asked if he would run a mile with me some day (the dude does NOT run- he came out of the womb wearing goalie ice skates). He said he would, if I would play an hour of hockey. Now I know that this is not a fair exchange, but for some fool reason I agreed. You can look back to my various blog entries on Megan re-learning to skate, or just laugh at me here. After my triumph on ice, I was still waiting for him to hold up his end of the bargain, which he eventually did (click here to see how he ran almost triple the original distance!). 

The one-upmanship did not end there though, and without really thinking he would do it, I dared him to train for the Dublin Half-Marathon. If he trained, I said that I’d buy his plane ticket to our old stomping ground and we could run it together.

Well the crazy bastard started training. And soon enough I was breaking out my credit card, completely gobsmacked…

Finisher of the 2010 Falmouth Road Race.  Completed in 01:18:44. Uh-oh.

So fast-forward to Megan training under these ridiculous conditions. Trust me, I hate the heat, but my brother’s pace is getting faster, and I need to make sure I can crank out 13.1 miles with him next month. 

As an added bonus, the weather in Dublin is guaranteed to be decidedly Cape Cod-esque, so I can’t think of a better race to tackle with my favorite brother. We’ve come a long way since crawling through the Emerald Isle pubs as teenagers…