Public Service Announcement

I personally vow to never judge a man for entering a nail salon. Ok, maybe if he is getting a manicure, but not a pedicure. This trip has marked the most attention my feet have ever received on a daily washing basis. Why do I wash my feet with obsessive conviction? Let me tell you why. I see a lot of people walking around barefoot, everywhere that I travel. It's not that I am particularly sad that they are shoe-less, because most seem oblivious to their lack of footwear. What has harnessed my attention, is the various states of the feet I view. Feet that look squished, like in a cartoon. Feet as big as sledgehammers. Toes longer than an unused crayon. Feet with no visible toes. Feet that look like hands. To make things worse a very helpful friend (Brent Johnson) insisted on showing me a medical textbook of third world foot diseases, before I left on the trip. Thanks Brent! I think of those haunting pictures on a daily basis.

So what am I getting at? Please people in America, wash your feet with the vigor with which you wash your hair. If I see feet like that when we visit the beach together, I make no guarantees of any possible reaction on my part.

I know I touched on public transportation earlier on. The most common means of travel between any town further than walking distance is a matatu. A matatu is usually a Toyota diesel passenger van, built to seat maybe 15 people. In Nairobi the danger of matatus lies with the pedestrians outside the vehicle. In the country and rural areas, far greater danger rests inside the vehicle.

On typical route, most matatus are filled to the brim. Fifteen people? Ha! Try in the middle twenties of passengers. Most passengers are picked up in big towns, where all seats are taken and half of the others are doubled up. Picking your seat is a crucial step at a town stop. The fare collector, a tout, rides in the back with everyone else, and is in charge of finding new potential passengers or alerting the driver of a departing rider. There is rarely a case of a matatu that is too full to pick up one more person and their seventy or eighty bananas. Unless you ride in the front seats, being squished is a given. Most rides could be summed up as a claustrophobia sufferer's nightmare. Each ride is a stew of human BO, and every ride has its' own recipe, because everyone stinks a little different.

The driving is basically a version of any old Atari driving game. Just avoid potholes regardless of which side of the road your country encourages you to drive. If you are so inclined, just drop one side on the dirt shoulder, or if needed plow down the dirt sidewalk for a quarter mile or more. I consider myself to be pretty resilient and rarely get car sick or seasick. The only thing that keeps me within any boundaries, is the thought of how much more horrible the ride will be if I happen to have a reversal of fortune (like that competitive eating reference) inside a matatu.

Training has been going pretty well the past few days, despite the constant rain. I ran the monster hill route, from my first week, on Friday and also today. My first go around had a time of 71 min, which knocked me back. Friday I ran 67 min, and felt equally tired from that effort. I did not plan on running hard today and felt that I was going steady the whole way. I actually made a concerted effort to run the battery of hills easier this time, but rolled in at a surprising 64 minutes. I am actually starting to feel the strength come around. I have even been silly enough to enter a local 10k, on Sunday. I am going to venture a Top 10 finish may be out of reach, judging the local talent.

Thanks for all the comments and hopefully I can get some more pictures up. Unfortunately Sunday seems like the only where an Internet connection is photo upload worthy.
Hope all is well.