Bringing Home the Winnings

             Town anniversaries are a point of pride here in Perú. The neighborhood in Lima that I lived in during Peace Corps training was creatively named October 3^rd so as no one would forget about their anniversary.  There is now a history of gringos living in this neighborhood during their anniversary, as it falls during one of the annual training times, and thus an expectation that Peace Corps trainees come, dance like wild animals all night, and perhaps even sing a song for everyone’s enjoyment. Minus the singing, I don’t think we let them down this past year.  Away from the city celebrations get a little more traditional, and in some ways more elaborate. The partying can go on all week long, with the municipality pouring funds into food and drinks to keep the people happy. It is a way to show off the organizational level of the community, and the ‘open heart’ of the municipality. Levanto’s anniversary falls on May 2^nd, so we spent all of last week preparing for it. On Thursday my host dad went out with the community to kill the fattest cow that the community owned. On a side note, our most organized association in town is the community owned farm/cattle. They provide free daily rationing of fresh milk for all families with children under 6, as well as provide milk to our cheese factory, and not to forget the meat of community festivals. It is run by community members with periodic workdays where the men are expected to go out and help. While in recent years there have been complaints that people have gotten too ego-centric, and things are not as organized, from an outside perspective they still seam to do a pretty good job.

My host dad, anticipating tradition to stay alive, was ready at 6:00am to go out and kill this cow. For the next two hours he proceeded to come back in every half hour for more breakfast, each time more disgruntled at the disorganization of the community. Finally at around 8:00 he headed out to get the job done, while I went off to plant trees with other members of the community. After a long day in the field I was walking back through town to my house when I ran into my host parents outside a neighbor’s house. They hustled me inside to proudly show off the cow, which at this point was just the gutted head. One room was dedicated as the butcher room where four women stood around at table cutting up a mountain of fresh meat into small portions. There was a bloody axe left by the door, which showed the men had been in here first to make their mark dismantling the cow. In the kitchen the fire was roaring, cooking up huge cauldrons of potatoes and rice, but there was just enough room on the grill, and my timing was just right, as I witnessed them throw the whole bull’s head onto the fire to burn off the hairs, and periodically heaving it off to scrap at it with a knife. I was informed that this would be my breakfast soup the next morning, and at this I thought it was time for me to leave. My host mom followed me out to go back and make dinner for us, meaning she had been cooking nonstop from 5:00am until 8:00pm, no wonder she said her feet hurt.

Friday morning as promised the brass band struck up at the crack of dawn (5:30am) from the top of the hill right above our house. I was told that the previous volunteer had jumped out of bed in his poncho and ran up to join the band last year. It was hinted that I should probably do that as well, but as I was awoken by trumpets and booming fireworks, my bed seemed all too warm, and the woman that was going to go with me never hollered my name, so I watched from my window as the band made its way down from the hill and into the plaza. There was an impressive group marching with them as the sun began to rise and the party was already getting going. I watched from afar with the neighbors, until it was clear that I had no other choice but to go down and enjoy some brainy soup with the community. It was during breakfast that the town nurse appointed me to be the representative for the health post in the community fun run. I enthusiastically agreed, having had already talked up my running in the community and wanting an opportunity to prove myself. After breakfast we went down and put my name on the list, and then seeing there were no other athletic looking people there I went back to my house to change and get ready. I put on my best running clothes, and strutted around my house proclaiming to my family that the gringa was about to go win the race. They oohed and ahhed but mostly rolled their eyes at my excitement. I ran back down the hill to the plaza, elated with energy, picking up the nurse, my cheerleader, on the way.

We waited for another hour, while the school director called in the athletes over a loud speaker, and I showed the kids that were sitting around how to cheer for me as I came into the finish line. Finally we had satisfactory representation from the school, the municipality, the community representatives, and the community itself, and the 11 of us piled into the large van including my biggest fan the nurse. There were only three women including me, one of which proclaimed that she was only going to try, but didn’t think she could really make it, this just made my confidence grow as I was sure I had this one in the bag. Much to my opposition it was decided that the women would start closer than the men. I complained loudly proclaiming that I could run with the men, to which the men encouraged, and I am sure the other women prayed for me to stay quiet for fear they would be made to run a longer a distance. However at the 2 km mark up the hill, the van dropped off us three women, along with the nurse, one male school teacher, that decided he wanted to be a woman for the day, and another random guy that I did not know. The van then left us in the dust instructing us to wait for the second fire rocket to go off, signaling our start time.

In our waiting time it was agreed no one would go running off on their own, leaving everyone else in the dust, as this seemed unsportsmanlike. Mostly that was directed at me as they seemed to buy into my confidence that I would win, and I whole-heartedly agreed to stay with the pack. The woman that proclaimed she wasn’t going to make it went off down the road with the other random guy, to do some warm up laps, and we laughed that she was going to wear herself out. I realized this was the first official race I had been in since 5^th grade track and field, and the adrenaline was exciting. At last we heard the first rocket go off for the men, and a few minutes later our rocket blasted. The nurse waved us goodbye, as the five of us (including the random tag along guy) took off running. It soon became clear that the tag along guy is coaching the woman that proclaimed she was not going to make. He calls out for her to go slowly at the beginning, but she is very clearly leading the pack. Now I have never been coached in distance racing, but I figured it was better to let her set the pace, so I trailed just behind her, as she continued to go faster and faster. Her unsupportive off brand Chuck Taylor’s smacked the ground as she impressively kept up a solid pace, with me on her back, and the coach running on our side. We left the other two in the dust, forgetting our sportsmanly contract, and I realized she was in this to win this, and her previous statement was just to throw us off. It was amazing how quickly I slipped into my competitive mind frame, knowing the road well as it is the same road I run everyday I planned out where I was going to over take her. We came over our last hill and the last kilometer was all down hill. I let her lead through the curves, as gravity carried us full speed. Things really heated up when her coach instructed her to cut me off on the inside curve, and I found myself nearly tripping over her heals. It was in this act of aggression that my competitive edge fiercely made an appearance. That’s it lady, here I come. I proceeded to cut her off in the next curve and we were neck in neck fighting over the lead. My breathing became constricted, and I knew her body was screaming resistance just as much as mine, so it was down to a mental game. I told myself to ignore the lack of air and pressed down on the gas as I inched in front of her for the last curve and into a straightaway. I heard her coach yell for her to give it her all, that she could do it, but as we rounded the corner not only were my trained children all cheering me on but also my neighbors and family. I hear her sigh a breath of surrender as ran through the crowd of people and rose my hands above my head in victory breaking through the toilet paper finish line that was held up by the school director and town governor. 

            Completely exhausted I walked in two circles and gratefully took the free bottle of water from the municipality. I found my competitor recovering on the bench to shake her hand and then make my way to my fan group to cheer on the men. We speculate what the prize is going to be; some say I won a cow, while others say a box of beer. I suddenly become nervous about the responsibility of my winnings, I did not want to have to lead the town in a drinking circle of beer, as would probably be expected if that was the prize. Soon I start to wonder if I should have let the woman win, as she was clearly more committed than I was, but that is just not in my genetic make-up. Shortly after the men come running in followed by the van with the nurse signifying the end of the race. Over the loud speaker they announce me as the winner for the woman’s bracket and the kids push me forward to receive my award. The school director shakes my hand and gives me 30 soles of prize money, mentioning that it is for the school ‘cevicheria’ fundraiser that is happening later that afternoon. I interpret this as I should give this money to buy many plates of ceviche (a raw fish dish that is famous here) to support the school, and I feel relieved to have some direction with my prize money. I head back home to change and announce my winning to the rest of the family, who pat me on the back in praise. I invite them all to a plate of civiche and we head back down just in time to see the parade going on in the plaza. The local band is playing the national anthem as they raise up the Peruvian and Amazona flags, and the children march formally in straight lines around the plaza. It felt a little like the 4^th of July parade that we have in my hometown in Ashland, but much more formal and shorter. Afterwards we fill up our tupperwares with civiche and I donate all my winnings to the school.

We are then offered Styrofoam plates of rice, beef, beans, and salad for the community lunch, and with our hands full of food we headed back up to the house to eat.

            After lunch and a short nap I join my host mom, neighbor, and the nurse outside enjoying the sun. They are perusing magazines that sell everyday items for cheap prices, and gossiping about the town. I join them as the proud winner of the race, and we laugh as we pick out potential boyfriends for me from the magazine. Soon the conversation turns to my prize money, and the nurse proclaims that since I was running for the health post that the money should go to them. I turn red and then have to admit that I gave it all to the school. In dismay my host mom thought I only bought the three plates of civiche and then accepted my change, she did not realize I gave it all to them. Realizing my mistake I proclaim that in the States the schools have no money so they are usually a good cause to give to. To this the nurse responds that the school here has a farm and guinea pigs and thus have a lot of money, where as the health post has nothing. Realizing my mistake I bury my head in my sweatshirt and proclaim the gringa naivety. They laugh it off, while also trying to get me to go back and reclaim my money. All in all they are still proud to have a winner in the presence…I hope.