The Two Oceans half and ultra marathon occurs in just two short days. UCT's upper campus rugby fields are covered in tents and Old Mutual flags leading up to the finish line in preparation for 23,000 runners to cross on Saturday morning. I will be one of them!
I made my way to the expo in the city today to pick up my packet and score some cheap clothes and t-shirts. Upon picking up my registration, I found the following information:
Name: Margaret Katherine Winthrop
Race: 21K
Birthdate: 11/07/1989
Country: Afghanistan
Huh. I'm guessing that in registering for the race, which I distinctly remember doing on a frigid and dark December afternoon in Bixler Library, I failed to select my country from the drop down menu, and thus it was left at the first country on the alphabetical list, Afghanistan.
As I was flipping through the Two Oceans pamphlet I saw a list of numbers of runners from each country. Guess how many from Afghanistan? One female registered for the 21K. That's me! Margaret Katherine Winthrop of Afghanistan.
So even if I place #22,999 in the race, I'll still have the honor of being the number one Afghani woman to run the Two Oceans. Forget the other 250 Americans. As far as the Two Oceans administration knows I'm straight out of Kabul!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
parents
My German housemate Jonas's parents are currently visiting him here in Cape Town, and for some reason, they're staying in our house. While it is a little bit weird to come downstairs in the morning to see two middle aged people sitting at our kitchen table sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, having adults around has been an absolute delight. Mostly because they wash all their dishes, dry them and put them up. A dream come true, considering the contention and strife (the pro-dishwashing campaign led by me and Lindsey versus the lazy opposition) that dishes have brought 4 Selby Road in the past few weeks. Our kitchen has never looked so clean thanks to the presence of parents. The sound of running water and clinking glasses downstairs brings me such joy and so much appreciation for grown-ups. I don't want them to leave!
Obviously not our dishes (hence the watermark indicative of stock photography) but since I've been lacking in pictures recently, I think this conveys what our kitchen normally looks like in the absence of adults.
Now with Jonas's parents around, it's more like this. Man I love stock photos.
Obviously not our dishes (hence the watermark indicative of stock photography) but since I've been lacking in pictures recently, I think this conveys what our kitchen normally looks like in the absence of adults.
Now with Jonas's parents around, it's more like this. Man I love stock photos.
Monday, April 18, 2011
"you think you are better than me, white bitch?"
I had a bizarre experience last night. As I was walking through Rondebosch on my way back from my beloved Pick 'n Pay, an obviously intoxicated man looked at me and yelled in my direction, "It must be nice to be white, isn't it?" I try to engage strangers as little as possible, so I continued walking in the other direction.
I returned to Rondebosch a little later last night to make a stop to buy airtime, and the same man approached me. This time he got closer to the point that he was almost in my face. "You think you are better than me, white bitch?" he asked. In a gesture that probably pissed him off even more I sidestepped him and moved in the other direction as quickly as possible.
While I wasn't directly threatened or anything, the whole experience perplexed me. Each time I was alone, wearing pretty plain clothing and carrying only a canvas tote bag for groceries. Since I wasn't speaking with anyone, my accent wouldn't have been obvious. I wasn't checking my cell phone (which is honestly a piece of junk) or showing off anything. I realize the guy was probably just drunk or high and angry, but for some reason, getting called a bitch in reference to my race by a stranger affected me more than getting called a bitch by my housemates for asking them to do their dishes.
In my time in Cape Town I have found that I learn the most not through tours or books, but by going about my day to day life in this place that is profoundly different than anything I have ever experienced. From getting called a white bitch on the street, to waiting for a minibus at the city bus rank in downtown Cape Town, to running miles and dodging Benzes and BMWs in the affluent Southern Suburbs, everything I have experienced is more personal thought-provoking than anything any CIEE tour could ever teach me.
In other news, I finished 11 miles this morning and am feeling pretty prepared for the Two Oceans half marathon this weekend. Off to read and rest my aching legs.
I returned to Rondebosch a little later last night to make a stop to buy airtime, and the same man approached me. This time he got closer to the point that he was almost in my face. "You think you are better than me, white bitch?" he asked. In a gesture that probably pissed him off even more I sidestepped him and moved in the other direction as quickly as possible.
While I wasn't directly threatened or anything, the whole experience perplexed me. Each time I was alone, wearing pretty plain clothing and carrying only a canvas tote bag for groceries. Since I wasn't speaking with anyone, my accent wouldn't have been obvious. I wasn't checking my cell phone (which is honestly a piece of junk) or showing off anything. I realize the guy was probably just drunk or high and angry, but for some reason, getting called a bitch in reference to my race by a stranger affected me more than getting called a bitch by my housemates for asking them to do their dishes.
In my time in Cape Town I have found that I learn the most not through tours or books, but by going about my day to day life in this place that is profoundly different than anything I have ever experienced. From getting called a white bitch on the street, to waiting for a minibus at the city bus rank in downtown Cape Town, to running miles and dodging Benzes and BMWs in the affluent Southern Suburbs, everything I have experienced is more personal thought-provoking than anything any CIEE tour could ever teach me.
In other news, I finished 11 miles this morning and am feeling pretty prepared for the Two Oceans half marathon this weekend. Off to read and rest my aching legs.
Friday, April 15, 2011
the golden bowl and faulty new balance shorts pocket
My house, like most in Cape Town, is protected on the outside by a large electric metal gate, operated by a remote control. When I first moved in, I was given a remote to open the gate that hangs on my keyring and basically looks like a garage door opener. Since I never got to experience an electric garage door growing up (we have a carport and an open garage), opening and closing the gate via a remote was particularly novel for me.
When I run, I normally remove the remote from my house keys and loop the remote control onto my shoelaces. Yesterday I decided to try out the Velcro pocket on my New Balance running shorts and place the key there instead. This turned out to be a poor idea (or just poor construction on the part of New Balance), because halfway through my run I realized I had lost my key somewhere on the streets of Observatory or Rondebosch or Mowbray. I traced my steps, but to no avail. My remote control has disappeared into the hands of some lucky (but hopefully unaware, and uninterested in robbery) Capetonian. Unfortunately I have to wait until Monday when my landlord returns from vacation to get a replacement. For now I have mastered the art of reaching my hand through the burglar bars on the front door, opening the gate from the inside all the way, pressing the close button and dashing out before it closes all the way.
It is still strange for me to deal with such a high level of home security, but at the same time, it will also be strange for me to return to the US, where everyone has open front yards and front doors that lead to the street, all unprotected by electric gates, barbed wire and burglar bars.
In other news, Nick and I attempted to recreate my favorite Grit golden bowl for dinner last night. It was a pretty successful albeit unattractive dinner. Nutritional yeast is weird and tofu is hard to cook. But the taste was the same!
When I run, I normally remove the remote from my house keys and loop the remote control onto my shoelaces. Yesterday I decided to try out the Velcro pocket on my New Balance running shorts and place the key there instead. This turned out to be a poor idea (or just poor construction on the part of New Balance), because halfway through my run I realized I had lost my key somewhere on the streets of Observatory or Rondebosch or Mowbray. I traced my steps, but to no avail. My remote control has disappeared into the hands of some lucky (but hopefully unaware, and uninterested in robbery) Capetonian. Unfortunately I have to wait until Monday when my landlord returns from vacation to get a replacement. For now I have mastered the art of reaching my hand through the burglar bars on the front door, opening the gate from the inside all the way, pressing the close button and dashing out before it closes all the way.
It is still strange for me to deal with such a high level of home security, but at the same time, it will also be strange for me to return to the US, where everyone has open front yards and front doors that lead to the street, all unprotected by electric gates, barbed wire and burglar bars.
In other news, Nick and I attempted to recreate my favorite Grit golden bowl for dinner last night. It was a pretty successful albeit unattractive dinner. Nutritional yeast is weird and tofu is hard to cook. But the taste was the same!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
hello penguins round 3
Yesterday my friend Nick and I took advantage of the beautiful fall weather with a trip to False Bay and Simon's Town to visit our friends, the jackass penguins.
Metrorail is only safe for such activities when it is stopped and uncrowded (and not headed in the direction of Brackenfell, as it was on our last train trip)
Metrorail is only safe for such activities when it is stopped and uncrowded (and not headed in the direction of Brackenfell, as it was on our last train trip)
photos finally
I have to admit that I have been really not on top of it with taking photos, so the following photos were not actually taken by me. But I think they capture my spring/fall break trip pretty well:
Cape Town airport. Amazingly, I packed 8 days worth of clothing into my relatively small backpack.
Durban-the dude in the RVCA shirt is our friend Kulu, a Durban resident who we met on a night out in Cape Town. We met up with him in Durban for tacos and a trip to the most bizarre mall of all time.
Our safari in Kwazulu-Natal
observant
(ze)bras
I love rhinos--Hluhluwe Park in Kwazulu-Natal has the highest number of rhinos of any game park in Africa
Crossing the border into Swaziland--it was incredible how quickly the infrastructure changed in just a few yards from South Africa
Nick dangerously snapped this photo of the sleeping ladies--we obviously kept him good company on our drive
Beautiful Mozambique sunset
Emily and I have our own version of deep sea fishing
mermaidz
And lastly, the most thrilling part of my trip: flying the Britten-Norman Islander with my friends and 22-year-old pilot pal Simon:
apparently they stopped making these planes in the early 1970s? I guess this guy is pretty old
Finally!
Cape Town airport. Amazingly, I packed 8 days worth of clothing into my relatively small backpack.
Durban-the dude in the RVCA shirt is our friend Kulu, a Durban resident who we met on a night out in Cape Town. We met up with him in Durban for tacos and a trip to the most bizarre mall of all time.
Our safari in Kwazulu-Natal
observant
(ze)bras
I love rhinos--Hluhluwe Park in Kwazulu-Natal has the highest number of rhinos of any game park in Africa
Crossing the border into Swaziland--it was incredible how quickly the infrastructure changed in just a few yards from South Africa
Nick dangerously snapped this photo of the sleeping ladies--we obviously kept him good company on our drive
Beautiful Mozambique sunset
Emily and I have our own version of deep sea fishing
mermaidz
And lastly, the most thrilling part of my trip: flying the Britten-Norman Islander with my friends and 22-year-old pilot pal Simon:
apparently they stopped making these planes in the early 1970s? I guess this guy is pretty old
Finally!
Monday, April 4, 2011
the thrill of flight
I have just returned from my spring/fall break trip to kwaZulu-Natal, Swaziland and Mozambique. I will save details for when I have pictures, but for now I can give just a few (of many) highlights:
-I got lots of practice speaking Afrikaans; despite being sort of drunk most of the times I spoke, native speakers gave me lots of compliments and told me that I "praat baie goed Afrikaans"
-My three traveling companions and I got lost in our rental car in Zululand in a dark rain
-I got asked on a date by a five-foot tall man at the Swaziland border; unfortunately I could not accept as we were only staying in Swaziland for a day and a half
-I ran on a farm in beautiful Swaziland and watched the sun set
-I went deep sea fishing and watched a wahoo be caught in Mozambique (although we didn't catch it ourselves, we enjoyed the fish braaied for dinner and it was amazing)
-Thanks to doxycycline and particularly strong Mozambican sun, I am nearly five shades darker than I was when I left Cape Town
-I drove on the other side of the road in the terrifying city of Maputo
the highlight of my trip, however, was handling the controls of the island-hopper plane over the Indian Ocean from Maputo to Inhaca Island. I asked the pilot (who turned out to be 22 years old and someone we ended up hanging out with a lot once in Inhaca) if I could sit in the copilot seat; when I told him I was interested in getting a pilot's license, he offered to take off and land and let me control the plane for the 10 minutes over the ocean. Whatever words I type can't describe how thrilling, incredible and exciting it was to hold each side of the yoke, feel the plane's nose rise as I pulled back, and look out the window at the ocean below me and REALIZE I WAS CONTROLLING AN AIRPLANE.
On our way back to Maputo, our pilot Simon offered us to take us on a little bit of a joyride where we flew just a few meters above the beach and got to experience levitating cellphones/hats/bodies through negative g-force. Unfortunately, due to afternoon turbulence and a complete lack of experience, Simon let me make the flight and approach into Maputo, but he took the controls for the landing (I was really happy to hand them back after feeling a big turbulent bump).
I am completely enamored with the idea of flying right now. After years of watching my dad fly, I have always kept it in the back of my mind that I'd like to get a pilot's license. The thrill of my short flight in Mozambique has given me complete determination to do it.
-I got lots of practice speaking Afrikaans; despite being sort of drunk most of the times I spoke, native speakers gave me lots of compliments and told me that I "praat baie goed Afrikaans"
-My three traveling companions and I got lost in our rental car in Zululand in a dark rain
-I got asked on a date by a five-foot tall man at the Swaziland border; unfortunately I could not accept as we were only staying in Swaziland for a day and a half
-I ran on a farm in beautiful Swaziland and watched the sun set
-I went deep sea fishing and watched a wahoo be caught in Mozambique (although we didn't catch it ourselves, we enjoyed the fish braaied for dinner and it was amazing)
-Thanks to doxycycline and particularly strong Mozambican sun, I am nearly five shades darker than I was when I left Cape Town
-I drove on the other side of the road in the terrifying city of Maputo
the highlight of my trip, however, was handling the controls of the island-hopper plane over the Indian Ocean from Maputo to Inhaca Island. I asked the pilot (who turned out to be 22 years old and someone we ended up hanging out with a lot once in Inhaca) if I could sit in the copilot seat; when I told him I was interested in getting a pilot's license, he offered to take off and land and let me control the plane for the 10 minutes over the ocean. Whatever words I type can't describe how thrilling, incredible and exciting it was to hold each side of the yoke, feel the plane's nose rise as I pulled back, and look out the window at the ocean below me and REALIZE I WAS CONTROLLING AN AIRPLANE.
On our way back to Maputo, our pilot Simon offered us to take us on a little bit of a joyride where we flew just a few meters above the beach and got to experience levitating cellphones/hats/bodies through negative g-force. Unfortunately, due to afternoon turbulence and a complete lack of experience, Simon let me make the flight and approach into Maputo, but he took the controls for the landing (I was really happy to hand them back after feeling a big turbulent bump).
I am completely enamored with the idea of flying right now. After years of watching my dad fly, I have always kept it in the back of my mind that I'd like to get a pilot's license. The thrill of my short flight in Mozambique has given me complete determination to do it.
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