The end of my Tanzania story is the beginning of a different story.
I’m not especially eager to relate the events that followed our return from Africa, because for weeks I repeatedly acted like a stubborn idiot. Reading my own words is like watching a bad horror movie, in which the main characters act with a complete lack of basic common sense. The audience, knowing what’s happening, is practically screaming out loud, begging the characters not to go into that dark basement, not to poke around in that abandoned warehouse, not to proceed without back-up when investigating the strange goings-on. Of course, the characters do these things anyway, usually getting what they so obviously deserve by plunging blindly ahead in spite of the warnings. So this won’t be easy for me. On the other hand, retelling the story reminds me how lucky I was, and how lucky I still am, to be around to run and coach and write. So here goes.
Don’t judge me too harshly, but instead, try to learn from my experience. Continue reading
Lake Manyara
the runner eclectic 