The One That Got Away

I promise that I do actually do something interesting other than run and I promise that this blog is still about our crazy adventures overseas, not just my crazy adventures with my Nikes. That being said, I ask that you indulge me for one more run-themed post before we come home for the summer. I contemplated not writing about this because the blog has a bit run-centered this year, but Thursday night was just too ridiculous to not share.

In recent weeks, one of my friends found out about a running club that meets in Taipei. Twice a week, a few dozen crazies gather to make fools of ourselves in a very public place. Congregating about three blocks away from the Taipei 101 building, we find ourselves stretching in our running t-shirts and shorts smack in the middle of the sidewalk of one of the swankiest neighborhoods in the country. Now, when I say “stretching”, I don’t mean nonchalantly leaning over to touch our toes and chatting about your new shoelaces. No, no. “Stretching” in Taipei is an event that is practiced en masse in such a way that it requires the expertise of an aerobics instructor hopping around to the beat of music blaring so loudly it would make a teenager cringe. Once the music starts, the Taiwanese fall into line as if the pied piper had called to them. If any foreigners are brave enough to make an appearance, we helplessly look around to see if the others are actually going to participate in this peculiar tradition. Admittedly, I involve myself in this ritual from time to time. Now, for most people, the only funny part is that you are doing lunges in the form of the grapevine dance in downtown Taipei while Manolo Blahnik-clad women glower down at you as they shield the eyes of their tiny dog whose last trip to the groomer probably cost more than your car. I, however, reach new heights in humiliation during this process. Having the coordination of a manatee in high heels, I possess the inexplicable ability to fail at even the most simple of aerobic maneuvers. Attempting synchronized anything is a challenge and this is no exception. Last time, I scarcely missed toppling over and initiating a domino effect with the other lunging participants. I can say with confidence, however, that my ungainly stretching attempts will soon grace the pages of some Japanese tourist’s photo album as they made sure to fully document the experience.

Last Thursday I was feeling particularly confident and I decided that something needed to be done to alleviate that situation. I arrived in said posh neighborhood to commence the humbling process. To suggest that I submit myself to this disgrace solely to keep my feet on the ground would be untrue, however. There exists another enticement that keeps me coming back for more. If I attend this running club eight times, I get a free t-shirt. Now that I have accepted the free t-shirt challenge, I cannot quit until my goal has been reached and the t-shirt is collecting dust in my drawer. This had better be a nice t-shirt. I attended for my third time on Thursday with my left leg pumped for the grapevine but my right leg wishing it had stayed home to watch American Idol. When I arrived, I noticed something exciting. All of the women were sporting pink Taipei Running Club shirts. Had my day arrived? Was a free t-shirt within my grasp? When I signed in, I was asked if I would like to join the women’s class that was meeting tonight. Putting two and two together, I said yes and was handed my free pink t-shirt. Feeling very good about my decision to humiliate myself that night, I donned the shirt and took part in the “class”.

As my Chinese still only consists of how to order various drinks at Starbucks, the vast majority of the instruction was lost on my uncomprehending ears. At one point, our guide noticed the one foreigner in the crowd with surprise and alarm. It never ceases to amaze me that the Taiwanese make it their responsibility to help me understand when I am in their country and should be learning their language. Anyway, he slipped in the few English words that he knew and recommenced the Chinese tutelage. Finally, we were let loose. A mass of pink-shrouded women looped around the neighborhood until we at long last reached our destination of 2.78 kilometers. I was quite disappointed that there were no water stations to replenish the reserves that we had sweated out. Back at the starting point, our great leader educated us on proper cool down techniques that were a shade less humiliating that the initial stretching practices. But, it was all worth it. I had my t-shirt.

Until I went to check out. You see, in order to document our attendance, they give us a card that they stamp when we come to run. When I went to retrieve my card, I was informed that I must turn my pink t-shirt back into them. I had to repeat the request back to make sure that I heard them correctly. You want the brand new shirt that I just drenched in my sweat? Yes, I was confidently assured. I looked around me to see all of the other women placing their used shirts in a designated bag. I thought about making a run for it, but it was too late. I was at the check-out counter surrounded by a crowd of women with nowhere to go. I asked what I should do if I wanted the shirt. She politely responded that I just needed to attend four more times and I would get a brand new shirt. Are they serious? What are they going to do with a whole bunch of sweaty shirts? Defeated, I gave them the shirt, took my card, and walked dejectedly back to the bus stop to head back home. You win this time, Taipei, this time…

Closing a Chapter

Today marked a bit of a bittersweet day for me here in Taiwan. This morning, I ran what will most likely be my very last race in the country that has been our home for the last two years. Taiwan will always be the place that morphed my casual jogging into what some might call an obsession. I ran my first race about a month after we arrived and I was forever hooked. Today’s race was particularly special because I got to run it with about ten other teachers from our school. But, most importantly, Chris and I got to run the whole thing together for the first time!

This race also put me in a slightly different role. Several weeks ago, a few teachers at our school expressed interest in running so I looked and found a 9K race here in Taipei. Why they didn’t just go ahead and round it to 10K, I’m not sure, but it seemed like a good distance nonetheless. So, I spread the word about the run and interested individuals of varying levels of athleticism made the plunge to sign up. I offered my far-from-expert assistance to help people train to prepare for the distance. We had a great time training together and it was so awesome to see people challenge themselves beyond what they thought was possible.

This morning, we all set off with the 9K goal in mind. It was so fun to see so many familiar faces throughout the sea of people that usually remain unknown to me. Shouts of encouragement in English from one “teammate” to another were a welcomed addition to the morning. And, as I mentioned before, the major bonus of this race was that Chris and I got to run the entire thing together. We even crossed the finish line at the same time. Isn’t that just precious? Now we just need to find a witness to tell us which place we each got…

As each teacher finished, they joined the crowd waiting for the rest of our crew to cross the line. Not only did everyone make it, but everyone met their personal time goals! Promises of continued running in each of our new places of residence next year were sprinkled throughout the conversation as we made a beeline for the nearest Starbucks to reward ourselves. It was a perfect way to finish Taipei’s chapter in my running catalogue.

The Calm Before the Storm

Well, it dawned on me this weekend that the time has come to update the blog and let you know about all of our goings-on. As it turns out, we don't really have any goings-on to report. Life has been pretty average the past couple of weeks here in Taipei. Having sufficiently recovered from our trip to Vietnam over spring break, we are now looking ahead to the end of the school year. For any of you who have ever worked in a school, had children in school, or attended school yourself, you know that the end of the year is a chaotic blur of activities, tests, final projects, yearbooks, and graduations. So, we definitely don't take this calm for granted. We appreciate the opportunity to gear up and prepare ourselves for the home stretch. At the risk of counting our chickens before they get their report cards, it is amazing how quickly this year has gone by. I can't believe that we have less than two months left here on our island home! It has been an amazing two years and we are looking forward to finishing this year strong and then heading back to the States to see all of you again!

The Many Faces of Vietnam

Chris and I had been looking forward to our trip to Vietnam long before we officially planned it. Stories from those who lived there, television hosts’ accolades of the country, and our own experiences with the food all had thoroughly enticed us to visit. So, I have to say, our expectations were fairly high as we boarded our plane early Saturday morning. What we discovered was that it is going to take a lot more than just a week to understand this multi-faceted country.

Our vacation was based in the northern part of the country, so we landed in Hanoi. The wild commotion of this capital city put Taipei’s hustle and bustle to shame. We quickly learned that crossing the street here was an every-man-for-himself death-defying deed. I tried to get Chris crossing here at this intersection so you can get an idea for what was involved in getting to the other side. No lights, no crosswalks, just myriad games of chicken played by every man, woman, and child brave enough to traverse the road.

Each morning, Hanoi is awoken at 7:30 by loudspeakers calling out that morning’s “news” and blasting patriotic music. Good morning, communism. Throughout the day, everywhere we went, scooters or bicycles piled various goods so high that I’m quite certain there was no way they could see where they were going. Horns hollered to go faster, stop crossing into my lane, or the pig you’ve tied to the back of your scooter has come loose! Hoards of locals and tourists clogged the streets and “sidewalks” (I use that term loosely as most sidewalks had either turned into scooter parking lots or street side cafés.) Vendors hawking everything from knock-off purses to fresh pineapple shouted prices at us as we went past.

We usually attempted to find respite from the chaos when it was time to eat. One of the more important rules that we’ve learned from our travels is that if you are trying to get a good meal, find where the locals are eating. In this city, we had the majority of our meals sitting on about four-inch high plastic stools pointing to the guy next to us in an attempt to communicate, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Each of these repasts was amazingly delicious. I don’t have the space here to go into too much detail (plus, I’m quite sure you are all tired of me trying to be a food critic) but suffice it to say that the Vietnamese know what they are doing with a ladle and some broth. When it came time to pay the bill, we tried to watch and see how much the locals around us paid and we noted rather quickly that there seemed to be a city-wide tourist tax on each bowl of pho or spring roll we ate. Not having the language abilities to argue, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it if we didn’t have exact change.

About halfway through our trip, we left Hanoi for a completely different view of Vietnam. We traveled about four hours northeast to Halong Bay. Here, we boarded a small boat that would be our home for the next two nights and bid the shore goodbye. Our first day, we saw most of the tourist sites in the Bay along with about 3,000 of our closest friends. It was beautiful, but not too different from the city crowds. The second day, however, most people headed back to Halong city while we jumped in kayaks to explore the Bay on our own. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful. Nearly 2,000 small lush green islands jutted upward from the turquoise colored waters. For most of the day, the only people we saw were our tour guide, one other couple who was with us, and local fishermen. The silent serenity was broken only by chirping birds and the gentle waves breaking against our kayak. The contrast between this Vietnam and that of Hanoi was quite remarkable.

Once we got back on board the larger boat, we met yet another face of Vietnam. We were quite familiar with the tourist side of the country and had grown quite comfortable with it. To pass the time between kayaking and dinner, however, our tour guide began to tell us a bit of his story and in this way, we were introduced to the local’s Vietnam. Born and raised in North Vietnam, he related how both parents had fought in the “American War” where his mother, a chef, had lost her arm rendering her largely unable to work. Shortly after his father was killed in a coal mining accident, our guide (Choung) had the opportunity to “escape Vietnam” and illegally immigrate to the U.S. at the age of 14. He was caught, however, in Hong Kong where he spent five years in a refugee camp. It was there that he learned English but was eventually deported back to Vietnam where he worked as a waiter and scooter taxi in order to support his mom and sisters so that they could go to school. His dream now is to be able to go back to school for two more years so that he can obtain a true tour guide license and start earning $24 per day instead of $17… a salary supporting Chuong, his wife, his mother, and two sisters. Suddenly, we didn’t feel so bad about paying the so-called “tourist tax” for local food in Hanoi.

Our last afternoon, we were back in Hanoi where we found a café and reflected about our trip. Vietnam is an incredible country with an incredible history and an incredible people. We have vowed to go back and hopefully discovery another of her faces.

A Hike in the Clouds

Last week, Chris and I got to enjoy the comforting presence of our last visitors from the U.S. while we are in Taiwan. My sister, her fiancé, and their friend stayed with us for several days to experience life in Taipei. Unfortunately, they largely had to serve as their own tour guides as our spring break doesn’t come until next week. We did, however, make the most of our evenings together by highlighting some of our favorite restaurants and introducing their senses (olfactory, though not gustatory) to the famed stinky tofu. The weekend was the high point since we were able to spend more time together.

We planned to spend Saturday hiking up a mountain just outside of the city. Living in a city whose annual rainfall is about 83 inches, we were more than a little concerned that it might rain on our parade. We were delighted, however, when we woke up to some of the bluest skies we have seen since we lived here. Enjoying our direct dose of vitamin D, we headed out to Yang Ming Shan. When we arrived, we wandered into the visitor’s center where a helpful Taiwanese woman directed us to the path we wanted. Since Yang Ming Shan is a national park, it is laced with all sorts of trails with varying degrees of difficulty. One trail sparked our interest as it led to the top of the highest peak in Taipei. Boasting an underwhelming 1120 meters (3654 feet), we still felt the uncontrollable pull to summit the tallest natural thing around. All of us being relatively active and accustomed to hiking in the Colorado Rockies, we expected to have a quick jaunt up the mountain, snap a few photos, skip down the other side, and get some lunch. Yang Ming Shan, on the other hand, had other plans.

We started out full of confidence and warmed by the sunshine. We chatted cheerfully about some of the interesting “cultural experiences” that Tori, Matt, and Andrea had had since their arrival on the island. We waited patiently for the stairs that we assumed were leading us to the trail to end. The thing is, they didn’t. Meter after meter, step after step, the rocky staircase became steeper and steeper as it channeled us up the mountain. Eventually, we each swallowed a nice big piece of humble pie and sat down on a bench to take a break. It was at that point that we noticed the cooling weather. At that point, the chilling breeze felt good on our sweat-drenched faces. Revived, we once again began our ascent. However, we noticed that the temperature began to fall precipitously as clouds rolled in to cover the clear blue sky.

As we neared the peak, the fog eerily wafted through the trees and chilled our hands and faces. When we finally made it to the top, we could barely see ten feet in front of us. Laughing through chattering teeth, we took a few photos of the would-be scenery. We descended the rocky steps as quickly as we could and dreamed of the all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue restaurant we had planned for our post-hike meal. Since the hike turned out to be more difficult than we anticipated, lunch became linner. The timing actually worked out well for us since the restaurant was relatively empty even though it was Saturday. While we weren’t sure if it was possible at the 3654 ft. summit, we finally thawed out and had our fill to eat. I’m pretty sure I know who came out ahead of that all-you-can-eat meal.

A Marathoner's Diary

A running friend of mine did this for her last marathon and I thought it was a cool idea. So, here is a diary, kilometer by kilometer, of the marathon that I ran in Kenting this weekend. Just as an FYI for those of you who are not metrically-inclined, a marathon is 42.2 kilometers. Thanks for the inspiration, Cheryl!

0 – 5 KM: A special treat

This part of the run was exceptionally enjoyable this time around because I actually had a buddy with me! Chris trained for a 10K race so we got to run side by side for the first 5K until Chris’ turning point. It is amazing how time flies when you have someone to chat with while you jog. We had a great time and I was sad to see him go at the turning point, though he wasn’t too disappointed to be heading back home.

5 – 10 KM: Finding my pace

Back to running alone… kind of. One of the things that makes running races so much more fun than running solo is that you get to run along side a few thousand of your closest friends and, though you may or may not speak the same language, you all enjoy the camaraderie that comes from knowing that you have all trained for the same thing and have come to this point to endure this task together. So, between 5 and 10K, I found my marathon pace and enjoyed looking around at the other crazies running with me.

10 – 15 KM: A first for me

This part of the race was interesting. It has happened several times that, if I run past a gentleman on the road, a sudden sense of inspiration seems to take over and he does whatever it takes to either pass me or at least run next to me. One guy was thusly inspired and chose to run next to me, all the while chatting away in Chinese, some of which I understood and some I didn’t. When he finally began asking me questions beyond my name and country of origin, I was forced to admit that I didn’t speak Chinese at which point he switched to broken English. Immediately after the switch, we evidentially moved to a new level of intimacy; so, he asked me about my activities that afternoon and invited me to his home. After declining his hospitable offer, he asked for my phone number. I’m not kidding. I kindly notified him that, though I wasn’t sporting the ring during the race, I was, in fact married. He persisted in asking for my number and informed me that he would remember it if I told it to him. The whole experience was so humorous to me that I couldn’t let it end there. So, I gave him Chris’ cell phone number just to find out if he could truly remember the number and actually call. No word yet from this dashing Don Juan.

21KM : Half Marathon Envy

In the morning before the race, all of the runners are sporting their color-coded numbers indicating the distance they are about to run. There is a certain air of pride that the full marathoners carry with them and I have to say that I was proud of my red number in the morning. But, when the half marathoners are making their final sprint toward the finish line and I am only halfway finished, I have to admit that I get a twinge of half marathon envy. The sense of envy was exacerbated by the special present that I knew was waiting for me at the halfway point. The first of two giant hills.

21 – 25 KM: Hill #1

I wasn’t exactly sure how steep or how long these two inclines were going to be. I just knew that the altitude diagram looked quite daunting. But, to be honest, the first of the two hills wasn’t too excruciating. The steep portions were interspersed often enough with flat recovery zones so that I was encouraged by the time I reached the top. I made sure to note a landmark of the top of the hill so that, on my way back (as I would be coming up this same hill to reach the finish line at the bottom of the hill I had just come up) I would know where the road started heading downhill again.

25 – 30 KM: Recovery and Preparation

At this point, the hill turned down. Part of me was enjoying allowing my body to recover and not have to fight so hard against gravity. I was able to catch my breath and look at the fantastic scenery that the road offered. This marathon is called the Southern Border Marathon because it goes along the southernmost tip of island right along the coast overlooking the ocean. It was indeed spectacularly beautiful. However, with each step downhill, my heart sank a little deeper in my chest. I knew that every stride down meant another stride back up in just a few more kilometers. I worked on noting landmarks for myself so that I would know when a flat part was coming. However, I couldn’t help but notice that the flat parts were quite a bit fewer and farther between on this side.

30 – 35 KM: A blessing in disguise

The turn around point was a short distance from the bottom of the hill. That gave me some time to brace for what I knew was coming. I was tired, but every step I took, I intentionally made myself appreciate that it was one more step that I got to take on flat ground. Eventually, however, I found myself staring up at the dreaded return trip over the hill. The first part of the hill was, to be brief, agonizing. I wasn’t aware that it was possible, but it was even longer and steeper than what I remembered coming down. I knew I looked rough when a lady on a scooter stopped and asked if she could give me a hand. But here is the funny part. I was particularly worried about this part of the race during my training because I knew that I often hit a wall around 30K. But, as I was drudgingly ascending this hill, my eyes continually scanned the road for a break from the climb. I kept saying to myself, “If I can just make it to that point, I’ll be fine… If I can just make it to that point, I can do it.” And, in that way, concentrating on one step at a time, I finally made it to the top. I didn’t have time to think about anything else and, before I knew it, I was out of the “wall danger zone”. So, while this hike was incredibly difficult for me, it helped me break up those tough kilometers in such a way that I never had to worry about a wall. I’m sure there’s a sermon illustration in there somewhere.

35 – 42 KM: The Descent

After reaching the landmark that let me know I had finished the uphill, I was as overjoyed as one can be after running 35K and still having more to go. Optimistic, I ceded to the power of gravity and began my descent. This may come as shocking information, but the kilometers sure seemed to click by a lot faster when I was going downhill rather than up. Before I knew it I had come to the final water station where I stocked up on the final refreshment for the home stretch.

42.2: The Finish Line

The final descent dumped me right into the finishing alley where I used up the last of my energy to smile for my wonderful husband and friend who awaited me. After receiving my finishing medal, I sought out a shaded area to enjoy being finished. Considering the difficulty of this race, I was pleased to learn that my time was only four minutes slower than my first marathon. I was also excited to find out that I placed 10^th overall for the women runners. I’m not exactly sure how many women were running, and though it might have been ten, I was proud nonetheless, especially since my trophy came with a cash prize this time. After a nice shower, Chris, our friend Tracy, and I collapsed into our train seats and began our journey back home to Taipei.

A Little Bit of Seoul

Though many of you have already heard, we thought that we would go ahead and make it blog-ficial. We have decided that this will be our last year living here in Taipei. But, we have also decided that we aren’t quite through with Asia just yet. In January, Chris and I accepted teaching positions in Seoul, South Korea.


Come August 3, Chris and I will proud members of the Seoul Foreign School family. It is a Christian school with extremely high academic standards and an excellent reputation. Chris will be teaching regular and AP American history and take over the head basketball coaching position. I will be teaching second and third year Spanish. While this means that we will be far away from our dear family and friends for at least two more years, we are thrilled about this opportunity that God has given us. So, we look forward to many more social and cultural blunders to fill this blog as we attempt to make ourselves at home in a new culture. Wish us luck in our venture and we look forward to teaching you all about kimchi.

Check out the slideshow of our new school if you get a chance!