I finish my run by making the familiar three-mile trek through the crowded streets of central Quito that lie between my current home at the Parque de la Carolina and the neighborhood called La Marin. My shirt is still sweaty as I poke through the alien fruits and familiar vegetables. The hanging tongues, hooves, and hearts of cows – which turn my high school students into first graders – don’t even pique my curiosity anymore. I have my list – bananas, strawberries, tomatoes, onions, cilantro, coffee – and that’s all.

I gather my produce and head for the abuelita who sells canned goods. I start to do some arithmetic.

When was the last time I bought coffee? It must have been at least a few weeks. Those are big jars… Do I get a big one? Do I need it? They make smaller ones…

This is the first time I’ve considered my departure from Quito in such a tangible sense. I’ve been thinking a good deal about leaving – what to pack, what to leave, the last few things I want to do and people I want to see – but this is the first time it’s felt so pragmatic.

I’m taken back some twelve weeks to the drizzly, humid streets of Santo Domingo where I’m finishing my first ever 40km run. With just over a mile between me and the full marathon distance, I can feel that distance; I can feel the finish line.

Now, back in my house, I start to look at everything in the same way. Will my toothpaste last? Will my shampoo? The peanut butter definitely will, but I’ll probably run out of bread a few days too early.

I imagine making similar calculations in the last few miles of the Marathon. Will the legs last? The feet? The lungs? I hope the heart.

But, I’m not there yet. And while it’s promising to feel the finish and know that it’s really there and I can really make and it’s so close, it’s right there, I can feel it, I can touch it – I still rein myself in. In any process long enough, there’s always room for error.

 

So, I remind myself to take it easy. Watch out for rouge taxis, ferocious dogs, rivets in the trail just waiting to gobble up an ankle. I can feel the finish, but I try not to focus on it. I try to convince myself that it’s business as usual. So, I hesitate, but I buy the same big jar of coffee that I have every other time. I can always schlep it back to Boston…

lflorsheim@weycogroup.com; jflorsheim@florsheim.com