I'm starting this post a few days prior to travel, rather than after I've arrived. Why? Dunno. I think I needed the practice. It's been a while since I've flexed the scribing brain, and it sounded good to exercise it. I've been exercising physically a fair amount, so why not the old gray matter. I've been too complacent, and boring. Time to shake the gray.

"To where are you going," you, my intrepid reader(s) may ask? You wouldn't, of course, because that's far too formal. You'd go with something along the lines of, "Where you go?" while exhaling Cheeto dust.  To Ecuador. I'm off with B for a week long side trip of high altitude fun and explorations. On the agenda are some hikes to 4300m (that's 15K feet to you Imperial-units wanks), exploring an old, historic district, and of, course, food and beer. There appears to be a quality microcervecería near the hotel we have booked for the first few nights. Checking their website, I like the selections, and at $3/pint what can possibly go wrong?

I saw that I could get right on the equator, at a reasonable cost, and decided, why not? I'm really, really happy that B is willing to take some of her hard-earned time off to join me. Of course, I am bribing her: I said I'd buy the beer. She can easily drink me under the table (Let's be honest, who can't?), in addition to beating me in all forms of physical activity (ok, to be fair to my baby cows, I can still outrun her, but I foresee that thin advantage disappearing). At the aforementioned $3/pint, I think I can afford to keep her happily in her favorite flavors when we're not out exploring, hiking or eating elsewhere. Besides, with an elevation of 2800m (9500 feet), it might not be a lot of beers for either of us anyway! The hotel appears to be within walking distance of both the main historic area and the brewery (at least on a map, it does), and if it doesn't, well, I can't see a taxi or an Ube being too expensive, given what I've seen of other costs.

This will be a nice short, side trip before I stumble back to the United States of Armaments on the summer solstice for a month or so. I hope I don't get caught in a mass shooting while I'm there, but since I won't be visiting a school, I think I'll be okay.

I’ve heard it said that in the end, one regrets what one didn’t do far more than one has. I’ve decided to try that out as a working hypothesis. You see, there was a time I would not do something, because there would be a chance - ever so slight - that, after the fact, I would regret having done it. In that vein, I pretty much had decided - despite my online dating profile - that I would skip over the top of the dating ocean like a flat stone across a lake. Maybe go out, but not let it get anywhere. Mostly, though, I’d been using the dating sites as a window shopping opportunity when I was bored at night. My left-swipe game was strong, leaving right-swipes solely for laughs, as they were all punching significantly above my weight and out of my league.

But, somehow, Reality tossed me a bone. I’ve met someone who’s significantly turned not just my head, but what’s inside that hardened bony protuberance above my collarbone. And she’s no unicorn, she’s as real as they get. We’re feeling it out, taking it slow-ish. I’m into what’s happening, taking it day by day, without regard for possible future regrets. But, in my defense, we’ve been in contact and chatting for months, already. I hear ya. “What’s that? You’ve been chatting for months - and hadn’t met?” Well, yeah, and there’s a story there.

I connected with B on the Bee app pretty quickly after arriving here in the tropics back in January. We weren’t located particularly close to each other to facilitate a spur of the moment, in-person meeting. She was in Panama City, me in Coronado. We chatted back and forth for a couple of weeks, and no red flags. Heck for me, not even an orange one. (You color people can take a hike if orange isn’t somewhere between green and red on a color scale. It is in this case for illustrative purposes. So stick that in your color wheel and take it for a spin.)

After a time, B agreed to drive out to Coronado. By my calculation, she was making the trip less for to see me, and more to be able to swim in the ocean, (she’s a triathlete, and a studette, so yay!), but I figured I could carry her towel and be a cheerleader on the sand. The quarterback falls for the cheerleader in all the media, so why not the triathlete? My diabolical plan was put in motion.

She’s driving, and gets stymied by an accident on the Pan American highway. It’s delays for fucking HOURS. Much to my (unexpressed) chagrin, she’s decided to turn back to PC, delaying our meet for another time. On the phone, we decide on a mid-week day the next week to try again. All ducks aligned. All signs pointing forward. Thunderbirds are go.

Reality steps in and says, “About that...” You see, B works for a humanitarian aid agency, and lo! a humanitarian crisis emerges in Eastern Europe. Fuck you, Putin. She’s shipping out in a couple of days and doesn’t have time. Thanks, Reality, you can stuff it. It’s a month-long stint. No problem, though right? I can do a month standing on my head juggling pints of bad beer and not spilling a drop.

One month turns into two (really? I mean, really?!). But B is finally scheduled to return. Yay! Where am I? I leave to the States the day before she returns to Panama. Well, heck. Reality, you’re really starting to piss me off. On the bright side and much to my surprise, B is continuing to maintain contact with me. But she’s only got photos and my sparkling personality to go on. She hasn’t yet felt the disappointment of in-person me yet.

I gamely make a date to meet in-person the day I return to Panama. I usually book a hotel in PC the night I land, and make my way elsewhere the next day. It’s what I’ve done pretty much every time. Turns out, my usual hotel is an easy walk from her building, so we arrange to meet at a tapas bar for beers and in-person convos.

Fast forward several weeks. We’ve spent a lot of that time together, eating, drinking, consuming media, and sweating (running in the tropics is sweaty business. Keep your minds out of the gutter, you pervs!) I like the direction we’re moving, but time will tell. I have to leave in about a month for at least a month. If B wants me to return, I will happily and eagerly do so. If she wants to meet me somewhere in the States or Canada for a while, I’m down for it. If she decides that she’s had enough of me, well, my eagerness, and excitement will be on a different, much lower, level. I’ll accept it, por supuesto, and never regret a single moment we’ve had together. Well, maybe a slight regret for the OH MY GOD IT BURNS after one run, when I forgot to account for sweat-soaked sag-shorts, but that’s a whole different Regret Path.

But finally meeting and spending a significant amount of quality time with an amazing woman regardless of whether or not it works for longer than six weeks? For that, there are no regrets.

Things have been remarkable in their quietude lately. I’ve been living pretty small, spending a fair amount of time with a new friend who shall be anonymous at this point. We went to a “fun” run in El Valle on Sunday. I think the shirt I saw afterward summed it up appropriately: “Don’t worry, it’s just a fun run!”
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For someone who’s training lately has been largely confined to the occasional five miler on flat roads, signing up and completing a 20+K trail event (and I use the word “trail” loosely), I am pretty proud of my accomplishment. Also notable, at least to me, in the process of this run, I surpassed 10,000 running miles on Strava. Not bad for a touch over 8 years. Doing a bit of math, I averaged almost 8.25 miles per run. Viejo corriendo!

It started early: we left Coronado at 5:00 am to get to El Valle by the 6:00 am start. We made it, barely. Mi amiga was having bladder issues. No not that bladder. The one that goes on one’s back inside the Camelback. It was leaking. A lot. We decided to see what we could do once we got there, since we were outta time.

Fast forward through the drive, the scramble at the meeting location, the drive to the trailhead. Boy that was fast! We got to the trailhead, and the bladder was pouring out what little was left in it. Dang. That’s going to be rough. Being the magnanimous guy I am, I pulled out my bladder (yet again, not that one. I did not perform trailhead surgery) and slipped it inside the camelback. It’s only 10K to the hydration station, and it’s only 20K total. I can handle that, right?

So “handle it” was spot on. I handled it. It was not easy, I’ll say. The first climb was forever in the humidity. Get to the top, and I was able to open my phone and take some photos. I check the distance on the Strava app (since my watch died, it’s my tracking method) and…less than 5K. Holy crapola, I may be in trouble without water. The group reconvened, and I got a sip from mi amiga, and was told “go with the fast group! Get outta here!” So I got, and caught up to that bunch. Good thing I was with the group, because a significant part of the next 10K to the water station (yeah it was close to 15K total to the water) was in dense forest. So green, so slippery, so humid, so no real trail. SO. MUCH. FUN. I tried to get my phone open and the combination of humidity on the screen and my hands being so wet, taps weren’t recognized. I couldn’t even take a photo. I’ve since bought some sandwich baggies and am putting several in my pack so I don’t go without them again! A video would have been epic.

Finally get to the hydration station and I pound down a Coke Classic (best non-beer drink when running!), then a water, then, you guessed it, a beer! My group took off and runners kept coming in. I see mi amiga, and she’s not looking good. As much as I’ve not been training properly, she’s not been either. She’s decided to bail at this point because she’s smarter than I am, and knows what the remaining terrain is like.

Since I’m an idiot and want to finish this bitch off, I take back the bladder (yes, that one that goes in my pack) and take off up the road. I catch and pass a father-son combo and reach a T in the road. No markings. Which way? I don’t see anyone. I hear a whistle behind me and it’s the dad. He’s pointing not left, not right, but straight ahead. Of course. There is the “trail” again. I wave and off I set.

The next I-don’t-know-how-many kilometers were completely solo. I didn’t see anyone ahead or behind. I wasn’t too concerned about getting lost at this point, since I was on a trail that circled the caldera where El Valle sits. I could always find a trail down. I apparently followed the markers when I saw them, because after a really rough descent (slickery mud and rocks, and roots) I neared the bottom and saw a couple of other runners. YAY!, I followed them until we hit pavement. They headed back to the meeting place, and I turned to go to the start point, to where I was to meet mi amiga. I felt pretty strong (A beer, a coke, and a couple of Oreos, and I’m Superman!) and knocked out the last 2 Ks at a nice 6 min pace. Along the way, I caught the father and son combo again. Not sure what trail they descended, but it wasn’t the same one I did!

The trail was beautiful. Difficult. And completely Type 1 fun. The beer at the hydration station and at th end was sublime. The people I met were amazing, friendly, and so supportive. In other words trail runners: a breed of humanity the rest of the world could learn from. Language difficulties notwithstanding, they were to a person, warm, happy, and welcoming. I can’t wait to meet up with these people again.

Time of death: 2207, 3 May 2022. I was sitting on the couch watching an old episode of Seinfeld when my friend and constant companion died. I don’t know what happened, but I looked, and the face flashed and went dark, never to be illuminated again. Requiescat in pace, Apple Watch.

After a brief moment of panic and pissed-offness, I realized not much of my life is going to change. Sure, I won’t be able to track my runs without toting my phone along (something I’m not likely to do here), I won’t be able to track and overly focus on my resting heart rate (it climbed to 42!), or be able to pay at a credit card terminal without my phone or wallet. All minor inconveniences. What I will probably miss most are the notifications that would buzz on my wrist when someone was trying to get in touch. The death means I will have to look at my phone to discover nobody is reaching out.

​I am more that slightly disappointed that it died only 15 months after purchase, though. The EKG function shuffled off its mortal coil a few months back, too, and it was a prime reason I bought the thing in the first place. That had to do with the digital crown, which seemed to be having problems anyway. Maybe too much sweat and seawater.

Next time I’m in the Big City, I’ll check some stores to see if they (a) carry them, and (b) at what price. If it’s not terrible, I may make the purchase. If not, a replacement will have to wait for my return to the states. With a new version coming in the fall, I may wait even that long. Who knows, I may find I’m fine without it entirely.