Mofóngote!

(image stolen from flickr)

The 6 miles in 90% humidity was one of the hardest runs I’ve ever done, but it was well rewarded. I had planned to do 10, and got up obscenely early, accordingly, but this Norwegian body wasn’t all that enthused by the weather, and without a water bottle in hand and some kind of portable air conditioner, it just wasn’t going to happen. I set out from the hotel, East along the beach past the airport.

The resorts dropped away and were replaced by greenery. Hefty local cyclists, dressed in full pro tour kits, and riding obscenely expensive cycles slowly passed me with a wave and an “hola!” Along the beach, over a bridge, and the reward… a small town called Loiza on a small cliff. From my turnaround point, you could look back on the resorts or forward to the waves crashing onto the rocks. Rugged guys were climbing trees and throwing coconuts down into their wheelbarrows, and juice stands pressed passionfruit and lime. It was my 10 minutes in Puerto Rico.

On the way back, drenched clothes turned to sandpaper and my mind started wondering if the rescuers could figure out who I was using my hotel room key if I passed out from heat exhaustion. My internal dialogue gets all emo when things go downhill.

Anyway, last night we dropped in on a local restaurant for some real Puerto Rican food and discovered the complete greaseball that is Mofongo. Yikes. I wouldn’t recommend it, but I guess you’ve got to try it. Being the overworked 5-year-olds we are, it became the word of the night. I mean, we’re completely mofongoed. Really.

The convention for real started this morning. It’s a mofonging big production. I don’t like talking about work on this here public schtick, but I have to say this: our members are AMAZING people that have gone through a lot to get their union and get elected to come here. I’ve laughed and cried at their stories all week, and seeing them tell their stories in front of a crowd of 4,000 supporters is powerful, moving, and reason enough to keep passing up the lure of a corporate paycheck and stick with the hard fight.

3 more nights to go.

and a 6-word memoir, per Jen's tag: All I wanted was a Pepsi.