Robbie Crusoe


Excerpt from Chapter 6: Robbie Crusoe

Eight o’clock passes with no movement towards the start line. No one seems particularly upset about this although there is no obvious reason for a delay. Many in the group know each other and there are greetings and handshakes being exchanged. The hotel manager has spoken with us and almost everyone else there. There are challenges being made and boasts of performances to come that obviously are intended to be humorous. It seems that no one expected the race to start precisely at eight, but rather that was a rough time to organize around. The race director steps up and provides some general instructions. The most important of these should be the course directions since this is a point-to-point and the roads are surprisingly complicated for us to figure out. I listen and I hear that we should turn left here and right there, but basically what I understand is that we should maintain contact with another runner who knows where we are headed. That’s it. Have fun.  We all gather together in the middle of the intersection as a volunteer stops the only car around: a taxi driver that was coming to see the start of the race anyway. There is no precise starting line, meaning that the distance was approximate, and the people closest to the direction that the race would proceed became the actual starting line. This was island life at its finest: a group of people meeting on Sunday morning for a race around eight to run more or less 10K and to start from around here and with everybody happy with this. We were thrilled. Screeeeeeeech. And the race is on.



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