Kyle Hepp

June 29, 2007

First off, I would like to give a huge thanks to Andrew over at Dynamic Fitness! He writes an awesome fitness blog and a couple weeks ago when I stumbled upon it I sent him a fitness related question not thinking anything would come of it. He was kind enough to post a detailed response and informative response on his blog. Andrew is smart, writes well and has a lot of knowledge to share. So if you are like me and are interested in health and fitness related writers you definitely need to check him out, you won’t be sorry.

My fitness related question to Andrew went something along the lines of, “Should I continue to work out outdoors when there is a high pollution factor in the city I’m in?” He reccommended trying to stick to green areas as much as possible. So in an effort to spare my lungs from as many free radicals as possible, I decided to start walking to the closest park and then jog once I’m there instead of starting my jog off right in my trafficky neighborhood.

Let me tell you what that walk is like. First off you’ll need a little background information. In Chile blondes are a rarity. They’re considered some kind of crazy exotic beauty. I’m not saying this to toot my own horn, but, I’m blonde. Men will holler and hoot at any women, whether she’s fat, skinny, pretty ugly, whatever, as long as she has light colored hair. I am THE only blonde in my neighborhood. I’ve lived here for over two years and have yet to see a fellow straw-head.

So I head for the park at a brisk walk. I wear black yoga pants, a long sleeved white t-shirt and tennis shoes. My hair is in a pony-tail, always greasy because I don’t take my daily shower until after my workout. The only makeup I have on my face is SPF 45 sunscreen. Because of the damn hole in the ozone I will look like a blonde tomato if I don’t wear it.

As I walk down the street, I would say at least 1 out of every 20 cars that passes me honks and in many cases, the driver will stick his head out the window to yell something. I can’t hear them, I’m wearing headphones and listening to my beautiful pink iPod gifted to me a few months ago.

But, I cannot risk showing the iPod out in public. It would just be too much temptation for this poor neighborhood and I’m not one to tempt fate. So the little beauty gets stuck in the waist band of my pants. The elastic is quite tight and holds it up nicely. I’d use one of those arm band thingys but my t-shirts are always white and you can see the iPod right through them. If I want to check my time or my pace, I must discreetly pull the iPod out while I’m facing a wall or behind a tree or something so nobody can see me. I’m not saying all Chileans are thiefs, that’s not what I mean. But, I am saying that I live in a very low income neighborhood and a lot of those people can’t put food on the table. Necessity dictates many of their actions. If I were that poor I’d probably steal the iPod of the little Gringa walking down the stree without a clue, too.

The first part of my walk passes a gazillion mechanic’s workshops. I wear a baseball hat with the cap pulled down low over my eyes so they can’t see my whole face. I’ve found this works well in reducing the amount of men that try and harass me. It also semi-hides my expression when I am trying not to laugh at their horrible pick up lines. Also, walking with my head down serves another purpose. I can watch the sidewalk for dog poop so I don’t step in it. The people of Chile are against spaying and neutering their pets. There are strays EVERYWHERE, and in a low income neighborhood like mine the government doesn’t pay street workers to clean up after them, as they do in the upper class areas of Santiago.

When I arrive at the park their are always dozens of people there. This park is giant, shady and apparently a huge hang out for young students who like to smoke weed. I thought I would see more joggers but I could count the number that I’ve passed on one hand. So while I’m jogging around I have to deal with dozens of high schoolers. Little boys, whose friends egg them on. Sometimes I’m greeted to the lovely chorus, of “Fuck you, Gringa, fuck you!” Once an entire soccer team that was doing sprints switched the direction they were running to follow me down the path I was on, screaming comments the entire time about how I “run like a girl.” Yep, I am one, thanks for pointing that out. Another time a little twelve year old boy faked a slow motion run like in the movies, with his arms wide open as if we were about to embrace. He thought I would veer off my path but I didn’t. Nearly took the little bastard out. Wouldn’t have been pretty, I’m a lot bigger than him.

Oh yeah, and add to the fact that I have to run past, two Chinese restaurants, one Mom and Pop diner that has mashed potatoes (my favorite!) on the menu every day, an Empanada, fried chicken and french fries joint, and about a dozen kiosks all containing little bags of chips, and chocolates and gum and other sweets. The smells kill me. They make me want to turn around, go back home, eat a huge lunch and take a nap.

So if you think its hard for you to get motivated to work out, think about what I have to deal with. Be thankful you can run quietly, with nobody staring, nobody yelling, nobody following you. You probably don’t have to dodge dog poop every two steps, and there’s probably not a hole in the ozone layer where you live making the sun so hot its like a lazer beaming down on you trying to sizzle off your skin, all while you pass delicious tempting eateries, worrying about not getting robbed.

6 Comments

June 27, 2007

I made it back safe and sound. The flight to the US was completely relaxing and not bad at all. It gave me false courage. The way back we had horrible turbulents and I was crying for at least an hour. I did survive, but I have vowed not to fly without my husband again. EVER!

So thanks to all who shared reassuring stories with me, you guys helped calm me enough to actually get me on the plane

As for the actual non-flying part of the trip, it was amazing! I ate way too much and gained more weight than I thought humanly possible in one week. 8lbs in 7 days, yikes! And of course what you can gain in a week takes at least three to lose, *sigh.* I got to see almost all of my favorite people while in the country. Best friends, relatives, immediate family, you name it, I saw him/her/them.

I also learned a little about myself. I am evolving, and finally capable of being truly happy for others when I see them happy. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been a green eyed Medusa with snakes coming out of my head turning people to stone whenever a friend is achieving something I want. Its not like that, I’ve always wished my friends well and been enthusiastic for them when good things happen to them. But in the back of my mind, there was always a little voice that said, “Why can’t that be me?” Other people’s good news was usually accompanied by pangs of wistfulness for me. That’s really hard to admit, but its true.

On this trip though, I saw a best friend, J, who is engaged, or about to be engaged. She was positively glowing, as corny as that sounds. Her fiance is a dream, he’s cute, he’s funny, and most importantly, he treats her like a queen. No, seriously, the kid worships the ground she walks on. And I LOVE IT!

I saw another best friend, M, who has recently lost a little weight and is hopefully (*fingers crossed*) in the process of getting a fantastically high paying job. She looks fantastic, and is so very excited about the career possibilities opening up before her. I REALLY want her to succeed!

I have never felt such pure, unadulterated happiness for my friends before. I finally know what its like to be one of those people who has untainted joy when something incredible happens to those around them.

And I think I know the reason why. Its because I’m finally happy. Really and truly and ridiculously happy. I don’t have a job, my husband and I are so broke, I live far away from all my good friends and family and don’t have a lot of friends in this country, my inlaws drive me absolutely, one hundred percently, up a wall crazy, and we don’t have cable tv. But I am together with my hubby, and that’s what makes my life golden. We had to go through a lot to get to this point, we were apart for so long (9 months trying to get him a visa to the US that never came through). But we’re together now and he makes me deliriously happy every day.

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June 10, 2007

I’m heading to the US next week and I’m nervous as hell. I HATE flying. I keep having nightmares of myself in these fiery crashes, trying desperately to call Seba to tell him I love him, one last time before the plane goes down. Pretty picture, huh?

When I was little I wasn’t scared of flying. In fact, I loved it! Going on a plane was a thrill…what child doesn’t dream of touching the clouds, right?

Laying in bed the other night, I was thinking about that. What makes us afraid? Is it true that ignorance is bliss? Was I fearless when I was younger because I just didn’t know any better?

When I was little I couldn’t read. I had no idea that in the past year planes have went down in Russia, Bolivia, Brasil, even in the US (Kentucky was it?). I live in Chile. Things like that can definitely happen here, third world country baby! Oh wait, we’re not using that term anymore…my bad. That should be, developing country baby!

Also, when you’re small, nothing is impossible. I used to jump off decks and ladders with an umbrella, utterly convinced that I could fly like Mary Poppins. I would lay on the ground with my eyes squeezed shut, making an “HUmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” noise. I was complety sure of the fact that I was levitating (levatating?) myself a good three, maybe four feet off the ground. So it made sense that giant pieces of metal with wings could take off and carry people thousands of feet in the air, over land, mountain and oceans, all the way to far off lands. Now I see these machines that weigh over a ton, these so called airplanes with their tiny, fragile wings, and I think to myself, “Should they really be able to do that?” Fly, I mean.

Another possible reason for me newfound fear and hatred of flying may be the fact that I, for the first time in my life, have everything to lose. I am a newlywed, so crazy in love with my husband that he has convinced me, a life long child H-A-T-E-R, to someday spring his offspring from my womb. Not anytime soon, granted, but still. I hope I don’t hate my own child. ANYWAYS, that’s a different subject for a different blog entry.

I never used to fear death because what did it matter if I died. Yes, my parents would be sad, but they have other children, they’d get over it. Yes, my friends might cry a little, but they have other friends, same dealio. Now, I do not fear death. No, I fear dying without S. If we’re in the plane, holding hands as its going down, I’m totally ok with that. But, I don’t want to be without him when I go, nor do I want to leave him to live a life without me. Alliteration without trying, score!

Alright, blog people. If you have a scary flying story DO NOT share it with me. I repeat, DO NOT SHARE. In fact, don’t even insinuate or allude to the fact that you may have once had a flight with turbulents so bad that your carry on bag went flying out of your overhead compartment. Don’t even tell me about how you had to sit next to the smelliest, drooliest man alive. All I want to hear is that every flight you’ve ever taken has been rainbows and sunshine. Thanks! You guys cured me of my fear of ghosts in a previous entry so I’m really hoping that you can do the same with my flying phobia.

7 Comments

June 3, 2007

I just read an article on Newsweek.com by my favorite column writer, Fareed Zakaria (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19001200/site/newsweek/, read it, it’s brilliant). At one point he states,

“America as a place has often been the great antidote to U.S. foreign policy. When American actions across the world have seemed harsh, misguided or unfair, America itself has always been open, welcoming and tolerant.”

I’ve seen that firsthand. Before S. met me, he too hated the USA and everything that our country stands for. He now seperates the government’s actions from the citizens because the citizens he has met made him realize that we are not evil. Our government may do evil things but the country itself is not made up of a group of crazy witch burners, or Muslim/Mexican haters.

I am afraid that’s changing. I see and hear intolerance on a daily basis, granted, mostly online. Facebook groups pop up all over the place, raving about how illegal immigrants are destroying our country, I get forwards from my back asswards family telling me that if I’m against the war then I should get out and go pay taxes to Al Qaida since that’s obviously who I really wish would be president of the USA. I see comments on Newsweek articles telling us that the devil will punish the world and we will all burn in hell if we don’t “nuke those fucking arabs.” I used to get mad when I heard these things. If I was with someone who made such statements I would try to debate with him and make a compelling reason for him to be able to see the light and switch sides. Now reading this sorts of statements just makes me really sad. Sometimes I cry for my country. My soul aches for these people who are ignorant to the plights of those they wish to ostracize, punish, nuke, whatever. I just don’t understand how someone can be so intolerant of other races or religions when we come from a country based on an open door policy. The Great Melting Pot! We celebrate diversity, that’s what makes me proud to be an American. But, I’m so scared that will not be the case for much longer if the country, and the people of the country continue down the same path as we have been heading down for the last several years. Every politician is pushing the politics of fear for the next election. Honestly, HOW CAN WE PUT UP A FENCE ON OUR BORDERS? God, I just want to cry. This isn’t East/West Germany for pete’s sake! Whatever happened to the land of the free?

I hope that I’m wrong. I hope things change for the better, sometime in the near future. Otherwise I am never going to be able to move back to the US.

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