🇨🇴🇪🇨 Getting help from Harry Styles

Hello Adventurers, 

If it’s cold and wintery where you are, then I hope this issue of the newsletter finds you warm and cozy. And me? Well, if last week was my ‘warm up’, then I can definitely say it’s ‘game on’ now! The figurative training wheels are off, and I’m now leaning into my time-tested training to wheel this wild adventure forward: step by step, and story by story.

When I thought about what to name this project, I knew the word ‘challenge’ had to be in there…because the Marathon Earth Challenge would test my mettle. And it has! This past week has had its fair share of obstacles, one of which was internet connectivity (hence why this issue is going out a day late...apologies). Thankfully, all the physical hardships were counterbalanced by some gems I unearthed along the way — ones I know sparkle — but can only hope speak to you herein.

Anyway, this dispatch covers three marathons done in Cartagena, Quito, and Guayaquil. This time, I decided to do things differently and give you a 'play-by-play' of marathon highlights to mix things up. Let me know if you love it or hate it!

- Ben Pobjoy

P.S. Read this is if you're curious as to why the emoji flags in the 'subject line' are so similar.

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 2

• Flights taken: 7

• Kilometres flown: 7,975

• Marathons completed: 10

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 466.1

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 63,558

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: Seeing lines of up to two hundred people queuing for tellers outside of major banks in Quito 🥴

• The Biggest Obstacle: Completing a few marathons with a sinus and/or lung infection…being Medellín’s parting gift to me 🤢

• The Lesson Learned: Descending a steep grade backwards is less knee-destroying than descending it forwards 🤕

FIELD NOTES: CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA

How to love and hate the sun in a single day

My time in Cartagena did not go as planned…but it was far from a total bust. If anything, it was a humble reminder to be persistent, to fail forward, to pivot when problems arise, and to focus on the forest rather than the trees (as it concerns the year-long nature of this project).

When I have two days in a place — like I did in Cartagena, where my intention is/was to do no less than two marathons — I like to apply a well-tested marathon methodology I developed years ago: encircle first, carve thereafter.

Encircle — via marathon — largely means that I go around the perimeter of a place (to the best of my abilities) to get a ‘macro’ sense of it: I learn the major arteries, get my bearings in terms of north versus south / east versus west, and identify major sights (be it mountains or skyscrapers, for example) that can function as a wayfinder should I get lost. After encircling it — which gives me the visual lay of the land — I then segue into secondary marathons where I carve the place on proceeding days. Here, I go ‘micro’ on a place, which just means chopping it up: marathoning smaller streets, back alleys, exploring abandoned things, and generally trying to penetrate the superficial epidermis of a place to get into its meat.

In Cartagena, my ‘encircling’ marathon hit peak 'feels like 42 degrees celsius' heat (according to my weather app) in unforgiving sun. This necessitated that I pivot to offset heatstroke by retreating to the city centre (to not just ‘carve’ there, but do so in the shade it offered). I only mention this aggravating anecdote because it'll provide context for other content below.

Anyway, back to Cartagena…it has a totally different timbre than Bogotá (which is mountain flanked) and Medellín (which is valley sunken), in part because Cartagena is a coastal city on the Caribbean Sea (which also imbues it with a touch of Caribbean flair (that is evident in the local culture and architecture).

Given I made a game-time decision to retrofit the tail-end of my ‘encircling’ marathon to be a ‘carve’ marathon, I only had about ten kilometres in Cartagena’s city centre.

I was concerned I risked shortchanging the place, but it was generous to me and paid out dividends. And I was grateful, because its beauty lifted my sun-battered spirits...ironically as the sun began to set.

What’s most important for you to know, is that the Walled City of Old Cartagena is superb. Specifically, the kilometres-long rampart — built in the 16th century — that encircles a small part of the larger city. The innards of this area are pleasant (i.e. horse-drawn carriages, locals in traditional dress, preserved buildings, etc.), but the elevated rampart — which you can stroll — is phenomenal at sunset; offering a panorama view of both the city and the sea simultaneously.

Everyone — from locals to tourists — seemed to gather atop the rampart to observe the sizzling-then-fizzling neon orange sunset. It wasn’t just incredibly beautiful, it was romantic (which is somewhat odd for me to state since I was solo). Anyway, get to this wall someday at sunset. And do it with a loved one. You can thank me later.

One other Cartagena gem to note — literally a diamond in the rough (more emphasis on ‘rough’ here) — is the Mercado de Bazurto. Upon reflection, I still can’t tell if the market is straight-up chaos or mere order-in-limbo. All you need to know is that it’s a wildly entertaining hodgepodge of stores, street food, and vendors selling fruit, veg, fish, and meats; all spilling onto the avenue where cars, buses, and motorcycles operate like a salmon run in — and around — all the shoppers.

There on the avenue, I saw a gridlocked bus fart a black plume of exhaust fumes onto raw, filleted fish — just sitting out in the sun — that was then grilled and eaten.

Anyway, Mercado de Bazurto is shoulder-to-shoulder madness, tunes blaring, and vendors yelling to entice shoppers. But, If you suffer from anxiety, don’t go. Seriously, much like how flashing lights can induce seizures in epileptics, this place is so sensorially jarring that I’d wager it could induce anxiety attacks. I’m not being exaggerative, I’m just giving you a head’s up before it does your head in.

FIELD NOTES: QUITO, ECUADOR

Get off the main drag, and stroll the side streets

I didn’t have any expectations for Quito, not because I had prejudged it — or because I had determined it to be ‘meh’ from afar (which isn’t me...or an advisable perspective to operate with) — but because I knew so little about the place.

So I went in blind, and did so with eyes wide open...which Quito later made bulge with glee.

In these instances, 'marathons sans much research of place' can seem like a gamble...but when you pound the lengths of pavement that I do, you eventually stumble onto some surprises, and in Quito I did (like the biggest cake I've ever seen which I posted about on Instagram).

Quito presents like a sleeper — and it is — but if you do the work to dig around then you quickly realize it’s quite dreamy. Especially its Centro Histórico, which packs a punch well above its weight class (like Tank Davis).

Explore the Centro Histórico, and do poke your head into its 16th and 17th century churches; they're remarkably ornate inside. These were stand-outs for me, in no specific order:

• Iglesia de la Compañía de Jesús

• Capilla de Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles

• Convento de San Francisco

From the Centro Histórico, I made sure to get a view of the Virgin of El Panecillo, being a statue atop a nearby hill (and allegedly the tallest aluminum statue in the world). Normally, I like to get up-close to these types of things, but I knew beforehand that it wasn't advisable to do so. And as I slithered south to get this shot, a friendly local put his arm across my chest, physically barred me from advancing any further, pointed to the neighbourhood on the hill, and drew a 'X' over it with his hand. Warning heeded. So I pivoted my route and I'm glad that I did...

...Because a steeple atop a steep hill caught my eye, so I hiked towards it. And was then visually blessed by the Basílica de Voto Nacional. Its courtyard was stunning by virtue of its Wes Anderson-y symmetry. Loafing here with a coffee seems to be the jam. I didn't do it, but the local chillers did.

Bit of an aside...but at my former job, colleagues would occasionally inquire as to why I always ascended stairs in twos (instead of taking single steps). I would jokingly reply that it was a free workout for my cheap-ass self. But the truth is, this simple exercise really does condition your quads and glutes over time. It's a simple hack to do, and it pays in the long run: especially when you're confronted by hilly stairs in places like Quito. So do the two step, inhale through your nose when you move (my old boxing coach taught me that technique), and I promise you'll breeze upwards...or at least not be panting as much as you normally would!

And one last Quito note: mountainous places are often mullets. Typically, they're business in the front (the main side that's more populated), and party in the back (being the funky stragglers on the other side). This is why I often attack a mountain from multiple sides, because they're always a prism with different things to experience and appreciate. I took the stairs up this thing — being the backside — to beat an incoming storm, not knowing how many steps there would be. Each was numbered — being psychologically battering after a few hundred — and they eventually totalled 816 steps. I recounted this to my wife later on our nightly call, and she replied, "Wow, it's your birth month (8: August) and birth date (the 16th)." I'm not into numerology, but the world sure has a dark and prank-y sense of humour!

FIELD NOTES: GUAYAQUIL, ECUADOR

Lizard city is lovably quirky

Want your mind melted? Well, this is basically your first fifteen minutes in Guayaquil: disembark from the plane, see a stunning tropical 'live wall' in the arrivals area of the airport, pass an outdoor koi pond as you exit the airport (where you can feed the fish via pellets dispensed from gumball machines), hail a $4-5 USD cab into town, pass a ferociously imposing and giant Inca warrior statue on the highway, see the pastel exteriors of structurally-questionable homes on Santa Ana hill come into view, and then be dumfounded by an ultra colourful monkey sculpture that greets you at the city limits...and would obliterate your brain if viewed on LSD. Then, you're flung through a tunnel into the city centre. End scene.

I got to my accommodations, exhaled in disbelief, and thought, "Fuck me! This place either blew the entire production budget on the opening scene...or this movie is going to be an action-packed blockbuster!"

Anyway, I hit Guayaquil block-by-block on a marathon, and can say it's really fun and funky. In short, the trailer wasn't a tease!

Staying northeast in the city, I trekked southbound on the Malecón 2000 — being a promenade along the Rio Guayas — into Guayaquil proper. Along the way, I passed the cable cars to Duran, a large ferris wheel, squawking birds that bark like dogs (and poo like pterodactyls), and seamen jogging en masse back to their navy base.

What struck me most was the river: violent in current, chocolate milk in colour, and occasionally crowd surfing big green bushes from somewhere upstream.

I followed the river downstream with the intention of crossing it via the Puente Peatonal y Ciclovia, a pedestrian bridge to Isla Santay. My first attempt to the protected island was a fail. I didn't know the bridge had 'hours' (it opens at 8AM), and the attendant told me to come back later. So I freestyled — going where my eyes led me — and luckily made some discoveries...

...The first thing that caught my eye was a recessed statue workshop in a courtyard of sorts. Before leaving, the workers gave me a warning which they communicated by pantomiming. Both pointed at my camera and then pointed across the street to the navy base. One made a gun with their hand, cocked it, and fired it at the other who whipped their head back, closed their eyes, and dangled their tongue outta their mouth. Got it. Shoot the navy site with a camera, and get shot by a gun on sight. Noted.

I cut back north to the city centre, and was struck by a recurring South American motif: the neighbourhood Catholic shrine. I've now seen them all over Colombia and Ecuador, and truly dig the folk art aesthetic (i.e. each is locally-made and totally unique in creative execution and use of mixed materials).

I'm an atheist but if these monotheistic modems cast a spiritual WiFi signal, then sure, I'll poach a few bars of much needed protection.

The surrounding area has loads of market stalls in an unnamed side street as well as under the Eloy Alfaro underpass. All sold football kits, shoes, phone accessories, and an assortment of things for the home. It was heavily policed, chill to peruse, and cool to observe what locals were shopping for.

I returned to the pedestrian bridge for a second time, and once again failed to cross it. The attendant said it was indeed open but being repaired, and to come back later at some undefined time. Needing a coffee, I backtracked to Rincón Del Café, merely because the overall structure piqued my interest. Specifically, its second floor which was completely open from floor to ceiling, and inset within a building being restored or converted. Basically, it's a place to drink a coffee amidst some gorgeous woods...in a precarious building that looks under construction.

I ordered a café negro on the main floor, and was handed a numbered chit. What was served to me was one of the most peculiar ways I've ever received a coffee: a teacup of boiling water, a pot of granulated sugar, and a wine bottle full of a warm and reduced coffee concentrate that was thick in viscosity. I added the latter to the water and essentially made an Americano, which I took up to the second floor. Sidestepping holes in the wood flooring, I sipped it with a nice view of the street down below.

I used the washroom before leaving, and it confirmed a pattern down here in South America: few toilets have toilet paper (and some don't even have toilet seats). As such, if you're in the business of making deuces, then you better work from home (e.g. send documents to print at your hotel or Airbnb). Me? I just had to drain the lizard, before hanging with some...

Parque Seminario is smack dab in the city centre, lies in the shadow of a church (hence the name), and is surrounded by busy roads. Visiting this free public space was fantastic: it's full of iguanas and turtles, and is one of the most unique public parks I've ever visited. Essentially, hundreds of iguanas hang out in its two major trees, occasionally peeing and pooing down from above in concert like snap thunderstorms. A local got caught in a shitstorm, and made the nearby security guard howl with laughter. You've been warned! Don't stand under the trees to look at the lizards!

Anyway, the iguanas clumsily descend the trees — with some bailing the last few feet — to eventually hang street level (where they eat and/or suntan). I’ve never been this close to so many iguanas, and well, I just relished observing it all. It was good vibes.

These particular iguanas don’t seem to feel a way about humans so you can get close to them. That said, I don’t pet wildlife, but did see a little girl pick up a lizard like a doll and hug it. I don’t condone this, I’m merely mentioning it to illustrate how indifferent the iguanas are.

My time here came to a close when I saw a pigeon hop onto a lizard, the lizard walk a few feet, and the pigeon surf it before falling off. It wasn't going to get any better so I left on a high note!

Third time’s a charm! I finally crossed the bridge over to Isla Santay, to escape the city and decompress along an elevated boardwalk through a protected natural area. It was largely uneventful, save for observing a community of about 200 hundred people that live in elevated homes atop concrete pillars. Beyond that, I saw cows grazing forests and blue butterflies as big as my hand. My only warning is to tread carefully along the boardwalk: many of its planks are loose and some are hole-ridden. If you busted through, you'd shear a shin or snap one.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

Famished on a marathon, I rounded a corner in Quito and nearly bumped into an Indigenous woman operating a makeshift deep fryer on the sidewalk. She was slinging whole fried plantains, and given I had hunger pangs I threw caution to the wind, chucked her $1USD, and gobbled one up...fearing it could make me feel sluggish. Wrong! Firstly, this thing was delicious: warm, oily, and starchy like a potato...but with a banana-y sweetness. Secondly, something about the carb-to-sugar-to-fat ratio was miraculous, it immediately made me feel satiated, and fuelled me as I banged out another twenty or so kilometres thereafter!

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Cartagena, Quito, and Guayaquil (all prices converted to USD):

• Cartagena /// 300 grams of oats, 1 litre carton of vanilla almond milk, three bananas, and an orange from a grocery store: $4.67

• Quito /// Three cups of sliced mango bought off a 7 year-old child manning a kiosk near a park at 9AM on a Monday: 50¢

• Guayaquil /// A cup of coffee from Rincón Del Café: $1

MORE US, LESS THEM

Shit out of luck, I locked eyes with Ciro when I was marathoning down Via a Mamonal, along some dusty patch of industrial lands between Cartagena and Pasacabellos. I was scorched and going south — literally and figuratively — and he was static, stood at the entryway of an open air cantina for the neighbouring oil refinery's workers.

I was out of place — and out of sorts — and he could tell, even though I didn't have the capacity to tell him in his mother tongue.

Through broken Spanish and hand gestures, I asked if I could buy water...even though I got the sense this wasn't the type of restaurant that served the public. He waved me off as he waved me over: pointing to a yellow sports water dispenser on the counter beside him.

"Cuanto?" I asked.

"Nada" he replied.

I filled my water container as the liquid began to bubble. Odd, not a property of water per se. I didn't know what I was about to drink, but I also didn't care. I just needed liquids, stat.

I gulped it down, and to my surprise it was sweet. Not water, but sweetened peach iced tea, both frigid and reinvigorating. It's something I'd normally never reach for, but in the moment it was something I couldn't get enough of.

Ciro looked on, and asked a question he already knew the answer to, "¿Esta bien?". Parched, I eked out a dry-but-increasingly-hydrated reply, "Bu-eno."

He nodded in agreement, cool as a cucumber...and in a beanie even though it was hot as hell.

Ciro instructed me to sit in the shade and gather myself on some concrete patch, but also motioned for me not to block any of the workers that were coming and going. I raised my hand and index finger so as to say, "Got it!" as I doubled-down with a nod...to sorta stomp the landing, the way you do when two people are attempting to communicate between different languages neither fully knows.

Coming back to my senses, I pulled out my phone and looked at my route. It was only four kilometres to Pasacabellos, the halfway point before I was to circle 21 kilometres back to Cartagena.

I lifted my shirt to do a gut check, touching my abdomen. It was cool to the touch, never a good sign in the heat. So I decided to cut things short: head back while you can 'cause you regret it when you can't. That was my logic, learnt from lessons past.

Before I exited, I shook Ciro's hand as a way to discretely slip him some pesos. He put his other hand on my shoulder and gave it a thankful pat. It was kind of him, but it was me that was indebted to him.

I will never see Ciro again.

But I'll remember,

To be like him — as he was to me — when I see someone thirsty or just shit out of luck.

MARATHON MUSINGS

An essay on the fruits of failing forward

On marathon adventure trips past, my modus operandi has been to go HAM: marathon as far — and as often — as I could, document as much as possible, and just generally offer up my body as a short-term sacrifice for a lifetime of memories.

I did nine marathons in nine days in nine different countries in 2021 to celebrate turning 40 years old. And in 2019, did five ultramarathons in five days across Australia and New Zealand. There have been ultras in Tokyo, ultras from Jerusalem into Palestine, and marathons in countless countries in every imaginable terrain on all continents except Antartica (i.e. a bucket list destination that I doubt I'll ever be able to afford to marathon...but one can dream).

On these short trips, I've had the luxury of being able to rev the engine until the wheels fall off — which in my case — is the substantial loss of body weight as well as toe nails coming off. Punish now, and pay the piper later…when I limp home broken. It likely doesn’t make sense looking in from the outside, but all I can say is that — for me — the 'freestyle marathon' (one beyond a race course with a route of your design) is the most intimate way to observe the human condition. I’m in the streets with the people everywhere. It’s what I live for. And echolocating myself off of everything and everyone — while marathoning — to learn what it is, or what it means to be human on this pale blue dot.

That's me, or at least it was. Or maybe it isn’t.

On my Marathon Earth Challenge, I'm very much learning in real-time that in order to do more in the aggregate — as well as inhale much more of the world’s wisdom — I have to be a lesser version of myself on some days. And it is hard to accept.

I am the accelerator.

And pumping the brakes to slow down feels sacrilegious.

But I'm playing a long game in 2023: trying to complete 239+ marathons in as many different countries as possible. And to succeed, I have no choice but to be strategic. Which is to say, be un-me…because I’m a ‘creative’ at heart.

And I'm not just out here solo, I'm the trinity: the athlete, the coach, and the psychologist all at once. And there's often bickering — in my head — between all three.

The player pushes for the daily win at all costs.

The coach pulls for the winning season peppered with load management.

And the psychologist tries to mediate all the different need states.

In short, it’s proving to be a daily battle amongst the divergent voices in my head vying for top influence, all in a year-long war I've volunteered to wage.

Why share all this? Well, I arrived to Cartagena sick. Not sniffles, like real sick. And had two days there. And didn’t know what to do.

The player said to push and do two marathons. The coach said to rest and recover. And the psychologist decided that the happy medium was to split the middle. The only thing that everyone can ever agree on, is that I basically have to do five marathons a week all year to get the job done.

So I marathoned on my first day in Cartagena: head pounding, coughing up Nickelodeon slime, and mixing up my stride to work around three blisters, a raw pinky toe, and another black toe. Done in hellish heat that rewarded my body with prickly heat all over my legs and arms.

Arriving to my accommodations afterwards, I didn’t know if the marathon had been a wise endeavour, but it had been worthwhile: I met a lovely woman working a roadside stand in the aptly titled town of Sucre that was serving sugared chunks of watermelon in water. The concoction didn’t have a great mouth feel, but the feeling of the moment reigned supreme: her wondering what the hell I was doing, me wondering what the hell she was serving. Us trying to figure it all out.

All in all, it was sweet.

A sweet memory earned.

One I savoured the next day amidst the bitterness of knowing I had to take an unplanned day off (so I could try and get well).

And what does it all mean? I don’t know. Ask Harry Styles. He sang, “I’m just thinking out loud” in ‘Watermelon Sugar’. Maybe I am too, or maybe I just ingested the song? All I know, is that I have to keep going, and failing forward towards success, and marathoning because that is me, and I don’t know if I could ever go without.

But really, I’m thinking of you.

May you stumble upon whatever your watermelon sugar is amidst your hardships. And savour some magic manifesting out of a mirage. And maybe it too will momentarily sweeten the sacrifices that are asked of you.

Feel cheated by the title of this newsletter? Don’t. It ain't poetic licence. I already met Harry on a marathon of London years ago. Plus, I much prefer ‘As it was’! So we'll let things be, ya?

Have any questions about the content of this newsletter? Reply to it, and I'll try and answer you when it's safe to do so!