“Excuse me, are you a racer?”, a pleasant blond woman is asking me as we are starting to approach the shoreline of Ometepe Island. I was away for the weekend, exploring the nearby town of Granada.
I look up. There are only two plausible ways one could answer this question. An enthusiastic “Yes, I am!”, or a puzzled look.
I obviously gave her the first. Gabi is a fellow racer and race director’s sister. She will be helping out with the event.
She said she spotted me going to the upper deck, and decided to come say hello. “You were going up the stairs, and I said to myself – those are racer’s legs!”, she smiles.
Those were definitely racer’s legs.
As people start trickling out from the ferry, I notice a tall muscular guy get off as well. The front of his shirt is saying “100 miles is not enough”. As he turns around, I see that the back of the shirt says “Nothing is enough”. Of course. Another racer. [The depressing existential message of the shirt is a topic for yet another post.]
Among the round bellies, ample bums and soft arms of Nicaragua, we do kind of stick out. The uniform of dry fit shirts, GPS watch, and Salomon shoes (or Luna sandals!) complete the picture.
Step aside, Australian surfers and German backpackers.
My peoples are here.