The Pathfinder Reports

Somewhere in Ecuador--I'm not sure exactly where she is, but the retired physician's assistant who talked me into going to Ecuador has arrived with two One World Futbols. She's on the ground and ready to deliver the indestructibles and begin her volunteer work with representatives of the Mayo Clinic. What follows is Melanie Wood's first dispatch.

Melanie Wood

Suyana (Quechua for "hope") and Amaru ("Sacred Serpent") are great travelers.  They have not complained about being stuffed in a dark bag, festive as it is, in the cold luggage hold of a passenger jet for 12 hours on the way from Seattle to Quito, Ecuador.  (Although when I unpacked them and set them out in my hotel room, I thought I heard a slight sigh from one of them.)

 I’d been telling them where we’re going and that they were going to spend their lives at an orphanage with children who are going to love them like the wonderful beings they are.  They are so excited to begin their new life.  I hope all of Wilson’s kin are so lucky!

Suyana and Amaru decompress after a long flight.

And I am excited to be in Ecuador serving with some volunteer doctors and nurses from Rochester’s famous Mayo Clinic.  They’ve come here every year for 12 years to do orthopedic surgeries on children with congenital bone and joint problems, or to “fix” fractures that didn’t heal.  

There is no charge to their parents.  This is the second year I’ve volunteered.  It’s the best gig ever!  Fundacion de los Ninos de Santa Lucas, founded by Kate Whelp, RN, manages the clinic.  Many local physicians and nurses volunteer their time as well.  

Below is a photo of what was surely the cutest baby we saw for evaluation. (check out that hair!)  Fortunately, he didn’t need any surgery.

Mayo Clinic doctor meets with Ecuadorean family.

 This year there are 10 American children, mostly teenagers, who accompanied their parents and they’ll be spending their time at the orphanage just outside town (where Suyana and Amaru will live), teaching arts and crafts and playing games with the children.  I’ve asked the more artistic of the bunch to write the names on Wilson’s kin, as well as theirs.  I’ve written my name, Robert’s and Wilson’s.

While I’m here I hope to do some short public health talks to the parents of these kids, covering basics like nutrition, hand washing, and dental care.  We have a great local American translator who will help me because my Spanish isn’t that good yet.  Stay tuned on how it’s received.

Well, boots are on the ground. We'll have more to share in the coming days.

Love,
Robert, Melanie,
and Wilson

The naming ceremony

Well, it's official.

Soher--salsa dancer

& executive director

Eight One World Futbols have been christened with calligraphy just before their trip to Quito, Ecuador. The ceremony took place at 10:30 a.m. Monday morning at the  Overlake Terrace Retirement Community in Redmond. Arranging the ceremony was Soher Bishal, a salsa dancer who daylights as the center's executive director. The ceremony was open to the residents, and a small, quite interesting group showed up. It's amazing the stories you can hear about the lives of people in these centers.



The three resident/witnesses were Sharon Linder-Smith, a retired school counselor whose duties involved helping families with drug problems; Margaret Kuhn, a German import who spent 20 years as a midwife (and helped deliver as many as six babies one night); and Ramon Burge, who had the quite unusual job of outfitting backpacks for the lunar surface. That's right -- he outfitted astronauts. Or in this particular case, lunar-nauts.

Water is heavy, Ramon observed. So instead of hauling a whole lot of it into space, you simply take a little and recycle it. And you know what that means. Some of the purest water those astronauts ever drank was produced after being collected in those backpacks, he said.

It's not easy performing calligraphy on a round surface, but K.C. was up to the task.

Performing the Calligraphy was K.C. Baillargeon (the initials stand for Katherine Cecile). K.C. is a staffer of the retirement community who has Spanish, Irish and French roots, as well as a steady hand with a felt marker.

One-by-one K.C. carefully inked the names submitted by donors: Ganador (winner), Carmen, Suri, Atoc, Pato (Duck), José, Júbilo (Joy), and Ben. Ben was named for the son of peace activist Joe Colgan, who died in the line of duty in Baghdad. I, Wilson and Wilson's relatives met Joe at the Seattle federal building during our walking Marathon. Suri and Atoc are Quechua names: Suri for "fast as an ostrich" and Atoc for "sly as a fox."

There are some remaining names that were suggested and held in abeyance. Those will be "calligraphed" onto futbols destined for Tijuana in May.

The calligrapher and the witnesses. From the left, K.C., Margaret, Sharon and Ramon.

Epilog:  Wilson, I and the kids got some coverage from the Capitol Hill Times. Read "The Lone Marathoner," at http://www.capitolhilltimes.com/2015/03/the-lone-marathoner/. Of course, that bit about the Lone Marathoner is somewhat misleading. Like the song says, "hike on, hike on, packin' nine soccer balls and you'll never hike alone, no, you'll neeevvvveeerrrrr hike ahhhhh-loooooooone." Something like that.

On Wednesday, Team Wilson flies out of Sea-Tac Airport for Quito, Ecuador. Tomorrow will be time for me to take my altitude meds. The air is gonna be thin in Quito.

Love,
Robert,
Wilson,

And Ganador, Carmen, Suri, Atoc, Pato, José, Júbilo, and Ben.

Naming the Ecuadorean futbols

Here’s some nice news: Delta Airlines allows for two free checked bags for flights to Ecuador. That means I can personally convey nine One World Futbols to Quito, including Wilson. I was afraid that, being a skinflint, I would have to choose between luggage fees or leaving someone behind this trip, and I didn’t want it to be Wilson. We’ve been through so much together.

But I digress it’s time to name the futbols that are going to be enriching the lives of some Ecuadoreans. I have a list of donors who put in their bid for the 10 futbols heading to Ecuador and a few names they requested. And here they are:

Futbols 1-2: Darlene Burt, whom I have known since the third grade, when she gently shoved my head against a small window pane in a portable at Willard Grade School in Spokane, breaking it and sending me on a trip to the principal’s office,  donated two futbols. (Is that payback?) Darlene noted that she lived in Kenya for three years. “I know children love soccer and have to invent their own toys,” she said. She wanted the Spanish word, “Ganador,” for winner. She hasn’t come up with a second name yet.

Futbols 3-4. Mary Jane Gibson, a marvelous wildlife photographer, purchased two, and came up with only one name so far, “Carmen.”  By the way, immediately below there’s a great photo that Mary Jane shot. She allowed me to add the caption, inspired by a Meg Ryan/Billy Crystal movie which requires no further identification.

Futbol 5. Marianne Shey, a tango dancer,  has yet to come up with a name, so we’ll hold that slot open.

Futbols 6-8. Diana Baker, who spends half her life in Washington and the other half in Maui, provided lodging for Wilson and me when we hiked Haleakala Volcano.  Diana sponsored three futbols. I think we should name one for her – Diana. But she came up with some Quechua names as well, after perusing the Internet: Suri (fast, like an ostrich) and Atoc (sly as a fox). Those are boys names and appropriate for soccer. (Diana is too, because that was the goddess of the hunt.)

Diana also came up with Sonco (he who has a good and noble heart), which I’m going to hold in abeyance in case someone has a name slot they want to fit that one in.

Futbol 9. Patricio Touceda, a tango instructor, has been nicknamed “Pato” by his wife, Eva. It’s a term of endearment that means “Duck,” and while that may seem strange, “ducky” was a term of endearment in English a few decades ago.

Futbol 10. Now here’s a problem I have to resolve. During the Madison Street Marathon, Wilson, his kin and I met Joe Colgan, a somewhat well-known peace activist whose son was killed by a roadside bomb in Baghdad. When Joe heard about the One World Futbol, he made a donation right on the spot.

Peace activist Joe Colgan, left.

Joe’s son’s name was Ben. Joe had the option of naming the ball for his son, but we’ve lost contact and he hasn’t clarified his desire, and I’m not likely to see him before the calligraphy session Monday. So should we name the ball “Ben,” or “Colgan,” or what? I’ll figure it out, but I’m open to suggestions.

11. Gail Bennett, a long-time friend and operator of a Christmas tree farm in Pacific wanted a ball named José.

12. Brenda Campbell, a past ballroom dancer who I had the pleasure to meet some time ago wanted to name her ball “Joy.” The Spanish word is Alegría.

13. And in honor of my traveling companion’s deceased foster Airedale terrier, I’m going to name one Shrek.

Well, OK, that’s 13, and I’m only taking 10 to Ecuador. But Darlene, Mary Jane and Marianne haven’t used up their complete name allocations, so I think we’re covered.

 But I may add some names and save “Shrek” for May, when I join a bunch of Catholics from St. John Vianney Parish in Kirkland who are flying to Tijuana to build a house for a family that needs one. I’m betting Tijuana kids will be more familiar with the name, Shrek, than Ecuadorean kids.

Here are some other Quechua names:

Anca (Black Eagle), Asto (Bird of the Andes) and Amaru (Sacred Serpent). These are all boys names.

Sofia Valdivieso

And Sofia Valdivieso, the administrative director for the Simon Bolivar language school in Quito came up with additional names—for girls:  Tamia (“Rain”—her daughter’s name); Sisa (Flower) and Suyana (Hope).

At this particular moment, 86 futbols have been purchased for donation. I, Wilson, the kin, the folks at One World Play Project, and my friends-to-be in Ecuador appreciate the gifts. Thank you.

Love,

Robert, and

Wilson

True love, lost

On Wednesday, I fly off  for Quito, Ecuador, to study Spanish, practice living at 9,000+ feet of altitude, and deliver 10 One World Futbols. For two weeks I will be living with a host family and studying 20 hours per week in a two-student class at $6 per hour. What a gig.

My fellow student will be Melanie Wood, a pert, retired Air Force Physician’s Assistant I met online a couple years ago. Like I always say, when you’re going to a foreign country, where you’re going to be doing a lot of heavy breathing due to the thin air, it’s always good to have a health care worker as your side kick.

Mel & Shrek

That’s Melanie in the photo above, with Shrek, an Airedale Terrier. After so many years in the Air Force, a primarily male bastion, and being in the medical field, Melanie comes with two wonderful traits – at least I think they are wonderful. She has a mature appreciation of earthy humor, and she has a very tender hearted concern for living things. Well, OK, animals.

Mammals, anyway.

It’s that tender heart that explains why she’s in Ecuador even as I write this, where she is volunteering her expertise with representatives of the Mayo clinic. And while she’s down there, she will be delivering a couple One World Futbols to an orphanage that can use them. It was Melanie who asked me whether I wanted to come along and volunteer in the orphanage, and if it wasn’t so expensive, I might have said yes. But I think I’ll save that for next time. If things work out right, Mel might be doing a little guest column in this blog; I hope that happens.

By the way, it’s that tender heart that led me to a case of true, abiding love. Oh, not for Melanie. She’s all right I suppose. But my love was for Shrek, the big old galumphy wooly-faced dawg that she was taking care of for a colleague who was having severe health problems.

Shrek had this way of cantering slightly diagonally down the trail when the three of us went on walks. It was Shrek who made me realize that a big dog can live in a small space. He would dutifully go lay down in his sleeping quarters, calm as any adult, not bounding around the house like a toddler.

When I went to visit him in Tacoma (so as not to appear too weird, I told Melanie I was visiting her), Shrek would lay that brick of a head on my thigh while I was sitting at the kitchen table, and roll his eyes up at me in a loving way that seemed to ask, “you and me is buds, right, Robert?” Those dark orbs waited patiently for a reply.

But the greatest joy I found with Shrek was the sensuous delight of scratching his back at the hindquarters. One time when I did this his back legs just went into this little dancing convulsion that seemed to say, “yes, oh, yes, oh, right here, yes, oh Gawd, keep doing that, yes, oh gawd…”  You get the picture.

Shrek died. Mel moved to Portland. But we stay in touch (I and Melanie, that is), and we’ll have one hoot of a time in Quito. It’s a friendship that has stood the test of time.

And while we’re down there, we’ll probably have to drink a toast of coca-tea to Shrek. If you donors don’t mind, I just might have the calligraphers put his name on one of the futbols I take there.

Love,
Robert, and
Wilson

Four Rainiers, Two Everests

Any calligraphers out there?

In just a little more than a week, several of Wilson's relatives will be arriving in the world's "highest official capital," Quito, Ecuador. I will be there for a couple weeks studying Spanish. They will be there to meet some new friends who will kick them around for the rest of their days. Being virtually indestructible, they can take it.

It would be great if some of you donors out there wanted to recommend names for the balls that are heading that way -- preferably names in Spanish or Quechua (the language of the Incas). Make recommendations and send them to me at dancingpotter@gmail.com.It

It would also be helpful if someone with great calligraphy skills could write the names onto the futbols. Any volunteers?

So far the Wilson campaign has raised money for 78 balls, with the last purchase coming right out of the blue. I went to my Argentine Tango class Sunday, March 23, danced with stunningly beautiful women, and then approached the instructor to pay for the class. He turned around and surprised me with a donation to the Wilson campaign. That was so unexpected! Thank you, maestro!

The Wilson campaign to raise funds to send these indestructible futbols to young people all over the world has yielded 78 balls to date, toward my objective of 100 before this July. While training to climb Mount Adams, I have accumulated an elevation gain equivalent to four Mount Rainiers (Rainier's elevation: 14,409 feet  above sea level) and two Mount Everests. Wilson came with me for the majority of those distances. One more Rainier and I've reached the original goal of 70,000 feet before my climb up Adams in July. That goal is well within sight; the 60,000-foot milestone is only three Capitol Hills away.

Thanks to all of you for your ongoing interest.

Love,
Robert, and
Wilson

Great quotations, a couple of pictures, exhausted muscles

The Madison Street Marathon is now history. It is milestone moments such as these that call for great memorable words. Here are some we might choose from to commemorate this unprecedented event:

"Veni. Vidi. Vici."  (I came. I saw. I conquered.--Julius Caesar)
"Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead." (David Farragut)
"This is one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." (Neil Armstrong)

"I'm tired. I think I'll go home now." (Forest Gump)

I think that last one sums it up. According to the phone applicationMapMyHike, which is astonishingly unreliable, we hiked 32.86 miles yesterday, beginning at 8:31 and ending at 10:30 or thereabouts, a 14-hour drudge. Ugh. Google maps claim it's only 27 miles. It's still a drudge.

And there must have been some continental plate shifts during the hike, because every time we reached the Alaska Way Viaduct (me, Wilson, and the kin), the application recorded a different elevation; same for the crest of the hill. Well, maybe someone was moving the convenience store at Madison and 17th around. Maybe that explains it.

The chart below shows six of the nine ascents we performed. (I saved the file and started a second one for the rest of the climbs, rather than risk loss of data by waiting too long. Trust me--Wilson and I did nine ascents.) The red line shows elevation and the time of each ascent. Some were longer than others for a number of reasons, including proselytizing.

During our first climb we were passing Seattle Academy, where a faux Cardinal was giving hugs to incoming students. All the Wilsonians wanted some of that, so we posed for a photo. Since the Academy has a main building across the street from my condo, we made a point of marching right past the classroom on each climb. That yielded results. There are students from the Academy who spend time in Africa. Some of them deflate soccer balls to fit as many in their luggage as possible, then re-inflate them when they get in-country. The One World Futbol got some attention.

The Cardinal at Seattle Academy.

Joe Colgan at the federal building.

On our second ascent I discovered it's hard to eat an apple, control a drippy nose by sniffing, and breathe at the same time. This is important and useful information. I took a mentholated losenge to dry up the schnoz. It was on that hike that we met Joe Colgan, an organizer of an on-going peace vigil at the Federal Building on Madison. Joe lost his 30-year-old son in Bagdad and wants the country to spend less time on war. The vigil is held every Tuesday, 11 a.m.-1 p.m. Joe liked the message about the One World Futbol and made a donation on the spot. On my way back down for the fourth climb I caught Joe just as they were folding their tents and noted that, since he bought at this particular time, he could opt to name one of the ten balls I'm taking to Ecuador.  Perhaps for his son. He was excited. I hope he follows up.







Climbing up that hill was a chore on the 4th ascent. Something definitely was not right. I guess a banana smoothie with OJ and cottage cheese isn't a sufficient way to start a Marathon.  I stopped into a favorite spot, the Mediterranean Kitchen Kabob House at Boren and Madison and ate some carbs via a Mezza tray: Baba ghanouj; labneh; tabouley; sahrah; falafel; tomatoes, cukes, olives and dolmathes. I was dragging and needed the break. Coco-Cola never tasted so wet.

Yum! I needed that.

On the fifth ascent, I was about to cross an intersection when a young man suddenly interjected a question about the marathon. Turns out he was a Somali. He didn't need any indoctrination on the value of the One World Futbol, because he had played with makeshift soccer balls as a young man. Abdirahman Kenan now studies environmental science in Seattle. He was not the only immigrant we met today who had used makeshift balls to play what is likely the world's most popular sport.

Abdirahman Kenan wanted to know!

By the time I got to ascent number 7 the lunch starch had kicked in, but I needed a boost, so we stopped at McDonald's for a medium fries and an obscene Strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry. God it was good.

It was dark for the eighth climb. The kids took a moment to rest at the Alaskan Way viaduct before heading up to the condo.

That's the big wheel in the background.

All right, that's enough. It was time for Wilson and me to have some private time together, so we tucked in the little ones for the night and did the ninth climb -- the victory lap -- without them. Then we cuddled up for the night. Just like old times.

They were told to behave while we did the Victory Lap. "Be quiet and no giggling!"

All right, so I should have shaved. Wilson didn't care. Who else matters? We were dragging it and I was too tired to hold a sharp object against my throat. Well, OK, it was I who was dragging it. One marathon is quite enough for me, thank you. (That's the kiddo, about 38 years ago, in the photo. He had Teddy. I have Wilson.)

It was a good day. With a 50 percent chance of rain, it only sprinkled. We got a lot more response than I've taken time to tell. If something comes of it, we'll let you know. Thanks for following along.

Love,
Robert
and Wilson

And the kin

Marathons and the rarámuri

It's 7 a.m. I'm writing this on Marathon Day. It's probably the only marathon I'll ever do, and I'll be walking. Not like the real marathoners--the ones who run 200 miles and think nothing of it.

Oh, perhaps you thought a marathoner was someone who ran 26 miles in a few hours. These folks are the also rans.  The Rarámuri of the Sierra Madre mountains of Mexico put ordinary marathoners to shame.

According to Wikipedia, the Tarahumara word for themselves, Rarámuri, may mean "runners on foot" or "those who run fast."  And it is to the Tarahumara, a people who live on the edge of civilization, that I dedicate my walk today. I don't stand in awe of people merely fit to run. I stand in awe of the Tarahumara, whose civilization, according to Wikipedia, is on the brink of collapsing. I encourage you to spend a few minutes going to Wikipedia to read about them.

I heard about the Tarahumara 30-40 years ago when a friend went deep into the Copper Canyon to witness them. Mexico's Copper Canyon is four times the volume of the Grand Canyon and hundreds of feet deeper. In 2008 I rode the Copper Canyon railway from El Fuerto along the West Coast of Mexico to Chihuahua State, stopping at the canyon's edge. Greeting us at the doorway of our train car were natives selling baskets. And what wonderful baskets they were! Seven years later you can still catch a slight smell of the grass they were woven from. A friend of mine who was a Canadian First Nations Tsimshian basket goddess who has her work in the Smithsonian thought they should be worth a great deal more than the pittance I paid for them -- $10-15 per basket.

These are people who live under the roughest of conditions. Walking along one scary edge of the canyon I noticed some sticks pointing up from a defile in the rock. It was a ladder, perhaps 25-40 feet high. (I was afraid to peek over the edge, and there was no way I was going to measure it. Children with babies slung in a fabric wrapped around their backs climb those ladders to bring their goods for the tourists, and the toddlers run along the edge of the canyon walls, freaking out the tourists who lurch to grab them -- needlessly. The Tarahumara are born to that land.

If you Google Tarahumara running, you can find information about their amazing running ability, And you can read how they stayed in the Copper Canyon's recesses to avoid the Spanish. And how the drug trade is threatening them -- just as it is affecting us tourists. The tour company I relied on for the Copper Canyon rail trip is no longer in business because of the risks involved in traveling the route.

I've said almost enough. I have a Marathon to walk, and it's almost time.

But I would be remiss if I didn't thank my Maui hostess, Diana, who put up with me for a week and provided a base of operations for my trudge down into the crater of the Haleakala volcano. Diana just purchased three more One World Futbols for donation, bringing the number raised so far to 74, so I'm on the verge of 3/4 of my goal. I would also like to thank Mary Jane, Marianne and Darlene (a high school chum I've known since the second grade) for their purchases as well. Together, you ladies have purchased 7 of the 10 balls designated for Ecuador, and you have the right to assign them names, if you like. I'd suggest names in Spanish or Quechua.

Thank you.

Love,

Robert, Wilson

and the kin.

Marathonus interruptus

Or actually, postponedus

"Death is nature's way of telling you it's time to slow down."

Sunday, 8:30 a.m.
When I was a young second lieutenant attending Defense Information School to learn how to be an Air Force Information Officer, an Army major conducting a lecture one day shared a homily with our class that I have never forgotten:

Death is nature's way of telling you it's time to slow down.

Translation: There's always tomorrow. (Or, in this case, Tuesday.)

It's raining. It's really raining. There are about 13,000 people lined up at this moment to make the 5-K St. Patrick's Day Dash from Seattle Center down Fourth Avenue, and they're going to get soaked.

Because it's raining. 100 percent chance of rain today.

Charlie Brown also liked to say that "it's only a little rain." Yeah. Right.

Meanwhile, I am sitting at my computer smirking because I've moved the Madison Street Marathon to the real St. Patrick's Day -- Tuesday!

For being two days early, they get wet.

For being two days late (I was going to do our Marathon on the Ides of March), I have a pretty good chance of staying dry.

What's not to like?

After all, the story about Pheidippides running the original Marathon makes absolutely no mention of rain.

So by virtue of the power vested in me (by dint of the fact that this is a one-man, nine-futbol Marathon, with me being the man) I am postponing, for two days, my long hike up and down Capitol Hill nine times  and laughing at the besotted leprechaun's.

Of course, Wilson doesn't care one way or the other. Wilson--and his eight kin who are going along for the ride --is indestructible. But I'm not.

Love,

Robert,
and Wilson,

and Wilson's Kindred Marathoners:

Shakedown hike

Greetings.

Me and the relatives, at
Rattlesnake. Wilson is behind
me, hanging onto my belt.

It's less than six days away from the Madison Street Marathon, so I took time  Monday to get a little practice in by taking Wilson's relatives on a jaunt up Rattlesnake Ledge just outside of North Bend, WA. Part of the practice is proselytizing, and I'm not sure how successful I was, but there were some great moments.

Conversations can start spontaneously, when you're carrying eight One World Futbols, with a ninth bobbing along behind, attached to your belt. People notice that.

Among the ones who noticed were the two Jeffs.

The first Jeff told us he had worked for the state department in Africa and was allowed to take along soccer balls which he deflated so he could cram more into his limited luggage. Once he was in-country, he re-inflated them, and  filled them with self-sealing goop for the inevitable puncture. He knows the life of those soccer balls is limited, and well understood the value of unbreakable soccer balls. Jeff would have liked to know that there was a way to transport them deflated, to save space.

The second Jeff was walking by when I and my hiking companion, Mary Jane Gibson, took a lunch break. Jeff asked about the pile of futbols resting at my feet. He is planning his first climb of Mt. Rainier this summer and had a personal project: raising money for a heart fund.

At Rattlesnae Ledge a naturalist from Florida expressed curiosity about the futbols. When she found out about the mission of sending indestructible soccer balls to children in third-world environments, she urged us to contact a friend involved with Paramedics for Children, a Honduran charity. The friend would love having the One World Futbol to distribute, she said.

There were also three men whose curiosity took over as they passed us on our descent. One shared that he had spent a few weeks in Southeast Asia, including travels in Indonesia.

A couple that had had traveled all over the world recognized immediately the value of the One World Futbol. The man said he had visited bleak villages in Morocco, where a soccer ball was the toy that kept both adults and children entertained.

There were others. People who have been to the third world don't need an explanation. They notice how the other half lives, and we had a clear sense that, if they could make a difference, they would want to.

There were other things we learned on the shakedown hike: The eye-bolts I use to string the balls together don't pull out, and the thread tying them together doesn't wear out easily. But as light as they are, carrying those futbols does put a strain on the shoulders more than a backpack does. It will be interesting to see how that works out over the 27-mile Madison Street Marathon that I, Wilson, and Wilson's eight relatives take on Sunday, March 15, the Ides of March.

Love,

Robert,
Wilson,

and the relatives.

Meet the relatives...and the contest winner

Two news items today: There was a gender contest winner after all, and Wilson's relatives have descended on my condo. First, the news about the visitors:

This probably comes as no surprise, but as soon as you announce a relationship, as we did in our March 1 dispatch, you get to meet the relatives. If you're lucky, you only have to meet a few of them. And Wilson and I were fortunate--only 10 of Wilson's kin descended on my condo this week, and fortunately, they don't take up a lot of room. And being virtually immortal, they don't consume a lot of food and drink.

This is a group shot of them in my TV/Guest/Living Room/Study. That's Wilson, in the center, wearing their usual kinky see-through net restraing tether. It's what keeps us together on the trail.

And here's Wilson with the two relatives that will be going to an orphanage in Ecuador. If you look closely, you may distinguish the difference between them and the others. Well, OK, maybe. The rest will be hiking with me and Wilson for our Madison Street Marathon on March 15.

Piercings

In order to carry eight of them on that 27-mile jaunt, I've taken advantage of the rather strange piercings Wilson's kinfolk go in for -- studs with loops. It always grosses me out when people tug on their tongue studs, but these aren't as disgusting, because the futbols have good body tone and they don't have pieces that flop around when you tug on the studs.

I call these particular studs Wilson Marathon Loops. I'll be connecting them with twine to gather them together and provide a convenient hand hold while I'm hiking. People will gawk and say, "Doesn't that hurt? Why don't they deflate?!?!" and I'll tell them, "because these balls are tough enough to survive in a refugee camp!" Something like that.

 There will be two bunches of four futbols hiking with me, while Wilson will be attached to my back and bobbing along behind. I'll have a photo for you next week, after the T-shirts arrive.

Ooops! I just checked the mail. The T-shirts  have arrived! The image below shows what the back and front look like. The right side shows the truer color -- which virtually matches the futbols. I'd model it, but Wilson can't hold a camera steady, and no-one else is around right now.

Naming

Now naturally you are wondering about the names of the other futbols. That's up to you. Anyone who purchases a one-world Futbol online will have the opportunity to name one of those balls and to actually sign it with a message of good will to the people of Quito, Ecuador. A Spanish or Quechua name is preferable. And you can sign your name, as well. You just tell me you purchased a ball. If the numbers of donations increase, I'll take your word that you are one of the donors. Most of you readers are pretty trustworthy.

Oh, I know--signing the ball isn't quite the same as having your name etched into a brick next to the Pike Place Market pig, but it's something. Hope you like the idea.

Correction:

Oh, by the way, sometimes it's hard to get good help. I'm not going to even hint at who made the error, because my staff is so small it wouldn't be hard to figure out who I was talking about, and I don't want to embarrass anyone. But someone failed to notice that we did indeed have a contest winner for selecting Wilson's gender. Carla Stanley, the customer service representative for One World Play Project, stated it succinctly in an e-mail:

I don't think Wilson is male or female. I think he is the embodiment of the best in all of us because of the love he has spread by virtue of his One World Futbolness.

There's that "he" pronoun again. Well, OK, Carla,you still get the chocolates. There's a picture below of Carla up real close and personal with a Wilson stand-in. Are they smooching? It's hard to tell, but I have my suspicions. The photo caused me to Google "kissing with eyes open," and some of the commentary was fascinating.

For her astute answer, Carla has received a box of See's chocolates, and not just any chocolates, but chocolates whose initials represent the five letters of her name (lemon, lime, almond, cherry, raspberry, coconut, etc.) Carla expressed her appreciation by sending us a photo of the chocolates, the enclosed card, and the stand-in for Wilson, at the right. She noted the stand-in was a little irritated due to the absence of a mouth. (Must have been a one-way kiss, eh?) Carla won't be able to share those chocolates with any One World Futbol anytime soon. Like that bothers her.

I think that's all for today.

Love,

Robert, and
Wilson

The Madison Street Marathon

The ups and downs of hiking Madison Street five times. Nine times makes a marathon.

What I don't get is how Pheidippides was able to run 26 miles, 385 yards without so much as a sip of Gatorade. So, if thousands run in the marathons all the time and survive, why did the very first marathoner die? Was it exhaustion,  or perhaps an imbalance of electrolytes? Or maybe he succumbed to the world's greatest charlie horse ever experienced up to that time--a secondary effect of said  electrolyte loss? I've had some of those "yell, fall down, and clutch your legs" charlie horses myself, which has led to heavier use of my Platypus hydration system. I don't think they had Platypi in Ancient Greece.

Whatever the case, Wilson and I are not keen on Pheidippides' outcome. That's why, when we hold the Madison Street Marathon to raise awareness of the One World Futbol, it's going to be a walking marathon. And there won't be big crowds, so we won't have to negotiate with the city and mark off streets and control traffic and pay special fees. It will be more like the original one-man marathon, except it doesn't involve a war. People won't be hacking or spearing each other, and we won't run and die. At least I hope not.

Wilson and I have scoped out the route, which runs from the crest of Seattle's Capitol Hill (right at the radio towers and Trader Joe's) to the point where Madison Street descends to meet Alaskan Way right under Seattle's Alaskan Way Viaduct. If you trust Google maps, you can count one round trip as 3 miles. Last night we walked it five times , for a minimum of 15 miles. The hike began at 3 p.m. and lasted a little more than five hours, which meant our speed was very close to 3 miles per hour.

Trader Joe's on Capitol Hill is one terminus for the Madison Street Marathon.

Until the invention of the internal combustion engine, three miles an hour was the universal speed limit. Caesar's legions could march about that speed, and so did Napoleon's troops, the story goes. So if you believe that stuff, we were making good time. The MapMyHike software in my Droid telephone claims we  actually hiked 16.56 miles. I'm more inclined to believe Google maps, so I'm claiming 15. Total elevation gain yesterday was 2,045 feet, not very impressive. We can do 3,000 feet in the four miles it takes us to get to the top of Mount Si. When we do the complete marathon, we'll be climbing that hill nine times in about 9-10 hours.

Path of the Madison Street Marathon.

So far, we've been getting in shape for the big hike by completing three half-marathons, including last night's. 

Now, as we said, this is not going to be one of those great big everybody-show-up-and-run marathons. Although we're putting a team together, Robert may be the only human taking part. That's OK. Pheidippides ran alone. But if anyone wants to join us for all or part of the marathon, just e-mail us at dancingpotter@gmail.com, provide your phone number, and we'll follow up. Or, if you prefer that we do the heavy lifting, you can sit back,  click on the link at the top right of this page, go to the Wilson campaign, and donate a futbol. Each purchase gives up to 30 kids in some distressed community an unbreakable toy and the gift of play.

As for the date of the marathon, we're toying with the Ides of March--March 15, a Sunday. Most of you know what date that was--a couple thousand years ago, Julius Caesar got stabbed several times, not only by his political opponents, but also by his most trusted friend, Brutus. Nothing worse than getting stabbed with a great big hunkin' knife by someone who had your back. Marc Anthony called that "the most unkindest cut of all."  ("Most unkindest?" What was Shakespeare thinking when he put those two superlatives together? I can just hear the English teachers groaning.)

Well! Most of you readers probably recall what happens when you stab Wilson--nothing! So I guess Marc Anthony nailed it, when he said Caeser "should be made of sterner stuff." Imagine if Wilson had been Caesar's body double and was wearing Caesar's toga at the Roman Senate. What a different world it would be today.

But I digress, I'm writing this last night, and that's all I'm going to say for now, because I'm tired. That half-marathon wore me out. Time to lay down and wait for my charlie horse. I should start yelling around 2 a.m.

Love,

Robert
And Wilson

Night, at the other terminus for the Madison Street Marathon, the Alaskan Way viaduct.