Home Again in In-dyah'-na

What can I say? The race went well; the trip went well; we didn't screw up anything of importance. (I don't consider leaving my passport in the seat pocket on the plane a screw-up of importance.) To what do I attribute this uncharacteristic behavior of Cory and me? Well, partly to the fact that we understand that "Cory and myself" would be an improper use of the reflexive case, despite its disturbing popularity of usage. Certainly, good grammar is a crucial element in any success--just listen to the interviews of any successful athlete. But more important than that, even, is the fact that, shortly after our arrival in South Africa, we were exposed to a mantra that totally changed our core beliefs.

I even have a picture of that life-altering mantra:

NO!!! NOT THAT MANTRA!!! If we had started living our lives by that mantra, it would have required us to reverse every aspect of our existences. It would have been like reversing the polarity of the earth's magnetic core. Like mixing matter and anti-matter. The entire universe would have disappeared in one gigantic fireball.

No, here is the actual picture of the life-changing mantra we discovered:

From the moment we left the airport parking lot, we were surrounded by trucks with a sign that said "ABNORMAL." Now, maybe I'm paranoid, but it seems to me that when people half a world away know you're nuts before they've even met you, it's a pretty strong indicator that some serious self-evaluation is in order. Or at least a brief respite from some of the more obviously delusional behaviors. And that, dear friends, is why there is a mental institution/prison/trauma ward in South Africa today with two empty spaces.

And, speaking of Abnormal, let me tell you about the language they speak in South Africa. It's like they aren't even trying to speak like Americans. What's up with that? Don't they realize where the English language comes from?

For example, while South African Airlines was wonderful--helpful cabin attendants; good food and snacks; unlimited beer, wine, juice, soda, and water; individual TVs with tons of movies to choose from--they put us on a plane with no overhead compartments or overhead bins and no window shades. Yeah, I know--hard to believe, but true. Instead, they gave us some lame "overhead lockers" and "window shutters." Sure, they seemed to be just as good as bins and shades, but if they weren't inferior, why would they have such funny names?

And when we were changing planes in Jo-Burg, I saw an airport shop that had a sign "Air Times at Till." Come on, man! What sort of language is that? I was going to go into the shop and get to the bottom of this strange pidgin English, but I couldn't tell whether or not the store would have the airline departure times shown at the cash registers, so I didn't want to take a chance on missing my flight. (You'd think that a shop in an airport would let customers know if they had airline departure times available in the store.)

And once we got to Durban, we found that their driving was as bizarre as their language. They required us to drive on the LEFT side of the road! In a car with the steering wheel on the RIGHT! And a gear shift to the driver's LEFT! I was about to tell them what bozos they were as a nation until Cory made the astute observation that they really didn't have a choice. Because they are south of the equator, they have to drive on the left. It's called the Corialis Effect, he said. Otherwise, the earth would spin out of its orbit.

There is a lot to be said about the race itself, but the thing I'd like to start with is how well we were received. The people at the Comrades House went out of their way to look out for us. A local running club president found us a ride to Durban the day before the race with a group from a running club from northern South Africa. One of us not named Jim left a bag of items he had bought on a table in registration and forgot about it until the next day, and the lady at the table not only kept it for him, but she and the ladies at the next table tried to track us down to return it. And during the race itself, people cheered for us both by name (our first names were on our race numbers) and by calling out "In-DYAH'-na" as we ran past--apparently a South African term that means "goofball-that-needs-looking-out-for." Also popular was "Indiana Jones!" Steven Spielberg, your marketing prowess is second to none! To my amazement, there was in fact one guy who called out "Hoosiers" (he looked a lot like Gene Hackman, now that I think about it) and one guy who sang, "Indiana wants me; Lord, I can't go back there." Now, that guy is somebody you want on your team for any music trivia competition!

I will be publishing an additional post with an extensive mathematical analysis showing that Cory and I performed with superhuman excellence at the race, complete with scatterplot display and statistical modeling, but for now let me just say, we feel lucky about the race and the trip and want to admit that we duped people like crazy into thinking we were okay guys. THANK YOU, ALL OF YOU FOLKS WHO TREATED US BETTER THAN WE DESERVED.