Monte Real Coahuila

     My partner entered a three tiered ultra marathon in Monte Real. One could choose Twenty seven, Fifty, or One Hundred kilometers. My partner began her 27 kilometer run at 7:00 in the cold dark morning. Her route, the sissiest of the three choices, was formidable enough. The trail climbed for 13.5 kilometers then down for another 13 and a half through a garden cactus, wild flowers, and stubby pines. From the top, she ruled over the valley below her  that streched towards another mountain range. 
     In the same race as her, only in the 50 kilometer category were some of the famous Raramuri. At 7:00 AM they were there, two men in their sandals and trangular loincloths. The women looked like they were ready for the square dance in long dresses. They are doll- like short people,, equipped in cheap sandals. They run 50 and 100 kilometers with regularity. Everyone loves them and everyone wants their picture taken with them even those super equipped in the moment runners with specialized backpacks, grenade belts of water, armed with power bars, and tubes,, like martians,,, with 250 dollar sneakers, knee and thigh braces applied like fine decals, super socks, and space age fabrics that breathe and keep you warm at the same time. The Raramuris men run in fluffy colorful shirts and loin cloths. The women in pioneer dresses.  They are the antithesis of the modern runner yet admired by all of them. 

  

                                                    San Antonio de las Alazanas
          After my partner left to run Tia and I went for a coffee or three then wrangled our way,, really her way, for she's a charmer, onto a bus specifically to ferry runners from San Antonio de las Alazanas to Monte Real. We wanted to meet my partner at her finish line. In San Antonio, in order to kill some time,,, and it wasn't really killing time but exalting in it, we went to the beige brick church and there at the very entrance to the atrium we encountered a severely palsied lady with a walker escorted by two young girls. One of the girls held a basket of white flowers. Tia spoke to them commenting on what wonderful grandchildren they were to help their grandmother. They replied like saints in an aura of perfect purity,,,, as halos appeared over their heads,, no no we are just helping, meaning the palsied lady was not a relative. Tia kissed one and told them their kindness would be returned 100 fold. The innocence and heavily sifted purity of these two young girls expressed in their unfettered smiles, free of human stains was inspiring. Tia kissed the other one on the cheek, a kiss so clear, like a mountain spring, and I was weighted down drowning with my leaden ego. 
      We entered the church and Tia began to pray. I sat there in the rising heat lamed by the two girls but confronted with the church. To one side three nuns talked with who might have been the girl's parents. I thought,, it is difficult to pray to someone I do not know,, someone who is a stranger and I felt guilt for the thought. 
     This sleepy San Antonio, its zocalo populated by fallen crunchy detritus and truenos,, a dry looking tree that glowed in the rising heat. Its bark, like so many trees here, was thickly scaled. The tone of the leaf was dry gray green,, as if it was on the perpetual edge of drought. The  zocalo was bordered by low adobes,,, the low ceilings to help ward off the winter cold. The windows and door of one was outlined in bright colors,, like lipstick applied by a drunken date.Then checking myself, I thought of the colorful Sami in Finland. Many of the adobes were abandoned. The sun was bright and intense. Tia and I wandered and watched a girl make Helados Fritos,, bought sdome apple wine and waited for the race to end.