Home' Trinidad and Tobago Guardian : January 25th 2015 Contents 10| WOW MAGAZINE
Sunday Guardian www.guardian.co.tt January 25, 2015
| PERSONAL EXPERIENCE |
By Roslyn Carrington
SO THE BATTLE between me and those 12
extra Christmas pounds continues, and it
looks like I might be winning. Last week I
discovered that, out of nowhere, I had de-
veloped a waist. How? I haven't a clue. I
woke up one morning, minding my own
business, took a shower, began to dress,
and Boom! There it was.
I decided to press home my advantage and
keep on my fitness journey. I signed up for
the Caribbean Colour Splash 5K run, which
started from Skinner Park.
Skinner WHO? I was born in Belmont and
raised in Santa Cruz, and as a north girl I
have to confess that trying to find anything
south of Couva leaves me feeling like Gretel
wandering in the Black Forest without
Hansel to point out the breadcrumbs.
And yes, I know I'm a Trini and should know
my way around the second capital, but in
my defence, I genuinely suffer from a condi-
tion that makes it difficult for me to orient
myself. When I first started editing WOW,
it was three whole weeks before I could
find my way from the Parkade on Rich-
mond Street to the Guardian office on St.
Vincent Street without wandering around
in panicked circles. (Yeah, I can hear them
laughing at the office as they read this.)
I make it down to La Romaine without
problems (it's a straight line, right?) and
then, as predicted, I get lost. I pull up next to
a vendor who looks friendly enough, to ask
for directions. As he sticks his head through
the window, I get a blast of alcohol on his
breath strong enough to self-ignite. Not
only do his directions sound like they'd put
me into the sea, but he spots some money I
had lying on the passenger seat. He an-
nounces his intention to steal it, then imme-
diately recants, not out of moral rectitude,
but because, as he said, $11 isn't worth the
effort. I peel out of there and make it to the
venue on my own.
The rainclouds are thunderous, and by the
time I am signed up for the race, they are
spilling forth in all their glory. I hide out in a
port-a-potty for as long as common cour-
tesy allows, then dart out and seek shelter
elsewhere. (It's worth nothing that I have a
cat-like dislike of getting wet. I've been
known to spend a day at the beach, without
going into the water.)
The warmup has started, and I notice that
of the 1,500 teeny boppers present, 98%
are dressed in white. I begin to get suspi-
cious about the term "Colour Splash", and
what that entails, exactly. I am soon to find
There is nowhere to hide from the rain, so I
spend my warmup squeezed under a pair of
wooden planks perched on some scaffold-
ing. The fact that there is a large, vibrating
boom box balanced on said planks will give
you an idea as to just how much I loathe
cold water falling from the sky.
I make a few half-hearted Zumba moves,
even as the phalanx of teens gyrate and un-
dulate in the rain, hands in the air, laughing
and taking wet selfies. I realise that the last
time I saw so many jubilant young people
was a Girl Guide Jamboree back in the 80s,
and I feel old.
The rain lets up, the air-horn blasts, and
we're off. Thanks to my gammy leg, the
legacy of my ongoing battle with chikV, my
run is more of a hobble, but that's okay. Be-
cause between you and me, what I call a
"run" could more accurately be described as
an "indolent lope". I'm cool with that.
At the first bend, I finally understand the
meaning of "Colour Splash", as I spot grin-
ning youngsters standing before brilliant
jets of paint being blasted on their formerly
white clothes by equally grinning helpers
with huge sprayers. All along the route,
there are painters willing to paint, and
paintees longing to be painted. It's as if pag-
wha met J'ouvert.
Like a military operative, I go into evasive
mode, dodging arcing jets of paint as if they
were bullets. I escape with just a blotch of
yellow on my ankle, and claim my first fin-
isher's medal of the year.
As I drive off, I notice with great pride that
there are still some kids are headed toward
the finish line. Even in my near-dotage, I
beat dozens of 15-year-olds! Then someone
informs me that those were the kids who
had finished the route and then run back to
do it again.
Difficulty rating: 3 out of 5 (it gets an extra
point for dodging paintballs).
Satisfaction rating: 3 out of 5 (ChikV hasn't
broken me yet!).
What will I try next week? Who knows?
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