Tenacious, torrential downpour ambushed our village last night. Unrelenting in its strength or consistency, we were left scrambling from our drenched and collapsing dinner tent down the mountain to our dwelling in the basement of an unfinished building. The rain was such that it pelted your skin violently as it landed; an aerial assault of perpetual precipitation. We rushed to our shelter to move clothes and valuables to a higher perch, and thankfully, all ended up safe.
This is my fourth official day on the Race, and if this East Indian rain season is teaching me anything, it’s adaptability and the art of spontaneity. Days will dance from being glorious to adverse to tranquil to treacherous, all in a range of hours. Yesterday, we begun solemn and reflective, following the memorial service of a dearly departed, heavily influential patriarch in the close-knit community. We then traded in reflection for a connection with shovels, hoes, and mountains of dirt and bricks, as we toiled under the agonizing scorch of the afternoon sun. Paving way for renovation to a local community church who’s attendance had outgrown its facilities was tough and intense manual labor. When the locals overseeing and assisting our efforts announced we were done for the day, we hastily leaped from our working zone to the front yard of the church for a team game of volleyball. Almost instantly, the skies opened up and let loose, but this rain was the soothing, inviting, cool and pleasurable kind. This rain was such that facilitated shrieks of laughter, mud diving, and a welcome reprieve as we absconded from our roles as construction workers. We danced, we sang, and we played in the rain to our hearts’ content. As the 6×6 truck approached to return us all to our camp, the rain had intensified and the party was just beginning. All twenty-five of us piled into the cramped truck bed which was far too small to comfortably accompany us all. There we were, screaming, shouting, chanting, dancing, and jiggling to and fro in the back of this truck, all while bouncing up and down as our driver sped down busy Indian city streets. We embraced our circumstances with open, drenched, joyous arms, and we transformed the truck bed to a dance floor, where the lack of room to dance further facilitated the increased team participation in everything else, such as singing at the top of our lungs, and shouting a loud and proud American “AAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEEE!!!!!” to everyone our party truck happened to pass. The locals lit up and laughed, seemingly enjoying the bizarre nature of a truck full of screaming, peace sign throwing, young Americans delighting in the downpour on our makeshift parade float.
When we returned to our campsite, drenched in joy and in rain and mud, we all cast off our wet clothes and took turns cleaning ourselves under the frigid, piercing water that awaited us. Those who are no stranger to bucket showers know how “pleasant” the compliment of freezing water to freezing mud felt, and why I told one teammate with sincerity that I would’ve smacked him for just two scoops of warm water.
Finally, we were all dry, clean, and content. The men sat and relaxed in the solace of warm tranquility as I graciously serenaded them with a mix of Chris Stapelton, James Taylor, and the Beatles. Some of us journaled, others kicked around a soccer ball, and the rest edited pictures and video on their laptops. All was well. That is, of course, until, we made the ascent up the mountain to our dinner tent, where we were unceremoniously greeted with a ferocious downpour that would’ve made a monsoon envious. Naturally, just a few short minutes after changing from our sweaty, mud stained, soaked attire, and arraying ourselves in the newness of fresh laundry, we were drenched and scrambling for safety all over again.
Such is life on the Race. We dwell constantly in a perpetual state of uncleanliness, discomfort, and vulnerability. You will be sweaty, drenched, and dirty, and as soon as those problems are alleviated, more of the same will fall your way. Embracing the unpredictability of life on the race is imperative, not only to surviving, but to thriving on this wild adventure. Adapting gracefully to all that’s in my path is something I am learning to do daily, and something life on the Race demands. Enjoy and embrace the moments as they come, laugh at the seeming inconveniences, as they often turn into platforms for cultivating lasting memories, and continually strive to conquer the art of spontaneity.
4:46am October 11, 2016
