One dozen oranges

The first time I walked away, I’d left Yea (pronounced yay, means Grandma) sitting on the muddy road amongst the potholes and stones. Her face was dirtied from the fall that had occurred when she tried to catch the tail of her dogs that were chomping at my running legs. She sat there, swearing quietly to herself - at the dogs or at me, I didn’t know. I’d tried to help her up but with exasperation in her voice and the dogs still yapping, she told me to “just go!!”.

I didn’t venture any further down that street and the next two were also blocked by fighting dogs (it’s mating season). I turned homeward and gave up on my 8km attempt, settling for 7.12kms. Besides, my heart just wasn’t in the run anymore.

These dogs are really testing my commitment to running. I’m not the first. Two other potential running partners (for the longer distances) have recently retreated to the treadmill and I’ve half a mind to join them.

The thing is, not only is running on a treadmill excruciatingly boring (and therefore mentally tough), it is also relatively expensive. At $3.50 a visit to the gym down the road, it’s more than 70% of Cambodian’s live off each day (that said, income is only one dimension of poverty – for more reliable indicators of the incidence and severity of poverty in Cambodia see here). Nevertheless, over a day’s wages for half an hour of running on pretend pavement, when there are “perfectly good” roads outside… I can’t get past it (just yet).

Yesterday morning I skipped my run and went to visit Yea, armed with a bag of oranges (incidentally costing less than $3.50). She received me graciously and showed me the bruising and scratches on her knee. She refused to take the bag but finally accepted a small peace offering of two little oranges.

That day, I left her with smiles and a bridge built. Now, if only the issue of running in Phnom Penh (or poverty in Cambodia!) was so easily solved.

On the road again

I’ve started running again after recovering from some strange food intolerance that meant I couldn’t eat fresh fruit and veggies without being covered with welts but could gorge myself on potato chips (as long as they were plain). After that kind of diet, running is compulsory. (Actually, running with a virus was the cause of this bizarre immune system malfunction).

But I was procrastinating. Without footpaths, it meant I had to join the morning traffic of bicycles, motorbikes, street sellers with carts and the occasional Lexus who makes way for no one. It’s a far cry from running the bushland bike tracks along Bulimba Creek.

My upstairs neighbour was looking to increase her cardio vascular fitness in an effort to better manage hot flushes (can’t wait for that one!) and so we began running three mornings a week. Another never-run-in-her-life friend has joined us, making it three crazy foreigners pounding the pavement / dirt.

Keeping to the back roads avoids the majority of the traffic (but increases the incidence of potholes and plastic rubbish burn offs), we began choosing our route according to the least number of free-range dogs.

But it’s not just dogs who gain entertainment from our efforts. We often get cries of “mouy bpee mouy bpee..” (one two one two..) from the moto drivers waiting for early morning clients. The other week I was stopped dramatically by one standing in front of me with arms waving, asking if I could teach him English. “Ot jeh” (can’t speak it) was my smiling face-saving reply – an obvious lie. “Can’t you see I’m running????” was what I really wanted to say.

The heat is what gets me the most. We’re often sweating before we even start at 6am and my face is bright red for at least an hour afterwards, particularly the days I go out on my own early to add a couple of kms to the run.

I almost quit recently, but my addiction seems to run deep.

Besides, there’s a half marathon being held in Phnom Penh on 18 June for World Environment Day. No, I’m not going to attempt a half in this heat, but the 8km is looking possible…

Fibs, lies and statistics

They have been the butt of jokes since the late 1800s due to their ability to misrepresent the truth (see wiki), but to me, there is nothing better than a bunch of well researched statistics.

So my latest project, reviewing reports and preparing an overview of development and the church in Cambodia for our team, is comparable with eating icecream (which would make the internet an endlessly deep freezer).

My ecstasy is probably due to the fact that I haven’t purposefully consumed statistics for almost 10 years. By the time I’m done, I will probably have a bad case of brain freeze.

As I trawl through the latest reports on the economic status of Cambodia, I delight in discovering the new developments in research methods. Thermal graphs of global health care development are like an exciting new flavour that I’m not quite sure I understand or like.

And while statistics gain bad press for being manipulated by people with “agendas”, there is no denying that they are handy in giving a bird’s eye view of some pretty complex issues, and are powerful tools for influencing opinions and attitudes.

For example, I wonder how hardworking Cambodian parents struggling to pay for their children to go to school would feel to know that public spending on education as a percentage of national GDP ranks the country at 167 out of a total of 175 countries (see cia). This kind of information is politically powerful.

And for my Aussie friends, I’m wondering how many of us would continue to complain about Government services and spending knowing that we are one of the lowest taxed nations in the developing world, noting that northern European countries are taxed at twice the rate we are (see tai). Anyone going to join me in asking the Government to increase our taxes?

I love statistics for their power to inform and change. Unfortunately, attitudes change hard.