Everybody. Choice. Forever: Thoughts on a Sustainable Sanitation Service

Shared toilet in an informal settlement in Majes, Peru

To me, a sustainable sanitation service, in very general terms is one where everybody can get access to a toilet and associated toilet services (emptying, cleaning, upgrading)-of their choice-forever. A lofty goal, for sure, but one that sets in motion very different types of programs than a goal to give X Community a certain number of toilets at one point in time. This goal is shaping our sanitation work in Peru, which began with a sanitation market analysis in a region outside of Arequipa, in southern Peru, and implies working in a way that local systems-financial services, construction, ongoing maintenance-function without the not-so “invisible hand” of an NGO.

A sanitation market analysis simply seeks to understand the current supply and demand for a particular product or service, and what barriers exist to meeting existing demand: in this case improved toilet facilities and services. Using my rough definition of a sustainable service, we learned a lot from the research in Majes.
· Everybody: Everybody includes basically five different segments, or groups of people with distinct toilet aspirations, economic status, and cultural background. From the relatively wealthy land-owner who is interesting in emulating conventional water-based sanitation solutions because of status aspirations, to the migrant farm workers who are illegally occupying uninhabited land who literally just want a roof overhead when they go to the bathroom, we’ve got to find different solutions for each of these different groups, maybe even at different points in time. Moreover, when the common health impact goal of reducing disease is invoked, it must be remembered that unless everybody is using and maintaining a toilet, those assumed health benefits will remain assumptions, not result in fewer people getting sick. But, different segments will require different products/services, promotion strategies, and financing options-while we want to reach everybody, a one size fits all approach is exactly what we don’t want to do!
· Choice: Time and time again, the few evaluations of toilet programs that are done years after the construction is implemented show that people weren’t really interested in the free model being donated (or heavily subsidized). Some of the sectors in Majes had been beneficiaries 10 years ago by a government-sponsored, one size fits all, completely subsidized toilet program. Many people express their frustrations at the size of the latrine, the connotation that the latrine equates to ‘poor’, and that it is difficult to clean. Understanding what people want, and finding ways to provide that at affordable levels, is fundamental to ensuring that it is used forever. In Majes, we had people interested in biodigesting ecological toilets, mobile improved pit latrines, septic tank emptying services, and trash collection. Lots of demand, but not a lot of supply. I asked Felix Urena, in Cochabamba, Bolivia, this month what aspect of Water For People’s support was most useful: the small financial subsidy, the technical assistance with construction, or merely presenting different options. Hands down, Felix said, it was knowing that there were different options between a hole in the ground and a piped sewage network. Choice matters.
· Forever: Toilet programs tend to be measured on their very short term success. Construction of facilities-once. But communities grow, children get married, people migrate, and all of them will need toilets. Forever had a very different meaning for the different segments we uncovered in Majes: for those who have been there for 15 years and have invested significantly in their homes, durability is of utmost importance. For those who rent their homes, they are much less likely to invest in a permanent solution, but would like something in between a hole in the ground, and what I call a five star toilet-perhaps a mobile improved toilet.


How do you promote a system where everybody can choose their sanitation solution forever? If we had the answer, the 2.6 billion people we always talk about would have toilets, not rivers, train tracks, and bags to use as toilets. But, what we do know is that business as usual is not helping to get more people on the pot. So, Water For People is exploring if local entrepreneurs and small businesses can fill this gap-understanding what people want, designing for what people want and can afford, and offering ongoing services and/or upgrades over time. Stay tuned for what we learn along the way!

La Carrera de Saneamiento: Run to End the Runs #7-Bolivia Style

Making history: Starting Line of the First Sanitation Half Marathon


Team Water For People-Bolivia


A few months ago, Matt and I came up with the idea for the Run to End the Runs as a way to promote awareness about the global sanitation crisis-the fact that billions have no place to go to the toilet-and raise funds for Water For People. I loved the idea of running in some of the countries where we work, so we thought it would be fun to run from one region where we work in Bolivia to another region. Last weekend, tears welled up in my eyes as I crossed the finish line at the First Sanitation Half Marathon in the municipality of Cuchumuela. What was once going to be Matt and I running by ourselves in the high valleys of rural Bolivia had turned into a national event, with over four hundred people participating to get people talkin’ toilets. Earlier this year, Bolivia made international news by leading the call for the United Nations to adopt water and sanitation as human rights. The country continues to make news in the sanitation sector with the first ever race for toilets held on September 5, 2010 in the rural hills of Cochabamba.

Last May, in one of my monthly phone calls with my coordinator extraordinaire, Betty, in Bolivia, I mentioned that Matt and I wanted to run from Villa Rivero to Cuchumuela, connecting two regions where Water For People is currently supporting toilet programs. Interesting idea, Betty said, and I didn’t think much else about it until I got an email from her a few weeks after that phone call with the subject “Primer Maraton de Saneamiento?” The idea was born.

Betty, being a creative, strategic, risk-taker, thought a marathon would be a fun and different way to get people talking about toilets in Bolivia. Anything that does that is going to be a step in the right direction, as only one of every five rural Bolivians has what we call an improved toilet-a structure that safely gets the poop out of the immediate environment. What’s sadder to me, though, is that when evaluations of toilet programs in Bolivia are done, too often over half of them are not used once a project ends. Business as usual is not working to get more Bolivians on the pot, nor keep them on the pot.

I was keen to end in Cuchumuela, as it is one of the more challenging, yet interesting regions where we work in terms of toilet programs. In the span of four years, Water For People, the local government, and communities have worked together to raise access to toilets from nearly 0% to 65%. A huge change, given most rural areas have around 22% coverage. But just building toilets does not ensure they are used and maintained. Water For People, however, is committed to monitoring the sustainability of both its water and sanitation investments, and 2009 data from Bolivia showed that 93% of those toilets were being used and hygienically maintained. Cuchumuela was not satisfied with either more toilets, or that those toilets kept being used. Rather, they are now investigating income generating possibilities from the fertilizers produced by composting toilets, as a way to improve incomes, ensure toilet use for the long-term, and capture the nutrients in liquid and solid wastes. All in all, a good place to host a toilet race.

Having no experience at putting a race together didn’t stop Betty from putting together a very successful first toilet race. Having explained to Betty that Matt and I were also raising funds for each mile we ran for toilets, she initially thought they could try that in Bolivia. However, when she met with the Bolivian Athletic Association and explained 1) that we wanted to do a race for toilets; and 2) that she thought we could charge $25 per runner and raise funds for toilet programs, they laughed. Most races in Bolivia charge between 2 and 5 Bolivianos, the equivalent of $US 0.30 and $US 0.50. So the idea of a fundraiser went out the door pretty quickly, but the Water For People—Bolivia team was still committed to putting on the race.

For 800 Bolivianos-a little over $100US-the Bolivian Athletic Association agreed to develop the route, provide timing devices, judges, etc-all the logistics behind the race. But Water For People was left to promote the race, raise funds to cover the prizes and snacks for the police, and ensure people participated. A week before the race, nerves were high, as we had not raised enough to cover all the costs yet, and the only two confirmed participants were Matt and I. Julia Montes, our Social Coordinator, and I, took advantage of our field visits that week to put up the pasacalles-large banners promoting the race across the main highway, and distribute the flyers, but we were still unsure how it would turn out.

But, as I’ve learned from two years of living down here, things often come together at the last minute. The half marathon was no exception. Friday night before the race, the last phone calls to sponsors were made, bank balances checked, and prizes organized. The presence of four local television stations, the national government, ambulances and emergency personnel, and the help of the police were assured. The race courses-both the student 7km and the full half marathon would be marked at the crack of dawn the next day.

We picked up our third confirmed participant that night, Water For People staff member Chrissey Buckley, who had come to lead a workplace giving site tour the next week. Nearly thirty hours of traveling, Chrissey surely won the prize for traveling the longest way to participate!

Matt and Chrissey showing off their stylish Run to End the Runs Shirts

Race morning. We left at 7am in the Water For People car and were some of the first to arrive at the main plaza in San Benito, a municipality 21 kilometers (or 13.2 miles) from the finish line in Cuchumuela’s main plaza. There was a group of serious looking runners, and I was able to peg the man and woman who would later win the race. I actually thought I recognized one as the winner from a 10 km race that we ran in Arequipa earlier this year, so I introduced myself and confirmed that it was him. He had heard about the race the night before from a training buddy who works for the municipal water and wastewater utility in La Paz, and they both had ridden the 7 hour bus overnight to participate. They were both extremely excited to have a half marathon to run in Bolivia, as longer distance races are few and far between. And non-existent in the rural areas. What races do happen take place in the larger cities of La Paz, Cochabamba, and Santa Cruz. The race would not only get people talking about toilets, but promote athleticism and running in some of the most neglected rural areas of Bolivia-a great unintended consequence!

Kate talking about the race with the head of the police force



Kate talking toilets for local television

The Athletic Association had put up the sign up table on the side of the main highway to encourage last minute registrations and last minute registrations did we have! I could not believe my ears when Cesar, the race director, said we had over 420 students and adults participating in the race. A few days earlier, Matt and I were convinced we’d be the only ones running to end the runs in Bolivia.

One of my favorite things about racing overseas has been the different customs that races have. Here, we were actually spray painted with green paint on our legs to avoid cheating-in the sense that another red-haired gringita would jump in as I got tired throughout the race, and finish instead of me, and we would split the prize loot. What was hilariously ironic though was that many people got rides in the ambulances for most of the course, jumped out of the vans down the street from the finish line, and crossed the finish line as if they had run the whole thing. A much easier way to cheat than finding a redhead in rural Bolivia, but I did not pull a Rosie Ruiz, and ran the whole thing.

We didn’t start exactly on time, but I was still in such shock that we were starting at all that I didn’t mind. Many of the Water For People-Bolivia staff and partners donned their race numbers and rarely used running shoes and toed the start line. Many of these folks had run in high school, but not in years, or kept in shape playing soccer, but not distance running. After listening to lots of toilet-related speeches from the local authorities, the firecracker announcing the beginning of the first ever half marathon for toilets was lit and we were off.

And they're off!


The first five km of the race ran along the main highway leading south from Cochabamba. As in most races, everybody went out really fast, but within 5 minutes here, people were already beginning to walk. Cars and buses stopped to honk, as hundreds of people running through the streets of rural Bolivia had never been seen before. The first 5km was marked by a water stop and a right turn into the provincial capital of Punata.

Kate coming through the first 5km

The Mayor of Villa Rivero, Jose, comes out of a 15 year running break to participate!

I realized pretty quickly that most of the Bolivians had a very different racing strategy than I did. The same people would sprint by me, stop, hunch over and breathe, walk for awhile, and repeat. My conclusion was that soccer is so prevalent down here that people are great at shorter distances-the length of a couple of soccer fields-but not kilometers and kilometers of running.

Running through Punata was a highlight of the race; the streets were lined with people cheering us on and the second 5 km passed by really fast, making me think the course might have been so scientifically measured. Because if it was right, at this point, I was running 7:30s at nearly 10,000 feet in the hot morning sun. Passing the second aid station-the government of Villa Rivero’s red pick up truck and several representatives passing out bags of water, I was grateful for the liquid. I don’t think that I’ve mentioned that the Thursday before the race, I finally tried the namesake of my blog, donkey milk, and it had left me dehydrated from days of a runny tummy. But there was no way a little donkey-milk induced diarrhea was going to get in my way from the first toilet race ever, so I tried to hydrate as best as I could that morning, but knew it would probably hurt.

Leaving Punata, those that were still running around me started taking frequent walk breaks and I never saw the woman that I had been leap-frogging with again. This was a long, hot, section on an unshaded road that seemed to last forever.

The long road between Punata and Villa Rivero

Little kids would splash runners from the irrigation canals that line the road, providing a brief respite from the heat and sun. This stretch of road always seems to take a long time when I drive it to visit the field programs and it stretched on and on as I ran it. I knew that at the arch marking the entrance to Villa Rivero would be another water stop and I was counting my footsteps to get there. It’s one of those roads that are straight as far as the eye can see, so little by little, I made my way to the arch and the 15km. I heard another M-80 right around this point, and assumed that it was the first man finishing the race.

Cruising through Villa Rivero was also fun, as it appeared the whole town had come out to witness the first half marathon pass by its streets. Before Villa Rivero ends, so does the paved road. Cobblestone is quaint to look it, but it is a pain in the arse to run on. I eventually started running on the six inches of paved road that flanks the cobblestone road and kept my eye on my next goal, the church in the main plaza of the municipality of Tacachi, Cuchumuela’s neighbor and only a couple of kilometers from the end.

Community members were out in full force in this section, offering oranges, lemons, water, smiles, and words of encouragement to the runners. I was pleasantly surprised to see my friend and ex-council member from Cuchumuela, Aureliana, and her two kids in the plaza in Tacachi. She gave me a plastic cup full of goodness-one of the local drinks they make from barley and sugar and it gave me a needed boost to push through those last two kilometers.

The road turns right into Cuchumuela and the incline increases. I was getting pretty emotional here, as it was so amazing to see all the people that had turned out to share two of my passions-running and toilets. I could hear the finish line before I could see it, with its brass band and people cheering. A soft left and I crossed the finish line, giving Betty a big, sweaty bear hug and still in shock at the party that was going on around me.

The band and spectators at the finish line

People continued to cross the finish lines; friends from partner organizations, the exertion of running 21 kilometers showing on their faces as they finished their first half marathon ever.

Friends and partners from the local government, Elvis and Gaby, finishing

The first Cuchumueleno finishes!


Coca-Cola had sponsored the event and the ladies of Powerade handed out cold beverages to the finishers. My two picks did end up winning, both the man and woman are professional athletes in Bolivia, and it was so great to have such athletes at our little toilet race.

Cuchumuelenos come out for the celebration and award ceremony

Although I ran for toilets, I think some people were motivated by the sweet prizes. Master’s and open men and women winners took home 1000 Bolivianos ($130US), second place got 800 Bolivianos ($115US), and the rest got trophies and shirts. The student race had great prizes motivating kids to hustle to the finish lines-mountain bikes for the top winners, and round-trip tickets within Bolivia for the second prize kids.

The littlest finisher-eight years old!

I don’t even know what times we ran, but mine was good enough for fourth woman and it was great to represent Water For People—Bolivia. Both the mayor of Cuchumuela and a representative from the Vice Ministry of Environment, Water, and Sanitation, spoke about the importance of sanitation in Bolivia during the awards ceremony. Like most good Bolivian events, this one ended with a barrel of chicha-the equivalent of corn moonshine, a plate of locally-prepared food, and lots of dancing.

The top women finishes on the podium

Top men finishers, including two ex-olympians!

Delicious post race fuel

The staff of Water For People—Bolivia, all of our local government partners-from Cuchumuela, Villa Rivero, Tiraque, and San Pedro, along with the local governments in the region where we don’t work, sacrificed time and money to put together such a great event. I’m confident that the first toilet half marathon won’t be the last Run to End the Runs in Bolivia!

Betty, Country Coordinator and leader of the sani-marathon relaxes with a post-race dance

Tired and happy Run to End the Runners.....

A Good Day Down Under: RTETR #6

Matt and I had been looking forward to the mountain marathon in Chile for weeks. Having been sidelined at both RTETR 4 and 5 with a case of the runs, Matt was itching to race again. I had a pretty crazy August-in the field conducting toilet market surveys, up to Guatemala for a week for a meeting, and even in Lima for a few days. The long training run we did in Lima was a pleasant surprise-I cruised at sub-8 pace for almost 18 miles, a vast improvement in what I was doing before we moved to Arequipa earlier this year.

We took advantage of a new, somewhat more direct flight from Arequipa to Santiago. It is the only international flight out of Arequipa and when the representative from Sky Chile told us to be there three hours early, I rolled my eyes as I am always one to get to the airport at the last minute. But we needed every minute of those three hours! A make shift customs area was set up, so after waiting in line for the only Sky Airlines attendent to check us in, we waited in another line, where we had all of our bags open and the contents inspected by customs authorities. My inspector even took the time to smell one of my sweaters and open up a box of tampons. After that we made our way past the equally makeshift migration area, where for the first time in two years, I had to fill out a form saying I didn't earn any Peruvian income with my business visa. Again, not a lot of international flight action out of Arequipa. We were shortly on our way, hitting the potholes in the runway as hard as usual on takeoff.

We rented a car in Santiago, as the race was about 1.5 hours south of town. The race meeting was held at one of our favorite places in Santiago, MallSport, which is literally a mall, full of only outdoor activity shops and activities themselves (rock wall, artificial wave, etc). It's always exciting to be around running communities down here. Perhaps because they are so few and far between, espeically in Arequipa, but fun, nonetheless. The photos from earlier that week showed knee deep snow on parts of the course and at least three river crossings.

Although Santiago is pretty close to sea level, the race would climb nearly 6,000 feet in about six miles. What goes up, must come down, and we would have to descend those same 6,000 feet in the same six miles on the way back. The race didn't start until 8:30 am, sort of a late start for a long race. But as we were driving down the race start and the only light around was the moon-at 7 am!-I understood the later race start.

The start and finish were a camping area around Laguna Aculeo, a small lake on the outskirts of Santiago. We arrived early, as Matt likes to do on race days, and pulled on the race-issued, bright orange shirts. One of the rather strange rules at this race was that not only did you have to wear the race shirts-which had abnormally large and loose sleeves-but at all times, you had to have the race shirt on top of whatever layer you were wearing.

Just over seventy of us marathoners toed the start line. There was another race-a 15km-also taking place, so probably about a hundred runners in total. Gun shot off-right on time, and we were off. The first 5km followed a paved road around the lake, and I was really taking it easy. There was a group of four women in front of me, whom I passed as we turned onto the dirt road into the park. The next 5km gradually climbed uphill, but all runable, expect for climbing over a cattle gate. I loved this part of the trail; shaded, slightly uphill, and in the forest. I passed another woman and caught up to the woman who I had pegged at the race start as the gal who would win. I was really surprised to find myself at the front of the chick pack as Chile and Argentina have a pretty robust mountain running scene.

Right after the 10km aid station, that 6,000 foot climb starts. And it is steep. Some of the "trail" was so rutted out, you were really hiking in a foot-wide run-off channel with shoulder-high dirt on both sides. It flattened out just a bit and felt good to run again. Right before the next steep uphill, I heard a grunt behind me, and turned around to see an older woman, complete with a small tree as a hiking staff, cruise past me. The trail got steeper and looser as the views became more breathtaking. As far as the eye could see north and south stretched the snow-capped Andes-remember, we're in the dead of winter down here.

A short downhill section led to the 15km aid station, literally staffed by a few cowboys and their horses. I had been really good about eating and drinking and re-filled my water bottle, took a few salt tablets and kept going uphill. I eventually caught up to the two women in front of me, and burned too much energy passing them again. They passed me again during what felt like a never-ending climb, again, a little flat spot emerged. With the snow. The terrain turned more into what I am used to on the last pushes to summits of 14,000 feet mountains in Colorado-scrambling over boulders, crossing freezing streams, and eventually, post-holing in knee-deep snow.

The race directors had said that when you saw a Chilean flag, that was the top, and what a sweet feeling it was to see that flag. However, when I got up there, I forgot that they had told us the night before that it was a full summit. To make the full 42km, we would have to trudge across knee and thigh deep snow (for those of us shorties) and top out on another summit. By now I was freezing, and had to stop, take my icky orange shirt off, put my rain jacket on underneath that shirt, and put the shirt back on. It really wasn't a far trek-probably not even a mile, but it felt long and cold.

Now the long, steep downhill began. Having recently recovered from a badly sprained ankle at the last RTETR, I was a much more cautious downhiller than I normally am. And, I had to participate in the First (ever) Sanitation Marathon the next week in Bolivia, so I was more careful than I would have liked. One gal and a couple of guys passed me on the steep, loose 10km, where we dropped the 6,000 feet that we had climbed earlier.

Hitting that (now slightly downhill) section between the 27 and 37km aid stations was some of the most fun running I've done in months. Beautiful terrain, fast-moving, and not that steep, loose stuff! The final 5km were on the road back to the camping area, and I still covered that around 9 minute pace, which for me, was pretty good. On the home stretch, a woman struggled past me and slowed down right in front of me. If I'm one thing, it's stubborn, so I looked for some residual speed-thanks to all those Yasso's at altitude-and made sure I crossed the finish line in front of her. Good enough for 5th overall, an age group win (complete with trophy and men's medium jacket that looks pretty good on Matt), and a healthy ankle for the next weekend's toilet race in Cochabamba.

Shameless plug for the race organization: Patagonia Eventos put on one of the best races I've done in years-they run a circuit of races in South America and Europe, so if you are looking to travel to your next mountain marathon, check them out: http://www.patagoniaeventos.com/

Highs and Lows: Run to End the Runs #4 and #5

Our tour de US-and Run to End the Runs #4 and #5 actually started a week before, when we left Arequipa to celebrate the Peruvian long weekend of St. Peter and St. Paul (Monday is off for St. Peter and perhaps Tuesday for Paul?) We bussed it up to Huaraz for some high altitude backpacking as a bit of cross training and “relaxing” with friends. Beautiful views, but no sleep, a dash of possible pulmonary edema on top of (unknowing) bronchitis for the myself, and a squirt of gastrointestinal misery for Mateo.

Relaxing in the Andes with Sparkles and Chatts

Matt became the poster child for the Run, bowing out of the Leadville marathon because the only running he had done for a couple of weeks was to the toilet. After hacking my way through the Andes the week before, and as my sister put it, coughing so hard my whole body shook, I thought I should still give the race the old college try. Bad idea.

The highlight from Leadville was the awesome turn out of Run to End the Runs supporters! Scott, Celeste, Cat, Lindsey, and Turnbull all ran wearing RTETR shirts. And Turnbull finished second in the marathon; he later told me that the first place winner got to give a speech and promised to promote the RTETR if he wins any races this year (right, T?).

Awesome show of support! Thanks again Scott, Cat, Lindsey, and Celeste!

And there is Turnbull-leading the men's marathon in his RTETR shirt!

The low point was the whole race. I couldn’t breathe, was running to use Nature’s toilet a bit myself, and was super nauseous. Sixty year olds were passing me and passing me cough drops, probably so I would stop passing on whatever communicable disease they assumed I had. A beautiful day, though, making me miss running in Colorado a lot. Although I wasn’t running much….

Seven hours later (which wasn’t even DFL!), I crossed the finished line and Matt and I took a couple’s trip to the Leadville Emergency Room. I was put on oxygen right away, as I had not been breathing normally for awhile now, and the scamper in the Andes the week before did not do me any favors. All kinds of pokes, prods, and pooping in party hats later, we were released. My chest x-ray revealed bronchitis (which had been there for awhile), said the Doc. Armed with antibiotics, my mask (as a souvenir) and a stern warning from the doctor to “put yourself on modified bedrest,” we were on our way. It takes days for the medical system to play with your poop, so Matt was left with instructions to follow the BRAT diet and wash his pants (the nurse spilled a pint of his blood in his pants).

Delayed my flight home the next morning as we were both just d-o-n-e done. Made it home later in the week, and did nothing but rest and recover. Diligently took my meds and slept for days. I was still unsure on Thursday if I’d try to run the 50km on Saturday, but felt pretty good by the time Friday rolled around.

RTETR 5 was in our old stomping grounds, Wisconsin. For those of you that know me well, you will also remember that we had one of the worst races of our lives in 2008 at the Kettle Moraine 100km (tornadoes, 300% humidity, vomiting, you name it). So I was wary of Wisconsin-she can throw some pretty awful weather at you any season of the year.

Saturday morning. I choked down some breakfast, pinned my number on my cute Run to End the Runs shirt, and stuffed my waistpack with gus and a water bottle. My Dad came up for the race and managed to snap a few photos at the start, before he unknowingly switched to videos later in the day. Matt looked so skinny-going on two weeks of the Runs now, but ponied up to the start line, after dropping his timing chip in the toilet. Should have been a sign that things might go pretty shitty for him today....



Gun went off right at 5:30 and we were on our way. There were a number of races taking place this day, but only the 50km and 50 milers started so early. We crossed the parking lot at Devil’s Head Ski Resort-where I taught Matt how to snowboard on ice years ago-and began a gradual climb up the mountain. Having just ‘ran’ up three thousand feet up Mosquito Pass in Leadville the week before (with bronchitis), this didn’t feel too bad. Matt took off into the woods and was the last I would see of him for awhile, but I managed to hang with some of the female front runners for the five mile loop around the ski hill. I love to run downhill and was enjoying myself too much, when I didn’t see a rock and rolled my ankle. Badly. In the first five miles of the race. Always a bit stubborn, and if you believe the research that says redheads (well, red-headed mice, anyways) have a 25% higher pain tolerance than blond or brunette mice, I pulled aside, walked it off for a few minutes, cinched my shoes real tight and kept running.

We ran past the start and onto the Ice Age Trail, a really beautiful section of singletrack that zigzags across Wisconsin. Still feeling good, I ran along and enjoyed being able to run (and breathe) before it got too hot. Came into the 10+ mile aid station and got an awesome water bottle full of ice from my Dad and inquired about Matt. He said he hadn’t seen him yet, so I thought he must have been just killing it out front. The next section was hotter as it ran through several open fields. The marathon had begun, so the few people who passed me didn’t bother me as they were only running 26.2 miles, not 31.2.

Coming into the next aid station, I could hear a train whistle, and as I rounded the last bend coming through the campground in Devil’s Lake park, my jaw dropped as I saw several runners ahead of me stopped. For a train. We must have waited about five minutes for the train to pass, and one guy commented that this was, incredibly, the second time this had happened to him. Hopped across the tracks and there was the next aid station. I had been pretty good about eating and drinking, but forgot to take some electrolyte pills from Matt that morning, so grabbed a handful of potato chips and set off for the climb up the West Bluffs.

Lots of déjà-vu from when we used to come rock-climbing here, but the ascent was not as bad as I remembered it. Granted, we used to do it with 50 pounds of climbing gear on our backs, so a water bottle and an ipod felt luxuriously light. I topped out, got some nice comments about the Run To End the Runs t-shirt, and began dodging tourist families along the beautiful trail. A quick right hand turn and we were cruising downhill again, with one of the cushiest race sections to come.

The Burma Road-a 1.2 mile out and back SHADED section was a nice treat. First of all, you can see how many people are in front of you; which is pretty easy to do when you’re a woman as we tend to stand out at these races. A swallow of cold soda and I was on my way. Still no sign of Matt, so I was happy as I assumed he was having a great day, which would have been a nice change after he bowed out of the Leadville race for taking the Run to End the Runs so far and actually having the runs himself.

On my way back, I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw another person wearing a Run to End the Runs shirt. It was Matt. Who was just as surprised to see me, as we figured that I must have passed him while he was in the toilet at some point. After clarifying that no, Matt, I had not cut the course and that’s why I was in front of him, he weakly mentioned the seven pit (should be pot) stops in the 20 miles so far. I told him to drop out once he got back and he did.

Leaving the aid station, the trail cut through a section of high grasses. Uneven footing and I rolled that ankle again WALKING out of the aid station. This time it hurt so bad I thought I was going to throw up. I stopped, stretched it out, and gingerly made my way through one of the sections race advertisers literally call “stupid.” No trail; just slippery rocks and tree roots. Not fun on a sub-optimal ankle. Luckily, the “stupid” section was pretty short and the next section was a gently paved, flat course around Devil’s Lake. Beautiful, good for the ankle, and always fun to get the stares from tourists who can’t imagine why anyone would be running out here.

Grabbed some more salty snacks at the next aid station as I was finally starting to feel pretty nauseous, and salt always helps. Started the schlep up the East Side bluffs, which seemed to take much longer than the West Side. Grateful for the soft trail on the way down, I managed to literally trip over a coiled, hissing rattlesnake. For those of you that know me well, snakes are the one thing I cannot handle. Not even cartoon snakes. And here I am, skipping over one who was really pissed off that hundreds of people were running through his neck of the woods. Snake sightings do always give me a pep in my step, though, so I took off running at what felt like lightning speed this late in the race.

Still feeling good, I came into the next to last aid station, where Matt and my Dad were waiting. Six miles left and there was still tank in the gas, so I wasted little time here. Off I went for an easy 1.2 mile section to the last aid station. Didn’t even stop here as I was getting really ready to be done. Had forgotten about the downhill on the way out of this section, which meant an uphill on the way back.
A long four miles later, I gingerly rounded the last curve and made my way to the finish line. Felt great to be done and to finally have everything click for once. It was hard to believe that a week ago, it took me longer to run a shorter race and ended with a trip to the ER. We didn’t hang around for the awards as there were Wisconsin micro-brews to be drunk, but I later learning that I won my age group, which in the runner’s world, feels pretty good.

In health news, Matt is finally better and we are both already looking forward to RTETR 6 and 7. Six will take us back to Chile at the end of August for a trail marathon outside of Santiago and 7 is the inaugural Bolivia Sanitation Marathon; we’re going to start the race in one of the regions where Water For People works and finish in Cuchumuela, another region where we work and where all kinds of fun toilet things are happening. Stay tuned…..

Improving Improved Sanitation-Toilet Tale #4

The world water crisis often focuses on not having enough water for people to drink. A huge problem, for sure, and the reason Water For People came to existence. But water is used for so many other important activities-such as washing hands and flushing toilets. Without enough water to go around, something’s got to give.

At Demetrio Canelas Colegio, in peri-urban Cochabama, over 750 students, ranging from kindergardeners to high schoolers, share four toilets for girls and four toilets for boys. The school has improved sanitation-a sector definition for technologies that, at least in theory, are private and separate poop from human contact. But whether there is enough water to go around to flush those toilets and keep the poop from little hands is another story.

Maica Central, the community in which Demetrio Canelas is located, is not connected to any municipal water supply. The local government provides the equivalent of one tanker truck of water per week, free of charge, to the school. The underground storage tank at the school, however, is too small to store all of the water. Meaning the school constantly suffers from water shortages. And “improved sanitation” more often than not, looks and smells not so improved.

Improved sanitation does not necessarily mean a hygienic and comfortable solution.

The headmaster of Demetrio Canelas is a tireless advocate for the environment. Frustrated by the deteriorating environment he sees each year, he launched a tree-planting campaign and tied professor’s performances to including environmental education and activities in their curriculums. He was interested in building ecological sanitation toilets to replace the chronically dirty water-based ones and sought out Water For People’s peri-urban team. After several meetings with the Parent-Teacher Association, it became clear that people were not interested in ecological, or dry, composting toilets. Choice and community interest and approval are fundamental to sustainability, so staff and partners came up with an alternative solution to the problem, rather than impose one possible solution.

A 10,000 liter storage tank was built. The larger tank size means that the school won’t waste the remaining water that their current storage tank cannot hold. Moreover, the tank is also connected to a filtered rainwater harvesting system, meaning that for several months out of the year, supply will be abundant. During construction, the smallest kidnergardners were measured and steps of various heights were placed around the tank to make sure height doesn’t keep kids from washing their hands.

Three different heights allow the smallest to tallest kids to wash their hands.

Over 30,000 Bolivian children die each year from diarrheal illnesses, but handwashing is a key barrier to keeping the poop, and the microbes in it, from entering their systems. Last year, during the swine flu scare, recorded childhood diarrheal illnesses dropped by about 15% in Bolivia. Washing hands works-but there’s got to be water around to do it.

Bolivia was home to the People’s Alternative Climate Change this past April and over the past few years, I have seen recycling take off in the country. The water tank is not reinforced concrete, nor ferro-cement, but rather uses PET bottles filled with soil as bricks.

Each child brought two bottles to school as part of a recycling campaign and skilled masons are transforming those Coke bottles from providing soda to water for drinking, washing hands, and improving the so-called improved toilets so that they actually are a private, clean place for kids to go when nature calls.

Welcome to the Jungle: Run to End the Runs #3

Costa Rica has made a name for itself in eco-tourism. One of the lesser known components of eco-tourism includes re-using human wastes to generate power through the use of biodigestors In layman’s terms, guests who stayed at our hotel about two months ago went to the bathroom. Their pee and poop went through an on-site treatment process which uses bacteria and anaerobic conditions to convert the wastes into methane gas, which in turn makes the lights go on and cooked my pre-race rice and beans.

Halfway into the hottest race I’ve ever run, I could have used some of that poop power to get up some of the hills. Race number three was located in the beautiful rainforests of Costa Rica, which attract millions of tourists each year. I’d bet most of them take their time exploring the hot and outrageously humid forests. Matt and I didn’t have that option if we wanted to finish the third Run to End the Runs with daylight!

We learned at the pre-race meeting that because of logistical issues, there would be no water stops between 15km and 30km. 9 miles with no place to fill up the two water bottles we each carried in a place where you start sweating just looking outside of your air-conditioned rental car. I usually drink a 16 ounce bottle in 90 minutes to 2 hours, so I thought I would be able to manage with my two 16 ouncers if I watched my liquid intake for those 9 miles-I was wrong.

I do love low-key trail runs. They are a refreshing change from the thousands of co-racers rubbing elbows and people jockeying for positions for the first couple of miles at larger road races. I’m also glad that I don’t follow a strict pre-race dinner or breakfast regime; we’d be in trouble! We had great Costa Rican food –plantains, beans, and rice-before hitting the panaderias and the market to find something to eat for breakfast. Tangerines, bananas, and bread would be our fuel for #3. Matt toyed with the idea of sleeping without our air conditioner on to ‘acclimatize’ for the race, but we enjoyed our humanure-powered air conditioning and managed to sleep for a few hours before our 4:30 am wake-up.

About 100 athletes toed the start line and we all counted down the start together. A quick couple of hundred meters on the road and we made a hard right onto a path. It got hilly fast. Short and steep hills, which I didn’t expect. We’ve been training in Arequipa on hills, but they are gradual-200 feet over a mile, and these were short and steep. I was holding myself back since I had been sweating since we got up and I knew I was in for a long day. I watched Matt’s back as he hung with the leaders, cresting the hills in front that I soon would be trudging up and cringed at the thought of running back up them hours from now on the way back. The race was a cherry stem loop-we did an out and back, with a big loop in the middle, meaning that the nice, fast downhills on the way out would be painful uphills on the way back.

Running in the rainforest is a bit like Nature’s Ipod. The howler monkeys, birds, and bugs made for interesting acoustics for the first couple of hours. I jockeyed with another woman through the first 10 miles for first place-but this wasn’t a race won in the first ten miles. Filling up my water bottles and drinking as much as I could at the second aid station at km 15, I started to fill the effects of the hundred degree weather, the hundred percent humidity, and the dehydrated body I already had. I started walking more of the hills and was conscious not to drink too much as I knew I had a long stretch before the next aid station. A vanilla Hammer Gel picked me up for a bit and I swapped out Nature’s Ipod for my own for a change.

This was some of the longest 10 miles I’ve ever “run.” I thought multiple times how I had zero desire to run the Badwater Race, or any athletic event between the Tropic of Cancer and Capricorn. What little shade there was offered an unbelievable respite from the trail sauna. I underestimated how long it would take me to get to the next aid station and had no sense of mile markers, so got pretty dehydrated. The trees started looking like howler monkeys and the sticks littering the path like snakes as my body used what little liquid I was putting into it to keep my vitals functioning.

I’ve never been more grateful for a river crossing than the one shortly before the third and final aid station. I sat in the river, dunked my head in the river, and honestly thought more than once about taking a big gulp. Having had my fair share of gastrointestinal illnesses, what little sense I had left told me not to. What felt like Mt. Everest laid between me and the next aid station-a big, shadeless hill. The sight of two water jugs and sliced pineapple has never made me so happy. I drank a ton of Heed-a not so tasty electrolyte drink and water, ate pineapple and Gu, and filled up my water bottles for the last 10km. Everyone who came through that aid station-myself very much included-looked worked over and then some.

To make what felt like a very long race short, I crossed the finish line much slower than I anticipated, but I think that was the case for everybody that day. Happy to be done, Matt and I took off to the beach for some r&r with good friends and missed the awards ceremony. It wasn’t until later in the week that we learned we both placed third in our divisions-in a race where half the people DNFed or missed time cut-offs from the extreme conditions.

Lost a pair of shoes to the race and the ensuing tropical storm they sat in after the race, but another race is under our belts and we were proud to contribute to Costa Rica’s eco-tourism by helping fill the hotel’s biodigesters. Somebody will be able to turn the lights on in a few months thanks to those rice and beans and a few bacteria at Hotel Bambu. My hope with the Run to End the Runs is that people from Bolivia to India will be able to do the same as toilets move from a pipe dream to a reality.

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Number Two....Double Entendre Intended

What does a Peruvian hairless dog have to do with the Lima marathon? Stay tuned....

It’s hard to believe that only a week has passed since I practically crawled across the finish line at the Lima marathon. Matt had this feeling before the race that it was going to be one of our worst-because of the heat and humidity-but I was trying to be optimistic. We flew back to Lima (on LAN, as it was my birthday, instead of the more “relaxed” Peruvian airlines) and protein-loaded with sushi at one of our favorite restaurants’ in Lima.

The little run we did on Saturday felt okay, but I had woken up with the beginning of a cold or my respiratory system has gone soft since moving from Lima and all the smog and exhaust was making its way back into my system. We were pleasantly surprised with the race check in; we were in and out-quicker than a trip to Wong’s, and with a rather attractive blue race shirt to boot. Last year the shirts were yellow and everybody knows yellow is not a redhead’s color.

I woke up on race morning with a horrible headache. Horrible. Luckily, the night before I did my thing, pinning my number on my race shirt (everybody wears race shirts in races down here, a phenomenon that has not hit the US), stuffing my rinonera (hip pack) with gus, and tying the timing chip into my shoelaces. I choked down half of a banana and some Gatorade and we were off.

Kate feeling horrible before race begins.

Our taxi driver didn’t know where he was going and we didn’t know either. This resulted in us being dropped off at the complete wrong end of the “Pentagonito”-the Peruvian military building where the races started and finished. So we had an extra warm up, speedwalking the 3 km to the start.

Seeing as this is a race to promote sanitation awareness, I always take note of the toilets. There were ample loos, but the majority of them were zip-tied closed leading up to the race. Good numbers, though, for the amount of people running the race. Dropped off the bags at the guardaropa, stretched out the hamstrings and the calf muscles, and it was pretty much time to line up at the start.
Trying to hydrate my headache away. It didn't work.

Toilets! Lots of them. Running to End the Runs!

Less than a thousand people were doing the marathon, so the start felt pretty empty. Until we started. The first kilometer was lots of jockeying into position, and by the time we hit the second kilometer, I had lost sight of Matt. It’s hard to keep track of people when everybody’s wearing the same shirt!

Matt at the starting line-at least a full head taller than most of his competition-too bad height doesn't help with dehydration.


I felt pretty sluggish, but was hitting my target pace. I’m still figuring out the whole pacing thing for road marathons. My body is used to hilly trail races, where some of the hills are so steep, you can’t go out too fast. But on the flat, paved roads of the second largest capital in the desert afterCairo (i.e. Lima is HOT and HUMID), it feels good to go fast. Until it doesn’t.
I was with the 3:45 pace bike through the half, but have my doubts about their pacing skills as the woman on the bike would speed up, slow down, stop, buy a pollo a la brasa, and then get back on her bike. It was a pretty non-eventful first half-good entertainment and some cloud cover made for a good half. Come 15 miles, though, and those weeks of traveling, hours on planes, and not eating enough in Bolivia starts to add up. Not a great combination with the lack of water stops on the second half, either.

I actually walked, quite a bit, which hurt my pride more than my dehydrated body, I think. My strategy of going out at a 3:40/3:45 pace and having some ‘wiggle room’ isn’t working, my heavy legs tell me over and over. I choke down all of my gus over the course of the race, but nothing seems to work. The kilometers tick by, and finally I pass the 40km. I know I have enough in the tank to squeak out 2km -1.2 miles-so I pick up the pace to finish.

Crossing the finish line, I don’t see Matt. The race funnels you down one corral, where young Peruvians bend over and untie hundreds of people’s shoes, and remove their chips. Bulky security guards let me pass into the ‘recovery’ area, where a medal is placed around my neck and my salty husband appears. “Do you want to see where I barfed?”-is the first thing out of his mouth. Somebody else went out way too fast, and felt the pain of the heat, humidity, and lack of fluids. Poor guy emptied out all his warm, blue powerade after crossing the finish line. The medical staff was on him like flies on shit, trying to get him to drink more of said blue powerade. By the time I got there, the worst had passed, so we sat on the stoop and chugged down some water before hobbling over to find a taxi to a cold drink and a shower.

This guy was going faster than Matt for part of the race.


We got back to the hotel, cold drinks in hand, but found much more than we bargained for. Early that morning, the hotel staff moved our stuff to a new room because they were nearly booked when we made our reservations. After coming back from a fun dinner with friends, I pulled the blankets back on the bed. And noticed what looked to be a chocolate covered espresso bean at the foot of my bed. But it wasn’t. It some weird twist of fate-as we are Running to End the Runs-it appeared that the hotel’s not-so-friendly Peruvian hairless dog (see above-hairless, gray animal with yellow mohawk), had his way with our room. Matt’s race bag-that had some food in it-was chewed through, and I guess the banana got things going for the mutt, because he also went to the bathroom. Literally. In our toilet. The drama picked up after the race this time, I guess.

Slow times for both of us, but okay for training runs. The humidity training should serve us well for number three of the Run to End the Runs-26 miles of trails through the Costa Rican jungle this month. Stay tuned for tales from the trails…