The Washington Post - USA (2022-02-20)

A16 EZ RE THEWASHINGTONPOST.

andfocusedinsteadonnotdying.

Silvahadgrownupinthemountainous

stateofVeracruz, chasingslow-moving

lorries up slopingcountryroads. As a

professionalrunner,hetrainedbyrun-

ning up a14,000-foot volcano outside

MexicoCity. Preparingforhiscross-coun-

tryrun during the pandemic,he maxed

outhistreadmill’s incline.

“Hill work,”asrunners call it, is where

hethrives.

Transcribingthe recordingof thatin-

terview, Icanpinpointtheexactmoment

IknewIwouldn’tfinish the daywith

Silva. We wereabout 25 miles into the

run. Silvasaw whatappearedto be the

peakofthemountain.

“Weshould getsome downhillafter

this,”hesaid.

Butwhenweturnedacorner,theroad

shotupanotherincline.

“No,”Icanhearmyselfsayfaintlyinthe

recording,likeI’m drifting slowly out to

sea.

From there, IfollowedSilva. First, I

flailedbehindhimataslowerpace.Then

Iwatchedhimthroughthewindshieldof

asupportvehicle.

Ishespeedingup,Iwondered,afterhe

passedmile30.Itappearedso.

He finallystopped runningat mile 33,

near agathering of pine trees. Thesun

hadset.Histeamtookoutafoldingchair.

“Thatwas really hard,”hesaid, sitting

down.

Hisface looked as if he’d finisheda

briskwalk.

Since then, Silvahas run another

thousandmiles —overMexico’s snow-

cappedhighestpeak, then skirting the

Gulf Coastbefore crossinginto the Yuca-

tán Peninsula, where the temperature

neared100degrees.Onday93,heranhis

112th marathon throughthe Mennonite

farms of Campeche,passingacluster of

womeninstrawhatsandlongdresses.He

planstofinishonFeb.20inTulum.

Iran with him once more after my

disintegration in Guanajuato. This time,

chastened, Itold SilvaIdidn’t plan to

finish the daywithhim. Mostly Ijust

wantedtogetabettersenseofwhatkept

himgoing,replicatingoverandoverafeat

Icouldn’tmanageonce.

When Silvawas aboy,chasing semi-

trailersupthehillsofVeracruz,hisfather

onceadmonishedhimforaspiringtobea

professionalrunner.

“Runningis not aprofession,”Silva’s

father said. “You are going to die of

hunger.”

Thatlinenickedatthesmallpartofme

thatstill wasn’t fully convinced of Silva’s

statedreasonsforrunningacrossMexico

—the attempt at showingthe bestofthe

country, thephysiologicalresearch.

Iknewthose goals were valid. But

watching Silvarun —exuberantand

effortless, dayafter day—Iwondered if

there wasn’t asimpler reason thatwas

hardertosayoutloud.Maybeaversionof

whyIjoined him in the firstplace, the

allure behind averyold, verysimpleand

verydifficultsport.

Iwondered if he was runningbecause

he still hadn’t touched the edgeofwhat

hisbodycoulddo.Notinamarathon,not

on an Olympictrack. Were the limits of

his country’sborders anyless arbitrary,

assuminghecouldtraversethem?

He knewhecould. He would not die

hungry.

central Mexico, when Ijoined him last

monthforadayofrunning.Silvaguessed

we’d run 32 miles or so, but he wasn’t

sure.

“I’mnotfeelinggreat.You’llhavetobe

patientwithme,”hesaidsotenderlythatI

believedhim.

I’ve been runningmostofmylife.

WhenIwas9,Ihadaposterfromthe

NewYork CityMarathon on my wall, the

yearSilvawonitforthefirsttime(despite

makingawrongturnnearthefinishline).

Afew weeks before meeting him, I’drun

my bestmarathon in 2hours and 48

minutes.IwasprettysureIcouldkeepup

withhimforaday.

We metthe night before our run at a

seafoodrestaurant 400 miles from the

sea, decorated with plastic largemouth

bass. Iwatched Silvalimp up the few

steps thatled to the restaurant, as if he

hadjusttornhisACL.

Hisbody—tiny, tanandlean—seemed

to disappearin his baggy sweatsuit. He

looked likethe human version of a

swaddledgamecock.

Silvawastrailedbyafilmcrewthatwas

documentinghis journey, which he de-

scribes as traversing “the veins of Mexi-

co.”The run, he says, is meant as apivot

away from the country’snarcos-tequila-

and-beaches caricature; anod toward

something less Hollywood, less Insta-

grammed.

“Thisis Mexico!” Silvawas knownto

exclaim spontaneously,pointingto arip-

ple of unnamedmountains,astretch of

desertspeckledwithwildagave,anaban-

doned haciendawhose centuries-oldbell

chimedinthewind.

At the peak of his career,hehad used

his fame to bring electricitytohis rural

villageofTecomate,deliveringlightbulbs,

fans and cold drinks to Mexico’s swelter-

ingtropicallowlands.Now, hewastrying

anotherversionof the same trick, his

athleticismanarrowpointingtowardhis

cause.

But the premise—and the documen-

tary—wasonlyviableifSilvacouldfinish

running.Sothe journeyalso becamea

study in physical endurance, and the

body’sabilitytorecoverwhilecompleting

more than amarathon aday for months

inarow.

AtthebeginningofSilva’srun,adoctor

tookabiopsyofhisquadricep.Attheend,

anotherwill be taken, so researcherscan

assess how the massive efforthas

changedhismusculature.

Still, sometimes even Silva’steam —

usuallyfiveorsixpeopleintwoborrowed

SUVs—could have ahard time parsing

the rationale behindaspects of the jour-

ney. He often runs duringthe hottest

hours of the day. He rarely checksthe

topographyofhisroute.He triestomake

his runningshoes more comfortable by

slicing holes in them with scissors.He’s

gonethrough18pairssofar.

Inaneraofenergygelsandendurance

drinks,he’s consumingmostly mineral

water,cacao and atraditionalground

maize called pinole.He acceptsdinner

invitations from strangers, even when it

means eating questionableseafood.He

getssick—alot.

Instead of followingadirectroute

throughthe country, Silvaisrunning

deep into rural Mexico, along dirtpaths

RUNNERFROMA

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Silvastarted the

four-month-longrun

in Tijuana on Nov.

SinceNov.,

he’srun 30 miles

nearlyeveryday

SinceNov.,

he’srun 30 miles

nearly everyday

He and his

crew drove

acrossBaja

California

and crossed

the gulf on a

ferryboat

He'sdue to finishthe

run today in Tulum

300 MILES

FINISH

START

Detail

JAN. 4

Elev.gain:

7,303ft JAN. 18

35 MI

Routes The Post’s

reporter ran with Silva

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Sources:Distanceand elevationgain numbersare fromStrava.Topographydata is fromOpenTopography. Tree coverdataisfrom theCopernicusGlobalLandService.

SatelliteimageryisfromNASA’sMODISsatellite.

JÚLIALEDUR/THEWASHINGTON POST

everyday:ataconveniencestore, afruit

market,afamily birthdayparty.Two

police officers were killed; aprofessorof

geophysics; afour-month-old in her

mother’sarms.

“Haveyou had anytrouble with secu-

rity?”Iasked.

“Well, we’verun into afew armed

groups,”Silva said. “There was one afew

daysago.”

Oh,Ithought.

Notinfrequently, Silvasaid, he has

been stopped at checkpointsmannedby

cartel gunmen.Once, in Durango, cartel

memberspouredinto the hotel where he

and his crewwere staying,guns slung

overtheirshoulders.

“The Chapitos,”the hotel receptionist

explainedcasuallyto Silva, namingthe

cartel led by the sons of drug kingpin

Joaquín “El Chapo”Guzmán,who is now

serving alife sentence in the federal

supermaxprisoninFlorence,Colo.

But duringeach confrontation, Silva

describedhis cross-countryrun, and the

armed men lethim continue on. In

several cases, gunmenradioed ahead to

othercheckpoints,tellingtheircomrades

toexpectarunnerenteringtheirterritory.

Sometimes Silvahanded out running

shirtstotheirchildren.

It wasn’t exactly awindowintoa

peaceful nation, Ithought.But Silva’s

pitchwasthatactually,itwas.

“Iftheyknowyoudon’tposeathreatto

them,”hesaid,“theydon’tdoanything.”

We stoppedforwaterunderthelargest

cactus I’deverseen. Out of nowhere,a

pickuptruckwithTexasplatesblewbyus.

Silvashowedmeapictureonhisphoneof

thecartelleaderwhoseterritoryhe’d run

throughthe previous week. They were

smiling,theirarmsaroundeachother.

There were other threats. Once, in

Hidalgo, Mexico’s bullfighting capital,

Silvawas charged by abull thathad

broken loose. He’d losttrack of the

numberof almost-dog attacks. Several

times,hefoundhimselfontrailssorocky

and steep thatevenhis four-wheel-drive

supportvehiclehadtoseekanalternative

route.

About an hour into our Guanajuato

run,Silva’swife,SandraGuevara,climbed

downfromthesupportvehicletojoinus.

He had been traveling with her and their

5-year-olddaughter,Uri, whosometimes

sprintsthelastfewhundredmetersofthe

day, screaming“Iwon!”

Our trail was the remnantof an old

miningroad thatthe Spanishhad once

used to ferrysilver. We skirted adry

riverbed.Thepeaks on either side of us

seemedtogetbigger.

At mile 15, Sandrapointed ahead. The

dirtroadturnedupthefaceofamountain

at whatlooked likeaclean, 45-degree

angle.

“Good luck, gentlemen,”she said, and

soon jumpedback into the supportvehi-

cle.

Itried to match Silvastride for stride

upthemountain.Ihadtoldmyeditorthat

Icouldinterviewhimwhilerunning,and

Istillhad more questions. Silvachatted

away effortlessly.Iforgot my questions

thatdisappearinto the mountains.He

logs his runs on Strava, but the global

mapping software doesn’trecognize

manyoftheunmarkedtrails.Themileage

registers as an orangeline slicing ran-

domly throughthe wilderness,likethe

flightpathofahijackedairplane.

Afew days before we met, he had run

throughaseries of half-abandonedmin-

ing towns, leaping over cattle grates

throughalandscapewhere people had

never seen anyone jog for exercise or

sport.

Thefilmcrewhadcapturedhimgreet-

inglocalsasheranby.

“Buenosdias,”hesaidenthusiastically.

Theystaredbackathimblankly.

Alltherunninghadtakenitstoll.When

we walked back to our hotel, Iwatched

Silvashuffle over the cobblestones. How

canamanstrugglingtowalk,barelyable

to climb aflight of stairs, run another

1,500miles,Iwondered.

“There’sgoingtobesomeuphilltomor-

row,” hetoldme.

“Howmuch?”Iasked.

“I’mnotsure.Butit’llgodownhill,too,

atsomepoint.”

Thefirstfew miles of the daywere as

perfectasanyI’veruninMexico.Thedirt

road rolled over slight hills and wound

throughtinyvillages.

There were more horsesthan cars.

Sunlightslantedthroughpine trees. The

only truck we saw, likeanapparition,

happenedtobesellingfreshpastries.The

scentoffrostingwaftedoverus.

Everyrunner knowsthatwhen the

runningis going well, the effortseems to

makeaplace more beautiful.Maybe it’s

theendorphins.Maybewe’rejustgrateful

to move quicklyand with relative ease,

andthatgratitudeflowsfromus,painting

trailsandroadsinaflatteringlight.

Silva’sgait was shortbut efficient. The

same body thatstruggled to walk could

runwithrelativeease,anadaptationthat

initsownwayprovedthethesisofSilva’s

project. Hisphysiotherapistmarveled at

how Silva’sbody had changed, his strong

legsgettingstronger.

I’dbeentrainingmostlyinMexicoCity,

apolluted megalopolis of 21 million

people,whereathree-milejogsometimes

felt likeanouttake from “Mad Max.”

Running with Silvaonawinding trail

throughthe SierraGorda was arevela-

tion. Did anyone else know these trails

existed? Hisprojectsuddenly made a

littlemoresense.

Aside from the physical challenge,

lookingat his route on amap, Ihad

wonderedhow the logistics of the trip

werepossible.Mexicosufferedmorethan

30,000homicideslastyear.Theytook

place disproportionately in ahandful of

states,wherecartelsbattledforinfluence.

Silvawas runningthroughnearly all of

them—includingGuanajuato,whereour

dreamlikerunhadbegun.

It struck me thatafter years of report-

ing on cartel violence,Ihad perhaps

appliedtheexactbiastoSilva’sroutethat

hewashopingtoeviscerate.WasIoveres-

timating the risks? In theweeks before

our run, Guanajuatorecordedhomicides

On rural dirt paths:

‘This is Mexico’