My Journey to the Finish Line: The Last Mile

"All endeavor calls for the ability to tramp the last mile, shape the last plan, endure the last hour's toil. The fight to the finish spirit is the one...characteristic we possess if we are to face the future as finishers."

- Henry David Thoreau

Bellwood Avenue. Almost always the start of my jogs and runs, and very often the final mile. I have run on it in nearly every condition and season I can fathom: Sun, rain, snow, wind, and darkness of the night. It was on this road that I wrapped up my marathon training three days ago. I am physically and mentally ready for the Big Day tomorrow.

Months turned into weeks, weeks into days, and now I tick off the final hours before I toe the start line at Verazzano-Narrows bridge in Staten Island. The marathon will take me through a delightful, and sometimes painful, on-the-ground sightseeing tour of NYC like never before. It will go through all five boroughs, cross 5 bridges, and end at my favorite haunt in Manhattan - Central Park.

In my mind, I am a Kenyan and Ethiopian, but I know I cannot keep up with those flighty runners from the East African highlands. My only goal is to finish, whether it takes 4 hours (my predicted time), 4 and a half hours (in order to get my name in the NY Times), or 6 hours (to get my finisher's medal). Today is the Day of Arafah (Day of Repentance) in Mecca, where nearly 2 million pilgrims are beseeching God for forgiveness for a lifetime of sins. Tomorrow they will celebrate the end of the Hajj, but my Day of Reckoning will just be starting.

I intend to enjoy the company of my 45,000+ fellow runners, buoyed by cheers from the nearly 2 million spectators lining the streets of New York, entertained by the 130 performance groups, and nourished by the volunteers at the fluid and medic stations. With these welcome distractions, I will probably ignore my iPod. But at some point, I will need motivation from within. "Run, Jawaad, Run!" will be followed by "Labayk, Allahumma, Labayk (Here I am, O Lord)", leading to "Push, push, push!" in the final miles.

I will be a Starter on Verazzano, the King of Queensboro (Bridge), a Reveler on First Avenue, and a Finisher in Central Park.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

-Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on Snowy Evening

Random Fun Facts:
Longest distance (in training): 20.56 miles
Total training miles: 285.6 miles
Total training runs: 45
Total training time: 43 hours
Calories burned: 29600 (211 large chocolate chip cookies)

My Journey to the Finish Line: Running by Moonlight

"At night, when the sky is full of stars and the sea is still, you get the wonderful sensation that you are floating in space."

- Natalie Wood

Two nights ago, I ran 8 miles around the neighborhoods near my house. I was afraid that I would trip over something and hurt myself, as there are several stretches along my route that do not have street lights or are overshadowed by trees. But I was greatly relieved to step out my front door and see brilliant almost full moon directly overhead. And I was off, my feet dancing in a straight line between alternating patches of jet black asphalt and the faint orangeish hues cast by the overhead sodium streetlights.

Running at night is truly a surreal experience. For one thing, it is dark. Darkness conceals my reliable frames of reference I use to judge my pace. I feel I am running faster when I am actually running a bit slower. Silly double and triple shadows! However, the beauty of running in the dark is that I cannot see - see what is up ahead. If I cannot see what challenges lie ahead, I am not afraid of them. Like the hills, my nemesis. My least favorite parts of any route are the inclines. I like going downhill, feet cycling without abandon, but what goes down must come up, right? But the night hides the hills and I don't see them - I feel them. During the day, I have to plan to adjust my speed and energy when running up hills. At night, my feet dictate the rhythm and adapt to the grade.

Running at night is like being in a cocoon - perhaps being in a plane at cruise altitude, or even being at the top of a mountain with powerful thunderstorms miles and miles away. It is quiet and you can see the flashes of lightning, but the laggard roll of thunder is muted. You can see action beyond, but for now you are just floating by, oblivious to the fray. At least, that's what's going through my head at mile number 3, as I zoom by the houses on Milburn Street, with their occupants already tucked in and departed on their nightly sojourns.

I take a swig of my energy drink around mile number 4, glancing at my watch to check my time, and turning to look behind me, perceiving the red flashes of my taillight bouncing off the sidewalk. I look ahead to focus on the darkest stretch of my run up Hawkins Avenue, shielding my eyes from the glare of the oncoming headlights. The lights eventually drop away, giving way to the dazzling moonlight reflecting off the red and yellow strips of my safety vest.

Mile number 5. I turn off Hawkins Avenue onto Ruland Drive, at the southwest corner of the Strathmore Village subdivision. Running up the winding uphill stretch, I nearly slip on a hidden pile of sand. I recover quickly, only for the muted sanctity of the night to be shattered by several dogs barking from the safety of their owners' yards. I guess it was too early for the dogs to be sleeping. A car alarm goes off as I pass another driveway, and I startle a group of friends sitting on the curb as I round the crest of the hill. But slowly I settle back into the rhythm, streetlights approaching with regularity.

Mile number 6. During the day, the flow of my runs are governed by what I see and hear, and the beat of my heart. At night, I start to appreciate the keenness of my other senses - what my feet feel along the road and how my fingers respond to the breeze. But my strengthened sense of smell is what truly amazes me. I can smell the gentle fragrance of the blooming perennials I cannot see, the welcoming musty smell of sprinkled water falling on freshly cut grass and dry earth, the wafting odor of dying charcoal embers from a recent barbecue. The night in general is more pleasing to the olfactory bulb than the day. Surprisingly overwhelmed by the cornucopia of smells, I look towards the sky to clear my nose and observe thousands of stars in the sky (millions if not for the brightness of the moon). The sight truly gives a sensation of floating in space. Suddenly, my vision is obscured by a covering of leaves and I quickly look down and turn to avoid running into a tree.

Mile number 7. Another steep hill and now I am definitely getting tired. A car is idling on a driveway, and a couple of people are standing next to it, deep in conversation, but looking at me and scratching their heads. I run by a couple of sprinklers, seeking to cool down my aching legs. Back onto Strathmore Village Drive and up one last hill, a sharp pain emanates from my left ankle. My body, specifically my Achilles tendon, is awake now and warning me that it is almost time to go home.

Mile number 8. I slow down a bit - cannot afford to have my ankles quit and leave me sidelined for a while. I exit the Strathmore Village neighborhood about 6 minutes later onto the sidewalks of Wireless Road. I pick up speed, goaded by the headlights of the cars behind me, but am still going at a comfortable pace, crossing when it is safe, I re-enter my neighborhood and sprint for the last 20 seconds, thinking of the lime- and raspberry- flavored popsicle sticks waiting for me in my freezer. My feet stop. I'm finally home.

"If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years, how man would marvel and stare."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Random Running Statistics:
Total distance run - 98 miles
Total time run - 856 minutes (14 hours 16 minutes)
Number of runs - 21
Maximum heart rate - 188 bpm
Minimum heart rate - 144 bpm

My Journey to the Finish Line: The Spirituality of Running

"Your aim is before you. Behind your back is the hour which is driving you on. Keep (yourself) light and overtake (the forward ones). Your last ones are being awaited by the front ones."

- Imam Ali (A.S.), Sermon 21, Nahjul Balagha (Peak of Eloquence)

My grandfather was right when he said, "Why do I need to go to the mosque to find God? I see God in the trees on the golf course." At the time, my eight year-old brain processed these utterances as mere excuses to avoid the throngs of people at the mosque in the heart of Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania. Only now do I truly realize the profound truth in my grandfather's words, especially when I go on my runs. I, like most runners, am plugged into my MP3 player while flying or trudging along, but the melodious wisps floating through my earbuds are just background noise for my private conversations within myself and with God.

Running in itself is a very laborious and boring task, and accompanying music only soothes a little or may provide a little motivational spark. Some runners repeat personal mantras over and over again, while others rack their minds for a little bit of creative ingenuity to attack a problem they might be having. Yet others just clear their mind. For me, the sometimes physical monotony leads to a sort of spiritual cleansing. I ponder why I am here, and why in my right mind am I seeking to accomplish a goal my body was not built for? I get a little startled at my little epiphany and think I may be a little crazy, but just then I notice the flora and fauna surrounding me. I regularly encounter blue jays, cardinals, pigeons, rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks on my morning runs. Just when the heat and humidity conspire to slow me down, I get a boost by seeing all the spectacular flowers in full bloom. And in my mind I ponder, yet again, why am I here? I may be running the marathon to perhaps prove to myself that I can push my body to the limit and accomplish something that I may not have thought possible before. Maybe it is something to cross off my bucket list. But perhaps, it is the journey to get to the starting line, and the trials and tribulations that I will encounter during the race itself, more important than the end reward. It is a journey that reveals that I am not doing this of my own volition and by myself, but there is something greater guiding me along, gently reminding me of His presence with all these wonderful signs, nature's beauty which I would not have paid attention to if I had not forsaken those few precious minutes of sleep to go running. God is truly a great running partner.

It is with these thoughts bouncing around in my head that I approach the spiritual angle of the marathon with excitement and anxiousness. I fondly remember my many snippets of exciting moments when I ran the Buffalo Half Marathon in May 2009, but one of my most poignant memories was my 8th or 9th mile through South Buffalo, just when exhaustion was starting to creep in. Outside a small church was a pair of balding friars in their simple brown habits. These men of God looked like they could use a few laps around their house of worship. What really boosted my flagging energy was the bright smiles on their faces and the words of encouragement they imparted to each and every runner. I high-fived them and continued on my merry way, revitalized. With these recollections still fresh in my mind, I cannot wait to experience Miles 4 and 5 on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn. As Liz Robbins describes it in A Race Like No Other, it is a smorgasbord of various houses of worship, ranging from churches to synagogues to mosques. As Father Francisco Rodriguez eloquently puts it, "Runners are not doing this to win, but to finish. They are serving a higher purpose on this day."

"We felt we were going out to bless the people running. But what started happening was we were blessed."

- Pastor Frank Haye, as quoted in Liz Robbins' A Race Like No Other

Random Statistics

Number of runs: 18
Total miles run: 83
Time run: 725 minutes (12 hours 5 minutes)
Longest run: 10.13 miles

My Journey to the Finish Line

"The marathon demands determination and courage. The event should not be taken lightly; it asks us to reach down and test our mettle; rise above our limits, to become more disciplined, and to make substantial sacrifices. The rewards are unique: a sense of achievement beyond the scope of words."

-Toby Tanser, The Essential Guide to Running the New York City Marathon

It is almost the beginning of the 6th week of my training, with 104 days remaining before the Big Day. Most of the participants in this year's edition of the NYC Marathon have just completed the first week of their 16-week program. The journey to the starting line at the foot of the Verrazano-Narrows in Staten Island, New York has been months in the making, starting January 11th of this year. However, my 18-week training plan officially began the week of June 19th, and I completed just over 11 miles in 3 runs.

To prepare for the challenges past and upcoming, I had to move up the start of my training program. I completed the 3rd run of my first week while traveling to a conference in the Appalachians of the southwest corner of Pennsylvania. Lately, I have been battling the extreme heat and humidity by running earlier, skipping over scheduled short runs, or postponing them altogether. My total mileage thus far, 60 miles over 14 runs, is far below what I would have accomplished if I could stick to the plan, but guess what? Life intervened. However, my biggest training challenge is still yet to come. In a week's time, I and a billion of my brothers and sisters in faith will be welcoming the holy month of Ramadhan, where we are not allowed to eat nor drink from before sunrise to after sunset. I do not intend to slack off in my training. Rather, I will curtail my run distances to a maximum of 7-8 miles (60-70 minutes of continuous running) and do them at night, about 2 hours after I open my fast in order to avoid cramping. Yes, this will mark the return of 10:30-midnight runs, stored in my memories since I last participated in them with Michael and Peter around the NTU campus in Singapore 6 years ago.

These challenges can and will be a little trying, but a little toughness will strengthen my resolve, boost my endurance, and make me yearn for perseverance during what could be the hardest and most unique 26.2 miles of my life, shared with 45,000 fellow runners and 2 million spectators. The physical fine-tuning is well underway, but it will all be a waste if my mind doesn't arrive with my body at the starting line on Sunday, November 6th, 2011. I expanded my summer reading list beyond scientific articles just for this purpose, with tomes such as Toby Tanser's The Essential Guide to Running the New York City Marathon and Liz Robbin's A Race Like No Other populating my bookshelf, side table, and dresser. I've only just started reading other runners' accounts of their experiences before and during past NYC Marathons, and I cannot help but be psyched. I just have to keep this runner's high for a 104 more days and then let my endorphins take over for the final hours of this journey. Over the next 15 weeks, I will be logging and detailing my highs and lows in this incredible journey, and hopefully entertaining you. With that, I leave you with a particularly poignant quote from Liz Robbin's A Race Like No Other:

"Marathoners push themselves to the edge of insanity and exhaustion, because when they look back on those 26.2 miles, the view is profoundly satisfying. They see where they have been and what they have become."

Random Statistics

Number of runs: 14
Total distance: 59.63 miles
Total time: 525.15 minutes (8 hours 45 minutes)
Fastest average pace: 7 m 55 sec per mile (3.99 mile run)
Fastest average speed: 7.56 mph

Walk Like an Egyptian

Ana el Masry. "I am Egyptian."

For the past few months, I struggled to find the inspiration to post something new to my blog. I finally found it. People who know me know that I tend to be the most apolitical guy around and tend to take a logical approach to addressing and understanding world events. I have strong opinions about certain things, but I usually keep them contained unless I'm solicited for my two cents. After watching the events unfolding in Egypt over the last 3 weeks, I stand quiet no longer.

The protests in Egypt, popularly known as the 25th January Revolution or the Revolution of the Youth, strike at the very core of my humanity. They displayed human's yearning to be free - free of oppression, free of corruption, free of the circumstances that cause us to trudge along in the well-worn mold that we call our lives. It is very difficult to be impartial after observing these events.

I spent a few minutes nearly every day watching the live coverage on Al-Jazeera and BBC. The courage these men, women, and children displayed was truly amazing. They were steadfast despite being sprayed with water cannons and bullets, dodging rocks and Molotov cocktails, defending themselves with only their bodies and metal barricades. That they did not strike back with violence despite repeated provocations makes me respect them all the more. Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. would be proud.

We live in very troubled times. Economical and political circumstances are dire. Our cultures, religions, and way of lives are under attack - from within and outside. What the Egyptians did and will continue to do can only give us hope that we can change, starting with ourselves and those around us. They are a fresh beacon that show we can and need to be better human beings, to stand firm in what we believe in, but also push for our basic rights.

Even for a relatively stoic person like me, I couldn't help but be moved by the videos below:

What I'm Thankful For...

Today is Thanksgiving. We consider it as a day to gorge on food, spend time with friends and family, and watch some football. But we often forget its true purpose - to reflect and acknowledge the bounties in life, however difficult it may seem.

I'm thankful that I'm able to go home to Buffalo for the 7th time this year, to share this time with my family. I'm thankful for my two wonderful parents who have sacrificed so much so that we kids could have a brighter future. I'm thankful for my brothers Adnaan and Nabeel, with whom every moment is enjoyable, no matter how annoying they can sometimes be. I'm thankful that Buffalo/Amherst is a place that I can call "home", no matter what outsiders may think of it. It truly is a city of Good Neighbors.

I'm thankful for my family, amazing friends, encouraging advisor and dissertation committee members, cool colleagues, and sympathetic strangers without whose love and support I would have never been able to get through and complete my Ph.D. I'm thankful that I have housemates and a landlady and landlord who respect my privacy and contributions, even though I wish we interacted more. Even though Long Island is a step up in madness from Buffalo, I'm thankful that it has provided a comfortable abode all these years and has considerate, if sometimes aloof and hurried, inhabitants.

This year's job search had been a frustrating one. However, I'm thankful for all the notices of rejection I received because they humbled me and told me that I'm not the most qualified candidate - there's always room for improvement. Because of my advisor's efforts, my near future is clearer.

When I'm running a particularly difficult race, when my focus and motivation to continue starts to waver, I'm thankful that I have two working legs that can carry me to the finish line.

While this year has been full of little and big joys, it will not leave without its shares of sorrows. My grand-uncle Nisar, affectionately referred to as Uncle or Bapa Joji, departed this world on February 9, followed by our dear Maa, my Nana, on September 6, just two days before my Ph.D. defense. I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to meet them both shortly before their passing. I will carry and cherish many wonderful moments I spent with them as long as my faculties don't fail me.

I'm thankful I'm me. I'm thankful to God for making this all possible.

Bust most of all, I'm thankful to you, dear reader, for making it this far.

Happy Thanksgiving!

My Forrest Gump Moment

As I sat in the waiting area at the Jamaica train station seven Sundays ago, surrounded by a staccato of patois-English, I reflected on the incredible events of the previous six days. I don't think I've ever experienced such a wide array of events in such a short span of time, accompanied by emotions ranging from profound sadness to pure joy. While I didn't share my life experiences with my neighbors as Forrest Gump did, I spent those endless minutes mentally separating out and appreciating each of the moments that had become blended together in the fast pace of life.

Monday began with the deepest sorrow I had felt in years. I logged into Facebook and read on one of my cousins' status that my beloved Nana, affectionately known as Maa (Mother) by many, my last surviving grandparent, had passed away. This sad news was confirmed a few minutes later with a phone call from my Dad. I was dazed. While Nana's passing was not sudden - "rather expected" as put by one of my uncles - it did hurt me at my very core. As I've learned to do after hearing of such news over the past years, I read Sura Ya Sin, a chapter from the Qur'an that reminds the people of their impending return to their Lord. Even though I had read the chapter countless times, this time it was the hardest ever. Every few verses, I could not help but choke up a sob and remember the happy moments I shared with my Nana. But somehow, I managed to finish the chapter. I was supposed to be preparing for my dissertation defense, which was to take place on Wednesday, but try as I might, I could simply not focus. Instead I turned to Facebook to chat with my brother and cousins to try soothe my troubled heart. recounted my trip to Tanzania in January, where we spent many treasured moments with Nana, and I told my brother Adnaan that I was glad that I joined him after initially planning to go after I defended my Ph.D. A couple hours after I initially got the news, I called my Mom. Our conversation was filled with more sobs and tears than words, especially unusual coming from me, but I think it was a necessary early part to our grieving. The rest of the day became more bearable and I did manage to go over my slides for Wednesday's presentation.

Tuesday dawned, and while I was still deeply saddened, I was more poised to tackle the day's sole challenge, and that was to be prepared for the Defense. After waking up and getting ready for lab, I presented (to myself) without my notes for the first time. Then I headed to lab and busied myself with some of the other tasks I had planned to work on the following week. Then I came back to my presentation and practiced one more time. I visited the scene of my upcoming showdown, the Bioengineering Conference Room, to ensure that all the necessary equipment was in place. And then I went home and tried to re-read my notes to make sure I was prepared for potential questions that might arise the next day.

I tried to sleep early, but it took me nearly an hour to fall asleep. I suddenly awoke at 2:30 a.m. and tossed and turned fitfully for about 2 hours before finally falling asleep. I finally got up again at 7 and got ready for the Defense. Most people who know me know that I don't like dressing up in dress shirts, pants, ties, and suits. But today was different. Today was the most important day in my graduate career, and probably the most important day in my 26 years and 363 days thus far. Today I was going to earn the signatures that opened the gate to the Ph.D. degree and allowed me to carry the humbling title of "Doctor". More anxious than anything, I spent the hours prior to the Defense browsing the internet aimlessly, reading the news, checking the weather, making my fantasy football picks, anything that wasn't even remotely related to my dissertation. With 1 hour remaining until showtime, several of my lab colleagues and I headed over to the Bioengineering building to set up the conference room. I made sure to arrange the coffee, juice, donuts, and sugar cookies in a way that wouldn't be distracting to me during the presentation. While I wasn't fasting that day, it was still the holy month of Ramadhan, and I was mentally in fasting mode. With the computer, projector, chairs, and food ready, I sat down and twiddled my fingers. The audience members and Dr. Jesty, the chair of the defense committee, started streaming in about 20 minutes before the presentation, and while I made casual conversation with them, the room started to fill up. At 1:28 p.m., the room was packed and it was literally standing room only, with 3 of the audience members hanging out by the door. At 1:29 p.m., Dr. Frame, the final committee member, made her way to the last remaining chair in the room. The clock struck 1:30 p.m. It was time for the Defense! After a brief introduction by Dr. Jesty, it was up to me to impress and prove to the audience that the research I had done was important and beneficial to science and the society at large. After an initial shaky start (due to my unfamiliarity with the handheld clicker and laser pointer and slight twinge of nervousness), my slides began flowing together smoothly, and exactly 40 minutes later, I was done! Not quite. The audience and I were booted out of conference room, where the committee convened to prepare their game plan to grill me. After a couple minutes of chit-chat with the last stragglers out of the room, I was left in solitude and sat outside the room. After 10 minutes, I was beckoned back in. The cross-examination was not as I feared. The committee members gently prodded me about the intricacies of some of my results and methods, and proposed several suggestions on how to improve my dissertation. Fifty-three minutes later, Dr. Jesty asked for my signature sheet, and all 4 committee members unanimously scrawled their John Hancocks on this now-all-important sheet of paper, unofficially agreeing to allow me to conclude my long but rewarding graduate school travails. The official commencement of the next chapter of my life would occur on December 22nd. I presented a small token of my appreciation (from Tanzania) to each of the committee members, prompting Dr. Frame to quip, "You're supposed to bribe us before your defense, not after!" Dr. Bahou responded, "The donuts and sugar cookies were pretty good though!" The members strolled -- no, rushed -- out to their next engagements, while I cleaned up the conference room, trying to entice whatever students walked by to grab whatever sugary delicacies that remained. I finally left the building at 4:00 p.m., and walked back to my lab on the East Campus, where my colleagues awaited to take me to John Harvard's for a nice small meal. I should have been jumping for joy, but I was still a bit subdued by the loss of my Nana just a couple days earlier. However, I slept well that night.

On Thursday, I woke up before the crack of dawn to catch the 6:30 a.m. morning rush hour train towards the city -- for my 10:30 flight to Buffalo. My attempted nap was fitful, as I was often interrupted by the loud snores of a well-dressed executive across the aisle from me. My two-hour wait at the airport and subsequent 1 hour flight was quite uneventful and boring, and I arrived on time for the first time in many trips across the state. After a short stay at home, I went with Mom to Buffalo Hearing and Speech to pick up new hearing aids to replace my museum pieces. After a quiet dinner at home, we were joined by Adnaan, who had driven up from Philadelphia. We all went to bed early.

Friday was an eventful day, both in terms of significance and activity. It was Eid-ul-Fitr, marking the end of the holy month of Ramadhan. It was also my 27th birthday and the 14th anniversary of the passing of my Dadima, my paternal grandmother. Looking back, I think of it as an honor that the peak of my academic career was bookended by the departures of two of the most important people in my life. We all woke up early, showered, and dressed very nicely and drove the two hours to Brampton in Canada to participate in Eid congregational prayers. Now I think some family members paid off the Imam, himself a distant relative of mine, since he mentioned that young people these days put off marriage until later because, "Mom and Dad, I can't afford to marry yet. I need to get a job first and become independent." While he said it in general, I think it was directed at me. I whispered to myself, "Okay, I surrender. No more excuses." And then repeated it one more time aloud to the Imam himself after the prayers. We briefly met some of our family members and then drove across town to the northern suburbs of Toronto to visit and condole two of Nana's sisters. Finally, we ended the long day at Aunty Amina's house, where we enjoyed a peaceful dinner and post- food coma conversation with my Uncle, Aunt, and cousins Javed and Nuzhat. We three brothers played Monopoly to a draw and went to sleep at 1 a.m.

On Saturday morning, Aunty Amina and Javed made us a nice breakfast of omelette and (real!) French toast, after which we went to Uncle Mehdi's house for a small program to celebrate Eid and reminisce about the good ol' days and remember departed elders of the family. After the sumptuous umpteen-course meal of biryani, kachori, samosa, and Nestle chocolates, Aunty Zainab surprised cousin-in-law Nishaat and me with a September birthday cake. I was truly pleasantly surprised, as I thought no one would remember my birthday. After a group photo consisting of 30+ people and as many retakes, we finally departed for home sweet home. Not being able to eat anymore despite it being dinnertime, Nabeel and I resorted to playing knee hockey in the basement, after which the aforementioned knees were baby smooth and hairless for the first time in years. Oh yeah, the carpet burn was painful too. Then Adnaan, Nabeel, and I played Monopoly yet again, but this time we played to a draw, at 1 a.m., because we were keeping Mom and Dad awake.

Sunday dawned and Adnaan left early, eager to return to Philadelphia and recommence his endless studying. I departed for the airport a few hours later. While my flight was only slightly delayed, the luggage in New York took a while to come out, and I ended up missing the 4:20 p.m. train back to Stony Brook and had to settle for the 5:50 train and a cool seat on the platform at Jamaica station.

While bobbing along to the last few strains of sing-song patois, my ears suddenly perked up to the mixed Noo Yawk-Caribbean voice that boomed over the speakers, "Tha Five Fiftee traaainn to Hantingtan stayshun is now approachin'....oll aaabooard!" I tipped my head to patois-chattering ladies and boarded my ride home.