Translation Needed

I was tired when I got to work today. I am not sure if it is old age or if I am simply getting older—either way, I am feeling old.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I spent the better part of the last three days interacting, eating, and speaking for a group of about 100 Pathfinders from the east side of Phoenix. They were made up of young kids belonging to three main Spanish churches: Mesa, Phoenix Central and Gilbert (I am guessing the last one). They each had their own nickname, which I can’t remember either.

What I do remember is that Penny was cold most of the time and there was no sound system. I also know that I enjoyed myself, and ate a lot, although I can’t help but wonder where all the youth speakers are. It seems a bit sad to me that the only speaker they can find is 20 years removed from his last year as a “youth” by any stretch of the imagination or policy definition.

Regardless, I had a blast. The kids were courteous and receptive. I even climbed the hills with the lion’s share of the campers on Sabbath afternoon and had the Sabbath vespers program at the Wind Caves, near the summit. It was only a couple of miles from the camp to the destination, but most of it was uphill, and a portion of it tugging Penny along by my belt, which she held from behind. She was unable to keep my slow pace so she decided to set me free to chase the wind while she stayed behind. I, of course, forgetting that I am 20 years removed from any vestiges of youth, chased the lead pack, wearing my slacks, a shirt and tie, and caught them before their reached the summit.
My heart was pounding at an alarming rate. My breathing must have sounded borderline obscene to those in close proximity. Thankfully by the time the remainder of the group had arrived (including Penny!), my heart rate and breathing had returned to normal. Most people still seemed surprised to see me there.

The funniest moment came when upon our descent (this time I chivalrously stayed back with Penny) from the hill, Penny and I found a straggler lady sitting at the side of the road. We invited her to join us since we were amongst the last (we were, in fact, the last) group to return to camp. She at first refused our invitation. But after mentioning that we had seen a couple of coyotes earlier that day she jumped up with new-found vigor and began to walk with us. I didn’t bother to tell her that coyotes do not normally approach humans. She was among the group that did not scale Mini-Everest earlier that afternoon. She said she had badly bruised her shin bumping into an immovable bench at camp. We did not challenge the story. What was mildly amusing is that she also mentioned that she was amazed that I was even attempting to climb, and beyond that she was questioning my mental stability earlier in the day when she saw the frenetic pace I had set for myself. Then she made a statement that requires some translation.

What she said literally in Spanish was, “It was just that you are such a strapping gentleman (un señor tan amarrado)…” Well, it occurred to me that amarrado (strapping) had perhaps a different meaning in Spanish than “strapping” in English. This was confirmed somewhat by the laughter emanating from a tall and strapping Hispanic gentleman that had recently joined our walk. He made it quite clear that the meaning of amarrado was more in line with my granddaughter’s “fluffy” than with my self-serving translation of “buff.” I chose the high road in light of her humorous color commentary and had a laugh at my own expense…again. Penny was very amused as well.

I am sure I would not be feeling so sore today if I were truly strapping. All of a sudden I am feeling very old again. Excuse me while I fill my tub with hot water, Epsom Salt and Ben Gay.