My First Marathon

It has been a while since I posted an update. I hope to get caught up this coming week, but they will not be in chronological order. My sense of linear time has collapsed; maybe it never existed in the first place. What matters are the stories I´ve collected to share with you.

It´s pouring outside and I´m sitting in the empty desk of my Argentinian roommate who flew back home a couple weeks ago, working on my Spanish roommate´s tiny computer. Her password is ´mierda´. My trusty purple 2006 MacBook finally kicked the bucket; and although I am glad it can eternally rest, I firmly believe it could have at least waited until after finals. I left it at the repair shop for a week and was charged exorbitant fees for them to tell me it was too expensive to fix and they can´t do anything. Since the beginning of March, I have not had a convenient or functional computer setup. I feel handicapped. When did we start depending on technology so heavily? Was it our decision?

Last weekend I travelled to Madrid again to participate in the Rock ´n Roll 2012 Madrid Marathon. The night before I left, I went out with a couple British friends and Katelyn to a Japanese and Chinese all-you-can-eat buffet for 8 euros. There was a narrow conveyor belt constantly chugging around the tables carrying various dishes, we watched the same cold pair of prawns circle sadly around the entire night like a sick amusement park ride. If you saw something to liked, you had to snatch it before the other tables spotted it. Naturally we entered into an eating contest and anyone who knows me well knows that I took the competition seriously. I could hardly walk afterwards, but I had the excuse of needing running energy. If there is an alternate universe where I don´t run regularly I wouldn’t want to see a picture of myself.

I woke up early the next morning to catch the five hour bus ride to the capital and ran into our official groupies: Theresa´s roommates, Louise and Maeve. In the evening the four of us gathered at the temporary apartment rented by Theresa´s aunt and mother to eat a well-balanced meal of fish, roasted vegetables, and bread. The atmosphere was homey and warm, the decorations were colorful but tasteful, and everyone was relaxed. We posed for pictures in our fancy free running singlet we received earlier that day when we got our bibs and attended the pasta party. I could not think of a better pre-race night. We slept on couches and woke up before the sun to eat our meager breakfast then went in search of the finish line to drop off our belongings.

The port-O-pots advertised being ´ecofriendly´, and when I got inside discovered that was a polite way of saying ´no toilet paper´. In a panic, I saw a man discard the course map and scooped it up before it hit the ground, and did my business minutes before the start. Non-runners may not understand the importance of this pre-race ritual, but it can make or break you. During the race I saw many runners who were not as fortunate as I was, you could smell what happened before you saw what happened.

We weaved and squeezed our way up to the 3:45 pace balloons, and unceremoniously shuffled in a giant mass over the electrical mats that would start our chip time. I was tight and anxious for the first 10k, concentrating so hard I couldn´t keep a conversation with Theresa. I warmed up a bit and was going strong by the 20k, and surprisingly started to have fun. I fully realized that I was in Spain, running a marathon, and a great sense of pride came over me. I picked up the pace.

There were water stations and a band playing every 5k, and it felt like you were running on a giant treadmill with 100 other people. The last 4k (out of 42k) was uphill (who planned that?!) and I was approached by a man with a microphone and he ran alongside me. It was a bit strange, because the last time I was in Madrid I was also interviewed and on the news. I told him (okay, lied) that I didn´t speak Spanish and ran past the video camera.

The last 2k I began to feel numbness creep up my legs and had the sensation my toes had fallen off and were floating around in my shoes. I made it over the finish line, pins and needles spread up my legs and arms, across my face, and I had to fight for consciousness. I succeeded.

They wrapped me in a plastic blanket, put a medal over my head, and fed me slimy oatmeal. I wobbled by and ate everything they handed to me, sat contentedly on the grass, and felt the most accomplished I have ever felt in my life.

I finished over 9 minutes faster than my goal pace, with a final time of 3:33:17. My place was 58^th out of 1015 women who ran, putting me in the top 5%. I ran 8 minute miles for 26 miles.

We found each other at the finish line, ate ice cream, and then got on the bus for the long and painful five-hour ride back to Granada.

Our groupies accross the Metro

Pasta Party

The Last Supper

Recollections: Madrid Trip

I found this from before my computer crashed, it is about a month old:

Several factors have contributed to my lack of documentation this month. I spent a week sick with a virus right after we returned from Madrid, I must have caught something while we were traveling. Theresa and I were two miles into our long run when I suddenly felt extremely ill, and stopped to puke dramatically over the railing into the river below. There were tons of people milling about due to the regional holiday and beautiful weather and I don’t want to know how many people saw me lose my breakfast. She walked me home and I spent the rest of the day in bed tossing and turning, the shades closed like a dark quarantined cave, starving and wishing I had a host mom to take care of me. The nausea turned into a sore throat, which turned into a cough, and is now a mild cold.

I have also developed an aversion to anything that resembles homework, and unfortunately typing my experiences at times seems like a chore. I haven’t been taking pictures, but instead have been keeping all the amazing sights for my own selfish eyes to absorb. It is so gorgeous outside that nothing else exists but for the endless day. In my mind there are few responsibilities, and they have little importance. It does not help my situation that it has come to my attention I only need to get 70% in my classes for the credits to transfer. I feel like I am floating through time.

Many things have happened this month. My intercambio partner Pablo (a native Spaniard, we meet to drink tea and practice speaking together) drove me home on his motorbike. I felt like Amélie driving down cobblestone roads, but instead of wrapping my hands around a skinny young Frenchman they were stretched over the abdomen of a middle aged businessman. We dodging crossed pedestrians and other vehicles while the wind blew through my… helmet.

I started volunteering twice a week at the Escuela del Virgen Pilar, a preschool for children in a poor neighborhood. It is protected from the outside world by gates and thick concrete walls. I teach them yoga moves, dance with them, help them read, serve them lunch, and play while supervising. The first time I tried to leave after my three hours were done, they grabbed onto my legs and chanted “No te vayas!” They wouldn’t let go of me until I convinced them I would come back next week.

Despite being forced to rest for nearly two weeks without running because of my illness, I managed to complete a 21-mile run by myself last week. I am only 5 miles away from marathon distance, and the race is in one month. I am feeling confident but also incredulous that my body can actually accomplish such a feat. I keep looking at my watch to see if it’s correct, technology can’t trick me right? Did I really run for three hours and six minutes? Humans are truly incredible creatures.

Other happenings include: a random man stopping his motorcycle in front of me, asking for the time and grabbing my wrist, then proceeding to tell me I am attractive and attempting to kiss me, a spring bolletón where thousands of young people packed into a parking lot and got wasted together, and a day hike where we played around in old civil war trenches.

Our program through Arcadia University took us on a weekend trip to Toledo, Madrid, and Segovia in February. It was already paid for in our tuition costs, so the expectation was that you will go or you will waste your money. I cannot explain it, but I disagree with the concept of traveling because you have nothing better to do instead of having a true desire to travel. We had two chaperones and it felt like a high school band trip.

The first stop was Toledo, a small city contained by a river with ridiculously narrow streets to confuse attackers (and tourists). It was very chilly because the sunlight was unable to penetrate the tangle of buildings, there were knives in all the gift shops, and ice coated in fish guts was melting in the gutters. Tired and hungry, sore feet from the bus ride and cobble stones, we had trouble finding our way around because we could not see any landmark in the medieval maze. The water ran brown in our hotel. It felt like a nightmare.

My mood improved considerably with dinner, where the ‘vegetarian’ meal consisted of tuna salad, smoked salmon lasagna, and salty codfish in tomato sauce. Needless to say, I have become a pescatarian since coming here. For dessert I had the local specialty, marzipan- a cake with an almond and sugar paste, and finished off all the brownies and ice cream my neighbors could not fit into their full stomachs.

Battle axe

We left in the morning for Madrid, where a tour guide accompanied us around the city. I felt uncomfortable standing next to him because he had an ostentatious loudspeaker hung from his neck; historical dates and facts in English were being blasted to our American ears on the streets. I was embarrassed to be so easily classified as a foreigner. I stayed at the back of the group and ‘accidentally’ got separated from them in the art museum later in the day. I love museum gift shops. I love paper products, how they feel underneath my fingers, so fresh and clean… waiting for my ideas to fill their emptiness. I bought a sketchbook and a postcard.

Lunch was seven courses, with tea and rice pudding for dessert. It took us two full hours to complete the ordeal. Devoting the entire afternoon to the simple task of eating was glorious, like Thanksgiving except it happens every day in Spain. Take your time and enjoy your company. It makes a huge difference. We walked over to the Palacio Real, where photos were not allowed inside for security reasons.

Palacio Real

Me and Tree

Parental Supervision

Can you find Dora?

Bubble man

This is my favorite.

Afterwards we walked to the Reina Sophia, the modern art museum. My camera’s battery exhausted on the way over capturing street performers. It had similar pieces to the Walker in Minneapolis, but also had works of Picasso including Guernica. The raw emotion was electric and gave me goose bumps. The striking pain made my heart ache. Would we have as much art as we do without war?

I got a cone of phish food from the Ben & Jerry’s shop, and we headed to the bear statue to meet for the pub-crawl. I drank the most I ever have in my life, but surprised myself by keeping my sense of direction and reason. We were leaving in the morning for Segovia, so at 3am I led my friends like a shepherd back to the hotel.

Our breakfast was pure carbs, a giant sourdough roll and a large spongy croissant. There was no fruit or protein to be seen. I still am amazed at times there is not a bigger problem with obesity. As soon as we got off the bus, the imposing graceful arches of an ancient aqueduct greeted us. People of all shapes and sizes in costume were playing music and dancing in the plaza, the festive town  of Segovia was so different than sleepy old Toledo. The locals were not stuck in time but living in harmony with the past. I purchased some fruit from a street vendor and we explored the castle, I loved running up the stairs of the tower- it felt like a medieval chuck-E-cheese’s! The corridors were so cold and damp, no wonder royalty were so pale and infirm looking.

Aquaduct

Festival

Side Street

The Castle

Katie and Erik

View from the top

Lunch with Katelyn

We returned to Madrid and my PJs went on right away. After watching half a fútbol game I was asleep, and woke up to repeat the ultra-carb breakfast for the second morning in a row. Sleep is an important part of being alert to life. My Nikon batteries were both exhausted by now, but it forced to me to experience instead of capture the moments. I heard a lot of bystanders mentioning taking ‘obligatory’ photographs to share with friends and family. Why do we feel like this?

We strolled around Buen Retiro Park (similar to Central Park) and saw little rowboats for rent on the glittering blue lake, and a pair of black swans swimming in a pond. I was interviewed by telemadrid about the unseasonable warmth. We sat on the steps looking out over the water and sketched the statues, then went on a successful hunt for paella. The last day was my favorite, except for the five-hour bus ride.

Sophie and me

Suhayr, Theresa, and myself

Unusual Couple with Nuclear Family

Feather

Fish 

Bird

Glass egg

Paella

Our assistant program directors

Did this trip enrich me or did I just go because I had to? Do we grow in unconscious ways we cannot detect? I didn’t feel very different after returning to Granada, except that I caught a flu.