26.2

On Sunday, I ran through 29 of Chicago’s finest neighborhoods as part of my first marathon.

The boy and I entered the marathon lottery back in February, when we were much more naïve and when October seemed eons away. We had watched our good friend Rajveer cross the finish line at the Istanbul marathon and we were feeling the second-hand high from his great achievement. A few weeks later, we got the e-mails telling us congratulations, we had been selected. That’s when shit got real.

Fast forward to June and it was time to begin the official 16-week training program. I went with a coaching plan from my Nike running app. The schedule consisted of 4-5 runs a week and incorporated speed workouts, cross-training and of course, the long runs on the weekend. For the most part I stuck to the program pretty closely – the only time I fell off the bandwagon was during the two-week taper period when I was moving to Denver and everything in my life was literally a mess. Let's just say I tapered pretty hard.

There were certainly some memorable runs, most of them the long ones. I remember completing my 14-miler along the Chicago lakefront on a chilly afternoon and feeling exhilarated afterwards that I’d run that far, the farthest I’d ever gone to that point. I remember attempting to do my 18-miler in Whitehall, Michigan as the morning temperatures slowly crept up into the low-90’s. I ended up walking a third of that run in absolute misery. I remember getting up at four in the morning to run my 20 miles before going in to work and then boarding a flight to Iceland that evening. I remember running two 11-mile loops in Reykjavik, battling wind and rain, and when I completed them, telling myself that if I could run twenty two miles in Reykjavik, then I sure as hell could run twenty six in Chicago.

Before I knew it, October 11^th had arrived. I was a bundle of nerves the night before but I woke up feeling well rested and ready for the task at hand (or on foot, rather). I met up with my friend Patrick in our corral and focused on thinking positive thoughts, like what a beautiful day it was and how lucky I was to be healthy enough to be running a marathon. Then the horn sounded, and we were off!

The first half of the marathon flew by. Patrick and I ran most of it together with the 4:10 pace group as we went up through the North side neighborhoods where we passed by friendly faces who spurred us on. The energy of the crowds was absolutely infectious and made us want to run fast – at one point we had managed to get ahead of the pacers and I remember turning and asking him, “this probably isn’t a good sign, right?” 

Speaking of signs, we saw some really fun ones along the course:

“You’re running better than Donald Trump!”

“Where are you guys all going?”

“All this work…just for one banana?”

“This seemed like a better idea 4 months ago”

“Just don’t poop yourself.”

The real race started around mile 13, at which point the novelty and exhilaration of it all had worn off and all there was left to do was to hunker down and put some serious pavement behind me. I don’t recall too much between miles 13 to 20. I knew that this was when my body would naturally begin to protest and that I needed to keep going and to save the real pity party for the last few miles. I do remember letting myself feel a fleeting moment of joy at mile 18 – (“Hey, 18’s pretty close to the finish!”) – before realizing I was only about 2/3 of the way through, a depressing thought. After that I forced myself not to dwell about being even close to done until I’d at least reached mile 22, the furthest I’d run in my training program.

Well, mile 22 turned out to be the worst. The absolute worst. The boy and I both agreed on this in retrospect. There were almost no crowds in this stretch (we’d been spoiled earlier by the festivities in Chinatown, one of the best spots for spectator cheering), it was starting to get really hot, and 22 miles is far enough to be very painful, but not far enough where the excitement of finishing begins to take over. While I never did hit the dreaded “wall”, if I had, it would’ve been at 22.

I got through the remaining miles at around an 11:00 mile pace – not my fastest, but I was just happy that I didn’t stop and walk. In the last .2 miles, at the last turn, a lot of runners around me started going really fast out of excitement, some of them bursting into all-out sprints. I was excited too when I saw the finish line and I remember trying to pick it up – but I just couldn’t. My body was like, hell no lady; you are not going any faster than this. I crossed the finish line four hours and nineteen minutes after I’d started. Words cannot describe how good it felt.

Finishing a marathon and doing the mile-ish walk to the reunite area was definitely one of the strangest experiences of my life. My legs were like planks, stiff and strange. I could not bend at the knee properly and I felt like my feet were glued to the ground. I’d reluctantly pick one foot up, stiffly swing it forward, put my weight on it, and repeat on the other side. It looked totally ridiculous but then again, everyone else around me was doing the same pain shuffle. All of us had ran 26.2 miles and apparently forgotten how to walk. And don’t even get me started on stairs.

I "walked" away with some soreness and minor chafing but nothing else that a hot meal, a cold beer and a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. It’s been 2 days since I crossed the finish line and my feet and legs are feeling almost completely back to normal. 

Running a marathon was the most physically challenging thing I’ve ever done in my life. I feel happy with my time and proud that I saw it through without walking or injury. Like all new big life experiences, it’s something that I have learned from and that I will treasure forever – another piece of the puzzle that makes me, me. I am grateful for all the support - the good lucks, the pats on the back, the people who showed up on race day and cheered us on. And a shout out especially for the boy's mama, who drove in from Michigan that weekend and was the best spectator ever, in my unbiased opinion. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’m not sure if I will run another marathon anytime soon. Probably not until the motivation comes to me or there’s a good reason/cause involved. I do feel happy to be able to call myself a marathoner, though, and I fully intend to keep on running.

First week in Istanbul!

There are only a few times a year when I experience weeks as disruptive as this last one. Everything is so new and unfamiliar, from the location of knives in my kitchen to the Turkish column names in the database tables our team works with. Just like when I first arrived to Glasgow, I'm operating in constant 'what-is-happening-brain-overload-hallppp' mode - every little thing is something new to learn and master.

It's definitely been overwhelming - but in a good way. I'm a firm believer that this kind of shakeup is good for the brain. Too much lollygagging in the same place brings about mental canker sores.

In my last entry, I alluded to spending our one day in Glasgow in packing hell...

Brought to you by Hurricane ThoughtWorks.

Above is a highlight from Packocalypse. Everything on the daybed was to donate or give away, everything on the coffee table was a 'maybe', and everything on the dining table was a 'definitely take with us'. Not pictured: further Packocalypse wreckage in bathroom and bedroom.

The move was made up of a series of small miracles.

1. I was able to sell my Lady Gaga tickets that day via Gumtree, the UK's answer to craigslist 

2. We were able to offload many items to co-workers

3. We eventually managed to to sit/stomp/punch our belongings into a total of 10 bags. 

4. The airline only lost one of said bags. 

5. The airline recovered it and sent it to us. 

6. Neither of us went insane.

Our unit here in Istanbul is in a ridiculously glamorous skyscraper. If it looks familiar, it's because I stayed here six months ago when visiting the city. What's funny is that the bedroom we slept in then, which belonged to another ThoughtWorker who was out of town at the time - is the one we ended up moving into now. And the colleague who had hosted us before is now our roommate - small world!

Our new living room - pretty different from the old one.

Breakfast with the roomies.

I could get used to these floor-to-ceiling windows.

The residence tower where we stay is connected to the corporate tower where we work via a shopping mall. So the commute is a five-minute weave between the two buildings and does not require going outside...sounds pretty great, and it has been so far (no need to carry an umbrella...what a difference from the UK!), but I'm fairly sure it'll begin to feel a bit Truman-Show-esque after a while.

Where I work. This building looks identical to the one where I live.

In between all the packing and shopping for supplies, we managed to squeeze in a long run over the weekend. Along the way, we encountered a few interesting locals:

We cracked up at this Jesus-like bird basking in the warmth of the rising sun.

Our roommate and a furry friend.
The stray dogs in Turkey are incredible - friendly, mostly huge, clean, and healthy.
This fella was downright fat!

Just from first impressions so far, the boy and I have dubbed Istanbul as the the love child of Manhattan and Bangalore, which rings true to the epithet of this city being where East meets West. There are people milling about at all hours of the day and the city seems to offer a bit of everything. Admittedly, I've seen very little of Istanbul so far but I hope to explore more in the coming weeks and share what it's like here.

One thing I've already grown fond of are the salats, or prayers, that are performed five times a day in the mosques. At first, I (very stupidly) thought they were recordings. Which in retrospect makes no sense at all. Derp.

Here is an example of a salat being performed at the Blue Mosque. I think they sound very beautiful.

I'm happy and excited to be here. It doesn't take much - just being around wonderful people and amazing food (almost as important!) tends to do the trick. Istanbul is already beginning to feel like home away from home.

ThoughtWorkers up to no good.

Magnets from our travels holding up far-away family and friends.

We've been playing a lot of Jaipur, an excellent boardless game.

I couldn't resist a quick snap of my new bling against the urban backdrop.

One thing in our 'definitely take with us' pile of things was our airbed. So if you, dear reader, are interested in visiting out this amazing city, let me know! I would love to host you and show you around.

Barcelona: Day 2

Day two began with a run through Montjuic Park. Along the way we passed a castle, a grand museum, and a giant inflated bottle of Estrella Damm.

A much-needed rest doubled as a photo op after a grueling uphill stretch

Montjuic castle from the outside

When in Europe, wear short shorts

View of the shipyard/pier from the top of Montjuic hill

My true love and me

My other true love and me

After lunch and some freshening up, we headed towards Park Guell, another one of Gaudi's (and by association, the city's) most prized works. When we stepped out of the Airbnb the streets of Las Ramblas were insanely crowded, even more so than yesterday. Languid tourists, fast-paced locals, street entertainers showing off in every direction, all bustling to and fro. I blinked; Barcelona suddenly felt a lot like Manhattan.

On the stairs descending into the subway, the crowd separated me from the boy for a moment. Shoulder-to-shoulder, looking down, all rushing into the underground. I briefly made eye contact with a man to my side when my crossbody bag got jostled. In that moment I thought nothing of it.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped at the kiosks to buy tickets for the subway. By this time the crowds had thinned out. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the same man who'd been next to me was at the bottom of the stairs. Slowly, nonchalantly, he started to head back up. This was mildly puzzling; who heads down into the subway only to go back up?

Then the thought entered my head. Could it be true? I didn't want to believe it.

I fumbled and unzipped my bag. Phone, yes. Water bottle, yes. Wallet - no. No no no. Wait Rose, before you do anything dumb, think. Did you even bring your wallet out today? I concentrated hard for a second. Yes, I definitely did. 

It all unfolded in a minute. I think my brain pretty much shut off as the adrenaline flooded in.

"That man stole my wallet! Hey! You! GIVE ME BACK MY WALLET! HEY!" I was sprinting up the stairs, yelling at the top of my lungs, the boy running as fast as he could after the perpetrator. We reached the top of the stairs; by then a large audience had formed around the subway entrance, no doubt curious about the commotion. The man was a few paces ahead of us, still sprinting, but we were catching up and the scene was drawing more and more attention. He produced my wallet from his jacket and tossed it to the ground before running off and disappearing into the crowd.

Thankfully, nothing was taken. I had heard of so many friends and family being victims to petty theft but had naively thought it would never happen to me. I was very lucky in that I recovered my wallet, but the experience left me feeling thoroughly shaken up.

Luckily, Park Guell proved to be a wonderful distraction from reality. Established in the early 1900's, Gaudi's park made La Sagrada Familia look almost normal. Fantastic colors, intricate mosiacs, and with no straight lines in sight... it was as if Gaudi had been commissioned to design this park under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs.

The girl who (almost) got her wallet stolen

A Rose among rocks

El drac

Gaudi's gingerbread houses

Life imitating art

Entrance to the park

Fun fact: in Chinese, one is told to say 'eggplant' to achieve the same effect as saying 'cheese' in English

Inside one of Gaudi's houses

He just blue himself.

Dinner was an affair of €1 tapas. The tapas were all lined up buffet-style at the bar. A very hungry hippo simply purveys the variety of tapas, selects them, eats them to their hearts content, and at the end settles the bill via the number of toothpicks on their plate.

It was genius. It was delicious. I gobbled up eleven of them in total.

Mini breakfast, tiny fork included.

A creme brulee to end things on a sweet note.

We capped the evening off with a stroll back to our neighborhood and a couple of beers under the night sky while a trio of musicians serenaded the square with some traditional Spanish music - a perfect way to relax after what had been a very exciting second day in Barcelona. 

Glasgow: first impressions

In no particular order:

Goodbye, Rose's money. Everything -  cabs, meals, services, clothing/misc goods - seems to be about 30-40% on average more expensive here than in the States. Factor that in with the travel plans I am making and 2014 is already looking to be a bleak financial year for my savings account. But the unexpected kicker atop all of this? My corporate apartment is located about half a block from the Glaswegian equivalent of the Magnificent Mile. In the span of five minutes I can walk to Topshop, LUSH, the Body Shop, and a plethora of other stores that like to party hard with my credit card. I keep glancing at prices and thinking "Oh, that's quite reasonable" before realizing it's all in pounds, not USD. Also, my UK laptop is trying to convince me to spellcheck realizing with "realising".

I am surrounded by stunning architecture. It is a wide-angle-lens-owner's wet dream. 

Wet with rain, that is. So far it has rained about 50% of the time I've been outside. The threat of precipitation seems to loom above the other 50% of the time. There were a few glorious hours of sunshine and blue sky this morning which left me jonesing for more. Overall I'm pleased with the weather here and prefer it much over to the Chiberian tundra whence I came. 

Everything is smaller. Most noticeably, the portions, and second-most-noticeably, the people. (Though I suppose it would make little sense if that didn't hold true.) The cars, the homes, the street lanes all seem a fraction of what I'm used to in the States - especially since I lived in Texas for the better part of two years, where all of the above are bigger even by US standards. 

Also, Glasgow in general feels much, much smaller than Chicago - in the span of a day and a half I think I already have formed a somewhat good idea of the city and can orient myself fairly quickly using local landmarks. The boy and I also went on a run today to explore a bit; you can see that we covered quite a bit of the city ground with 5 miles.

People are extremely kind and I keep suspecting they want money from me when they really don't. Examples include the immigrations officer at the airport, waiters & waitresses at restaurants, and random Glaswegians I ask for directions from on the street. They are all incredibly helpful and polite. Even the people who do want money from me - cab drivers, beggars - are extremely cordial. I'm feelin' the love, Glasgow!

Glaswegians aren't workout fanatics...at least not in public. On my run today I saw a grand total of 3 other runners. In Chicago that number would easily have been 30. I also don't see people wearing sneakers, yoga pants, North Face, and other athletic/lounge wear which are pretty much ubiquitous in the Midwest. People here seem to dress for appearances rather than comfort, which I can certainly get behind. The boy, on the other hand...

That's it for now. I have a few more photos to share but unfortunately the internet in my unit isn't the best for uploading. I'm hoping to get my hands on a 3G dongle to fix that issue. More soon!

100 Mile Challenge! + The Girl and the Goat

I completed the 100 mile challenge!

My first day of the challenge was July 23rd, which made the ending/31st day August 24th. In those 31 days, I ran a total of 100.8 miles.

Here's a graph summing up my weekly runs. It does not completely reflect the 31-day window because the graph's weeks start before the first day and extend after the last day of my running "month." But it's close enough. Huzzah!

I know some (crazy-ass) runners easily get up to 100 miles in a week, but for me, 100 in 31 was sufficiently challenging. Even though my runs took only 30 minutes on average, it took some planning to find that time and to make sure I also had ample time to warm up, cool down, stretch, and shower each day. About once a week I gave myself a break day and would compensate for those lost miles through longer runs on subsequent days.

The results of the 31 days of running? My pace overall became faster, easier, and more enjoyable. My face stopped resembling a beet after every run. My sexy feet blisters metamorphosed into sexier feet callouses. And after everything, I felt pretty darn good about how my legs looked when I put on a dress for my 100-in-31 dinner with the boy, heh.

As I'd mentioned a few posts ago, the celebration dinner took place at The Girl and the Goat. TG&TG is somewhat of a rising star in the Chicago food scene - mention you're going there and chances are some foodie in the vicinity will light up and gasp, "You have to try the pig face!"

It is also our city's most Yelped-about restaurant - and as such, notoriously difficult to get into. The boy made our reservations two and a half months ago. Two and a half months of talking to others who'd been, of poring over the menu, and of dreaming of this evening with vast quantities of drool gathering about us. It was with great trepidation and very high expectations that I stepped into the restaurant, my legs wobbly from a combination of soreness, excitement, and being in high heels (a rarity these days).

For being such a raved-about place, TG&TG was surprisingly down to earth. I immediately felt comfortable, like I had walked into a close friend's home (well, a close friend with really good taste). Wooden table tops, charred walls, high ceilings, solid utensils, and simple decor made it easy to focus on the food and the company. The waitstaff were all incredibly on point. Our waitress was a total badass/sweetheart who had no problem answering our questions about the menu or providing her opinions about the dishes. All with a genuine smile, as if she was truly happy to be engaging in conversation with us restaurant-goers.

She suggested a total of four small plates for us - but we couldn't pick (#firstworldproblem), so we loosened the notches in our belts and set about with five.

First came the grilled baby octopus with guanciale in a lemon-pistachio vinaigrette. The octopus was delightfully chewy, the veggies just the right amount of sour, and the bacon added a surprise salty element that worked with the combination.

Next came pan-fried shishito peppers with a generous heaping of parmesan. Actually, the whole thing was quite a large portion - we found ourselves munching on the soft peppers our entire meal whereas everything else was consumed in linear succession. Despite being perfectly delicious, this was perhaps my least favorite item on the menu, which really speaks to how much I loved everything else.

Our third dish and my and the boy's favorite was the fried goat belly served with buttery lobster, crab, and fennel. With ingredients like that, how could it taste anything but absolutely delicious? I think we scarfed this down in record time. I didn't even stop to take a picture of it on my plate, it was so damn good.

Fourth came my second favorite, the kalbi beef ribs. While the ribs were perfectly sumptuous, it was the corn on the cob that left me at a loss for words. I have never eaten such perfectly cooked corn. And I likely never shall again. Every kernel was an intense, magical mouthgasm of juicy, buttery goodness. I know I'm starting to sound like a crazy corn lady. But truly, there are no other words for how good it was. This dish has forever set the corn bar at now unachievable levels.

And last but not least, the grand finale of pig face. PIG FACE!!! So far all the dishes had surprised us, and this was no exception. I'm not really sure what I expected - a flat piggy face oinking back at me, maybe. What we received was an artfully composed tower of what looked like meat patty, hash browns, and an egg fried to perfection nestled delicately on top.

This dish was about as decadent as it got. With every bite, I could practically feel my body undoing all its hard work and melting into an oozing blob of fatty fat fat. It was a glorious and outrageous journey - I think I came out of it a changed person.

By the time we'd managed our last bite of pig face (let's just take a second and reflect on how this sentence began) I wanted nothing more than to keel over and face plant into a nice, long snooze. But instead we got up and walked around to lighten up a bit.

All in all, 'twas a startlingly satisfying meal and a delightful way to celebrate achieving a personal goal. And in the grand scheme of things, it was not incredibly expensive either - our bill came to just under $100 before tip. We'd each ordered a drink as well.

I think my favorite part was how pleasantly surprised I was by each dish. The composition of flavors and presentation were just plain fun. For being one of the hottest restaurants in town, it wasn't pretentious, it wasn't overpriced, and it didn't take itself too seriously. I mean - how could they? Their piece de resistance is a pig face. I definitely would come back to try the other items on the menu - though I'd definitely be tempted to order the goat belly and the ribs again (that CORN!)

If you're saving up for a nice meal in the city or if you have a friend/family coming to town in a few months who you'd like to impress in a fun, laid-back-but-still-trendy atmosphere, take them to The Girl and the Goat. Just remember to wear stretchy bottoms, take deep breaths between mouthfuls, and enjoy the hell out of it.