The Editor Is In

The snow has gone, and so are the photos. But spring is not quite here yet. The past week or so I have been editing. Most of my friends are handing in their theses by the end of the week, so I have volunteered to review some of them. But that's not the only editing I've been doing.

Last weekend was International Sports Day. IHE won, again, this year. While last year I ran, this year I had a different role. I was given a camcorder and now have three hours of footage I need to turn into a 5 to 10 minute video. So, I need to edit.

Spring?

There is snow on the ground. Snow? It is spring. Alejandro, Simon, and I went running yesterday. My first run since the race last week. Not the best idea. Besides the fact that it began to snow during the run, my legs are still sore. I googled the pain to be shin splints (upon advice from the guy in the running store). The treatment is rest and ice. Since I have no ice, I guess that it's lucky for me that there is snow.

Recovery

Yesterday I competed in a half marathon. I ran 21.1k through Den Haag (The Hague) in 2 hours, 16 minutes, and 50 seconds. My time was in the range that I had thought and am quite proud. But, in hindsight I think I could have ran it a bit faster and without a few of the post run side effects if I had done a few things differently. To be blunt, there are some things I did not do right.

First of all, I only trained for a month prior to the race. I only ran one long run (16 km). Therefore, I only realized at about km 10 that there might be something wrong with my shoes. On both of my legs, the insides between mid calf and ankle really hurt. They had ached a bit on short runs but I thought it was due to the one incline on our normal route. Well, I don't think that is the cause anymore, because the race course was quite flat and my legs started hurting halfway through and became more painful with every step. I now blame the shoes. I ordered them online but they were the same make and model as a pair I had about a year ago, just a different color. Grrr.

Hmm, I guess that was two things. More training and better shoes. That is about all I would change. I am recovering now. My legs don't ache too much, I didn't get any blisters, but I did get a bit of chafing. It is in a really strange place that I never expected to have a problem...my lower back. I think it's from the tag of my underwear. I'm actually quite embarrassed to admit that. Anyway, my skin is almost raw, but the Neosporin is helping.

The race itself was lots of fun. As a veteran runner told us on the train over, the weather was perfect. No sun, but no wind or rain either at a balmy 15C (60F). A group of 9 of us from IHE ran and Carlitos was the official photographer and backpack holder. While the boys ran ahead, I ran the first half of the race with Lindsay. She left me half way through because I couldn't keep up due to my aching legs. The route was really nice and I appreciated all the people cheering and bands playing for us along the way ("Sweet Caroline" got me past km 8). We ran for about 2 km along the pier at Scheveningen, staring at the flat North Sea. I saw signs for water after km 16 and after some refreshment kept my eyes open for the km 17 sign. After a few minutes I was sure I had missed it and started looking for km 18. A short while later I saw it in the distance and in my mind was so relieved that I only had 3 km left. But as I approached I realized it was the km 19 sign! Only 2 km left, what a relief. The whole race was so psychological.

Being the last one of our group to finish I found my friends at the end and we decided to celebrate with the traditional form of recovery after any group sport, the third half (though in this case it was proper to call it the second half). After 21.1km we recovered with a beer (ok, I had two). When we finally got home I collapsed in my bed for the rest of the day and have spent today being lazy (though I have read a few papers for my thesis).

The race was fun and though just after the finish line I swore I would never do it again, I actually am now considering a marathon. But only with more training and better shoes.

It's Not Easy Being Green

I have a bag of spinach in the fridge. I actually used it in dinner tonight. And I only cooked for myself. Stranger things have happened, but not many.

Yesterday, as usual, I was thinking about dinner (I usually start thinking about dinner when I wake up, I don't really like breakfast and lunch is easy). I was browsing the Williams-Sonoma website for recipes and found one for a type of ravioli that looked great, it had garlic, veal, and rosemary in a brown butter sauce. I showed Alejandro, and he thought it looked good too, "Spinach," he proclaimed reading the ingredients, "garlic, rosemary..." Wait. I didn't notice the spinach. Hmmm.

I had a dilemma. I had already agreed to cook it for us (Carlitos is somewhere near the Wadden Sea this week), so I couldn't just leave out the spinach. So I bought the smallest bag possible, which was a mammoth 300g. I made the filling. We went running. Somewhere during the run Ale decided to cancel on dinner to watch a futbol match (which was fine with me since I was exhausted from the run) so I went home to make dinner for myself. And I voluntarily ate something that I prepared with spinach in it.

Many people may not think that is a big deal, but I am one of the pickiest eaters around. My general mantra was that I won't even touch it if it is green (the exception was mint chocolate chip ice cream). I'm slowly changing my ways, for I have since expanded to pesto, spring onions, absinthe, and green curry. But spinach? I fear my family will have a heart attack when they read this...

The Surprise

Last weekend I went to London. It's so close, and one of my favorite cities, but I hadn't been there in years. Of course, my motives were not entirely pure. Carlitos was returning from his five weeks in Uganda (for research) on Monday morning, via London Gatwick. I knew what flight he was on, so I booked myself a seat as well.

I had a wonderful time by myself in London. I spent two full days just riding the tube and wandering around town. I saw the Royal Ballet, visited the Royal Academy, National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery (amazing museum, Mom has always told me that she thinks I would like it though I assumed it would be just a bunch of stuffy paintings of earls, but I was wrong, mixed media and brilliantly concise biographies made it absolutely fascinating), found my favorite bookshop in the world (three floors of travel books), walked Hyde Park, bought tea at Fortnum & Mason and biscuits at Harrods, and ate lots of sushi at shops where they sell it by the piece.

Woke up early on Monday morning to take the tube to the train to Gatwick. I wanted to be there as soon as check in opened so I can stalk Carlitos. His previous flight had arrived about an hour earlier so I figured he would be waiting for the check in to open. But he was not there. I waited for about 20 minutes, then went through security, assuming that he had done the same already. I kept scanning the crowd and looking over my shoulder to make sure he did not see me before I saw him. But I did not see him.

I had never been to Gatwick before and hope not to return again. After security there is an enormous two story holding pen. The shops and seats are below and food above. The gates are only posted about an hour before the flights. So I had to navigate this sea of thousands to try to find Carlitos (without him seeing me first). I circled once, twice, back in the opposite direction, up, around, down, back, near security, near the departures screen, more circles. I was about to give up until the gate, when, after an hour, I spotted him at the end of a row of seats. Perfect, I thought. I will just approach him and say something cheesy like, "Is this seat taken."

But wait, as I approach he starts zipping his bags and is getting up. No! He's getting away. I don't want to shout his name so I walk a bit faster towards him...I'm only 10 feet away...and he looks up. He sees me. He looks surprised, confused, but at the same time relieved. I smile and say something dumb like, "I told you that I would meet you at the airport."

Mission accomplished.

Born to Run?

I seem to be taking on a running theme lately. Please note, I do not like to run. I do it because it is good for me and I like the social aspect. So, in about three weeks I will be running a half marathon in Den Haag. I'm not doing this because I love to run, but because I think it will be fun. I know my logic is not solid. The race is known as the City-Pier-City, because you start in town and run to Scheveningen and back. So I better start running...

On the Run

Bluesfest was this weekend, but I will write about it later, once I get the photos from Julia. Also, I can't really type right now. I decided to (attempt to) be a super athlete today. I rode to TU sportscenter (20 minutes), played some badminton (20 minutes), then volleyball (an hour and a half), and tennis (30 minutes, outdoors, below zero, without gloves). Therefore, I can barely move my fingers and my forearms are crying out in pain. It was worth it, I had so much fun. It was also an attempt to cross train, since I have just committed myself to a half marathon in four weeks...

Spanish Lessons

Last weekend I met Elena and Simon in Barcelona. I didn't actually go there to see them, but to practice my Spanish, and Catalan. No, I went there to meet them, since Elena (aka, Brujita) didn't even give me a chance to practice. But I think it was just a ploy to get me to return. Really, I did practice a bit, but mainly after Elena and Simon left.

Since the trip was a bit last minute, we ended up staying in a one star hotel. We reserved a three bed room but ended up in an apartment with six beds and a kitchen. It was around the corner with a separate entrance. Within the 20 meters between the main entrance and our door there was a bar where the prostitutes and drunks hung out. That corner had lots of girls in their too tight jeans, wobbling in stiletto boots, chatting up the local borrachos. Nothing too unusual. When I was traveling in Africa McHale and occasionally I stayed at hotels that often also rented rooms by the hour. But after my attempted kidnapping in India I seem to have developed a slight paranoia, though that didn't stop me from hiking Montserrat alone. I digress.

Six and a half years ago Ruth and I spent a few days in Barcelona. We went to the Picasso Museum, wandered through Barceloneta, and saw everything Gaudi. This time, we shopped and ate. Correction, I shopped, Elena helped, and Simon patiently critiqued. Hours were spent looking for a jacket. I found a beautiful coat that was in a 34. I needed a 36. We went to four or five shops and the racks were full of 34s. Apparently there was one 36 in the whole city, but my hopes were dashed and it could not be found, even though the stores computer had it in stock. So Elena is looking in Zaragoza for me (I hope). I still managed to find space in my backpack for shirts and chocolates, but no olive oil this time since I didn't check any bags.

Saturday was was wonderful day. We had a fabulous 4PM lunch that lasted until sunset. Walking back to the hostel to drop off our bags we came across a parade. It looked like a belated Carnival celebration with drum troupes and costumed groups. But that was just the beginning. In the morning we had seen some guys carrying what looked like the skeleton of a dragon through town. Going out for drinks that night we saw it again, but this time in another parade. We followed the parade to a square where the dragon and other beasts were laced with fireworks. It was the best thing to stumble upon.

From there we continued walking through the Gothic neighborhood, admiring the Roman walls and jumping from cafe to bar to restaurant, snacking and drinking our way home. I'm a sucker for jamon iberico. It is so delicious and just melts in my mouth and goes so well with a glass of cava. I know I'm a bad Jew, but I'm also one of the pickiest eaters around, so finding something I am willing to try and actually like is a feat that is akin to...to...I don't know, but it's rare.

Mmmm, dinner time. Photos and more stories soon. Maybe. If I don't get too distracted by Bluesfest this weekend...

Proof

I was working on my thesis. Really working. Reading some literature and before I knew what happened I wrote a proof. I don't think I have written one since freshman year of collage. It is to find the volume within a RO element, which isn't difficult, but you need to take into account the angle of the spacer grid. I'm proud of myself. I just hope there is not some glaring error which I overlooked.

Carnival

This year I spent carnival in Maastricht. Apparently, in the north of Holland are the reserved Protestants and in the south are the crazy Catholics. So if you want to celebrate carnival, you go south. We went as far south as one can get in Holland, to Maastricht, which is almost on both the Belgium and German borders. Being a Jew from the great white north (OK, I know that's more of a description of Canada than Chicago but with this weeks snow it can share the claim), I'm still getting used to this carnival thing. It's kind of a mix of Halloween and St. Patrick's Day.

Maastricht is two and a half hours away. So we left here early on Sunday morning (early being relative for a Sunday morning). We arrived in Maastricht around noon and headed straight to the center of town. Everyone was in costume. Everyone except for us. I had nice lei, and later on splurged on a wig, but it was too cold to wear anything but a down jacket, lined pants, and comfortable shoes.

There were two things about the Dutch carnival that surprised me (contrasts with last year in Venice). First, there were families in Maastricht. Most people were in groups of a dozen to 20 where everyone had matching costumes (Smurfs, the Chinese pingpong team, hippies, etc), but also there was just mom, dad, and kids all dressed alike. Considering my second observation, I really didn't expect carnival to be a family day. I don't recall seeing any children in Venice.

Now for the second observation. There was beer. Of course. But it was served in glasses. I guess the premise is that even when the Dutch drink, they are responsible enough not to throw the glasses on the ground (or at each other) but return them to the bar when they are done. At Duke when we had bonfires, the deans walked around handing out plastic cups, at Cubs games you get plastic cups, even at bars in the US you sometimes get plastic cups. But in Holland you get decent cheap beer from the tap in real glasses. And in the main square and on the streets we saw waiters walking around with trays to retrieve glasses that were left out. Usually the trays were almost empty.

We watched the parade in the afternoon and only stayed until dark, since none of us were really in the mood to stand outside drinking beer all night. The parade was nice, but very long and it didn't hold our attention for the hours that it went on. Except I really liked this troupe, the costumes were great, as was the music. For a moment I even believed that bikini and feather clad girls would suddenly samba on over. But they did not.



Maybe next year will be in Brazil. Or Cuenca.