1/4 Marathon

In life, there are only two things you can be absolutley sure of: taxes and death- in America. But here in the Uk, they add another one onto that- no matter what, without fail, if you really, desperately need to get somewhere- the train you need will be cancelled.

There's a special kind of emotion dedicated only to British Rail. In fact, I had gone my entire 26 years without feeling this special emotion that God designated just to incidents with the British Rail. And when I first experienced it- I thought I was ill. My chest tightened, my throat closed up, my eyes burned, and all my muscles went limp in paralysis. But I recovered with dignity as I called my boyfriend and spent the surplus time, waiting for the next train to show, describing how no other emotion I had ever felt quite compared to this.. this... Britishrailisis.

And that was before I had started this job and still thought England was quaint, the countryside beautiful, and the rain refreshing.

Fast forward to last saturday. I spend the entire day teaching myself what I have to teach the kids on Monday, grading papers, and generally feeling wholly overwhelmed and stressed because I know I won't have sunday to work because I am supposed to run a 1/2 marathon I hadn't even trained for! Then my sweetie of a boyfriend calls me and tells me I should come into london for the night eventhough he has to go to work on sunday and I need to be in windsor by noon for this race! I tell him that I will only come out there if he is on the platform, waiting for me, at 6o'clock because I see no reason to bust my butt to get there only to see him for an hour before we fall asleep, exhauted, on the couch with the TV on. So I vowed i would be there at 6. And that left me with 10 minutes to get to the station- sans shower and on a bike.

To illustrate my state previous to going to the station- I was actually crying WHILE putting on mascara. This activity is that of an insane person because it is paradoxical and at one point I was laughing at the absurdity of the black streak running down my cheek while applying yet another coat. "I need more time, I just need more time!" I muttered as I stared at my bag, unable to comprehend what i would need to take with me. "need more time, yeah, need more time" the little rain-man inside of me repeated.

I managed to get a toothbrush and a book of puzzles (soduku, if you're wondering) to do on the train into the bag. I rushed across the street to get cash at the pound-seventy-five-each-time-you-withdrawl-cash-because -my -town -is-too -small -to -have -an -actual -bank -in -it -devil -of -an- ATM -machine. At which I was unable to work out which way the card was inserted until a little, old, humped-back englishwoman with a cane explained to my idiot-ass it went the other way around.

Got money, got on bike, realized had flat tire and rode on the rim of my back wheel all the way to the station with two minutes to spare.

But something was wrong. You can feel it before you get to the station. Something's not right in the land of Ascot. No, no..very children-of-the-corn-like. People milling about outside of the station instead of inside. Too many taxis...

"What is happeneing with the trains to London?" I ask the midget-lady behind the glass.
"Not running" She says
"OK... so how to I get to london then?"
"You take the bus." She says
"To..."
"To the next station and get a train from there."
"And where is this bus you speak of?"
"Out there." And she waves to the general direction of outside
"Um, Ok.. and when is it arriving?"
"It should be there." I look. No bus.
"Its not there. Where exactly should i be looking?"
"Out in front of the station." And I think i'm crazy becuase I cannot see it.
"Um.. can I take my bike on this supposed bus?"
"I dont know you'll have to ask the bus driver."
"And when will I get this opportunity seeing as there is no bus..."
Then suddenly I see the bus! As if it was sitting at platform 9 and 3/4 and me, the american muggle, couldn't see it!
And it is driving very rapidly away from me!
"add explitives here" I go back to the brainless midget lady and I feel like breaking the glass.
"Ok, so i missed it while talking to you. When is the NEXT bus?"
She sighs, "10 minutes. But you'll miss the train at the next station anyway and will have to take the 6:20."
Meaning I have another hour to wait and i'll be in london at 7:30! IF i could even get to the next station! Ga!

And I couldn't take it. I didn't know what to do. And then my britishrailisis started acting up. I could feel my throat closing and my eyes watering... tears began to fall. Uncontrollable tears- "I don't understand you crazy, backward people!" I wanted to yell! "Why won't anyone help me!?"

"I just want to see my boyfriend... and not get fired at my horrible job which is sucking the life out of me. And I want to play in the sun and not die when I attempt to run this 1/2 marathon and while I'm thinking about it- I'd really just like to see my mom and dad!!!!! Wahhhhh!"

"Uh, miss?" I turn to the kind voice behind me.
"Yuh, yuh, yuh, yes,s,s,s."
"Give me your bike miss, we'll take care of this."
"Wh, wh, what?"
"Just take a seat here, miss." I sit on the bench. And I watch my bike being loaded into a taxi cab
"OK, miss. You're in no state to take a train. We're putting you in a taxi to go into london."

I'm dumbfounded as i get into the car and proceed to rack up a 200 pound cab fare to Waterloo- all paid for by British Rail.
And this is my theory. The brits don't know what to do when someone cries in public. They just panic when someone is not maintaining decorum at all times. My dad's quote was that in NYC, you could have cried and cried until your flesh wasted away off your bones before anyone would help you. But in the UK, where they are lacking what we might call hospitality, if they see someone crying- well, do anything you can to get rid of them!

But the best part about this story was arriving at waterloo and seeing mark waiting on the corner, watching for the taxis. He had been waiting there for an hour in the cold wind, sending me texts that he'd make it all better. And when I saw him turn towards me and open his arms to hug me- he did make it all better. And we ended up having a spectacular evening.

So much so that when I returned home the next day, I faithfully went to windsor to meet my friend to run this crazy 1/2 marathon...which i turned into a 1/4 of a marathon because...well, becuase I wanted to be happy and 7 miles was the perfect amount of running to make me happy.

It has been a good week. And I owe it all to Mark. He 's done a great job at getting me to smile when I can't think of much to smile about. And he even sent me roses at work yesterday! Which made the clockwork journey to london last night that much sweeter. And the commute back out to school this morning bearable.

Well, if you're still reading- congratulations! You've passed an endurance test! good job.
Now, off you go. Back to life. And I'll go back to mine.

Till then.

The definition the term "flat"

I've had someone ask me recently what the history behind the term, "flat" is. Here's my answer: I can only assume they the people of britian used to once live in curved apartments but discovered that if they flattened out the floor their tea wouldn't tip over and scald their crotches.

Anyways, life here in england is continuing to be a challange. I remember the euphoria I felt about life in tonga those last few months I was there. Ahhh... you do join the peace corps so you can have endless saturdays- unfortunately those don't come until the end. then everything is near perfect and you don't want to leave. But that's the thing about culture shock, isn't it? You have a year of hell, a 1/2 year of getting it together and then finally you're at home and you leave.

I think this applies to england as well. Its all very frustrating right now. I'm slowly learning where things are and I rarely pull out into oncoming traffic anymore. But I'm so homesick for colorado and the sunshine.

My job is crazy too. I was hired to be an IT teacher and start up an ipod program. But sometime between when i was hired and the beginning of school they decided to overhaul the whole network, put in new servers, create new policies, etc.. and now my job is forever complicated by bugs and images and netbooting and all other kinds of technical crap i have zero interest in.

But the kids are great and the new teachers i started with resemble the kinds of friends you make in the peace corps (friends created by the common experience of an intense situation) but they're loads of fun when you need a night out.

I'm retuning to pre-peace corps life when you did completely identify with Office Space.

But, on a happier note, (which this letter does not seem to express) I'm going in to london tonight for a little date. And I really do get excited when my train pulls into waterloo and I walk through the rush of londoners, get on my bike and navigate my way through double-decker buses and taxis. Its such a rush to be living in london. Walk over london bridge and see the tower of london and tower bridge reflected in the thames...(sigh)

Till later

ipods have taken over my life!!!!

I am writing this from inside my closet at my school. It is 8:30pm and I am surviving off tea and...more tea. Since returning from outward bound I have decided to get down to business and do the job I was hired to do. Unfortunately, after returning from a week away from school, my head of department grabs me and cries, "you are NEVER to go away for a week again!!!" and while i start thinking I could request stock options, she drags me into her office and proceeds to tell me that while i was away- they changed my job description!

I have now gone from a computer teacher with a crazy ipod program to being a computer teacher with a crazy ipod program, who also is in charge of taking care of all the laptops in the school! Even the ones the kids bring in! Tech support is NOT my forte'. I'm a freakin' graphic designer?! well, now i'm a graphic designer with all the top passwords and remote desktop...and the same salary. boo

Anyways, my procrastinating time is over. back to work.

Like Father like Daughter

While I was growing up, my family always knew how to spice up a quiet evening. We got out the slide projector! And all the slide were carefully organized by my father in a massive tackle-box like container. It was always handled with the care of evidence at a crime scene. Yet, no matter how careful we were- we never managed to get through our family slide festivals without twisting our necks into unnatural positions to look at reflecting images of the past. I always loved these nights tucked away in the basement, getting a glimpse into my parent's past. But the best part about the slide festivals were the stories. Stories which I can repeat to this day as if I was a member of a tribe whose history was dependent upon story-telling.

One of these stories was about my dad and his adventure in Outward Bound. Granted, I always used to laugh when he'd put up the picture he took of the 'rock climbing" portion of his 10 days. It appeared to be just a gentle slope with scattered rocks and on the bottom right of the screen you can see the group all harnessed up and surrounded with heavy ropes. I'd say it was more like rock stepping-over than rock climbing. But I always knew that there was much more to that trip than that one photo. I knew about the instructor who wore flip-flops and carried a camp seat with him. I knew that my dad kept the group going during a low point by singing the children's songs he sang to my brother and I (since we were just tiny babies then) I knew that he was the oldest member of the group, that he had to spend 24 hours alone in the wilderness and I knew that they were the reason my dad is obsessive about zip-lock bags. (to keep things organized and dry) But most of all I knew what an impact it had on him and what an accomplishment it was that he finished the course.

And ever since I saw those slides as a kid- I wanted to take an outward bound course too. What I didn't realize was that I had been in one since my father strapped a backpack to me at age 5 and made me hike miles and miles with only "Disney's Greatest Hits" playing on my walkman. This didn't occur to me until this past week while I was away on a fieldtrip with my 9th graders... at Outward Bound in Wales.

We backpacked for two days but in England it's called "walking" because "backpacking" doesn't lend itself to the understated language of the British. (and I tried to wear flip-flops but was told firmly to find "appropriate" footwear but I did take along a camp-chair!)*

*I must digress on this flip-flop issue. I have great hiking boots, I love them, in fact. They're durable and dependable and are well broken-in. But nothing can compare to exploring your environment in a pair of .99 cent flip-flops. And I know because for two years I trudged and trekked across the jungles of the south pacific with no more than half an inch of rubber between my feet and the earth. And never once did I find them to be "inappropriate".

We jumped off 30 ft. telephone poles while trying to grab onto a trapese (with a harness but this doesn't do anything to aleviate the fear.)

We went "Gorge Walking" - also known as "Canyoning" and let our bodies be swept down a raging river, through shoots and over rocks- and we even had three jumps over waterfalls! The last one being a sheer cliff over 25 ft. above the water!

I tried rock climbing for the first time in the pouring rain (also known as "pissing rain" here) so it was really cold, wet and slippery but I loved every minute of it!

And all this while overcoming my greatest challenge- getting 14 year old boys to go to bed by 10:30 and getting the girls to stay out of their rooms! (sigh) I am too young to have to act as a parent to teenagers for that long. 40 minute classes I can handle. 24 hours for 7 days in a row? another monster entirely.

But it was great fun to hang out with the instructors and watch my kids challange themselves and grow as individuals. And Wales really is beautiful... even if they do speak Elven and aren't included on the EU map.

So, I did complete an Outward Bound Course- if only as a chaperone to my kids ( I did find out that i'm actually too old to go on the one my dad did. The age limit is 25! One year!.. and I'm starting to feel old) But nevertheless, minus one activity, I did it all and loved every minute of it.

Well, that's all for now.
Till next time.

But its all worth it

I am in a hurry off to class on a monday morning- but I want to make sure everyone knows this one little point:
No matter how much grief I give to my life here in the UK, there IS a reason I'm here. And he is worth every pain, irritance, and lonely night. Because in him I find my laughter and solace- and when i'm with him, nothing seems to matter quite as much as wanting to make him smile. And i love him.