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olympianpandback · 3 years

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April 12 - 15

We got out of Roswell fairly early and headed to White Sands National Park near Holloman Air Force base. We decided to see if they had a spot at the RV park on base. They did but we had to register with the public health officer on base to verify that we had gotten our COVID 19 shots. The Tech sergeant that worked with us was very helpful and we got the paperwork completed on the phone which he forwarded to the visitor center where we had to pick up our pass. We got to the base visitor center and it was a seamless process. It turns out we are both in the Air Force computer system. It’s scary that we are, but makes getting on Air Force bases much easier. Let’s see what happens in California! I'm good to get on base anytime with my ID card and Elizabeth has to get daily or a certain number of days Pass. The campground was very nice with very clean bathrooms and a free laundromat because they are planning an upgrade to larger machines, yea. We checked in and went back to the White Sands National Park to look around. It is an absolutely beautiful place. It’s the largest gypsum area in the world over 200000 acres (275 sq. miles). We took a one-mile walk that has descriptors of the wildlife and how they survive. The definitions and descriptions were very detailed and interesting how animal and insect life survives and thrives in a desert environment. It was difficult to walk certain parts but if you knew to get all the beaten track and walk on the hardpacked sand that the wind had blown flat, it was easier. It was pretty warm and of course dry but we hydrated before we left and had a relatively easy walk. The signs weren’t clear about which direction start so we ended up going backwards. I've always been a contrarian by nature and that didn't bother me at all. We met people coming in the opposite direction, just smiled and kept going. There was a different 600' boardwalk further on with easy walking with more descriptions of how the white sand developed. It turns out that there is moisture only 3' deep according to the signs. We kept driving into the park for a couple of miles until we came to the end of the pavement and turned around because the RV doesn't do well on washboard roads even though the sand was well compacted. We decided turn around and head back to camp. We had an uneventful evening with really good sleeping weather in the high forties to mid-fifties and dry, so dry. During our walk in the morning around the campground we bumped into a woman who had a German accent. I asked her where she was from and she said Illinois. I said where were you born. She said Berlin. We had a nice 30 minute conversation in German, mostl,y so I could practice my German. Marion is a very nice lady and we promised to give her some information about the windows in our house. She may want to upgrade her windows because it is so hard to clean them. That’s what we like about traveling, you meet some of the most interesting people.

April 14

Before we left the Air Force base in the morning and we went to buy some military T-shirts for Nunzio. We decided to go to the commissary to look around. Much to our surprise, we found real German bread from a bakery in El Paso. They had 2 of my favorites, farmers bread and Roggen brot (Rye bread). We snagged a loaf of each and now are trying to figure out how to preserve them for a couple of weeks. We were able to freeze most of the farmers bread and we will be eating ham and cheese on German bread for a couple of days for sure. The refrigerator is starting to get cleared out because we are using what we had there when we left home. On our way to Silver City, we saw something called Dripping Springs National Monument. We decided to take a side trip to look around and ended up taking a 1.5 mile hike up the mountain to see the Dripping Springs area. In the past there had been a hotel and Sanitorium there. It was a pretty strenuous hike but we made it along with couple of other crazy people to see water dripping out of a rock in some abandoned buildings. You will see the pictures below this narrative. We then headed towards Silver City knowing we wouldn’t get there until dinner time so we called ahead and booked two nights at an RV park near downtown. It is a very nice campground and we got a place right across from the bathhouse. We don’t always use full hookups because is too much trouble for 1 or 2 nights especially when we have to disconnect to go sightseeing.

April 15, 2021 we left the campground about 10 o’clock to drive the Cliff dwellings along the trail of the ancients byway. It took us an hour and a half to drive 45 miles because the road was very curvy and crossed the continental divide at 6900 feet. Along the way we ran into the couple we met in Albuquerque again for the third time and had a small chat as they were leaving the pictograph site. We asked if they were staying at the passport America campground and they were not. They ask if we thought the passport America pass was worth it. We said we paid for our annual fee in the first 4 camp sites. We agreed to sponsor them so they can get 6 more months on a regular subscription we will get 6 more months on our current stupid gin plus a $10 rebate. The walk up to the Cliff dwellings was fairly easy except for the 185 feet stairway section which was like climbing an 18 story building. We could not enter the Cliff dwellings, allegedly because of spring break which created spike in COVID 19 cases in New Mexico. I think it was a cop out to keep people out. The brochure says there are 42 rooms that YOU can walk through and investigate in normal times. Oh well, you have to adapt and adjust in this time frame. Before we started our trip to the cliff dwellings, we met a couple who had shipped RV over from Stuttgart to Argentina to start a world tour, probably more a South American in North American tour. They drove along the coast and west of South America all way up to Costa Rica until COVID hit. They were stuck for 5 months in Costa Rica. They shipped their RV to Florida’s east coast and began a journey around America before heading to Alaska via Canada, oops COVID. The RV can stay in America for a year, but they have to leave after 180 days. They cannot get a waiver and there is no other country they can go to for one day. Ironically, they got one of the lottery passes to the wave rock formation in Arizona last year. We know people who have been trying for 10 years to get a pass to walk up to the Wave formation in Arizona. When we get closer, we may try to win the lottery using the formula that they used by registering for Saturday Sunday and Monday where they had 3 lottery drawings. Hey only 1% of people get to go there and we’d like to be in that group. We drove down from the mountain and did the rest of the loop trail of the ancients past Lake Roberts where we stopped for coffee and back to our campground before cocktail hour. That’s all folks through April the 15th.

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behardonyourself · 4 years

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I AM AN IRONMAN...

I don’t even know how long I have been waiting to write this post. I think I launched my website in March or so, and I remember thinking how cool it will be if I get to write this post a few days after Ironman Arizona.

The journey is well documented on my blog and my Facebook page. I think everyone gets it - I was in the worst shape of my life. A lot of people that haven’t seen me since I left San Antonio in 2013 may not get that, but I hadn’t touched a weight since October of that year. To be honest, I hadn’t done much of anything since then.

First off, I’m not completely crazy. I’m ultimately just some dude. Completely human. I’ve told my story about running in December and not being able to go 1/4 of a mile. That’s completely real. Now, I kept this one quiet, but it’s important to understand that I thought about making a change in October of 2018. I took off running and cramped IMMEDIATELY. It wasn’t 500 feet. It hurt so bad. I then started to convincing myself that “I’m not a runner”, that maybe I was too heavy, running wasn’t healthy, the injuries over the years have taken their toll, etc, excuse after excuse. This journey that happened almost never got started. I was ashamed and embarrassed, but still felt comfort in the idea that I’d figure another way out “to get back in shape”.

I mention that fateful five hundred feet because I know a few of my friends have decided that they wanted to run and felt that exact same feeling of excruciating agony and walked away from any idea that they would eventually find comfort in the most basic exercise that we do as humans.

Many of you are familiar with the struggles in my personal life - 10 days into me actually being committed, my wife fell off of a ladder and absolutely destroyed her tibia, fibula, and just about every other part of her leg. At that time, our daughter Ava was only 5 months old. A lot of people use kids as an excuse not to workout, and trust me, it was tempting. Lisa was immobile. Ava was a handful (all 5 months olds are). Peyton had to be driven to school 30 minutes away (and picked up). So finding time wasn’t an option - the only way to do what I needed to do was to make time. Again, all of these things are on my blog but I think they are important for context.

So my story isn’t that of a runner or a cyclist that had dabbled in a few triathlons and decided to take the next step. Actually, it’s the opposite. I had NEVER ridden a road bike until April. I hadn’t run since 2004. I hadn’t swam a lap in a pool since 1995.

I simply knew I had to do something that scared me and motivated me enough to make me change.

You know what? I did that - in December I signed up for a 5k Spartan race. Really. That was in June and I signed up for it thinking it was going to take me every damn bit of that 6 months to get ready. I’ve called it the race that changed my life. I started training like an actual Spartan. Funny thing is that the body responded quickly, and a few weeks later, I realized that I’d probably be ok to do Spartan by June. So I went absolutely insane, and in January, decided that I wanted something bigger. I was standing in the Bahamas with several co-workers, and they hadn’t seen me in a couple of months due to Lisa’s injury. Juan asked me “what are you training for” and I told him either an ultra marathon, or an Ironman, or “something”. I think he though I was crazy.

Yep, Ironman it is.

Now, if 6 months was plenty of time to get me ready for a 5k race, there’s no one in the world that would’ve believed that I could possibly do an Ironman by the end of 2019. Until about 9pm on November 24, I wasn’t sure that I could do it. I didn’t know the first thing about triathlons, much less Ironman.

Obviously, I did that tiny sprint tri in Denton - and with a 200 yard swim, I hesitate to even refer to it as a triathlon, but it was a “race” and it was a great experience and I met some awesome people - Jeff, Brad, Michael, and a few other people that I’ve actually become crazy close with.

In true Boyd fashion, I never hired a coach. Now, I had 400 people telling me how important it was to hire a coach and I had to hire a coach, and there’s no way to do it without a coach, and you are 10x more likely to succeed with a coach, and a coach, a coach, a coach, a coach, a coach. Every fucking day someone told me how important it was. And you know what? It probably was. So I chatted with people from every sport and talked to triathletes. Lisa was who I talked to about swimming. A guy I grew up with in the mountains of Harlan County, Jon Carroll - was my go-to for running. I discussed bike stuff with many different people. I was fortunate enough to have a few former Tri pros be willing to answer questions for me, but typically they told me that I was doing way too much, that I am hard headed, that I’d end up injured, that they’d suggest something different, etc. One told me to stop asking him for advice because I wasn’t following it. Hell, I even had a sherpa - my buddy Bart always offered to come pick me up when I broke down on my bike. Luckily, I figured out how to fix most things, but he always checked on me, always listened to my boring training stories, always encouraged me and he and his wife even prepared my food the night before I left because I SUCK at cooking.

So who attacks something like Ironman totally blind and without a clear cut plan? Yeah, I’m totally that guy.

But this was never about training my body - Ironman was my way to make my mind as hard as steel and I knew that if I put my body through it every single day and just refused to quit, that finishing Ironman would just be a formality. While other triathletes are worried about all of these stats and protocols, I was just worried about getting up and getting the fuck after it every single day. Completely pushing myself to the limit as many times as possible hoping to do my best to replicate what it would be like on that training course.

Was it the perfect way to train? No. Of course not. I wouldn’t suggest it, and most people would probably do better by paying someone with experience.

For me though? I wanted to shoulder every single bit. I wanted to risk the blame if I failed for the treasure when I crossed the line. I am a self-taught guy. I taught myself to bench press 600lbs. I didn’t pay someone else a dime to get my dead lift to 800lbs when that was my focus. I just went in every single day and spent hours upon hours of forcing myself to become strong. This was no difference. I ran until I couldn’t, and then ran some more. I just didn’t stop swimming. No distance was too far on my bike, and I always pushed harder and harder.

The funny shit is that I completely understand and am educated in the science behind the training. I completely get it. But I also knew that my body would follow my mind into the depths of hell if it was strong enough to go there.

In December, Ironman seemed ridiculous. That guy was 270lbs (I was 201 the day I left for Arizona). That guy was not doing an Ironman, but he had to become someone that could bare the crucible of 140.6 miles.

Whenever you’re putting yourself through the pressure cooker of a long ass training cycle, you’ll have distinct moments that will ultimately make you or break you. I remember mine vividly. Running was rarely “fun” or “easy” for me. It was “more fun than other times” and “easier”, but never EASY. I can think of times I would come to the intersection of where I could come to my house or I could go out for another lap and add another 1.5 to 2 miles if I turned left. I always turned away from my house when I had to make that decision. I can’t count how many times I decided “one more lap” in the pool and it turned into 1000 more yards. I’d cramp and keep swimming. I knew that something shitty could happen in Town Lake in Tempe so I wanted to be prepared. Something shitty did happen, and I conquered it. The bike? I fell in love with it immediately. It was never a task or a chore. It is my love and it’s something I’ll stick with for the rest of my life.

Now it’s time to be completely transparent here. I was totally overwhelmed with the idea of the swim. On the day before the race, we did our practice swim and I freaked the fuck out. I panicked. Now, I swam at a decent pace, but I knew that if I didn’t calm my mind, that shit would break me and I’d have to live with knowing I didn’t get through the first part of the race. Getting kicked in the face did not help. I was terrified all day Saturday and all morning Sunday. But I had to attack it - fear grows when you give it time and I knew that if I didn’t conquer that swim it would haunt me for the rest of my life.

On race day, I felt pretty good. I was nervous about the swim - not the distance. I had swam the distance a few times. Never in open water, and never with 3000 other people, but I knew I had the endurance.

Racing is a lot like life. You can be doing everything right and shit will happen. You can use it as an excuse and convince yourself that is why you didn’t succeed or you can use it for energy. I was given a gift of an excuse just a few minutes into the race when another racer and I were tangled up, and he completely pulled my goggles off. I remember thinking “you have got to be kidding me”. Of anything that could happen, I would’ve ranked this the absolute worst thing. I swam to a support canoe and told the guy “I’m not quitting, just calming my mind”. Again, I was freaked the fuck out but I knew that if I was going to swim this 2.4 mile race in 63 degree water, it was going to be without goggles - so I put my face in the water, and started banging the fuck out of that stuff.

My eyes were killing me - probably from the toxic waste that is Tempe Town Lake, and a bit from the cold water, but I kept trucking on. For much of the race, I had to utilize my backstroke out of necessity - not from an oxidative standpoint, but to give my eyes a break. Once my eyes cleared and I was able to see my Garmin, I realized that I was easily going to make time. Not the 1 hour 25 minutes I had expected, but under the 2 hour 20 minutes that are allowed from the time you entered the water - once my goggles came off, that was the target. Nothing else matters - survive the water, get to the bike.

The funny thing is that at one point in the lake, I just laughed. I thought “who the fuck loses their goggles that early and keeps going?” Me, motherfucker. I sang, smiled, and just kept moving forward.

The best story of the day came after the final turn. I had someone frantically yelling or grunting. Now, I had ear plugs in, so I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, so my first thought was that I had somehow missed a buoy and the support crew was going to send me back. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Someone had actually caught my goggles and he recognized that they must be mine since I didn’t have any, and he gave them to me. Yes, they were my actual ROKAS. Kind of disoriented, I put them on my head. Funny thing is I actually pulled them over my eyes when I got out of the lake (the swim was over).

After that, I just savored the day. The bike course was great and I was very fast. I smiled, chatted with other riders, pounded the fuck out of the hills and cruised down them. At no point on that bike did I feel tired, dehydrated, or in any kind of pain or danger. Maintenance was always on my mind, but I didn’t focus on what I feared - I focused on what I wanted. And what I wanted was to become and Ironman on this day.

The run was much the same. I kept waiting to hurt or feel pain, but I didn’t. I was in great spirits. I met a guy Mike on the run course after he and I kept passing each other, and at one point, we just stayed together and talked the whole way. Funny that he is from San Antonio and we have a mutual friend on Facebook. My goal was finishing - I felt great, but at about the 13 mile mark, I caught a little twitch in my calf. I did not want that to become a cramp that could shut me down, so I went conservative, ignored time, and we just kept a simple, easy pace to get across the finish line. It was a great time, and I was excited to see that his fiancee also crossed the finish line to complete her first Ironman as well.

In the military, we used to say that you don’t rise to the level of your expectations, you fall to the level of your training. My training was the crucible that hardened me for that race. Race day was legitimately a formality that was standing between me and reaching a bucket list goal of becoming an Ironman.

Disclaimer, I hate stupid positive sayings that people that have never accomplished shit come up with. Laws of attraction bullshit, eat an elephant one bite at a time, etc. Motherfucker, thinking about being an Ironnman would’ve kept me fat and depressed. It took me breaking myself down and looking in the mirror and accepting that I had become a fat piece of shit to get this done. Man, fuck all of that happy thought nonsense. Attack, attack, attack. Figure out the bullshit details later. You tear 10 bites off that motherfucker if you are fortunate enough to get to that beast. Doing that shit on social media isn’t the same thing as kicking ass in real life. That “rise and grind” post at 4am doesn’t mean shit if you pull the covers back over your head. You have to go out and suffer. Your body will react to that invigorating workout on a machine in a nice gym, but your mind will only respond to going into the darkest cave that you can find. Calories burned doesn’t always mean that you’ve hardened the mind enough to make sure that you’re actually ready for what may come at you.

Race day was simply amazing. I took it in. I smiled. I thanked people. I encouraged people. I didn’t let one second pass me by. I was actually sad when I hit that red carpet, but to hear Mike Reilly say “Boyd Myers, you are an Ironman” was completely surreal. I can’t put it into words.

The crazy thing is that I don’t feel like I’ve arrived or that I’ve made it to anything. Hell, part of me thinks “Why have you squandered to much time? What else am I capable of?”

My official finish time was 15 hours and 3 minutes. Finishing under 17 hours is all that mattered to me - to become and Ironman.

What’s next? Haha, well, that’s where it gets fun. I’m looking at Ultraman. In short, it’s a 3 day race: -Day 1: 6.2 mile swim and 90 mile bike ride -Day 2: 170 mile bike ride -Day 3: 52.4 mile run

I am going to take a few days to weigh options and look at timing. I am considering taking a real season of training and prep, but I do know me, and I’ll just get back the fuck after it. No, don’t advise me on what I “should” do, because that’s not really how I’ve lived my life. I won’t listen.

Look, there is not a fucking thing in the world standing between you and your goals except the excuses that you keep selling yourself on as to why you can’t reach them. That’s it - we are capable of so much more than we know. People label me as uber-driven, obsessed, crazy, and a lot of other things, but I don’t have anything in me that isn’t in anyone else in the world. Whatever you’ve been thinking about, attack it. It doesn’t have to be Ironman. It doesn’t have to be fitness related. All that I know that is if I didn’t take those first steps, I would’ve never crossed that finish line. Fuck, in December of 2018, a 140.6 mile race was all but impossible. But now, I just know I can do so much more.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask!

#ironman #ironmanarizona #iamanironman #triathlete #swimbikerun #ultraendurance #motivation #goals #transformation #mybattles #xl

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whereintheworldisfreckles · 6 years

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Back to the Travel Grind

Day 1, September 15 – Sofia, Bulgaria (8 hours in the city)

Dear reader, I’ve outlined 5 things that you must know before skipping to the juicy travel part:

I was asked to be a Texas Exes Tour Host for the “Grand Danube Cruise” with the Flying Longhorns and AHI (Group Travel Group established in 1962).

There were 28 Flying Longhorns (not including myself and guest). I was tasked with hanging out with them and making sure that they had a great time on their trip.

The official trip was from September 18 – October 3.

Travelers arrived in Sofia on September 19 and stayed at the Hotel Balkan. We then boarded the river cruise ship on September 21. After disembarkation, the group and tour directors stayed in a beautiful Art Deco style hotel named the Imperial Hotel in Prague for 3 days and 3 nights.

The trip started in Sofia, Bulgaria. We took a cruise ship from Vidin, Bulgaria and traversed the Danube River through 6 other countries: Romania, Serbia, Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, and Germany. After Germany, we were shuttled to Prague. In total, the Flying Longhorns trip took us through 8 countries!

For those who want to know how the Flying Longhorns trips work, I get 1 day to catch up on sleep. I returned to the office to get readjusted to the real world starting October 5.

I did not research much on Bulgaria before arrival. During the first two weeks of September, the Texas Exes Chapters & Networks team was very busy with our annual chapter and network leadership conference! We had about 100 volunteer leaders for our different chapters and networks converge on the Alumni Center for a day of learning, conversation, and fun!

My guest on the trip was Tyler Draker, professional boyfriend and photographer.

Tyler and I made the decision to arrive in Sofia 4 days before the travelers to go explore Istanbul for 3 days.

Months before the trip, I discovered that there is an overnight express train from Sofia to Istanbul. The website said it would take about 10 hours to get to Istanbul. There wasn’t much information from what I could find… maybe the key words I used weren’t the most helpful. Regardless, I found YouTube Vlogs of people taking the train and giving a very quick tour of the small sleeper cabin on the overnight express. Travelers made sure to emphasize that there would be no food served on the train. I also read blogs and used the Girls Who Travel Facebook Group to determine that the overnight train stops in Halkali Station (a suburb) and then there’s a shuttle bus that takes passengers to the central station, free of charge.

We touched down in Sofia, Bulgaria about 1:30 pm on Saturday. The first hour and a half was spent getting our bags, changing into things that didn’t smell like other people’s (ok… admittedly ours too…) pungent body odor, orienting ourselves to the metro and how to get to the central train station, and discerning how many Bulgarian Lev equal the American Dollar. For those interested, on September 15, it was 1.68 Lev to 1 Dollar. Five days later, we learned from our local tour guide, Boris (aka Bobby), that Bulgaria has until 2024 to switch to the Euro. As of now, Bobby says the country will most likely transition around 2021. When Bulgaria entered the European Union in 2004, they agreed that the country would transition to the Euro within 20 years.

Now back to the story: our first mission was to get to the Central Train Station to buy our tickets to Istanbul. There was no online purchase portal which is pretty normal. We took the metro at the airport to the train station. Here’s Sofia’s metro map. (Please note that Bulgarians use the Syrillic alphabet, but forturnately English is right below it! And with the August and September I had, I didn’t have too much time to take a Bulgarian language course).

We arrived at the train station about 30 minutes after leaving the airport. The first thing I noticed was that the station is big. There are 3 above ground and 2 underground levels. According to Wikipedia, an average 10,910 people pass through the station daily, as well as an average 166 trains (84 arriving and 82 departing). The station has 30 ticket offices and 5 electronic timetable displays. This Wikipedia article details more about the station.

When we arrived at the station, the first thing that captured my attention was the large statue that spanned the length of the 5 stories. It looked like something that was built during the Cold War. I tried to find as much information on the statue after the trip on the internet, and didn’t find much. So I’ll discuss what I felt - similar to a tall, gothic cathedral, it made you feel small. Was it built during the Cold War? Not sure.

Tyler and I dropped our bags at storage on the basement floor of the train station. There was a very kind woman working behind the counter. She held our bags for 4 hours for 2 lev each. Behind the counter, we saw her daughter and then her daughter’s daughter who wore a t-shirt and fairy wings. We then walked 2 kilometers (about 1.2 miles) where we crossed the Lion’s Bridge and proceeded to a 2 story market to get some dinner.

We ate a smorgasbord in the plaza square across the street from the market. We dined on a flank of fish, cucumber and tomato salad, and some heavily sautéed and soggy root veggies. At the edge of the plaza, we saw the Regional History Museum (check this 360 View of it!) and an active mosque named Banya Bashi that was built in the 16th Century during the Ottoman Empire. People walked around the square while enjoying the mid-September cool air. We walked around the area aimlessly, knowing we had to be back at the train station at 8:15 pm to buy the 2 person sleeper car to Istanbul.

We putzed around the train station between 8:15 and 9:13 pm. Around 9:05 pm, Tyler said that he was surprised that the express train was not at the platform. So he walked back about 200 yards to the departure monitors to look over the schedule again. Turns out... we had gone to the wrong platform. Stub 4 is not the same as Platform 4. About 9:09, I saw him walking back very quickly. I knew to grab my 70 liter backpack and get ready to walk quickly. With heavy bags in tow, we ran down a flight of stairs and then up a flight to the right platform and hopped on the train around 9:13.

Once we got our bearings on the train, we were pleasantly surprised. There were nice Turkish cabin attendants (all men) who brought us clean sheets, juice boxes, two packs of crackers, and some soap. The sleeper room had two single beds (one that was behind the couch and one that you pulled from the ceiling), sink, fridge, and a big window. The most defining feature was the track toilet. I can’t say that I have had this experience before, but let’s just say that I got a good, little quad workout. ;-)

The old train started firing up and moving down the tracks promptly at 9:16 pm. I knew that we would go through a passport check at the Bulgarian/Turkish border so I didn’t sleep too soundly between then and 2 am because I wanted to make sure I was coherent enough for the check. Around 2 am, Bulgarian border agents came onto the train to conduct their passport check. They took our passports, and then we waited about 30 minutes on the train. They then came back to our cabins to return the passports. Phase 2 of the border crossing was a passport check/face check in Kapikule, Turkey. This time, all passengers got off of the train to walk into a customs office about 2:45 am.

Per the suggestion of the Bulgarian Ticket Representative, we bought a one way ticket to Istanbul because buying a one way from Istanbul is slightly cheaper than buying a round trip from Sofia. The Turkish border agent reviewed our tickets, asked Tyler and me to take off our glasses, and then asked Tyler if he was going to stay in Istanbul (for an indeterminate amount of time). Tyler said “Yes.” The agent repeated himself. Tyler did too. That’s when I started to piece together that the agent was asking if Tyler was going to stay past the 90 day tourist period. I then said “No.” And then explained to Tyler that he was asking if we were going to be there for more than a month and a half. Talk about lost in translation. The entire border crossing took about 1.5 hours

We arrived at Halkali Train Station around 8 am and took a shuttle with two Turkish young men and all of the Turkish train attendants (the other shuttle was full) and arrived in the center of Istanbul an hour later. It was fun to listen to the Turkish chatter rather than listen to the silence of the tourists on the other, larger bus.

Don’t hold me to it, but I think I would take the overnight express again. A one way train ride to Istanbul cost approximately $40. We got a place to sleep, some tasty crackers, and a really nice view. 8.5/10 would do it again.

We departed from Austin Bergstrom International Airport at 10:50 am on Friday morning. After traveling a total of 39 hours, we arrived at Istanbul’s Central Train Station at 9:15 on Sunday morning.

#girlswhotravel #sofia #bulgaria #istanbul #turkey #train #travel #travelblog

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kellexplainsitall · 3 years

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Oof. It's been a minute. Instead of chronological updates, I am doing categories.

Running:

Week of June 21-28

Monday - 9 easy

Tuesday - 9 whatever with Alison

Wednesday - 10 @ 7:44 pace

Thursday - 70 spin

Friday- 9 easy with Rebuck

Saturday -13 @ 7:58

Sunday -5 easy solo + 5 easy with Mom, Tom and Tim

It was a good week of running! It was a glorious 50 degrees for Wednesday's run and that pace felt so smooth and easy. I mean, that's essentially my marathon pace and I ran 10 miles averaging it with no stops and felt so controlled and fine. Give me the colder weather! Saturday's run was so hot and humid, I felt like death the entire time. You win some, you lose some. I had my first boardwalk run Sunday and it was very nice! My brother and I jumped directly into the ocean after two of our runs and it was MAGICAL. 10/10 would recommend.

Week of June 28-July 4

Monday - 10 @ 7:56 (progression)

Tuesday - 5 easy + 5 easy with Mom

Wednesday - 5 @ 7:27 (progression) + 5 easy with Mom and Tom

Thursday - 75 spin

Friday - 9 whatever miles with Allison and Rebuck

Saturday -13 @ 8:09 pace

Sunday 5-mile w/p, 5K race and 1 mile c/d

I had won this race the past 3 years, but you never know who is going to show up, especially in a year when not all races are back. It's a tough course, I hadn't ever broken 21 on it. My goal was a sub-7 last mile, as it is a hard uphill and a sub-21 finish. As the gun went off, three females shot out in front of me. The first mile is a screaming downhill (I ran 6:15) and found myself in second. The next mile is an out-and-back up and then back down a hill. I caught the first place female (a young girl) around 1.5 and clocked a 6:32. As I was congratulating myself, I turned up the last hill and saw a woman out of the corner of my eye and she looked like she was running strong. I was running as hard as I could but she just had more than me. She passed me with less than a quarter mile to do and I had nothing left to fight. I was disappointed to have lost the win, BUT I was super happy to have achieved my goals - sub-7 last mile (6:55) and a sub-21 (20:53 official, 20:29 watch). I wish I could find a flat, fast course to try out a sub-20!

Boston is less than 14 weeks away, so it's time to start increasing my long runs. I can't believe how quickly it is sneaking up.

Beach:

We got to the beach around 6 p.m. on Saturday. My parents, brother and his fiancée were there already, and we all ate pizza. My mom and I walked down to the beach just to see it, but then I went to bed around 8:30, I was beat from a long day.

We took Keegan to the beach in the morning and he LOVED it. We weren't sure how he would do in the water, but he was happy as could be, splashing around. He didn't even mind when he got a mouthful of water. He also didn't care when he was COVERED in sand. He just laughed.

After a morning at the beach and some lunch, Keegan went down for his nap and then my dad, Tim and I walked really far accidentally (like a mile in the heat) to go to a park with him. Luckily, the park was really cool and appreciated by all ages.

On Monday, my dad, Tim and Tom went golfing and my mom and Maureen went to Home Goods. I was putzing around at the house with Keegan when I went out on the deck to get the laundry. We got locked out on the second floor deck for 45 minutes! I had no phone, so I couldn't call anyone. We just had to sit and wait. Thank goodness I had brought Keegan out with me. Thankfully, my grandma and uncle finally arrived and let us in. Phew. After Keegan's nap, we went down to the beach for afternoon fun.

On Tuesday, my brother, Maureen, Tim ,Keegan and I walked down to the boardwalk. It's about a mile and a half walk before you hit any kind of retail, and it was hot! Keegan and I split an italian ice, while they got coffees/smoothies. It hit the spot and it was nice to walk around on the boardwalk.

We went to the beach in the afternoon, where my sister and BIL met us for the afternoon. Keegan loved having extra attention and we spent the evening on the roof deck.

Wednesday was our last full day, so we went to the beach in the morning, just the three of us. It wasn't very busy and there were a few gullies to play in, so Keegan was in heaven. An hour was the perfect amount of time for us.

After his nap, we headed to the boardwalk to do the rides. We rode two with him and he LOVED THEM. He was having such a great time, what a joy to watch him.

We let him try custard after, but he wasn't super into it! Oh well, maybe next year. We decided to leave early on Thursday, as Keegan had been waking up around 6 anyway, so we were on the road by 6:30 and home by 9:30.

Rest of the weekend:

It was a whirlwind of a day with laundry, grocery shopping and exercise, but I got it done. It felt like a true four-day weekend after that! We went to the pool on Sunday (empty) and Monday (PACKED) and did a lot of water activities.

I did a lot of yardwork and reading.

I have to say, I am far, far from the thinnest I have been. But this is the best I have ever felt about my body. I just feel strong, ya know? I don't feel confident about my stomach, but I feel like I can pick things up and run strong up hills. I am really glad I have stuck to strength through the pandemic, and am hopeful I can keep it up, even with a return to the office part-time next week. EEk.

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expatimes · 3 years

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Wadi-e-Hussain: A graveyard for Pakistan’s Shia victims | Civil Rights News

Karachi, Pakistan – Miles from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis of Pakistan’s largest city, Karachi, lies the Wadi-e-Hussain graveyard with its hundreds of graves. Each is a window into a life that ended all too abruptly.

Protected from the city by large iron gates and tall walls, there is an uneasy calm within its walls where many of the city’s Shia Muslims have been laid to rest.

Pakistan is home to 220 million people, almost all of whom are Muslim. It is also home to one of the largest Shia populations in the world, as an estimated 20 percent of Muslims there are Shia.

At Wadi-e-Hussain red flags are planted by the graves of observant Shia Muslims who have died in targeted killings, gun or bomb attacks.

Since 2001, more than 2,600 Shia Muslims have been killed in violent attacks in the South Asian country, according to the South Asia Terrorism Portal research organisation. This year has seen an uptick in targeted killings against Shia accused of blasphemy.

In September, tens of thousands attended a demonstration in Karachi organised by the Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat (ASWJ), a Sunni hardline group that is banned under Pakistani law for its ties to the armed Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ) group, which has carried out many of the largest bombings and attacks on the community since 1996.

At Wadi-e-Hussain, people paying their respects come and go, as the caretaker customarily sprinkles water on the graves.

“Some bring flowers, some light candles on every Thursday, sometimes a brother or a mother comes with the book of prayer, spends time on the grave,” says the caretaker Laal Mohammad.

As the scent of rose petals and incense wafts across the graves this history of violence is writ large across the tombstones. A group of five graves marks a family killed in the Abbas town blast of 2013. A mother’s grave sits by her four-year-old’s son’s, killed in the same blast; the inscription says the woman dropped dead when she saw her young child’s lifeless body.

There are more than 300 graves belonging to the those dubbed as “martyrs” in Wadi-e-Hussain. These are their stories.

‘My brother did not come back’

A woman sits near a grave, reading verses from a prayer book, crying as she does so.

Tehseen Abidi’s younger brother was also killed in the 2013 bombing in Abbas Town, a popular majority-Shia Muslim neighbourhood in Karachi. Kashif Abbas Abidi was at the site of the blast when it went off. Police never found his body.

For 40-year-old Tehseen, Kashif was her whole world. Sitting by his grave, she tells the story of the day she lost her brother in the attack, a sequence of bomb blasts which killed at least 45 people.

There are more than 300 graves belonging to the those dubbed as “martyrs” in Wadi-e-Hussain

“He died in the first blast, he was present at the site of the blast, he promised me that he would come to see me in the evening, my brother did not come back” she says.

Abidi owned a general store in the neighbourhood and was at work when the bombs went off.

“It was March 3 and a Sunday,” said Tehseen. She only got a few sentences in before she broke down in tears, remembering her “little one”.

The government offered financial compensation to the families whose relatives had died that day and in other attacks. But the relatives say the money is of little comfort.

“The government gave 1.5 million rupees to his wife, but our loss is so big that nothing can compensate for this loss,” said Tehseen.

“Even if our whole life we cry it’s not enough. Maybe if we all die crying in this anguish, maybe only then it will be compensated.”

‘Something died inside me that day’

On June 6, 1963 while preparing for a local ceremony, Ishtiaq Hussain and his fellow mourners heard the news of an attack on the procession in Thehri town, 14 kilometres (8.6 miles) out of Khairpur city in Sindh province. Hussain, now aged 80, is still haunted by his memories of that day.

It was a few days after Ashura, the 10th day of Muharram, the first month in the Islamic calendar. Ashura marks the anniversary of the Karbala mass killing and is commemorated by Shia Muslims in sombre rituals and processions.

“We were around 200 people who ran to save the congregation of Thehri that day,” he says. “We didn’t know that the news was a trap, and there were thousands of waiting for us with axes and swords in their hands, to chop us all into pieces.”

Hussain made it out alive but he has no idea how.

“I was among the survivors, but I can’t recall how I survived. There were around 10 people who attacked me with the axes, they injured me badly, my neck and shoulder were bleeding, they kicked me in my stomach to the point that I started spitting blood,” he says.

“I still survived, but something died inside me that day.”

The attack at Thehri was one of the first significant sectarian attacks since Pakistan gained independence from the British in 1947.

More than 118 people were killed on that day. They were to be the first of thousands killed for being Shia.

Silencing the outcry

In August 2020, in the month of Muharram, a fresh wave of sectarian tension rippled across Karachi and the rest of the country. Shia scholars were accused of blasphemy after they gave sermons critical of Islam’s early caliphs. Thousands rallied in Karachi under the banner of the ASWJ, calling Pakistan’s Shia leaders infidels.

After the protests ended, many Pakistanis denounced the ASWJ supporters’ hate speech and said the government had not taken the demonstrators to task.

Journalist Bilal Farooqi was one of the few who spoke out publicly.

A Sunni, Farooqi was arrested in October 2020 on charges of having spread “religious hatred” and “anti-state sentiment”. He had tweeted criticisms of the ASWJ march and questioned the authorities over their allowing an organisation that had been designated as “terrorist” to organise the march.

“Most of my posts, on the basis of which was filed against me, were about the ASWJ’s involvement in anti-Shia activities,” said Farooqi. Later released from police custody, he is still facing the same court charges.

He has called on Sunni Muslim activists to speak up against police inaction towards groups involved in Shia Muslim attacks.

Running parallel with the ASWJ’s continuing anti-Shia campaign has been the rise of a new far-right religious group in Pakistan, the Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), which has made the so-called issue of blasphemy a rallying point.

Since 2017, the TLP and its leading scholars have seen a sharp rise in support for the issue and have pressured the government to penalise those accused of blasphemy.

The movement and its leader Khadim Hussain Rizvi were behind days of protests in 2018 over one of Pakistan’s most high-profile blasphemy cases. It involved the acquittal of a Christian woman, Asia Bibi on blasphemy charges. The TLP also blocked the main highway leading to the capital Islamabad for weeks in 2017 over a change in an electoral oath. It was deemed by them as blasphemous because it eased some restrictions on members of the Ahmadi sect, an offshoot of Sunni Islam that believes in a subordinate prophet and has been declared non-Muslim under Pakistani law.

Farooqi says the TLP has also recently hit out at Shia Muslims for what they say is blasphemy against some of Prophet Muhammad’s companions.

Regional politics, local violence

Following the Islamic revolution in 1979 in Shia-majority Iran, which shares a border with Pakistan, there was an influx of Iranian and Shia Muslim influence into Pakistan, says Hasan Zafar Naqvi, a popular Pakistani Shia leader.

The real problem, he argues, emerged after the United States and Saudi Arabia – which is Sunni-majority and has long viewed Iran as its regional rival – began to look at Iran’s perceived influence in Pakistan as a threat to the region.

Pakistan’s ruler at the time, General Zia ul-Haq, had seized power in a military coup in 1977 and was in the process of establishing a more theocratic state. During Haq’s time in power until 1988, the role of religion in government affairs grew. It also became the basis for US-backed armed action by the ‘mujahideen’ in neighbouring Afghanistan.

Backed by Saudi Arabia, Sunni hardline groups began to counter the perceived threat of Shia in the region. To that purpose, a group called Sipah-e-Sahaba Pakistan (SSP, later to become the ASWJ) was formed in 1985 in central Pakistan.

Founded by Haq Nawaz Jhangvi, the party was against the mainly Shia Muslim landlords of the area and sought to exploit sectarian differences. It called for Shia Muslims to be declared non-Muslim under Pakistani law and organised frequent protests to highlight the issue. The rise of the SSP, and its allied LeJ in the 1990s, saw a sharp rise in incidents of violence against Shia Muslims across the country in the decades to follow, says Naqvi, the scholar.

Repeated attacks

In 2009, Syed Liaquat Hussain Zaidi, an influential Shia activist and leader in Karachi was gunned down by LeJ.

Zaidi’s murderer was arrested two years later and confessed to police that he was working for the LeJ and had been given a hit-list of influential Shia Muslims in the city to kill, according to Zaidi’s family.

Zaidi was actively involved in charity and welfare work and was the president of Pasban-e-Aza, a Shia welfare organisation, said his sister Rehana Zaidi.

On a winter morning in November, Zaidi took his young son to school but never returned, says Rehana.

Two motorcyclists shot him three times in the head as he stopped at a traffic signal in the city. His niece first reached the scene and found her uncle in a pool of blood, the car surrounded by onlookers. No one attempted to help him, she says.

A year after the murder, Zaidi’s killers returned – this time shooting Zaidi’s nephew, Rameez Hussain, mere blocks away from the family home.

Miraculously, the nephew survived. The murderer, in his confession, told police he had fled the scene having assumed Hussain had been killed. “God saved him,” says Rehana.

#humanrights Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=16462&feed_id=27009 #asia #civilrights #conflict #features #humanrights #pakistan #religion

#Asia #CivilRights #Conflict #Features #HumanRights #Pakistan #Religion

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mikeyhatesit113 · 3 years

Text

forever and never: Chapter 6

My vehicle sped up the road, my foot stomping on the gas pedal.

The minutes ticked by like hours, and no matter how fast the car went, it still wasn’t enough. I had to get back to her, but would she be there?

Outside, the dark night was haunting me once again.

It had been hours...hours of silence.

Desperation built in my chest.

Please be there...

9 Months Earlier

I was back home, and I had my family back. I had a renewed sense of commitment to Janie, and I was determined to do what was right by her.

She was my franchise player, and I had to do what every professional sports organization needs to do…lock down their star player with a long term contract. And true to the world of sports, my star athlete did seem to have interest in other franchises, but after all was said and done, it appeared that she wanted to remain with my organization.

Of course, I’m referring to marriage. I immediately needed to marry Janie.

I had put a lot of the blame on myself for the way Janie had felt, because true enough, we were two years into a relationship and I had not proposed to her. No, I did not think that we were ready but apparently she did, and as I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, why not?

I had ignored the organic, special nature of wanting to marry somebody. It became an initiative of mine to make her feel as comfortable and secure as possible, so that I’d never have to suffer through another agonizing, restless night of wondering where she was.

The first order of business was requesting John’s permission for her hand in marriage. Remember John? Her father who confronted me at the sports bar? Since that heated exchange 2 years prior, John and I had not exactly become “close”, but we were cordial in the event of dinners and parties.

And even though he “forgot my gift at the house” when he came over one Christmas and gave Janie and the boys presents, I still felt comfortable enough to ask his permission for his daughter’s hand.

This process wasn’t going to be the traditional secret phone call or visit that most guys like to have without their prospective fiancé’s knowledge. This tradition usually maintains the element of surprise, as most proposals come in the form of an unexpected moment a couple can cherish and look back on decades later.

Well, there wouldn’t be any real “surprise”, as there were only expectations now.

Janie and I were sitting on the couch one Sunday night when we began talking, and I announced to her, “I’m going to call your dad right now and get his permission.”

Janie giggled excitedly and immediately whipped out her phone to call somebody while I stepped outside and made a phone call of my own. John immediately answered.

“Hey John, it’s Ekim. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’d be grateful for your permission. Can I marry your daughter?”

John chuckled and said, “Well, I think you’d have to ask her that.”

Alright, one obstacle down.

The next obstacle was going and buying the ring. I went into a local, over-priced jewelry shop and let the guy in the clip-on tie and purple dress shirt guide me through the options. I picked out what I thought the perfect ring was, and I was on my way.

Two obstacles down.

Next, the proposal, but where to do it?

A quiet pier, just the two of us? No.

What about a cute little scavenger hunt, ending with me on one knee? Nope.

In my desperation to make her feel special, I wanted to do it big.

As in, The Big Apple.

I planned a last second trip to NYC, and I told her to pack a bag. We left on a Friday afternoon and hours later, we arrived to the modest hotel in Newark.

It was nice, if you could ignore the aged wallpaper and smell of cig smoke emanating from the air vent.

NOTE: Sorry ladies, but I was fronting ALOT of cash in a short period of time. I couldn’t afford a hotel in Manhattan. I was a baller on a budget.

I called down to the front desk, and a man who spoke broken English answered.

“Hey, can we have another room, by chance? I think that the cigarette smoke from down below is coming through our air conditioner,” I said.

The man on the other end asked me to hold briefly, and I heard him consult with the clerk beside him.

“He say, the smokes from outside, is in their room.”

We moved to another room, but we didn’t stay in it much. We were up bright and early the next morning, and my car zipped into Manhattan among the other aggressive drivers. We grabbed an “early bird special” at a parking garage and began our tour of the city on foot. The ring box bulged in my pocket as we walked through the streets and eventually ended up in Times Square.

With her back turned, I seized my moment and knelt down on one knee. She turned around.

Looking back, it’s hard to figure out if anything was special between us. It’s hard to imagine her being happy or being genuinely pleased after knowing what I know now. But if this moment where her jaw dropped and her hands clapped to her face was nothing but an act, she put on a great show.

We both did that day, as nearby tourists stopped walking and took pictures, saying “aww!” and giving small rounds of applause.

Of course she said yes. It wasn’t getting any grander than that.

The rest of the day went fantastic. I had proposed, and I made her feel like the luckiest girl in a major American city.

After returning home, we started planning for the wedding, which would be held in February at a local private club’s banquet room. We invited all of our closest friends and family, and I’d include her two boys in my groom’s party. Other members of my party would be my father, my buddies Bill and Sean.

Bill. Remember Bill. Right there with November 4th, put Bill in your memory bank for a rainier day.

Anyway, for as extravagant as we tried to make the wedding, everything turned out rather normal. In fact, after our rehearsal, we held our rehearsal dinner at a pizza buffet.

My father and his girlfriend, even years later, remained non-fans of Janie. My father treated all of his duties as a groomsman with reluctance and exasperation, and on the night of the rehearsal dinner, veered left to the neighboring chinese buffet while everyone else went to the pizza buffet.

My father and his girlfriend laughed as they did this, and I didn’t know how to feel about it at the time. Years later, the sheer audacity not only to miss your son’s rehearsal dinner, but to literally go next door to another restaurant, is inconceivable.

Anyway, the wedding day went off without a hitch. Janie had one last surprise for me, as she abruptly changed her music halfway down the aisle to an upbeat, poppy Miley Cyrus song and danced the rest of the way to the altar.

I am not quite sure, to this day, what she was going for. All I know is that there wasn’t a huge burst of laughter, no applause, and no one cheered. I can honestly say that everyone looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I knew nothing about the song switch-up, and I couldn’t understand why it had taken place. Miley Cyrus had zero significance to our relationship.

This was a wedding...not a Party in the USA...

I mean, at least save it for the reception?

After the wedding, Janie and I departed for our honeymoon in a modest beach town. It was February, so it was the off-season. We had a decent time with what we could do during a time of year where 75% of the businesses are shut down.

Inside, I felt accomplished, if nothing else. I considered the early chaotic origins of our relationship, and at least I could hang my hat on the fact that we were officially a married couple.

More to the point, we had just planned an entire wedding in 3 months, while also coordinating a move from our cape cod house to a townhouse. The rent at the cape cod house was extreme, and the rent at the townhouse would not only be cheaper, but also be in the same housing development as her mother.

Win/win, we thought.

After those two monumental events, I began looking at my career. I wasn’t too happy at the vending company. It allowed me to provide, but the seemingly erratic decisions from the small business owner made me nervous, and I started seeking a long-term career elsewhere.

Enter, the Sheriff’s department.

I filled out an application and they called me in for a panel interview. After getting approved, they passed me onto the physical fitness test.

The vertical jump. 25 pushups. 38 situps in under a minute. 300 meter dash. And of course, the dreaded 1.5 mile run in 12:29 or better.

I passed everything but the 1.5 mile run time. I hadn’t ran that much since 8th grade.

They scheduled me for a retest, and I worked my ass off in preparation for the running portion. Janie was ultra supportive of my quest for a position in law enforcement. She encouraged it, telling me that she always had a thing for cops. This of course motivated me even more.

Anything to feel like she wanted me.

Weeks later after running more than I ever had, I arrived at the hot track where the fitness test would be held. I performed the tests in succession of the process, passing each one. Then it was time for the run.

The whistle blew and I took off, pushing myself harder than ever as sweat poured down my face. Through every burst of running and stretch of walking after I got a stitch in my side, all I could think about was not failing. Not going back to Janie and telling her that I didn’t pass.

I pushed, and I barely made it.

After the test, they handed me a large stack of background paperwork to complete, and I was elated. I couldn’t wait to tell Janie. I hopped in my car and blared Limp Bizkit as I chugged red bull on my way home. On the way, I called Janie.

No answer.

Moments later, I tried calling again.

No answer.

I was befuddled. Wasn’t she eagerly waiting to hear the results of a test regarding a career that could change our family?

I pulled into our development minutes later and parked at the house. Janie’s car wasn’t there. I walked across the street to her mom’s and asked where Janie was.

“I don’t know, she should be back by now,” her mom said. “She only ran down the street to Walgreens, but that was a while ago.”

Minutes later, Janie did in fact arrive home. I excitedly told her the news, and though she was happy, I didn’t exactly get the reaction I had thought I’d get. She was rather passive, as if someone had told her that their growing pumpkins were coming along nicely.

Unfortunately, this reaction was a sign of things to come. Almost like clockwork, one year since “Corey”, her behavior changed abruptly, and our fights became more frequent. Everything that mattered before didn’t seem to matter to her now, and she was rather detached.

When you’re with someone for so long, you become accustomed to their patterns, behavior, and routines. When they abruptly change, that’s what you would consider a red flag.

One evening, I had enough. If she was going to take me for granted, then I’d make her miss me. I had tried to give her everything, but it wasn’t good enough.

Maybe it was time for her to wonder about me for a change?

I left the house and stopped by the mall, where I grabbed two CD’s. I hopped in my car and gunned it. Where was I going?

Well I’m glad somebody asked. The beach, of course.

My plan was to book a hotel room and stay there the entire weekend, taking time for me. I didn’t plan on having my phone on me. I was going to cut loose and have as much fun as a married stepfather could have, which in retrospect, isn’t much fun at all.

That entire 4 hour car ride, I gave myself tiny pep talks.

Fuck this. She’ll get a taste of what it’s like to be without me. She’ll be begging me to come back. It’s time for her to be insecure for a change.

The sun was going down, giving way to a beautiful dusk. I would of loved to share it with her. I wish this was our trip to the beach. But it was mine, and mine alone. There didn’t seem to be much that she did want to share with me. I’d make her pay for that.

This was incredibly toxic.

Hours later, my Matrix zipped up the main drag of the beach town, the same beach town we had spent our honeymoon in 7 months earlier.

Attractive women, families, and lively young people littered the sidewalks, laughing and enjoying each other. The night clubs, the smell of the ocean, and the excitement filling the air was intoxicating.

I had never felt so alone.

My adrenaline had worn off, and I was beyond empty. I had completely bottomed out. I was a loser. A fucking loser.

And she hadn’t tried to contact me once.

I realized almost immediately that my grand plan of staying there the whole weekend was a foolish illusion. I had become delusional to think that I could separate my stubborn mind from my heart.

What was I going to do? Walk the boardwalk 500 times? Talk to girls and hope they didn’t catch a glimpse of my wedding ring?

I was a gullible puppy dog. This had become some sick form of stockholm syndrome.

I turned my car around and zipped right back up the road. If I made good time, I could get home at least by 3am.

But I wasn’t going to call!

Halfway up the road, that resolve failed too.

I began calling, and texting, and I received nothing in return.

On top of not bothering to check where I was or if I was ok, she seemingly didn’t give a shit about hearing from me either.

I couldn’t understand. Why was this happening?

Where was this coming from?

Why didn’t she fucking care???

The distance I had sought to put between us had become a curse. I couldn’t wait to get home. The car couldn’t go fast enough. I needed to get back to her.

I even later got a ticket in the mail from one of those speed trap cameras.

After 3am, my car pulled into the driveway. Thankfully, her car was there.

I got out of my car and ran inside the dark house, dashing up the stairs. I bursted into our room, where she was sleeping. Or at least feigning sleep.

Her phone was next to her on the bedside table, dark and dormant...as it had never received any attempts from mine.

“I tried calling you,” I whispered to her as I knelt beside the bed.

“Oh,” she said. “Just come to bed.”

No questions of where I was all night. No further inquiries.

Her level of concern, or lack thereof, was maddening. But she was in front of me in our bed, and I wanted nothing more than to lay down beside her.

I eagerly changed into my PJ’s and laid next to her, taking her hand into mine.

But her hand only returned two quick squeezes and then pulled away.

I fought to fall asleep, replaying the entire evening in my head.

Wondering how it was so easy for her to be so rested and peaceful.

Wondering what was happening behind the scenes.

Wondering what was motivating her...

Or who?

Truth be told, there was someone else in our bed.

I could not see him, but he was there.

He was in her text messages. And in her call logs.

Hiding in plain sight.

“I'm blind, lost inside my head, And I can feel the end, it's coming after me. And I can't walk away.”

From Ashes to New “Blind”

NOTE: Though this is my side of the story, including my own personal recollections and opinions, the reader should not consider this note anything other than a work of literature. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

#dating #relationships #suicide #depression #self help #mental health #divorce #marriage #begin again

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shootfastrunfar · 6 years

Text

My first taste of Failure

On Sunday, April 8th, I failed for the first time in my life.

That statement is, to a degree, hyperbolic. I’ve failed many times in my 22 (almost 23) years on this planet. I’ve failed out of college due to laziness. I’ve failed to bench press 225 for years. I’ve failed to crank out 20 pullups on a PFT. I’ve failed tests. I’ve failed to make food properly. I’ve failed to make good first impressions. I’ve failed to talk to my grandfather for years before he died. But on April 8th, 2018, I failed in a way that I’ve never failed before, and it rocked me: I failed to do something that I set my mind to do. In that way, I truly failed.

My failure was, ultimately, my own doing. I failed to properly prepare for something that I knew would be difficult, for a myriad of reasons; I was tired, I was busy, I had trained enough to get by, I was sore, or maybe I just said “Fuck it”. Ironically, that phrase has gotten me through some of the most physically and mentally demanding situations in my life. That phrase has also led me to this failure in the worst possible way. It bred an attitude of complacency in me. It bred cockiness. It led me to believe that I could simply power through whatever challenge lay before me, through sheer guts, balls of steel, and a willingness to believe that I could do anything. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! And then Ironman 70.3 Galveston grabbed me by the balls and Stone Cold Stunnered me back to earth.

This story begins just over two years ago. I had convinced my roommate to run the 2016 Marine Corps Marathon with me. During that conversation, he brought up something called an Ironman. Having never heard of such a thing, I asked him what it was. What he described to me simultaneously scared and excited me. A 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride, and a full 26.2 mile marathon, all in 17 hours?! I suddenly had a sinking feeling. I realized that simply running a marathon would no longer suffice for dick measuring contests. If I were to ever have the largest genitalia in an argument, I realized I was going to have to step up my game.

First things first, however. The marathon would be run first. So with the Hanson’s running method under my belt, a brand new pair of Brooks Launchs, and a belly full of Gu, he and I began our training. Out of a 5 month program, we completed maybe 2/3 of the workouts. And the last three weeks, we did 2. Life started taking hold, and we both entered that race woefully unprepared. But with a little bit of luck and a lot of motivation, we managed to stumble across the finish line before the cutoff time. JUST before the cutoff times. To say we “ran” the marathon was generous. We jogged/walked/stumbled it. But we finished it none the less, and I have the medal proudly sitting in a shadow box to prove it.

Fast forward 8 months. The post marathon blues had destroyed my fitness. I had stopped going to the gym for money and time reasons while training for the marathon, and it took me months to be able to start going again. I was in the worst shape of my life. I managed to somewhat get my shit together, just enough to convince myself I needed to make a big change. So AT (Annual Training) 2017 came around, and I decided I was going to start my Ironman Journey. The day before we went to the field, I signed up for my first Sprint Triathlon. After returning, I forced myself to buy a cheap road bike and start training. That first Tri came and went, and I was itching for another. So I impulse signed up for Ironman 70.3 Galveston, bought a training plan, and once again gaffed off over half the training sessions, and did all of 2 in the final month. Hell, I had done some of the longer rides and runs, so I knew I could just dig deep and power through, right? I’m a goddamn US Marine (one weekend a month, anyway). I could do a little fucking triathlon! It’s not even a full Ironman! It’s the Triathlon equivalent of a half marathon! You just show up and crank it out! How hard could it be?

The race started out well enough. I actually crushed the swim, the area I was most concerned about. Roka makes a damn fine wetsuit. Their sleeved Maverick Elite II was well worth the money. I had done no open water swims in my training, had briefly swam in the wetsuit ONCE for all of 3 minutes, and had never swam farther than 800 Meters. And I still crushed the swim in just under 45 minutes. Not an amazing time, but I came out of the water barely winded and ready to make the rest of the race my bitch. And then everything went to shit.

Now, I’m not the strongest cyclist. Most of it is me, obviously. The bike is only as good as its engine, and I’m not exactly a V8. More like a V4 Ecoboost. Without the eco boost. My main enemy is wind resistance and hills. Riding a fairly heavy road bike, and being a fairly heavy guy for my height (triathlon wise anyway), and being about as aerodynamic as a full bred Russian Boar makes those things a nightmare for me. That’s no excuse, but it did make things a lot harder. And it REALLY made my lack of training shine. Clydesdale after Clydesdale passed me, and I realized that my gear wasn’t the problem, I was. However, I managed to cruise at 16.5 MPH regardless. Not a great time, but hell, I had a headwind, and I would make cutoff. And then I hit the turnaround, and things got bad fast.

After taking a quick pit stop and grabbing some Cliff Shots, I attempted to mount my bike. And for the first time ever, I fell over while clipping in. I had managed to avoid it for nearly a year, and was proud to say I had never fallen over. That ended quickly. I managed to get up and get going after a few seconds of cussing and swearing vengeance against the trickster god who was clearly fucking with me. I immediately noticed something was wrong. Why was it so hard to get back up to speed, and what was that squeaking? Marvelous, my brake hood was cocked inwards, and my front disk brake was slightly engaged. Not enough to stop me, but enough to stop the wheel from spinning freely. No matter, I’ll power on. I had enough of a buffer that 2 MPH slower wasn’t going to DNF me. And then I realized that the headwind I felt going out was not, in fact, a headwind. It was a slightly to the side tailwind. >OhNo.jpeg. NOW I was riding into the headwind. And it was going to work me for all I was worth. I had to switch into the small gear for the first time in my life. I was struggling to maintain 11.5MPH. No matter, I thought, this is gonna suck, but I have enough of a lead that I’ll make cutoff. And then I slowed to 10. Then 9. The squeaking was getting worse, so I scavenged a full water bottle that someone had sent flying. I desperately tried squirting water on the front brake to maybe give it slightly better lubrication. Surprisingly, it worked. Until shit went tits up, literally.

While doing this particular stunt one time, I managed to lean too far forward, get hit by a particularly nasty gust, AND avoid a water bottle on the path all at the same time. I then had the pleasure of experiencing my first bike crash! This race was full of first experiences! About 1.5 seconds later, I was on my back, seeing starts, knee gashed, other knee starting to swell, arm and shoulder throbbing, and worst of all, I’m pretty sure I scuffed my new saddle JUST enough to render it unreturnable. So there goes that fit guarantee! After a few minutes of bitching and swearing to the Old Gods and the New that I would smite whomever was responsible for that water bottle in the road, I managed to mount my trusty, broke steed for another 10 miles. And as I approached the final aid station, and glanced at the time, I realized my lack of training was coming for its due. Despite the bad weather, despite all my gear failures, and despite my all around shitty luck, I could have finished. I missed cutoff by 4 minutes. 4 minutes of a 3:30 hour ride. 4 minutes of a 40 minuet swim. 4 minutes of extra effort. Gone.

I’m a “Balling on a Budget” triathlete. While not the poorest in this sport, I definitely don’t have money to waste. And $500 on registration, lodging, and gas is a HUGE hit to me. Enough that I can really only do 1 Ironman branded event per year. Hell, on my motivation board, I have “YOU PAID $2600 TO BECOME AND IRONMAN SO FAR. DON’T LET THAT MONEY GO TO WASTE!” This sport has claimed almost all of my disposable income the past year, plus some. The financial burden of this failure was almost worse than anything else. And the realization that I let all that time and money go to waste was crushing. While being driven back to the transition area, I strongly considered selling all my gear and getting out of the sport. Cutting my losses and paying off some debt. Putting this whole thing behind me. It would allow me to focus on my PFT, powerlifting, and bodybuilding. The types of physical activity I prefer. Lord knows it would greatly increase my ammo budget. That would be the smart thing to do, right? Accept the fact I’m not cut out for the dedication this sport takes, and move on with my life.

Well, in case you didn’t read the first paragraph, I’m not a smart man. I joined the Marine Corps and failed college. So clearly I’m a bit of dumbass.

Failure will not be my legacy with this sport. This was a wakeup call. If I want the title of Ironman, I’m going to have to work for it, and work harder at it than anything else in my life. My plan has not changed: Ironman Texas 2019. I will NOT back away from that. But I need to evaluate my discipline, my work ethic, and my training. From here on, I must make EVERY workout be as intense as possible. I must fall into bed EVERY NIGHT exhausted from training and work, and rise every morning with wrath in my heart and bloodlust in my soul. I must look at the weakness in my and kill it, because if I fail to do so, it will kill me. I must forge on ahead, ready for the hardest 12 months of training in my life. My lofty goal of qualifying for Kona in 2020 seems all the further away, but luckily I have one simple phrase to get me through:

“Fuck it.”

And so we go.

#ironman #triathlon #galveston #failure #motivation

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olivercnewcomb · 4 years

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Delhi Loop Shortened 1.5 miles: Only ran the first half of this super slow one and a half miles. My ankle that I severely twisted (trying to play Superman over a large patch of ice) two February’s ago flared up. I did complete my week though. Two rest days with periodic heat (to loosen up my ankle muscles/tendons), calf raises (to strengthen the injury) and then ice (to reduce swelling after the MINOR exercise). Hopefully I’ll be back out there Sunday morning! . . #DieEveryDay #DieEveryDayFitness #RunFatBoyRun #NeverGiveUp #RunnersLife #NeverBackDown #KillItEveryDay #DownShifter #Nike #CamelBak #NoExcuses #100to0 #SpartanUp #EmbraceTheSuck #ObstacleImmunity https://www.instagram.com/p/CBA_8PXjNna/?igshid=44z6n9ux0ytd

#dieeveryday #dieeverydayfitness #runfatboyrun #nevergiveup #runnerslife #neverbackdown #killiteveryday #downshifter #nike #camelbak #noexcuses #100to0 #spartanup #embracethesuck #obstacleimmunity

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missjanetcid · 4 years

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Clean Slate

Here I am, laying cozy in my bed with my wonderful big, fluffy duvet on top of me (my blanky).

I’ve been feeling this “Clean Slate” start happening back in mid-February of this year (2020). Who know that the world was also joining me with a Clean Slate.

Covid19 has taken place until the end of July, officially here in LA. & boy, do I tell ya... it’s pretty real out here with them face masks. I now carry one in my car & purse before heading out because literally, I mean literally, everywhere you go that’s based in LA, WILL NOT let you in without a mask.

Anywho - the real reason I am typing this is, because lucky for you guys, I am officially documenting how I am losing 35lbs of fat & keeping it off for good.

But before I begin,

Let me tell you this: I gained 15 lbs in 1.5 weeks.

How?

I didn’t stop eating. I gorged until i’d get sick, thinking “I know how to lose weight, done it before - do it again! & screw it, it’s quarantine.....:)”

My body starting swelling, my vision was getting blurred, my mind was foggy.. finally, this past Sunday, I lost all control. I fell into the hole.. of binge eating relapse. & I wen’t full out, rock bottom. And sat there. & faced everything that I just did to myself; mind, body & soul. It was a time-out. The only good thing I did during this purge was celery juice everyday! Which is honestly why I think I haven’t exploded yet. Like seriously...

Coming Monday, I chose to do a juice cleanse; because caloric wise, I already had ample. Technically my body doesn’t need real physical food for at least 2-3 days.. because I have enough energy (aka carbs {macronutrient} & calories {protein, fat & carbs}).

I began Monday morning with a fresh glass of celery juice & walked/meditated around my neighborhood. Then I made my favorite fat-burning detox drink that I found 5 years ago & use till this day: Grapefruit, Cucumber & Oranges.

Later, after being on my feet all day, I drank a Whey Protein Shake by 1UP Nutrition, mixed with a quarter cup of raw goats milk & water. This way, I was able to retain muscle mass without eating food. & the Goat’s Milk macronutrient content is Fat, Protein & no carbs.. which is like amazing. Because currently my goal is to burn fat, maintain as much muscle mass as possible & get lean.. with the ultimate goal of being shredded (with the hopes of quarantine being over by then -- Hello mansion & rooftop pool parties). In order to achieve my goal I have to do my best to drink as much protein & fat as possible, with very little carbs. Carbohydrates are energy, & if not being used, will store in the body as fat, as a survival mechanism to be used later if the body were to be malnourished.

I also sipped on regular water throughout the day. By 8pm I had so much energy. It was nuts, but by 10pm I was so hungry. So I made 2 scrambled eggs. (Fat, protein & a little bit of carbs) as a bedtime snack. But I woke up in the middle of the night like a fatty - gorged down two protein bars that are very high in carbs & are not even mine.. they were my roommates.. and I ate them... including her pineapple & papaya dried fruit..the whole fricken bag. Gone. Scarffed down my throat. Swalled. Gulp.

Today, I began my day drinking Zhi Cell & a raw egg yolk.

Ran 1 mile to pick up coffee for my morning walk & omg. Was I dying. Today I felt all the weight on me - a feeling I haven’t had in YEARS. Lately I have also noticed that my circulation isn’t the greatest. My toes and fingertips become easily numb and my knees hurt..

I ordered a Rose Coffee; Light Cream, Sweet Sativia & Hot.

It was so gross.

If I had it cold, on the rocks, it would have tasted fine. Or adding Heavy Cream since it was hot.. but I am too cheap to order iced coffee (did you know you get way more coffee if you always get it hot?) & I am currently too fat for indulgence of silky, beautiful Heavy Cream. Ugh, being skinny always feels so much better than what anything can ever taste like!

Drank water, had my celery juice.

Insta-Carted a quarter of Wild Caught Salmon because A) I am about to begin menstruating; Salmon has all the nutrients & minerals a females body loses & must replenish in order to have a smooth week.

& B) it’s high in Protein & Fat, low carbs.

Since I still had an egg-white left, I cooked it scrambled to pair with the Salmon. Yummy!

After I realized I ran out of celery & already made an instacart order, I panicked because now I had to come up with another $35 worth of groceries in order for Insta-Cart to deliver... Which I needed because my car isn’t working atm & going to grocery stores is like waiting in line to age 50 years.

To make myself feel better & take the edge off, I dove into one of the protein bars that my roommate has (I did replace the two that I ate last night.. but I also got myself ONE just because I knew I would want to eat hers -- there’s something about me wanting to eat other’s people food btw...its a little disturbing... or is it just me?)

Except... when I took the bite of the bar... I was full. It didn’t hit like it generally does. I was content.

Then I went for a walk and filled an entire glass jar of celery juice, which I enjoyed on my walk. Afterwards, I continued sipping water through out the day. & prepared my juices for tomorrow.

xx JLC

#fitnessjourney #health #fitness #covid19 #quarantine #selflove #mentalhealth #weightloss #organic #holistic

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vitruvianmanway · 7 years

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17-23 September 2017

Rested on Sunday. On Monday, I ran 1.5 miles on the treadmill at 6 speed, with Arms and Shoulder workouts that evening. On Tuesday, woke to the Abdominal workout then Chest and Back workouts in the evening. On Wednesday, I completed a 2 mile run on the treadmill at 6 speed but did not do the scheduled Leg workout. On Thursday morning, Abdominal workout then Arms and Shoulders workout in the evening. On Friday, I was unable to workout due to multiple appointments. Saturday morning, I ran 1.5 miles at 6.5 speed on the treadmill, then conducted with my family the South Florida Autism Walk at the BB&T Center in Sunrise. I also helped at my Alma Mater, conducting clean-up and performed as MC and tour guide later that evening.

This week: Need to concentrate on maintaining the schedule I prepared.

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sarakuper · 5 years

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Kenya, Stop #2- Maasai Mara

June 7-9, 2019

Hi everyone, After about 7 hours in the car we made it to Maasai Mara, our first stop on safari. To start I want to reflect on our experience. We are staying in very nice places and living like queens, but it felt different in Nairobi. While we are still staying in the nicest lodges on safari, it is very clear we are far from our home and society. From long bumpy (and I mean BUMPY) rides, sleeping with mosquito nets, and listening to the loud sounds of wild animals and insects right outside our doors at night, we are way out of our comfort zones. It’s been fun to watch my mom as she first made her “I don’t know about this face” to “this is pretty freaking cool”. We are embracing every second and humbled by what we are seeing and learning.

We saw so many different animals and, of course, I took a ton of photos. So, here are the highlights. Most of these photos are taken from up close, which made the experience really special.

June is the start of the great migration in Kenya. About 1.5 billion wildebeests will come to Maasai Mara to cross the river from the Serengeti, which is the same park but in Tanzania. We must have seen thousands of them running around. There are so many during this time; the other animals in the Mara always have full bellies.

Within the first hour of our ride in Maasai Mara we saw a magnificent elephant. Our new guide, Sisto, shared with us that he must be about 70 years old and weigh between 5-6 tons. Elephants typically live to be between 60-70 years, so this elephant was certainly one of if not the oldest male elephant in the park. To show you context of how close he got to us and his size....

He also told us we would see even bigger elephants when we get to the next park, Amboseli. In that same day we also saw a male lion resting in the bushes after "snacking” his recent kill, a young wildebeest. We were so close to him, he even growled at us because he thought we were a threat to his food...

Later that evening we saw lions again from afar, but with a great view!

Another highlight from that day was seeing so many hippos. They are very aggressive animals and kill several people in the Mara every year. Our guide Sisto challenged me to get a photo of a hippo with his mouth open... so I did.

Our next day in the Mara, Saturday, we covered even more. We were picked up at 4:45am from the hotel to drive to the take off area of our hot air balloon safari. Typical hot air balloon rides last from 1 hour to 1 hour and 20 minutes. For technical reasons our ride lasted 2 hours. It was the longest hot air balloon ride our pilot had ever flown! It had poured rain the night before and so each of the landing stops were too wet and muddy to get out, and so we landed a total of three times, going up again after each time until we literally ran out of gas and had a semi-crash landing (for our final landing) into an African bush. It was a total thrill! And my mom did so great! You would never have guessed how fearful she was of this ride in the months leading up to it.

While we were above and searching for animals we found an adult and baby black rhino! Our pilot, who goes up in the balloon every single day, hasn't seen any rhinos in about 3 months. We got lucky, this was a very rare sighting!

We also spotted a giraffe that we thought was alone until we got a closer look. Turns out this giraffe just had a baby that night and it’s newborn was standing beneath it.

And as always, the elephants. We saw so many from afar, and they are still (and will forever be) mine and moms favorite!

Once we we back on the ground were picked up by the crew and taken for a champagne breakfast on the savannah overlooking (and in) the Mara. It was stunning. And the breakfast was special too. The group we shared our ride with and our pilot were wonderful people and lovely to talk to.

After breakfast and bubbles we went back to the hotel for a long nap, then went out again for an evening safari ride. This time around we saw more giraffes, birds, buffalo, zebras, cheetah, and loins with their kill.

Sunday was our last day in the Mara. In the morning Sisto took us to a village of the Maasai tribe. You could tell this community of Maasai get a lot more tourists where as the more traditional tribes get much fewer, but it was really interesting to hear about and see the way they live. The young children go to school nearby until the age of 8. After 8 years they can continue to a government school where they have to walk 9 miles each way to attend. If the males don’t want to attend then they can learn to become a Maasai warrior. Here are some photos of the people, and the buildings they cook and sleep in.

The biggest take away I’ve had so far is that the people here are so genuinely kind. They are easily the nicest local people I have ever met in another country. We are loving every second talking with the people, meeting tourists, and of course observing these majestic animals in their natural habitat.

Next is our flight (in a tiny plane) to Amboseli, our second stop on safari. This is the airport... and yes, those are Pumbaas (warthogs) welcoming us!

Mom was pretty nervous about this flight, but honestly she did better than I thought she would. She is truly embracing her fears and much more!

Thanks for reading everyone, and more to come from Amboseli.

Much love.

#naturalworldkenyasafari

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noisykate · 5 years

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Afloat, Atlantic

22 May 2019

We found Simon, and Carl, picking them both up in Lindbergh Bay, a short walk from the airport, beating a hasty retreat both times to get away from parties on the beach. Billed as “calypso” music, it sounded more like mostly rap and banal auto-tuned dance music, stupendously loud. We were 200m off the beach, but could not hold a conversation over it.

We retreated to Honeymoon Bay, and sat about enjoying their excellent fruit smoothies, and the beach vibe, a particular shock for Simon who was still only hours away from a damp and grey UK.

A frustrating time trying to use the beach internet for some last communications – sorted eventually, then went for another swim.

Last preparations next day took us back into the main bay off the Crown Dock, nearer the supermarket. No onions or potatoes, uninspiring meat selection – supply boat ‘due in’, apparently. Mike took a separate trip to another shop for the onions and potatoes.

Filled up with water, petrol, gas, and diesel, and waddled round back to Brewers bay for a quiet night before setting off. Holding tank blocked. Exciting ‘bonding’ exercise for crew, diving under the boat with the dinghy pump, to unblock it. Deck showers all round, to clean up after.

Left the following morning on 14th May, in light to moderate winds, and made reasonable progress for a short while before the wind settled down to less than 10 knots, where it has stayed, barring one or two modest squalls, ever since. It is currently the middle of the night, and we are gently bobbing along at about 2 knots, in almost flat water. We have been motoring a bit, but clearly cannot motor all the way, so provided the motion of the boat is ok, we are sailing. 1500 miles to go.

All is well aboard, although the desperately slow progress is disappointing, and frustrating.

The holding tank blocked again, and took another few squirts from the dinghy pump to clear it. This was accomplished swinging in the bosuns chair suspended from the main halyard, held forward by another line off the bow. The sudden gush of released holding tank content is largely avoidable to the swimmer, although the overflow spray from the tank vent above the head is not. Water surprisingly warm.

We have been discussing recipes for pasta-with-tinned-pears and similar, against the possibility that we are still out here, subsisting on rice and pasta and the last few tins, in three months’ time. The chart plotter does a simple calculation of estimated overall journey time based on current speed and distance-left-to-cover, and at one point yesterday flashed up a predicted 230 days, before giving up and putting flashing dots in the space. We were hoping to be in Horta by early June. May be a bit longer, although we hope not 230 days.

We are in touch with other boats and the Seven Seas Cruising Association Net every day, reporting our position and catching general news from others. Most people are reporting similarly light and slow conditions, although those further north (who left a week ahead of us) are now in better winds, confidently pronouncing themselves ‘7 days out from Horta’. The SSB has been great, now that we have realised reception is improved if we do not use the radio-wave-producing generator while trying to communicate.

29 May 2019

We are bobbing along, still beset by weak winds, jogging along at 1.5-3 knots. The predicted time-to- target at one point flashed up 1403 days, or something around 4 years. I think that means it had us doing a complete circumnavigation via both poles. Over 22000 miles. At a toddler’s walking pace.

We have had some stronger winds, for a single day pushing us along at 7 knots. Now heading further north, hoping to miss a windless area currently sitting south of the Azores. Currently running at about 4 knots, with 8 knots of wind over the boat, spinnaker and mizzen staysail all up.

Carl managed to lose one of our decent bowls overboard, the wind catching it while he was skiffing out some chicken bones. His meals are now being served in the ‘dog bowl of Shame’.

Food seems to be holding out ok, nobody complaining at least. The cake mixes are working well in the new omnia; still getting used to the controlling the temperature of the thing, as it tends to burn if left too high.

Last night was almost entirely windless, and we ran the engine for a few hours to make some progress. Otherwise, the boat is surprisingly noisy when the wind drops – the rig flops around, banging hard against the stops, everything clattering around. Impossible to sleep.

On the plus side, the night was exquisite, the sky clear and bright with stars, the sea glowing and sparkling with fluorescence in the wake of the boat, occasional ghostly passes by one of our resident shearwaters, which have so far followed us for a thousand miles. They are so graceful, skimming the water, absolutely in tune with their environment. They must nest ashore somewhere, but they are absolutely at home here miles from land.

31 may 2019

Still jogging along, now with twin headsails, making about 5 knots, pointing more or less at the Azores.

The SSB net advises that Horta is ‘heaving’, with the ARC boats all assembled for their last leg on to the UK. They plan to leave on Saturday, apparently, so we should miss them.

Simon has been fretting that he might miss his flight on 11th June – now looking reasonably hopeful that we might make it.

4 June 2019

All getting pretty fed up. The wind has turned against us, and is predicted to stay this way for a couple of days. For a while it was looking as if we might make it for Simon’s flight on Sunday, but that chance slipping away, with us now jogging along 60o away from our target at 4 knots, which gives us less than 2 knots towards the target. The total distance left to run is now less than 300 miles, but it is creeping downward so very, very slowly. We will motor if and when the opportunity presents itself, but there is no point while there is a sea running against us – we would be making perhaps 3knots towards Horta, not enough to justify the fuel. The wind is predicted to veer further north by Thursday, but that does leave it incredibly tight for Simon’s flight – we may not make it.

We have plenty of tinned and dried food aboard, so are some weeks away from starvation, but we have now run out of potatoes, vegetables, meat and butter, and are low on cheese, milk and eggs.

The rig is holding up ok, although we do have some minor breakages. The cast fitting which holds the outhaul and the topping lift on the end of the boom has broken. We have fashioned a temporary repair, but to fix it properly we would need to replace the broken fitting, not a job we can do while under way. The other problem is the mizzen sail – the new sail has been working well, but for reasons which are not clear, the batten cars are coming undone, scattering little stainless components over the deck, not all of which we have managed to recover. It seems the assemblies are held together with a split ring, and for some reason these are coming undone although they are not under direct load, allowing the main loadbearing pin to work its way out. The main sail has the same design car, but for some reason these have not been affected, at least so far. We will be in touch with the sailmaker when we arrive, hoping to get some spares.

Otherwise, nothing much to report. Conditions aboard are ok, although we are all looking forward to clean bedding and some fresh clothes. Deck showers were a treat, but the weather has turned colder, and that is now not a viable option. We are bouncing around a bit, too, so being on the foredeck starkers and covered in soap is not ideal.

Sargasso weed has pretty much gone – we were seeing rafts of it, some quite large. Instead, we now see jellyfish – we think they are Portuguese man-o-war, extraordinary things, looking like glass ornaments. There are a lot of them – swimming is not an attractive option.

Carl and Simon are taking it in turns to sleep in the main salon, as both forward cabins are bouncier than our cabin in the back of the boat, under these conditions. It has been ok up to now, but heading into the wind makes it all more lively.

It is also noticeably colder – we are all in long sleeves and long trousers, hats and gloves for night-watches, and have put the duvet back on the bed for the first time in many, many months. Up to now, we have been sleeping under a lightweight cotton throw, if that.

Dandelion has arrived in Horta, and although we can just make them out, the SSB is not working so well – apparently other masts nearby bleed the signal. We catch some of what they say, but conversation is difficult.

We did pass another boat the other day – a little 9.5m Maxi with two people on board. We were dribbling along at about 3 knots, but they were even slower, and we passed them as if they were stopped. Said hello, and established that they too are headed for Horta, so we’ll look out for them when we get there.

The plan was to stay in the Azores for perhaps 10 days, but this trip has been so very slow, I think we all just want to get the next leg over with. Maybe come back out to the Azores another time. Maybe.

6 May 2019

We saw two humpback whales! Not close, but very clear, saw their fins and regular blows. Carl spotted them, and I woke Simon up so he could see them as well – not sure this was wholly appreciated, but seemed like the right thing to do at the time!

We’ve seen dolphins several times – not sure what sort they are; smallish, dappled grey. Not the large ‘Atlantic’ dolphins we saw off Brittany, or the small, plump Baltic dolphins. These are sleek, agile and incredibly fast. The ease with which they keep up with the boat shows just how far we still have to go in developing efficient watercraft.

Bread on the stove again this morning – I mixed it up last night, and put the heat under it this morning.

Now less than 155 miles to run – all keen to get this over with, now. Weather is now grey and overcast, the wind 15-20 knots from just west of north. We are, at least, pointing straight at Horta now, after several frustrating days tacking towards it and making very little progress. Our track looks like the trail of a drunk – at one point, we sailed three sides of a square for several hours.

Tinned chilli, with additional tinned beans, topped with tinned potatoes, makes a passable dinner.

10 June 2019

So we did get here eventually – John and Sue met us outside the harbour in their dinghy, and we tied up alongside a large (60’, £2M) plastic bendytoy to check in. Unfortunately, the complement aboard this boat were unwelcoming, unhelpful and arrogant, so it was with some relief we moved on to an assigned berth elsewhere, alongside a French boat – turned out it was the same French boat we met in Clarence Town, weeks ago. They left later that evening, en route for Gibraltar.

Horta is lovely, the food wonderful - and cheap - after the nasty and comically overpriced rubbish in the Bahamas.

We have spent a couple of evenings with John and Sue and various of their friends; last night aboard Kealoha V, Carl and John serenading us with an eclectic mix of songs on John’s guitar, including a hilarious version of Stairway to Heaven. A good time.

Photos - always a trial to load - may follow...

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mrmarioallman · 5 years

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Last Week’s Workouts

Oh man. Last week’s workouts…where do I begin?

With family visiting all week, all the Christmas festivities (i.e. eating and drinking All the things), our dog Cooper unexpectedly passing away and practically everyone in my house getting sick, you can say that it’s been a week. Needless to say, my workouts were put on the back burner and I did what I could, when I could.

Monday

6.5 mile run, 8:40 avg/pace

Kyle and I met up to shake out our legs before all the Christmas Eve and Christmas shenanigans. Tree pose = Christmas tree seemed fitting.

Tuesday

Christmas day walk at the beach with the family

It was a beautiful blue bird day so we opted for some fresh air even if the wind chilled us to the bone. The kids drove their new RC Monster Trucks, Cooper ran around smelling everything and the adults enjoyed the views.

Wednesday

Rest day

I thought about setting my alarm to hit the gym before work but I opted for spending more time with my parents since they were leaving later that day.

Thursday

6.35 mile run, 9:00 avg/pace

I met up with Kailey and Kyle for an early morning run. After so many days of not having to wake up with an alarm and fueling my body with food and drink that I don’t normally eat, this run was a little tough at the beginning. But once we started moving and chatting, everything felt just right.

Once I got home from my run, things turned not so right. Cooper had been up most of the night. His belly was swollen and he constantly wanted to be outside. He’s done this numerous times before but eventually he would throw up and it would be all good. Not this time around. He had dry heaves here and there and just looked miserable with his big belly. We called our vet but they told us to go to the emergency vet instead.

Ron and I both had a bad feeling. We knew something was really wrong. It was confirmed within 10 minutes of being at the vet. Cooper’s stomach had twisted. There was two options – surgery or euthanasia. Given Cooper’s age, surgery was not recommended. If we did nothing, he would have passed in a few hours.

It was a pretty traumatic day for all of us especially with trying to explain things to the kids. Even though Cooper was almost 13 years old and we knew his days were numbered, it’s still so hard. He had been doing so well and was running around acting like a puppy on Christmas day. To add to the ache, on December 31st, it would have been his Gotcha Day. Twelve years ago we met our scrawny rescue pup from Tennessee on a snowy day.

Sigh. We miss him lots.

Friday

Rest day

When my alarm went off Friday morning, I promptly reset it for 1.5 hours later. The headache that I thought was from crying so much on Thursday was actually the beginning of a head cold. My throat was sore and my head stuffy. Working out did not sound appealing at all.

Saturday

2 mile run, 9:41 avg/pace

I spent most of the day laying low, taking down all the Christmas stuff and cleaning the house. By mid afternoon, I was feeling semi-human so I laced up for a short run to see if I could shake some of the snot out of my nose. A million snot rockets later, I felt much better. If I have a cold and I feel like running, the majority of the time I will feel even better post run. Movement opens everything right up.

Sunday

5.1 mile trail run, 9:53 avg/pace

After sleeping soundly through the night, I felt well enough to meet Kyle up for a trail run. The trails were quiet except for the sound of our feet crunching over the frozen dirt…and us chattering along. We even spotted a beautiful owl watching us. I think there’s something about seeing an owl two days before the end of the year is supposed to bring good luck, right? I have no idea but I’m going with good luck.

A triple threat of obstacles in last week’s #workouts Click To Tweet

A big thank you to everyone for taking the time to stop at my little corner of the internet this past year. I hope every single one of you has a very happy New Year. Bring on 2019!

How was your week in workouts?

Linking up with Hoho and Wendy for the weekly workout wrap up.

The post Last Week’s Workouts appeared first on Happy Fit Mama.

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