F***ing F*** it's COLD!

Holy cow. (That's the nice introduction.) You know, how they say, when you are about to experience/are experiencing hypothermia? And how, when you are wet and you are cold you can accelerate the process?

I attempted that today.

So it's Tuesday, which means I run to work and from work. I do this Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and take Friday off. (A girl has got to pub - though it's one drink because I run on Saturday and Sunday.) I made the mistake of stuffing my clothes back into my backpack instead of sticking them in the drawer to sort of 'dry up.' So, when I got dressed to run back, they were damp.

It's raining today. Sometimes, it sleeted, but for the sake of my running it just rained. It did the wind thing too which made me feel (but not look) like I had Angelina Jolie lips. So by the time I got home to walk the Finley-dog I was warm but damp.

I quickly, on the puppy walk, became cold and damp.

Just for giggles, I became even colder when deciding that I wouldn't bother changing before running to the shop quickly for milk.

Which meant, by the time I was home and running the bath my fingers COULDN'T FEEL THE HOT WATER.

I would like to point out (other than my blatant sponsorship plug) that Rome will be toasty warm when I run. This whole freezing fingers bit will not exist. In fact, I'm training by most standards in a totally wrong climate. But, as of right now I'm currently not of the wealthy sort and thus I must train in this climate - and holy cow, f***! It's F***ING COLD!

And yet I run. My, I am weird.

Goal #1 = 6 miles in one go = DONE.

This is the easy part.

Man, how incredibly wacky nuts is it for me to type that?

This is the easy part.

When I first started running, 6+ years ago, I couldn't make it around a block without wanting to die. The security guard at my complex used to watch me as I slapped the side of the gate to count my turns. Sometimes I would get a thumbs up.

I remember coming back from 3 miles and my shins feeling like they were going to explode. Mornings of getting up and not being able to walk to the bathroom without the feeling that I just may not make it.

There was a picture, one I should've purchased, from my first 20K. I was part of a knot of injured and run/walkers - there were ... maybe... 5 of us total. The toned and tough group had passed us and I was there in my red running gear (still my favorite) in the heat of Houston sick and tired and scared out of my wits. When I saw the finish I worked my legs up a little and tried to be positive. Around me they were taking down the timing signs and picking up the cones. Just then I saw a photographer and tried, in vain, to smile and give a double thumbs up. What came back was a pained expression, nearly beat red with exhaustion, and thumbs pointing halfway down, as if at any moment I would drop.

I didn't, though. Somehow, I have managed to get better at it.

So much so I can write that 6 miles for running is, in fact, the easy part. So much so I can write that all the way up the half marathon point is, in fact, easy-peas-y (as they would say here). But I know that there is the darkness up ahead. The 17 miles, the 20 miles - who knows?

I guess I won't know until I do it.

Oh yes, and while you're here - Sponsor me.

Two things:

1. I got 15 miles completed this week. Yay.

2. I didn't know that Christmas Eve = Male Liberation to Pubs. As I was jogging up Queens Street at 5:00 PM a drunken man vomited right onto the bike racks while about 10 of his buddies cheered on. Turning to go to George Street I had to dodge incredibly happy groups of testosterone as they crammed the last bits of bitter down their throats.

Almost made me feel slightly jealous to be estrogen-based. Almost.

Happy Christmas, everyone. Traditions (some more interesting than others) abound but the one constant is love. If only for today, forgive your enemies and pardon those who have caused you grief. Life is short, live it fully.

The Training Plan

So, I added three miles to my run today. This means, should the world not turn into ice tomorrow, I will have 15 miles for my regular week.

Plus I have 6-mile run to do on Sunday in order to follow THE ALMIGHTY TRAINING PLAN.

For those who have never decided that running long laborious distances is a fun thing to do, a training plan is a sheet of weekly activities which culminate in a series of milestones in order to reach an optimum race goal.

My race goal? Finish. (Preferably within the time limit to get a medal.)

Based on my reading of the 6.7 million race plans (amended) that exist on planet Earth, in order to run a 4:30 marathon (total time) I must put in 30 miles of running per week.

And, based on the Marathon for People Who Have No Time to Train for a Marathon Plan (this exists) I need to run 5 days a week plus hit 'race' goals - aka go 6, 13.1, and 20 miles in one fun fashion.

So, I will need to commute to work, by foot, all 5 days + hit race targets.

I also have less than 90 days to do this in.

It's a lot to take in, mentally. But, I figure, it's Rome. It's going to be like power touristing.

Did I mention I need sponsoring?

Reason #1 to Sponsor Me.

Ahem.

I didn't sleep well last night. I dreamt of weights attached to my ankles as I stood under the Colosseum with people running past. I had visions of being late, overwhelmed. My mind was processing that - yes, Cristin - you have signed up to run 26.2 miles.

WHY ON EARTH DID YOU DECIDE TO REGISTER TO RUN 26.2 MILES?

The challenge.

Gawd, that's such an actor answer. "Why did you do the project, famous person?"

Oh, the challenge.

Wow, that's deep.

But then there is Mikey. There's a reason. National Autistic Society. When Mikey was diagnosed as autistic it seemed like the world was all strange. Here was my youngest brother who by all standards normal claimed abnormal. He didn't look it, and for a long time he just seemed a bit slow. But as time progressed so came the fixations and speech issues and desire to do as he felt regardless of society.

And from that grew the variations, or the "spectrum." The sudden understanding that autism isn't just one thing. After awhile, you sort of envy cancer. Cancer can kill you, and there is a series of treatments which almost everyone can comprehend. Sometimes you live, sometimes you die. It all depends on type and severity. But with autism, well, there is such a broad level. They don't know what causes it for sure. They don't know if there is a cure. But what they do know is that these people, and all their levels, need patience, understanding, and support.

So NAS exists for that reason. And not just for Mikey. It exists for family like me. So I can explain the condition to others and hope people not only understand but appreciate it.

*Cough*

Eating shortbread, signing up for marathons...

So, I did it.

I'm running this: Rome Marathon 2010.

I'm doing it for this: NAS.

Which makes me this: crazy.

I have 90 days from today to get ready. I've never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever run a marathon before. Ever.

Ever, ever.

But, I've committed. I'm doing this.

Oh.

Ma.

Gawd.

Open letter to Mother Nature.

Dear Ms. Nature, (I'm in England and I don't know if you are married so you are a Ms. here.)

Oxford is a city located in a valley.
Because of this, we generally don't get severe weather.
Sure, it can be cloudy.
It can drizzle a bit of rain.
But, for the most part, we are spared downpours.
This means that while lots of England is getting snow we get a bit of fluff.
I want snow.
If I'm this far north I should get it.
Even if it's just enough to roll a snow ball and go, "Yay, everything is white!"
So, if you're not busy or anything.
Or, at least, if you could please put off some horrible storm somewhere.
I would like snow.
Please.

Your friend who is freezing but getting no known benefit.

Cristin

One of those proud moments.

I spent about three years in politics as a campaign manager. While I never got to hold a high ranking position in a glamorous campaign I did hold the reigns in several local ones.

If you ever in your life want a lesson in humanity, go work in politics. Not for senators or governors, no. Go work for a council seat, a local seat, something that seems unimportant - that is where you learn. Because once a candidate has reached the upper echelon, then the race is anywhere from 25% - 75% won. But when you go out with a first time, scared-to-pieces person, you learn first hand how to really fight for a cause.

I would tell people at times that I was in marketing. When they would ask what area I would smile and say I market a person and their ideas. Because if you said politics you very well could be staring down a gun barrel. It's a job that doesn't get the lawyer jokes but gets a lot of lawyer distain. But, every so often, one of your people gets through. And when they do, it's as if your world just went into a full on confetti parade of joy.

Because when you work in something so severe as politics, you find yourself a lot more sincere. And seeing someone you believe in take hold of their dreams and hopefully turn a reality - that's pretty incredible.

Several years ago I was a green house party manager being introduced to City Council Member Annise Parker. She was running for her second term as At-Large and I was to clean up her artwork and go out and call and work events for her, as well as process all the mail. I remember that day I knew she was one that would climb the ladder and do so the way it's supposed to be done. With intelligence, thoughtfulness, and drive that anyone of any age, sex, race, or belief would respect and admire. Not to mention my dog thought the world of her.

Today, she's the first openly gay mayor elected to the city of Houston.

I'm so proud... and I'm so grateful I have a small part in making a real difference in the world.

Overload.

*Fuzz* POP!

That would describe the sound of my brain.

Coming back it's like being tossed into a world of ice and darkness. Though the fact that some people around the neighborhood go all Griswold on their homes makes me feel a bit better. Granted, I shouldn't complain. More often then not our Christmases were warm if not practically a beach affair.

When I had the flu at the age of 12ish it snowed in Panama City. I remember seeing it out the window and yanking myself from a drug-induced fog into a London Fog and out the door. I remember being fascinated over making snow balls and going so far as to put cups of snow in the freezer. (Sort of like we do those glow necklaces. Tell me, who amongst you has ever gone back to the freezer, pulled out the glow necklace, and worn it about?) On Christmas day there was a tiny patch of snow next to the fence that got shaded enough to keep the ground cold. I remember staring at it, burning into my brain the only white Christmas I had in memory.

*Fuzz* POP!

Flash to now, where we were at freezing and the weather alternates that we will be snow or slush come Monday. The twinkle lights and cold noses are only a prelude to my dire need of mulled everything. And even though I know that England will, in short, shut down and cry out "WHY GOD??" to the world if it snows again, I kinda... sorta... want it to. I don't want to commute in it, per se, but... well...

It's just that being brought back in or plopped as it were, I want things to slloooowww down. I want to enjoy and savor and float. I don't want to lose my excellent flatmates to their homes now that their fellowships have wrapped up. Don't want to lose my colleagues to their holidays just yet. I want to giggle and laugh and smile my way through mince pies and sparkling this and that and make sure that I enjoy it. Like the little patch of snow under the fence. I want to remember it.

So take a moment, if you read along, to go and give hugs to people. This is overload time but good time. Make sure everyone knows they are special.

American on the outside, looking in.

So I'm safely back in England. Safely through customs, safely assured another year, safely here.

Boy, I'm different.

December 17th will mark my one year anniversary as an immigrant (I'm not quite yet the expat). In that time I believed I had changed, but not nearly to the extent of change that greeted me whilst roaming through my former home states. (I note my use of 'whilst' and my utter fascination with 'fortnight' as words denoting minor change.)

Firstly, I hate having to drive everywhere. Now that was fairly common knowledge before, but the seething passion that came out at thinking about 30 minutes here and 1 hour there was apparent. I recall once that I had a fantastic colleague over from the UK when I lived in Texas. Their shear shock at how far things were puzzled me. "We could've been in Scotland by now," were the words they used when we were on our 3 hour trip to Austin. In the time I spent on the road and in traffic I could have conceivably visited four to five European countries. Instead, I spent it driving hither and tither to see people...

Which leads me to another thing - I appreciate space WAY more. Sure, I had to drive, but man there are ceilings that are high in the homes I visited! Aisles that are wide in the stores I browsed! Selection which is long like the wall of salsa! When going to grab some cleaning solution for our tenant maintenance I nearly had a panic attack when denoting the 10 different varieties I had to choose from. Sure, I do like the two (if that) choices you get at the local Co-Op for the sake of simplicity, but what I cherished most was approaching an aisle of bread which looked stocked and fresh - not raided like post-hurricane clean-up.

Though the one thing that really, really got me was how much more active I am. Sure, I noticed when completing my first 10K here that 10 minutes evaporated off my time based on my lifestyle, but looking at the American population - wow. The number of people waddling along and looking poorly based on a lifestyle of sitting and eating horrible foods - I never really saw it until now. I keep a pedometer with me to get points towards a yearly award from supplemental insurance. On average I get my maximum points in 18 days. In my two weeks there, between driving and moving, I only have 1 day worth of points out of the 14 traveling. One day.

If there is anything that really, truly shocked me - it was that.

Standing on the outside and looking in on my old life I know there was good and bad to it. America is a wonderful place despite it's flaws and most likely one day I will return to roost. But for now I like my little Oxford existence, even though it's not perfect either. My goal is to one day be in Florida acting like a Brit/American hybrid - walking all over town but instead of beet red slathered in sunscreen. And as the people drive by, confused about my skin tone but my ability to transport via foot I will know I have indeed brought two different worlds together as one.