Manic-Depressive England

I've run two half marathons in England.

My first, the OFFICIAL London Marathon half-marathon at Silverstone, consisted of me freezing to death, being pelted by ice (twice) and climbing... beaten... back onto a bus with the smallest medal I've ever owned and a t-shirt three times larger than I am.

My second, the Sony Run to the Beat, got temperatures close to my homeland of Texas and got me a men's shaving set as a thank you gift.

Apparently, I need to be taller and male.

I actually have nothing against running in England. I have nothing against the odd swag (the Silverstone Half Marathon was the only time I saw men lining up in queues to go to the bathroom and women zooming in and out of the loos.) I can go a lot further when the temperature isn't close to boiling eggs. But for some odd, odd reason when it comes to the actual race day I've experienced the most extremes in climate.

Yes, yes, I know - I'm on an island. But this is an island that can't decide. It was cold but mild this morning, then suddenly, a snow blizzard, then suddenly ... sun. It's like riding some wild weather roller coaster that I never chose to be a part of.

Times like these I miss home with it's consistent HOT setting. But then again, I'd have nothing to blog about, now would I?

Fall.

If there is one thing I've had to get used to, quickly, it's Fall. Where I come from Fall is a nonevent. But so is Winter. And Spring. Here, Fall actually happens. The leaves turn, it gets windy and crisp, and you actually want hot drinks. The problem is, it comes with something that I'm not too fond of: DARKNESS.

Pitch black, can't see, 4PM - DARKNESS.

Now, if you talk to my dog (and he could talk back) he would tell you that this is the coolest most awesome thing ever. This is because we get to take our ball out to the pitch black park with a flashlight and play with it. After one attempt my dog now wears a bike light so I can find him, and I don't throw the ball very far at all. Not that it matters. Instead, if you ever happen to wander into our park you'll see this blinking red light bouncing all over the field and a flashlight frantically looking for wherever I may have tossed the ball.

I can't complain, though. Because for the first time in a really long time I actually feel the holidays coming. I actually get the whole candles and cider and twinkling lights deal. I also am looking forward to the English version of 4th of July - Guy Fawkes. By December I'll have marked my first entire year of living abroad, and I couldn't be happier.

Unless, of course, someone can tell me where to find a dog friendly light up squeaky ball.

Flora and Fauna Report

I have to give England massive props for their public gardens. I mean, yes, the United States has parks - big, huge, massive parks - but in England they wander around in fields and build gigantic glass houses for fun. (Okay, and medicine and science research, but they are fun.)

I finally visited Kew this weekend. It's merely 250 years old and sports two massive glass houses, a palace, a Japanese Garden, a tree walk, and an assortment of other items, all in one place. The fact that they've been at this sort of thing on this little island is astounding. Palms, cedars, various garden types - all replicated for the world to come visit.

I think you could feasibly spend a year wandering all the trails and parks and gardens that England has. For instance, yesterday as we bused into London I watched people - in misting rain and terrible wind - willingly walking along little hillsides, many stopping and looking out on the roadways and hills beyond and probably thinking, "Why couldn't we make indoor malls the source of all our wonder like Dubai does?"

Or something similar, I don't read minds.

But what got me is that I was wondering how you get up there, how long it takes to wander, and if I should pack a lunch and a snack. See how England is getting to me? Soon I will have a multipurpose windbreaker and waterproof hiking shoes. Kew alone calls practically for a camp site it's so big.

But that's just another wonderful part about England. Although I could use with a bit more sun.

There is too much a thing as blackberry crumble.

Dude, things produce fruit here.

It's like, whoa. You walk down a path and like, *bam* there's blackberries.

And plums, and passion fruit.

Just, you know, like, THERE.

Coming from a land of ever greens and fried dead formerly blooming plants, it is the experience to see things grow and flower - not struggle then wither. I have herbs in abundance. I go out with kitchen scissors and cut what I need for dinner.

Freaky.

Even though apparently England has had a water shortage since breaking off the mainland we don't have to worry about watering the plants. We don't have to worry about sprinklers. At worst, it mists. Just like the little fruit and veg misters in the super market (sans the "Singing in the Rain" interlude).

Right now I have a blackberry bush that is producing berries in waves. I take a small bowl out and can harvest what would be equal to about £2.50 in a store. It's mental. It's insane. And I can do it every day. A guy at work had such a zucchini bumper crop I made zucchini bread for two weeks solid and there is STILL zucchini.

Nearby the park cherry trees, plum trees, and apple trees just sort of drop fruit around. You can even buy a book that tells you what bushes, shrubs, trees, and tall grass produce stuff you can eat.

And the English practically boil and eat everything. There is this show where a cook constantly is brewing wine from flowers or eating various stinging plants. I'm waiting for him to start waxing eloquent on river pebbles as a soup you can make in three or four millenia.

Downside is I have to work through my baking. I feel a bit like Bubba in Forest Gump... we got your blackberry pie...blackberry crumble...blackberry yogurt...blackberry ice cream...

Ugh, so full of blackberries. Yet, so happy. So, so, happy.

I get by with a little help from my 100+ friends

Walking home last night I realized I'm in a unique place. And when I talk about place, I mean Oxford itself as a city. When I first came here my closest friends where all Londoners, and all of them moaned. "Why are you coming over here?" was a really common question. It was too expensive, too crowded, to inconvenient, too this... too that...

But, I'm in Oxford. Oxford is a transient town. It's very youthful because of the university, but it's also very accepting. People come here from everywhere, whether they are a tourist or someone wanting to learn English. Because of this you wind up with a much more open community. For instance, I can walk into the local pub frequented on Fridays and without fail will find someone to sit with. Even if I only know them through a friend of a friend of a friend. They don't care, they'll let you sit with them because of that encounter you had a few weeks back where you said hi.

So long as you position yourself with the same open tendency you can't really ever run out of things to do or places to go. You don't have to run around with loads of cash, nor think you'll be crammed and inconvenienced. Sure, sometimes I miss my car and the stores full of stuff I don't need, but perhaps the reason the bike paths and long walks were put into place is to remind you not to rush.

So, despite the bad few weeks I've had (which I'm pulling out of in case you were worried) I have to be grateful to the 100+ people I've met, sat with at a pub, apologized to when I bumped, crammed in on a bus or train with, and lamented when they were biking so slow ahead of me - thank you. Last night, after being very internal and miserable and feeling foreign I was reminded that most of us here are foreign, but we're here. Wherever I go, there I am.

All the reason to run.

I'm a slow runner. By most accounts I'm a walk/jogger, more emphasis on the jogger part. It takes me nearly 3 miles before I feel warmed up, and since most races you can sign up for are 5K, that means that for .15 miles I'm really in the zone.

The one thing about moving to England is that I can now, with happiness, sign up for lots of different kinds of races all year long. I don't have to do what I did in the states, which is avoiding running altogether (unless really early or really late) during the summer months. But I do have to fight for spots on runs, which I had never had to think about before.

Today I went through my first 7K, which was at Blenheim, and was A-MAZ-ING. It was actually warm today, which was VERY exciting, except for the fact that I didn't wear a matching running kit, which really only bothered me. It's a partial off-road and hill course that goes all over the property, and for someone like myself who hasn't really been in Blenheim's hiking grounds, they could've put me over a cliff and I would've gladly run straight into oblivion. One thing I have to say is hill courses are tough, though that statement is not a really profound one. I've run Austin TX's half marathon, where mile 12 is uphill, so as I hit the off-road inclines I had to chant to myself, "Austin is worse, Austin is worse." That helped me truck on by the stragglers who were beginning to feel the most 'fun' part of a 'fun' run.

The best part about this run is the scenery, which is truly spectacular. I was just awestruck not only with the nice woods and the little lodges I saw tucked away here and there, but the simple fact that people like Queen Elizabeth I went riding around the area HUNDREDS of years ago. Where I started running 6 years ago they were all keyed up that a marathon had been taking place with regularity for 25 years, and that it's history was that it started with people using a station wagon as a turning spot. I'm sure in the year 2107, when they've reached their 125 year and cars are flying, that station wagon will be revered.

I finished near the back of the pack, which was fine. And I did pass the man in the bananna suit, which suited me well, though the guy in the cricket kit really booked it and I never saw him again. Oddly enough there was this woman I was sorted of paced with, who near the end started to weave the course, but then at the finish she cut me off to 'beat' me. Yes, even us slowpokes have a bit of competitive nature in us.

Next week I run Oxford's Town and Gown 10K, which I hear is going to be a kicker. 4,000 of us tearing through the streets. Perhaps they will shove bicyclists in our way and make it interesting. We'll see. We'll see.

The ritual.

What is it about toast and tea in England?

Why is it that, in the morning, I find this little joy in making dry toast? I never cared much for dry toast in the states. When it's gray, as it likes to be for stretches here, there is something about warm, dry toast, that stokes some sort of inner fire.

Couple it with tea. I go to work and set about a tea ritual, which I do twice a day. First, in the morning, when it's quiet and I have the electric kettle all to myself. I set about picking up in the kitchen and making the developers coffee, and once that is sorted the hot water is ready. I stick the little bag in and put a spoon on top to push it down. Then, I look out at the bike racks and watch the cars and people peddle in. In the afternoon almost witness the opposite. Developers cleaning their coffee cups and seeing the cars and people peddle away. Sort of like some little cycle of life punctuated by hot beverage.

All the while I am taking in some strange English comforts. Things like this I know I won't do once it's time for me to go home, whenever that is decided. Nonetheless, like the grass being so green here and picnicking being a type of leisure sport, I will take it on. I will relish it. And that, as they say, is that.

Manual

Something I have noticed since moving here: I don't mind the manual labor so much.

I'm not digging ditches, nothing like that, but the things that I thought I could never do without I am doing without. I don't mind washing the dishes. I don't cry over hanging clothes out to dry. I shred my own cheese, I chop my own vegetables. I make my own sandwich fillings, it's crazy like that.

Before I would've been searching in vain for pre-packaged, pre-shredded, pre-anything, and now I'm fine with it taking a bit longer. I notice that even when there are times I miss the mega super duper pooper scooper stores, there is some weird joy in having to search. For example, last week I went to an ironmonger (which is their word for hardware store) that specialized in doors, door hinges, and all things necessary for a door to open and/or close. Down the street was the other ironmonger, that held sets of screws and nails. And it all lives together like that, happy for some reason.

I also yesterday pronouced basil as they do here, which is baz-ill, so I guess I'm transitioning.

Now if you don't mind me, I have to go dig that ditch that I hadn't dug before.

Weather.

I shouldn't ever complain about English weather. I have no right to. When coming from two of three states where you have two seasons: Summer and Not Summer, actually experiencing seasonal change should be relished.

On Thursday walking to an early pub lunch one of my colleagues bemoaned the weather. "Oh, it's that might-rain weather. I hate that." I, of course, can think of the anywhere from 3-7pm daily shower and rain so hard you can't see an inch in front of you. "This isn't bad! I had to work the DAY after a hurricane at a water park, that was bad." And I lived 10 days without power, and I resided in a flooded city, and... and... and...

England has some rough winds and overcast days that stretch on a bit longer than they should. But, then again, they are an island. They have snow sometimes, and rarely but occasionally, warm sunny days. I did notice not too long ago that I was becoming paler than normal, and that the area where my running top used to leave light tan lines is gone. I recall mentioning to my best friend how his hair seemed darker. It was never darker, he said, he just doesn't get much in the way of sun when he goes out.

But you can go out without first not checking if this is an 'Ozone Warning' day. For those not in the know, an 'Ozone Warning' means that there is a pretty good chance that if you were to die of heat exhaustion, or fancy that opportunity, now is your chance to take it. There is also that whole knowledge that you can go out in England at nearly any time, where in my home states, if the sun is up then you may need to think about it. You also may want to consider the purchase of a vat of DEET, which is the substance you bathe in in order to ward off the numerous flying insects. (Did I mention Oxford has a lot of birds? I really like them because they eat the bugs, thank you.) I've had a few bee problems here, but that is because they were wandering around flowers, which bloom here, rather than wither and die.

What this all really points to is that for the past two days I've been grumbling about the weather. The almost-rain and windy weather. I've had to keep my winter jacket out, and realized that the pictures I've been posting feature this jacket almost exclusively. But nonetheless, I went out. I wandered about. I didn't have to hose myself with sunscreen and DEET and make sure my water was near and that the Ozone Warning would fry me to pieces. So I will take almost-rain thank you. And cold, and windy. Yes, I will take it and I will relish it.