like lots of american kids, i played soccer for several years. and like a lot of american kids, promptly forgot all about most anything soccer-related once i left high school until the spectacular women’s world cup victory in 1999. it was an electrifying and unifying event (i recall people setting up televisions on the sidewalk and watching with all their neighbours) – but that was largely seen as an anomaly. then a few years later, when the mls began to get some attention, my friends and i became enamoured of the new england revolution team, and followed their season all the way to the finals at gillette stadium… where we lost.

but it was only natural then, that when i first moved to the uk, i assumed that i would become immersed and fully fluent in the football culture – after all, i’m a sports fan, i’m a fan of fit men with nice legs, and i understand the basics of the game. i even decided in advance that i would support arsenal as my favoured team. i was prepared to become a full-on footy lover.

imagine my disappointment when i arrived to discover that the english premiership league television rights were exclusively owned by the skysports cable channel – a premium pay channel. unfortunately i didn’t control the cable in my flat (my landlady had the contract in her name) and as a premium channel, it would have been prohibitively expensive even if i did. all my nascent football passions fizzled. without a means to watch regularly, i never really had much opportunity to follow the season fortunes, never really learned who all the teams were, and in general, never really had a chance to get caught up in it the way i do with my other beloved sports.

but the world cup… well, the world cup is different. as an american, i’d had no awareness of it before living in europe. but during the last world cup in 2006, we were travelling through south east asia, watching games with all the other backpackers on outdoor screens in vietnam, gathered in ramshackle cafes in laos, and boozing in backwater bars in cambodia. the fervor and intensity with which both westerners and easterners alike congregated and cheered their teams was amazing to experience. i was hooked. in hindsight, with my love of giant multinational sporting events, and my love of the underdog, it was a natural fit.

so i’ve been a little distracted lately. i’ve been supporting the u.s. team (natch), the south african host team (obvs), and pretty much any underdog team i can find (go cameroon! go honduras! go north korea!) i’ve been calculating probable group winners and twittering about blown ref calls. when even jonno is bored by the less-than-scintillating matchup of slovakia v. paraguay, i’ve been glued to the screen. i’ve got the fever, and if the u.s. manage to win tomorrow (please god let them win tomorrow!) it is unlikely to abate any time in the next few weeks.

in the meantime however, i’ve edited my pictures from our recent holidays in the scottish highlands and venice/croatia. both were incredibly beautiful (why did no one tell me how stunning scotland was!!?) and we were fortunate enough to have fantastic weather for both.

a few favourites below. more of scotland here and venice/croatia here.

go team u.s.a.!!

my edinburgh marathon official time was 4 hours, 33 minutes, 34 seconds – my second best time.

it was hot (25C and blazing sun! just killer, really) and painful – my hip started hurting at 2 miles in, and i thought for sure i would never make it to the end. when you’re doubting yourself, 20 minutes into a race, it doesn’t bode well – my only goal was to finish.

so let’s just say my use of painkillers would not win any medical seals of approval – i took 3 ibuprofen before the start, 1 dicloflex at 10 miles, 4 more ibuprofen at like 15 miles, and 2 cocodamol at 20 miles. i’ve probably put a hole in my stomach and permanently shrivelled my liver.

i drank and drank and drank. the punishing sun beat down on my face. i forced down nasty energy gels. i passed some runners, and was passed by others. at mile sixteen, there was a course dogleg – seeing the advanced runners already heading toward the end, knowing you still have two and a half hours to go, was incredibly disspiriting.

but somehow, (perhaps because i was concerntrating so hard on putting one foot in front of another) it passed pretty quickly, and before i knew it, i was at the 18 mile mark. that’s when i knew that i would finish for sure, and my goal became to finish without walking.

at some point, i looked at my watch and realised that actually, i was doing an okay time, and that perhaps there was even a chance of finishing strong.

i cranked up the music in my ears, put my head down, and started chugging. ” i will not walk, i will not walk, i will not walk”.

19 miles, 20, 22.

that’s when it got really hard. my hips were aching like rusty ball sockets, and my thighs began to burn with the fire of built up lactic acid. my face was coated with a layer of salt that got into the cracks of my sunburnt lips. my legs seemed to be pulled down by a separate force of gravity.

the 24 mile marker came into view and i pumped my fist in the air with a loud, “yeah!!”, startling nearby runners. i turned up the music even more and began singing aloud.

i wanted so very badly to stop. i began to think about all the reasons i was so desperate to run another marathon – the challenge, the accomplishment, the cause. the 25 mile marker crept up like molasses on a cold day in february. “i will not walk.” i sang even louder to drown out the insistent complaints from my quads, my legs crying out for mercy.

finally, the finish was visible and i let the emotion of the moment carry me across the line. nearly three years since my last marathon, 10 years since my first, i finished marathon #4.

and i was reminded why i do this, why i spent 3 years trying to do this – because each and every time i get beyond the limitations of my fears and doubts and exhaustion, whether that’s at mile 6 or mile 26, it feels like a triumph. there are millions of runners faster and stronger than i – but i can guarantee you, none of them ever have, or ever will, feel better crossing the finish line.

it’s a truth of all runnners: even if you are racing against others, you are first and foremost running against yourself. it is *you* that you have to face every time you lace up your running shoes, and *you* that will always be your biggest supporter. it is *you* who sets your own goals, and *you* that lives up to them.

a huge thank you to everyone who donated to the elephant nature foundation – your money means so much to the rescued elephants, and a tremendous amount to me as well. a massive shout out to my friend fiona, who kindly massaged me post-race.

several days later i’m already pondering what’s next on the agenda. my cousin and her husband (who do ironman triathalons), have been inspiring me to reach for a new goal, and i’ve just got the book “born to run”, so who knows… i have this idea for running 1000 miles in 2010. already got 400 under my belt, so we’ll see.

in the meantime, this was my 25 mile song – it worked wonders to lift my feet and my spirits through that last unending 1.2 miles.

my hero – foo fighters
Download audio file (07-My-Hero.mp3)

so far i’ve been trying not to talk a lot about my training, for fear of jinxing it. and things were going pretty swell until my 18 mile run – since then my hips have been complaining loudly. however i managed my 20 miler, and have been trying to mostly rest and do physio exercises, in the hopes of making through this marathon with my legs still attached.

i only know that one way or another, i will complete it. painfully, slowly, or otherwise, i will get to the finish line. i’ve never dropped out of a marathon yet, and i don’t intend to start now.

so it seems like as good a time as any to remind y’all that i’m trying to raise a few bucks for one of my favourite causes – the elephant nature foundation. you can read my lyrical waxing about it here and here, but suffice to say it’s an amazing place doing amazing work. can you spare a bit to sponsor me? it would do so much good towards saving an abused elephant.

big thanks for all those who’ve donated so far – your support means a lot to me and to the ellies

i’ve had posts to write, but no time or energy to spare.

but in the meantime, i leave you with this:

the lightning storm and downpour of earlier today breaks, the clouds clear, and i head out for a run. the brisk air cools my face and neck as i turn towards the common. i pass the dripping forsythia newly burst in bloom, the cloying scent undercut by the fresh undertones of rain. there is new budding greenery suddenly everywhere, crowding in from all sides, bright against the golden afternoon dappled amber rays and the washed blue sky. this song is playing and the soles of my shoes seem to be filled with helium, rising, rising, rising of their own accord. my heart and lungs like to burst, my legs burn with speed, and yet i can’t slow down. it is impossible for me to not run faster and faster, the joy of presence in my body bubbling up at the back of my throat, exploding into my brain. it’s spring and i am more alive than i have felt in months and every cell in my being tingles with the overwhelming effervescence of pure effusive adrenaline.

Now we’re all allowed to breathe
Walls dissolve
With the hunger and the greed
Move your body
You’ve got all you need
And your arms in the air stir a sea of stars
And oh here it comes and it’s not so far

All light beings
Come on now make haste
Clap your hands
If you think you’re in the right place
Thunder all surrounding
Aw feel it quake with the joy resounding
Palm to the palm you can feel it pounding
Never give it up you can feel it mounting
Oh its gonna drop gonna fill your cup and
Oh its gonna drop gonna fill your cup

the age of miracles

indeed.

golden age – tv on the radio
Download audio file (05-Golden-Age.mp3)

Why I Like Running
When I step outside, I go to the trail; and I start running down it, arms pumping, legs moving, and heart beating fast.

With speed, the wind rushes through my hair as if it is going to miss a train. With each step I take, I pack the dirt deeper into the earth. I see birds in the sky, flying. The bright sun shines, glistening on my cheeks, and I feel the warmth. I see little creatures and animals creeping around in the woods, for I blink quickly, not wanting to miss anything. Intensifying, the enjoyment level continues to rise, and I love running that much more.

I feel free, and no one can come and get me. Most of all, I feel happy, and at peace. I am in a place of independence because I am depending upon myself to push through and not stop until I know my goals are fulfilled. Doing, I know what needs to be accomplished at that point in time.

Just like when running, I do not stop, which is what I intend to do in life. When I start something, I will finish it.

Running gives me a sense of everything in sight; opening my eyes to new things and experiences. That is why I run, and that is why I love it.

Competition
I run to compete. Against others yes, but that’s really not who and what I run for. I truly run for myself.

I want to see if I’m up for the challenge. Sweating, I run with focus and purpose. I tell myself to not stop running no matter how bad I feel. Running is more mental then it is actually physical, and if I constantly keep feeding my brain with positive thoughts, I know I will be okay. I think of nothing but running and what is going on second by second; moment by moment. Until I collapse, I will not stop.

Pushing, every fiber of my being works together to not give up. Questioning, if I will make it. However, quickly throwing that idea out of the window and watching it smash to the ground. Knowing, I do what needs to be done, and I won’t let any distractions get in my way.

Competing, I run against me, myself, and I. My motivation keeps me going, and I won’t be a quitter. I enjoy testing my abilities of how well I can perform, and I love a good challenge.

Marathon
Ever since my dad ran in the Steamtown Marathon, I have dreamed to do the same. He is the one who inspired me to start running in the first place, and he is the one who is inspiring me to run a marathon when I get older. I don’t know how hard it will actually be, but I assume it will be difficult. However, I still plan to do it. Could it be drive, that pushes me on to run a marathon? Is it a fire burning inside of me that wants to be fulfilled? I do not know until I try it, which is why I want to.

Just thinking about it, my mind races. Wondering, my mind searches for answers. Would I complete it? When would I run it? I am curious, and I want to run it so badly. I want to feel a sense of accomplishment and achievement.

Running, step by step my feet would move forward. Through all 26.2 miles I will run through the grueling pain and all that follows. Then, I will cross the line ending in a speeding finish. And then, my urging aspiration will finally be fulfilled at last.

The Last Stretch
All of a sudden, with the last few yards, and the finish line in site, I get this bolt of energy, just like lightning striking. The adrenaline is pumping in my veins and throughout my entire body.

I run straight ahead, feet kicking up dirt behind me, legs racing at the speed of light. I feel unstoppable, and nothing and no one can slow me down. Whistling, the wind rushes in my face.

Suddenly, I realize that I am almost there, almost at the finish line. Burning, my legs hurt like crazy and they just want to stop running. But for some reason, I don’t stop. Persevering, I cross that finish line.

Once it is all done and over, I feel my heart pounding, knees shaking, and body aching. So much energy just sucked right out of me like a drink through a straw.

However, there is something inside of me that can’t wait till the next day, to do it all over again. Something inside of me that keeps pushing on. Something inside of me, that keeps on running.

this is the third time i’m entered to run the edinburgh marathon, taking place on 23rd may. twice previously, i became injured and had to withdraw – last year, just a few days before the race.

however with the help of some physiotherapy and my natural stubborn streak, i am running again, and determined to complete my fourth marathon.

and as i’m going through all the trouble, i thought i’d try to fundraise some money for an organisation very near and dear to my heart: the elephant nature foundation.

those who know me well, know just how strongly i feel about the work that the elephant nature foundation does. Lek and and her team work tirelessly to save the asian elephant, rescuing one ellie at a time. Lek is also a brave and outspoken advocate of eliminating traditional abusive training methods.

having seen first hand the dedication work of Lek and her team, and having experienced the beauty of an “elephant haven” where ellies can spend their days just being the gorgeous creatures they are, i cannot recommend this organisation highly enough.

lek and the elephant nature park have been recognised for their work by the humane society of the united states, national geographic, and time magazine.

but don’t just take my word for it – read more about Lek and her respected foundation in the news here. watch videos of the ellies they have rescued here.

a hundred years ago, there were 100,000 elephant in Thailand. today there are fewer than 4,000 Thai elephants left.

if you haven’t already read about our experience at the elephant nature park, you can do so here, and see more pics here.

they are magnificent, sentient beings, and lek’s commitment and drive are an inspiration to me. if she can dedicate her life to saving the ellies, in the face of incredible odds, then i can certainly try to run a few hours and raise a few bob to do my part.

a world without these amazing creatures is not a world i want to live in. please consider sponsoring me at my justgiving page.

thanks in advance.

in fact, the imprecision of that statement irritates me – i am a *highly impatient* person. i like to joke amongst my friends that i have the patience of a fruit fly. i want results now, dammit – although if i’m honest, i’d prefer them yesterday.

and so back in march, i started to write a post that surprised me – i’d been doing yoga for a whole year. an entire year of at least 3x a week. a full year of practicing a form of quietude and discipline and patience. and i loved it. i know! i could hardly believe it myself. i felt centred and supple. balanced.

and then i got injured. the hip problems that forced me to drop out of my marathon forced me to give up yoga as well. difficult to do pigeon pose when even sitting on the sofa hurt. i did absolutely no exercise for five months, waiting for the deep pain in my hip to ease, even a little. i could practically feel my tendons shortening, my muscles contracting, as day after day i could do nothing to prevent it.

finally last month, i started beginning to work out again. the hip is still not great, but i couldn’t sit still any more. and i started trying to get back into my yoga.

i feel as weak as a newborn baby and i can barely touch my toes, let alone get chin-to-shin in janu sirsasana the way i used to. it’s so frustrating – to have to start all over again. to have to begin the practice of slowly stretching into the poses over time, building my strength back up for holding poses, ground myself through the shaking and wobbles, reconnect with my centre of gravity and stability.

because more than physical strength or flexibility, that’s what yoga is about. taking time to breathe, balance, centre. all the things i’m not naturally good at.

there’s a saying that’s continually repeated throughout classes: wherever you are today is exactly where you need to be. so here’s where i am, re-learning the lessons, reconnecting with my foundations. rediscovering patience.

please be patient with me – wilco

Download audio file (07-Please-Be-Patient-With-Me.mp3)

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so you think you’re a baseball fan? have you spent hundreds of dollars just to be able to watch your team play… not in person, mind, or even on television, but on a tiny window of the internet? have you ever turned down social engagements, and risked alienating countrymen who don’t understand american sports, to sit at home hunched over the computer urging your team on from thousands of miles away? after a big game, have you ever experienced the unique loneliness of having *absolutely no one* to share your joy or despair with? have you ever come home from a long day at work, gone to bed ridiculously early, then woken up at 2am to spend 3 hours in the dark breathlessly watching your team win or lose, only to then try to catch one last precious hour of sleep before the alarm goes off in the morning, drag yourself through the day, and repeat that routine for the next several weeks?

until you have, you can’t really appreciate the unique hell that is the life of an expat sports fan – particularly during the playoffs. i’ve done this routine for a few seasons now – i have the redbull, i have the jersey – but somehow it never gets easier.

my beloved red sox are facing off against the los angeles angels of anaheim (otherwise known as the “we-can’t-figure-out-where-we-want-to-be-from angels”) in the american league division series. unfortunately they’re already down 2-0 in the best of five series, so have a big challenge ahead.

in other words, they *need* my support. punking out because i’m “too tired” is not an option.

but at 2am, peeling my lids open with my fingers, yawning so hard my eyes water, and trying to stay quiet so as not to disturb those sleeping next to me… it’s either a test of faith, or a measure of stupidity. when every fibre of your being is crying out desperately for sleep, you have to wonder: just how much do i love this team anyway?

lucky for me, the answer is “a helluva lot”. cause there’s no other reason behind the irrational hell that i put myself through this time of the year. and of course, better to be in the playoffs than not!

at least, that’s what i tell myself at two in the morning.

strictly game – harlem shakes

Download audio file (02-Strictly-Game.mp3)

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i am present present present in this moment, this moment, this moment.

and then i watched the race commentators and the iaaf blow her personal dignity out of the water.

since bursting onto the scene last month, there has apparently been quiet speculation about semenya’s gender.  last night that quiet speculation became widespread international rumourmongering that semenya was one of a growing number of known intersex or transgendered atheletes.

gender verification has been carried out in international sport since the 1930s.  from its first crude beginnings, it has, fortunately become much more sophisticated (by comparison) – taking into account physiology, genetics, hormones and psychology.  it has also become much more socially and politically sensitive – transgendered individuals are allowed to compete in their newly-identified gender after a period of two years, and intersex individuals are also allowed to compete.

what hasn’t apparently become more sophisticated or sensitive is the media.  the fact that semenya has spent her whole life as a woman and identifies as a woman, has now been openly called into question, in cruel fashion – it seems as if reporters around the world now feel it is perfectly fair game to speculate on the state of this woman’s genitals.  it’s perfectly okay to discuss in print whether or not this woman “qualifies” as a woman.

for better or for worse, we live in a world where the vast majority of people line up nicely on either side of (what we like to imagine as the neatly binary) “man” “woman” divide.  by default, then, anyone who falls in between those two descriptive categories, is seen by society as unusual.  that doesn’t, however, mean we should allow people to treat them like freak shows.  and surely an organisation as familiar with this territory as the iaaf, could do much to pave the way in this area – rather than singling out those athletes people are whispering about behind their backs, why not establish baseline regulation and guidance for all athletes competing at an international level? determine people’s eligibility for competition before, rather than after? take measures to qualify all athletes, rather than just the gender-bending few?  gender testing was initially done away with in the late 90s, specifically because it is invasive and provides no clear answers.  so is that proposal an easy, cheap, or less controversial way to do it?  of course not – but in the current climate, it’s the only *fair* one.  after all, if you’re going to subject some people to humiliating and invasive screening, there’s no reason the same standards shouldn’t either be applied to all athletes across the board, or be ruled out entirely.  i can’t see anyway around it: either you err on the side of qualifying all, or you decide you will qualify none.  the iaaf said they wanted to deal with this matter “discreetly” – at which they failed spectacularly, with earth-shattering consequences for the woman in question.  so rather than discriminatorily pulling a select few behind the curtain based on scepticism and nasty mutterings, they could seek to implement a proportional and sensitive framework for decision-making before the fact, that applies to all equally, and does away with the tabloid-type talk and treatment of those athletes that “aren’t pretty”, (as a bbc commentator so disgustingly described semenya).

otherwise, (and this is the question which must be answered), why do it at all?  to strip those who don’t “qualify” as women/men of their achievements?  it may seem crude and wildly impractical to suggest that all athletes undergo some kind of process before they compete, but how much more barbaric is it to publically strip-search those individuals like semenya? because that’s what this amounts to.

this is an issue which will only become more common – as it should.  people of all genders and genetics must be allowed to compete in all arenas of athletics and daily life.  we need to identify a way forward for dealing with identity which is not based on “outing” the exceptions to the rule.

last night caster semenya managed to put the rumour and sensationalism behind her… and just be sensational.  it’s a shame the media couldn’t see past her gender, and view her for the true woman she showed herself to be.

and then this afternoon, the truth hit me squarely across the face in black and white:

Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, the sluggers who propelled the Boston Red Sox to end an 86-year World Series championship drought and to capture another title three years later, were among the roughly 100 Major League Baseball players to test positive for performance-enhancing drugs in 2003, according to lawyers with knowledge of the results.

which means the one thing, the *one precious thing* that i was praying would remain untainted… is no more. that dear memory has been sullied, tarnished, and i can never look back on that moment of glory in the same way again.

someone took one of my greatest joys, and slapped a big, fat, ugly asterisk on top of it.

unless you know what my red sox have meant to me through the years, i’m not sure i can accurately convey just how disconsolate i am. i can’t say i’m surprised, because when some of the biggest and brightest names in the game have admitted to doping, nothing surprises anymore. i never wanted to be that cynical.

but i am surely saddened to the very depths of my fandom, which, out of naivete or just wishful thinking, has somehow remained pure and true.

until today.

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i went out for a six mile run this evening, came home, withdrew my entry from the edinburgh marathon, and cried.

for the past three weeks (ever since my 20 mile run) i’ve been battling hip pain, to the point where i’ve barely been able to run at all.  the physiotherapist diagnosed bursitis of the hip  – the cushion of fluid that allows the tendon to glide over bone becomes inflamed and painful.  it can come from overtraining, and/or iliotibial band syndrome.  probably a combo of the two since i haven’t been able to do my yoga in the past 6 weeks, whilst simultaneously racking up lots of milage.

i’ve run through lots of pain before, stubbornly and ill-advisedly.  i once limped with gritted teeth through the last 10 excruciating miles of a marathon, popping insane amounts of ibuprofen, i was so determined to finish.  but if it hurts this much after just 6 miles, i’ll never make it for 26.  not in five days time, not for more than four hours of running.

the only thing worse than having to drop out now, would be having to drop out midway through.  i’m trying to comfort myself with that thought.

still, i’m crushed, and can’t pretend otherwise.  to come so close, to have trained so hard… and have to give it up.  i know people won’t understand why it’s so hard for me to accept. i know i means nothing to anyone else.

but i meant an awful lot to me.

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but tonight begins the road to the stanley cup, i feel sure of it!  we face off against the hated habs later today.  for the first time since the lockout season, i like our chances. go bruins!

via andy, a bruins funny:

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jonno said, “surely you’ve proven your point after three.  why do another one?”

i had a lot of time to ponder these comments today, as i spent the better part of three hours running.  they sprang to mind towards the end of 16 miles, when my feet were hot and aching, when my face was crusted with salt, when my clothes and hair were dripping with sweat, when my ligaments were as contracted and stiff as piano wire, when my stomach had long passed the point of painfully empty, when my leg muscles were burning to quit, when i was so tired i honestly didn’t think i could continue on.

and yet i did.

this is it.  this is what lies at the core of pushing myself to extremes: it is doing that thing which i think i cannot do.  it’s not to prove a point to anyone but myself – because no one sees you when you’re at mile 13 on a training run and struggling, or limping home with a pulled muscle after just four.  no one is impressed by that.   it’s reaching that point when i want to stop because things are too hard, too scary, too overwhelming… and getting past it.  because each and every time i get beyond the limitations of my fears and doubts and exhaustion, whether at mile 6 or mile 26, feels like a triumph. i feel like i can do anything.

i feel *invincible*.  that’s worth it all.

(and let’s face it: the nice muscle cut just above the hip is pretty cool too )

the acorn – crooked legs

Download audio file (04%20Crooked%20Legs.mp3)

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