Tick Tick What?

Yesterday they took down the massive tree over at the Rockefeller Centre. Today, as I walked to the subway, the empty dark space in the sky made it official - we are in 2013. The people who thought they could read Mayan calendars were wrong and there is no going back to 2012.

Wait, no, wait! I'm not done with 2012. I still want to mull over it a touch. I want to look it over and dance out the good times. I want to take a moment and remember it. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

1. I spent my year listening to a LOT of NPR. A LOT. And it was fantastic. For all I thought I learnt, there was always so much much to know and be amazed by. 
2. During the first half of the year, I did quite a bit of running. I joined a running class and made some fantastic friends. Unexpected bonus! Who knew that while running so hard you can't talk, a bond can be made, a bond that is cemented by a heaving-breath, silent high five?
3. I had my first stint as a rabbit! It was AH-MAY-ZING!There I was, waiting at a little before the 7 mile mark, waiting for my new running class buddy to come by. I was nervous as heck - she had asked me to help her attain a goal time and I, who had never done this before, wanted to make sure I didn't mess up. There were so many runners that I was afraid I might not see her. Also, there were cops about and I did not want to get busted for jumping into the race like a bandit. She came up and off we went. As we ran, I could not stop smiling - her effort and resolved were incredibly inspiring. And she made her goal time! A month later, she repaid the favour - without her I don't know how I would have made it up that last hill in the race.
4. I ran my fastest half marathon and it was in Brooklyn, my home turf. Helloooo Brooklyn! 
5. Granted, I spent a week in hospital, had my stomach operated on AGAIN, but the views from my hospital room were incredible and the hospital folk took excellent care of me. 
6. My, then future, mother-in-law came to take care of me after my hospital stay (hidef had to travel for work). We spent 10 days together and, during that time, she shared parts of her life that hidef didn't even know about. It was a quality time.
7. I spent Christmas with my mother and sister! I had not done this since 2003, when my father passed away. It was so joyous to celebrate a non-orphan holiday.
8. I got married! What fun the wedding was and how great marriage is now. It's funny - we were having a ball living in sin and we are still having a ball now even though we are no longer edgy sinful bad-asses.
9. I danced, and danced, and danced some more. That ALWAYS makes life better. ALWAYS. How can one be mad while dancing to music? 
10. Even though I did not share my stories as much as I would have liked, I was still very lucky to have about me blog friends like  Dodo, Prettylyf, Oscar and El Editor, and other new ones I came across. When sanity threatened to forsake me and when things looked bleak, I went to them and they renewed my hope and belief in thoughtfulness, beauty, art and a celebration of life.

 Look at that! That's not even a tenth of the great things that happened to me last year and it all seems really darn awesome. Now I'm ready.

2013, let's do this thing.

Idol Time

While we are talking about mysteries, I remember one about my own life. For a year in high school, I played in a badminton league. When I was a kid, my parents were avid tennis players so they insisted that all their children learn to play. Until he passed away, my father would remind me how disappointed he was when I gave up my tennis lessons. "You had a talent, Pandave, the coach said so." Perhaps the coach saw something that I never did - I just know that my serve was atrocious.

I went through a phase when I took up squash. Serving the ball was less challenging and the game was more dynamic. I loved whacking the little ball into the wall and running madly about the court, working up a sweat. The big mystery is how badminton came into play. Did we have to play it during gym class? Did I read about it in a novel and decide to emulate the heroine? Whatever happened, I ended up knowing how to play badminton. And then I ended up in a team.

The team was made up of three girls from my high school (I was one of them) and three boys from a nearby boys' school. None of us were friends before we started playing, so I have no idea how we three were picked. We called our team Mony Mony, played mixed doubles and travelled around town, playing in a league. Did a teacher at school set up the league and, if so, why? It couldn't be that the school was trying to promote badminton because no one from school ever came to watch us play. Did I mention that we were the youngest people in this league? By far? We were pretty much going to various recreation centres around town and playing mostly retirees (occasionally we would play against people who were our parents' age). Badminton was not a cool sport to play, which may be why we were the only kids playing in this league.

There are people who write about the crazy periods in their lives when they went on drug or alcohol-fueled benders. My bender involved a racquet and a shuttlecock. I don't know how it began and I have idea how it ended. I do know that Billy Idol was a part of it and I wore a lot of little skirts.

Brooklyn, We Go Hard!

 

It was quite the journey to get to this point - the point where I ran the Brooklyn Half Marathon, back in May. I travelled back in time, through my archives to the first time I didn't run in Miami. Many things have changed and a lot has remained the same. I had a day when I had a post race photo that was not a nightmare to behold. It is funny because it is one of the most difficult races I have ever run (the hills of San Francisco will do that to you) and yet somehow the photos make me look as though I was having the best time ever.

I was very excited about running the Brooklyn Half - Brooklyn is where I live and Brooklyn is where I love. I wanted to run it last year but found myself in hospital, with a tube up my nose, during the race registration. I came out to find that the race was full and I was going to miss it. This year, I checked the website like I had OCD and, I was not alone. Once the race opened, the website crashed often because it was overwhelmed by the masses that tried to register for the race. Apparently there are many who opt to experience Brooklyn through blood, sweat and tears.

As I mentioned, there are things that have changed and things that have remained the same:

1. 13.1 miles is still a long way to run. Heck, 5 kilometres is a long way to run. Whether I run 100 metres or 13.1 miles I am exhausted at the end of it. How does that make sense?
2. It doesn't matter how many porta-potties there are, they will always come with super long lines and will always gross me out. I mean, seriously, who thought it would be smart to put the urinal right where your face goes if you need to use the toilet?
3. I ALWAYS need to pee before a race. It doesn't matter how many times I go before I leave home, I need to go just before the race starts. Sometimes more than once. It is probably because the gods know how much I hate the porta-potties and they need a good early morning laugh.
4.  My knees are more amenable about running. Thank you knees. On the other hand, my hips and feet are considering a mutiny.
5. Post race cocktails rock. Did I ever tell you about the beer I got as I crossed the finish line at the Chicago Marathon? Best idea ever, race planners, and an idea that needs to make the rounds.
6. I still have not run New York and now, due to the adventures with a scalpel that happened in my belly in June, it is very likely that I will not get to run New York this year. I am still trying to come to terms with that. Yes, I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I won't get to struggle while running 26.2 hilly miles. What is wrong with me?
7. It doesn't matter how much skin you cover with bodyglide, chafing will still find a way to make an appearance. Between your toes, right where your bra goes or under your arms, it will find that one spot that you missed.
8. As unexciting as talking about running seems, even while you are doing it, you will find yourself doing it. 
9. I love to run when I travel. I make it a point to get out and go for a run whenever I am some place new. I am going slowly enough that I can see things and yet quickly enough that I get to cover a decent amount of ground.
10. It doesn't happen all the time but, sometimes, I have a moment when everything is right - my stride feels good, whatever is playing on my iPod is lifting my spirits, the weather is perfect, the air is being kind to my lungs and the scenery is engaging. It is the best feeling ever and, anyone who sees me at that moment must think either that running is amazing or that I must be insane. Well, the nervous smiles they give me implies "insane".

It was a beautiful and sunny day, the kind of day that is perfect for a picnic and can be a killer for running. But no matter, we were running Brooklyn (even as I type I yell Brooklyn! in my head)! It was beautiful. It was awesome. To be able to run down streets that are normally congested with people rushing nowhere is a feeling I am yet to tire of. To run through the various neighbourhoods and have the people I live with out cheering me on is heartwarming. To finish on the Coney Island boardwalk, with the Atlantic Ocean stretching out into infinity is something I want to do again. Oh yes, and I managed to run my fastest time ever and, if you are going to do that, isn't it best to do it at home? So, yes Brooklyn, I did go hard. But I am also glad I have a year to psych myself up for this again.

Huh? What?

I ended up spending seven nights in hospital and, during that time, I managed to work my way through a lot of reading material. This is how the reading material worked. When I prepared to go to the hospital, I packed my New Yorker magazines, a book about a programme to introduce black students to Holy Cross University, back in the '60s and other reading material that involved long paragraphs and marmalade words.

I woke up from surgery to find myself connected to an IV that supplied me with an on demand stream of pain medication. The morning following my surgery, I reached for a New Yorker and found that the words would not stay still on the page and that, after staring at the page for about ten minutes, I was still on the first sentence of a story and that sentence made no sense.  It was then that I realised that the pain medication also rendered my brain rather diminished. I had lost the ability to even pretend to be deep. Lucky for me, I have friends who had foreseen my diminished state. They arrived with piles of celebrity rags - full of pictures and very few and very short words. I was able to spend my days sitting in a chair, bathed in sunlight from the massive window in my room, paging through magazine after magazine. I was asked to wonder "who wore it best" and challenged to "get that bikini bod" even though I do not have millions of dollars and trainers at my beck and call. Even with my half functioning brain, I was sure that my brain got even smaller.

During the week I was sitting around, it was two days before I was even allowed to drink a sip of water. I then spent another three days being given only clear liquids to consume. Toward the end of my stay I graduated to mashed potato and dry grilled fish (party time!). It was not so terrible as pain in my stomach kept my appetite at bay. I was also staying in a ward for people with stomach issues so there was very little food going around and none of it was appetising.

Half way through my stay I received a visitor. She sat down to chat and said, "I brought you something to read," and pulled out a magazine. I looked at the cover "FOOD & WINE". How did that happen? Was she walking around the bookstore wondering - hmmm... what do you give the person who cannot eat or drink most things? Oh, I know, the dream of food. Show her the life she cannot have. I mean, she has been paging through a bunch of magazines where people are in dresses that cost her annual salary so this is along the same lines, right? Right?