Lately, I suck at running.
My next race is on Sunday, during the Athens Classic Marathon and I'm slower than ever. I don't think my time will be better than my first 10K in Chios, the 1:04... A strained left ankle and a piece of marble I dropped on my foot (don't ask...) kept me off training for about a month.
It will probably be cold and windy and it might be raining as well...
There is one great thing about this race, though; the experience of finishing the race in a stadium full of people...
A few hours ago the latest and the hardest austerity measures where voted in the parliament.
Having read The Shock Doctrine right before the crisis hit the country, I know that what's about to come is worse than most people can imagine. I've started thinking about leaving again, although the idea of starting all over is really scary...
When I first moved to another country I thought that the toughest part of "integrating" is to start feeling this other country as your own. When this started happening, I realized that the most difficult part is to feel that the people of this country think of you as part of it, as well... You cannot really know what racism is all about unless you've felt it. You can be educated, intelligent, hard working, but if you're skin is too dark, or your eyes too Asian, or you look different, you're suspicious, you're lazy, you're dirty, you're inferior.
On the other hand, it's hard to think that some other language sounds bad if you've loved a person speaking it, it's hard to think that some people are weird when you've been to they're homes and had their food and see they are not much different than you. In fact, you might even love their differences. The "exotic" eyes of a loved one, the different food, the music, the culture. Pão de queijo, Nazim Hikmet, alfajores, mole, Till Eulenspiegel, smacznego, eid mubarak, te echo de menos, tatli rüyalar, boa noite meu bem...
How weird must all this sound...
I haven't been really faithful to my running schedule lately, because after the 10K race in Chios I hadn't set a goal. I was also happy.
Running did not cure my depression, but it made me happier.
The last race I joined was the Race for the Cure.I ran in memory of my mom, who died of breast cancer.
People usually say "I lost my mother/father/loved one" when they want to say that someone died, as if the death of another person is our loss, not the loss of someone else' s life. Being an atheist and non-believer in after-life, I won't disagree on that. Death really is the loss of a person for all the others. I cried more during the last three days my mother was in the hospital than the three days after she had died. The image of her in pain, still having her senses, gradually struggling for breath was tearing me apart. When I was back from my night shift I was taking a shower, I was laying in bed and then the tears would come, and then I was screaming my lungs out, crying for her pain and the fact there was nothing I could do than to hope this pain would end soon. I was screaming so much that after I'd calm down I would wonder how come no-one had called the police, or something, hearing a person next door screaming for about an hour... This image of her in the hospital bed with the oxygen mask was vivid in my head every night, for the next three years, except for the times I had someone in my bed... Yeap, sex is great for depression, three times a week, doctor's prescription! This image went away only after a year of therapy.
Her death on the other hand was really my loss... The loss of her presence in the present, but also the absence of her during the days to come, all those important moments in life that you'd wish your mother would be there...
"Running for my mom"- Race for the Cure
This race was the hardest 5K ever... It was at noon, it was really hot and I think I got a heat-stroke because after half the race I couldn't run under the sun anymore... I was running at a slow pace under some shadows, and during the second half I was feeling nauseous and dizzy... I thought about quitting, then I thought about the cause, then why the hell would me finishing the race do anything for the cause and my mom and breast cancer anyway? But then I walked, and then I saw the finishing line and I finished it... My time: 33:10. It took me 3 weeks to go running again, and that was last Monday, at a group training for my next race : November 11th, a 10K during the Athens Classic Marathon.
When I was standing in line to grab some water I over-heard a conversation of a young woman and a man behind me... In the beginning I thought they were talking about the girl's dude that broke up with her or something... The conversation went like this:
The guy was telling her -"it's time for you to get over it.. do something, go out, have fun!"
-I am going out... it's just that I can't feel happy anymore...
-You know, this is called depression
-I know... If it wasn't for running I wouldn't know what to do... It's the only thing that keeps me going.
Her last words shook me up, because I've said them so many times... I wanted to talk to her, but my schizoid personality wouldn't let me... I wish I had, I could tell her that she can get help and get better, she can run, and that there are so many of us out there. We could even make a running group where you wouldn't have to make excuses for not showing up because you feel too shitty, or not worry about talking when you don't feel like it...
It also reminded me why I started running and why I still do... How I almost always wonder why the hell am I doing this to myself during training and the races, and how the juices of happiness flow in my brain after I manage to cross the line between pain and pleasure, the line between life and death.
So, I'm back, and I started a schedule for a half-marathon.
I'm running in three weeks, and I'm so excited to participate in the biggest running event of the year.
I also met a guy. Not "The Guy" kind of guy... It was during an Adidas Open Race event. I was running next to an older guy and he asked me if I ever did ballet, a nice way to tell me that my running technique sucks because I'm running on my toes. He was kind enough to give me advice on how to improve my running, how to run uphill and downhill. He was 70, and he had run more than 40 Athens Classic Marathons. He had run more than 4000 races and I told him "oh, this one's my second!". His sincere answer: "oh, it's your second marathon!". No, my friend, just my second race :).
Last thing he told me before we finished together :"Don't worry! You have many marathons in you!"
I kind of feel like I have at least one... :)
My original intention was that this post would be about sexual arousal during hard training... How did I end up writing about death again? Oh, well... Sorry! :)
It's true, though... Women CAN get horny during hard exercise!
... at the Race for the Cure in Athens and the 10K at the day of the Athens Classic Marathon!
On September 30th the Race for the Cure is being held in the center of Athens. This is a very important 5K for me since it's about breast cancer awareness and I've lost my mother from breast cancer. The thing is that she had cancer for the first time 20 years ago and because she realized very early she lived for fifteen more healthy years.
Denial is the most common defense mechanism in people... It's what makes people say "oh, no!" when they hear about an accident, or "I can't believe it!". It's what makes parents overlook the obvious signs that their offspring is on drugs, the wife not see that her husband is cheating on her, me not self-examining myself believing that if I don't see it it won't be there...
So, I guess I'm going to run so that more people spread the message that early diagnosis can save your life and maybe convince myself, too...
Since many of you have been asking me why I haven't been writing for
such a long time I have to inform you that I did not want to die, or
anything, it's just that I was at some island and I am pretty happy!
Here are some photos so you'll get why I stayed there for 10 days instead of 3 as originally planned :)
Our bets in life can be a huge deal.
Our bets can be "I'll be married by the time I'm thirty", "When I'm over 50 I'll quit smoking and I'll eat better", "If I manage to run up the stairs before the lights turn off my parents won't die".
Most runners that I know of have a bet against themselves. "I'll run the 21K in under 1:30, I'll do the marathon in under 4 hours, today I'll go over the 10K". My secret bet was to run the 10K in under 1 hour.
The day before I left for Chios I asked my loved ones to give me a song for my race playlist. None of them could be there so it would be like taking them with me. Beautiful songs, funny, touching, personal, along with my punk-rock touch went together to help me keep going.
The legen- wait for it- playlist
1. Aggelakas- siga mhn klapsw http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHP__qTGeHM
2. Nightcall- under your spell
3.familjien -det snurran i min skalle
4. zakopower -Boso
5.The clash- police on my back
6.mora sti fotia -kato stin poli http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpnJkjpgxOM
7. Blitzkrieg pop- the ramones
8. I don't want to grow up- the ramones
9. Florence The Machine - Dog Days Are Over
10. Manowar- Number 1
11. Bandista- haydi barrikata
12. the prodigy- omen
13.the ramones-what a wonderful world
14.the clash- I fought the law
15.Bill Conti- Gonna fly now
15 the ramones- I wanna be sedated
16. Bandista (some other one)
17. Goran Bregovic - Kalashnikov
18. Bad religion- No Control
19. Coma- pasazer
The trip to the race didn't start so well. The people that would put me up for the night were out of town so in the end I stayed in a hotel, which a friend found an hour before I arrived after a few stressful phone calls . That wasn't that bad, since I was a super-tired sleep deprived schizoid and I could use my private space, not having to interact with people, no matter how nice they might have been.
My mp3 player broke down just a couple of hours before I arrived to Chios. So, no precious playlist, which really sucked...
The Day of The Race
I woke up at 6am for the second day in a row (and I didn't sleep at 10...) to take the bus to the race. At the bus stop no-one was talking to each other, except for a group of Turkish runners. I mean, we were like, no more that twenty people waiting there... I started thinking I was doing something really wrong when, as soon as I arrived, most of them started eating their bananas (bananas are like the Runners' Holy Communion) while I was sipping my double espresso. I might as well have arrived with a beer in my hand...
There was the Hobo Runner with a beard and all (he looked like an ex-boyfriend of mine, so if you ever read this, no offense!), the Athletic Old Lady (she was faster than me) and the Champion: the tanned, shaved (and I mean the legs), with a T-shirt with his name on and a Super GPS Watch kind of guy which I immediately disliked. This was the time when I thought I should take out my broken mp3 player and pretend I'm listening to my music...
We arrived at the starting point and I must say that the organizers were super nice people, doing their best to make the first race work smoothly, people who genuinely love running and their island. It turned our that there where more than 200 runners that showed up, many of whom where people who'd never ran a race before and that came "for the fun of it".
Just before the race starts I received an sms from the guy to whom I once had to explain that I was not running to win, I wasn't running for the time, I was running for another cause: "Remember what you've told me : I'm going to run for myself, not to win but because I have to run". Stick to that and everything's going to go great."
I started running and I was focused on my pace, on my breath, on my pulses, on the road, on time so I could finish in under 1 hour. And then I realized that I wasn't looking around and I was missing what I'd really went there for : the place. I smiled to myself, I stopped thinking and I just did what I do every day: I ran.
This is what I didn't miss:
I ran listening the songs on the playlist in my head
The dog days are over
The dog days are gone
Can you hear the horses
'Cause here they come
Run fast for your mother and fast for your father
Run for your children for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind you
Can't carry love with you if you want to survive
I stopped twice to pick some jasmine flowers to put in my cleavage :). That must have made me the sassiest runner of the race!
After the race I kept them between the pages of a notebook and I I'll frame them. They are my most personal medal!
I did the 10,5K in 1:04:13 and I was 8th amongst the women.
Not bad for a depressed cuckoo runner!
The Champion came 3rd, doing the 21K in 1:17. The guy knows his shit!
I finished barely sweating, he finished covered in sweat and complaining about a pain on his left arm.
(I thought he was having a heart attack, but I decided to keep my mouth shut for a change...)
The Champion turned out to be a really cool guy. I had so many hours to kill before my ferry was leaving, so we decided to have some lunch together. It turned out that he was tanned not because of solarium overuse, but because his mom is Mexican and he usually trains outdoors. The T-shirt with his name on it was from a group race where each one had to write their name and blood type on it (probably a fight-club race or a zombie race or something...). I noticed the small Aztec bird spirit printed over his heart. The Aztecs believed that in the heart lies a small portion of sunlight, so they had to make human sacrifices to make sure that the Sun would keep rising. Thus, they were known as "The People of the Sun".
We ended up spending the day together, driving amongst the recently burning forests of the island, between the traditional stone villages that survived the fire, the smell of the burnt wood and wild oregano mixed in the air, the view of the scorched trees in contrast to the intact villages, a surreal image so tragic, dramatic and almost beautiful.
Photos by Pavlos Saridis
We climbed to the medieval village hanging on the top of a cliff, like an eagle's nest.
I had to steal some more photos from another blog, because I had no camera.
The Anavatos medieval village
Photos by Pavlos Saridis
So, the dog days are never over. I feel so much better - I can even say that I am happy sometimes- but the depression might strike back. Whenever I feel bad again (and the signs of depression are oh-so clear...) I keep reminding myself that it's not a life-circle, that I cannot go back to where I was at the really bad days, that I've been through therapy and I know myself much better, that I've crossed one of the toughest trails...
On Sunday I ran alone carrying all of you with me. I ran alone thinking of my
sister hugging me before my trip telling me "you are already a winner
for me, I'm so proud of you". I ran alone thinking how amazing it is
that I am able to run, that I am able to enjoy this amazing view, that I
am able to wake up in the morning and not feel like I'm half-dead, not
thinking that life is so unbearable that death seems so comforting.
Because, at the end of the day there is only one bet : either you're over, or under the ground.
As my sister puts it: "Oh, well..."
Oh, well... Since we're here, let's just live the most out of another day.
When I was starting my blog and I was trying to come up with a name the first one that came to my mind was "run for your life". Unfortunately, it was taken, so I came up with the cuckoo one...
I came across the original "Run for your life" blog a few hours ago. It's being written by a guy who just turned 80 and started running in his 50's.
This is his blog, and there are some pretty cool photos in there, too... Run For your Life
This is one that I stole from his blog:
Yesterday, it was probably my worst run ever. I wanted to do my last long run before the race and I decided to go for an hour. Again, I wanted to quit after the first 15', my chest started hurting after 30' and I was thinking that if I had a heart attack it wouldn't be such a bad way to die...
(Note that when I decided to start training for real I had a full check, so I have neither any heart issues that I know of, nor a heart-disease family record.)
I thought that if I don't do this last long run I will be very stressed at my race day, although I'm pretty sure I can run the 10K anyway...
Papi C. told me: "you're just before the race. Go for it, and you can reconsider the whole running thing later.".
But, there is this photo...
I feel so lucky to be able to run in the first place. I don't take things like that for granted anymore.
Don't take for granted that you'll always be strong, be able to run, or enjoy life.
Don't take for granted that you'll live to see another day, that your loved ones will always be there, that you'll always be healthy.
Races are a good way to help you train better for a specific goal. I don't know how my first one will be but I remember how excited I was when I ran my first 5K and then my first 10K.
I remember the late evenings when I was running under the moonlight at a dirt road and I didn't need any artificial light because the moon was so bright. I remember that I did my personal 10K record after I've had a great night at the beach with great company and a bottle of wine. I remember how proud my co-runner and I were when we where finishing another training and that the sweet pain in your muscles after you take a shower reminds you that you've won another race.
Home-made paper lantern at the beach. Worked pretty well :)
So, I guess I'm not stopping after September 2nd...
It's just the end of a 10K and the beginning of a half-marathon :)
Race sign photos from Jill' s blog:
http://bestracesigns.wordpress.com/
When I was a small kung-fu warrior student, my style was the Eagle Claw.
Now that I'm old and I started running I found another bird to inspire me: The road runner.
The road runner is actually a cuckoo and it's the fastest one of the flying birds.
Proud Eagle Claw Warrior
Cuckoo Road Runner
Yep, you got the picture...
When I'm about to go running some people look at me as if I'm cuckoo and they ask me: "Why are you running? Do you want to lose weight?", and then I try to explain that I'm not trying to lose weight (because then I'll disappear) and that it's good for my health. In most cases they avoid any other comment, they just give me this look:
A month ago when I was about to start my afternoon run a middle aged woman who was feeding her goats (yes, goats...I'm in a village, got a problem with that?) told me after we said hello:
"I've seen you doing that. Why are you doing this? Do you want to lose weight?"
I patiently said that it's good for you and she asked me again :
"Is it good for the legs?". I said yes, not wanting to end up in a pointless conversation and then she asked me how much I run.
"Now I'm running for half an hour but you start slowly, first walking, then running"
And the old lady answers:
"Maybe I should do it, too"
I said, sure, why not, have a good afternoon and started running.
A couple of days later I saw the goat lady with a pair of running shoes on and her normal clothes-skirt above the knee and all- walking at the same path I was running. I passed her by, I waved hello, she gave me a big smile...
Last week for the first time I went for an hour long run. I started my run with a song I love:
"They tell me if I leave the circle I'll get lost, in it's boundaries I should only wander, and the world is a wild beast and when it bites I'd better be quiet. And when they worry I might go crazy they tell me to hide somewhere and cry and to remember that I'm way too small to change anything. But I, with a wild proud dance, I'll fly like an eagle above the sorrow I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to get scared... They tell me that if I go high I'll get dizzy, I'd better crawl with them in the mud and if I want to see more I can just stare at a mirror... I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to get scared..."(sounds way better in Greek, but you get the picture)
My first one hour run went great. I ran a total of 11K.
Don't miss that video. You'll watch the Bald Eagle's ritual courtship:
The two eagles lock their claws at high altitudes and tumble in a free fall to break apart just before they hit the ground. They mate for life.
Yesterday, I went for another hour-long run. It was a really bad one... While I was dragging my feet, my legs hurting and my chest pounding I was wondering why the hell am I doing this to myself and I just wanted to stop. Then I remembered all the advice from real and virtual runners: All runners have bad days, don't make this stop you, the next one will be better.
So, I kept going and to my surprise I was dragging my feet faster than I thought.
Every time I'm about to go running I'm thinking that I'm training for my race day in Chios. While I run, though, I'm thinking "this is your race day" and I just run like there is no tomorrow.
When I told some guy that I'm training for a race he asked me "are you good enough to win?". I tried to explain than it's my first one, so I'm just running for the experience. In fact, I don't think I'll ever win a race. He asked me "why would you do it, then?".
My new awesome personal trainer taught me that there are good carbs and bad carbs. Carbs are our "Body fuel", and it's good to know whether the fuel we take from food will last long or not. It's valuable knowledge if you're an athlete- especially a long distance runner- or if you just want to eat healthy.
Carbohydrates are a chemical compound, so they're not good or bad by nature...
The foods containing them, though, can be classified as "good" or "bad" according to if they contain a lot of fiber or not, if they have been heavily processed or not, etc.
The whole good carb/bad carb debate sounds to me almost like "good cop/bad cop". "Good cop/ Bad cop" is a very widely used method of interrogation.
The bad cop is abusive, insulting, aggressive, the good cop is there to help you, he's your only friend in there, the "fatherly figure", someone you can trust. You don't do the talking? Good cop leaves, bad cop comes. Still not talking? Good cop comes again. "Come on son, it breaks my heart to see you like that, I know you're a good kid, release your soul from this weight, talk to me". After hours in the interrogation room reality gets distorted, primitive feelings rise up and you just want the bad cop to go away and the good cop to take care of you and make him stop.
What you should never forget is that none of them is a good cop. None of them is your friend, none of them is "on your side". Their job is to make you confess. Carbs will do their job and fuel your body; if they're "good" they'll be nice to it and make it healthier, if they're bad you'll end up with cellulite and a heart disease. I must confess that I love both; the carbs, that is...
GOOD COP
+BAD COP
= CONFESSION
My cousin finally left home after her husband has been abusing her for years. She has been to the hospital more than once with broken bones and dripping in blood.
An abusive partner is a master at the "good cop/bad cop" technique.
He'll seclude you from your friends so you'll loose the sense of reality. If you don't have people around you to shake you up and remind you that you're in an anomalous situation you'll be so deep inside the situation you won't be able to even see it.
He'll get under your skin and make you believe he's the only one in your life. Then, comes the terror. More subtle at first, some insults, him being angry at you when you felt you did nothing wrong. You need to keep in mind that it never gets better; it can only get worse.
I used to live with a guy that I had to run away from. We weren't even a couple, not that it really matters. We started sharing an apartment, then we became "close friends", eating together, going out together. At some point he developed a crash on me, but I thought that letting him know that I had a long-distance relationship and I didn't see him that way was enough. He was super nice until the time I started going out with guys he perceived as a "threat". He started by saying he doesn't approve of them, by being sad and not talking the day after so I'd try to make him feel better. After all, he was my friend, right? more important than a just guy I'd went out with, right?
Τhen, the fights started, where he became really aggressive (verbally) and insulting. This is when I realized that I was not dealing with an argument with a roommate, but with an unstable and abusive person and I had to leave as soon as possible. He would throw irrational accusations on my face, he would tell me that my mom was lucky to be dead not to see what has become of me. He would come the day after, apologizing, being the best guy ever, begging me to give him a smile and go back to "our happiness". Some other days he wouldn't talk to me at all and when I asked him why he would say "you're not worth it".
I remember spending the last night at the apartment in bed, crying, miles away from home, being afraid he would come into my room and start shouting at me again. All night long, I had my mother's voice in my head, telling me "Don't ever let any man degrade you". The next day, the guy had made me a nice breakfast to apologize and "make friends". I packed a small bag and left.
The next day I asked him to meet in order to break the rental contract for the apartment. I was prepared with the voice recorder of my cell phone ready. What followed was a totally irrational conversation with him telling me that he didn't agree to break the contract, that I had to go back to my senses and return to our happiness, or else... I remembered my kung-fu master saying "never let your opponent see the fear and the pain on your face". I played it cool till the end but I was sitting closer to the kitchen door and I was ready to storm out in case he'd try to grab me. I was thinking "you know some kung-fu moves, this is the time to see if it really works..."
Fear feeds the abusive person, whether it's your boss, your partner or
your husband. They are very weak and insecure people and feel strong
only if they can control and abuse someone weaker.
We are weaker only if they make us believe that. I never showed him how much I was afraid of him.
The next day I took the recordings and reported him. I was lucky enough to live in a country where they take things like that very seriously, so they strongly advised me that I should leave immediately, they even offered me a guard to come with me while I was picking my stuff, and a place to stay.
Many women (or men; I'm referring to women because they are the vast majority of the abused)don't do that. They are not stupid, they are not weak, they don't "enjoy suffering". Actually, the mentality of a Masochist personality type makes the person believe that by making the "sacrifice"of putting up with this behavior he/she prevents another greater "disaster" from happening.
I was lucky enough to have been raised by a wonderful strong woman and a kind and respectful man. Her voice is always in my head.
My cousin calls the parents of her husband, asking if he's "eating properly" and if they're taking care of him. If she goes back, it may be the last time.
My depression didn't start because of this, but it was definitely a catalyst. I spend a month sleeping on a friend's couch. When I came back home for Christmas I had lost so much weight that none of my clothes fit and I couldn't recognize my body in the mirror. Now I don't care if I have a round belly, or if I gain a couple of kilos during holidays.
It doesn't matter if the abuse is verbal or physical, although, physical abuse can- literally- kill you. If you feel scared, if you feel threatened or insulted, run.
You only need your legs, your lungs and your heart; you can even run barefoot. Run for your life.
Tonight, I'm running for an hour.
This is the new song in my mp3 player. Because tonight, tonight, I'm a CARB KILLER!
