It had rained early in the morning on Sunday, but I trotted to the start line in decent weather. However, just a bare minute before the race started, the skies opened up and continued to chuck it down for the next half an hour. I think I gained an extra kilo in weight with the water retention in my hair and clothes. Lovely.
My pacing was all over the place, so I gave up looking at my watch at the 4K mark. The last 3K were in the park I usually run in which had the prospect of being very motivating for me, but instead was not. The rain, which thankfully had stopped by this point, had created huge puddles and muddy trail conditions. Also, we had to loop back and forth about three times, so I could see the finish line from the 8K mark on which was just sheer torture—so close yet so far. I lost a lot of momentum at this point, but somehow pulled it together for a good finishing kick where I passed at least a half dozen other runners.
I crossed the finish at 1:04:xx, over a minute slower than my PR. My lack of drive to push myself during the race just solidifies the fact that I do not possess a killer instinct. At least not right now. Instead of beating myself up over not reaching the goal I had set for myself (as per my usual), I savored the achievement of just running another race and scoring another medal. My non-PR time was the result of having prioritized other areas of my life over running in recent months and that’s just fine. I guess you can say I currently have the ‘I like shiny things’ mentality. It’s not a bad one to have sometimes.
As I was walking home after the race, a very proper older English lady was walking towards me. Noting my race bib, she looked at me and, with a very stern expression on her face, said, ‘I hope you did well.’
I laughed, grinned from ear to ear, and replied, ‘Yes, thank you, I did.’
Saturday was the Eurovision song contest. Each country submits a pop song. The entries get whittled down to 25 which are then all performed live on one night. Immediately following the performances is a call-in vote in each country. The results are tallied and a Eurovision champion is declared.
This is big shit in Europe. My sister was living in Athens when Greece won in 2005. She called me right after and all I could hear was utter chaos in the city in the background. The jubilation was just as great when Greece won the Euro football (soccer) final in 2004. And I’m sure you all know how crazy they are about soccer here, so the fact that they go just as nuts for Eurovision tells you something.
My two twit housemates were gone for the weekend so the other flatmate and I settled in to watch our first ever Eurovision. It’s some crazy stuff, people. Some of the entries are good, others decent, and still others are just downright terrible.
My flatmate was rooting for Iceland. I, showing familial piety, was pulling for Greece. Having said that, it wasn’t a hardship since this year’s entry was by Sakis Rouvas.
Ladies, you’re welcome.
I kept yelling for him to take off his shirt and my flatmate promised to chug her glass of wine if he did. He didn’t but he did end up ripping it a bit, so she downed half the glass as a concession. A real hardship for her, I’m sure.
Our second favorite countries were one and the same—Ukraine. The song was sung by some old Ukranian Madonna wannabe, but she had the best back-up dancers. Buff men wearing tiny loincloths and gigantic silver centurion helmets. Excellent stuff.
Sadly, Norway took the top prize with their rather annoying Fairytale song. My sister attributes Greece’s defeat to the fact that Sakis didn’t get naked. I wholeheartedly agree.
All right, folks, that’s it from me. Have a great week. Catch up with you later.