16 and Spanish

Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to go along with two other teachers at my school to accompany our 4 ESO (high school sophomore) students on their Viaje de Estudios, or class trip. This gave me some extra insight into the lives of Spanish teenagers, and I’d like to share with you some of the differences I’ve observed. I may be getting old (24 next week!!!), but I don’t think I’m so far removed from my teenage years that I can’t remember what it was like. As far as I can tell, being a teen here is VERY different from my experience at that age.

Difference #1: The Thrill Factor

We kicked off the trip with an action-packed couple of days in the Pyrenees Mountains on the France-Spain border: white water rafting, paint-balling and “canyoning,” which is essentially descending a long, cascading waterfall using a variety of techniques including rappelling, jumping, swimming and climbing.

This brings me to Difference #1: Spanish (or maybe specifically Basque) teens are overall, for lack of a better term, more badass than American teens. Tell me: if you went on a HS class trip, what sort of activities did you and your classmates do? I’m guessing it probably didn’t involve any extreme sports. You know, with wet suits, helmets, carabiners, cables and plunges into icy pools at the bases of several waterfall drops. I suppose it helps a lot that the teens here are just generally more active, thus in better shape, than most American teens. The fact that the people of this country don’t have an obsession with liability lawsuits like in the US probably helps facilitate these opportunities as well.

white water rafting with my students in the Pyrenees

one of my students inside one of the many cascade drops of the waterfall we descended

the whole crew at the last drop

Difference #2: The Fiesta Factor

The second half of the trip was spent in Salou, a beachy resort town and notorious teen party capital of Spain’s Mediterranean coast. When I told anyone we were going to Salou, the unanimous response was “Ooooh…mucha fiesta!” It made me wonder, and still sorta does, why a school would willingly put a notorious party town on their high schoolers’ class trip itinerary. My school wasn’t alone in that decision either. In our beachfront hotel alone there were two other high school student groups from other parts of Spain on their class trip. On the nights in Salou, the kids would scurry down to our 9pm dinner, scarf down some food and head out on the town. The other chaperones and I hung out and had a few drinks before meeting up with the kids around 1am at whatever club they may be at. Just to do a headcount. To make sure everyone was still upright. And they were! All 35 of them could handle a night of partying better than a majority of American college freshmen. Their final curfew, around 4am (early by Spanish clubbing standards) was obeyed by every last one of them. That’s more than can be said for the average American teen, my former teen self included.

Sunny Salou

Difference #3: The Apathy Factor

Teenagers across the globe are known to have attitudes of apathy and angst unmatched by any other age group, but I think this attitude is stronger here than in the US. When I was in high school, most of the “cool kids” were also the smart, academically achieving kids. Though this may not be the case in the US as a whole, I’m pretty confident in saying that the relationship between high academic achievement and level of “cool-ness” is a lot more inversely related here than it is back home. For these teens, failing and repeating classes is the norm, not the exception. They talk about failing classes really openly and joke about it.

School performance isn’t the only place I’ve seen this attitude. To use an example from the class trip: we spent an afternoon touring Barcelona, and though the tour guide we had wasn’t stellar, I was appalled by how little the students paid attention during the tour. They slept when she was talking to us on the bus and wandered off when we were walking around with her. For many of them, it was their first time in Barcelona, and they just acted like it was the lamest thing they’ve ever done. I couldn’t figure it out. I remember going to Chicago and NYC for school music trips and being completely enthralled with the experience of seeing a new city. And don’t think I was the lone travel dork–my classmates were right along with me.

I’ve made a lot of generalizations here, and it is of course important to consider that my personal HS experience could be quite different from someone who grew up in a totally different corner of our vast land mass that is the US of A. And even though Spain isn’t geographically all that large, there are regional differences galore here too.

What do you think? Are Spanish teens better off than American ones? Does the significantly lower drinking age help them adopt a healthier attitude towards drinking and socializing in a party environment? How does their attitude of apathy and angst compare with that of American teens? I’d love to hear any of your thoughts–feel free to leave a comment!

I’ll leave you with a tune that’s very popular with the kids these days (one that I got to hear on repeat on our bus trip ):

the streets that sing

One of my favorite things about being in big cities is the presence of street musicians. I love the musical spontaneity that comes with living in or visiting a bustling city. The music that street musicians provide can perfectly complement the atmosphere, lift your mood and inspire you.

The other night, while giving a super quick impromptu tour de Bilbao to some friends, we ran into this terrifically energetic drumming group giving flash performances all over the old quarter of the city. After Googling them later, I found out they’re a Madrid-based group called Hakuna Ma Samba, and their motto is “Elige ser feliz”, or “Choose to be happy,” which they do very well. I dig.

Street performers, or musical buskers (you learned a new word today!), aren’t bound to streets as the only place for their performances. Another common venue for these musicians is on big city subways, like this incredible guitar/violin duo my mom and I came across during our trip to Rome in February:

Some of them play for a living while others play to make extra cash doing something they love. I ran into these guys in downtown Bilbao last fall, and after reading their sign I just had to give them my spare change. For creativity, if nothing else!

Their sign says: "Med students...collecting money for books! Thanks!"

A few weeks ago when I was in Portugal, I stumbled upon this random assembling of couples who heard some music in a plaza stopped to dance…. in the pouring rain!

These performances and spontaneous acts of music and dance are, for me, one of the most beautiful things in life. Music can bring so much joy, and when encountered outside of its traditional environments like concert halls and theaters, it reminds us not to take life so seriously and to experience the beauty in every moment.

Next time you see a street musician, I hope you’ll give them your spare change. It’s the least you can do for them making your day!

when RyanAir goes wrong

I set out last Wednesday morning on a trip to Spain’s westerly neighbor, Portugal. I caught an early bus from Bilbao to Madrid, arrive with time to spare,and hopped on the shuttle to the airport.

Once at the airport, I headed straight for what RyanAir calls “visa check.” You see, if you fly RyanAir, you can conveniently print your plane tickets online ahead of time (which you conveniently get to pay 6€ to do, or else pay 60€ once at the airport if you opt not to…blackmail, much?) and THEN all you have to do once at the airport is go through a “visa check” (which is, essentially, the same thing as checking in…) before you go through security. This check consists of a RyanAir employee looking at your passport, asking you if you packed your own luggage (nope, my mom did!) and then drawing arbitrary squiggles somewhere on your printed ticket to indicate you have been “checked.”

I breezed through security and found my gate just on the other side. Over an hour to kill before boarding! I headed to a nearby cafetería for some tortilla española and a caña. I ate my lunch slowly, critiquing the tortilla with every bite (I’m a connoisseur now, you know) and mentally patting myself on the back for being so ahead of schedule.

Time to get to the gate. With RyanAir, there are no seat assignments and no boarding groups: just a clusterfook of travelers huddled around the waiting area at the gate hoping to make it on the plane WITH their luggage. I was in line behind a Portuguese couple, and listening to their chatter I started to get pumped–a new language, a new culture, a new COUNTRY to explore!

I hastily shoved my purse into my cabin baggage (RyanAir doesn’t allow a “personal item” like every….other…airline) and got ready to juke for a window seat. I gave the ticket lady my ticket and started shoving my bag into the size-tester box (a ridiculously obligatory step with RyanAir. If it doesn’t fit they’ll kindly check it at the gate for only 40-50€!) As I was busy proving my obviously small bag wasn’t an 26″ upright, this conversation happened:

Ticket Nazi: “This isn’t the right ticket”
Me: “Ha….what?”
Ticket Nazi: “Yes. This is Madrid, ma’am. This ticket is from Porto to Madrid.”
Me: “I’m entirely aware that this is Madrid. So you’re saying they validatedd the wrong ticket?”
Ticket Nazi: “I’m saying you don’t have a ticket to get on this plane.”
Me: “Oh, but I do. Here it is, see? With the same name, passport number…”
Ticket Nazi: “I can’t let you on the plane without a visa check confirmation on this other ticket. You need to go out, get it validated, re-enter security and come back. You need to run! Last call! Plane leaves in 20 minutes!”
Me: “@&?#!”

Sprinting. In heeled boots. Holding a 20 lb suitcase. Through an entire terminal. Calves killing from yesterday’s run. Couldn’t find an open exit. Saw a security checkpoint, got desperate and asked two Policia Nacional how I could get out. They saw my desperation, had mercy on me, and actually let me go backwards through a security checkpoint whilst running. In hindsight, this may be the single nicest thing a stranger has done for me in this country. I budged to the front of a line of 50-or-so people at the visa check and told the lady she had stamped the wrong sheet and needed to stamp this one. She apologized, didn’t even look at my passport (may try this approach if ever need to travel illegally :-p) and stamped my ticket.

More sprinting. At security again. Ducked under the barricades and cut in front of two large families. Pretended not to speak Spanish while being cussed out for it. Wearing only leggings, a tank top, and socks, but somehow the metal detector goes off when I pass through. The TSA lady pats me down and comments on how sweaty I am. Happens when you’ve maintain max HR for early 15 minutes while fully clothed, I guess. I shove my iPad and liquids back in my bag and run, shoes and coat in hand, to the gate.

No one at the gate. No. One. Look at my watch. It’s 3:38. 7 minutes til takeoff. I had just sprinted through an entire terminal, to visa check, through security and back to the gate in a record 13 minutes. Where is Ticket Nazi and her equally condescending sidekicks? Why does the gate’s screen now say “Santander” and not “Porto”????

Well played, RyanAir. Well played.

There is a reason why my (original) fare was a steal at only 40€ round trip (including taxes and fees!) RyanAir boasts being “The low fare airline,” and that is exactly what they are. Nothing more. Their fares stay low because they nickle-and-dime customers for everything they can. This is no secret. The shadier side of this is that they also depend a great deal on customers’ mistakes and oversights as sources of profit. They create an incredible obstacle course full of hoops to jump through if you choose to fly with them, and any mistakes along the way will cost you. I like to think I’ve mastered these hoops as a pretty experienced traveler, but in this instance I got dooped. Any other airline would have taken the blame (it was, after all, started by one of their worker’s oversights) and re-booked me free of charge, no questions asked. But RyanAir has a very different business model that essentially lacks a customer service component altogether. And their crazily low fares let them get away with it. So hear this, savvy travelers: every time you book a steal-of-a-deal flight with RyanAir, know that someone, somewhere is paying for it. Someday, it might be you!

I made it (on a much more expensive newly-purchased outbound flight) to Porto, Portugal the next morning. And I suppose it was worth all the hassle

Looking back at Porto from the port near the mouth of the Douro River

surfing couches and things of that nature

One of the greatest things about living (and traveling) in the age of the Internet is the existence of such organizations as CouchSurfing.org. Couch Surfing is an international organization that connects travelers world-wide in a variety of ways. As the name suggests, by joining, you can list an available “couch” (or bed, floor space, etc.) in your home to accommodate travelers passing through.

Apart from the accommodation aspect, Couch Surfing (CS) provides fabulous opportunities to connect with people from all over the world within your own local community. There are specialized sub-groups within each city for connecting people with similar interests, like photography, cycling and cooking. I joined CS Bilbao’s Hiking and Rural excursion group back in November, and it has been one of the best things about my time here thus far. It’s a priceless chance to practice my Spanish and learn more about the Basque Country while making friends with like-minded, active people. A wonderful fusion!

Last week on Saturday, the group organized a trip to Orduña, a small town nestled in the mountains about 25 miles southwest of Bilbao. It was a great international mix of Bilbao-based Couch Surfers: a lot of Spaniards and Basques, a couple Germans, a Costa Rican and three Americans.

We arrived in Orduña and headed straight for Belatz Gorri, a tavern known for it’s national award-winning tortilla española (one of my fave foods in the world too…bonus!) It would seem more logical to wait until after the hike to treat ourselves, but we were forewarned that, especially on a Saturday, there might not be any left if we didn’t get it right away.

"Yeeeeah, we're gonna need 23 orders of your finest tortilla española, por favor!"

With sunshine on our faces and tortilla in our bellies, we began our ascent of the mountains surrounding the village. We took a break to take in the breathtaking views of the canyon and waterfall:

Panoramic view of the Orduña valley

El Salto del Nervión

We stopped for some lunch on the balcony at the canyon’s edge:

…and then had an impromptu magic show performed by the very talented and hilarious Asier:

We got side-tracked by a slack-lining sesh on our way back down:

Anja, slack-lining like a boss

It was a day full of great conversation and laughter in the great outdoors. And that is my kind of day.

the concept of carnival

car·ni·val

[kahr-nuh-vahl] noun.

1. a traveling amusement show, having sideshows, rides, etc.

2. any merrymaking, revelry, or festival, as a program of sports or entertainment: a winter carnival.

3. the season immediately preceding Lent, often observed with merrymaking.

     Up until two years ago, when I came to Europe for the first time, I would have defined “carnival” as something similar to either #1 or #2 above, probably with some added mention of a ferris wheel and cotton candy. I knew nothing of this third definition of “carnival” and its significance in so much of the world.

     Carnival is best-known here as the week before Lent begins when students are free from school, many people are free from work, towns hold lots of special parades, concerts and events, everyone–I mean EVERYone: kids, parents, grandparents, etc.–gets completely decked out in a variety of costumes. To say that the Carnival tradition of craziness has manifested itself nicely in post-dictatorship Spain is an understatement. It seems people here live for this week…or at least that it tides them over until the madness of Spain’s summer fiesta season begins in June.

     When I studied abroad in Spain in 2010, some of my classmates were on top of their research on the topic way beforehand and had already scoped out the best place to spend this week of craziness in mid-February: a week for which we, like most students in Europe, didn’t have class. So a bunch of us headed way south to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, the capital of the Canary Islands. The Carnival festivities there are known to be some of the very best in the world; many say they’re second only to the world-famous Carnival in Rio de Janiero. You can read a lot more about the Las Palmas Carnival festivities (which I highly recommend, btw) in my post about it here.

A snippet of nightlife in Las Palmas during Carnival week:

     This year, I was in Bilbao for the Carnival festivities. I can’t say that they were intense as those that I experienced in Las Palmas, but it needs to be taken into account that Carnival brings forth its own scale of “crazy” to which little else can be compared. If on this already-ultra-crazy scale, Las Palmas was a 10, Bilbao still easily qualifies for a 7. That’s pretty impressive considering the 20-or-so degree difference in temperatures (in Fahrenheit, of course ) because the biggest and BAMF-est fiestas on this continent take place almost completely outdoors.

I’ve compiled a few video clips from the Carnival action here in Bilbao:

And a few snapshots as well:

Carnival festivities in Plaza Nueva, Bilbao.

Party rockin' in Bilbaaaaao tonight

One of several Alice and Mad Hatter pairs

North Dakotans have feelings too

While those of you back State-side enjoy one of the warmest winters in recorded history, Europe has been experiencing quite the opposite: lower-than-normal temps and some of the heaviest snowfall on record.

Places that don’t normally see any snow all year have been witnessing steady snowfall through the past week, from here in Bilbao all the way over and down to Rome.

some of my students enjoying a rare opportunity to have a snow fight during their coffee break

You can check out some great photos of the frigid winter all over Europe by clicking here.

For the purposes of this post, there are two types of people in the world: those from notoriously cold locales (such as North Dakota) and those from mild or warm locales. We will call them Frosties and Toasties, respectively. Sometimes a Frosty such as myself goes to live in a Toasty place. But even Toasty places have their colder days. On days like those, this conversation occurs thousands of times between Frosties and Toasties all over the world:

Frosty: “Brrr! I’m sooo cold!”

Toasty: “Pffft! Whaddya mean, you’re cold!?! You’re from (insert name of Frosty locale here)! This is probably “t-shirt weather” for you!!!”

Frosty: “Umm, not exactly. I mean it still feels cold to me just like it feels cold to you…”

Toasty: “Nah, you should be used to it! You probably have thicker skin!”

I’ve experienced this conversation on numerous occasions in my life, but it has occurred with record-breakingly high incidence over the past week or so, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves. It seems I’m the only Frosty for miles around, and all these Toasties just can’t believe that I would be able to feel the cold like they do.

Yes, I’ve felt -40 degree wind gusts several times in my life. Yes, I’ve shoveled piles and piles of snow and scraped ice from my windshield hundreds of times. But you know what the difference is between cold back home and cold here? The exposure. Back home, we’re prepared and equipped for the cold, and we limit our exposure to the outside air (house–>car –>work–>car–>house) because it can be truly dangerous to be out for too long. I would venture to say that my exposure to cold has been, overall, higher in the past week than in any week of North Dakota winter in my life. Though the temps may not be as low here, I feel overall less equipped for lower temps here and am exposed to cold for much longer periods of time. Why?

1. I walk everywhere. A few years ago, I got a new car and had an autostart system installed. I started my car from my bedroom, waited 10 minutes or so, walked outside and into a nice, pre-warmed vehicle. Then I drove to where I was going, got out and walked another minute or so in the cold before I was back in a nice, warm building. I was only in the cold for a minute or two at a time.

As mentioned in a previous post, I now average about 3 miles on foot each day just in commuting and errand-running. That means that even if I’m power-walking, I’m out in the elements for at least 40 minutes each day.

2. It rains a lot here. Rain makes you wet. Being wet makes you cold a lot faster.

3. The heating systems in buildings here pale in comparison to those back home. The school I work at is miserably drafty, especially on Mondays after the heaters have been off all weekend. Then I come home to my very typical Spanish apartment with one tiny heater on the wall in each room, right below the window. Most of the heat, then, goes up and out the non-insulated window. On some days, it seems the only moment of the day that I’m sufficiently warm is when I’m in the shower.

To my Fellow Frosties: keep fighting the good fight. We’re tough, sure, but we feel the crappy, cold rainy days just like anybody else.

To the Toasties: You mean well, I’m sure. This repeated convo is just part of normal small talk that occurs between two people who grew up in very different climates. Just think about it next time you jump down a Frosty’s throat for making a comment about an unusually cold day. You’re most likely not the first person to think of these comments, and they get old fast.

Whatever your background, if you’re like me, you’re just looking forward to the day very soon when the weather will turn and we’ll be soaking up the sun once again

Playa Ereaga, Algorta, Spain (October 2011)

a pain in the mane

I was a Groupon virgin until last week, when I decided it was time to “get my group on” with this deal:

Translation: for just 25€ (a 130€ value), I could get my hair colored, cut and styled….PLUS, I could choose from one of three “special treatments,” and for fun they were throwing in a cranial massage and a shine treatment finish. Sign me UP!

I bought the Groupon and walked the few blocks from my apartment to the salon to make my appointment. It was a small place–just 3 hair styling “stations” and two stylists working. I walked in, told them I’d bought a salon package on Groupon and asked if I could make an appointment for the next day, Saturday. ¿Sí, muy bien. A las 10:00 o 11:00?”  I took the 11:00 appointment and was on my way, skipping along happily at the thought of the steal of a deal I had just scored.

I woke up excited for the day on Saturday, reviewed my Spanish haircut vocabulary (bangs, layers, blend, trim) over breakfast and headed out the door. When I got to the salon, I was immediately taken aback by the number of women inside. There were the same two stylists that had been there when I made the appointment, but now about five additional women were there as well. “Surely, some of them must work here,” I thought. I stood there shaking out my umbrella and wondering if anyone was going to acknowledge my presence. Nope. I figured any minute one of the stylists would approach me to get my name and “check me in” for my appointment in some way, as is standard in every salon I’ve ever been to. Nope. 3 minutes. I’m quickly realizing that the only two people doing any sort of work are the two ladies I saw yesterday. There’s another older lady aimlessly pacing to and fro between them, but everyone else in this joint is a client. Ooooh boy.

5 minutes. One of the stylists looks up from her work and motions to the only empty chair in the joint, telling me to sit. The chair she has deemed as mine is an abandoned stylist station chair that sits opposite the three still-in-use stations, still bolted to the floor, facing a large mirror. The table and drawers have been removed, so now it is just a chair, off by itself, facing a mirror. I am now sitting in a hairdresser chair, looking at myself in a mirror. Yesss.

10 minutes. Ok, I’m annoyed, but this was a really good deal. I’m gonna stick it out. Gathering from many experiences I’ve had as a retail customer in this country, I don’t even think the term “customer service” exists. I just need to keep that in mind. I become complacent and read the last 18 hours of posts on my Twitter feed.

20 minutes. I notice the older pacing lady is now assisting with washes. I wonder if she’s one of the stylist’s mothers. I figure this is a family business. I assume the staircase at the back of the salon leads to their home flat. I find this very European and cute.

30 minutes. I realize the two sylists are cycling clients through a haphazard (albeit relatively efficient) chain of highlights, rinse/treatment, cut and dry/style: starting one thing on one client while the other waits for the next stage to be complete, and so on. I think about how, “where I come from,” you have a stylist to yourself for the 2 hours or so of your cut/color/style. I wonder what my old stylist did during the downtime. I consider that this crazy hair-styling assembly line may actually be a better system.

40 minutes. The elder, pacing, hair-washing woman approaches me-. “Sweet, my turn!” I think to myself. She doesn’t even look at me. Instead, she turns to a small crockpot-looking device filled with green goo on the table next to me. I didn’t even notice it until now. She walks up to the mirror directly in front of my chair, stirs the green go with a wooden stick, scoops some out, and slaps it on her face. Without a flinch, she rips it off, ridding her face of any lady ‘stache that may have been. This is happening 2 feet in front of me. Our legs are touching. I wonder if she’s crazy. No one else in the salon seems to be fazed by her public display of her personal hygiene routine. Am I just that uptight?

50 minutes. Lady Beard has finished her facial wax self-treatment. I frantically refresh my Facebook and Twitter newsfeeds in desperation for news from “normal” outside world.

60 minutes. Ok. That’s it. I said I’d only wait an hour. Gotta draw the line somewhere….I mean, I had an appointment, after all! It was an hour ago! I prepare my “storming out speech.”

70 minutes. …but what good is storming out going to do? They’re not really concerned about “bad reviews” in Spain, and they’re sure as shiz not gonna care if some American girl gets her brugas in a bundle over waiting an hour for their services. If I leave, I’m going to have to try to get a refund from Groupon AND go back to the drawing board on getting my hair done.

80 minutes. It’s 12:20pm. Some girls with noon appointments swing by and ask how long it will be until the stylists are ready. The stylists tell them about 30 minutes. They smile and say they’re going to run to the market and be back later.  NOOOO PROBLEMA !!! So…are appointment times just a suggestion? Like…a suggestion of when you should wake up in order to make it to the salon an hour or so AFTER your actual appointment time? Cuz I missed that memo. Maybe this is something that should be included in Spanish culture classes, you know, right along with the info about the Spanish siesta and the dos besos (two kisses) greeting custom. I have a Spanish minor, after all. I should be in on these things.

90 minutes. That’s it. This is stupid. I’m hungry. I’m leaving. In five minutes.

95 minutes. One of the stylists approaches me, identifies me as “The Groupon one” and leads me to her chair. I surrender and hope for the best.

The appointment itself went pretty smoothly. They have to know what they’re doing with the way they run that place. It may be a little bit, uh…below my standard of “normal,” but somehow they make it all work.

And at the end of the day, like they say, “it’s just hair!”

post-salon: touched-up highlights, no more split ends, significantly lower blood pressure

how to run 100 miles in 25 days

When I made this goal a few weeks ago, I thought it would be kinda hard. Now here I am, reflecting upon its completion and thinking I should have set the bar a little higher. That’s not to say there weren’t moments of difficulty, but it really wasn’t nearly as challenging as I originally anticipated.That said, I did learn a few things from this arbitrary challenge I gave myself, and I’d like to pass them on to those of you who might be considering any sort of running goal.

So here it is, my best non-expert (but spoken-from-experience) advice on how to run 100 miles in 25 days:

1. Get out the door. It’s always the hardest part.

“…but it’s raining/cold/locust-infested outside!”

“…but I’m tired/hungover/incapacitated with desire to finish this season of (insert show here)!”

There are always a million excuses not to work out, but I can’t think of a single time I’ve regretted a workout AFTER the fact. So shut your face. Lace your shoes. Get out the door.

2. Plan ahead. One of my plans for this month was to break my PR for distance in a single run, which actually didn’t happen (hey, I need a goal for February anyway, right?) Part of that was due to a realization of a few logistics that need to be worked out. A rule of thumb for extended workout sessions is that you should have some sort of refueling replenishment after about an hour of constant exercise. That means you have to carry it with you, or have somewhere to make a pit stop for replenishment. Finding places to put things when you have to run with them for a couple of hours can be problematic, so I’m planning to invest in a running belt.

For now, I’ll keep lacing my house keys onto my shoes:

Yes, these bulky metal shanks are really my house keys. This is how most keys look here, despite it being 2012. Very "Harry Potter", no?

3. Yoga mat + rolling pin + ibuprofen + Salonpas® = effective, simple pain relief and prevention. To elaborate: get a good yoga mat for post-workout stretching sessions (and some basic yoga moves, if you please.) The rolling pin is an acceptable, cheap alternative to the ripoff known as The Stick which will come in handy for working out knots in calves, hamstrings after long runs. Ibuprofen will help minimize the post-run inflammation in your muscles. Finally, Salonpas® are these magical little stickers of joy that you can just slap on any sore muscle and get serious relief within minutes. Their topical analgesics will go to work to relieve pain in the area which subsequently allows the muscles to relax. Ahhh, feels good.

Sports injuries are a big deal, and I’m no expert on them. I’m also lucky enough to have never suffered from a major one. Now that I’ve all but discredited myself on the issue, let me state my strong opinion: I think a lot of people tend to underestimate their exercise abilities, overreact to exercise-related aches and pains and then use said pains as an excuse to quit. I’ve had my share of knee and foot pain, muscle soreness, etc., but in my experience it has worked to push through it…with care. You should obviously exercise caution when you start any new type of exercise program, but there are lots of easy, cheap ways to prevent, and later treat, the aches and pains that are bound to come when you exert yourself more than you’re accustomed to.

4. Regular workout playlist facelifts. Some of you run without music in your ears, and that is truly remarkable to me. Music entertains and encourages me through every minute of every run. I guess if you don’t need it, kudos, but if you do, I recommend updating your playlist weekly-ish to keep it new and exciting. Here are some additions from my most recent playlist facelifts:

1- Victor Magan – Love is a Gamble

2-Nadia Ali – Rapture (Avicci Remix)

3- Andy Avrosa – Sunset

4- Thomas Gold & Matthias Menck - Everybody Be Somebody

5- Livin’ Joy – Don’t Stop Movin’ (90s throwback FTW!)

5. Make it a game. Check out my last post on how I made running into a game to overcome discouraging thoughts.

6.  Get over yourself. Millions of people run. Many of them run more than you and I ever will. Be inspired by other runners, but don’t think you’re awesome or superior for running. It’s a choice, and a great one at that, but just be grateful that you’re physically able to run and that you’ve tapped in on one of life’s secret pleasures. Run for YOU. It’s one of the best feelings in the world to love to run, and some people will never know that. Make it your goal to encourage others and appreciate the gift you’ve found.

Happy (running) trails to you…until we meet again!

c’mon, let’s play the running game!

Note: In case you missed my last post, I decided to run 100 miles in 3.5 wks in the month of January, taking 2 days off/week. As of today, I’m at 80 total miles since January 5th, and I plan to finish ahead of my goal sometime this weekend

A common complaint about running long distances is that it gets “boring” after the first mile or two. I can honestly say I don’t relate with that sentiment. Rather, I find in long runs a feeling of solitude and a sort of meditative state of thought I’ve not been able to replicate any other way. I suspect many runners share in this sentiment; it’s what keeps us putting one foot in front of the other, right?

Perhaps it’s helpful that I got my start in running while living in arguably one of the most uninspiring/unmotivating cities on earth: Grand Forks, North Dakota.

Sorry, GF…what you lack in aesthetics, you make up for in…party rockin’?

party rockin' at Springfest 2011 in GF, ND

I used to run the same square-shaped loops from my apartment, past the foul-smelling Simplot potato plant, around campus and back, venturing as far as downtown GF (slight scenic upgrade) or along the river path (nature? what?) for longer runs. And let’s not forget the freeeeezing temps! I ran my very first long distance runs in the dead of winter, trudging through fresh snow with negative-degree winds whipping past my face. I’m not trying to sound tough—plenty of runners do this all the time—I’m just saying it’s a small miracle that I got into running in the first place, considering I started in less-than-motivating conditions.

So clearly, living in a big, bustling city surrounded by mountains and ocean has really added a lot of excitement to my running life. I remember my first run in the city back in October: I busted out the door of our apartment building into the warm fall air and immediately fell into a brisk, steady pace. I was using Google Maps on my phone to navigate as I wasn’t very well-oriented in the new neighborhood yet, and within a couple of blocks I realized that order to get down along the river, where it’s a lot more “culturally appropriate” to be running, I would have to take one of the narrowest, busiest, steepest streets of Bilbao: Calle Iturribide. Iturribide begins with a  descent of 6 flights of stairs (about 60 total steps), followed by a 300-foot downhill 3/4-mile plunge into the old quarter of the city. And what goes down…must go back UP on the return trip! Hills were a pretty foreign concept for my flat-lander self, so I became very quickly overwhelmed. On the return trip, I’d have to take on that elevation change in reverse…every time.  Not only was it really steep, it was full of people and cars and dogs and…jeez, how was I gonna do this on a regular basis?! Overwhelmed, I halted to a walk in order to navigate through the mess of crowds and traffic until I reached the broad river promenade. I remember feeling really discouraged and almost wishing for the boring but open, unobstructed running paths I knew back home.

Calle Iturribide:

View Larger Map

If there was any hope for me to keep up running, I had to change my perspective.

So I’ve made it a game. An obstacle course of sorts.

In this game, the people in crowds become the moving walls of a maze. You musn’t make eye contact with any of them, as their looks of confusion and/or disapproval in your running can be distracting, but you must be keenly aware of what type of wall they are. Are they a predictably-moving and relatively forgiving wall (teens through middle-aged people)? Are they a miniature, erratically- moving, delicate wall (small children and dogs)? Are they an equally delicate, but slow-moving, taller wall (elderly people)? You need to remain very focused for the crowd-weaving stage of the game, always aiming for maximal speed with minimal crowd disturbance.

Then there are the inanimate obstacles—some are stationary and can be used to spring off of or jumped over just for fun (steps, benches, street performers’ money buckets), and others are mobile and range from mildly to extremely dangerous (cars, taxis, buses). There are other walls on wheels (cyclists) which are also sometimes found weaving through crowds, but they’re usually pretty safe to get close to as they’re likely playing the same weaving game as you, often with even greater agility.

Once you hit a wide open path, it’s time to kick back and relax into your steps until the next set of obstacles.

This game is exhilarating and rewarding: like games should be.

So, whaddya say? Why not get out there and play the running game?

10K every day

With each new year comes the idea of a fresh start: the motivation to start this, quit that, improve this, reduce that…the infamous “Propósitos del Año Nuevo,” or “New Year’s Resolutions” as we say across the pond.

I worked as a fitness instructor at the UND Wellness Center during my college career, and through that experience I gained keen insight into the most notorious of New Year’s trends: the super-swelling of gym attendance during the first month of the year, followed by a sharp drop-off as early February. As someone who maintains a relatively consistent activity level throughout the year, I just see January as the time of year when going to the gym can be more stress-inducing than stress-relieving.

So my “anti-resolution”, for January at least, was to NOT purchase a gym membership (I pay month by month) at the fabulous Gimnasio Alhóndiga, but instead to run outside more (ironically during the coldest and rainiest month of the year) and become more creative and resourceful with home workouts.

To have something more specific to work toward, I rather arbitrarily decided that I want to run 100 miles (or 161 km for those of you from countries which have more sensibly adopted the metric system) by the end of January. I truly don’t consider this a particularly impressive goal, but it will be a PR for me I suppose. If you think I’m just being modest, you need to read Born to Run (hugely inspirational for me), and then my piddly 100 miles will seem trivial to you as well.

I started this venture on January 5th, and since I usually do my longer runs on the weekend, I’ve decided that I will polish off the 100 miles on Sunday the 29th, probably with some sort of epic odyssey run to break my PR of miles run in a day (currently 13.1; a half marathon.) I’ve decided to take two days off each week, so that gives me exactly 19 separate runs to total 100 miles–an average of 5.3 miles per run. As you can see from my low-tech tracking method below, I’ve got some work to do before the 29th:

mileage tracking, low-tech version

*Note: I also use MapMyRun.com as a more”high-tech” tracking method to ensure distance accuracy and to plan my routes. This calendar simply serves as a visual encouragement (it’s taped to my closet) to get out and hit the pavement so I get to use my über-cool hot pink pen to record my accomplished mileage.

You can also see that I’m tracking hiking miles as well, but that’s just for fun–the only miles that will count toward my 100 mile goal are those that I run. I’ve also recently decided to track the amount that I walk each day for commuting, errands, meeting up with friends, etc. I already know that the average is somewhere around 3 miles per day, but I’m curious to monitor it more closely and get an accurate total.

By a very conservative estimate, after adding up 100 miles run + X miles hiked + X miles walked, I will cover over 200 miles on foot in the month of January. That works out to an average of 6.7 miles (over 10km) every single day.

I’ve run in a few half marathons over the past couple of years, and I’m excited to have another one lined up for this March in Santander, Spain: a coastal city just a bit west of Bilbao. I’m also flirting with the idea of running my first full marathon at the end of April in Madrid.

What goals do you have for staying active in 2012?