The ruins will not be on tomorrow's route.

I’m cycling to work again tomorrow. It’s been months since the last attempt, but the weather looks good and I’m getting some lovely positive peer pressure. But just in case I want to bail in the morning, a list of reasons why I should:

10. The vertical shower stall at the office means I won’t have to shave my legs tomorrow – yay!

9. No chance of a repeat of today’s conversation on the tube, overheard by the 25 year old dude and his roommate next to me (all of us, armpit to armpit): “Ah, the lovely smell of Old Spice”. “Really? I can only smell cedar chips.” “Yeah, but just wait until it’s raining again.” “Yeah, the worst is those Barbour coats, they just waft.” I almost woozed just listening to them.

8. The Thames.

7. Westminster.

6. Two pounds and thirty pence (X 1.60 dollar conversion) X2. That pays for lunch, every day. Well, at least tomorrow.

5. Forces early arrival and on-time departure from the office on account of traffic.

4. Get to play “Frogger” with real life sample sizes. (Music optional.)

3. Chance to work on my British swear words and slang (directed only at what promises to be evil cabbies and double-decker bus drivers)

2. Enjoyment of being an “amateur” pedaling at my pace while annoyed London cyclists zip around me and huff. Nothing more fun than pissing off an angry commuter.

1. The look on the guys faces at the office when I finally show up. The smugness of the Boy Mafia does wear thin after a while….

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 25,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 9 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

What we should all feel like after a run (Chicago, New Year's Day 2012)

It’s January 8.  We’re just over one week into the new year, and for most of us, that means we’ve already broken our New Year’s Resolutions at least once.  I gave up on resolutions a few years ago, but this year, I’ve committed to a few simple things:

1. I will complete an Olympic distance triathlon by June.  It might be in England.  It might be somewhere else.  But I’ll have a training plan in place by the end of January, and I’ll be ready by June.

2. I will run a 5k in every place I visit this year.  I took 14 trips last year, and was only able to run in a few of them.  This year, I’m running everywhere I go.

3. Every “add on” or “personal” trip that I take in combination with work will involve something active.  I’m going to Estonia in March, and I’ll go hiking.  I’ll be in Barcelona in October, and who knows what that will bring.  But I’ll be diligent about making the most of the adventure side of my travel opportunities this year.

4. I will run a few iconic races wherever the mood takes me.  That means I’m already signed up for The British 10k.  I might sign up for The Little Beaver (name notwithstanding, it’s relatively close, but we’ll see) or the Paris-Versailles 10 miler in September.

5. I will stretch. I will strengthen.  Three days per week, I will do the core workout which will keep me healthy.  I will not get hurt this year!

6. I will run a great trail race by the end of 2012.  I will train right, but I will run it, nonetheless.  It may only be a 5k, but that’s okay.  I’m in – because the most fun I’ve had in the last few years I had on a trail.

These are simple goals, but I’m not pretending they’re small.  Most people don’t walk into their new year and put an Olympic on the calendar – but I know who I am, and I know that’s what I need to get moving.  I also know that there’s probably going to be one of these goals that won’t get met – and that’s okay.

Because here’s what I learned a long, long time ago:  I have to have a goal to keep moving.  I have to have FUN to keep moving.  It has to get easier to keep moving.

These are simple rules for me.  You might have some which work for you, too.  Maybe you have to run with others (or alone).  Maybe you have to swim in a pool (or a lake) to keep moving.  Maybe it has to kick your ass (or be easy to train) for you to keep doing it.  The question is this: do you KNOW what it takes to keep you moving?

I was walking around doing errands today and got to thinking that  all of us know, intuitively, at some point in our life, what we’re good at.  And so none of us usually chooses a career we’re BAD at for our life’s work.  We tend towards the things we do well – so we don’t keep hitting ourselves in the head each day.  But for some reason, a lot of us seem to choose workouts or sports which are really hard for us.  And yet, we keep coming back.  I don’t know about you – but if those things didn’t get easier for me, I wouldn’t keep doing them.  I was thinking about a story my friend Rich told about learning to snowboard.  Rich (who has no idea I’m telling this story, sorry, Rich!) went snowboarding one year.  Rich is – by all accounts – a pretty fabulous athlete.  He’s the Steve Nash of our football games on Sundays (which full disclosure, I haven’t played in about 4 years).  But still.  He’s a natural.  And yet, Rich tried snowboarding once in Colorado, and after a day of getting killed (maybe it was even two) he turned in the board, and went back to two footed snowfun.  Why?  Because it was counter-intuitive. It was impossible to master.  He couldn’t do it.  And it wasn’t fun.  (At least that’s the recall I have of the conversation).  And I couldn’t blame him – why would you continue to try something that was SO. DAMN. HARD – if it wasn’t fun?

For a lot of us, though, the simple reality is that all of the new sports we take up – if we’re not born athletes, and not in peak condition – will feel SO. DAMN. HARD.  So how do you know when to turn it in, and when to keep with it?  What motivates you to keep moving in that case?  It’s a question worth asking – especially at this time of year, when we’re all setting ourselves up for Big Goals.

Well, I have at least one suggestion which will help.  The simple reality is this:  if you are starting a new fitness program this month, it’s probably going to suck a little.  So for the next 60 days, if you’re starting something new, ask yourself this question:  if I could BREATHE while I was doing this, would I enjoy it?  If I was STRONGER would I enjoy it?  Because for the first two months of your new running, walking, skiing, hockey-ing, zumba-ing, bar method-ing, yoga-ing approach, your muscles will burn and you’re going to sweat and you’re going to wish that it was just a little bit easier.  But it won’t get easier – unless you stick with it.  So ask yourself:  if I could breathe, or if my legs weren’t jelly, would I maybe like this?  And if the answer is just a little bit – just a teeny bit “yes”, then keep your ass where it is, and keep on trying.

Understand that it’s going to be hard these first 60 days, and that’s okay.  But give it that time – and if it’s not fun after you’ve started to recondition your body, and to get back into it – then you can walk away.  But until then, you’ve got one goal – to give it a good try, and see if it gets easier.  And, since I’m giving some advice here, let me offer you one other suggestion:  get a log.

And I’m going to get even more radical.  Get an actual paper book.  Go to the grocery, or your favorite paper store, or Runner’s World, or whatever, and buy an actual paper book, where you can write down the detail on your workout.  Years ago, when I first started running, I did this, and it was the best thing I ever did.  I knew what I wore and what temperature I ran at. I knew end of day workouts were hard, but with friends, they were easier than morning workouts alone.  I knew running hungover was hard but I still knew that I had done it, and I could look back on it and be proud of it.  I had a record of what I’d done, and that record was just as motivating on the bad days as any number on a scale or goal in the future.  So consider getting a log.  And when you’re at Day 45 and you want to give up, just pull up a few of your log entries, and see how much fun you had, even when it was hard.

If the last 4 weeks are anything to go by, I’ll just say this about the adventure you’re about to embark on for 2012:  We will get to a day where the breathing is clearer, and our legs are less heavy.  We will feel stronger and ready to keep going after we thought we would be finished.  And until then, we need to give ourselves the room to go slower than everyone else.  We should not keep up with anyone in these next 60 days.  We should be able to talk to ourselves, or our friends, or the squirrels – out loud, without gasping for breath – if we want to keep moving.  We will invest in the long-term strategy to get back on the path.  And in 60 days, we just might be ready to call ourselves a Habit.

I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to it.

See you on the path….

Yep. Just stop, for a moment, and savor with me the awesomeness of that statement.

Can you feel it?

There was a little flutter as I started that old routine. Capris. Shirt. Hat? No hat. Favorite socks. Those new running shoes I bought in July? Yep. Time to bust them out. Double knot. Where’s my ID? Cash? Keys? Lock it up. Start the timer. Five minute warm-up, walking up the hill.

Those people on the street don’t know how long it’s been. They can’t see the ten years I ran before ever getting hurt. And the two years of slogging and fixing to get back. Chin up, girl. Chin up. Rounding the corner by the tube, and it’s gorgeous. There are fall leaves just waiting to swirl around my steps. Okay, so it’s a six minute warmup. I’m waiting for the path.

And then I’m across the road, and I want to run, but I’m smart. Two years of an empathetic but instructional running doc and physio – two years with guys who taught me smart rehab – and 8 years of time with great running coaches, and I know enough to start this one on a walk. So I walk. There’s soft, just barely wet ground under my feet. A well-worn running path circles Clapham Common and it’s kindly telling me to take my time. Step where I want. There’s no crown to manage, no branches to avoid.

And then, that little magic watch does its thing. And I’m running again. Only two minutes to start. The stride is the same – or is it? Step lighter? Maybe a little. Maybe it’s the 25 pounds gone that makes it seem simpler. But it’s cautious too. Roll through the toe, push off. But pace the breathing, just like old times – breathe in in time with each step – one, two three (in, in, in), one two (out, out)…wondering now how I have the stamina even for that, having not seen a run in 9 months. How is that possible?

And then it’s merciful beeping. Turns out, just as challenging as it should be. The common is busy with people getting yelled at – by soccer coaches, by parents, by drill-camp instructors who make me, just for a moment, miss my running coaches. I round through the gazebo, checking my watch (I’m running again) and head for home. After all, there’s only 30 minutes on today, with 5 warm up and 5 cool down. I resist the urge to beat up on myself. It’s 30 minutes more than I’ve done in a long time.

I motor back through the park towards the tube. It’s thinking about raining now, but I don’t care. I have a red face, and that hair that’s always in my eyes – but hasn’t been a problem for awhile (because how bad is it when you’re sitting still?) is suddenly real annoying.

I trek home, stopping for water. As I turn into my apartment and stop for a stretch, my watch keeps beeping. For the next 20 minutes, as I putter and putz, it beeps at me, every 3 – then every two minutes. It’s a quiet, but insistent reminder of the celebration a long time coming.

I turn off the watch, and think for a minute of the countless weekends I’ve spent in the last ten years, doing just this. Sailing through a park on heavy feet – but with some of the best friends I could ask for. I miss them today, but today life is uncomplicated and happy. I ran. It didn’t hurt. I’ll do it again.

Sometimes, the simple joy in grasping that one thing just out of reach is more powerful than anything you could have imagined.

See you on the path.

Here in London, it’s been a busy week. Last Monday I successfully navigated the ride to the office on my bike without getting killed (and only getting lost twice). Wednesday I took off for Sweden for work, and spent the weekend exploring beautiful Stockholm.

I must say that Stockholm was gorgeous – water everywhere and an incredible looking city – but the golf course we played on Saturday took the cake.

You might recall that in my former life, I played a bit of golf. In fact, I played a lot for awhile, until training took up my Saturdays. But lately, I’ve been off the course. So the chance to play in Sweden sounded super cool.

And play we did. I managed to hit the first few drives nice and straight, and even hit my irons well. And then, disaster! I realized rather quickly that the last time i had walked 18 holes, I was very poor and in much better shape. By the fifth hole, I was gasping to keep up with the boys (one of whom has about 8 inches on me, the other who rides his bike to and from work every day.) I was definitely behind.

And that was an okay thing. As my colleague pointed out, it was a great way to spend a Saturday – walking around a course, getting actual exercise, and having a good time. I wasn’t hitting the ball well, but I was sweating, and for the first time in awhile, I could actually claim that golf was a workout!!!

Saturday morning I was up early to explore the city – and by early, I mean “five hours after the sun came up” – I left the hotel at 9. And in a good 90 minutes, I walked about four miles, took dozens of photos, and worked up another good sweat – are you sensing a trend?

So, aside from the fact that I spent my weekend sweating through Sweden, I can honestly say it was what I needed – the chance to explore and enjoy it, and to remember that as always, anywhere new is best seen on foot (or, at worst, by boat!)

Here’s to exploring weeks, wherever you are!!!

Sure, I had the option to skip it.  But it’s an event.  And really, what else did I have to do?  So I looked.  William and Kate were scheduled to ride down a well-publicized route which was bordered on at least one side by a large park, and on another side by loads of side streets. I can read a map.  I can ride the tube.  How hard can getting close (where there were miles upon miles of access?) be? 

Oh, silly, silly girl.

This, this is the story of a day that was all about finding another way, making friends, and occasionally reaping the benefits of some good planning.

Yesterday, before leaving the office, I’d printed off the official “schedule” of events and the procession route.  Last night, I pulled out the squeaky-new guide to my new camera and figured out how to shoot in “sport mode” – because I knew today would be a day of No Second Chance.  Man was I right!

This morning, I left the house, picked up spare batteries, and walked across the river to Canary Wharf tube, hoping to shortcut the tourists by sneaking into a nearby Tube – or even hopping out at Westminster Abbey.  Plan #1 required a change when they announced over the speaker (at 9 am) that Westminster Tube was closed due to overcrowding.  Okay! I can manage that, I thought, deciding (after some map consultations) that the best bet would be to stay North of the park and hit up Charing Cross, which would dump me a bit farther away near Trafalgar Square.

Hopping off the tube at Trafalgar, I quickly jumped through security, heading South through the Square, hoping to get across.  But even at 9:30, I was hearing that the square would be locked down in 10 minutes.  Ten minutes! ACK!  I plowed across, hoping to find another exit which would let me wander freely in the streets.  Already, I was getting the sense that the Brits do things a bit different for big events.  We might require a ticket to get INTO an area in Chicago, but we’d never pen people in, and then not let them out!

After being turned away at the South end, I hauled North, then found an exit, heading down a street parallel to the Mall.  Turning left again, I went back towards the Mall, wandering until I found myself behind Clarence House.  By now it was late – 10:15 – and I consulted the schedule.  Though there were people lined up at the gates (Clarence House is where Prince Charles, Camilla, William and Henry live), I realized William had already left for Westminster. I had missed him by minutes.  And though we could see we were only a block away from the Mall, there was no guarantee that the street would be re-opened at 12:30 (as was the rumor).  After chatting with a nice boy and his dad (who had family in Winnetka), a tall Greek guy who was hanging out behind them followed me as I walked away.  Okay, so he wasn’t my type, but who was I to argue. “I’m going to follow you since you seem to have a map and know where to go” he said.  Sure, it felt a bit like the first day of law school, where you’re not sure that you want to get into the study group wtih THAT guy – but he was nice. And tall.  And I was going to Greece in two weeks. I could use his height and local knowledge to my advantage, I figured. 

We consulted the map and headed West again, finding ourselves turned away.  Should we try that alley?  Nope. People were streaming back towards us.  Alright, let’s try Picadilly.  Left we went, past The Ritz, towards Green Park.  Why was it blocked? I wondered.  It’s a huge park. It’s near the mall.  Why weren’t they letting people through?

Britain’s locked parks reared their heads again.  Green Park, with acres of open space, was locked, and thousands of people were flushing down the street (expectedly) turned away again from any attempt to get near the mall.  It was quite funny, as the police kept telling people to “get on the pavement, please” because the road was still open.  Open! What exactly did they expect with thousands of people turned away from direct access to the mall?  Goofballs, I thought.

We could hear the ceremony being broadcast in Green Park and people were climbing the walls to see over the fence and get a glimpse at the screen.  We pushed on, rushing down the North edge of Green Park to hang a left at Grosvenor’s Place (at least, I think that was it.)  We were shocked to be able to make the left. As we neared a key intersection, we were surprised, too that it was still open.

We had to make a call – stay on the left side or cross?  Suddenly, the left side started queing up and we skipped across the street.  Good thing, too, as it turned out we were already on the back side of Buckingham – and the carriages used to ferry the party back to Buckingham were leaving their homes to go get the bride, groom, and royal family.

Then, however, we were stuck again.  As we moved further South, we hit blockade after blockade.  We were still a good four blocks away from the ring aroun the palace and we needed to get close.  But how?

We doubled back, heading away from the Palace, then heading further South, then coming in from the side.  Greek made a suggestion that we  try going in.  I followed, ready to call it a day and get a pint.  But then, daylight!  We found a gap in the side of the pavement and followed it, then ran into a real blockade as angry Bobbies tried to keep people on the sidewalks.  Unfortunately, people were streaming onto the street at any point they could find, and we were standing like lemmings.  When they finally turned their backs, we all just flew through the gates, surging to the end of the block. (If 1,000 people can surge.)  With some finagling, we ended up about 30 feet from the ring around the palace (on the backside) – we were on Buckingham Gate road.

But it was only 11:45.  We were going to be here awhile.  I made friends with a lovely family in front of me, whose son was playing in the orchestra at Westminster today.  Dad later revealed he was part of the organizing committee, so when he told us the road would open up, we should have believed him.  Daughter and mom were super nice and were so courteous to be around.  Behind me there were two dapper dudes with their own champagne.  One hoisted the other on his shoulders at a point – only to confirm what we already knew – that there was nothing to see!

Above us, an adorable little girl played with a Union Jack on the balcony as thousands below her watched for some entertainment.  Finally, the guests began arriving.  It was a bit funny to see them in huge coach buses – like they were going on some bad holiday tour – but hey, I guess if you have to get 300 people to the palace when the city’s shut down, that’s the only way to do it, eh?

One of the interesting things about standing – by now it’s 12:30 – was the incredible quietness of the street.  I’m not exaggerating when I say there were thousands of people standing behind me.  Yet people were chill.  They eventually began pushing, but they all had a sense of humor.  I was standing behind some dude with (not exaggerating) a 3 foot high periscope made out of a cardboard box.  It was like showing up for the playoffs and finding you’ve bought the scalped ticket behind the pole!  When we got some space for a “surge”, I was giddy with the idea I’d get around him.  Yeah right.  Again, felled by the lack of space.  But it wouldn’t matter – we still couldn’t see the balcony on the palace yet, and that was my only goal now.

We were getting antsy when suddenly, there was a mellow yell from the Bobbies – they were going to open things up, but we MUST NOT RUN.  I could feel the crowd pushing up from behind, and could only imagine what would happen if people really did run – I kept hoping there were no kids around – but really, they were everywhere.  Then we were free – space and open air, and suddenly my new friends were saying “hold on to us!” and we were walking – politely – through the open space, trying to to trip, not to be tripped on.  We rounded the edge of the palace and my friend said “we can’t get too close or we won’t see anything – gotta stay back behind the gates a bit” – they had done this before. And when I next looked – we were in what I’d call Right Center Field and her dad was dropping five buckets on the ground – BUCKETS!!! To stand on!!!  Who knew?

They graciously offered one up to me – which I promptly crunched to oblivion.  Then another. No really – they could keep it.  But my friend convinced me to step up with feet far on the edges.  I wanted to decline, but why bother?  Up I went – and up I stayed for at least 30 seconds before weight beat plastic and I toppled down.  But hey, the fun just started.  Suddenly there were fresh strawberries (Dad had picked them from the garden) and champagne (a nice lady down the way).  The balcony was open, I had a clear view, and life was GOOD!

When William and Kate came out on the balcony, I threw my camera in the air and hit the shutter button.  It was the best I could do – and I just kept shooting.  My friend took the camera briefly to get me a good shot or two (I’m sure it was she who owns the “real” good shots of the day) and we laughed as we missed the kiss. 

To be fair, from where I was standing, I could see little with the cameras up – but when people dropped their hands, suddenly the royal family was there!  I could see William and Kate – and Harry and Charles and the Queen!!  I know I’m just a dorky American but they were all there, and they were waving and it was kind of cool.

The thing about being in a big crowd is that when you don’t know what’s around you, you just sort of exist in a small bubble.  I was in that bubble here – and it was awesome.  Tonight, watching footage of the millions who were standing behind me in the plaza – I wonder about how that all went down. 

The thing about the day is this – it was very cool – but also very, very different.  There was no notice that streets would shut by a certain time. There was no clear way to get around – or to get out – of any situation you were stuck in.  I was almost penned in at least four times today, and that is something I have NEVER felt in any situation in Chicago, which hosts a fair share of events.  (I take that back – leaving the U2 show in 2009, the first night, there was no way out on the West side of the park.  But that was 60,000 people.  This was a million.) 

After the couple went back inside, I expected all routes out of the palace to open – that the millions would just stream down the Mall or go through St. James Park.  But for reasons which made no sense, we couldn’t go down The Mall. We couldn’t exit West.  There was one small exit near St. James which was open - but there really wasn’t any leaving that space.

I waited about 45 minutes – and finally confirmed an exit route with a police man and headed out.  Going through St. James Park to try to find toilets (which I could see across the lake) I found a bridge – but alas, closed again.  No getting through.  This was crowd control at its most ruthless. 

Eventually, I found my way out of the park and to a pub with a short line for the ladies.  Phew!  The transit station was open (yay!) and I hopped on the first train without incident.  It was, in the end, easy to leave once you did the leaving.

And in the end, I got what I came for – I got the experience of being a part of the wedding day  – and of capturing some great moments for posterity.  I got to represent for my friends at home – and share an “on the ground” feeling.  I had fun. I made some new friends.

Not bad for a day’s work, eh?

Becuase this is a time of “transition”, I’m living in temporary housing while sorting out the permanent parts of my life here.  Which means, for now, I’m living out of three suitcases.   Lucky for me, I’m also recovering from an amazing surgery (February 9, 8 weeks out for those who are counting) and so the only shoes which made the trip are my running shoes.  Three pairs of them, in fact.  Which are only to be used for walking.

Starting out in London dressed in “trainers” wasn’t my ideal way of doing things, but alas, it’s not the shoes as much as the healing that matters these days.  Upon departing Chicago, my doc advised me that I was free to swim and bike, but no running (as.if.) and only 30 minutes of walking twice per week until I had been cleared by a physio (or a physical therapist, as we call it in the U.S.).

Well, as one might expect, I haven’t exactly had the time in the past ten days to do that.  What I HAVE been able to do is explore my neighborhood little bits at a time.  I’ve found a way to get in some cycling with very little effort.  A coworker has given me the short list of every pool within a 10 minute walk of my office.  And I’ve found that sticking to that 30 minute limit is tough.

What I’ve also found is that, in the words of Jane Austen, “London is SO diverting!”

Diverting and not too bad a place if you want to start to move more.  Though there are millions living here, they move with alacrity – and they also know how to make the most of their commutes.  Exiting the tube is a pleasant-ish experience, and really no different than Chicago (except it seems the whole city is preparing for the Olympic sport of Get Me The Hell Out of The Tube ForthWith – and seems to think they’re being timed.)  I am proud to say I’m already mowing people down like a suburban housewife at a Target sale and I’ve only been here 10 days!

Then there’s the Cycle Hire.  Barclays, a UK Bank (I think) sponsors this local effort to put dozens of bikes at spots all over the city (and I believe there are hundreds of those spots).  For a small annual fee (or a small daily fee) you can unlock a bike, ride it to your destination, and return it.  You don’t have to worry about a bike lock, or what happens when it starts to rain – you just choose exactly when you want to ride.   What’s more – it’s casual! There is NO expectation that you show up in Lycra and clips.  And helmets? Please. Not even considered.

Talk about liberating!  As a tourist, it’s also pretty darn cool. My friend and I investigated them last Saturday to tour Hyde Park, Buckingham and Westminster on a day when I would have otherwise violated the Doc’s orders about “30 minutes max”.  And Lauren noted at day’s end that even though it took us longer to rent them (first timers) and find our final docking station (I later found a map) our feet didn’t hurt and we’d seen a TON.

It’s been one of the most pleasant surprises of London – that even though I’m chomping at the bit to do something simple and equipment-free in this transitional time, the London folks have taken care of it. They’ve just landed bikes whereever I might want them.

More than that, when there’s not bikes, there’s a giant park  outside my back door which offers dawn to dusk entertainment every day.  There are throughfares for commuters, tea houses, and great wonderful playgrounds for children.

There are, however, also something unique in my experience of life thus far – locked gardens.  In many of the squares in this city, you will find adorable, single block parks which are surrounded by Victorian homes and condos.  The parks seem beautiful from the outside – but I can’t tell you for sure because the land is private.  That’s right, private.  Unless you own property abutting the estate (or, I’d guess, are a resident of the general area) you cannot sit in the green space and have a cup of tea.

To me, this is truly a strange concept.  In the US, we have large yards (you suburbanites do, anyway) which we, as adults, tend to love.  In our cities, we have green space too (Chicago was quite good at this.)  But private parks aren’t really our thing.  We’re a “by the people, for the people” kind of place.

And so that distinction – between what’s been done with Barclays, which really has brought cycling to anyone who wants to ride and has a few pounds to spare – and these parks, which are – at some points – open and amazing – and at others, closed and just as spectacular – seems a kind of disconnect that I wasn’t really prepared for.

But, in contrast again, we have the Swimming Pond situation.  That’s right.  There are ponds.  In which people swim.  Now, I know we have them in the US but it seems strange to me, too, that these ponds are, say, in the middle of Hampstead Heath.  And even more, that there’s apparently a men’s pond, a ladies pond, and a mixed pond.  From what I’m told, they’re quite clean (though a bit cold) and offer plenty of opportunity to swim in the open.  What I’m having trouble getting my head around, though, is the idea of swimming anywhere but Lake Michigan.

Sigh.  I know, we’re spoiled in Chicago.  Our lake is gorgeous (if freezing.)  It’s tested for bacteria daily (why do I doubt this is the case in London?)  and it’s also fairly safe, what with it’s four foot-high, 3/4 long lane abutting Lake Shore Drive.

Maybe this pond will be just as good. I’m not sure.  I do know there are more than a handful of pools within two tube rides of my office, and that the local triathlon club is calling my name.  And these things, these are about to become the new anchors of my social experience.

(Apologising for the ramble, but here we go.)  Because here’s the thing:  if I’ve realized anything in these first few weeks in London, it’s that picking up stakes and moving across the pond is going to be an amazing experience.  But for awhile, anyway, it’s going to require a lot of work.  It will be work to meet new friends.   It will be work to find a routine.  It is work to simply find a physio. 

But a lot like all those races I’ve run, I’m also realizing it’s about understanding the day.  As my friend Jenny likes to say, there are “A” days, “B” days, and “C” days in racing.  Not surprisingly, the same holds true for life.  On A days, I’m finding that I catch the tube, I get in a good workout, work doesn’t last till 10 pm, and there’s something healthy in the fridge when I get home.  On “B” days, a few of those might be awry.  And on “C” days, no matter how much I want it to work, I might be failing at all of the above.

But the thing which this fish needs to remember is that the C days will be far outweighed by the Bs.  And some days, there will be an A.  I look forward to figuring out London, and to finding the As in the days to come.

 I was searching for new clothing retailers to add to the “Shop Here” list at right, and this is what greeted me at the Columbia site.  On that note, I’m headed home to play!

It started out small.  Mona collected shoes from church groups and running groups, and sent a shipment.  Then, it became a passion.  She was overwhelmed with the amount of people who wanted to help by giving their shoes a second life.  She grabbed local kids to help sort shoes in her driveway.  She held fundraisers to pay for the costs of shipping.  Her organization grew, but her passion never changed: to provide children and adults in impoverished countries a basic necessity to ensure that they could walk, run, and live free from the threat of infection.

It’s not a simple task. Mona’s operation has now reached volunteer groups in 40 states, and impacted thousands of lives.  At its core, Share Your Soles operates too, with a dignity that is important. Every pair of shoes is inspected, cleaned, washed, and polished.  Shoes with holes are thrown away – and every recipient can wear their shoes with pride.

Share Your Soles runs shoe drives with many organizations, including the Bank of America Chicago Marathon and many others.  But running the organization always takes cash to keep the shoes going to where they need to be.  It relies on volunteers for processing at its facility in Alsip, IL, and the dedication of thousands of groups around the country to gather and send shoes their way.

A $10 donation packages 50 pairs of shoes.  A few hours of donated time helps prepare hundreds of shoes for shipment.  In any case, if you’re looking for a good way to make a difference this season, Share Your Soles can give you several options.   Consider it one of your options for holiday giving, and think of it as one gift that will last far longer than our holiday season.