Running Vacation February ‘08

While I’m sitting on my butt on a Friday night watching live internet coverage of the Bonita New Zealand Ironman and looking for Bob-O, I thought I’d type some drivel about what I did on my winter vacation. Incidentally, as I type, Iron Bob just finished biking after 6 hours and 19 minutes and change. In drizzly rain, which is not what he wanted, but at least he made it to T2. And now as he runs a frickin’ marathon, I’ll continue to tap at the keyboard, waiting for still more snow to hit the northeast tonight. And hear ‘Come On Eileen’ for the 73rd time on the live feed.

Anyway, this post’s title is misleading, it wasn’t really a ‘running vacation’ I went on. Actually, it was a vacation with some running thrown into it. And a little swimming that wasn’t much to write home about, but you know I will.

So I headed down to Palm Beach, and that was peachy. As I mentioned before, the weather was mostly rainy with scattered sun that arrived right about when you gave up expecting any nice weather at the end of the day. So I was at the mercy of the typical hotel gym with rickety Cybex machines and an evil treadmill that had a 20-second lag between the time you pressed the ‘increase speed’ button and it actually happening. The first time I got on the treadmill I inadvertently increased the speed to a 6:20 mile; now maybe I can do that on dry land, but not on some George Jetson-inspired Curse-of-J.W. -Marriott treadmill. So after nearly flying off the back end, I managed to get the speed down a bit and continue yet another mind-numbing run in another windowless room in another chain hotel, a room with more mirrors than the Playboy Mansion.

Well, there’s not much to say about Palm Beach other than it helps to be white, elderly and have lots of money to live there. Oh, and I already discussed the weather, that’s perfectly OK. I was informed at one point that there’s a new ordinance banning male runners from running shirtless (not so sure about female runners), which doesn’t get me hot and bothered, but makes me glad I don’t live there year-round. I don’t care one way or another about that law, but if it hits 90 degrees and 90% humidity on a July day I’d like the option to remove that one piece of clothing to avoid death by chafing.

Oh, I forgot to complain about the flight down to FL. Three hours with the screamingest toddler ever conceived, in the seat behind me. It was so bad the mother was apologizing to the entire passenger list every five minutes. And of course, the child belonged to one of the most dysfunctional couples ever to come out of Long Island, who argued loudly with each other in an unbelievably ‘fuggedaboutit’-inflected accent about how best to shut the kid up. I thought to myself: if they were my parents, I’d be screaming, too.

So I earnestly prayed to every deity I could think of before the eight hour flight to São Paulo that it would not be another hellish experience. The cards are always stacked against you (rude people, obese people who can’t fit in the seats and spill over into yours, uncontrollable kids, surly airline employees, non-existent legroom, surgery/mealtime), but surprisingly, and happily, the trip turned out OK. Thank you, Ahura Mazda.

Brazil’s Atlantic coast is so far east that it’s two hours ahead of the U.S. east coast, believe it or not, so the noon departure meant landing at 10PM local time. And to start things off on a freaky note, as soon as I got to the hotel in downtown São Paulo, it was under a lunar eclipse.

All the guide books tell you Brazil is dangerous, in a benign sort of way; so keep all doors locked, don’t show anyone a laptop, keep your jewelry at home, copy your passport, AND get a tetanus and/or yellow fever shot. Well, I didn’t have time to get my shots, but I was ready for any potential man-made crime. I’ll just let you know now that I would not become the victim of any crime other than getting a frightening eyeful of thong abuse later at the beach.

Well, more later, including Brazil fun facts, and why Rio is runner heaven (except for the heat). Gotta listen to ‘Come On Eileen’ again, and make sure Iron Bob gets through that final 42K distance.

(Update: the deities heard my prayers again, no more Dexy's Midnight Runners on the live feed from NZ. NOW it's Nelly F. and Timba and Gwen as the winners come through... oh well)