Life....Run With It!

The finish line!

Before the race....we are SWISS RUNNERS!

Happy and sweaty after 5.5k

Besides the obvious differences, like not being able to understand anything being announced, or the perilous, wonderous feeling of bumpy cobblestone underneath my brand new purple asics running shoes, I wasn't sure what to expect from my first 5.5K in a foreign country. Arriving on saturday afternoon, I made my way to the Baslerstadtlauf (after much contemplation have decided that this means Basel State Run) registration. Arriving in the Munsterplatz (cathedral square), there were all the normal trappings of any respectable race (giant Adidas blow up start gates, sponsor posters, gear tents), yet in Basel they contrasted with centuries old gothic architecture, stained glass, and tudor style 15th century homes. Race registration proceeded slowly yet efficiently (yay Swiss-Germans), and in no time I had my number bibs, safety pins, and nifty ear warming head bands with the name of the race.

A few hours later, after checking into the hostel on the way 0ther side of town, I found myself nervously jogging and stretching near the starting line. Waiting for my race to begin, I watched hundreds of gangly little girls take off sprinting, pony tails flying straight back, forming right angles with the ground from their vibrant gusto, speed and energy. This was truly a breath of fresh air, considering that in Geneva, I've only ever seen one group of little girls' practicing soccer, and telling other Swiss that I played since I was 5 results in the translated "Oh la la, you must be very masculine!" I breathed in the energy and excitement lingering in the air, stretched the final kinks out of my legs, and got ready to represent the Mitten in my (ok in KC's, but it's on loan) throw back Bad-Boys Piston's shirt. After the 3-2-1 countdown in German, which I won't even attempt to spell phonetically, I took off....and by took off I mean got stuck shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the pack. Once the crowd thinned out a bit, the run started off downhill, through the Marktplatz street where the finish would eventually be. There were thousands of people lining the streets, cheering "Hopp, hopp, hopp," with the occasional "allllllez," thrown in after. The course then started a climb through the city's historic old town, leveled out over a long bridge crossing the Rhine river, then back down again through the Marktplatz square. When studying the course map it looked like one big loop....but I completely lack any German literary skills, and therefore wasn't able to pick out the part which surely had said it would a two lap course. As I commenced the descent to the street we had taken off from, the dreadful "oh my God I have a whole other lap to go" feeling set in, but thankfully not for long.

Halfway across the bridge my legs started burning and getting very heavy, but I knew that once I had crossed it would be, literally, all downhill from here. Starting the descent to the finish line, I stuck out my chest and chin, pumped my arms, and let gravity and the cheers of HOPP, HOPP! do their work (all the while praying my feet would stay the course on those wobbly cobbles of stone). Happily my feet did not betray me, and I passed at least 10 people coming into the finish, and hit the stop button on my watch right as the race officials passed their paddle sensor over my bib to get my official race time. Instead of chip timing, where the plastic timing chips are connected to your shoelace, they have wires in all the race bibs which they scan as you come through the finish. I'm still debating which I prefer, having someone bending down ripping the chip off your shoe, making them a potential prime puke target, or nearly being socked in the stomach/boob with a bib sensor paddle. I continued through the finish to receive a finishers medal, a shoe bag, and a water bottle filled with some overly sugar laden drink that I promptly spit out, "fed to the street" as Julie, my running partner in crime would say (you'd think with the hundreds of drinkable fountains all over the city they would provide a little H20 but....). Leaving the race quarters, I was only mildly disappointed that there were no free bananas or bagels being handed out, as these would have made the perfect travelling breakfast/lunch/dinner and snack.

After the race, I wandered around looking for my friends in a loopy, happy, post-race daze. I felt like an excited little kid who had just got off her first rollercoaster, babbling with excitement about how fun it was. My time ended up as 28:34. In the past, I would have balked and berated myself for being too slow/too fat/too lazy, or any assortment of self disparaging comments about my "dismal" performance. And while certainly not my all-time 5K PR of 21:10, I'm taking my 28:34 and running with it, as a good baseline for a new PR. The PR of a woman who doesn't boggle the numbers of caloric mental arithmetic during the race, thinking about how many calories will be burned versus how many she has already consumed for the day. A time that is my personal best, and a self that is striving to be my personal best.... enjoying running for how it makes my mind and body feel, enjoying food for nourishment and energy, which lets me do all that I want to do, and enjoying my life that is rich and full, where the former two play a supporting role to the sweetness of relationships and a fulfilled, contented everyday existence.

3 sheets to the wind

After spending friday night alone in this old, creaky, 1700's farmhouse (along with frightening dreams of Jack the Ripper), I was none too pleased to descend the stairs saturday morning and hear loud, frightened screechy noises, coming from Flora's apartment. Two possibilities were flitting through my mind: either that a child was being tortured, or there was an angry cat behind the door. Luckily the second turned out to be true, although not so lucky for Flora's room. Apparently the cat jumped in through a small window in the kitchen, and then went ape-shit in her room....knocking over dishes, spilling bottles, and generally scratching the hell out of everything. I felt bad for not investigating more- I actually thought she was cat-sitting!

Fast forward to sunday- where one of the au pair families opened their home for me and 4 other girls to cook a "traditional American Thanksgiving," which was amazing and included all the staples (giant turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potato custard, cranberries, green bean casserole, and of course, pumpkin pie)- I returned home stuffed to the gills, and just passed out in my bed for a long Thanksgiving nap/sleep.

This morning, I woke up, took the boys to school, and came back for a powernap (napping does seem to be quite a theme for this blog...hmmmm). I woke up refreshed, rejuvenated, ready to start my day. I noticed my sheets smelled funny, and thought, "man, I must be sweating A LOT during the night...." I grabbed the duvet to remove the sheets, and then it caught my eye. Two dimpled, cylindrical little presents from the renegade cat, resting on my pretty pink sheets. I immediately went into panic mode- grabbed paper towel and disposed of the offending caca, as they would say here, then frantically tore off all my sheets and deposited them straight into the washer.

If nothing else, at least the kids (and Michelle) found this story hilarious, and now want me to tell it over and over again, getting particularly excited at the part where I am about to discover my "two little presents." Before I picked them up from school, I had taken my sheets from the dryer, leaving them in the laundry room so I could iron them later (another fun fact of European living- dryer's are small and nothing escapes unwrinkled). Me attempting to learn how to iron a sheet and duvet cover could practically be an entire entry in itself, suffice to say I almost scorched myself, my sheets, and Flora, as she was attempting to position my body and arms into the correct motions to help me succeed in making my sheets less wrinkly than before they came out of the dryer. After dinner I went into the laundry room, prepapred for battle, and was confused when I didn't find the sheets hanging from the line where I had left them. I looked around for a second, until my eye caught the neatly folded pile of red, blue, and pink fabric resting on the ironing board.

I picked them up, still damp from the steam, and breathed in the fresh, laundered scent. Flora had already had 3 loads of clothes to wash, dry, iron and put away, not to mention the rest of the cleaning and cooking she does everyday. Yet she still found time to do me a favor, to save me an hour of time and possible serious bodily harm. Even though for her it probably took a mere 5 minutes, that was still 5 minutes of her time in an incredibly busy day, that she spent doing something to make my life a little bit easier.

Touched and grateful, I remember that mere hours ago these were the sheets I wanted to burn. Now they hold a sweet memory which will be cherished every time I lay in my bed, and am reminded that no matter how busy or stressed I am, that going a small bit out of your way for someone else can really brighten their day- even if their day didn't start with their head in the litter box!

A Day in the Life of Meggie Poppins

6:55am: My body now wakes me naturally at this time, 5 minutes before my alarm is set to go off. Truly a welcome change from earlier on in the year, when I would awake many times in the night, panicky and sweating thinking I was late, would start to dress then realize it was 4am. Although recently, with the kids sick every other two days, I frequently wake up, straining to hear the dreaded sounds of kids crying in the middle of the night, somberly accepting the inevitable, that any plans will be broken in favor of taking care of, more often than not, kids who are only sick by overprotective au pair-family standards (ie- cough=possible hospital visit and 2 days off of school)

7:10am: Lie in bed with my eyes closed, eeking every last possible second of rest under my cozy comforter. Wait until signs of life are heard from the kids, then proceed to jack-in-the box out of bed, throw on pants and a t-shit, slip into my crocs (the Suisse have this thing about ALWAYS wearing slippers or "house shoes," very odd and unexplainable), and get the morning started. Porridge making, old-fashioned style on the stove follows, and after my good morning scream of "BOOOOOO" from Toby and Benji, I proceed to prod and nag until they've gotten dressed, then dole out the porridge, feeling like the orphanage director in Oliver with his big pot of steaming gruel.

8am: Getting ready to leave for school, I bundle the kids up "A Christmas Story" style (I am eagerly awaiting the day when Benji will yelp, "I can't put my arms down!"). Walk/drag the kids across the street to Toby's school, say goodbye, and run to catch the Tram to get Benji there by 8:15. There is a high school or collège just down the block from Toby's école, so I am getting really good at offensive line blocking for Benji, one elbow out forging a pocket through the masses of smoky European teenagers, the other holding on to little Benji for dear life.

8:30am: After helping Benji take off his coat and put on his slippers (it is SO weird), I breathe a sigh of relaxation that the "morning shift" is done. Come home, have a caf'é or three), toast & jam, and some amazing bi hazelnut yogurt, which I have to hide in the back of the fridge just in case Benji ever decided to scour the house in search of some allergic dairy delights.

8:30-3:00pm: Ahhhhh, free time (well at least on M, T, and TH). How this wonderful, gaping void in my day gets filled depends on how aambitious I'm feeling. Somedays, it's straight for a run after breakfast digests, then cleaning, errands and possibly some reading to boot. I try to make most days of the "ambitious" genre; it leaves for less time to be homesick, and question my decision to be here in the first place. But other days (maybe once once, ok twice a week), I head straight back into my bed after breakie, my sheets and blanket still retaining the night's glorious warmth. You might think, whoa what a lazy ass!! And to be honest, a lot of times I think that too. But I'm graduated from college, and the world of 6am to 6pm work looms on the horizon. This may be the last time in my life where I am free to take a morning nap, and I am damn well gonna take advantage of it.

3:00-6:00/7:00: Back on Duty, I brave the crowd of "International Mommies," who look like they've jumped straight from the pages of Glamour to the playground, to pick up Benji from school. Nearly ever day after school we head to Coop (FYI, not as in chicken-coop, but co-OP, with French accent of course), the Swiss version of Kroger's. Michelle's system of having me, who doesn't actually do any of the cooking, order the groceries results in things constantly being forgotten and needing to be bought. Therefore, I am practically on a first name basis with the entire Coop afternoon checkout staff. Groceries successfully purchased, we pick up Toby, then head back to the house to do homework and play until the parents get home. Theschedule on the wall says 6pm, but I don't think there has been a day yet when they have been home before 6:30.

6:30-11:00pm: Once Michelle comes home, the curtain is drawn and my jazz hands ready. I recount any information/gossip I've learned at the school, and over-enthusiastically recall any cute, smart or funny anecdotes I've heard from Benji or Toby. This part of the day I actually detest the most. So much of it just seems so fake, because when I am done I really want to be done. Having to hang around and act like I am thrilled to discuss how amazing Benji did at his reading, or how incredible it was that Toby wiped his own butt is NOT how I want to spend the first precious moments of my night. I really am growing to love Toby and Benji, but they're not my kids, and small doses are preferable to ensure that I don't OD on them before the year is up. But I don't want to be completely negative about the family, because 95% of the time I really feel incredibly lucky that I have such intelligent, cool, and down-to-earth employers/friends. A friend of mine, who for top-secret au pair purposes shall remain unnamed, works for a woman who holds a university degree, yet spends her days getting her hair done, going to "gymnastics" (aerobics), and setting the table for her dinner parties two days in advance. And while I can't always related to the latest gossip from international development circles, or to strategizing political career manoeuvres, at least I am being exposed to interesting and different lives I would never have gotten the chance to know about, had I not taken the chance and moved across the ocean. So after the (always amazing) dinner, I will chat with Michelle and Marc (thankfully usually not about kid stuff), then go and e-mail, read, or watch some illegally downloaded Grey's. Pretty normal stuff actually, almost akin to what I would do at home.

I've been rather melancholic and introspective as of late, thinking about the fact what I do here isn't all that different from home, and worrying that I'm not, as planned, "figuring out what I want to do for the rest of my life." But on an evening run the other day, de-stressing after having all my plans ruined and staying home with a not-sick-sick Toby, I was thinking about how years from now, if I look back on this year and all it was was the year I au pair-ed in Switzerland, ran my first marathon, and made some friends from all around te world, it's ok. I won't lie, I had high hopes that I would have an epiphany and realize my purpose and calling in life, or at least meet the the man of my dreams.....but if not, I'm becoming OK with this year being exactly what is: my year living la vie d'une fille au pair.