It was a fitful red eye to Sao Paolo. One of those flights where I just couldn’t get comfortable. And I ate too much — they brought me food and I ate it. But now as I sit on my connecting flight to Buenos Aires, I’m flying a bit under the weather. The stomach is a churning. One can only imagine what the Drake Passage will bring.
As to the LAN flight itself, I was happy to note the names of the gate agents (or as autocorrect thought I meant the “hate Abby’s”) who had helped me the other day. Tina and Christopher helped rebook everything and Melissa recognized me as I checked in.
Onboard, I was tempted by Star Wars The Force Awakens but it was only in Portuguese.
Turns out I was plenty awakened throughout the flight by the Portuguese speaking kids in front of me and behind me. Forward kid kept reclining his seat and trying to push it past its point of mechanical breaking point; aft kid kept kicking the seat. But hey, I got a chicken dinner! So, winner winner!
I complain and kid about the kid and complaints. It’s all in the spirit of travel, perhaps playing to the tropes of a bedraggled, jetlagged, put-upon passenger. I thought a lot about the stereotypes of tourists during my layover in Sao Paolo. As is often the case, I reverted to naive, country mouse visiting the big city.
As a result I couldn’t help snapping a photo of actual Brazil nuts in Brazil!
And I know it’s just the Portuguese word for “Men” outside the restroom but I couldn’t resist taking a shot of the masculine men’s room. I’m not sure I should have been allowed to use it; I am many things but manly isn’t one of them.
So here I am on the next leg of the journey to Antarctica. Diet Coke must not be a big South American player as Coke Zero is the calorie free soda option. I recall this from previous travels to South America and Europe. Withdrawal is setting in early but maybe that’s ok. I know I drink too much DC, to the point that I can just call it DC. But as vices go, I have but a few and my Diet Coke affinity, my DC-ism, is an indulgence I have learned to live with and prefer not to live without.
There’s going to be a lot more stream of consciousness prose over the coming weeks, less attempts perhaps to tie into running as the focus. Albeit the quest for seven continents is a primary motivator for this trip. I’ve long struggled with the focus and point of RunKevinRun.com and haven’t resolved that issue; perhaps I never will. But for the next 15 days the journey South and back again will be the focus. We will see how that goes.
Onward!
***
Ok. So I’m drunk. At the Marathon Tours welcome dinner reception they just kept pouring the Malbec, whether it was an empty glass or just a smidge from full. So I have no idea how much I’ve had other than it was A LOT. But when you’re trying to get your money’s worth, well, maybe a lot is only the beginning.
Just before the 6 pm pre-dinner reception, I joined up with a 4 pm running group for what was supposed to be a light 5k.
They decided they’d do two versions though – the 5k or a slightly longer 9k. I opted to join the 9k. As is sometimes the case with Marathon Tours (or any tour group I guess), the best laid plans can go amiss.
Our running leader wound up missing a turn and the 9k turned into a 12k. Not a huge issue but I was worried about making it back in time for a shower before the reception. I really struggled to keep pace with the 9k/12k group. I think I was last in that Barry Allen-ish league of runners. But last is better than quitting and infinitely better than not starting at all. A running shirt famously documents this equation as “DLF > DNF > DNS” or “Dead Last Finish is greater than Did Not Finish is greater than Did Not Start.”
Post return and shower, and prior to the dinner, I walked around town to grab some pesos from the ATM and some beverages from a local store. Whilst walking I was struck by the advert for a $39 burger at McDonald’s. Though this sounds mind blowing it’s actually $39 as Argentinian pesos, which works out to roughly USD $2.60.
In trying to find a beverage I could’ve been a sucker and gone to this 24 hour place…
But why do that when you can live 25 hours a day? The title love theme from the Michael J. Fox movie tells us the secret of my success is living 25 hours a day… Ergo, I bought my beverages here.
Meg and I mingled here and there and I deployed what little of my dazzling conversation skills I still maintain from ten plus years ago training at the feet of Vandye J. Forester III. We even scored a photo with Marathon Tours founder Thom Gilligan.
I love Thom but he personifies the John Oliver joke about the woman from accounting who doesn’t give a flying fig. When we checked into the hotel this afternoon, our room wasn’t ready and they told us to wait. Thom asked us what was going on and we told him. He double checked and said it wouldn’t be more than 10 to 15 minutes. But rather than wait with us for that time to make sure we got checked in, he left us and went to wherever he needed to be next. I don’t know, I guess I would’ve expected him to stick around but it all worked out in the end.
And in Thom’s favor, hours later at the welcome dinner he helped facilitate Meg swapping out her damaged Antarctica shirt for a replacement. It was no small gesture and speaks to the fact that when he wants to be, Thom can be truly awesome. And anybody who can stand up to the Byzantine bureaucratic nightmare of staging an annual marathon on Antarctica deserves as the kids used to say mad props. I don’t know what the kids say today but there ya go.
Having successfully had dinner and heard the spiel introducing us to the Antarctica Marathon and Half Marathon adventure, I am still jazzed about the trip if a bit nervous about the course conditions. The wind chill is probably my biggest concern. I ran into some old friends from the Outback Marathon (Karen and Mark) who told me day 1 is supposed to have gale force winds but we lucky runners on day 2 are supposed to have calm breezes. We joked that weather forecasts are always right and set in stone so we should be fine. Only time will tell.
And so in a partial drunken stupor I head to bed. Tomorrow will bring a city tour of Argentina and perhaps a beef steak house dinner. Given the food I’m eating, this marathon may do more to boost my waistline than anything else. So be it I say as I’m viewing this trip as existing in a bubble, separate from the realities and norm of the usual life. This is the first weekend of 2016 I haven’t had an official race of any distance and so that seems befitting.
No, really, onward!