The Space and Time Continuum

One thing that I have been thinking about a lot lately is how my concept of physical space fits in with my surroundings.  Everyone talks about the super-sizing fetish of Americans and the obsession with large homes, large cars, etc.  In France, and by extension in Europe, that just is not really possible.  Cities, especially older ones, are much more likely to have narrow streets, with small store-fronts.  The aisles are narrow in order to fit more in, and the choices of any given item are limited to increase the variety of products offered.  The cereal aisle is not an aisle, for example, but one small fraction of all the goods offered in the aisle. 

When we went to Disney our friends reported that the public spaces and walkways were smaller than in Disney World Florida and that everything just felt really crowded.  Add to that a closer sense of personal space and one can start to feel claustrophobic.  The crowds were always civilized but we were definitely cheek and jowl with one another.  It is the same thing in stores, with lots of “pardon” as one squeezes by a stranger blocking the way to the yogurts and cheeses.  As I have mentioned before there is also a heightened sense of peripheral awareness.  People walk along extremely narrow sidewalks and make calculated judgments as they pass by someone to the left, the right, off the curb to make room for the elderly gentleman with the cane.  And when there is a mis-step there is a sheepish “pardon” to make up for the trespass. 

There is also personal space in terms of noise levels.  When we traveled to and from Paris on the train, there was hardly any noise emanating from the other passengers.  People whispered to their copains, or texted loved ones from afar.  It is the same thing on all modes of transport, buses, trains, even the ferry boat rides! And I have written about the noise levels in our apartment building in another blog as well, but it has really been something that we have all worked on all year long.  The challenge rises anew as we finally open all the windows all the time. 

I am not quite sure how this fits in, but the other thing that I have been mulling over is my identity as a fully-functioning member of society.  I have been working more in the school, helping them put their library on-line and helping the students with their library books each week.  And the students all seem to be fine with the fact that I only sort-of say what most other adults would be telling them.  “Carry the book into your sack and make the line please.”  Clear enough, right?  But it gets just that much worse when the school directeur is asking me, as a member of the end-of-the-year committee, how to properly explain the basket raffle to the French parents who have never heard of such a thing.  Or when I am trying to set up a thank-you dinner for our landlords but there are many many events in all of our lives that require working around.  “Wednesday, yes, not so good.  The kids have school and must to bed.”  It has been a true exercise in humility to try to participate as fully as I can, but not feel badly about my struggling French.  I know that I have made significant progress over the year, and I really can fumble through most anything (with lots of queries, of course).  But I look forward to feeling more comfortable in my own physical space, and being able to speak anytime, anywhere, on almost any subject to anyone who comes my way. 

Photos of Euro Disney

Arriving at the Park

At the front gate

The Bazaar by Aladdin's Passage

For good luck...

In front of the Haunted Mansion

Space Mountain, here we come!

Driving the Formula One Grand Prix...

Relaxing on the Tea Cups

Buzz Lightyear

Rolling down Thunder Mountain

A little love for the Pluto souvenir

Fighting the Jack of Spades at Alice's Labyrinth

The view from the Queen of Heart's palace - Disney is just so beautiful

The end of a fun two-day visit

Capped by a rainbow

Race-Day Training in Aix-en-Provence

In January my friend, Jackie, convinced me to at least start the training for a half-marathon with her.  I was set to begin anew my running regimen, and thought why-the-heck-not.  Jackie had run a half-marathon before and had a training regimen that we could follow.  I printed it up and gulped.  There were 5 runs every week.  Each week had a long run, which began at 7K, already more than I was currently running.  There was hill training, which in Aix-en-Provence is a must.  And then there were the sprints.  I told Jackie that my plan was to train with her until I could see how this old body would handle the increase in the running schedule, the longer distances, etc. 

We ran most of the longer runs together, and some of the shorter ones as well.  Jackie has a time which she is aiming to meet, whereas I am simply running to complete the run.  As we got further into the training I was really amazed at how my body was responding.  Did I love every run?  Absolutely not.  There were days when I really had to just keep my feet moving using sheer will power.  There were the days when, the day after the run, I realized that the reason my run had been so awful was that I was coming down with something nasty. 

Yet there also were the days where I could pull off my long-sleeved t-shirt in February and run with the sun on my arms.  There were my beautiful runs along the Venetian canals, the Seine River in Paris, and down the boulevards of Grenoble, surrounded by snow-capped mountains.  There were the long runs over our last vacation, where I doubted my ability to run without Jackie’s unflagging encouragement and support.  But I did it!  In the sun, in the rain, chugging along like the wheels of a train. 

The runs up the hills were a challenge that I enjoyed.  There was a big bad dog who lived along one of my hill routes, so if he was out I switched to running a stretch of road.  I had to wonder what the lady who waited at the bus stop was thinking as I ran up and down a stretch of steep hill, over and over again.  Trying for a bit faster each time. We’ll have to see how it goes on race day, as there are two big hills, one at the 10K mark and one at the 15K mark.  I am a bit nervous, but a bit confident in my perseverance as well. 

The sprints were something that I wanted to love, but just didn’t.  My thighs BURNED the second week of sprints, in a way that I did not appreciate.  If I weren’t so stubborn I would not have stuck with it.  But it was written on paper, and Jackie would be asking me how they went...

Because I am not much of a shopper, I really did not have appropriate equipment for all the training.  I went out and bought new running shoes, and a pair of running tights to get me through the wintery moments.  And just yesterday I had to buy a new bra because the one I have had since my time living in Madison (read at least 12 years old) has been chafing and that’s not the kind of run I want to have on Sunday.  Chatting with the running store owner about the number of female runners in France he was surprised to hear that I was not running the “Feminin” Course on Sunday but the “Semi.”  As well, the doctor who filled out my “Certificat Medical” stating that I was in good enough health to run, was also surprised.  But he was doubly surprised after giving me a heart recovery rate test.  I had to do twenty squats in his office, then have my pulse taken.  He then took my pulse again a minute later to see if it had dropped.  After taking the second pulse rate he announced that I must be a fast runner because my heart rate was already back down to its normal rate.  That made me feel good.

So, it is off to the races on Sunday.  We start at 8:45, late for most North American races, but early for French time.  The race loops to the west edge of town, then back through the center.  Next through the park that I have run through most often and then up the mountain to the next town over and back down to another park in town for the grand finish.  I have heard rumour that the water tables may also have wine on them.  And the running store owner told me that there would be about 2000 runners.  I am looking forward to a nice sunny morning run, along with 1999 of my fellow crazies.  Oh, and did I tell you the name of the race?  Les Grandes Folles!