On St. Patrick's Day 2012, luck just wasn't on my side.
The weather forecast called for a beautiful Saturday (relatively speaking - about 60 degrees F), so I decided it would be a good day for my first run of 2012 with my friends in the Warsaw International Triathlon Club.
I'll tell you more about WITC in the Summer, but for now, it's a group with which I run and swim (and will bike) regularly. Some guys have been running all Winter, but it's been cold and I don't have any warm running clothes. Besides, who likes to run for fun in the cold? Surely not me.
But this day was going to be a great day for a run along the river, and a good time to shake off some rust and start getting in shape for basketball again. I put on my best St. Patrick's Day running gear, and headed down to the meeting spot.
The meeting spot was a little over 2 km from my apartment, so I did a nice warm-up jog down there...trying to embrace all the smiles, thumbs ups, and enthusiastic looks I was getting for my outfit (and equally trying to ignore the strange, annoyed "what's wrong with you?" looks I was also getting from some people). One of the clovers kept falling off the headband, so I just put it in my pocket for the rest of the run. In my secure, zipped pocket...at least I thought it was secure.
A group of 9 of us ended up doing a nearly 12 km run along the Wisła river, looping around a couple of the bridges. The weather was perfect, and I passed the time listening to Grzegorz tell me about...hmmm...actually I can't remember. I don't think I was listening. Whatever it was, it helped pass the time, and I only had to say "uh huh" and "oh really?" once in a while to keep him going.
After the run, I was pretty tired, but pretty proud of my ability to finish 12 km pretty strongly on my first real run of the year (14, including the initial jog).
We all went to a restaurant/bar called Solec 44 to sit outside and have some juice/snacks, where I enjoyed some fresh OJ and water. I kept admiring the food that Connie and Doug were eating, and although I was hungry, I knew I had food at home, so I waited.
I decided to jog home, since I wasn't too tired, bringing my total for the day to about 16 km. Since I had been sitting for a while, I was cold, and my legs were a bit tight, but I managed. When I got to my door, I unzipped my jacket pocket to get my key, looking forward to going inside and making pork chops for lunch. I pulled out my credit card, one green clover, a few zloty coins, my key....wait a minute. No key. I check again. Still no key. I check the other zipped pocket. No key. I turn my pockets inside out. No key. I jump up and down, hoping to shake it loose. No key. I take off my jacket and feel it up and down. No key. Where's my key? I checked for holes in the pockets, but there aren't any holes. This can't be happening! Quickly, my mind races to all the places I had been since the last time I saw my key...approximately 16 km ago. I thought maybe I saw (i.e. felt) it at the restaurant??? But I wasn't sure, so I tried to call them to see if they could check. They didn't answer. So I did the only logical thing...I ran back there.
I thought it would be a good idea to run along the same route on which I came home, in order to scan the ground in case the key had fallen out somewhere along the way. At this point, my legs were starting to cramp up - I was hungry, tired, and I could feel the white film forming on the corners of my lips (So thirsty!). So now I was jogging with a limp, wearing green thai boxing shorts, a headband with one clover missing, while nervously scanning the ground in front of me as I waddled along. If this isn't the image of someone very "special", I don't know what is. I completely avoided eye contact with everyone passing - partly because I was looking for treasures at the ground by their feet, but partly because I didn't want to see the looks on their faces.
I swallowed my pride as I approached the restaurant, limped up the stairs, and while trying to catch my breath, politely asked the people who were sitting at our old table if they had seen a key on the ground. They all felt so sorry for me (either for the fact I lost a key, or for the way I looked) that they all got down on the ground to help me look. No key. I asked inside if they had found a key. No key. I checked the toilet. Nope. Damn.
So I called Dominika for help. My landlord lives in Germany, and his friend in Warsaw that helps me a lot doesn't have a key. I had lost hope of finding my key (I wasn't about to re-trace all 16 km), so Domi helped me find some locksmiths. Of course none of them were open on Saturday at 4pm. So I started to panic...what would I do? I already started worrying about spending the night on a park bench in this outfit, because if a locksmith wouldn't be open until the next day, I had no way of getting inside my house. This was not good.
Finally, Domi found a 24 hour locksmith. WHEW! She was going to call them to find out the price, and then call me back to confirm and get my address. I hung up the phone, anticipating that she'd call back in a couple minutes to say it was about $100, which at this point would be well worth it.
That's when panic attack #2 set in. Lately my phone battery has been "tired"...it drains pretty quickly when I use it, and usually around 4 or 5pm it will die unless I charge it sometime during the day (or if I don't use it at all). Since I had made so many calls and was using Google Maps to find a locksmith, my phone had also gotten a good work out so far. So, right on schedule, just as I hung up with Domi, my phone died.
Are you kidding me?! I thought things were supposed to be lucky on St Patrick's Day?!?
I didn't know what to do. I was upset that this delayed my getting back into my apartment, but I felt worse that Domi was probably trying to call me back to help me out, and I wasn't answering. It was the evening of St. Patrick's day, and I knew she had plans...so the last thing I wanted to do was to make her have to wait on me. So I start running to...somewhere. But I didn't know where to go! I don't know anyone's phone numbers and my friends in the area were either out of town or have moved away. So literally, I was running in circles. Up the hill? No, back down the hill. Down that street? No, the other way. I knew I needed to get somewhere fast to try to contact Domi, but I didn't know where!!
I finally decided to try to find some internet cafe, or to stop by some Wi-Fi hotspots to try to use someone's computer to email or Facebook message her. Everywhere I looked either didn't have people in it (to borrow their computers), or they looked really scary. So finally I came to the Bristol hotel (a fancy pants hotel right next door to the President's Palace). I go in, limping, out of breath, still wearing my same winning outfit, and I can't even think of how to say anything in Polish to the guy...I just say, in English "I'm not staying here. Is there a computer so I can get on Facebook? I lost my key". Out of context, those words make no sense. He probably thought "Oh gosh, this guy's English is terrible...I better just smile and nod". I could have thought of a better, more logical explanation, but I just couldn't. Luckily, he was nice, somehow understood my desperate request, and pointed me to a computer in the business center.
Whew.
Domi was online and we were able to set up a meeting with the locksmith. He was going to be at my place in 40 minutes. So I updated my FB status to tell the world of my current misery (of course), and remembered that I was starving. My lips were also so dry I probably looked like I was wearing lipstick made of chalk. The 40 minutes gave me enough time to jog/crawl slowly back home, stopping for a kebab and water on the way. Luckily I had a few coins on me. I'm sure I looked like a homeless man as I devoured that kebab.
In the end, the locksmith ended up costing me 300 zl (about $100). The guy was really nice, and we used sign language and broken Polish to communicate (my Polish was broken, not his). I learned that "lock" in Polish is "zamek", which is the same word for "castle". Imagine my confusion when he asked me if I wanted a new zamek. No, I don't need a new castle, I just want to go inside my apartment.
By the time I was finally in the apartment, 7 hours had passed since the time I left my house for the run in the morning. I had run over 20 km, with sudden starts and stops and improper cool-downs. As a result, I couldn't walk for the next 36 hours. .
Anyway, I was very thankful for the 24 hour locksmith, for Domi's gracious assistance, and most of all, for Facebook chat. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg.
Even though I "wasted" half of the day, and spent unnecessary money as a result of my own insubordinate key, I felt so relieved and satisfied. I ate again, drank about 2 gallons of water, showered, and laid on the couch. Taking a nap that evening never felt so good.
I just wish I knew how my key unzipped the pocket by itself, jumped out, and zipped it back up without me knowing.
The weather forecast called for a beautiful Saturday (relatively speaking - about 60 degrees F), so I decided it would be a good day for my first run of 2012 with my friends in the Warsaw International Triathlon Club.
I'll tell you more about WITC in the Summer, but for now, it's a group with which I run and swim (and will bike) regularly. Some guys have been running all Winter, but it's been cold and I don't have any warm running clothes. Besides, who likes to run for fun in the cold? Surely not me.
But this day was going to be a great day for a run along the river, and a good time to shake off some rust and start getting in shape for basketball again. I put on my best St. Patrick's Day running gear, and headed down to the meeting spot.
My green thai boxing shorts, Irish three-way shirt, and clover headband, with a missing clover
The meeting spot was a little over 2 km from my apartment, so I did a nice warm-up jog down there...trying to embrace all the smiles, thumbs ups, and enthusiastic looks I was getting for my outfit (and equally trying to ignore the strange, annoyed "what's wrong with you?" looks I was also getting from some people). One of the clovers kept falling off the headband, so I just put it in my pocket for the rest of the run. In my secure, zipped pocket...at least I thought it was secure.
A group of 9 of us ended up doing a nearly 12 km run along the Wisła river, looping around a couple of the bridges. The weather was perfect, and I passed the time listening to Grzegorz tell me about...hmmm...actually I can't remember. I don't think I was listening. Whatever it was, it helped pass the time, and I only had to say "uh huh" and "oh really?" once in a while to keep him going.
After the run, I was pretty tired, but pretty proud of my ability to finish 12 km pretty strongly on my first real run of the year (14, including the initial jog).
We all went to a restaurant/bar called Solec 44 to sit outside and have some juice/snacks, where I enjoyed some fresh OJ and water. I kept admiring the food that Connie and Doug were eating, and although I was hungry, I knew I had food at home, so I waited.
I decided to jog home, since I wasn't too tired, bringing my total for the day to about 16 km. Since I had been sitting for a while, I was cold, and my legs were a bit tight, but I managed. When I got to my door, I unzipped my jacket pocket to get my key, looking forward to going inside and making pork chops for lunch. I pulled out my credit card, one green clover, a few zloty coins, my key....wait a minute. No key. I check again. Still no key. I check the other zipped pocket. No key. I turn my pockets inside out. No key. I jump up and down, hoping to shake it loose. No key. I take off my jacket and feel it up and down. No key. Where's my key? I checked for holes in the pockets, but there aren't any holes. This can't be happening! Quickly, my mind races to all the places I had been since the last time I saw my key...approximately 16 km ago. I thought maybe I saw (i.e. felt) it at the restaurant??? But I wasn't sure, so I tried to call them to see if they could check. They didn't answer. So I did the only logical thing...I ran back there.
I thought it would be a good idea to run along the same route on which I came home, in order to scan the ground in case the key had fallen out somewhere along the way. At this point, my legs were starting to cramp up - I was hungry, tired, and I could feel the white film forming on the corners of my lips (So thirsty!). So now I was jogging with a limp, wearing green thai boxing shorts, a headband with one clover missing, while nervously scanning the ground in front of me as I waddled along. If this isn't the image of someone very "special", I don't know what is. I completely avoided eye contact with everyone passing - partly because I was looking for treasures at the ground by their feet, but partly because I didn't want to see the looks on their faces.
I swallowed my pride as I approached the restaurant, limped up the stairs, and while trying to catch my breath, politely asked the people who were sitting at our old table if they had seen a key on the ground. They all felt so sorry for me (either for the fact I lost a key, or for the way I looked) that they all got down on the ground to help me look. No key. I asked inside if they had found a key. No key. I checked the toilet. Nope. Damn.
So I called Dominika for help. My landlord lives in Germany, and his friend in Warsaw that helps me a lot doesn't have a key. I had lost hope of finding my key (I wasn't about to re-trace all 16 km), so Domi helped me find some locksmiths. Of course none of them were open on Saturday at 4pm. So I started to panic...what would I do? I already started worrying about spending the night on a park bench in this outfit, because if a locksmith wouldn't be open until the next day, I had no way of getting inside my house. This was not good.
Finally, Domi found a 24 hour locksmith. WHEW! She was going to call them to find out the price, and then call me back to confirm and get my address. I hung up the phone, anticipating that she'd call back in a couple minutes to say it was about $100, which at this point would be well worth it.
That's when panic attack #2 set in. Lately my phone battery has been "tired"...it drains pretty quickly when I use it, and usually around 4 or 5pm it will die unless I charge it sometime during the day (or if I don't use it at all). Since I had made so many calls and was using Google Maps to find a locksmith, my phone had also gotten a good work out so far. So, right on schedule, just as I hung up with Domi, my phone died.
Are you kidding me?! I thought things were supposed to be lucky on St Patrick's Day?!?
I didn't know what to do. I was upset that this delayed my getting back into my apartment, but I felt worse that Domi was probably trying to call me back to help me out, and I wasn't answering. It was the evening of St. Patrick's day, and I knew she had plans...so the last thing I wanted to do was to make her have to wait on me. So I start running to...somewhere. But I didn't know where to go! I don't know anyone's phone numbers and my friends in the area were either out of town or have moved away. So literally, I was running in circles. Up the hill? No, back down the hill. Down that street? No, the other way. I knew I needed to get somewhere fast to try to contact Domi, but I didn't know where!!
I finally decided to try to find some internet cafe, or to stop by some Wi-Fi hotspots to try to use someone's computer to email or Facebook message her. Everywhere I looked either didn't have people in it (to borrow their computers), or they looked really scary. So finally I came to the Bristol hotel (a fancy pants hotel right next door to the President's Palace). I go in, limping, out of breath, still wearing my same winning outfit, and I can't even think of how to say anything in Polish to the guy...I just say, in English "I'm not staying here. Is there a computer so I can get on Facebook? I lost my key". Out of context, those words make no sense. He probably thought "Oh gosh, this guy's English is terrible...I better just smile and nod". I could have thought of a better, more logical explanation, but I just couldn't. Luckily, he was nice, somehow understood my desperate request, and pointed me to a computer in the business center.
Whew.
Domi was online and we were able to set up a meeting with the locksmith. He was going to be at my place in 40 minutes. So I updated my FB status to tell the world of my current misery (of course), and remembered that I was starving. My lips were also so dry I probably looked like I was wearing lipstick made of chalk. The 40 minutes gave me enough time to jog/crawl slowly back home, stopping for a kebab and water on the way. Luckily I had a few coins on me. I'm sure I looked like a homeless man as I devoured that kebab.
In the end, the locksmith ended up costing me 300 zl (about $100). The guy was really nice, and we used sign language and broken Polish to communicate (my Polish was broken, not his). I learned that "lock" in Polish is "zamek", which is the same word for "castle". Imagine my confusion when he asked me if I wanted a new zamek. No, I don't need a new castle, I just want to go inside my apartment.
By the time I was finally in the apartment, 7 hours had passed since the time I left my house for the run in the morning. I had run over 20 km, with sudden starts and stops and improper cool-downs. As a result, I couldn't walk for the next 36 hours. .
Anyway, I was very thankful for the 24 hour locksmith, for Domi's gracious assistance, and most of all, for Facebook chat. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg.
Even though I "wasted" half of the day, and spent unnecessary money as a result of my own insubordinate key, I felt so relieved and satisfied. I ate again, drank about 2 gallons of water, showered, and laid on the couch. Taking a nap that evening never felt so good.
I just wish I knew how my key unzipped the pocket by itself, jumped out, and zipped it back up without me knowing.
Damn the luck of the Irish!! Thanks for the laugh... at your expense, of course ;)
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