The best landlord ever

December 18, 2015

5 years is a long time to live in one apartment.  And it's a lot of rent to pay to one landlord.  And if you're the landlord, it's great stress-free income, not having to find new tenants or lose income during any transition period.  So one might say I'm the best thing that happened to Janusz.  Too bad he doesn't see it that way.

I'll try not to get too angry while I write this, so I will try to remember some of the great times I had in this apartment along the way.  A few highlights:
- The neighborhood and my pirate's treasure chest key
- Parties
- More parties
- Falling asleep to the music from the Barbakan (even the super annoying guy who shouts rather than sings)
- Waking up to the sound of horses walking around
- The annual Catholic pilgrimage that meets at 5am at the church down the street, and the priest on a bullhorn scaring the crap out of me
- Accidentally walking into TV/movie sets on Krzywe Koło

I'll miss this view from my bedroom

My building

The apartment somehow became known as "Gratis Przekąski" ("Free Appetizers", the name based on one of our favorite bars which closed down), because people were coming over so often, eating, drinking, playing games or watching movies on any given weekend.  You can check in there on Facebook if you want.  People were so comfortable in the apartment that when somebody rang the doorbell, or asked me if they could get a glass or a plate or a drink, it surprised me. I got used to everyone making themselves at home. At a surprise birthday party the guys threw for me, they came into the apartment on Easter Monday morning, while I was half asleep, and started making breakfast and drinks while I stood there taking a long time to figure out what just happened and why there were 15 people in my apartment at 10am...they knew where all the dishes and utensils and cups were...I was very proud.  We've also had pub golf, Christmas parties, Halloween, Thanksgiving dinners, Spicy Girls dance rehearsal, and hung out at virtually every opportunity.  Of course this was fine for me, since I didn't have to leave my couch.

Surprise birthday breakfast 2013

Cramped but cozy Thanksgiving dinner 2011

I've gotten several good years out of this guy

Sometimes Santa likes to be on top

The funny part about it, and it's like this at all Polish parties, is that everyone hangs out in the kitchen, no matter what.  I tried putting food, music, movies, carnival games, strippers, and a small petting zoo (unrelated to the strippers) in the living room, but people still pack into the kitchen until I'd force them to go out (now I wish the thing about the strippers and farm animals was true).  You could say that my kitchen was one of the mostly highly populated spaces in Old Town, per square meter. I even had a party on the hottest day of the year, with at least 60 people (of which I only invited half) in 550 square feet.  20 of them were in the kitchen.  Others had to sit in the building stair well because it was too crowded and hot. Let's just say I never had that many people over again.

There's no point in fighting it...people will stay in the kitchen

Unless I force them into the other room for a picture - Halloween 2014

Pub Golf  2013 (?)

With all these parties, there was only one lady who complained...but she thankfully never called the police.  During my first party she yelled in Polish at me (I didn't understand a single word), then after she was done with her 20 second speech, she calmed down, smiled and said "Welcome to Warsaw".  Another time she knocked on the door angrily and explained "it's not the music or the loud talking...but the guy who is singing is terrible" (she was talking about Ken singing Karaoke).  And the best was when she borrowed a chair from me and put it back into my apartment during the evening when I was sleeping (naked)...I woke up with the chair in the kitchen and a plate of cookies on the table, and a head full of horrors about what she looked at (and did) when she came in and saw me.

Ugly sweater Xmas party 2014

 So with all the fun memories, why was I so happy to leave?  Because my landlord is a butthead.

After 5 years of living in the apartment, he not once lowered the rent (though it wasn't expected, you'd think he might consider it since I was a great tenant for him).  Plus, he forced me to pay his monthly homeowner fees directly to the administration (probably so he could avoid paying taxes on them), which of course increased every year...but he didn't take this into consideration...he just expected me to keep paying.  The gas in the apartment shut off at least once per year (because the equipment needed to be replaced), and I had to always take a shower with the kitchen window open in order for the hot water to not shut off mid-shower (strange, I know, but that's what he suggested to avoid any issues).  The trick worked, but opening the window for a shower in the winter does not make for a pleasant exit from said shower.  I never complained, paid everything on time, and he didn't have to pay any attention to the place.  With all this, you'd think he would be somewhat nice when I moved out.

But on the day I gave him the keys (Sept 29), he was nasty and condescending.  And his wife was worse.  No nice greeting.  No "How was your stay?" or "I hope you enjoyed it here" or "Thank you for 5 years of constant income".  They basically just said I should pay for everything.  The old wooden chairs looked old and I should replace them, the floor was so dirty that the wife told her dog to be careful where it stepped (this was funny, but not funny), and they couldn't see out of the windows because I didn't pay someone to clean the outside of them.  And the best is that the retractable fan above the stove was dirty (which I didn't even know about so I never opened it in 5 years), and he looked at Zosia and said "Why didn't you know about this, are you from Africa?"  What a dick.  His wife went on to poke her finger in her mouth and pretended to puke and faint because something disgusted her (this was also funny, but not funny).  I thought I was on one of those hidden camera TV shows.  I mean seriously, of course it wasn't clean enough to rent to the next renters (that's their job), but it wasn't some college kids' messy dorm room.  I would be happy to host my parents there and they wouldn't have noticed any problem.  These clowns were walking around in their street shoes, tracking around poop and pee and who knows what else, complaining about dirt, so I had no respect for their sense of cleanliness in "my" apartment.

He said the shower had some water stains, so I should pay 1300 pln ($350 to replace the doors), because it should look like it did 5 years ago.  He said he spent 56 hours cleaning the place, including 10 hours washing the outside of the windows, so I should pay another 1200 pln for that.  Who charges their tenant for washing the outside of the windows anyway?  And how is it possible to spend 1 hour per square meter of cleaning an apartment which was already cleaned?  He added a few other things here and there, some "reasonable" (like the cost of lightbulbs or a broken towel rack), but some ridiculous (a lock that I put in after this adventure, but he didn't like it, so he made me pay for another lock he liked better; and my personal favorite, a new toilet brush holder, because...well, I don't know). In the end, he wanted me to give him another 600 pln on top of the deposit that he would not return. My contract said I should pay for things only above "normal wear and tear", and didn't mention anything about deep cleaning. There was no damage, and nothing was done out of negligence. After 5 years of a constant income stream, I would have thought he could be reasonable and let this stuff go. What a fool I was. I should have just not paid the last month's rent, which many people suggested....so he could have kept all of the deposit, and I could just additionally pay him for any legitimate charges.  I guess I trusted him too much.

Yea, looks super dirty in there...it would probably cost $500 to clean it

To make it worse, I didn't have his full list of charges until 2 months after I moved out.  The contract said he should return my deposit or send me a list of charges within 10 days, but he took his sweet time.  He would once in a while call Zosia or send an email that gave some details, but it was never complete.  Every day for 2 months I stressed and got angry just thinking about him.  I still do. I thought about how I could do something back to him, like reporting him to the tax office, or using his email address to sign up for a bunch of porn sites, or leaving a flaming bag of poop on his doorstep.  He even asked me to pay him for two utility bills, which I already paid, and told him about. It didn't matter that I already paid them...he paid (again), so I should pay him back. Yea, that makes sense. So rather than argue with someone who can't be argued with, I wasted my time recovering my payment from the gas company, so at least I could be in control of the 116 pln, and could pay him for it when everything else was settled.

Because this was not going very well, I got in touch with the moving company who helped me with the contract to begin with, but they were no help (unless I paid them a few hundred euros to help for a few hours).  I felt pretty lost, because he had my money, and seemingly all the power. Even though he is an unreasonable idiot.

Then everything changed: I mentioned the word "lawyer".  Suddenly he was super nice, told Zosia he always intended to pay the money back, and was surprised we thought he was some nasty guy.  He immediately wanted to meet to settle it, and stopped demanding me to pay him.  I asked around and the general consensus is that he probably doesn't pay taxes on any of the income, so with any threat of reporting him to tax authorities, he suddenly became cooperative.  A couple lawyer friends looked into the situation, reading the contract and made some recommendations.  We were prepared to send a letter to demand payment, until we decided it would be most effective just to meet to settle it.  My friend Piotr came to the final meeting with me (on December 18, nearly 3 months after I moved out), and we expected to pay for a little bit, which was fine.  I was just happy to see this go away.

He was still a dick, but not as much as when his wife was there.  Zosia thinks the guy actually likes me, but he could've fooled me.  We only communicate in Polish, since he doesn't speak English, but from everything I can understand coming out of his mouth, he's always irritated, angry, and unreasonable.  His body language, tone and facial expressions all say "I"m a big D-bag...deal with it".  In case you still can't figure it out, no I don't like him.  We agreed on a few things I would pay for, and he gave me cash to settle the rest of the deposit.  But somehow he gave me an extra 1200 pln; 12 extra 100 bills.  I have no idea how you miscount by 12.  One bill would make sense, even 10 could be possible if he lost count of the thousands.  But 12?  He apparently never counted money in Uzbekistan. Or maybe never counted past 10 in his life. I thought about keeping it just because of karma, but I gave it back.  Then I started thinking if he was trying to bribe me not to report him to the tax authorities.  But then I just remembered he's an idiot.

Merry Christmas everyone!

A Weekend full of Wieners

July 24-26, 2015

When I think of the word "wiener", the first thought in my mind is not a hot dog.  It's something else, with a similar shape; something that 10 year old boys find amusing. The word still makes me chuckle every time I hear it.  For example, my grandma had a wiener dog named Jasper, and I loved telling people that it was a wiener dog every time I could.  Baseball fans consume wieners at ballgames, Germans eat schnitzel made from wiener, and my old roommate Geoff used to randomly say "wiener" all the time.  All of these things make me giggle, and yes, including right now. Super mature, I know.  After my first trip to Vienna, I now know that "Wiener" means "Viennese" in German!  That's super boring, and almost ruined the word for me.  So although I feel a bit more enlightened, I will still do my best to giggle any time someone says "wiener" to me (or anytime I see a sign in Vienna with the word "Wiener" in it - which was a lot).

About 2 years ago, Igors' sister Inga moved to Vienna for her job.  Also about two years ago, I told Inga I would visit her there.  Somehow two years passed and I still hadn't stepped foot in Wiener Town.  So on the weekend of July 25, 2015, her last weekend there, I had to go, with or without Igors (and according to my parents' sarcastic joke on Facebook, they would prefer without Igors).

Zosia decided to come with, and we headed out on a Friday afternoon, without a single clue what we could do there (except eat wiener schnitzel and vienna sausage).  By the way, a couple notes about Vienna Sausage.
1. I used to love the tiny canned sausages when I was a kid.  Now they seem super disgusting, but still nostalgic, so I'd probably eat a can if it was in front of me.
2. Vienna sausage = Wiener sausage = Wiener wiener = 2 times the giggles.  

I have a few travel tips to share with you, one of them brought to my attention thanks to my boss, Angela.
- there are two different trains that go from the airport to the city center...one of them "normal", the other "express", both of them pretty frequent.  The price was something like 10 Euros difference, but it only saved about 10 minutes.  So if your time is worth 1 Euro per minute, take the Express.  Otherwise, normal people can take the normal train.  Somehow, a lot of people still take the Express...either the marketing of the Express is really good, or these people aren't as "CCM" as I am.
- If you buy two tickets at the same time (i.e. put "2 travelers" into the ticket kiosk rather than each person buying them separately), the incremental price of the second ticket is 20 cents.  One person costs 4.20, two people cost 4.40, total. At first I thought it was a mistake, but after clicking through the buttons again, it came to the same price.  It's worth asking a stranger to buy a joint ticket if you are traveling alone...it can save you two Euros if you're CCM!!!!!

A fahrt in Wiener town.  I'll never grow up.

Inga was a great host.  When we arrived at her apartment (after a super cold shower because it was so hot), she had 4 cold beers and snacks waiting.  We tasted different Austrian beers, up to 14% in alcohol content.  It was a great welcome drink.  Inga even had a short presentation prepared for us to give some information about each style.  I felt like in a professional beer tasting!

Inga's beer and snack tasting tour

I think the space bar was broken

 
Not only was Inga good at having beers in the apartment, she was amazing at taking us around the city.  I didn't have any idea or plan what we could see in the city, but Inga planned the days with very interesting sites, and most importantly, food.  After beers we went to Rathausplatz (this name is hilarious - the platz where the rats have a house?) where they were showing ballet on a huge video screen in front of the city hall (apparently that's what Rathausplatz means), and thousands of people watching and walking around the outdoor food court.  There were 20 restaurant choices from Austrian to Australian, American to Asian. I had to make a few laps before deciding what to eat.  It was a really fun place to spend a casual evening, with good food, a couple drinks, some ballet and people watching. Inga took us around the center before getting back home, needing another shower due to the sticky Summer night.

One of many concerts/markets that we came across

Day 2 of Inga's Tour of Wiener Town was another enlightening one.  As usual, the day revolved around food.  After breakfast, we decided to have dessert, naturally, trying the famous Sacher Torte from the original shop, as well as some apple strudel.  The strudel was better in my opinion.  In fact, although it looks great, I don't know anyone who actually thinks Sacher Torte tastes amazing.  It's OK at best.  I'd try it if it was in front of me, but I wouldn't order it in a restaurant (I feel the same way about brussel sprouts and blood sausage, so it's not saying much).  After some more walking, it was time for a rest in the park.  Since we had already eaten breakfast and dessert, we weren't too hungry for lunch, so we picked up some snacks and hung out in the park next to the national library.  It was super peaceful and relaxing, and I even snoozed off for a bit.

Looks delicious!

I learned about Gustav Klimt and his famous painting "The Kiss", which looks more like a girl with a broken neck collapsing to the ground, and the guy trying to keep her up.  Not sure that's what he was going for, but that's what I see.  I also witnessed Hundertwasser architecture for the first time.  He designed several buildings around the city, and the most intellectual and professional word I can find to describe it is "fun".  His buildings just seem happy.  I also learned that the Empress Elizabeth (not to be confused with the Queen of England) was called Sisi, but I still have no idea how you get Sisi from Elizabeth.

It doesn't look like a kiss to me

A Hundertwasser building

Schonbrunn Palace was amazing, with an adjacent hill overlooking the palace, labyrinths, and garden.  There were lots of joggers and we could imagine Alan organizing a WITC run up the super steep hills.  Belvedere Palace Art museum had a bunch of Klimt originals, and of course I got in trouble for taking pictures.  Naschmarkt was nice long strip of restaurants, bars and shops - a nice place to wander around, day or night.

Schonbrunn Palace

From the other direction

At the Belvedere Palace

A few quick Wiener tips:
- Check out the bars and restaurants along the river.  There's even a barge on the river with a swimming pool
- There are free water fountains all over the city, so bring your own bottle
- You can buy newspapers from bags that hang on poles around the city - I guess you pay for what you take, on the honor system.
- Go to Salm Brau for almdudler radler beer, and the best schnitzel I ever had.
- Beware that Vienna sausage is just a hot dog.
- You can take up to 100ml of alcohol on the plane in your carry on.  I never knew this, but it was no problem coming back to PL.

Anyone for a swim?

Inga showing us how it's done

Take your pick

This was all for me!

I loved the creativity (and social statement) of some of the pedestrian cross walks.  They had different combinations of couples - guys, girls, or mixed, sometimes holding hands, sometimes just friends.  I almost caused a traffic jam while taking pictures of the Don't Walk people, standing in the cross walk while cars were coming.  

Hold hands when crossing the street

The most important part of the trip was that now I will not misspell the word as "weiner" anymore, since I know the root of the word is Wien.  Wiener, wiener, wiener.  See how good I am now?  I'm one more step towards becoming a complete human being.

The girls wondered why I stopped to take pics of basically every sign in the city...

Orlen Warsaw Marathon

April 26, 2015

3 years ago I said I would never run a half-marathon.  Then I ran one.

I said I wouldn't run another half marathon.  Then I ran 3 more.

I guess I'm not very good at achieving my goals of not doing something.

Even so, with 100% certainty, I said would NEVER EVER run a marathon.  N-E-V-E-R.

Then, in a moment of weakness, I signed up for the 2015 Orlen Warsaw Marathon. My first thought: doh!

One of the reasons I "never" planned to do an Ironman triathlon is that I didn't want to run the marathon (besides the other two reasons I don't want to do an IM: the 3.8 km swim and 180 km bike).  I agreed with myself that I'd not even consider an IM until I survived a marathon (which I thought I would never do).

Well, now I've done it.  I ran a marathon.  Writing this now is a bit funny for me, thinking I ran "only" a marathon, considering a couple friends recently competed in a 250km team bike/run race around Warsaw, which I was supposed to do with them, but more on that later.

I wouldn't say the marathon was the most physically demanding thing I've ever done, as the half-Ironman distance triathlon in 95 degree weather was definitely harder. But in many ways a marathon is mentally harder.  At least in a triathlon you get to change exercises a couple times during the race, and take a short break in the transition zone, which keeps it interesting.  But in a marathon, you only get to run.  For 4 hours, if you're lucky.  4 freakin long hours.  One foot in front of the other.  10 billion times in a row.  You have to be mentally strong for that.

Why is a marathon 42.195 km anyway?  A lot of people think it's because of the original distance the Greek messenger ran 2500 years ago from Marathon to Athens...but actually, the officials re-checked his Garmin GPS watch and it showed he only ran 40km.  So why the the extra 2.195 km?  Who likes to torture people by making them run further?  It turns out that in the 1908 Olympics, the Queen of England wanted the marathon to start at Windsor Castle and ended in front of the royal box in the Olympic Stadium. And the Queen gets what the Queen wants. This route measured out to 42.195 km and the distance stuck. Those pesky Brits.  I think next time I will just run 40km out of protest, and recognition to the original Marathoner.

This one is over 42 thousand km - quite further than expected (#punctuationmatters)

As you noticed, I managed to survive the race.  I don't have any clever race story, but I do have a "step by step" guide to completing your first (and obviously only) marathon.

Preparation for the race
1. Sign up well in advance so you can forget about it for a couple months (and possibly completely forget that you ever signed up in the first place). You can also tell people you are planning to do it, and they get impressed and say things like "oh I would never run a marathon, I admire you".  Then if you decide to drop out of the race, it's OK because you've already collected the praise.  #freepraise #noshame #norefunds
2. Complete a half marathon as a training run, slowly, preferably with a fun cause like Spartanie Dzieciom #forthekids #nakedrunning
3. Start training, slowing building up the weekly long runs to 30-35 kms.  Remember it's not about the speed, it's about the distance. You gotta do it.  #what30km?
4. Learn how not to be bored out of your mind during the 30-35 km runs.  Seriously, they are super boring.  Sometimes it's nice to run with a friend so you can chat, but let's be honest, talking to the same person for 3 hours gets boring.  So the next best thing is to listen to podcasts. And a lot of them.  This American Life, Adam Corolla, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, Stuff You Should Know, and The Barbershop 206 kept me company.  I actually started looking forward to long training runs, just to have time to listen to the podcasts. #podcasts #antisocial #runningisboring
5. Don't bring more food and drink than you need, because it's heavy - you can buy stuff at the shops along the way.  During training I was carrying water bottles, gels, sandwiches, vaseline and bandaids for blisters, a headlamp, phone, ipod, money, keys and most importantly my bus pass in case I couldn't run home.  Sometimes it felt like I was running with an entire Oregon Trail supply kit. #heavypockets #wheresmywagonaxle #dysentery #fordtheriver
6. A peanut butter and honey sandwich, with salt and a mashed banana inside make for a good long run snack.  Don't underestimate the need for salt on a long run, especially if it's hot.  I even added some salt to my water (with honey), and made sure my isotonic drinks had a good amount of sodium. I used to cramp after about an hour of running, but after I paid attention to salt, cramps have been non-existent #hungry #saltynuts #saynotocramps

WITC before the race

During the race:
7. A patellar tendon strap can relieve knee pain.  During training runs without it, my knee would kill me after 20 km, but with the strap during the actual race, I barely felt any knee pain  #kneesaregood
8. The first 10km is a warm-up, so force yourself to go slow.  Otherwise you risk going too fast due to the adrenaline and burning out too soon.  I didn't allow myself music during the first 10km, on one hand to enjoy the sounds of the crowd and atmosphere, but also to make sure I didn't get too pumped up listening to "Roar" by Katy Perry.  It turned out that the first 10km was my slowest 10, while my second 10km, when I got excited and finally felt like I could run, was fastest.  #slowitdown #katyperryisonmyplaylist
9. Keep a comfortable pace to finish with a smile on your face (that should be a song lyric) - rather than pushing too hard and being miserable the whole time.  Breathing during the long, slow race wasn't a problem...leg and back pain was more of an issue, so don't push yourself to the point of heavy breathing from the start, or your legs will really not be happy.  #nohashtag
10. Kilometer 31 sucks.  During this particular km, you will feel extreme pain and will think to finish is impossible.  I hated kilomter 31. I guess everyone has a different "kilometer 31", but definitely everyone has it.  #km31cansuckit #overcome
11. Just like any other difficult race, the friends and fans cheering you on makes it all worth it.  Especially in that last 2.195 km when you are cursing out the Queen of England under your breath.  #thankyoufans
12. 4 hours is a reasonable goal for a first time.  I was very pleased with 3:48.  #under4hours

Feeling good!

The camera caught me as I was landing from my jumping finish

After the race:
13. For a couple days after an intense race, if you have to walk down any stairs, do it backwards.  This is OK even if it's in the busy metro.  You just grab the handrail, turn your body so you're facing the people impatiently walking behind you (you should ignore their looks that say "you're weird"), start stepping backwards gingerly, careful not to tumble down, and look them in the eyes as if to say "no, actually you're the weird one for not walking backwards".  It becomes a battle of wits as you silently try to convince them with your eyes that you are the normal one.  Even if you can't convince them, the pain is much easier to manage and it's only weirdly uncomfortable the first few times.  #imserious #dontbeshy
14. Take a break from your job if you're a foot model.  Blisters may appear all over your feet, and your nails may turn black and fall off.  You should just hide your feet from everyone for a few weeks. #handmodel
15. Don't train for the Bloody Loop (a 250km race with 4 guys and 3 bikes, which takes over 24 hours) only 5 days after the marathon.  We tried a short training run (45 km mountain bike and 15 km trail running in about 6 hours), and it destroyed me.  For the next month, I couldn't even run 1 km.  This has been an on-going situation, and it took 2 months before I could run 5km again without any pain.  This past Sunday, I managed a 1/8 IM distance triathlon, and am relieved I managed it relatively pain-free #wtf #legsareback

A couple pics from Bloody Loop "training"

It's not exactly easy going

But there was some peaceful running

Although I didn't get to race in the Bloody Loop with my friends, I don't think my body regrets it.  I managed to finish the marathon in under 4 hours, and as long as my knee will heal soon, it was worth it...but I can "safely" say I'm not considering doing another one in the near future.

But we all know I've said that before... #brokenrecord

WITC at Fuerteventura

March 21-28, 2015

In 2014, my friends at WITC organized the first WITC Triathlon Training Camp in Crete, where a bunch of guys and girls from the club went for a week to train for the upcoming triathlon season.  I wasn't able to join, but heard it was a lot of fun.  So when the location for 2015 was picked - Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands, I had to be there.

When I hear the words "triathlon training camp", it sounds super intense.  If I went to a professional tri camp, I would expect to be working out all day, pushing my body to the edge of explosion, the whole trip strictly business, no goofing around, and lights out by 9pm.  Of course, this sounds awful.  But when I hear "WITC triathlon training camp", I think manageable (but semi-intense) training, having fun 24-7, goofing around while working out, laying on the beach or by the pool, eating a lot of good food, partying at night, and not getting enough sleep...something more like a vacation, but with daily exercise. And this sounds awesome. Seriously, we are fun people.

Look how fun we are!

Igors did a great job of organizing everything for the week-long event, from the accommodation, food, and swim lane at Oasis Papagayo in Corralejo (the northern part of the island), to making sure we had bike rentals available, and all of the other logistics.  Alan led the afternoon run training and I handled the morning swim workouts (7am what?!), but Igors managed the lion's share.

At the Modlin airport, you could tell that this was a WITC trip, as half of the group went to the bar for food and beer (at 9am) and the other half went to the duty free to stock up on Soplica flavored vodka. We weren't so much into bringing proteins and recovery drinks...we are from Poland afterall.  If you are like me, you wouldn't know that the Canary Islands, although part of Spain, are just off the coast of Africa, near the southern part of Morocco.  So it took 5 hours to fly there!  Most of us were on the same Ryan Air flight...you could tell who the cheap triathletes were...bringing only a small carry-on bag to avoid paying for a checked bag (though they do allow a second small carry-on bag), and we were all WEARING our bike helmets to save space.  Ok, so maybe I was the only one, but whatever.

Oops, my helmet is blocking someone's face

 Fuerteventura isn't a common tourist destination compared to the other Canary (Canarian?) Islands like Tenerife and Grand Canary, but they do get a lot of people on sports holiday.  There were a lot of cyclists all over the island, and our hotel's swimming pool was always full of super fast German swimming machines, disguised as young humans.  These kids swam like dolphins, making us grown-ups look like prehistoric turtles (turtles that can swim, but still turtles).

In the end, there were 21 of us on the trip, including baby Sophie, and Ryan, who came all the way from the US to join us.  I think he likes to come on trips with us just so we can make music videos, like we did on his last trip (and we like him to come on trips so we can make fun of him when he falls asleep at the bar).  Certainly he didn't know what he was getting into joining our training camp.

Part 1: Swim

On the first night we were lucky enough to see their local Carnival parade.  When they told us about the parade, I assumed it would be 100 people, with a bunch of little kids holding balloons and flags, and cover a maximum 3 blocks.  I had no idea it would be so intense.  We walked down to check it out and could hear music from the second we left the hotel.  There were more people in the parade than I imagined on the entire island.  There were dozens of floats of various themes, everyone dressed in elaborate costumes that must have taken weeks to prepare, the floats with built-in bars, everyone drinking and dancing on, near, and around the floats as they slowly rolled down the street for at least a mile.  And there were lots of dudes wearing dresses.  Jay and I were jealous.  We wanted to join the party.  But since we started our swim workouts the next morning, we called it an early night.

Mario shouldn't text when crossing the street

Somehow I was considered the best option to be responsible for swim training every morning.  I don't think it's due to my swimming skills; maybe it's because I was a sucker and agreed to be pool-side by 7am every morning.  Either way, I was happy to do it.  I created a swim program for each day, each with a different focus (stroke length, speed, endurance, sprints, etc), and sent them to our coach Przemek for review.  He either liked them, or didn't even read them, as he simply said "looks good!"  10-12 people showed up each day, and we managed around 1500 meters, including a time trial for 100 meters on the first day.  By the end of the week, a lot of people were either so tired for the time trial that they swam slower, or just didn't bother to show up.  Ryan did really well in the swim, improving the most out of everyone.

It wasn't always warm at 7am

So tan after a week

Each day our schedule looked something like this:
7 am - Morning swim training
8:30 - Breakfast at the hotel
9:30 - Check Facebook on Wi-Fi (Wi-Fi only worked in the mornings)
10 am - Meet for bike ride
10:30 am - Wait for people who are late for bike ride, while filming clips for the music video
1 pm - Stop somewhere for lunch (sometimes drink beers and don't feel like cycling anymore)
5 pm - Alan tries to convince people to run with him
7 pm - Dinner at the hotel (the food was decent and it was nice not to have to think about where to go to dinner)
8 pm - Go to Nico's Belgian Beer Bar down the street
10 pm - Start to fall asleep, sometimes at the bar (i.e. Ryan)
Repeat x6

Ryan asleep at the bar

Part 2: Bike

One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was to make a music video commemorating the trip.  I had picked the song "Uptown Funk" by Bruno Mars (because nobody else in the world has made a YouTube video to this song before) and asked people to start preparing mentally for their moment in the spotlight.  At every moment I could, I asked people to do some silly choreography for short clips for the video - while chillin at the beach or pool, while waiting for people to get ready for the bike ride, while waiting for our food to come at lunch, while waiting for medical help for Mark M after his accident, and even while we were actually training.  It was a lot of fun to make the video, so you should check it out at the bottom of this post.  (Side note: as I am typing this, the song "Time of our lives" by Pit Bull and Neyo came on the radio, which is the song that Ryan made his video for on this trip...crazy! And yes, we made two music videos because why not?!).

In costume for the video shoot

Ryan's new music video

It was very convenient that the hotel had a bike rental company attached to it, so we could easily pick up our bikes.  We had daily routes of between 50-90 km, while some guys even went 130 one day.  I know my butt, and my butt can't sit on a bike for that long.  There is a very clear point on long training rides when it changes from "this is so great" to "can we just be home already?" I was happy to do shorter rides to make sure I spent most of my time on the happy side of that line.  We all had different levels of ability, so with 20 people, we could easily split into groups and then meet up later.  The most important part of the cycle training was making sure we found a good place to eat.  We managed to find some really nice places, especially on the beach.

Cruising around the island

Beach lunch

The terrain ranged from desert and sand dunes to hills and trees, fighting rain and wind, on smooth and bumpy roads, and everything in between.  I wouldn't call it the most scenic riding, but generally it was pretty good and we didn't fight too much car traffic.  Everything was fine except when Mark got into a small accident, running into the guard railing at a roundabout and requiring medical attention (Dr. Dagna to the rescue!) and rest for the remainder of the trip.  And this is how we became good friends with Nico.  Mark has a special radar for these types of things, and after his injury, they spent every afternoon together (i.e. Mark was at the bar every afternoon).  Funny side note: on our taxi ride to the airport, the taxi driver told Mark that he remembered him from the accident.  It seems like everyone on the island knew about it since it happened at a big intersection.

We spent a day hanging out on the dunes

Nico became such a big part of our trip, we had our end of trip closing ceremony at the bar, he let us dominate the karaoke stage and play our songs and videos on their equipment (although his dad was having a birthday and he and his friends literally sounded like the Jersey Boys when singing...we were put to shame).

At Nico's every night!

Part 3: Run

You could really call us sick for doing triathlons on a daily basis, but that's basically what some of us did.  After getting back from cycling, there were usually runs from 5-8 km, but I didn't always manage.  Some people would rather spend time sightseeing around the island, which was understandable.  But if I wasn't running, I was at Nico's.  Anyway, just a couple km down the road was the beach, so it was nice to do some short runs around the area.  And Alan always organized something nice.

Beach running/exploring/selfie-sticking

Post-run stretch at the pool

I knew I really had a problem when on my "day off", I still managed to swim for an hour, lift weights at the gym for an hour, and run 10 km.  So basically my day off just meant "don't spend 5 hours on a bike; go to the gym instead".  But this is what the trip did to me.  It made training with everyone fun. We still managed to have an amazing time, having a great time when not exercising, burning (and eating) millions of calories, and everyone could do as little or as much as they wanted.

When we weren't swimming, cycling, or running, we were squatting

It became such a comfortable routine to meet at the pool every morning, knowing you'd have company at our assigned table in the restaurant every breakfast and dinner, and hanging out at Nico's (with Nico) every night.  I don't know how else to convince you, but you should definitely join us next year.  Then you can be a part of the next music video.  Enjoy!

Official 2015 WITC Triathlon Camp music video

We love you Grandma

"Now my greatest joy in these golden years will be my grandchildren who give me so much joy and happiness"
 - Grandma Alice, October 20, 1917- February 4, 2015

Death happens: that's one of the simple truths in this world.  It happens to everyone.  But if we know it's coming, why does it hurt so much?  Because we can't control it? Because after death happens, we can't go back?  I've struggled with this for the past few weeks, finding it hard to put words to virtual paper about my grandma's death. For every person I've met in my life, there has been (or will be) a "last time" that we ever see or talk to each other, even if they are still alive. But it's awful when you no longer have the option, especially when it's your beloved Grandmother, someone who has been there your entire life.  Here's another simple truth: death really sucks.

Grandmas are not normal people. Grandmas are grandmas.  Being a grandma is probably the most lovable "occupation" anyone could ever have.  The word Grandma is synonymous with adoration, warmth, advice, cookies and pies, being spoiled, holiday dinners, unwavering support, and the best hugs you can find. I wish I could be a grandma someday.

I don't even know how to start describing how much Grandma Alice meant to me, my childhood, and how she influenced me into who I am today. Just her quote at the beginning of this post shows how much her family meant to her, and she to us. I got the sad news as I landed in Warsaw after traveling back from Seattle.  Just the night before most of my cousins and family had gathered at my parents house for dinner when I was back in town, and we spent some time talking about Grandma and reflecting on our childhoods (she wasn't there: she was in a nursing home, under hospice care). She was 97, but I used to think she would live forever, especially because her older sister, Aunty Lilly, is 103! Even so, her passing was not the biggest surprise, as she had been bedridden and under nursing care for some time, recently unable to speak or interact, and having trouble breathing.  But death is never really real until it's real.

Maxwelton Beach, Whidbey Island

I asked some friends and family about their memories of Grandma and they all said the same things: loving, warm, welcoming, great hostess, and a lover of the outdoors.  This is all true.  Some of my earliest memories are spending the summers or holidays at her house on the beach on Whidbey Island (about 90 minutes from our home in Seattle, including a fun 30 minute ferry ride across Puget Sound).  We would spend the days running on the beach, building forts out of driftwood, skipping rocks in the water, making s'mores at the campfire, and playing Skip-Bo or Cribbage, or baseball at the park down the street (or fake baseball when we just pretended we had a bat and ball and ran around the bases...I used to hit a LOT of home runs).  She loved watching the Seahawks and Huskies and Mariners, and somehow knew more about them than any Grandma is supposed to.

We spent some wonderful Thanksgivings and Christmases there, but Easters were the best, with dozens of family members making the trip for the classic Easter egg hunt (whoever wrote the song that goes "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go" really knew what they were talking about).  I always looked forward to the Easter egg hunts; the adults would hide painted hard boiled eggs and plastic eggs filled with candy or money around the garden and beach front.  The kids would spend hours trying to bring back the biggest loot.  I didn't even bother picking up the boiled eggs...I only cared about the candy and money.  Even when it wasn't Easter, every time I walked outside I would look around the garden just in case there were some un-found eggs laying around (and sometimes there were!).  I found $2 once!

Easter Egg hunt 30 years ago

Not only did Grandma bring our family together for valuable bonding, but she somehow brought the neighborhood together as well. It seemed like everyone who lived within walking distance of Maxwelton Beach Road knew "Alice" and all of her grandkids.  There were always people stopping by to say hi, somehow they remembered me, but sometimes I had no idea who they were.  Alice was important to them, and so was her family, so they remembered her and everything that was important to her. That's the kind of person she was.  She made people love her, just by being herself.  When I got into college, one of my favorite things to do was to bring friends to the island for a weekend, and Grandma was always standing at the door to greet us with open arms.  She remembered my friends like they were her friends, played with us, fed us, and made sure we were all having a great time. Grandma was so good to my friends that one of the things that makes me saddest is that my future family will never be able to meet her.  Simply put, I loved showing her off, and I wish everyone in the world could have met her.

Which one is Grandma?

Grandma and cousins - 2003

With my brother

But there are even more defining memories I have of Grandma.  She was somehow more connected to animals and nature than anyone I have ever known.  She always had little lap dogs, and our family Bichon, Lani, loved spending time at Grandma's.  She'd get super excited whenever we approached Grandma's gravel road and one of us got out to open the gate.  Grandma even used to have a small stuffed Lani dog, which she carried around and treated like it was a real dog (she'd talk to it and pretend to feed it when she thought nobody was looking).  I've heard of horse whisperers, but I'm pretty sure Grandma whispered to all animals.

Spending time on Whidbey meant spending time in the wild, often to find our dinners for the night. Grandma knew secret spots where we could dig buckets of clams in just minutes, pick up huge dungeness crabs with our bare hands (although I was hard for me because I was scared of their giant claws), and hunt matsutake mushrooms and wild blackberries in the forest (we'd get into fights over the last piece of blackberry pie). She was also able to spot the bald eagles sitting in the tree tops on the hill with her bare eyes, while most mortals needed to grab the binoculars to confirm that she was right.  And oh how I loved when we would put the guts from our caught salmon on the beach, hide behind some logs or in the house and watch as the bald eagles swooped in to eat them.  My grandma fed bald eagles.  I don't even think Chuck Norris does that.

She taught me how to dig for sand shrimp, which we used to catch flounder and cod, and how to bait my hook with herring just right so the salmon would bite.  Whenever she would take me fishing in the little 10 foot Livingston, the fish seemed to willingly jump into her side of the boat, while I sat there picking my nose, with no action at all (kind of like my life these days). Everyone wanted to be around her; even the fish.  I used to make the excuse that old people have a special smell that fish were attracted to, so she had an unfair advantage.  Or maybe fish just didn't like the taste of my boogers.

When I was probably 10 years old, I remember pulling up a skate (something like a sting ray) that seemed like the size of the boat.  Seeing this thing approach the surface from under the boat is one of the scariest things I can remember.  At the time, I thought it was going to knock the boat over and eat us.  Of course, it was harmless, but we let it go because I was too scared of it.  This is just a random picture from the internet, but that's how big the skate was in my memory (in reality it was probably super tiny).  I never knew how she could remain so calm, with this huge monster right under us. But that's Grandma, the fish whisperer.

Miles of adventures during low tide at Whidbey

There is only one thing that ever bothered me about visiting Grandma's house.  She had a freaky stuffed doll that reminded me of Chucky from the movie Child's Play. The doll wasn't scary by itself, but my imagination always got the best of me, especially at night.  Grandma's living room had very large windows, and the side of the house facing the beach was basically two huge sliding glass doors. My brother and I usually slept in the living room and when the moon was bright, it created lots of shadows. This meant being able to see bats flying around outside and creepy shadows of everything near the glass doors and windows.  I don't know if someone did this on purpose, but that stupid doll (which was the size of a 3-year old), was always standing up, leaning against the glass.  So in the moonlight, it looked as if a small creepy kid was standing outside, looking into the living room. This always freaked me out.  Even when I buried the stupid baby under some blankets or threw it under the couch, it always seemed to move back to the glass the next night.

Grandma also had one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking stories about her 2.5 years in the Minidoka internment camp during World War II, in Hunt, Idaho.  The internment camps were basically prisons, where the US government sent Japanese people because nobody trusted them after the Pearl Harbor bombing.  And when I say Japanese people, I mean Japanese Americans. They thought my Grandparents, and many like them, American citizens born and raised in the US, were spies for Japan. She didn't talk much about this traumatic betrayal, but she once told my cousin Kelsi about the experience; what it was like to be stripped of her liberties by her own country.  She wrote a short memoir about it, which is not formally published, but if anyone is interested, I'd be happy to share (her quote from the beginning is from this memoir).

It covers a wide range of emotion from confusion to embarrassment to anger, losing their freedom and possessions, and the racism and prejudice, to the joy of my dad being born (unfortunately in the camp), to the depression of losing her own mother. Her honeymoon photos were confiscated, which showed some romantic doodling on the sandy beach, because the FBI thought they were messages to Japanese submarines. Then there was the heroism when Grandma's brothers and husband volunteered for the US Army (the 442nd Infantry, the most decorated unit in the US military history) to prove their allegiance and patriotism, despite their country turning it's back on them. Two of her brothers fought in Europe, one being captured as a POW (but safely returned later).  It's such a powerful story that is not widely known in the US, that it could (and should) be a movie.  It's kind of sad that the best way to raise awareness about history is to make a Hollywood movie about it.  So Steven Spielberg, if you're reading this, Tweet me and we can talk about the script.

Physically, Grandma was always pretty healthy, as you can guess from all of her activities.  But she started developing dementia several years ago. I wanted to share this because we will always remember and cherish her, even though her illness took away some of her memories of us.  Dad used to tell me about some of the things she did that showed signs; forgetting names or what she was doing just moments before, how things from our house would disappear into her purse and end up on Whidbey Island, and other quirky things that happen as we get older. To be honest, what she did was "cute" and we couldn't  help but laugh a little, because it was Grandma.  She was always still funny, engaging and smiling, so you didn't really notice anything was wrong. I saw it up close for the first time when I was visiting my parents.  Grandma was telling me an elaborate, funny story about my dad as a child, sharing some embarrassing things about him. Unfortunately I forgot all the details of the juicy story, because the ending of the conversation is what stuck in my mind.  I remember thinking she was not showing any signs of dementia at all, because she was funny, remembering little details and was as engaging as ever.  Until the end when she said to me "Freddie (my dad) is really great, and he has a lovely family too!  In fact, this is his house, you should meet him!".  Oh Grandma, yes I know him, you're talking about my dad.  My heart broke a little, but I could only laugh about it, gave her a big hug, and didn't let go for a long time. Since I am not sure if she realized I was her grandson, she was probably thinking "what is this weirdo doing and why won't he let go of me?"

Writing this post started out with me feeling sad and being mad at death. But it got me to stop thinking about death and to start thinking about life.  Grandma lived an amazing life, of which most people would be envious.  She touched lives from the moment anyone met her, and created so many bonds and memories for all of her family and friends.  So even though her death sucks and it made me extremely sad, I am even happier now from thinking about her and celebrating her life.  I truly want to thank you for reading this, because like I said, I love to show off my Grandma to the world.

Me and Grandma being dorks

In closing, I'd like to share a funny poem that all of my cousins can recite by memory, because it hung above the toilet in Grandma's bathroom.

All us folks with septic tanks
Give to you our heartfelt thanks
For putting nothing in the pot
That isn't guaranteed to rot.
Face tissue is bad, matchsticks too,
Cigarette butts are taboo.
No hair combings, use the basket,
There's good reason why we ask it!

Rest in Peace Grandma.  We love you.