This weekend is the hubby’s birthday and then on the 24th is the most important day of my life: Ukraine’s Independence Day. (And it might be our wedding anniversary, too, but priorities…)
(I’m trying not think too hard about what Putin may do to ‘celebrate’, but it’s not far from my thoughts.)
To celebrate, we went to the Everglades National Park - Shark Valley. All he’s wanted to do since we moved here is see an alligator in the wild and this place practically guarantees sightings. Of course, it’s “wet” season, which means the gators like to hide out in the water. During the dry season, they’re more likely to be out on the ground. Amazingly enough, there are no boundaries anywhere. People are expected to respect the wildlife, and in turn, the wildlife ignores them. According to our guide, there’s only been one serious event, it was an accident, and the kid survived. (The moral of the story is don’t fall off your bike onto an alligator.)
It’s a 15 mile loop, and in August, it’s a stupid idea to walk it. I wanted to, but we decided to take the tram out and back. (I know how to hydrate - not diedrate - and when you’re training for a marathon in South Florida, 15 miles is nothing! Unfortunately, the husband disagreed with me, so we’ll go back when it’s cooler. Maybe then he won’t care that it’s 15 miles.)
Our tour guide was excellent and the driver deserves a reward for not killing anyone. Every time the driver saw something of note, she’d slam on the brakes and make sure we saw it. She missed a turtle, but caught two alligators. Since that was the only objective, we left poor, but happy. (I can’t believe how expensive it was: $30 / car or $15 / person to get into the park, and another $30-ish / person to take the tram tour. But… alligators!)
In other news, life begins again. I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in a while (well, since I got fired in 2018) and it’s starting to show. I’ve pretty much decided to jump into the things that matter with both feet and dedicate myself to getting stronger. Whether it’s becoming fluent in Ukrainian or training for a marathon, it’s all or nothing. I’m finally rediscovering… me. I lost who I was for such a long time.
I ended up dumping my Ukrainian teacher and trying another one. I’m on my third. She seems to understand what I want out of this and is actually using a pretty obscure textbook that I already own. (It’s only offered by one program and it’s the textbook for their classes. Their program was OK, but pricey. The textbook however is amazing.)
I feel like I’m making a little progress with remembering vocab. I’m back on the Duolingo bandwagon because it’s a quick refresher every day and that helps, too. I’m also revisiting the Ukrainian Lessons podcast. I’m jumping in with both feet and it feels good.
Also part of my all or nothing mindset is running.
Yeah. Running.
I hired a running coach.
Read that again.
I. Hired. A. Running. Coach.
It’s like I want to become a serious runner or something…
I’m ridiculously fixated on my speed. Which, I suppose is understandable considering I didn’t finish two half marathons within the time limit. It was pure luck I didn’t get swept during Wine and Dine, and while I finished right behind the balloon ladies during Marathon Weekend (and knocked 13 minutes off my W&D time), I’m not happy with it. I want to finish these races with time to spare, to not be stressed out by an ill-timed bathroom break, to not hurt myself by trying to keep an unobtainable pace.
So. Yeah. I hired a running coach and every Saturday, we meet at the track and he tries to kill me. (Have I ever fully described South Florida in August? It fucking sucks.) I do speed drills. A lot of drills.
I’m getting faster and it’s hurting me less to run at those speeds. I’m still planning on doing intervals during the races, but I’m not sure what that’s going to look like. He thinks I can do one minute running, when I was aiming for thirty seconds.
The most exciting thing is that my progress is measurable. I’m consistently doing 11 minute miles (in about 40 seconds of running) during our track runs. When paired with my now-plateaued 16:30 walking speed, I’m in pretty good shape.
I had a rough goal of being able to finish in 7 hours with the Galloway 30/30 pacers, but he thinks I can finish in 6 without any problems. It’s not a Boston Qualifier by any means, but it’s more than I thought possible.
I don’t know…
I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself and the way my life is heading and I haven’t been able to say that in a long time.
I’m constantly fascinated by the amount of assholery I see in the world. Although I don’t know why… I mean, I’m the biggest asshole I know.
I mentioned - in passing - that I had a Ukrainian lesson this morning. (The first one in five (FIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) years.) And I was told that I shouldn’t be wasting my time on a ‘trendy’ language since nobody speaks it in Florida.
Sure.
There isn’t a Ukrainian community in Miami.
There isn’t one in Orlando, either.
And even more importantly, I don’t have an emotional or a biological connection to Ukraine.
Nope.
Also of note: “Why do you have all this Ukrainian crap all over Facebook?” / “Your bio didn’t say anything about being Ukrainian until the war started.”
Whatever.
I was listening to a YouTube playlist the other day and this popped up. I can’t say it’s my favourite OE song, but I might have repeated it once or twice… or seventy eleven billion times, but who’s counting? What I could understand of the lyrics pulled me in, and then Lyrics Translate filled in the blanks.
Which is a nice segue to a recap of my Ukrainian lesson…
I told the teacher that I was basically starting from scratch, but it turns out that’s not exactly true.
I can remember the “first chapter” stuff - greetings, how to read the alphabet - but once we get into the meat of the language, I’ll be totally useless. Then again, I’m getting better at reading. A lot of words stand out and I can put together a simple translation of a paragraph or a headline.
I’m also listening to more music than ever before and trying to translate the lyrics, sometimes with absolutely hysterical results. (Remember AND YOU DON’T EVEN BLOW YOUR MUSTACHE, YOU ARRANGE YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!!! I still giggle every time I hear that line.) I’ve been on the lookout for new bands for a while now and I found KALUSH prior to this year’s Eurovision competition but I didn’t put two and two together for a while. It wasn’t until they started getting a lot of exposure that I recognised the rapper’s voice. This song has been on repeat for-fucking-ever during my commute. One, because Slava rapping is a kink I didn’t know I had (I don’t know if it’s rapping… more like over enunciating? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.) and two, what the fuck is the guy in the pink hat saying?
I like learning songs that are hard. (ha. I said hard.) Guns and Ships from Hamilton. It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) from R.E.M. Диагноз from Бумбокс. The speed of the lyrics. The cadence. Even the way certain words are accented. It’s challenge I love. And one that I’m not all that great at in Ukrainian.
So. KALUSH.
If some of their videos didn’t have the lyrics, I think I would die. He hits certain words weird to make them fit better in his rapid fire style. I maybe understand one or two words each time he goes off because he’s just so fucking fast. Maybe if I was fluent, maybe if I could at least read quicker, if I could speak faster, it wouldn’t be quite so tongue twisty…
Example 1 (a quick teaser of the Eurovision winner because it has the lyrics):
Also.. watching him live? Fuck me. How much did he have to practice?!?!?!
(I love this video because it was filmed in Площі Ринок (Market Square) in Lviv. I walked that cobblestone street and I know exactly where it was filmed which makes me happy in ways I can’t explain. Too bad the quality isn’t the greatest.)
Example 2:
(And no. I don’t know what’s up with the “carpet guy”. I should probably google it, but I kind of like not knowing.)
So. Yeah.
I would apologise, because I had a blog set up specifically for my Ukrainian posts, but I don’t like it over there. I’m actually going to shut it down whenever I get to it… I had an idea for a different Ukrainian themed site, but we’ll see where that goes. Probably nowhere right now.
It’s the very last RTI racery event and I have bitten off more than I can chew… but I always do.
I took yesterday and Monday off - I needed some time to myself and I’m not that busy at work. Plus, it’s the first four days of The Final Battle and I figured that I would cap the first four days.
I had the bright Idea that I would run a mile for every day that Russian has been in Ukraine and donate $1 for each mile. (117 by the end of the event.) I had it planned out perfectly: Four caps would put me at 60 days. I could then cap the final weekend as well, which would push me to 90 before I ran a single mile on a workday.
Well.
I capped yesterday and today… I have not felt like a functional human at all.
I bite my nails. I always have. All the way down to the quick and sometimes a little extra. When I’m super stressed, I always manage to rip the entire nail off one (if not both) of my pinkies.
I saw a hypnotist. I’ve talked about it in therapy. I’ve worn false ones.
And I even bought this shit that was practically guaranteed to keep my fingers out of my mouth. (Oh. My. God. It was absolutely disgusting… But. It didn’t work.)
Several years ago, I had a great epiphany: I self-harm.
Still haven’t figured out how to get people to understand why I consider it self-harm, but the end result is the same.
Still haven’t figured out how to stop it either.
(Seriously! I saw a fucking hypnotist, I was so desperate to stop doing it. Apparently, I’m so fucked up that they couldn’t figure out a way to help.)
So anyhoo…
In 47 years on this earth, I have never seriously hurt myself. (The pain of a missing fingernail dissipates rather quickly when you’re used to it.)
Well, Thursday night I wound up in Urgent Care.
Managed to rip off my thumbnail and get an infection.
My thumb was swollen to twice it’s normal size and there was a little spot that had turned green.
It was the first time I’d ever been afraid of what I was capable of.
I suppose, in it’s own way, it’s not that much different from a blade slipping and cutting a vein or something.
Of course… in the car Friday morning on the way to the grocery store, I managed to chew off the remaining nails on that hand.
(All that to say I didn’t get in a cap today because I had a bad reaction to the antibiotic they prescribed me.)
This has been on repeat today… I’m not sure why, but it fits my mood perfectly.
Well. I’ve spent way too much quality weekend time going through those in that blog post and some others.
We’re painting the room we call the Person Cave and we needed to figure out a way to maximise the closet space. Last weekend, he painted the closet white and installed shelves. I’ve been trying to reorganise 40+ years of crap.
I suppose it goes without saying that I’ve spent most of the last two weekends crying.
But… I’ve actually thrown away a lot of memorabilia. Like my parent’s honeymoon photos, my mother’s UCONN scrapbook, their wedding album, my baby book. One of my rules was that I would only keep it if it didn’t piss me off to look at it. So. No pictures of people I didn’t know. No pictures of places I’ve never been. No pictures of people who are dead to me. I kept a bunch of photos of my parents, back when they were young and in love, but only because my father looked so happy in them. The one thing he kept saying during our last conversation was that he wished I knew the woman he married. The woman she used to be. I look at those pictures and I see a strange woman laughing with my father and smiling at him. The only reason I know who she is is because I look like her, and well… historical context. I mean, as far as I know, my father only married once. And if it’s not my mother in those photos than the people I’ve always thought of as my grandparents are… not.
It’s all a bit of a head fuck, to be honest.
Today’s unexpected memory landmine was a bunch of stuff from the UCONN Mens’ Ice Hockey coach, Coach Marshall. He was such a good guy and it showed in the post it notes stuck to every single ticket he left at the door for me, the random letters he’d send me as part of the fundraising bullshit he had to do, the letter of recommendation he wrote for me. And at some point, past me decided it would be a good idea to keep the booklet from his memorial service with all that. Fuck. I’m crying just thinking about all of it. When it came to getting a job in hockey, he was my number one cheerleader. I owe that man so much. And he’s gone.
Yeah.
So… it’s been a bit of a tough day for me.
Let’s end this on a happy note, yeah?
This may very well be my favourite lyric of any song ever (well, as of right now):
Нині не льотна погода
Сказала мені, шоби я
Літав собі голий по хаті,
Показував дулі з вікна.
На мене багато хто скаже,
Шо я тіпа з боку смішний,
А той, хто багато говорить,
По-моєму трохи дурний.
Roughly translates to: The weather is bad today. I’m walking around the house naked, showing my bits from the window. People say I look funny, but I think people who talk too much are dumb.
Seeing how it’s been fucking raining since Thursday, I thought it fitting.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about this collab, but it is LOVE. The video kills me… it was filmed in Ukraine, sooooo there’s that. The Ukrainian lyrics reference the way families are being torn apart. Like in Taras’ case, the lyrics speak to the way his wife and children fled the country and are currently living somewhere in New Jersey.
Between a shitty, shitty, shitty day at work caused by both AT&T and the US Government, the war in Ukraine (bombing near Lviv - always good for a heart attack), and Roe vs Wade, I’m fucking done.
Oh! And it would have been my mother’s 76th birthday today. I have no trouble picturing an older version of my father, but my mother is forever 46. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.
So yeah. Crappy headspace. Good song. Exhausted Wendell.
