You Call This A Summer?

It's been cold (65F or so) here in London this summer and I, for one, am sick of it. Summer should be hot. Summer should be sunny. Summer should be like, well, summer. This is no summer.

It's bad enough that school didn't end until last Friday. As an American, summer should be an awfully long stretch of school-free time. Six weeks of summer vacation does not constitute a "long stretch."

This spring, the newspapers were full of stories saying this was going to be the hottest summer on record. Hottest for whom, I'd like to know. Penguins??

Since Monday, it's been overcast and rainy here. While this is excellent news for the new turf we laid in the backyard, it is terribly bad news if you're five and two and aching to spend a nice sunny day running around your local park.

Our Lithuanian cleaner, whose command of English isn't great, summed up my feelings about this weather exactly: "This is bullshit," she said today.

London in the news (again)

Some of you may have heard that there were some minor explosions at three Tube stops and on one bus in London today. Again, we are all safe. Details are still quite sketchy. For up-to-the-minute updates, check the BBC News site.

We have decided, however, to employ a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy concerning these recent developments with our five-year-old. As no one is sure when/if these terrible events will stop, I see no need to make our son nervous about going on the Underground or worried about his father, who uses it every day. Because the explosions were minor, we think it's best to leave it and have him worry about the things that are important to him: i.e. when he'll be able to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" or what he will do on his last day of school, which is tomorrow.

The two-year-old is completely oblivious. Lucky him. His most immediate concern is, "When will I eat my next chocolate chip cookie?" I wish my most immediate concern was the same.

Help Me Decide

To Run or Not To Run?

The new issue of "Marathon News" landed in our front hallway with a thud yesterday.

As soon as I had it in my hot little hands, I ran inside, ripped it open and perused it to see if there were any pictures of me in this year's race. While the issue was bereft of MarathonMum pictures, it did contain the ballot to enter next year's London Marathon.

Now, had the magazine arrived Monday I wouldn't have even entertained the thought of doing the race next year. Monday marked the fourth straight day I decided I'd go out for a run (even dressing for the activity on Friday and Monday), only to talk myself out of the endeavor, using one lame reason or another. But on Tuesday, I told myself Nicholas and I would go for only 20 minutes-- 10 minutes up the Thames and 10 minutes back. But I was enjoying the beautiful morning, jamming with my tunes, and running with such a nice rhythm that I actually went for 37 minutes. It was a great run.

I weighed the pros and cons of doing it next year.
For: I've got experience now and know what to expect
-I can learn from the mistakes I made in 2005
-Enjoying the experience of feeling like an Olympian for the day
-I can try to beat my time, which I was quite disappointed with
Cons: I've got experience now and know what to expect
-Three months on, my body STILL isn't fully recovered (back and hip still hurt)
-My personal trainer (Nicholas) will be that much older and heavier, making weekday training much more difficult
-No one ever asks you HOW MANY marathons you've done, only IF you've done it

I told Tim at dinner last night that the magazine/ballot arrived.
"I hope you threw it away," he said.
"So should I take that to mean you think I shouldn't do it?" I asked.
He pointed out that I was still suffering from this year's marathon, and also how much I wasn't around on the weekends, given the long Sunday runs I had to do. "You also got a little bit obsessed," he added. [Me? Obsessed?? Is that possible??? Does that finally explain why I've kept the name MarathonMum for my blog? {Actually, the reason I've kept the name is so that I can shamelessly continue to mention that I did the marathon}]

Now, when my mother reads this entry later today, I am quite sure that I will be able to hear her yelling, "NO! NO! NO!" from the other side of the Atlantic. There are probably lots of other people who know me and love me who also think doing the marathon again is pure folly.

I still haven't made up my mind about what I'm going to do, but I'm leaning against sending in the ballot. It would be nice to just support the other runners and enjoy the day next year. On the other hand, there's still that little voice inside my head who is saying, "Come on! Do it again!!"

Watch this space.

I'm a Televangelist!

I took a "Personality Disorder" test on the web site OKCupid! and it turns out that I ould make a PERFECT televangelist! Watch out, Tammy Fae. It's a fun test and worth checking out. To do it yourself, click here

Televangelist You are 28% Rational, 57% Extroverted, 14% Brutal, and 57% Arrogant.

As the Lord as my witness, I swear upon the good book that you are indeed the TELEVANGELIST! Characterized by extreme arrogance, self-assurance, and extroversion, you would make a very charismatic leader (or a very despotic one). On top of that, you are also more intuitive than rational, predisposing you to a more spiritual or emotional outlook on life. Thus, you are thoroughly irrational. You also tend to be rather gentle and considerate of others' feelings. Clearly, you would make the perfect televangelist. Emotional, extroverted, arrogant, and gentle, you annoy the hell out of people who have to listen to the feel-good, intuitive shit spewing from your mouth. Not only that, but people may look down on you as a self-centered asshat. So while you are gentle and genuinely care about others, it is quite clear that you still care about yourself MORE. Why is your personality flawed? Because you are too damned extroverted, emotional, and arrogant. So preach your irrational message, brotha-man! I assure you, no one will be listening! To put it less negatively: 1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational. 2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted. 3. You are more GENTLE than brutal. 4. You are more ARROGANT than humble. Compatibility: Your exact opposite is the Spiteful Loner. Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hippie, the Starving Artist, and the Robot. * * If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits. The other personality types: The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 4% on Rationality You scored higher than 58% on Extroversion You scored higher than 4% on Brutality You scored higher than 70% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid

What Am I?

As my family and I prepare for our annual trip to the U.S., I find myself thinking about what determines nationality.

My husband and I moved to London in late 1998 assuming it would be a three-year assignment. Now, two sons and nearly seven years later, we’re still here. Some people, both here and in the U.S., seem amazed that I still have my American accent, but an accent is a difficult thing to lose after 30 years. British acquaintances will describe me as “The American” when they can’t remember my name. I am American and I will always be American.

But my two sons are a different matter. They were both born in the United Kingdom. Neither has spent much time in the United States. They both hold U.S. passports, since they have American parents, but I don’t think I could call them American.

But I couldn’t call the boys British, either. They don’t have British passports. They don’t have any other relatives in this country, nor do we have any ancestors from here. They have American parents. However, this is the place that they were born. London is home, and America is a foreign country to them.

We do what we can to reinforce American traditions to our sons. We enthusiastically celebrate Thanksgiving. I make sure to tell them about Ground Hog Day. We talk about the importance of Memorial Day. We mark the Fourth of July, even though the explanation is a little bit tricky. (“This is the day that Americans celebrate the fact that they didn’t have to live under British rule anymore.” When I saw the quizzical expression on my five-year-old’s face, I added, “We live under British rule, but that’s by choice and we can leave at any time.”)

Living in Britain, it’s difficult not to get caught up in British sayings, traditions and ways of life. We eat “bangers” not “sausages.” We put “rubbish” in the “bin,” not “garbage” in the “trash.” We celebrate Guy Fawkes Day in November. We enjoy a nice roast for Sunday lunch, which takes up most of the afternoon. We had goose for Christmas this year, and then we opened up our Christmas crackers.

Soon after he started school this year, my 5-year-old son told me that I was misspelling my own name. “It should be M-U-M, not M-O-M,” he said. But I refuse. It’s fine if he wants to call me “Mum”, which he does when his British accent is particularly strong, but I just can’t bring myself to call myself “Mum.” I would feel like a fraud, and every American fibre of my being would revolt.

I’ve decided that my sons are neither American nor British. While there are some superficial differences between the two nationalities, American and British people have many of the same good qualities: Courage, tenacity, intelligence and honesty. I can only hope that as they grow from boys into men, they will draw on their experiences and history from both countries to represent the best of the U.S. and the U.K.

The Stiff Upper Lip

The mythology surrounding the British stiff upper lip is absolutely true, I have found this week.

Less than a week after four bombs exploded in central London, life continues, much as it did before. The news may be focused on finding the perpetrators and identifying the victims, but for many Londoners, we have acknowledged the bombings, discussed the aftermath, and vowed that life will not change because of some cowardly terrorists.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines a stiff upper lip as “An attitude of determined endurance or restraint in the face of adversity.” No picture illustrated the definition, but if a lip were to be included, it would most definitely belong to a Londoner.

London comes by its collective strength honestly. One newsreader said this weekend, “London, like the rest of Britain, carries on in spite of its wounds. Scars will heal. Evil will never win.” However, the narrator was speaking not of the terrorist bombings on Thursday, but of the bombings during World War Two, 65 years ago.

This is a city that survived a five-day fire in 1666. This is a city that survived bombings by the Nazis during World War Two, when parents had to evacuate their own children to the countryside so they would be safe. This is a city that survived random bombings by the Irish Republican Army in the 1980s, when no one knew when or where the next bomb would be.

London has been battered before, but never beaten. People are getting on with their lives because they believe that by doing so, they are defying the terrorists. Londoners believe if they were to stay off the Underground, or change their life in other ways, that would be capitulation to the terrorists, because that’s what they want us to do. So we carry on.

“The people responsible for this bombing understand evil, but they don’t understand us,” one person wrote to the Daily Mail.

The London bombings showed me British resilience and courage, but it also drove home something else: people are tested in all sorts of ways every day.

During one of the calls I made to tell friends and family we were safe, one good friend told me that their 21-month-old daughter was having seizures and they didn’t know why. My brother in Panama City, Fla. called to see if we were okay just before he had to evacuate due to the impending arrival of Hurricane Dennis. When I called my cousin in Atmore, Ala. on Sunday to tell him we were fine, he was waiting to see what destruction Hurricane Dennis would bring.

So while London’s bombings were tragic and terrible, they were just one type of test people around the world had to endure last week. But wherever they are, people should use the British stiff upper lip as a fine example of steely resolve in the face of adversity, whatever or wherever that may be.

Terror in London

LONDON -- Now it seems as though it is our turn to feel the wrath of al Queda.

Less than 24 hours after being named host of the 2012 Olympics, London was rocked by bombs throughout the city’s center on Thursday, leaving people scared, angry, shaken and nervous. The terror completely eradicated the utter euphoria the city felt after winning the Olympics just a day before.

I first learned about the bombings in a most 21^st century way—through a news headline e-mail. Just as I finished reading it, thinking there had been some mistake, my husband called telling me he was safe (his office is less than a mile away from one of the bombings) and urging me to put on the news.

In those first harrowing minutes, nothing was certain, except that there had been several bombs throughout the city. The BBC newsreader lists the Tube stops: I have been to all of them, for one reason or another. The fact that I thought about going in to the city to do a long-needed errand wasn’t worth considering.

As I sit and watch the news unfold, my body begins to remember its reaction to 9/11: my hands start shaking uncontrollably and I feel sick to my stomach. On that day in 2001, my husband and I sat in front of a television in Chicago while our nearly two-year-old son ran around saying “Sirens! Sirens!”

Now, nearly four years later, I was sitting in front of a different television with a different two-year-old son running around, but with the same sick feeling. Again, I think: “What sort of world am I bringing my son into?” But this time, after the bombings in the U.S. and Spain, there seemed to be a certain inevitability to the terror. It was never a question of “if” al Queda would bomb London, but “when” and “how.”

When I was a summer camp counsellor, I spent much of my day doing head counts of my second-grade group to make sure everyone was present and accounted for. On Thursday, I did the same thing. I did a mental list of everyone we knew who worked in the city and tried to call them. However, with the mobile networks overloaded with millions of people doing the same thing, the task was difficult. We now know that everyone in our immediate circle of friends is safe, but it is only a matter of time before we learn of a friend-of-a-friend who was caught up in the terror.

With the sky gray and rain falling occasionally, the weather seemed to match the ominous mood. I heard sirens in the distance, as ambulance and fire crews were diverted into central London. Helicopters flew overhead. The streets were empty, as the police commissioner urged people to stay where they were.

In the midst of this, I had to walk over to our local Royal Park to see my 5-year-old son play in his school’s sports day, an annual end-of-school event with fun and games. The children hadn’t been told about the bombings, and they ran and laughed, oblivious to the terror just a few miles away.

Later in the afternoon, when I picked up my son from school, I tried my best to explain what happened. In 2001, he was too young to understand the events. But on Thursday, he could read the newspaper headline we walked past, “Terrorists Attack London – Many Dead” and see the hundreds of people filling our local streets, walking home after the Underground and bus services were shut down.

I told him that some bombs had exploded, and Daddy was safe, but lots of people died or were hurt. The only thing he said was, “I hope none of our friends lived on the street were the bombs were.” Amen.

Explosions in London

For those of you who are worried, everyone on the MarathonMum team is safe. I will post more later.

London Wins! London Wins!

London will host the 2012 Summer Olympics, the International Olympic Committee announced Wednesday.

MarathonMum says, in an American accent no less, "We rock! Hooray! This is awesome!"

The announcement was just like any great Olympic event because London just edged out heavily-favoured Paris, with a vote of 54-50.

MarathonMum has much to do before the big event, including training Andrew to be in a sport that a 13-year-old boy could be competitive in, finding a bigger house so all of our friends and family who are so inclined can come and stay with us, and finding some marginal event that I can compete in (I'm thinking archery).

This is great. I am so excited.

MarathonMum (me), Michelle and Laura after the British 10K Sunday. 

Meeting my Blog Buddies

"Blog buddies? What in the world are they," you ask.

Blog buddies (I should trademark the term, I see it catching on), are my 21st century pen pals. My Blog Buddies Laura and Michelle also ran the British 10K on Sunday, so we decided to meet up at the race. Laura and I started the race together, and we met up with Michelle once we were all done. (I should note that Laura beat me in the race-- well done Laura-- because I just gave up trying to dodge around all the walkers and runners that were slower than us to keep up with her.)

Like all meetings of pen pals, 21st century or otherwise, you know lots of things about these people, but you haven't spent much time together. So it's a little bit strange, and could even be awkward. Once we did meet in person, we hugged each other like old friends and didn't stop talking for several hours.

We found out during our post-race lunch that we had many things in common: we all did the London Marathon, we're all foreigners in Britian, we're all tenacious, we'd all like to be faster runners, we all have close families and none of us take ourselves too seriously.

The race itself was rubbish (too many people, no water at the finish, poor markings, I could go on) but the rest of the day was fantastic. We are now trying to decide what race we will meet up at next.

This great day just prove the serendipitous nature of friendships: whether its at high school, through work, by the school gates or via the Internet.

The Centre of the Universe

London seems to be the centre of the universe at the moment, with Wimbledon continuing, the (best) Live8 concert tomorrow, the start of the Summer Sales and the Olympics bid decision next week.

We've got a jam-packed weekend planned.

It's an all-American women's final at Wimbledon tomorrow, with Lindsay Davenport playing Venus Williams. I'd like to see Lindsay win-- she might not be the most exciting person, but she is an amazing player and very classy. Go Lindsay!

I will be watching the Live8 concert from the comfort of my sofa (boo!) but with an ice-cold beer in my hand (yeah!). The winners of Live8 tickets learned yesterday that alcohol will be banned at the event, which suddenly made me feel not so sad that I didn't win tickets. Also, as previously predicted in MarathonMum, given the number of artists performing, they'll each be playing no more than four songs.

The start of the Summer Sales is also a big deal in the city. Now, my American friends-- they live in the land of perpetual sales-- are scratching their heads and wondering what the big deal is. But here, we have two sales a year-- one right after Christmas and one in the summer. So this is it for bargains. I've gotten used to it, and in fact, I'm not convinced that Americans get bargains if things are on "sale" all the time. Tim hit the sales on Friday, and I will be attempting to get a few things tomorrow.

Finally, in the lead up to the Olympics decision on Wednesday, there will be a 10K race in the heart of London on Sunday morning. Now, I am slightly worried about what my performance will be, given my Marathon periformis problems, but I did run six miles on Thursday and it went great, so maybe it won't be the disaster I fear. Even better, though, is that I'm meeting up with two of my fellow bloggers whom I "met" while we all trained for the London marathon. Laura and I plan to run together, and Michelle is going to meet up with us after for some celebratory pints.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

London 2012 - Back the Bid

Olympic fever seems to be contagious at the moment, since the International Olympic Committee will announce on Wednesday which city will host the 2012 Summer Olympics.

London is a finalist to host the games with Paris, Madrid, New York and Moscow. As you can see from the photo below, our family (well, Andrew and I, anyway) would really like to see London win. Sure, our taxes would go up, and there would be all sorts of hassle associated with the games, but it would just be SO COOL if the Olympics were in London, as I've always wanted to go.

If London wins, Greenwich itself will be the host venue for the equestrian competitions (at our local Royal Park), gymnastics and basketball (at the old Millennium Dome), meaning I could walk to the horse events (if only I had any interest at all in them), or hop a bus-- or run if I were by myself-- to the other two events at the Dome.

Last Saturday they had a "Back the Bid" event at Greenwich Park, where Andrew got to try out the Olympic sports of rowing, judo, football and bicyling. We had our fitness tested, which gave me yet another opportunity to casually mention that I ran the London Marathon. The tester complimented me on my fitness-- I was excellent or good in all categories-- so I thought it was only right that I tell her why. They also had a parade, which Andrew and I had made flags for (see picture below). We even got our Back the Bid t-shirts, which we both wear with pride. Andrew, in fact, loved his so much that I had to convince him it was time to wash it after he'd worn it for two straight days.

According to the British press, Paris and London are the joint favourites to host the Games. Madrid is considered to be in third place and New York and Moscow aren't in the running, apparently (sorry, American and Russian friends).

Needless to say, I am ardently following developments related to the awarding of the Games. I hope London wins.

London 2012 - Back the Bid! (Register your support at www.london2012.com/en/)

Andrew, clad in his Leap for London T-Shirt, joins in the Back the Bid celebrations at Greenwich Park Saturday. 

Prince William to Work in the City

Prince William, future King of England, will work alongside those who think they are kings when he takes a job in the City.

Prince William graduated with honours from St. Andrew’s University Thursday. The British press quickly dubbed him the brainiest-ever royal, as his neither father or his uncles graduated with honours. (The Queen, alas, did not go to university. She has a degree from the School of Hard Knocks. And a crown.)

Upon graduating, William outlined the three work experiences he has chosen for the next six months. He’ll work on a farm, with a mountain rescue team, and in the City. “The City”, for those MarathonMum fans not from here, is the London equivalent of Wall Street. When you say you “Work in the City” it is understood to be at a financial institution, usually making loads ‘n loads of cash.

“I very much hope that these work placements will give me hands-on experience in three very different but important areas," William said in a statement. “The work experience in the City was something I was particularly keen to do as I feel that this is an area in which I could learn a lot, and it may well help me with charitable fund-raising in the future.” [Read: Meet more rich people who will be able to pony up large amounts of cash when I need it for my yet-to-be-named-or-formed charity.]

No specific financial institution was named due to security concerns, so Bloomberg News needs to get on the case and break the story. Come on, people! This is the sort of news people need, not the latest in the Citigroup-Legg Mason deal or whether oil is still trading above $60 (At the time of writing, it was trading at $59.90).

The Friday newspapers contained some speculation about where William will work. The Sun said it might be Merrill Lynch, where William’s friend Edward van Custem is employed. The Telegraph said it might be Barclays, KPMG or Coutts, the Queen’s bank. (“Would you like me to ask my banker if they have any summer jobs?” she asked her grandson. “Sure, Grandma, that would be brilliant!”)

Personally, I think it’s hilarious that William will work in the City. Here he is, the future King of England, surrounded by men with Ego Complexes larger than England. Wouldn’t it be great if just once he told them, “You think you’re so hot because you got a £5 million bonus last year? One day I will be your ruler!” A girl can dream, can’t she?

“The City” can also roughly include Canary Wharf, just on the other side of the river from Greenwich, since so many financial institutions are there. Maybe one day, I’ll be minding my own business at the local Pret a Manger when he will stroll over to buy a Coronation Chicken sandwich. Again, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Tim Henman Update

Tim Henman put Britain out of his annual misery by losing in the second round of Wimbledon. He did put up a fight, losing in five sets, but still, that's it for him, for this year at least.

We'll always have Henman Hill, though.

Tennis Update

Tim Henman barely made it past his first-round opponent Tuesday, taking more than three hours to finally win in five sets.

Andy Murray, The Next Great Hope, breezed through his first-round game, winning in straight sets.

See what I said about the up-and-comer and the old timer? Remember: You read it here first in MarathonMum.

Wimbledon, a British institution

It’s late June, and that only means one thing to the fine people of Britain: Will this be the year that Tim Henman finally wins Wimbledon?

Henman-fever really is something to see. It’s a combination of national pride and a desire to see the nice guy win. In some ways, it is not very British to be so ambitious and obvious to hope that this will be the year he'll do it. Every year, in the days leading up to Wimbledon, there are the inevitable stories and speculation: Will this be Tim’s year? And for the seven tournaments I’ve witnessed from these shores, the answer has been (sadly) No.

This year, however, there seems to be a lower temperature for Henman Fever. Either the fans have been disappointed enough times, or it’s a nod to the fact that Tim is in the twilight years of his tennis career, but there’s an up-and-coming British player, Andrew Murray, who is getting an equal amount of attention.

Murray won the U.S. Open Junior title last September, and he’s in Wimbledon on a wild card. (His mother, incidentally, taught tennis to my friend Gillian, who grew up in his hometown). It probably won’t be Andrew’s year, but I doubt, as much as I’d like to see it—that it’ll be Tim’s year either.

On a personal note, I find it funny that the torch is being passed from a Tim (my husband’s name) to an Andrew (my older son’s name).

Regardless, when Wimbledon is on it’s a great time of year to be in London. Strawberries are in season. It’s time to make Pimms on a regular basis. The BBC coverage—from dawn until nightfall—is unparalleled. I’d be in front of the telly all day watching tennis, if I could.

When we went to Wimbledon ourselves, in 1999 and again in 2000, we loved it. It was one of those wonderful moments in life when you take a minute, look around and think, “I’m really here! This is so cool!!” We ate strawberries. We studied the brackets. We saw some great tennis. I even caught an errant ball, which, to this day, I’m sorry I threw back to the ball boy.

Wimbledon is a great British institution. Be sure to eat strawberries and drink some Pimms while you watch it-- if you can. But most of all, enjoy it-- even if Tim doesn’t win.

Human Cannonball Can't Fly

A human cannonball was fired from his job because he wouldn't fly.

Todd Christian, who worked for Cottle & Austen Circus, lost his job because his fear of flying prevented him from attending a special training camp in human flying in Brazil, according to a story in today's Independent.

Christian, who previously held posts as a lion trainer and trapeze artist (talk about multi-talented!), took on the explosive task of human cannonballing two months ago. However, the daily act of being shot out of the cannon via compressed air with pressure of 190-pounds-force per square inch led to several injuries and muscle strain.

The circus wanted to send Christian to special training at the Guiana space center in Brazil, but he didn't want to fly there. He told the Independent, "I know it sounds silly because I'm a human cannonball, but I don't like long flights and if I'm on a plane for a long time I start to panic." The circus fired him once he refused to fly.

Christian is now consulting with a lawyer about suing for unfair dismissal.

Christian's replacement, Diego the Human Rocket, has been to the specialist training camp. But he is from Brazil. It is not known if Diego also suffers from a fear of flying, but it seems unlikely.

Now I'm no expert on phobias, but do you think the fear of flying and the whole shot-out-of-a-cannon-at-60-mph thing are related?

Please, justify my existence.

Live 8 Ticket Mania Update

Winners of Live 8 concert tickets will be banned from using Ebay to sell them, the global auction house said late Tuesday.

As first reported in MarathonMum Tuesday afternoon, some Live 8 ticket winners were attempting to use Ebay to sell the highly sought after tickets. However, many of these sellers were being stymied in these efforts as people put in false bids of up to £10 million pounds.

Sir Bob Geldolf, Live 8’s organizer, described the sales as “sick profiteering” and pressed Ebay to ban the sale of the tickets. More than 2 million people sent text messages in the hopes of winning tickets to the Live 8 concert on July 2 in Hyde Park, which will feature U2, REM, Madonna, Coldplay, Sir Paul McCartney and others.

Even though Ebay has banned the sales, it’s not going to stop people from trying to profit from their good fortune. But with Ebay out of the equation, it will make it much more difficult to get a high price for the tickets. Sellers will have to return to the dark and scary place where there is no Internet, and sell them through word of mouth, classifieds or the local newagent's window.Posting a notice in your local newsagent’s window is pretty far afield from being able to sell it on Ebay.

Finally, while I think it’s great that Ebay bowed to public pressure, I’m not convinced it was wholly necessary. When I checked the site late last night, before the tickets had been removed from sale, more than 20 pairs had bids of £10 million. It seemed as though those who objected to the sales were doing a fine job themselves of thwarting the auctions.

Live 8 Ticket Mania

As my mobile phone sits silent, I’m guessing that I didn’t win Live 8 London concert tickets. Bummer. I really wanted to go. Now I’ll have to watch it on BBC with everyone else. Looking on the bright side, at least I won’t have to stand all day, getting high off secondary smoke, only to listen to one band play three songs, followed by one hour of changing equipment for the next act. (At least, that was my experience when my friends and I went and saw the Amnesty International concert in Philadelphia in 1988.)

Just out of curiosity, I decided to check EBay, the capital of secondary markets, to see at what price tickets are being sold. At the moment, there are 422 ticket pairs up for sale. Five pairs of tickets have the highest bid-- a staggering £10 million pounds, with two more pairs at more than £9 million and three pairs at £5 million. No, those aren’t typos. Upon closer inspection, it seems as though people who have a philosophical problem with selling the tickets on EBay are driving up the prices. Some of the names of the bidders include, “don’t-bid-live8-is-for-proverty-not-profit,” and “against profit from suffering” and “charity cheaters get stuffed” and “live8istomakepovertyhistory”.

EBay seems to have its hands full, as when I look into the bid history of some of these tickets, there are dozens of bids cancelled for each of these tickets due to it being an excessive bid. Some of comments of the cancelled bids were, “I suspect the user is abusing the system.” One could argue that the seller is doing the same.

The anarchist in me applauds these people for mucking up the bidding when people are trying to profit off of Live8. If any of the sellers were to say that they would be contributing their sale’s proceeds to charity, then I’d say, let the market decide how much the ticket is worth. But since all of them seem to be trying to profit from what is a worthy cause, then I’d say, they deserve it.

But if any of you out there have won tickets and are looking for a friend to accompany you, I’m available that day.

Fame! (For one evening only)

Now I know what it feels like to be famous. (And frankly, it was great.)

CAMFED (The Campaign for Female Education), the Cambridge-based charity that sends girls to school in Africa, held a fundraising evening on Wednesday at Marlborough House on Pall Mall. Allison Pearson, best selling author, brilliant journalist and CAMFED patron, gave a rousing speech to the assembled throng of super-successful women. The key to success is education, she said, and if you educate one girl, you educate an entire village.

So how did I make the cut for this event? I did say the room was filled with “super-successful women.” I first learned about CAMFED from Allison in early December, about a week after I learned I had a spot in the London Marathon. I wanted to find a charity that didn’t have any official London Marathon charity spots, and one that could benefit from my luck. In December, when Allison said the three magic words: girls, education and Africa, and I realized I had found my charity.

Now after months of badgering my friends, family and strangers about CAMFED, I’m thrilled to announce that I was able to raise more than £4,000 (nearly $8,000) to send African girls to school. Now if someone asks me, “What have you done to make the world a better place?” I have an answer.

Even though I found myself in the rare but glorious position of being perfectly dressed for the occasion—especially with my new red L.K. Bennett shoes—I still found myself wandering around the party in Younger Sister mode, i.e. skulking about around the outer fringes of the party, hoping no one would notice me.

Marlborough House is a next-door neighbour to St. James Palace, and just down the street from Buckingham Palace. It’s a quintessentially British royal residence: with huge murals, marble floors, sweeping staircases and drafty windows. Apparently, the royal pet cemetery is on the grounds of Marlborough House. “Where the ground is stiff with corgis,” said Allison Pearson.

CAMFED is a small, but incredibly effective, organization. Ann Cotton, its founder, began the charity with a bake sale. She had visited Zimbabwe, saw that girls needed money to fund their education, returned home to have the bake sale and sent the money back to Zimbabwe. Through those simple actions, CAMFED was born. Now, more than 10 years later, thousands of African girls have been educated through CAMFED’s efforts.

Once I called CAMFED and told them what I wanted to run the marathon for them, they were very supportive and helpful. Kirstin Gaymer, who ran the marathon last year, also gave me some survival tips. Finally, on Wednesday, I got to meet most of staff. Apparently, the staff, most of whom I didn’t know, also became fans of this online journal. “You’re Maureen Stapleton!” they would say, as if they had met someone important. One woman said, “It’s so great to finally meet you!! I love your blog!” Someone else told me, “You are our celebrity.”

Even Anthony Lane, ANTHONY LANE!, found me wandering around in Younger Sister Mode and said, “You’re the woman who ran the marathon. Well done!” [Anthony Lane, for those among you who are not New Yorker readers, is the movie critic at that magazine. He is a brilliant writer, and if he has a byline in that week’s issue, I tend to read him first.] Sadly, later on in the evening I think I blew my movie-loving credentials with him, when he enthusiastically asked me, “Have you seen ‘The Lady Eve’?” and I had to say no. I wanted to respond, “But I saw the four-hour long ‘La Belle Noiseuse’ and liked it! The last movie we saw was the documentary, ‘My Architect’! The next movie I’m going to watch is the Italian film, ‘Io Non Ho Paura [I’m not scared].’ I’ve spent my life talking about the career of Oscar winner Maureen Stapleton! I have movie-loving credentials! Really, I do!!”

But I digress. The amazing evening ended with me in a cab home (I missed the last train to Greenwich), taking yet another opportunity to talk about the marathon. “I ran this route when I did the marathon in April,” I told the driver. “You did?” he asked, looking back at me to get another look. “Well done!” I couldn’t help but add, “I also raised more than £4,000 to send girls to school in Africa.”

I can’t decide which accomplishment I’m prouder of.

We're Back from our Holiday!

Hello, class. Now that we’re back, we have many topics to cover.

Yes, MarathonMum has been away. I know, I know, I should have put a thoughtful “Blog Break” message on my site, but I did not. (My friend Kathy Quigley did that at her very funny and addictive blog, http://journals.aol.com/ksqwrite/RandomReality/) Instead, if you kept checking the site, you were faced with the oh-so-classy headline, “There’s a Needle in My Butt” for nearly two weeks and I am sorry. The following are short tidbits to preview what I’ll be writing about in the days ahead:

* MarathonMum and family went to Germany for the half-term break. For my American readers, “Half-Term” is what they call weeks off from school. It can be a bit a nightmare here in England because all schools follow almost identical schedules. So if you go on vacation during the week off, chances are good you will be surrounded by other British families. When we were waiting for the Eurotunnel on our drive over last Monday, nearly all the cars and minivans around us contained school-age children with parents looking somewhat overwhelmed and apprehensive. When I told one father, “Happy Half-Term!” he just grunted at me.

Germany was very….interesting. We stayed in an apartment overlooking the Mosel River and the surrounding vineyards, which was beautiful. We did lots of hikes through the woods, toured some castles (one of which I didn’t get to see really because Nicholas wasn’t so interested), drank lots of wine and generally had a great time. Andrew has written a story about it, which I post with pictures.

*My marathon efforts have been included in the CAMFED website! I am very excited about this. To see it, go to http://www.camfed.org/html/story28.html. Faithful MarathonMum fans will have heard it all before, but it’s still incredibly cool to be recognized. Also, when they wrote the bulletin, we were at 140 primary school girls to be educated for one year, but the figure has now increased to more than 150 girls. I am going to do my accounting tonight and will have an exact figure by tomorrow.

*My friend Tom Standage wrote the Most Excellent Book, “A History of the World in Six Glasses.” I had the time while on holiday to read it, and I loved it. It got a great review in the New York Times on Monday, and he’s been on his book tour in the U.S. and Canada this week. Buy this book! My review will be posted shortly.

*Live 8 is going to actually happen in Hyde Park and will feature such legendary artists as U2, REM, Madonna, Sir Paul McCartney, Elton John, Coldplay and…Mariah Carey. More than 1 million people have already sent texts hoping to win tickets to the concert. As the chances aren’t great, I don’t know if I will enter the lottery, but it’s such a good cause, it might be worth giving it a try. All proceeds will benefit Make Poverty History, a cause close to my heart, and one I will write about soon.

*I have less than one month until my next race, the British 10K on July 3. Yes, my hip still hurts, but I’ve realized that it might just have to be some pain that I’ll have to live with in the short term. Nicholas and I had a great run this morning—the weather was gorgeous—so that makes me optimistic that the 10K won’t be the disaster that I fear.

I hope these short previews will hold you over until I can tackle these subjects properly. Welcome back, everyone!

There's a Needle in my Butt!!

Regular readers of this journal will note that there hasn't been much in the way of running news here lately. The reason for its absence, despite this blog's title, is that I haven't been doing any. This is a very sad development for me, but even sadder for Nicholas, who really enjoyed our daily forays into the park and along the River Thames.

To use the technical term, I am having piriformis problems. This is the same hip problem that waylaid me just two weeks before the marathon. I only ran one mile on Marathon Day, and my hip then shouted at me, "What the hell are you doing to me??" Actually, the problem is one that I think most mothers can relate to: my piriformis muscle was doing the work of other muscles, when they were too lazy to do the work themselves. So when my piriformis is aching, that's its way of saying, "Doesn't anyone appreciate me around here? Do I really have to do the jobs of three people?"

I have been faithfully seeing my physiotherapist and doing the exercises required to rehabilitate it, but it still wasn't getting much better. Until Monday. I think the phsyiotherapist was somewhat exasperated that I was still complaining about this, so she suggested we "needle" it. It's sort of like acupuncture, but without the Chi element to it. The idea is that you get blood rushing to the area that hurts, and that helps alleviate the tightness in the muscle. I was willing to try anything, just as long as it didn't hurt anymore. I've got races scheduled for July, and I need to start training again.

So there I was, lying on my side, minding my own business, with a big fat needle sticking out of my butt. Truth be told, I did think, "This is so hip!" (pun intended) "I'm just like Charlotte on Sex and the City!" It felt a little strange when she put the needle in, but it didn't hurt. Bear in mind, though, that my threshold of pain is somewhat different from many people, given that I've experienced childbirth twice and a marathon once.

To make a long story short, I think The Needle In My Butt worked. I'm still a little sore, but I was able to go out for a short run today without my hip hurting. I'm going to go for a slightly longer run tomorrow.

What's the moral of the story? For those, like me, with Pain in the Butt (this does not include offspring), try a Needle in the Butt. It works a treat!

Our Man in Jordan

Back in the old days, meaning those dark times before technology made our world so much smaller, getting posted abroad really meant something. Now, with the advent of the Internet, inexpensive air transportation and satellite technology, it's really no big deal to go anywhere. Foreign journalists are a dime a dozen. To become "Our man in London" or "Our woman in Tokyo" (how news organizations used to refer to their correspondents abroad) doesn't really require anything more than a valid passport and a desire to travel.

However, there are still times when journalists get sent to places so unusual or dangerous that it gives people pause. As regular readers of this journal know, Tim got to see one part of the Axis of Evil when he had to go to Iran in March. His latest destination was less dangerous, but nearly as exotic: Jordan, for the World Economic Forum.

Tim, who is an editor at Bloomberg, went to coordinate their coverage but to also chair a panel on Saturday.

In this picture below, taken while he did some on-air commentary for Bloomberg, you can see the Dead Sea behind him. He went swimming in it and he said it was the most bizarre sensation he's ever had. The Dead Sea is one of the saltiest water bodies in the world, so when you swim in it, it is virtually impossible to not float in it. Tim said it was nearly impossible to put his legs down to feel the bottom of the lake.

So Our Man in Jordan is now on his way back to London. However, the next scheduled business trip is just as interesting. He's meant to go to Nigeria.

Tim on air for Bloomberg News during the World Economic Forum in Jordan. 

Learning Geography the Easy Way

We had to take the Family Atlas (which to us is like a Family Bible) down from the bookshelf, as Tim has been floating around in the Dead Sea in Jordan this week.

Andrew is getting to be quite the expert in geography, given that in the last five months his dad has been to Moscow, Paris (twice), Iran and now Jordan. Next week, the whole family will travel to Germany for our spring break. Andrew apparently has put his geographic expertise to good use, showing his class where America was on the globe, and earning a house point in the process.

(Note for my American readers who haven’t read Harry Potter: In some British schools, classes are divided up into “Houses.” The term originates from boarding school, where Houses correlated to what dorm the students lived in. As there are no dorms in Andrew’s school, Houses are just a way to have the students compete against each other. I will report back when I find out what the Winning House gets at the end of the year.)

I’ve always been pretty good at American geography, but I really nailed down the Fly-Over Territory-- the region of the U.S. between the East Coast and the West Coast-- in 1988. That summer, I accompanied my brother on a road trip from Colorado to Pennsylvania. Sure, it might have been quicker and easier to nail down the difference between Kansas and Missouri by using some memorization techniques, but then I would have never seen the World’s Largest Prairie Dog in Kansas or taken a helicopter ride around the St. Louis Arch in Missouri.

Likewise, now that I’ve lived in London for more than six years, I’m a superstar when it comes to European geography. I can tell you where Andorra is (between France and Spain) and I’ve been to 2/3 of the Benelux region (Belgium and the Netherlands). We will complete the Benelux triumvirate when we drive through Luxembourg on the way to Germany.

With this trip, I will be able to add two more countries to my list of foreign countries visited, bringing my grand total to 14*. Tim’s total will be 18**, Andrew’s total will be 10***, and Nicholas’ total will be eight****. I think that’s a fairly impressive statistic for an American family, given that only 18% of U.S. adults hold a passport.

Yes, Germany is an unusual choice for a family vacation. I met a German man in the park today who even seemed flummoxed by our choice of destination. “Really?” he asked. “You’re going to Germany for holiday?? Not many people do.”

At the time, Nicholas was running away after a football, so I didn’t have time to explain that this was how my family learns geography.

*United States, Canada, Ireland, France, Belgium, Italy, Spain, Morocco, Finland, Czech Republic, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and Germany
**Add to my list: Switzerland, Russia, Iran and Jordan.
***Andrew visited Morocco and Finland before Nicholas was born, so add those to the list below.
****Great Britain, United States, Spain, France, Italy, Belgium, Luxembourg and Germany.

A Number Four, Please

Andrew followed in the steps of his younger brother to get his hair cut this afternoon. For some reason, he loves going to the barber. I don't know if it's the attention, the spritz of water, the ticklish brush or the lollipop at the end, but the trip becomes the highlight of his week.

The two boys and I arrived at the barbershop and Andrew arranged himself in the chair. The barber turned to me and asked, "What number do you want today?" To which I replied eloquently, "Huh??"

I tried to save face by quickly adding, "Just make it shorter all around." But then he tried to get all technical by asking where exactly did I want it to be shorter, how much did I want left at the top and whether or not there should be a lot of hair left around the ears. Are you kidding me? When did a boy's hair get so complicated? We're talking about a head that normally doesn't even see a brush every morning (one of the perks of being a boy).

Now I realize I should have known better, given that I am outnumbered by males in my household and I grew up with two older brothers, but I had no earthly idea what number haircut we needed. At least I knew that number referred to the length, but that was the extent of my knowledge. The very helpful and friendly barber looked around the barbershop, trying to find a picture that would give me an idea. But it was, after all, a barber shop, not a beauty parlor. It's not like there were old Cosmos lying around to give you ill-informed ideas about what you'd like to do with your hair.

In the end, the barber decided to do a number four. "I can make it a number three by cutting it again, but I can't make it a number four by gluing back the hair that I've cut," he said.

So if you ever need to take Andrew to the "haircut store", as he calls it, remember that he needs a number four.