Author: Sonja

On Wellbeing/

Before and After Running School – See it!

What a week! The sun is shining, the river is beaming and I am glistening. And with good reason – I have hit some milestones in decorating, writing and running.

Not to worry I won’t go on about the decorating except to say it is all coming together–tables, chairs, window treatments and so on.

As for the writing, the next novel is closer than you think. At the end of May, The Blindsided Prophet is scheduled for e-book release. Last week, my editor returned the first edits and this week I am working on them fervently. Equally as exciting if not more, my designer is well on the way to delivering the book’s cover. I am so very pleased and will get the promotions on the road as soon as the tools are in hand.

In the meantime, I finished the first six weeks of running school. It stands to reason that I might go back for a further, more advanced six weeks to ensure that I maintain my brand new skills.

Yes, I have some brand new skills, more like techniques. The proof is in the pudding, rather in the running in this case.

First, let me say that I can actually see the difference and feel it. Also, I am amazed that I am sharing it here–unheard of.  Never say never! All I can say is that I am properly impressed. I hope you will be too.

No wonder I am glistening.

 

On Wellbeing/

Why Do People Run?

Good question but before I attempt to answer, I’d like to pay respect to the people of Boston in the aftermath of the marathon bombings and also to Baroness Thatcher, whose funeral was held today in London.

Now, back to the pressing question: why do people run? I have asked myself this very question time and time again.

This morning as I made my way through Battersea Park, the southwest gate just short of two miles from where I live, I heard the chatter.

Why are you doing this? Why? You are in the throes of pain, honestly. What is the point?

I shrugged the thoughts off and looked around and took in the scenery–the Thames ebbing and flowing to my left, other runners gliding by me to the right, the trees relaxing in the wind. And then I heard the voice of the RunKeeper coach, reminding me of how long I had been running, the distance I had covered and how fast I had done so.

Bingo! I remembered why–the 10K in July. But as quickly as the answer came, it went. There has to be a deeper reason. Still, I picked up the pace and made my way through the park. Just as I turned on Chelsea Bridge to exit, I saw my former neighbour and his two very lively dogs. Noticing the look of surprise and wide smile on his face, I gained steam.

Jogging in place for a few seconds, I told him that I had run from my new home.

“Good for you,” he said, and got a lurch from the dogs.

“See you again,” I shouted, moving on.

And no sooner than I had left him, I heard the question again. Why do you run?

This time I thought about Huraki Murakami’s What I Talk When I Talk About Running. Murakami has run countless marathons and intrinsically links it to writing. In short, he runs to accomplish a goal.

Then I remembered others who run. One friend started out during a difficult time in her life and has run several marathons since. Last week, she ran the Paris Marathon and this weekend will do a half marathon in Nice.

An acquaintance is running the London Marathon Sunday, even though her feet are begging her not to. Never mind, she did it last year and they held her up.

A friend who’d rather not run, now runs most days to clear her head, and another runs because it makes her feel good.

On that thought, I hit the 3.66 mile marker, my best distance set on Monday, and I wanted to feel good but I felt bad, really bad. I wanted to stall but before I did, my music revved me up.

… It’s alright to crawl before you walk; it’s alright to walk before you run but if you want to get what you’ve never got, you got to do something that you have never done. Go Get, Go Get, Go Get Your Blessing, It is your time…. Mary Mary’s Go Get It.

As I sang along with the sisters, I recalled the end of my early running career. A sprinter, I could outrun almost anyone, boys significantly older and so on. But as a teenager I entered a race at school but never ran it. On your mark, get ready, get set, go! I did not go.

Since then I have been stalling. Though I have played at running over the years, I’ve never gotten beyond three miles.

As I turned to cross the Albert Bridge, I glanced over my shoulder at my former wider neighbourhood and smiled. Before I knew it, I was back on the South Bank, heading home. Admittedly, I stopped two times and paused the RunKeeper app. But when it was all said and done I had run 5.4 miles. My pacing, well it was awful but still I felt proud.

Why do I run? It has to be to keep on moving ahead. Why do you run? Feel free to share your answer to the pressing question here.

On Travel/

Holiday versus Home: A Recipe for Ruin

Comparing your holiday destination to your home city is a recipe for ruin. I should know. Been there, done that and still haven’t fully learned from my mistake.

Though I was happy to leave the frigid temperatures of London last Saturday and welcome the warm ones of St George’s Bay, Malta, we had scarcely landed before my mind got busy sizing up the place.

Shopping would not be a match. Food wouldn’t be up to scratch. And certainly hotels would not be a patch. Upon arriving at the Corinthia Hotel & Spa, it was just as I suspected–acceptable but not remarkable. It wasn’t until I got to our room and stood on the balcony overlooking the Mediterranean that it became clear that I was on a hiding to nothing.

Been there, done that! So from then on I ditched the comparisons. What I got in return was a true Malta experience, beginning with a bus tour to the North of the 27 kilometer (16.8 mile) island, though our concierge tried to convince us to go south.

“Why do you want to go north?” He asked.

“We want to see Medina (the old capital),” Mr. H responded.

“See this another day,” he said. “Why not go on the South tour today. There is a market, not for you, but for your wife.”

“We’ll stick with the North,” Mr. H said firmly.

Righty-ho and so we did and found Medina as perfect in her old age as had been said about her. Perched upon a hill which overlooks the Mediterranean, this old city is an excellent backdrop for contemporary events such as weddings. Luckily, we got there in time for a the tail end of one.

Like Medina, the rest of Malta embodies one of the world’s richest stories. Though not the most sophisticated of destinations, the island boasts 7,000 years of history, having been inhabited by Sicilians around 5000 BC.

Today the shimmering sea is a playground for water enthusiasts and is a bridge to world trade but over the years, it has been a tumultuous passageway for many conquerors, including the Phoenicians, Byzantines, Normans, Ottomans, Romans, the French and the British.

The British occupation, as featured in tours and the film,The Malta Experience, continues to be looked upon kindly, though Malta has been independent since 1964.  But the Brits’ ousting of the French who expelled the Order of St. John (see below)  leaves them in good stead with the Maltese, as evident in the English language and also in the many commemorations of statues and the like around the country.

Perhaps, however, the most influential leadership in Malta started in 1530 with the Order of St John; their Grand Masters leading for some 268 years until Napoleon expelled them. In any case, their contributions include the new capital, Valletta, the order’s namesake cathedral, many fortifications, aqueducts, a hospital, a university and so on.

During their reign, naturally Christianity was the number one religion, but it had been in Malta since 60AD when the Apostle Paul, en route to Rome, was shipwrecked there. As described in the Book of Acts, the apostle was revered after a viper latched to his hand but caused no harm. Moving forward, the apostle became the patron saint of Malta.

This is my favorite Malta story not only because I grew up Christian but also this story places Malta for my father, who at the precise mention of its former name Melite,  told the apostle’s story as if he had been there.Priceless!

Back in England, I can say I’ve been there and done that. And though London’s temperature of 3° C (37° F) and Valletta’s of 22° C (71° F) are unevenly matched to say the least, I won’t compare. To do so is a recipe for ruin.

malta4-e1365170700430-150x150  malta3-150x150  malta2-150x150

On London/

Views in London: playground for imagination

Last week I wrote about the civility of Chelsea pensioners. This week, I’m compelled to mention pensioners in Chelsea outside of the Royal Hospital Chelsea (RHC).

Let’s just say that they are quite the opposite of civil. Tuesday as I made my way from the RHC to the King’s Road, I encountered retiree after retiree hogging the sidewalk; some even edged people off onto the road.

So much for the English genteel! Maybe it’s the frigid weather that has them ever so cantankerous. Though the official word is that spring came last week, winter remains unofficially and stubbornly. Strong winds and snow flurries continue to unsettle London while heavy snow and ice plague other cities throughout the country.

No wonder folks are stupefied. Never mind. I am not writing about civility this week. I’m writing about things I can see from my windows. So I guess that means I’m stuck too, albeit in my flat.

In these frigid temperatures, I’m lucky that there’s so much to see from my windows. At my former residence, I could see a winged lady on the building behind me–Miranda, my muse. End of blog.

Here, however, I have a bird’s eye view that makes for a great playground for the imagination.

So imagine if you will, rolling hills that seem to meet an idyllic body of water, though the water is actually the sky in the distance. What a striking panorama. Then envisage endless row houses with jutting chimney stacks. At a stretch, this could be Edinburgh or even Dubrovnik. Suit yourself!

Coming in a bit closer, imagine trains whizzing by and then periodically a cloud of white smoke appearing and out of that smoke comes the Orient Express. Actually, it’s the British Pullman, sister train to the Orient Express. All the same it’s easy to imagine yourself relaxing in one of the 1920s vintage carriages of the svelte train.

Now imagine a day trip to another city in the country or even a jaunt to Venice.

Next, notice the traffic crossing the massive roundabout below. Boring, right? Wrong! From a high vantage point, traffic doesn’t faze you. In fact, it intrigues you. Vehicles seem surreal moving on quietly. It’s like watching a silent film.

And now and again something extraordinary enters the scene such as a horse drawn carriage followed by six limousines.

Imagine gazing on as if you somehow knew the departed and then feeling sympathy and reverence simultaneously. When the moment passes, imagine reflecting on the giant sculpture at the centre of the roundabout. Like most feel about Anish Kapoor’s Orbit, you either like it or loathe it.

Undecided,  you look to the faithful Thames where you can imagine boats and barges sailing by and people running and walking nearby despite the frigid weather, but you don’t have to imagine they are there.  Thank your lucky stars for the windows. What would you do without them? You’d probably imagine anyhow, but not with such a wide open playground at your disposal.

Blog/

Open roads in London: No dead end in sight

When I hit the big birthday last autumn, I compiled a confidential list of 50 things to accomplish before my next birthday. I maintained there was no point in blabbing about the matter the way people often do about New Year’s resolutions or bucket lists, neither of which I am a fan of, precisely why I didn’t opt for either on my special occasion. Both a bit dead end-ish, if you ask me.

With that said, I really enjoyed the movie, The Bucket List.

Anyhow, I knew I had to mark the special year somehow, aside from a big soiree, which was great fun but fizzled out soon after it was over. My confidential list (aka London confidential), lives on–no dead end in sight.

Though I am still not going to spill all of the beans, I am compelled to tell you about one item on my list–to run a major race by autumn 2013.

Big deal you might say, and you are not the only one. Turns out I am not the only person running a race. When I mentioned my 10K to friends and family, I found that some had been there and done that and others were well on the way.

One friend ran her first marathon when she hit the big 5-0 and is still running several marathons later. A 10K is a doddle to her.

Not to me I tell you. I need all the help I can get, which is why I asked the said friend to run with me. And meanwhile, I’ve joined a running school, another benefit of living in my new neighbourhood. Body Logic Health in Battersea is one of the eleven UK locations of The Running School.

To this announcement, readers, friends and family alike responded with a question mark. Running comes naturally, many reminded; it need not be taught. One even went so far as to point out that she would never pay to do something that she already does very well.

Running school is just another big city ploy, she insinuated, contorting her face.

Bear with I told her and quoted from The Running School’s handbook.

“Although it (running) seems the most natural thing in the world to do, many people don’t know how to run efficiently without getting injured, and to achieve their goal or challenge.”

That’s me–blown out knees, pulled hamstrings, and low stamina resulting in an unfinished race or never started race. No more, I vowed.

After hearing me out, my acquaintance had to admit to more than her fair share of injuries.

So off to school I went last Thursday to learn how to run and to run fast!  But before then I had been videotaped and assessed by an instructor at the school. Not bad, not bad, the instructor said but there was much room for improvement.

Moving forward, I’ve spent one intense hour of the six hourly sessions not only running but also flexing and strengthening muscles to improve my overall technique.  Throughout the session, I admitted to feeling unnatural, focusing on coordinating my arms and legs, but also feeling taller and stronger as I did so.

This lofty feeling was worth hanging onto I tell you. It sustained me when I thought I couldn’t carry-on, not only during the session but also during training and practicing in between.

Admittedly, I am finding it hard going, trying to get the best out of my arms, my legs, my torso, while running and walking but I can already see the benefits and it is early days yet. My second session is tomorrow and the third one the week afterwards and so on and so on.

There is no dead end in sight, only open roads to look forward to.

On London/

Sticking with my pen on London

Since my last post here, life has been a bit of a treadmill, sorting out our move and travelling to and from the US and doing a few other things here, there and in between.  I haven’t slowed down yet.

Only this week did we get home broadband service again and sadly it is spotty at best. Yet, I do have a wider perspective on London as predicted. From where I sit in my new office, I can see the Thames, England’s longest river. Quite contrary to the gentle rain falling is the roaring wind, causing the river to wave.

And though the first signs of night have come over London, it is a remarkable scene; even if it is framed by two tremendous buildings. Never mind the boxes surrounding me. Were it not for my aversion to frigid rain, frigid anything, I would walk onto the balcony.  Instead, however, I’ll mosey into my living room, where I can see Fulham stretching out before me in one direction and Wandsworth in another. The views are painting perfect.

Maybe one of these days I’ll take a brush to the scenery. But for now, I’m going to stick with my pen theoretically. In reality, my keyboard will have to do. And those who know my penmanship are saying thank goodness. In any case, I’m writing.

Needless to say, I’ve been lax yet again. And instead of grovelling and offering excuses, I’m going to chalk it up to a lax year at the risk of turning this into a New Year’s column.

With all the change that I’ve experienced this year, I am ready for resolve. But why wait for January 1 to start. I might as well start now by appreciating the brand new day.

So I am told the broadband problem will be fixed easily but until then, I’ll just have to turn to mobile devices such as my iPad and explore the area for Wi-Fi fitted coffee shops. Already, I’ve found one jewel–Cake Boy, Eric Lanlard’s creation.

Yesterday, I had a meeting there and wasn’t surprised to find it heaving with locals and others alike. My guest went on about how wonderful the place is. So it is; good thing there is a gym nearby.

This morning I returned and sat near a group of pregnant women and ignore them as I tried, I couldn’t. Not only were there bumps interesting but also there conversation was too, all about names.

Naming a child can be difficult, they all agreed, especially a first child. Not to mention the interfering from friends and relatives and the syncing first names with surnames. One woman said she loved the name Emma but her surname was something like Tremor.

Surely I heard wrong but you get the point anyhow.

Good material to include in a novel, a short story, a blog I thought, as I tuned out. Then suddenly it hit me I was writing again. I was changing my perspective. Ah ha!

I hurried back to my office and started this blog. And though I didn’t conclude until afternoon, it is refreshing to have a change of perspective.

More perspective next week!

On Travel/

Yorkshire Moors, Good Thought Experience

Last year while doing research for my upcoming novel, The Blindsided Prophet, I bought into the concept that we somehow influence our every experience with our thoughts. I know it’s a tough sell. I couldn’t buy it years ago either. And here lately, I am beginning to understand why.

Case and point: I can’t imagine that I’ve had any thoughts that led to my well kept recycling container being switched out for a broken scrubby one. No way, I thought as I picked up the old one and headed down the street to put things right. Only when I got to the container that I thought might have been mine was I unsure. Lost my nerve and brought the old scruffy one into my front garden.

All is not lost, I told myself entering the house. Surely my passport has arrived today. After all, I sent it off in May to the said agency in this country to get a very straight forward update. Nope, I flipped through the post. Not here, not here.

So much for the belief that if I write about the passport issue, therefore, I think negatively about it, and so on. You see where I am going, right? Rubbish! I have tried every positive thought you can imagine and even resorted to asking for divine intervention, which ought not to be used on such petty matters.

Forgive me, I cashed in. I can only hope my request will be honoured soon and very soon. In the meantime, what about the well researched concept? Well there is good news on that.

First, the bulk of the writing is done. And the concept really does make for compelling fiction. Watch this space–The Blindsided Prophet coming soon! Next, I have seen an awful lot of Great Britain by keeping this belief close to my chest. Don’t worry about your passport; just enjoy the moment. etc…

Never mind that the continent of Europe is on my doorstep and that Britain has hit or miss weather.

And sure enough last weekend, the good weather hit in London and missed in Yorkshire. Still, we had reason to go north. So we made our way to the spa town of Harrogate and spent our weekend in the Yorkshire Moors, a place of unrivalled scenery.

From crags such as the Cow and Calf to hillsides such the Kilburn White Horse, the views are stunning. And though we mostly drove around and enjoyed  the scenery (rivers and valleys), we did go for a walk or two.

As we climbed the moors, even with dark clouds hanging over us, I had a Great Wall of China moment. Okay, no not really but the point is that the beauty there is unmatched in Britain. On the descent, I had to admire the dry wall fencing. I even appreciated the natural paths covered with heather. The Yorkshire Moors are a hit indeed, even if the good weather does often miss them. Never mind, as long as you remember to wear hiking boots. We did this time, unlike the time we took a woodlands walk in Gleneagles in Scotland. You see on this occasion, we thought it through well in advance.

Maybe there is something to the concept of thoughts influencing experiences after all. Think about it.

On Lifestyle/

Right time to be an American expat in London

On this side of the pond, everyone is talking about Usain Bolt, who won the 100 meters race last night in 9.63 seconds, and Jessica Ennis, the heptathlon champion;Mo Farah, winner of the 10,000 meter race; Andy Murray, the gold medallist of men’s tennis, etc. On the other side of the pond, I expect the nattering is well underway about Usain also, even if NBC didn’t show it live (excuse me!). His name has to be right up there with Michael Phelps, Missy Franklin, Serena Williams, Gabby Douglas, and Sanya Richards-Ross.

Yes, now is the time to be a citizen of the world and ever so right to be an American expat in London. Lucky me!  I am beaming with pride. To have both my birth country and my adopted country in the top three slots of the medals table is more than any expat could expect. China is first, the US second and GB third. And to live in the great city where it is all unfolding is the icing on the cake.

I didn’t think it could get any better than the athletics of Saturday night (Jessica Ennis and Mo Farrah firing up the stadium for team GB) until I saw Sanya Richards-Ross take her Olympic 400 meters gold in Chanel earrings. Now I know, I was not supposed to be focusing on style when this 27-year-old woman was making history, winning her gold in 49.55 seconds to give the U.S. its first track and field gold of the 2012 Olympics. But I couldn’t help myself.

May the team get more! But in the meantime, I have to give Mrs Richards-Ross her props. The athletes all have their own style, some with colourful beards and others with tattoos covering their muscled arms, but Sanya, if you ask me, is a cut above the rest in the style department–jewelry, nails, make-up, hair, etc…

Enough said but since I’m on the subject of style, I’m going to have my say about Gabby Douglas. The girl’s pulled back hairstyle is fine people, nothing wrong with it. And anyhow, as Gabby has so much as said, what’s hair got to do with it? This 16-year-old has won two gold medals in three days for goodness sake.

Were it not for her, team USA would be lagging behind China big time. It’s enough that they are three gold medals ahead of us as of this posting. Let’s stay focused here.

Tomorrow, Paul and I are back at Olympic Park for our final event and looking forward to being there and getting there. Last time around we discovered the Javelin, a high-speed train, from King’s Cross.

One Olympic volunteer described it as being faster than Usain Bolt. Maybe…okay so it is but it is a machine you know. But one thing for sure is that when this London Olympics is all said and done, we’re likely to stop talking about the Javelin. For years to come, however, the world will go on and on about Usain Bolt.

Go Jamaica and Happy 50th Independence Day. As I said, now is the time to be a citizen of the world! And to be an American expat in London is just right.

On Lifestyle/

Times Have Changed Since the Olympics

Women playing basketball and men jumping rope, Double Dutch at that, epitomised Day 2 of the 2012 Olympics. My, how times have changed since the first modern games in 1896.

But what hasn’t changed is the enthusiasm and drive of the athletes nor has the ingenuity of human beings. You have to see it to believe it. Honestly, before the Olympic Park and Westfield Shopping Centre of course, it was just land. Land!

But do not despair over lost land. It has been put to good use for the love of country and for sport, of course. From Anish Kapoor’s Olympic sculpture, the Arclor Mittal Orbit (like or it loathe it) to the sleek Aquatics Center, the crowds, me included, ooh and aah at every vista. Not to mention the enthusiasm for the up close and personal experiences.

You should have heard the crowds roar for the women’s basketball teams. Yes! We had a top row seat inside the arena, fondly called the mattress by BBC Breakfast presenter Bill Turnbill. To continue with that metaphor, the arena, though gigantic,  was cozy and comfy.

I can’t claim to have been in that many arenas over the years, though I have been in plenty of gymnasiums, but of the two or three I have visited, I can say that the mattress matched up. So what if it didn’t have a hotdog stand for my American friend but the sound, the energy, the crowds made up for it.

So we did, but speaking of coming a long way, women athletes most certainly have. So many of them are setting new records and clenching the medals. Eyes are on Zara Phillips, the Queen’s granddaughter, today as she rides with Team GB in the equestrian event.

Other women are raising the game too, case in point: the USA Women’s basketball team. I can’t say enough about their finesse, their professionalism. No wonder they have won thirty-four consecutive games as of last night.

As I watched them play, I attempted to text every American I could get in touch with to ask, if nothing else, why so secretive? These women are a national treasure and will surely change the game of women’s basketball the world over, if they already haven’t.

See my views on women’s athletes at London 2012 in my HuffPost blog.

Meanwhile, I’m exhausted today. Still on a high, I’m already thinking about what kind of shoes I’ll wear the next time we head out to the Olympic Park. Though I have found the travel advisories to be more bark than bite, the tips on getting around the park are real.

Comfortable shoes are a must as is rain wear and a darn good jacket. Never mind that this is the last day of July.  Gone are the days when summer was summer and winter was winter and so on.

My, how times have changed.