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France/Ireland, May 2013 (Part 2)

So after the family-fun and sightseeing-romp in France, the three of us arrived in Ireland for some relaxation time. And what better way to relax than to get off the plane, rent a car, and drive on the freaking wrong side of the road? Oh yes, that’s some relaxing stuff: sitting on the passenger’s side of the car (which is on the left, typically where I’d be if I was driving) amid a slew of traffic in a four-lane rotary exiting the Dublin airport where everyone is going clockwise! and though Mr. P is a component enough left-hand traffic driver, I’m an extremely nervous left-hand traffic passenger.

But soon enough, we were safely in Bray, a seaside resort town with a famed 7km cliff walk along an incredibly scenic coast with a train. The weather *could* have been better, but since no rain actually fell we were pretty grateful.

Bray Cliffwalk

Bray Cliffwalk

Train on Bray Cliffwalk

We went 3km before Little Boy’s incessant pleadings to “go to the hotel” prompted us to turn around and go to the car (another 3km). Little did Little Boy know that we weren’t staying at a “hotel” like he knows it, like the Paris CDG Hilton with a pool and television and focus-group tested comfort, but an Irish Bed and Breakfast in Glendalough valley in County Wicklow. Having never been to a B&B before, Little Boy was freaked out: we were in someone else’s house?

In the garden of the B&B

For dinner, we headed to a local pub with a restaurant section. I had deer venison sausage, Mr. P had fish and chips, and Little Boy had a simply massive bowl of Irish stew. Which he liked, but oh. Irish cuisine is heavy stuff. My sausage was arguably the lightest fare on the menu. Of course, I did have a pint of:

My favorite beer ever

The next morning, I woke up nice and early (the one-hour time difference from France helped) and tried to run to the trails of Glendalough. The innkeeper had given us vague directions to the trails from the B&B and a map, but I was never quite sure where I was on the map. Eventually, after multiple KMs of rolling hills, I ended up in the heart of the Glendalough trails, not quite sure where to go. We had visited the area very briefly last July, but our tour bus only gave us 90 minutes to explore the area. I found a steep trail along a waterfall and ran it about 5 times before heading back to the bed and breakfast.

After a “typical Irish” breakfast (sausage, ham, an egg, mushrooms, toast, and dear lord black pudding) Mr. P and Little Boy joined me back in Glendalough.

Glendalough

We did an easy walk in the morning and then returned in the afternoon so Mr. P could go for a run while Little Boy and I meandered around the monastic ruins.

Little Boy brought some paper and a pen so he could draw what he saw. This really impressed everyone who saw him — he looked like a serious artist, intently sketching a vision.

Then we went to the walking meditation circle. Of course, we ran instead of walked. Little Boy wanted to take pictures.

Mr. P found the trail that he wanted to hike the following day — the Spinc and Glenealo Valley route, a rugged 9km trail that includes a steep climb. I was most worried about taking Little Boy on the climb, but he seems to do much better on technical and/or steep trails than boring, flat trails. In fast, he was flying up the stairs and putting pressure on the hikers ahead of us.

Climbing to the Spinc

We got above the treeline fairly quickly.

The trail featured these boards, covered in metal netting and nails for those wet and icy Irish days. Thankfully, our weather was nearly perfect.

In the valley

What a great hike! When we made it back to the car, it was time to head back to Dublin for two more nights of vacation. But, we really wanted to stay in Wicklow. There’s not much in Dublin that can compare, though Mr. P came close with his special whiskey-tasting at the Jameson factory tour.

All in all, a pretty good time in Ireland.

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By Meredith – June 8, 2013

France/Ireland, May 2013 (Part 1)

This trip started as a result of Mr. P’s paternal-side 10-year cousinade (reunion), held on the Brittany coast of France, attended by cousins near and as far away as Australia. Originally Mr. P was going to go solo, for a long weekend, as I didn’t want to spend a third consecutive vacation in France… but then he started talking about bringing Little Boy, and I thought it would look weird if I didn’t go, plus the hotels would cost the same if I went or not… so then, since we were dropping 3 airfares to Europe, it turned into a 5 days in France and 4 days in Ireland. Why not?

I’m writing this almost 2 weeks later, so I’ll rely on pictures to help tell the story. We left Boston Friday night on the red-eye to Dublin. We had a six-hour layover in Dublin — not enough time to leave the airport, not enough time to furlough comfortably in regular airport conditions. So Mr. P splurged on passes to the Aer Lingus lounge, where free drinks, comfortable sofa, and functional showers awaited.

Then, from Dublin, a short flight to Rennes, the capital of Brittany. This picture sums up my overall impression of Brittany:

Brittany, France (with kite-surfer in background)

Gray, cold, rainy skies. My beaux-parents picked us up at the airport and whisked us to the most fabulous dinner I’ve ever eaten that involved uber-bony fish. Little Boy was reunited with his cousins. We were jet-lagged to the point of being energized.

The next day, the reunion. Little Boy frolicked with his British cousins, though he was incredibly wary of the French ones.

Cousins

There were about 100 people. The meal started at 1pm with salads, escalated to ham and veggies, digressed to cheese, and finally ended with dessert at around 6pm.

Official reunion cake

Desserts galore

Enjoying the eclair

Then, after we finally stopped eating, the pictures:

And there are more pictures and people, but I think the idea has been conveyed. It was a nice event. I always welcome the opportunity meet new French people while eating delicious food for 5 hours straight.

The next day, with my beaux-parents as guides, we started exploring Brittany. First we went to the famed tourist destination of Saint-Malo, a walled city known for being a pirate-enclave in centuries past.

Saint Malo's walls: pirate haven

Saint Malo -- sea swimming pool

Walkway to the Grand Bé, a tidal peninsula

This is why Grand Bé is only open low tide -- we had to turn around

Beach of Saint Malo

At the aquarium, touching fish with Papi

The next day we headed to Normandy to visit Mont Saint-Michel, a famed fortified island with an active monastery.

Mont Saint-Michel

We roamed the steep streets amid countless other tourists, including many Americans wearing “Normandy beach” shirts and hats with American flags (what, did they want to be thanked?)

Quaint streets of Mont Saint-Michel

At the monastery

at the monastery

Beaux-parents

Walking back to the car

I must add that, amid all this sightseeing, I ran everyday on a trail on the beach for about 90 minutes. What a workout! The terrain varied from dirt to rocks to clay to sand; the weather varied from the threat of rain to drizzle to actual windy rain. Never a dull moment, and my legs felt strong and renewed.

The next day, we were taking the train to the Paris airport in the afternoon. On the way to the train station in Rennes, we stopped in Dinan, yet another picturesque walled town with steep sidewalks.

Dinan

Dinan

After walking around and having lunch, Mr. P’s parents drove us to the Rennes train station and we bulleted to Paris CDG. We were staying overnight at the Hilton, where thanks to Mr. P’s loyalty points we were granted entry to the Executive lounge. Free drinks and enough appetizers to constituent a dinner!

The next morning, it was off to Dublin for four days of…

Happy times in Ireland

to be continued…

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By Meredith – June 7, 2013

36. Years. Old!

Yeah, it’s my birthday. 36. I woke up at 2:30am in a fit of jetlag (from our too-recent big-week in Europe) and proceeded to tackle the enormous pile of work that awaits me for the month of June. Work, work, work until 5am, then I checked the weather and saw forecasted thunderstorms looming at 6am. Yeah, I could have gone to the gym, but it’s my birthday. I wanted to scamper quickly amid the trails… so I braved steady rain and headed up the 200+ foot hill to the local sanctuary, where I ran tiny . 75 mile-loops through a soaking rain, telling myself it was invigorating while fretting about chafing and the effect on my new trail trainers. Total wet run: 7.5 miles.

The day went downhill from there. I worked 8:15 am until 5:15pm, with my only break being when my boss kindly brought me a cupcake and chatted me up about liquor. I left work and took Little Boy to the library. Then, we ate chicken, green beans, an overly-ripe Camembert and chocolate cake. Then, I opened my present: an elaborate head-lamp system for my impending ultra night-runs. Then, we headed to the playground to enjoy the last balmy moments of spring before cruel humidity sets in.

I love my boys.

France and Ireland were excellent. I hope to post a comprehensive trip report after I get pictures from Mr. P, but by the time that happens, the memories of our trip may have faded ‘neath the press of work, training, and domesticity.

Walking in Brittany region of France

Walking in Glendalough, Ireland

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By Meredith – May 29, 2013

Providence Marathon

I married a good man. Sometimes it bewilders me that such a smart, funny, kind, and completely normal (not to mention French, of which I am the antithesis de la femme francais) man married me. When I met him, his idea of sport was swimming 2 times a week for 20 minutes… and, once in a while, taking a small hike in the woods. I somehow transformed him into a man intent on qualifying for the Boston Marathon, willing to undergo punishing tempo/interval/hill sprint runs 5 days a week to do so. He was so intent on his goal, yet without ever deviating from the God-honest fact that he is a very, very good man.

Mr. P’s choice qualifying event was the Providence Marathon, which occurred last Sunday. So intent on attaining a 3:15 qualifying time (though he really needs a 3:10 or less, given how the online registration for the Boston marathon favors lower qualifying times by allowing them access earlier), he booked a hotel room close to the starting line in Providence for Saturday night. Of course, we were totally game, except on Saturday morning I had my long run (22 miles of trail, be still my hips, ‘specially that twigging left one) and Little Boy had his YMCA sports class not to mention the birthday party of his BFF… so everyone was exhausted by the time we arrived in Providence Saturday evening, except for my good man Mr. P, whose legs trembled with taper-induced anticipation of the arduously-fast 26.2 miles that awaited him at 7:30am Sunday morning.

We awoke early so Mr. P could gobble a bagel and an assortment of electrolyte goodies. I hoped Little Boy would sleep, but the novelty of being in a Hilton hotel room awakened every little fiber of his being… except the happy part. He was seriously bummed when I told him that we would not being eating breakfast until after Daddy started running (because we had free passes to the breakfast buffet). He sulked. We walked to the starting line in cool but humid and at times rainy conditions. Not optimal for a marathon. But, we cheered Mr. P as he took off on his 26.2 mile odyssey to qualify for the most famed running event in the world. Then, we took some pictures around the main square of Providence.

Providence

Providence

Again, not a very happy Little Boy — sleep-deprived and peeved by the intermittent rain. We headed back to the hotel to avail ourselves of our free voucher breakfast buffet. I had copious amounts of smoked salmon and ham; Little Boy took one bite of every single baked good and declared it “not good.”

After a dip in the swimming pool, we headed back to the finish line. I chatted with a nearby woman whose husband was also hoping to qualify for Boston. Since he was in his early 30s, he was shooting for 2:55. She was quite friendly until that point, and then grew quiet, sullen, and extremely alarmed when he didn’t materialize. 3:05, 3:10… I also grew anxious, awaiting Mr. P. The 3:15 pacer came by, with a lone runner at his tail. It was not Mr. P. Then, a minute later…

There he was, my good husband. A minute later than he needed, but he looked amazing. My Mr. P. Finished at 3:16. He did not qualify for Boston, but now he knows it is very, very possible.

And me? Can you believe I married such a good-looking man? Even at Mile 26.2, he looks amazing.

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By Meredith – May 15, 2013

Mount Misery Loves…

I had two different people tell me in two different conversations within the past week to check out Mount Misery in the conservation lands out near Walden Pond, so since today was a *Beyond Superb* spring day (crisp sunshine!), after lunch we headed out to Lincoln. By now, Little Boy accepts that walking in the woods is just something we do, and is totally game so long as we bring along an indulgent snack (this time, a mini pack of Skittles left over from Valentine’s Day). And his kiddie hydration pack is still a big incentive!

Oh, such gorgeous New England trails. Since I spent much of the morning trudging/running 15 miles on the cranky, rocky, rooty trails of the Middlesex Fells, the completely non-technical trails of Mount Misery seemed like a nap.

Starting the hike

We found a stick “tent” that Little Boy totally took ownership of for 10 minutes.

Finding the "tent"

Soon, the trail opened up into a large grassy agricultural field, where we took turns taking/posing for pictures:

Ninja

I love my Little Boy

I love my big boy

We meandered about for roughly 90 minutes before finding a small horse corral. One of the horses was quite friendly — perhaps hoping we had food. I promised Little Boy we would return soon with carrots and apples for the horses.

Horses

Our hike exceeded 2 and a half hours (and included about a dozen impromptu trail running races) — thought Little Boy seemed like he could continue indefinitely, we returned to the car to avoid any, ahem, misery. (That, and Mr. P got an emergency call to patch a database.)

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By Meredith – May 4, 2013

Groton Road Race 2013

Groton Road Race was a true family affair for us, with Little Boy participating in both the Tot’s Trot (essentially a 50-yard dash) and the 2K (with Mr. P pacing) while Mr. P and I did the 10K and Grandma and Grandpa “crewed” for us on the sidelines.

First, the Tot’s Trot. The kids were lined up by age, so Little Boy joined the 4 year olds. Unfortunately he started in the back of the pack, but he regained ground quickly and probably finished in… oh, who cares. It was a Tot’s Trot! The main thing was he loved it.

Tot's Trot

The 2K was a different story, as we knew it would be. It’s one thing for a 4 year old to sprint, it’s another thing to hold a steady pace for over a mile. But Little Boy ran the whole time and even sprint to the finish!

2k

2K

The 10K started more than an hour later, after the 5k. I had scoped out last year’s times and really hoped to place in my age group — though I’m not really training for 10K, based on my previous times in short races earlier this month, I thought I had a chance. But I am really unaccustomed to running in the heat; darn that gorgeous sun! And I was not really expecting the 250 feet of rolling hills. I missed placing in my age group by a minute, finishing around 48 minutes (14th girl out of 250). Hard race — you can see me below in the white shirt, looking miserable at mile 2.

Mr. P finished 6 minutes ahead of me, though with no hope of placing in his uber-competitive age group. Still, all that matters is he looks great shirtless 😉

Thanks to Grandma and Grandpa for coming with us and enjoying the festivities!

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By Meredith – May 2, 2013

Western Mass Weekend Getaway

Although this past week in Boston has been anything but routine, we still needed a break in routine. It’s been more than four months since we took a weekend excursion… and like most Europeans, Mr. P starts to wilt like a dehydrated tulip without an occasional excursion. So, after my arduous 18-mile trail run on Saturday morning, we drove west on the Mass Pike to the Berkshires — specifically, Amherst/Hadley, where I graduated from UMass… lord, almost 14 years ago?!

In Amherst, we right away hit the scenic tail end of the Norwottuck Bike Path. Little Boy was on his bike, Mr. P was on his rollerblades, and I was on my two damn feet, which given the morning’s training, were tired. I tried a few times to run and keep up, but my legs just refused. Luckily Little Boy wasn’t in a cycling mood; I think the flies and gnats bothered him. Bugs! Oh yes, in the six months of cold weather, he forgot about bugs, and the warm 65-degree sunshine was bringing them out with a vengeance. Still, we went about 3 miles and had a few “races” along the way. This time, I wasn’t just letting him win — my calf muscles were Grade-A jello.

Racing on the Bike Trail

We went to the hotel in Hadley (a Hampton Inn) and geared up for a dip in the swimming pool. The biggest disappointment of my life was not finding a jacuzzi in which to soak my weary muscles, so I was forced to shiver in the sub-warm swimming pool while playing water polo with Mr. P and Little Boy. After showering, playing logos, and accidentally subjecting an excited Little Boy to 5 minutes of SpongeBob on the TV, we headed out to Northampton for a nice piece of haddock at a casual fish shack.

Poor Mr. P roused himself at 6am this morning to run a speedy 20 miles on the Norwottuck Bike Path (he is more determined to qualify for the Boston Marathon than ever). Meanwhile, Little Boy and I romped on the king-sized bed until I relented and let him play on my iPad while I watched re-runs of Mad Men. At 6:30 am. As I said… “break in routine”. Then we headed downstairs to the free breakfast to eat just a bite before heading to the pool for a solid 90 minutes (can I just say, in amazement, that Little Boy has taught himself a rudimentary freestyle stroke?) By then, Mr. P had returned, so we adjoined to the breakfast area for a second round of eggs, yogurt, and bready stuffs before heading up to the room to prepare to vacate.

It was a sunny though chilly day, so we decided to hike at the Holyoke Range State Park. Little Boy was totally game, to our total surprise, so we decided we could totally summit Mt. Norwottuck (same name as the bike path), as it was about 2 miles round-trip and probably 600? feet elevation gain. It was a bit slow-going, with Little Boy’s main motivation being the small bag of gummy fruits I carried with me. He is easily distracted by the prospect of throwing rocks/sticks into the woods. It took us a little more than an hour to reach the top, which provided a nice vista of the Pioneer Valley.

Enjoying his gummy fruits

Enjoying a nap

While it took us considerable time to go up, we literally flew down the mountain in about 20 minutes. This Little Boy is a descender! Future trail runner! Wow!

The descender

Satisfied with our little excursion, we headed home, with future excursions to the region already planned (next time, not on 4/20 — these 5-college kids are pretty fierce in their allegiance to the rituals of this day. Roll up the windows!)

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By Meredith – April 21, 2013

Shelter In Place

Okay… it’s 4pm on Friday and we have spent the whole day (and not a bad day weather-wise, for Boston, sniff) “sheltering in place” at the governor’s request while the epic manhunt for the 19-year Boston Marathon bomber happens in nearby Watertown. Too much excitement these days; it brings to mind the curse “May you live in interesting times.”

My day started just before 4am, when I woke up after perceiving faint noises outside — distant helicopters and sirens. It’s actually a standard waking time for me; I fall asleep around 9pm and seven hours seems to be all my body needs. I had planned to go to the gym when it opened at 5am. It was going to be a “rest day” from running and I was going to go stretch and flex all the little core muscles that running doesn’t touch. So I popped a coffee pod in the Keurig, ripped a few squares off a chocolate bar, and opened my MacBook to check email and news.

Of course, when I saw the news, I realized quickly I would not be going to the gym, which is near Watertown’s Arsenal Mall — the command epicenter for what evolved to be the manhunt. I also realized that the whole explosive shoot-out between the bombers and the cops happened less than two miles from us — incidentally, right on my bread-and-butter weekday running route that I usually do 2-3 times a week (including yesterday).

So, with the gym being a definite no-go, I thought about taking a slow, easy 6-mile run. What’s crazier: To run on your designated rest day, or to run in the vicinity of on-the-lam terrorists who might possibly have something against runners? Too crazy, even for me; instead, I decided to make some headway on my next paper for my Grad class. But then I started reading CNN’s newsfeed, which shortly before 5am declared that both terrorists had been caught. And since my legs feel pretty good, I decided to be crazy and go running.

Slow and easy. I stuck to my neighborhood, doing loops on hilly residential streets and taking three turns around the town reservoir trail. I saw two other runners, but otherwise the streets were deserted. As I headed towards home through Cushing Square, I passed an idling police car.

“Jogger! Jogger!” Stern yells pierced through my headphones, which were blasting Awolnation.

I stopped running and smiled meekly at the female officer.

“Belmont is in lockdown! There is an armed and dangerous suspect on the loose in Watertown! Go home!”

I waved, nodded, and ran away. I felt a little stupid, but at least it’s conceivable that someone would get up and go running without checking the news first…or, that they checked the news and it wrongly said that both terrorists were apprehended…

So I got my 6 miles in, but the rest of the day was up in the air — no leaving the house until further notice. I assumed that they would catch the terrorist quickly and we’d go to work/school eventually, but by noon we’d given up on that notion.

Little Boy is taking it all in stride. We explained that the police were looking for a “very bad guy” and we had to stay home so they could look for him. He accepted this with staggering understanding and very few questions. I don’t think he understands how surreal all of this is…

It’s like a snow day without the snow, and sadly without the advance warning. The only foods we have abundant stockpiles of are apples, yogurt, and beer. We’re rationing the bread (someone please, send flour!)

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By Meredith – April 19, 2013

Heartbreak

We weren’t at the Boston Marathon yesterday. Mr. P had to work and Little Boy’s preschool was open, so though I had the day off of work, I took a “me” day to recover from the rigors of grad school/full-time job/100K race training/domesticity. I felt guilty about bringing Little Boy to school, even though he loves school. As I watched the elites finish the marathon on television around noon, I thought that I really should have taken Little Boy to the marathon so he could see his Ethiopian countrymen kick butt.

But, this was not a “near-miss” thing. For one thing, I never would have taken Little Boy to the finish line in Copley Square unless Mr. P was running it, as he was (still is!) planning to do next year, qualifying time willing. I used to work in Copley Square and go to the finish line on my lunch break; I know how chaotic it is under normal, non-explosive conditions. From a practical perspective, taking a 4-year old to Copley would have been unpleasant for all involved. If I had taken him to see the marathon, it would have been in Newton or Brookline.

Still, I’m taking this tragedy rather personally. Not just because I love running, not just because I love Boston, not just because I love Patriot’s Day, but because I love finish lines. I ran a storied race in Massachusetts on Patriot’s Day, but it wasn’t the Boston Marathon. It was the 99th running of the Lexington Lion’s 5 miler. It’s a very competitive race and I ran fast, finishing at 36:52 (7:23 pace, 3rd in my age group). I crossed the finish line exhausted, happy, and a little peeved at myself that I couldn’t catch the group of girls ahead of me.

How I love the finish line! To see people cheering, even if they didn’t know me. I knew they were there waiting for their friends and family to finish, but they cheered me and contributed to the general sense of accomplishment I felt. A tiny accomplishment, a 5-miler, but I trained hard and raced hard and I deserved to be at the finish line.

I’m so heartbroken about what happened. Disbelief, shock, outrage, fear… I love finish lines, but I’ll never be able to cross one again without thinking about what happened at the Boston Marathon. And when Mr. P runs the Boston Marathon next year, Little Boy and I will be cheering for him in Newton, suitably on Heartbreak Hill.

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By Meredith – April 16, 2013

Sugar Sugar

Little Boy’s culinary tastes have certainly evolved. When he first came home (almost two whole years ago to the week!), he eschewed many foods that are now his favorites: pizza, waffles, pancakes, cake, donuts, hot dogs. (Of course, not the healthiest foods, and foods we resorted to offering him because he was only eating bananas and peanut butter in alarming portions).

Now, he clamors for these treat foods. We had hotdogs the other night and Little Boy was in ecstasy — finally, after five nights of chicken and fish, hotdogs! What he is beginning to realize is that we never buy the same kind of hotdog. Sometimes it’s sausage, sometimes turkey dogs, sometimes chicken dogs, sometimes bratwurst. He favors the traditional long skinny red ones, but even those vary greatly depending on which kinds are on sale at Whole Foods.

So after the hotdog dinner, he said to me, “The hotdogs taste different.” He looked rather worried.

“Yes, I think those are a different kind,” I told him.

“No,” he said. “No, they are the same kind.” The worry turned to sadness. “I think something’s wrong with my mouth!”

On Saturday Mr. P gave him a Dunkin Donut for breakfast before his YMCA sports sampler class, then a bag of gummy fruit snacks, then they went to the supermarket and Little Boy ate a piece of cake. All of this before noon (I was out running 20 miles, dreaming of cake).

This amount of sugar with no mitigating healthy food put the normally-relaxed Little Boy into a frenzy. Mr. P reports that, during the sport class, he was is rare form, matching the other sugared-up kids in energy and aggression. At home, he rejected lunch and instead roamed around the house with a blanket over his head like a cape, making strange and loud noises. When I took him to the bathroom, he was in such a crazed state that, after I finally got him to wash his hands, I told him “Go tell Daddy ‘You did this.'”

“What does that mean?” he asked, jumping up and down as his head swayed under the weight of his blanket cape.

“Just go say to Daddy, ‘Mommy said you did this.'”

And he raced into the bedroom to do exactly that.

Time to get out of the house. We went to the Blue Hills to totter cautiously on the Ponkapoag board walk. Of course, caution is not a word that a sugar-hyped 4 year old boy can abide by. He fell in the bog twice. Fun times.

Ponkapoag Board Walk

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By Meredith – April 15, 2013