The end

The alarm clock went off at 6.00. I opened my eyes grudgingly. I looked out the window and I could see no lights. It was still dark outside. I was tiered from the trip the day before, which got me into Brussels late at night; it must of have been well after 11pm. The weather in Brussels is terrible, and it never changes. On top of the rain, the temperature in January is below freezing. I sat up on the bed. Paola was still asleep. A 10 mile run was the last thing I wanted to do that morning. But I had a reason, a damn good reason to go out there and try my best. I was no longer running for myself. We were saving lives now. I had a responsibility to WaterAid and to all those children in Africa that needed me to keep running. I thought about how fortunate my life has been; about how little I've spent giving and how much time I've spent thinking about making -- money, projects, a career. I was finally up and getting dressed. My running gear was dirty from the morning before, but what did it matter, outside it was still muddy. I picked up my running shoes and shut the door behind me before that urge to go back to bed would get the best of me. I wanted to look forward, to run, to save lives. I wanted to be in Austin already. That day was January 28. The rest of the days passed by fast. I kept running and I was ready on that morning, on Feb. 15 when I stepped into the queue for the start of the Austin Marathon. The running was easy. I settled for an 8min/mile pace, but half-way through I realized that I could do better. I was still worried not to overdo it so I kept it under control for the next 5 miles. At mile 18 I was sure I could push harder and last to the end. So I did. I picked up my pace. "Go Water Aid" I heard the crowd cheering, "Awesome pace." That only urged me on. By now I felt like I was floating. I was on mile 23 but the feeling was the same as if I had only started. It was great. I was smiling; no I was laughing as I ran past the excited Austin crowd. The sun bright and warm, and I was on my last mile, running on Trinity Street, the last long stretch before the turn into the finish area on Congress. For the first time I found myself looking back to that January 18 in Brussels, to the cold days, to all that running in the rain, freezing cold and snow; to Paola and I massaging our legs: to the tears and aches and pains and bruised knees; to WaterAid and our effort and the kind donations which we received. I crossed the finish line in Austin. It was the best run of my life, and the fastest marathon I ever did -- 3h23min. Thank you for helping, for believing, and thank you for your humanity.

Paris to 23

Last weekend I was in Paris. Paola and I went to celebrate the longest day of the year. Each year on this day Paris throws a massive street party -- Fete de la musique. Bands are set up all over the city and the point is to stroll from one gig to the other, dance, drink beer, and just have fun. We did this many years ago, in 2001. That year it was raining hard, which must have stopped some people from going. We drank sangria and were on the streets, and by the end of the night were stomping in puddles and mud sliding in the grass in front of Les Invalides. This year, I barely managed to get myself home, we had so much fun. The weather was warm and people were everywhere. The later it got the more people were showing up it seems, either that or I was seeing double and counting X2 for every one.

On my long run the next day - don't even ask. It was terrible. I didn't get up and out of the house until 1pm. By then the sun was scorching Paris and it was awfully humid. I set off from Champs des Mars in the direction of Trocadero, passing by Passy. From there I headed for the Arc de Triomphe and up Rue Wagram. Next came Place de Clichy, passing Pere Lachaise, where apparently Morrison is buried, and after I made the awful ascent to Mt. Martre. What a mistake. The hill took the life out of me. By now I was already out of one water bottle, short on breath and no power in my legs. On the way down I could just keep myself from falling over. For all those watching and having their lunches at the brasseries, I was probably a comical sight. On top of it, I got lost, which just added to my misery. So miserable and only on mile 8. I had 12 more to go. I somehow made it to the Bourse, managing to avoid Les Halles. That was it. I couldn't do it anymore. I had no energy and even less will to keep my feet moving. Defeated I sat on a street corner, out of the sun, and sipped on whatever water I had left.

I eventually ended up running back to the Eiffel, but it was only an additional 3 miles. Disappointed, I thought no more running for me.

Training this week in Brussels was better. I was back on my pace and back to strength, with an easy mid-week 11 mile-run.

Today was a funky day and I spent it working. I'm trying to nail a deal and the numbers just don't want to add up. Finally at 8.30PM I was so tired of it I decided to go running. It was a nice 17 degree evening. Clear skies. Brussels is very empty on the weekends, which is nice for running. Running was exactly what I needed at the end of today and I just kept going, and going, and going. The route itself wasn't exciting but it was refreshing. I knocked down the speed a little -- I'm changing my running technique to save my knees -- which kept me fresh for what seemed like a long time. I finally hit a wall, and had to stop. This was 3h.10min later. I ran 23.1 miles -- 3 short of a full marathon. When I stopped my legs started feeling funny. This slowly turned into excruciating pain. My body went into a chill and I couldn't stop shivering. I eventually recovered in the shower under hot water, I think just in time to prevent Paola from calling the ambulance. :)

The next one is the full deal.

running in the capital of Europe

We flew into Brussels on Friday morning from New York, arriving early at 9am. The weather was typical Brussels - overcast. Except it was also a lot cooler than what we had in New York. Arriving in Brussels I had a few meetings. But business is slower nowadays, which could be due to the global economic slowdown, or I have gotten smarter and don't load my schedule each day with unnecessary meetings. I've become a big believer in doing things over email or teleconference whenever possible.

Lucky, Friday is my recovery day, so I didn't have to go running upon arriving in Brussels. I couldn't have. My legs were still sore from the Wednesday night run, which was a fast pace 11 mile run from my apartment in Chelsea New York along the West Highway, into the FiDi (financial district) and over the Brooklyn Bridge. My good friend and college roommate Will H. Chancellor joined me. His name is so freaking British -- I'll let you all guess what the H stands for -- but the kid is prime time Texas bread. Don't hold it against him; he's a great guy, and will soon be a famous writer.

Running across the Brooklyn bridge was awesome. First, the bridge is older than my great grandfather. Built in 1883, the bridge is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the US, connecting Manhattan on the east side with Brooklyn. It's one of the major traffic links for New Yorkers commuting in and out of Manhattan. The bridge is double layered, and it has a pedestrian section that passes through its middle. This makes it possible and pleasant to cross, except when you are walking or running across it, watch out for the bikers. They share the same section as the pedestrians, and they make it their business to try to run-over as many airy tourists as possible. I almost got nailed by a biker the other day. I didn't see him coming through the crowd but I did hear him screaming, move asshole. Part of living in New York is that scenes like this are standard daily experiences. You just get used to it and you roll with it.

Once you get over to the Brooklyn side of the bridge, a floor sign at the the foot of the bridge reads "Welcome to Brooklyn." There's no such sign on the Manhattan side, but this is the point. Brooklyn is patriotic.

Back in Brussels, the city dynamic is very different. The atmosphere feels sleepy, old and a bit uptight. It doesn't have the hustle and the buzz of New York. I woke up late on Sunday - much later than I wanted to for my long run. Our Brussels apartment/office is on Rue Gachard, which is just of Avenue Louise and a few blocks from Place Flagey . Place Flagey is a great area, with a lot of open plaza space, a number of great little restaurants -- we ate on Saturday at Aglio e Olio, an Italian prima cucina, which I highly recommend if you're half as crazy about pasta as I am. Their linguini con vongole is superb, and the house wine is great too. Go for the red. Flagey also has a lot of good beer stalls, but these are almost everywhere in Brussels, which is something I love about the city -- the excellent beer. Any bar you're in, order a blanche, you can't miss.

I set off for my 17 mile run (that's about 27.37 KM) along the lakes of Ixelles. The lakes begin at the foot of Place Flagey and continue up for about a half a mile. The first thing I noticed was the Sunday farmers market which they had set-up. The crates full of strawberries and the bread loafs reminded me how hungry I was, forgetting to eat before leaving the apartment. From the lakes, I turned to the streets and headed up towards Avenue F. Roosevelt, and from there to the park Bois de la Cambre. Running in the park felt good. I was away from the cars, and everyone around me was doing something sporty. It made me feel better being out on this run, which started off quite bad. My legs felt heavy.

From the Bois de la Cambre I jogged back to the road, connecting with Avenue Delleur, which becomes Boulevard du Souverain. This took me in a long circle around the outskirts of Brussels. I passed a number of open markets, and ended up at the footsteps of Avenue de Tervueren, having passed park Woluwe. Avenue de Tervueren is close on Sundays to traffic. Pedestrians take it over. Kids running around, dogs jumping at your feet. You can buy fresh produce, ethnic products, toys, watch shows and eat sausages, frittes, and waffles. All is there, and beer, on Avenue de Tervueren. I thought, I should come here when I'm not running to enjoy the show.

Avenue de Tervueren falls into the Cinquantenaire park, passing under the Belgian Arc de Triomphe, from where I headed for the European Council -- the Schuman building which for the next month will still display on its front face the symbol of the Slovenian EU Presidency. Slovenia has for the past five months been in charge of the EU. Once I was at the Schuman building, it was only 1.5 miles back to Flagey. A lap around the lakes and the voice on my new iPod said -- congratulations, you've completed your longest run yet. It was Lance Armstrong's voice. I was proud. I did it in 2h 8 min at an average pace of 7.34 min/mile.