The flight Stockholm – San Fransisco
The time has come. 9 months of preperation and savings that would end up in a totally disaster. Finally I was going to US. Everybody who knows me privately know how much I hate to fly. I had a battle with my self regarding if I should bring my teddies or not for this trip. My first long trip.It is 2 teddies I sleep with at home. 1 cat and 1 dog. Vincent and Woffi. Lol.
I have previosly brought them on every trip I have made it in Europe. Then I passed that fearstage. Once I flew, I did not bring them. I panicked, drank so much alcohol that I threw up in the airplane aile. That was not popular. So they followed me to US. Which was very well needed. I probaly looked stupid, 24 years old travelling with toys. But it is a fine of acting stupid (throw up in the airplane aile) or look stupid (travelling with toys). I preferre looking stupid.
I was travelling with British Airways and changed flight in London to the biggest airplane I have seen.
When we boarded the plane they told us which language the cabin crew spoke. I founded a norweigan speaking crewmember. I told him I was so scared of flying. They have
had some technical issues with the plane and that freaked me out. There was this other swedish man sitting a few chairs away from me.
He offered me to sit beside me during start and landing. I even squeezed his arm during the landing. Poor thing! But I am forever thankful for your offer H!
During middle of the flight I panicked anyway. I started to hyperventilate and cried for several hours. I could not move my legs or feet. And I was scared. So after 3 hours of constant crying I managed to sleep 1 hour. I even found a place in the back of the plane whit an empty row thar I could stretch out my body. Freedom.
I met an other swedish guy in San Fransisco. We teamed up and went together to the prerace at the North Face store.
Three athletes that gave advice. The first two from the left were “to american” for my style. Listen to then talking went to cheezy for my taste. I preferred the guy on the right. A former marin who have lost his hand during service. So cool to listen to his story and experience.
A true hero for the United Stated. But I cant remeber his name.
Race day. The event organizer had rented some typical american schoolbusses that shuffled us racers to the start point. The race started very well. I was not first but I had a good time at 21 km with a time on 3.29. Thats better than my first “flat” halfmarathon I did in July 2015 which ended me on a time at 3.47. Lol.
The lead uphill. Everybody walked up.
The race went realley good until the 44th kilometer where I collapsed. I managed to get to the aid station and poke a medic. Suddenly I wake up and have 6-8 people around me. I have walked the past 10 km in a 18 km pace bit my pulse were at max, my heartrythm a little unstable and I had thrown up 4 times on that 10 km.
After a while I started to get my head back. I wanted to go back to the main area where the race started. Because they had a nurse. I also wanted to wait for C until he came in the goal.
So they tossed me in an ambulance and promised me to get me to the race area.
After half the way the way they stopped the car and I was going to be moved to an other vehicale (firetruck/ambulance). I asked “what the fuck is happening”.
The medic in the ambulance said the were going to give me over to the paramedic/firemen and then they were going to bring me the hospital.
I have refused hospital 20 times but they stabbed me in the back ans brought me there anyway. They refused to give me the form of where I could refuse medical treatment.
They just dumped me in at a hospital in the middle of nowhere.
I had no ID. No creditcard. No money and my phone did not work.
After 8 hours I manage to finally get that paper where I refused medical care against the doctors whish. But my bag was still in the race area.
The nurse was like “can you get out of here by your self?”
Me: are you serious?
She helped me anyway to get hold of a overnight security guard who were guarding the premises of the race so I could get my bag. There were no numbers to any race directors, no information, no nothing.
So I ended up with a 95 USD taxi bill because I needed to get the race area, pick up my back to get my stuff, then get back to the hostel.
I have could spend that money ob something better. Like eating in San Fransisco.
The post affection
I will definitly leave with no good memory of america. And I will probaly not race here again for a while. Or forever.
It litteraly broke me down. So mch preperation. And the race went realley good. Until this shit happends and you get dumped i the middle of nowhere.
This was my first conventional race. I do understand why I will stick to racing in my beloved eastern european/postwar countries. (Ping: Skyrunnig Serbia)
They do struggle to get around financially. But they do care about the runners and the event.
I have at least went from – “I will never race again” to “okay I am going to aloud my self to break down, come again, and looked i forward to 2016”.
2015 was my first year of running. It has definitly been a very adventourus one. Many times I have though: what the fuck have I given me in to? Me? Running?
But running does me happy. Travelling does me happy.
So I am glad that I have killed the biggest “post-failure brainghost” and I can look forward to 2016 where I can put another level to my training. I will sum up my first year as a rookie runner in a blog post later in december. :-)
2016 will bring me both to Kazakstan and Georgia (Europe).
Now I am going to try to enjoy my last days in US.