Perfectly Imperfect

I don't know about you, but I’m feeling twenty two-ooh!  Only kidding, it was just too tempting.  But let me start that again.

I don't know about you, but I believe that some things are just too good to be true, especially when it comes to my life.  This is why I’m always looking for the catch and waiting for disaster to hit, and then hit again.  This is also the same reason why I tend to take extra precaution; it’s why I check and double check, and it’s why I take two days off from running before race day rather than the usual one. 

So, being Miss Cautious McQueen, two days before Sydney’s city2surf, I decided to take extra precaution and give my legs some rest.  I also made sure to have sweet potatoes incorporated into my meals because I had heard that the little orange potaters help with muscle recovery.  Yes, I’m that paranoid, but no, I’m not crazy. 

The day before my race, I packed and repacked the backpack that I would be carrying to the event.  I made sure to lay out my running outfit along with a sweater and a pair of sweats.  T-shirt, check.  Shorts, check.  Socks, check.  My bib was ready with its four safety pins dangling off the sides and my Ipod shuffle was fully charged and fully loaded.  I had a bottle of water and a pack of Gu in case I needed it.  Life was great.  Things were looking great.

The next morning, my alarm woke me up at 6:00 and I jolted out of bed.  I prepared my usual breakfast bowl and was out the door at 7:40.  My start time was set for 9:05, but I figured that I would give myself an extra hour in the case that I got lost or had an hour’s worth of trouble finding the starting line.  So, with my backpack in tow, I made my way to the bus stop, hopped on, got off at Hyde park and made my way to the information booth.  It was 8:05.

“Excuse me,” I asked, “Could you direct me to the bag drop off booth?”

“The bag drop off?  They closed it at 7:30”

“Wait, like, half an hour ago?

“Unfortunately…”

“So, what do I do with my backpack then…?”

Now, let me just explain here.  This backpack was not some teeny tiny backpack for toddlers, nor was it a wimpy little Jansport.  This was a real deal backpack.  It was actually made for triathletes to transport their gear as they switched events.  So, in other words, the length of the backpack pretty much went from my shoulders to the tippy top of my bum.  It was the real deal.  I could literally carry a child in there if the need came about.

So there I was, looking around the park, and I realized something.  There were two types of people at Hyde Park that day.  Those with backpacks, and those without.  Which group did I belong to you might ask?  Well, neither, because those with backpacks were dressed in civilian clothing, and those without backpacks were dressed like they were about to run a 14-kilometer race.  And then there was me.  So, I guess there were three groups of people there that morning: spectators with backpacks, runners without, and me, the sad in-between misfit.

If you can’t tell already, let me just tell you how desperate and stressful this situation was.  I had my Ipad, my wallet, and my passport in my backpack.  You know how they tell you to carry your passport with you everywhere when you’re abroad?  Wrong.  Don't carry it to a race when you’ve missed the closing time for the bag drop off. 

I actually considered walking to a convenient store and paying the clerk to hold my bag.  I also considered giving my bag to a random stranger.  I don’t even know how this would have worked or what I expected from a total stranger. Did I expect them to be cheering for me as I crossed the finish with my bag in one hand and an ice cold Gatorade in the other?  The desperation was slowly affecting my sanity.  My next consideration was definitely more on the sane side, but still not completely void of insanity.  I considered just tossing the backpack, sweater, and sweats, and just running with a small bag that contained my more valuable belongings.

I was executing the final details of my plan as I was walking towards the start.  I would throw my backpack into a bush right when the race started and after the race, I would grab a bus from Bondi Beach back to Hyde Park and retrieve my belongings, knowing well in advance that the chances of them being there in the bush were slim to none.  And that’s what would happen.

Long story short, that didn’t happen. 

I was walking to the start, and to fully understand this, I’ll need to paint a picture using numbers to illustrate the scale of this race.  Sydney’s city2surf is the largest race in Sydney, and the sixth largest run in the world in terms of participants.  There were approximately 85,000 runners registered this year.  So, what’s the point of all this?  The point is that I didn’t get to throw my backpack into a bush.  

Once I got to the start, I was somehow pushed into the center of the road, and last I checked, bushes don’t grow in the center of streets.  There were tons of people to my left and right, and so I did what anyone else would do in this situation.  I unstrapped my backpack and threw, hoping it wouldn't hit anyone, but would land all nice, snug, and hidden in a nice bush.

Only kidding.  I snapped the buckle on the front of the pack, tightened up the straps to prevent the pack from bouncing too much, and mentally prepared myself, and my backpack, for the run. 

And you know what I realized?  So much of everything is mental.  It’s all what you make of it.  Once I accepted and committed to the fact that I wasn’t going to be running this race alone, but with a large companion strapped on my back, it wasn’t half bad.  I even set a personal record for races run with a backpack!  In all seriousness though, it was actually a really fun race!  I actually feel like having a backpack helped me keep my mind off of the difficult parts of the course.  Instead of thinking about how difficult the hill was, I would wonder how much easier that hill would be without a backpack, and before I knew it, the uphill had become a downhill! 

The whole experience was a great one on perseverance and mental strength.  At the end of the day, life is what you make of it.  It’s ultimately up to you to take whatever’s handed to you, and make the best out of it.  You can’t prevent every disaster from ever hitting you, but you can prevent these little occurrences from ruining a good thing.  Life isn’t going to be perfect all the time, but I’ll tell you something, it can definitely be perfectly imperfect. 

So, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.  And when life gives you a backpack, run with it.

Carpe Diem

Seize the day. 

The first time I heard this, I thought the meaning of the phrase had something to do with fish.  Alright, that was a lie.  I literally thought the meaning of the phrase had absolutely everything to do with fish—specifically carp.  I just might possibly be the most intelligent being on this planet, I know.  I’d like to use young and dumb as an excuse, but the truth is, I was not so young, but I was definitely dumb. 

Now, being not much older, but a wee bit wiser, I know better.  I know that the meaning of carpe diem has absolutely nothing to do with fish; however, I also know that sometimes, seizing the day has completely everything to do with fish—specifically fish at the fish market—and even more specifically, fish at the Sydney Fish Market.

The Sydney Fish Market at Pyrmont Bridge Rd, Pyrmont, NSW 2009, is open Monday to Friday from 7:00am to 4:30pm.  If you happen to be in the area, I’d definitely encourage you to stop for a visit regardless of whether you see fish as friends or food. 

Being completely hopeless at navigating and directions, my only advice is to follow your nose.  The smell of fish was ever present and the closer we got to the market, the more intense the smells became, and the more and more excited I was.  This positive relationship, however, only holds if and only if a fish market is in the equation.  I'm not that weird.

But where do I even begin?  I honestly asked myself that several times today on several different occasions.  Should I head to this fish shop first or that one?  Should I grab some shrimp or scallops?  It's a good thing the market is opened five days a week, because the shops are plentiful and consequently the fish are plentiful, which could only mean one thing.  The difficult decisions were just as plentiful.

Lucky for me, those difficult choices and decisions would have to wait for another visit because I was actually at the fish market for one reason. 

This is the Barramundi, a fish native to Australia.  Extremely popular amongst the locals, the Barramundi is a flaky, white fish with a mild, buttery consistency.  I purchased some diced salmon and a Barramundi filet from the market and prepared it for dinner and it's instantly become one of my new favorite fish! 

I also had the chance to try a few freshly shucked oysters from an oyster bar.

This was my first time having oysters, and they were hands down, the best oysters I've ever had.  They were extremely fresh and delicious!  I know I sound like a kid in a candy store with my obnoxious levels of enthusiasm and excitement, but trust me.  Trust the big kid in the funky, fishy candy store.  

Carpe Diem.

Remember when I told you carpe diem meant sieze the day and had nothing to do with fish?  I was not that young, but a wee bit dumb.  Now, I'm a few minutes older and a few experiences wiser, and I know better.  It actually means sieze the day, head to the Sydney Fish Market and try some Barramundi.  It actually has everything to do with fish.  So, go.

Carpe Diem and happy eating!

Yours,

Kimmy

I Suck.

Yes, it’s been a week since my last post.  I suck, I know.  But you know what doesn't?  The beach.

I never actually realized how much I loved the beach until I moved away from home to attend college, where the nearest beach was a good three-hour car ride away.  We literally made it to the beach once during the school year and it was literally a mini road trip.  There were snacks, sing-alongs, twenty questions, the whole she-bang, but that’s beside the point.  The point is we only made it to the beach once.  Can you believe it?  But as sad as that sounds, trust me, it’s a lot more than a few of my friends could say, and their school campuses are literally plopped on the beach.

This brings me to another realization.  I swear the closer you are to the beach in proximity, the less you appreciate it.  There is a very, very, negative correlation there, but it makes sense though.

I’m only kidding.  It makes no sense at all.  It actually makes negative sense.  After finding out that my friend was more often not at the beach than she was at the beach, I actually made a pact to myself to never become that person.  I, Kimberly, would never be that girl who lived by the beach, but rarely went.  As much as I adore her, I, Kimberly, would never be my friend.

And aside from blogging about Centennial Park, I am a woman of my word.

As of today, I’ve been here in Aussieland for a week, and also as of today, I’ve been down to Coogi Beach four times.  It’s actually not my fault; the beach calls out to me like the Sirens or something.  Only kidding, but actually though, Coogi Beach is stunning, and that is an immense understatement.  

 If you’re ever in the New South Wales or Sydney area, you must do the walk from Coogi to Bondi Beach.  The East Coast Beach Walk is actually a 6-kilometer walk from Coogi Beach to Bondi Beach.   

It’s currently listed as the number one tourist attraction in the Sydney area, and rightfully so.  This “walk” takes you up stairs and through cliffs and cemeteries.   

There are several lookout points and benches, a.k.a. opportunities, along the way to simply take a moment to soak it all in.   

It sounds ridiculous now, but trust me, it’s not as ridiculous as the scenery, and you’ll find yourself wanting to take advantage of these stops along the way, especially if you plan on running the trail.   

Because a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m going to assume that several pictures should be worth several thousand words, so I’ll stop my blabbering and let these pictures do the talking.

Yours,

Kimmy