Oh my…

Yeah I did!!

That was fun.  I think.

AGMA’s not sure that I’ve ever thought of a marathon as fun, but this was probably as close to being fun as one can get.

No – it was definately fun!

To relieve the burning question you all have – I did finish.  Barely.

But let’s start from the beginning….

We arrived in Pauillac on September 7.  Pauillac is in the Haut-Medoc region of Bourdeux.  The wine in this area is spectacular.  But since AGMA was going to attempt to run/walk 26.2 miles (42KM) in two days, I needed some restraint.

I was semi-successful.

It was difficult.  There was/is wine everywhere.  Everywhere.  Good wine for very little $$. Great wine for very little $$.

There was wine at the little Expo.

Every marathon has an expo the day before (or sometimes two days) the run.  The runners pick up their running “bibs” (with their number on them and timing chips on back) and get a goodie bag (ususally).  There are also booths and displays from vendors trying to sell you running “stuff”.

This one had wine.  Lots of it.

Then there was the pasta “dinner” the night before the marathon at Chateau Livran.  For 1500 close friends.  That started – started mind you – at 8:30 P.M.

It was beyond description so I’ll just post a few pictures.

The calm before the storm…  Because of Hubs mobility issue, they let us into the dining area early.

This was a man who was dressed like a woman who evidently decided that undergarments were for the weak.  This was evident when he lifted his arms to dance or bent over, which he did frequently.  Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore!

Each time a new wine was served, the wine stewards marched out to music each carrying 6 to 8 bottles.

The first of 4 bottles of wine – all from different wine Chateau’s – they brought for Hubs and I, and a couple from England we were sitting with!

And then everybody danced.  And danced.  And danced!

OMG – the French sure know how to have a pasta dinner!

AGMA tried to be restrained.  I only sampled each wine and probably had 2 glasses total. Others were not quite so restrained.

Ah, to be young again.

I felt it was a poor decision for others to dance when they were going to run a marathon the next day.  Tut, tut…

That is until the band played Pharrell’s song, Happy.  And Earth, Wind and Fire’s song September.

Yup.  AGMA joined in the party.

Hubs and I tore ourselves away from the party and headed back to Pauillac at 10:15 P.M.  This was BEFORE they served dessert.   At that point, we’d been served 4 bottles of wine between 4 of us.  Who know how much was served after we left…

Every party needs a pooper right?  An AGMA pooper.

Thankfully, the marathon didn’t start until 9:30 A.M.  And AGMA was stealth in planning this trip – we were in an AirB&B in Pauillac, about a 10 minute walk to the start of the run.  And the finish.

So I got a good night’s sleep.

Thank God.

I’m not going to go into details about the run.  AGMA will just say it with pictures….

Vikings!

1st of 20 wine stops

I saw this guy finish!  He ran 26.2 mile wearing an Eiffel Tower.  Yikes!

The theme was 33 RPM because it was the 33rd running running of the marathon.  Lots of hippies, rockers and, especially Elvis’.

Lots and lots and lots of men dressed as women.  tRump would have a fit.  Or try to pick one up…

The guys in red had inflatable dinosaurs on them!  Normal for a marathon really… NOT!

OMG – I got behind the sweep wagon!  If you are behind these guys at the finish, you don’t get a medal.  AGMA hauled butt after I snapped this!

Just another Chateau to drink at!

Caught guys (again, dressed as women…) peeing in the vineyards while I snapped a picture of one of several beautiful rainbows during the run.

AGMA stems afterward!

There was a naked guy who had nothing but his bib in front of his twig and berries who threw up at one of the wine stops.  That picture might be TMI…

So AGMA finished.  I got the medal.  I got the backpack.  I got the bottle of wine.

Official time…slow.  Let’s just say I beat the sweepers, but I’m pretty sure they slowed down along the way.

This was a good thing since I was over 6 hours and 30 minutes…

I’m sore.  And still tired.

But boy, was it fun!

Next year?

 

Parlez-vous bucket list?

AGMA’s getting ready for a bucket list experience.

Okay – it wasn’t really on my bucket list, but then again, I don’t really have a bucket list.

Well, I do, but it’s a dynamic list. Most things get added after I’ve done them.

It’s also a mental list. God forbid I writing/type anything down. That would be a bit too ‘restrictive’. And concrete.

AGMA likes flexiblity.

It’s just soooooo satisfying to add things to my mental bucket list after I’ve done them, then mentally check them off the list.

I think there might be a diagnosis for that.

Hubs and I leave on Sunday for 23 days in France.

What?? 23 days?? Are you crazy?? Are you rich??

23 days in France. Yes. Maybe. No.

We made the airline reservations way back in January right before the inauguration. Getting out of the country for an extended period seemed like a really good idea at the time.

Still does.

And we caught an amazing sale. $394 RT per person from ATL to CDG.

Yeah we did!

And we were heady at the prospects of Hubs impending retirement and no restrictions on vacation length anymore. We really didn’t think through the budget restrictions we would have after retirement…

But AGMA’s a ‘value’ travel planner so I think we’ll be okay.

Lots of Airbnb’s and budget hotels. But they all have good reviews, so no bed bugs. Hopefully.

And lots of ‘value’ meals. We need to cut back on calories anyway.

AGMA’s going to try to post while we are gone. ‘Try’ being the operative word. I might just post a “Hello, we are in ______. Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.”

We’ll see how things go.

Getting back to the bucket list experience that I didn’t know was on my bucket list until February…

Since I was planning on running the Rome marathon in April, I figured AGMA would make 2017 the year of the international marathon. I started looking for a marathon to run in Europe during this trip.

And boy, did I find one!

It’s called the Marathon du Medoc and is unlike any other marathon in the world.

Turns out, it’s on many runner’s bucket lists. Who knew?

It’s in the Bordeaux region of France where some of the best wines in the the universe are produced.

So it would be natural that instead of water stops for runners, there are wine stops right?

Twenty (20) to be exact, from some of the top wine Chateau’s in the world. Actually, you can get water at the wine stops too, but seriously?

Wimps.

Aside from the wine, there are ‘nutrition’ stops. But instead of the orange slices and bananas and energy gels you get at a normal marathon, they will have breads and sweets and meats and cheeses.

BONUS – at mile 20…oysters!

Finally, all the runners dress up. Well – the fun ones dress up. Which is about 90% of the 8500 runners.

Hey, AGMA’s fun.

But AGMA has to schlep my costume across the Atlantic in my little suitcase. So I opted for compact, easy to run in and cheap so I can pitch it all afterwards.

And nothing says compact, easy to run in and cheap like HULA GIRL!!

Yes – AGMA is going to be a hula girl. But don’t expect any pictures. Nah baby nah.

I don’t mind exposing my chubby arms and midriff to a bunch of crazy, drunk French strangers, but to post a picture of Hula AGMA for the rest of the world to see…

Oh, the humanity!

The marathon time limit is 6 hours and 30 minutes. My fastest marathon was 6 hours and 10 minutes. And I thought I was going to die afterwards.

This does not bode well. Especially since there’s wine involved.

But then again, maybe the wine will help.

So AGMA’s decided not to stress about it and just enjoy what is sure to be a once in a lifetime experience. If I end up swimming in the pond at Chateau Lafite Rothschild for the afternoon, so be it.

Two things I know for sure. It’s going to be unlike anything I’ve ever done. And I’m gonna come back with some pretty good stories.

Aging Gracefully My Ass!

Catch you on the other side of the Pond.

P.S. If you are in the US and haven’t yet donated towards the relief efforts of the historic, devastating Texas floods, please consider donating today to the charity of your choice. Just make sure it’s legit… Love you all for your generous hearts and spirits!

Moveable feast, here I come

I really wanted to write about making Thanksgiving dinner this past Saturday.  This was unusual because the “official” Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S. is not until November 26th.  It was made even more unusual because I prepared the entire meal by myself.   Alone.  Yikes!

Unusual and, of course, amusing as only AGMA cooking adventures can be.

But I’m having a hard time.  I can’t seem to muster up any funny words. My heart continues to be heavy for the people of Paris.

Adventures with the undercooked turkey will have to wait.

Many, many words have been written since evil took flight against innocents in Paris last week.  People far more intelligent and gifted have eloquently written about the events of this real life, nightmarish Friday the 13th.  I can add no new insights or analysis.

My response is totally from the heart and gut.

I love Paris.  I really can’t explain why.  Or maybe I can try.

I’ve been fortunate enough to visit the City of Lights five times in my life.  Five times, I’ve been thoroughly enchanted.

One of my favorite movies is Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris.  It totally captures the magical nature of this amazing city.  I really want to hang out with Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Cole Porter…  I want to be part of the great Moveable Feast that was/is Paris.

The last time I went to Paris, I sat on the steps that Owen Wilson sat on when he got picked up by the limo at midnight.  I waited for about an hour.  Nothing.  Crap.

But that’s what Paris does to you.  It makes you believe that anything is possible and totally captivates your heart.

Granted, some Parisians can be brusk to non-French speakers.  But I just flutter my eyelashes and say in my very broken French, “Parlez-vous anglais?”  And when they say “No”, I turn on the big Bambi doe eyes and say “Un petit peu?” at which point they shrug and say “A lee-ttle”.  They then proceed to speak in flawless English.  And become very friendly.

Gotta love Paris.

The people, the food, the history, the wine, the gardens, the beauty… a lifestyle of joy and the celebration of living.

The French have been allies of the U.S. since the beginning of the U.S.  They are our oldest friends as a nation and fought along side us in our bid for independence.  And many of our finest young men are laid to rest in French cemetaries in Normandy.  There is a deep, deep connection between us.  A blood bond if you will.

I mean, they gave us the freaking Statue of Liberty for Pete’s sake…  That’s like the best BFF gift ever.

So I mourn for Paris, and our French brothers and sisters as only family can mourn.  And based on our experience here in the U.S. with 9/11, I know that they will never quite be the same.

But they will endure.  And not only endure, but I have a feeling they will not let this evil fundamentally change their love and zest for life.  It may even deepen and get more intense.

Gotta love the French.

And I do.  So in less than three weeks, I’ll once again be in my mostest favoritest city in the world.

Paris – AGMA’s coming and she can’t wait!

Some of my friends and family think I’m out of my mind.  Perhaps, but I wouldn’t dream of changing my plans out of fear or concern for personal safety.  If I do that, the bad guys win.  In my own small way, I can’t, I won’t, let them win.  I think being a tourist in Paris right now is an act of defiance in the face of those who seek to destroy and who know nothing of joy and love and light.

Reality check…  Okay – so with terrorists still floating back and forth across boarders, I won’t deny that there is risk.  The experts say there will be more attacks.  But I think we risk even more if we cower in fear.

AGMA’s getting crusty in her old age.

So I’m getting ready to eat and drink in cafe’s, go to museums, do some running in the Tuileries, and visit the beautiful Christmas Markets.  And show my French “family” that this diminutive American AGMA has their back.

Viva la France!

Racking up the Skymiles!

Big trip coming up tomorrow.  Again.  Whoo Hoo!  My husband and I are in a season of travel right now.  I like this season. Travel is one of my passions.  Don’t tell the Tea Partiers, but seeing the world can expand your thinking.  I know – I’m a Socialist…

We’re very fortunate to have the means. But only because we are “value” travelers.  Bargain airfares (mostly offseason), bargain accommodations (sans bed bugs!), bargain tours, bargain car rentals, bargain food.  I do get a bit tired of the doner kababs sometimes.  But they’re cheap and filling if the sodium content doesn’t cause a stroke…

We have the time.  Remember, I’ve been on hiatus.  And my husband has been working for the same organization for nearly 40 years.  He has something like 10 weeks of vacation every year.  You’d think we were French, right?  And because he’s the boss where he works, with a few exceptions, he can go when he wants.  Mel Brooks is right – it’s good to be the king.

We have the physical ability.  For now.  My husband has a neurological condition that’s robbing him of the use of his right leg. He can walk, but only very slowly and with a cane.  He can’t walk very far – about a half a mile in a day is it.  So I have to plan our trips carefully for easy accessibility to sights and transport. Sometime that ratchets up the cost of our lodging.  But, it’s still possible to get value digs without having bed bugs as your bunkmates.  It just takes a little extra time to research.  Okay – a lot of extra time.  Trip Advisor has become my travel BFF.

The upside of his condition – if there is one – is that flying is easier. Back in the day, flying used to be easy for everybody.  Now it sucks. Too many people, too few flights, too little space, too much customer “no-service” from the airlines…  S-U-C-K-S.

We get to board first because we need “extra time”.  Translation – guaranteed overhead bin space!  I look back at the teeming humanity in the gate area all pushing and shoving to get near the front so they can dash on when their zone is called to find a space for their roller-boards, and I think, “Suckers!”  But payback’s a bitch… When I’m flying alone, I’m part of that teeming humanity.  I imagine I’m a lioness getting ready to take down a wildebeest.  Zone 2 may now board – take no prisoners!!

We always need a wheelchair to meet us at our destination.  When you’re traveling to another country, this is handy.  Very handy. Actually, unbelievably handy.  You get to skip all of the immigration and customs lines.  Like totally.  They whisk you past all of the cranky people with whining children who have been up all night in the 12 inch economy seats.  Right to the front of the line.

Now I’m also cranky after an international flight.  And whiny.  And I look like sh*t because I’ve been up all night in my 12 inch economy seat.  But my mood improves significantly as we pass go and collect our passport stamps before the last person on our flight has deplaned.  Score!

After every trip, my husband says it’s his last.  He would gladly trade early boarding and our speedy trips through immigration and customs for the ability to walk normally again.  So would I.  He thinks I should travel alone.  He thinks he holds me back.  If I was honest, I’d say sometimes he does.  But I also think I see with wider eyes when I go slower.  I see things that I’d have missed going my “normal” breakneck speed.  A cat behind a lace curtain in a window in Dingle or a beautiful wrought iron doorway in a courtyard on Rhodes…  Poetic moments that you don’t normally notice when you rush by.

He really doesn’t do so bad.  He’s been able to climb the Acropolis in Greece, walk through the Alhambra in Spain, cross the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge in Northern Ireland, walk through the Valley of the Kings in Egypt and most recently, hiked the Grampians National Park in South Australia.  All very, very slowly.  But he did it.

So I continue to plan trips for us to new places to see new things. This time it’s the beaches of Normandy and the poppy fields of Flanders.  We love history.  We can’t wait.  It’s supposed to rain in Belgium.  The cobblestones in Bruges could get interesting…

How long this season or travel will last, I can’t say.  Maybe the means will run out before we anticipate.  These days it seems like no retirement income or lifetime of savings is a guarantee of financial independence.  Maybe our time will be taken up by other things like my restarted business.  Or aging parent care.  OR OUR FIRST GRANDCHILD WHO IS DUE IN DECEMBER!!

Oh – did I say that too loud?

Maybe in a few years he’ll not be able to walk at all.  I think we’ll still be able to travel, but it will look much different than it does now.  So I just continue to plan one trip at a time.  And we both continue to enjoy the hell out of each one!

I’m not taking my laptop with me this time.  I think I’ll go old school with a notebook and a pen.   How quaint…

See y’all in September!

Batsh*t Crazy Part II

Yeah – I’m going to write about the Tour de France again.  I warned you in my last blog post that you’d hear more about it.  Sorry.  But ya’ll know that even if you don’t like professional cycling or sports in general, there may be a few things to smile at below…

And I can use “ya’ll” because I live in Georgia.

Today is the first anniversary of a most momentous occasion in my life.  One of THE most momentous occasions of my life.  It ranks right up there with my wedding day, the birth of my two children and the time I got to see “Dancing With The Stars” live.  But probably not in that order…

A year ago today, I stepped off a train in Grenoble, France.  I had a bag full of American flags and custom t-shits, a digital camera full of pixels waiting to be pixelated, and visions of rotating road bike wheels and cyclists in spandex in my head.  I was on a pilgrimage.  I was excited beyond words.  I was going to see the Tour de France!

My roommate during this adventure was a delightful 36 year old woman from Australia who didn’t mind rooming with a woman old enough to be her mother.  Easily.  Actually, there were quite a few Aussies in our tour group.  Australians are wild and crazy cycling fans.  They dress up in crazy hats and wave very large Australia flags.  They have blow up kangaroos and blow up guitars. They like to drink beer before, during and after the race.  Of course, I hung out with them instead of the Americans.  Duh.

Before I left the USA, I had custom t-shirts made up to take with me. The first one cheered on the American cyclists.  It had all their names listed on the front and on the back it said “Born in the USA”. The second one said “I (heart) le Tour de France 2013” on the front and “Please sign here” in French on the back.  I had fellow travelers and strangers by the side of the road sign it as a keepsake.  The third one, my favorite – see above – said “Keep Calm and Shut Up Legs” in honor of my cycling hero and huge cycling fan favorite, Jens Voigt.   “Shut up legs” is his famous – amoung cycling fans – catch phrase.  The back said “Jens Y’all”.   Yeah…Georgia.

I wish I could say I was making this up, but sadly it’s all true.  My name is Aging Gracefully My Ass, I have no life, and I’m a uber geek.

There are 21 Stages (cycling days) to the Tour.  Our first big day watching the Tour live and in person was on Stage 17, a time trial stage.  Normally, at the end of a “regular” racing stage, the cyclists go to a restricted area with their team buses that’s off-limits to the general public.  General public like me.  Bummer.  But if you have lots and lots of money then it’s possible to get what they call “VIP Access”.  No $$=no access.  Bummer.

Without going into detail that’s boring – but it’s probably too late – under the right conditions, a time trial stage can give you unrestricted, uncensored access to these incredible world class athletes.  It’s like hanging out with the German team right after the World Cup or chilling in the locker room with the winning team at the Super Bowl or being back stage during “Dancing With The Stars”.  Like “you can see the glitter on their sequins” access. Serious.

We had the right conditions last year.

And that’s when this late middle age cycling fan’s dreams came true…  I saw some of my very favorite elite professional cyclists up close and personal.  Like “you could smell their sweat” up close and personal.  Like “get an autograph and a hug” up close and personal. Like “have a conversation with Brent Bookwalter” up close and personal.  At this point, my experience was getting close to exceeding that of my wedding, the birth of my children AND “Dancing With The Stars”.

Combined.

The scales tipped and I went over the edge of “best experience ever” when I met The Jensie (Jens Voigt’s nickname.)  He signed my “Keep Calm and Shut Up Legs” t-shirt.  While I was wearing it.  I think he may be my “senior crush”.  He was the oldest cyclist in the Tour last year at the ripe old age of 41.  He’s the oldest cyclist in this year’s Tour.  I’m old enough to be his mother.  Okay – a very young mother but still…  Does this make me a cougar?

Okay, this post is getting too long and there are still LOTS of good stories to tell.  One more post maybe…?  It’ll be the last, I promise.

Batsh*t Crazy Part III – coming soon to a WordPress blog near you!