The day after I missed the half-marathon, I woke up with every intention of making up for the lost miles, but didn't.
Running in Amman is lonely.
I usually go for my morning run at 5:30. I've always tried to be back before the kids wake up, but that has proven increasingly difficult. As Peter gets older, he is waking earlier rather than later. I imagine when he hits his teen years, he will simply not sleep at all.
Until the recent time change, it was dark as night at 5:30 in the morning with nary a soul stirring. I ran early in India, too. Mostly to beat the heat and the traffic. But Chennai was more like a village than a city, and like other villages, life began early.
When I run in the morning in Amman, the streets are completely deserted. The weather is cool, but I am by myself running from the halo of one street light to the next, a silent form fleeting through the night. There is no other sound except the rubber souls of my sneakers slapping the asphalt...
...until the morning call to prayer.
When I trained with a group of friends for triathlons in Florida, and they're seeing them kept me honest and got me out of bed. But the only thing getting me out of bed these days is me. Sometimes, I work against myself.
If we don't make plans for the weekend, things quickly tend to disintegrate into chaos. Elise says she now understands why her parents used to take them on long drives on the weekends. Our kids -- Peter especially -- hate to leave the house on the weekends. We have to have him forcibly removed. Once he is out and about, he is fine, but that initial push-off from the front door is like pulling a rabid wolverine from its burrow.
Last weekend, we played on the tennis court at work on Friday morning. Fortunately, I am pretty creative. You have to be to keep three kids entertained on a tennis court with no tennis net for two and a half hours.
We have a park near our house. It's a nice space and there's enough room to ride bikes there when it isn't too crowded with other kids, but it's not comparable to playgrounds as we know them in the States. Maybe closer to a playground I may have played on in the mid- to late 70's. Metal slides and chains on the swings.
If we don't leave the house, every couch cushion we own is on the floor acting as a wrestling mat. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but if they're going to ride scooters, I'd prefer they rode them outside as opposed to doing laps on the marble floors in the dining room and kitchen.
The day after I missed the marathon, we had no plans, and things were spiraling downhill fast. In this situation, Elise and I ask ourselves what do we need to do? What is one thing that has been on our list for weeks that we can't seem to get to?
House plants.
Elise has wanted house plants since we've arrived, but house plants in town are priced for those unwilling to drive outside of town. Somehow (possibly through physical force), we convinced the kids to get in the car as we drove 30 minutes north of Amman to a row of nurseries on the side of the highway to shop for house plants.
After looking at a few different options, we settled on a hanging fern, a grape vine, and a lime tree.
Now, I don't know how much lime trees go for in the States, but this one was nine Jordanian Dinars, or about 15 dollars. I was sold.
The tree was about 10 feet tall, and I wasn't exactly sure how we were going to get it in the back of our car, but we did. We now had a lime tree.
Living overseas, I've been hesitant to invest in anything I can't take with me when I leave. Elise has always wanted to paint the walls of our overseas house or apartment, but I couldn't justify spending the money to paint a house or apartment we were only going to live in for two years. Likewise, I have always been hesitant to spend money on our outdoor spaces, such as a garden, because when we leave, we can't take the lawn or garden with us.
But for 15 dollars, I figure I can get that back in margaritas in two years. Plus, there is something to be said for paying it forward, leaving something behind for the people who will live in the apartment after we leave.
Running in Amman is lonely.
I usually go for my morning run at 5:30. I've always tried to be back before the kids wake up, but that has proven increasingly difficult. As Peter gets older, he is waking earlier rather than later. I imagine when he hits his teen years, he will simply not sleep at all.
Until the recent time change, it was dark as night at 5:30 in the morning with nary a soul stirring. I ran early in India, too. Mostly to beat the heat and the traffic. But Chennai was more like a village than a city, and like other villages, life began early.
When I run in the morning in Amman, the streets are completely deserted. The weather is cool, but I am by myself running from the halo of one street light to the next, a silent form fleeting through the night. There is no other sound except the rubber souls of my sneakers slapping the asphalt...
...until the morning call to prayer.
When I trained with a group of friends for triathlons in Florida, and they're seeing them kept me honest and got me out of bed. But the only thing getting me out of bed these days is me. Sometimes, I work against myself.
If we don't make plans for the weekend, things quickly tend to disintegrate into chaos. Elise says she now understands why her parents used to take them on long drives on the weekends. Our kids -- Peter especially -- hate to leave the house on the weekends. We have to have him forcibly removed. Once he is out and about, he is fine, but that initial push-off from the front door is like pulling a rabid wolverine from its burrow.
Last weekend, we played on the tennis court at work on Friday morning. Fortunately, I am pretty creative. You have to be to keep three kids entertained on a tennis court with no tennis net for two and a half hours.
We have a park near our house. It's a nice space and there's enough room to ride bikes there when it isn't too crowded with other kids, but it's not comparable to playgrounds as we know them in the States. Maybe closer to a playground I may have played on in the mid- to late 70's. Metal slides and chains on the swings.
If we don't leave the house, every couch cushion we own is on the floor acting as a wrestling mat. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but if they're going to ride scooters, I'd prefer they rode them outside as opposed to doing laps on the marble floors in the dining room and kitchen.
The day after I missed the marathon, we had no plans, and things were spiraling downhill fast. In this situation, Elise and I ask ourselves what do we need to do? What is one thing that has been on our list for weeks that we can't seem to get to?
House plants.
Elise has wanted house plants since we've arrived, but house plants in town are priced for those unwilling to drive outside of town. Somehow (possibly through physical force), we convinced the kids to get in the car as we drove 30 minutes north of Amman to a row of nurseries on the side of the highway to shop for house plants.
After looking at a few different options, we settled on a hanging fern, a grape vine, and a lime tree.
Now, I don't know how much lime trees go for in the States, but this one was nine Jordanian Dinars, or about 15 dollars. I was sold.
The tree was about 10 feet tall, and I wasn't exactly sure how we were going to get it in the back of our car, but we did. We now had a lime tree.
Living overseas, I've been hesitant to invest in anything I can't take with me when I leave. Elise has always wanted to paint the walls of our overseas house or apartment, but I couldn't justify spending the money to paint a house or apartment we were only going to live in for two years. Likewise, I have always been hesitant to spend money on our outdoor spaces, such as a garden, because when we leave, we can't take the lawn or garden with us.
But for 15 dollars, I figure I can get that back in margaritas in two years. Plus, there is something to be said for paying it forward, leaving something behind for the people who will live in the apartment after we leave.
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