27/4 – Where am I?

Good question. Thought I was back in Brazil and in Arubinha for a while today. Took my purple beauty for a drive in the sun and came by the lagoon at Amager Strand on the way home. Had to blink a few times and almost pinch my arm, but all true - some twenty kites in the air (and a few struggling in the water), nice water and picture perfect set-up with the sun setting in the background. Stood on the beach for a bit, dreaming myself away to warmer latitudes and sun block 60. But despite not being on the water even, my ears started to scream for a beanie after a while and I was thrown back to reality and Copenhagen. When I saw the kites, being in the process of buying a flat, which is a giant leap for mortgage-free-until-now-me and packed with grown-up-points, suddenly felt a lot less scary than just before. Think this will be a good summer. Only question left is what will happen first? Me finding my wet suit in the chaos of boxes at the storage place or the water getting warm enough not to need one? Was it box number 29? Or 47 perhaps? Not sure. 

8/4 – The return of the Lion King.

Getting a hair cut abroad is always a bit interesting. Sometimes in a positive way, as the first time I had a hair cut in Brazil and this middle aged, overweight knife artist shaped the most amazing hairdo. I was as glamorous as a Hollywood star, just the little black piece missing, when I walked out of the salon. Unfortunately, it’s more often interesting in a less positive way though, as the second time a South American hairdresser had a go on my scalp for example. The third time, i.e. last week, turned into something in between I guess. And what normally makes it so interesting is the communication. The chapter about hair cutting is normally not among the first ones in the learning plan, and even though you would think it should be quite straight forward, gestures and charade looking games are seldom enough. And since I seem to be back at Tombola Portuguese – random replies for any questions asked – after too much time out of the country and lacking study discipline, it was a bit ambitious to think that I could actually have communicated how I wanted it cut. Even trying to say that I wanted it the same way as it was, but just shorter, didn’t seem to go through. The kind, and very service minded hairdresser kept on asking question after question how I wanted things and if I wanted all sorts of other things and if this and that were ok or if I’d prefer such or such. I did not have a single clue what she was talking about. And when trying to tell her that I trusted her to decide how to cut my hair, that only generated more questions. Apparently, that’s not the way to do it in Brazil. Eventually, I decided to stick to one reply for all questions, smile when I said it and look happy. “You make pretty.” That’s all she needed to know, right? “You make pretty.” “Caroline happy.” Easy as that. After some 15 minutes of hair washing, another 15 of cutting and finally the impressive 40 minutes of blow-drying and styling she was done. Ok, I didn’t leave the salon with that much less money than what I had when I got there, but not sure how much hair was actually cut off. The first impression of the end result was more that I had gotten more hair on my head. Mufasa would have been green of envy if he had seen my new lion mane.

3/4 – Why can’t I just give up sometimes?

Just hurts a little bit right? It’s probably not as bad as it feels. The heat might make my brain exaggerate it all. 15 minutes passed, just another 75 left. After too many years within the world of sports, the words Pain is temporary, glory is forever is not just a saying, but a religion. Giving up is never an option. Thinking back, I’m not sure it was worth blood blisters all over the insides of my thighs though. Hardly matching my bikini, except for with the colour, and ruling out all skirts and dresses for the next couple of weeks. But it really was a good and long run.

Perhaps it would be quite nice just to give up sometimes, would probably have learned the lesson to stick to my proper running tights in the future anyways. It would be quite convenient to be able to give up on emotional things as well at times… But that would be a sad world, wouldn’t it, if we all could decide what we’re feeling?