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?

10/3 – The Gringo Guide to Anti-Carnaval.

Or: The fine art of getting anything at all done during the crazy chaos.

Middle aged men with dummies in their mouth and wearing nothing but diapers with the text: “No no. Not pee on the street.” Twenty-something guys in neon bikinis and mini skirts, trying to make out with as many teenage-something girls as possible as they wonder the streets. Well-fed, healthy looking women, with bunny ears or blinking devil’s horns on their heads, who are taking the only opportunity of the year to be topless on the beach of Ipanema. Blocos, beer, samba rhythms and the most astonishing outfits imaginable.

This is what Rio, Brazil, and seemingly a considerate fraction of the rest of the world, have been waiting for since about the same time last year. "Let the party begin!" as many of my friends had as status update on Facebook on Sunday morning. The Swedish ones weren’t referring to the Brazilian samba event though, but the traditional Vasaloppet – a 90 km cross country ski race in the woods of Dalarna. Same same but different I guess.

There are tricks to get something else done but lingering around in colourful wigs with a drink in one hand and a whistle in the other, these days though. Tricks to get at least a couple of things done. And it’s all about timing – or mistiming perhaps.

Lagoa is never so quiet as early on a carnaval morning. But you need to time the morning run quite precisely. 7 am is too early; too many party people out still and the cleaning of the streets has just begun. However, if using gumboots for some extra resistance and gas mask for breathing, I guess 7 am is just as good as any other time. After 9 am it’s starting to get a bit hot, but still nice and quiet if you can stand the temperature. Also, if you’re considering buying coconut water along the way, you better wait until about now or there won’t be any chubby ladies to sell you any. 8 am is ideal; streets cleanish again, the carnaval crowd fast asleep and you can enjoy the pleasure of a deserted track around the lake.

After a shower and breakfast at about 10 am – after the tourists booked for early departure day tours and before the rest gets out of bed – it’s time for the beach.

Lunch shouldn’t be an issue and not shopping, walking on the beach front or looking around in general either. However, when it feels like you have to pass P, F and W on your way between A and B at some stage in the afternoon, it’s time to retract to the hotel room, or possibly the hotel terrace if your gringo skin can stand more sun. Now is the best opportunity to catch up on reading, writing e-mails, ironing, doing your nails (guys, feel free), re-arranging the photos from last years holidays and look into the tax return.

The trickiest mistiming of the day is dinner. The safest way to go would of course be to go for delivery of fast food of choice and preference, or sneak in the back way to the hotel restaurant. If you’re up for a slight challenge, you’ll fight the crowds to a nearby restaurant. But again – timing. If you go too early, you’ll be joining the full on bloco loving people who are having lunch before heading to Sambodromo. Slightly too late, ok much too late as of European dinner standards, you’ll be squeezed in by the more average party-pigs having their evening meal.

Last, but not least, to finalize the anti-carnaval day, make sure to have some quality earplugs at hand, or you can forget about sleeping and better get downstairs and join the party on the street. They won’t stop in another 7 hrs or so anyways.

At breakfast the next morning, the tourists are quickly recognised by the classic hangover expressions and sighs, combined with the nice crayfish red colour. It always comes as a surprise how easily too many drinks in combination with too many hours in the sun can cause this award-winning look. Last night’s drag queens cannot hide either since black eyeliner has always been impossible to remove properly from the base of your lashes the morning after. But hey, who would want to hide in a place like this anyways? And who on earth wouldn’t want to join the party of all parties?

2/10 – I take my hat off…

…for all the underestimated sportsmen and women within the world of motor sport. The exterior not seldom display jet set lives with lots of beer and party and the attitude of that it’s all about skills. They were born to drive like that, they just get in the car or on the bike and win, and that’s what they do. At the most, they can admit to that they might spend some time behind the wheels every now and then, but just for fun of course. No way. Just like the real surf dudes, there are hours of training behind it. And then I mean the kind of training, which the rest of the sports fanatics would call real training as well. Cardio, weights, sprints until you taste blood and hour after hour on the track, again and again and again. Or massive runs before the sunrise, so no one will actually see you training. That’s what the surfers with the perfect bodies do before they head to the beach to catch the first waves, trust me, even got one to admit it once.

It’s more than 48 hours ago now and I’m still moving in some sort of staccato pattern. My right calf gets sudden cramps and as soon as I lift something heavier than a ball pen, the lactate acid seems to start bubbling in my arms again. Went for run to see if I could soften up a bit - what a joke. Got a PB the other night with 36.58 minutes, but today it felt like I wasn’t even half way around that stupid lake by then.

The thing is, that we’re not talking about an 8 hours enduro race, on muddy tracks while the rain is pouring down in a deep Swedish forest. Or a 72 lap F1 race in 42 degrees boiling sun in a flash city. We’re talking about 2 x 20 minutes in a Brazilian go-cart, with colleagues, a Thursday evening, as a fun and relaxed team-building event. Somehow, I wasn’t the only one moving in slow-mo in the office on Friday. I think most of the department was more or less limping around, with or without ice packs in strategic places. Perhaps that’s the team building part; comparing aches, bruises and count the number of broken ribs, together with your work mates?

Have to admit that it was, and still is, worth every aching part of my body to beat most of the guys though. Even though it’s just a game…erhm…

12/4 – Up with the coconut truck.

After four months in the country, Caroline finally manages to score again. The tactics of telling various people about the plan last night was successful - a bit of pressure did the trick.
The score is now: Bed vs. Caroline 42 -3

28/12 – I’ll buy my next umbrella when the sun is shining.

Everyone’s been telling me that I need to get an umbrella. And as I love listening to other people and take their advice… Erhm…since I normally think that I know better than other people, I didn’t think I would need one. Except for the day on my arrival, it hasn’t been raining, so why would I need an umbrella – duh? It’s just this tricky thing that when it’s raining it’s sort of too late to go and get one. Not only did I get soaking wet buying my umbrella, I probably paid three times as much as I would on a sunny day as well.

The rain is not all bad though, it makes wonders for my running. The temperature drops to some 25°C, no crowds, no prams, no Mr & Mrs Lovebird in electric toy sports cars or four-wheel bikes with the whole family (including a couple of dogs) riding along blocking most of the walkways. Not even other people out running or bikes and no need to stop at the water mist machines or to buy something to drink when you think you’re going to faint from sun stroke. In other words, suits me perfect and I knocked my PB off with 9%.

13/12 - What would a Samba Lucia look like?

It’s not like I’m supposed to leave in a week, thus, there’s no stress with the tan. Let’s be less Scandinavian tourist for a bit and not fry myself to a crayfish colour right away…even though I know it will turn into a nice tan in a few days – very tempting though...

Don’t know how they do it, but no one is wearing sunnies here. My eyes hurt after 5 min without them, but these people keep playing football on the beach and walking along without sunglasses or caps. Must be because of the gorgeous dark brown colour of their fantastic eyes. Me want too…

I wonder if anyone has ever counted, but there seems to be more helicopters over here than in Aberdeen even.

Hoppas ni fick några goda Lusse-bullar idag förresten. Och fick lyssna på lite lågstadieelever som sjöng Luciasånger till frukostkaffet - njut i så fall!

Mental note: 5 pm is way too early for a run – alternatively, bring some money to buy some agua (have forgotten the little word to go in between here) coco along the way.

Portuguese progress: fosfora (Should probably be some `´or stuff on some of the letters, but hey, I’m a dummy beginner still.)