Tougher than the rest.

My coworker (and friend), Asia, arrived in Barcelona on Monday to join me for the rest of the trip. Happily, she was just in time to enjoy the Spanish holiday and our (mostly) day off before heading into research all day Tuesday. She's quite a trooper, so sans sleep, we got a recommendation for a lunch place and headed down to the water. Twas really, really lovely. We ate outside, had some wine, de-veined some shrimp (ok, Asia did), bought some self-tanner. Very exciting business.

Anyhow, the past two days have been a blur. I woke up at 5 am yesterday and couldn't go back to sleep. So I woke up Asia (we're sharing a room. Budgets.) and she convinced me to go on a run. Very good of her, I must say. And it was amazing. Early enough that the streets were empty, the weather was picturesque.

Except we got lost. Really lost. Completely lost.

We ran from our hotel down through the old, gothic part of town, down to the beach and then back. Which is when things went a bit sideways. In a moment of inspiration, I suggested we go left, thinking we'd run parallel to our original path down to the beach, back to the hotel. Not so much. An hour and a half, 8 miles (I had Nike + on, tracking our distance), two bus stop maps, one police officer and more dumbfounded-street corner-twirls than I care to admit, later, we arrived back at the hotel.

Barely in time for our 9am meeting with the moderator. Ever the consummate professionals, we pulled on some non-work out clothes and headed downstairs for the meeting. (I couldn't help but be self-conscious as her eyes drifted towards the top of my head...was my hair sticking straight up, damp with sweat? Or was she smelling me? Both distinct possibilities. Ugh.)

So that was the start of the day. A wonderful start, really, and a good story.

Post-run, pre-meeting growl. It's the proper start to the day:



The two days since have been packed with work. Retail tours, interviews with girls, awkward translations, no translations, being mute (this appears to be a trend of mine when in a foreign land), a famous hip-hop instructor named Fidel, picking sardines off of tapas, barfing (no, not from drinking and not from the sardines), espresso with lots of sugar (a starbucks grande coffee with milk = espresso with sugar en espana), insomnia (it's almost 3am), more old men out clubbing than I can count and soon, some sleep.

The next couple of days are more low-key before we head to Beijing on Saturday. I'm hoping for another run, some more sleep and a little clear headed-ness before the cacophony of the future Olympic city.

ciao.