Back at the end of 2018, I got made redundant. I was absolutely gutted, since I was in a job I absolutely loved. At the end of my tenure, I had not long been promoted, I had a huge amount of new stuff I was learning and I was in talks about a secondment to Paris. Things were going brilliantly, but then in one meeting on what was otherwise a fairly normal day, everything turned on its head. I, along with every other member of my team were put on notice of redundancy. We were given the new proposed team structure, and if we so wished, we could all apply for positions within this new structure. Most of us did so, however the decisions had long before been taken and less than 2 weeks after this meeting, all but one of us found ourselves leaving the building for the last time.
I was quite fortunate. Despite the festive season being only a month after this, I bounced straight into some contract work without missing a day. The secondment though, that had planted a seed in my mind. For as long as I’ve been learning French (which is a long time now!) I’ve wondered what would it be like to be fluent. How long would I need to be in France to kick through into fluency. Now, with a redundancy payout in my bank account, and only a short term contract for a job, I was finally in position to do this. I probably never thought I would get a chance like this until I retired, but here it was!
You’re probably wondering why this blog is titled ‘España’ right about now.
Over a few months of talking to my wife about this, I was always getting a fairly muted response to France. Sure, she wanted to support me, but she had little interest in France herself. (Sorry France). I tried to enthuse, but it felt more and more that I was pushing for something for me, and I started to feel selfish. I wondered what I could do that would make it something for both of us. Then, it twigged. What if we still did a long language course, but we went to Spain instead? We would then both be absolute beginners, but it would be an adventure for both of us. We’d be able to support each other. I suggested it one evening, and in all honesty I thought she’d laugh at me… but then, people are full of surprises.
We enrolled at a local Spanish school in May of 2019, doing one evening a week and covering the basics. My latest contract was due to finish late August, and I wasn’t really enjoying it all that much, so I was in no doubt that regardless of if they asked me to stay on (they did!) that I would refuse. Two terms of Spanish evening classes came and went, and we still both felt like we knew nothing. The day of the flight arrived, we’d packed, locked the door and off we went to the airport.
In summary, this was an incredible experience. I would hugely recommend anyone does this, though I obviously realise how incredibly lucky I was to get this opportunity. It took me basically 2 months to settle and get over myself. To stop being so wrapped up in getting it right, to stop being so emotional when I was flustered, or didn’t understand. Learning a language is really bloody difficult! It’s embarrassing, frustrating and stressful. You constantly feel like an idiot because you are unable to do really basic things. It’s so isolating when you can’t communicate. I basically got reasonably decent within 4 months, but not fluent. This is because I was able to dedicate my whole time to only that. The next time you hear someone say something like ‘oh, they can’t even speak English’, please can you slap them. In the first weeks, with just the 4 hours a day of tuition, we were exhausted. If we had both also needed to work, I just can’t imagine. It would have been really tough. Keep in mind that I could afford to put us both into lessons, imagine if you were just scraping by – you would just have to try and learn from books in your spare time.
Whenever something is difficult though, it’s also incredibly rewarding. I did things almost daily that scared me. Be that buying a loaf of bread in the market, going to a running club knowing no one, or simply going to a cerveceria and not having the first idea what you’re meant to be doing. Every single time, I proved to myself that if you just go and get involved, things turn out alright. One of my fondest memories is a conversation with a friend I had in my final week. We sat, and I talked to him in Spanish for a full 30 minutes with only a few pauses. I thought back to the first week I met him, and the huge difference between them. It’s genuinely a memory I’ll always treasure, and as big an achievement as running my first marathon.
Finally, I am more convinced that people the world over are more similar than they are different. People get bogged down in little differences. In Valencia, at the bakery, the server will greet you with ‘Tell me!’ It’s easy to get distracted by that little detail and forget the bigger picture, which is that we’re all still buying bread.
These are the thoughts I jotted down week by week.
Week 1
College started really badly. We found ourselves in a frustratingly difficult class, with a really awful teacher. During the week we played a game that involved guessing a reflexive verb. The guesser would leave the room while a verb was agreed, then the class would suggest clues so that the verb could be guessed. I’ve no idea why our teacher thought this would be a fun idea, but for my turn not only was the verb quite obscure, but members of the class had been asked to mislead me as well. On another occasion I misheard the teacher referring to us as ‘el grupo y Ollie’ and got quite upset that I was being singled out. Weeks later I found out he had said ‘las chicas y Ollie’ – since I was the only chico, but my misunderstanding still left me feeling quite upset. Thankfully at the end of the week it was suggested we move down a group, which both of us welcomed with open arms.
The running schedule for Sunday had a 10k race in. Having not had chance to book anything for this, I had planned to go out and run a 10k in the park on my own. This started out feeling quite tough, and by 3M I was having major concerns about even finishing. At 4M I reasoned to stop for a few minutes to give myself some sort of chance of finishing the plan… which as I’d inwardly already known, meant I didn’t finish it at all. I managed to jog back the final 2 miles, but tail between my legs I was pretty concerned about the weeks ahead in the heat.
It’s been hot. That sounds great doesn’t it? And yes – it’s great, I’ve been in flip flops pretty much the whole time. BUT for those who love holidaying in Spain, you’ve probably forgotten that you’ve stayed in a hotel, so you can have the heat when you choose to. Living here is a little different. It’s not unpleasant, of course, but it takes a bit of adjusting to.
Week 2
Started with a pretty epic thunderstorm.
We have a new teacher Maite who has a filthy cackle much like a little goblin. I like her! In our conversation hour we now have Sonia, who is amazing, if rather stern. I keep feeling I’m letting her down, must try harder! She said, ‘Ollie, today you are going to learn!’ – ‘Finally!’ I replied!
I’ve found a piano to play as well, I can go at least 5 times a month, and they let me play a beautiful Kawai upright. I’m worried that this is going to ruin me for my electric piano… ahh well.
We’ve discovered a sea pool at the Marina, sadly this closes at the end of the week. I’m less interested, but wifey is really enjoying it, even if she has to watch out for teenagers jumping into the pool. Can’t believe it took us so long to get to the sea – I love it. We’ve also now figured out how the buses work – which is really handy.
One of our classmates from last week had suggested going to somewhere called Fabrica de Hielo (ice factory). It’s down by the beach at Malva Rosa, so we figured yeah, we’re cool, we can go out to cool places. The place was like a sort of mini warehouse bar come club thing you might find in trendy East London, only with space to actually breathe. After a few sociable drinks, we reasoned to try and find somewhere for some actual food. Google recommended some excellent places which we found to be completely rammed. With our Spanish still at a very tentative stage, we decided to try and find quieter places.
Running is going ok, but I’m struggling to eat enough, so I’m feeling tired and occasionally dizzy. It’s been a bit cooler this week so we’ve slept a bit better. I’m I think starting to get a bit better with it, but I still look like a glazed doughnut after tougher sessions.
Week 3
Who said it’s always sunny here in Spain? This week we were introduced to something called ‘gota fria’ (cold drop) which happens most years, and basically consists of a serious amount of rain. I do quite like that rain here is all business, no drizzle here – it’s either very heavy or nothing. Still, this gota fria has apparently been stirred up by storm Dorian, and the wider Valencian region had some serious flooding. Watching the TV reports it was pretty scary stuff out there.
Running hasn’t been so good this week, and I’m basically putting it down to not eating enough. The training plan is ramping up, and up until now I’ve been feeling good. That certainly got tougher over here trying to continue the same performance in much warmer conditions. It’s also always going to be tougher running interval sessions solo. I had my first real knock on a simulated 10k, but today as the wheels fell off on the 3rd rep (of 3 thankfully) 10 minute intervals my thoughts are worryingly negative. The issue for me was feeling pretty tired from the get go. Feeling it’s a massive effort, but the pace just isn’t there. I’m putting it down to just not eating enough. The heat has really suppressed my appetite, and I’m generally not feeling that hungry. It’s really noticeable though when I go to run, or the other day getting up and feeling dizzy. Wednesday at college was a disaster – I felt so tired after the morning’s run, I was useless in lessons. The lack of sleep due to the thunderstorms might also have been a factor. I’ve been here before though. So, I’ve made a decision that I’m getting back on the Huel. I don’t like the idea of it replacing food, I just see it as an easy way to get another meal in. It’s really helped me in the past.
I’ve now got a conversation partner on HelloTalk. Anyone out there language learning, I love this app. Baby steps, but it’s a start!
Week 4
Having decided I wasn’t eating enough, I made a decision to get back on the Huel. I brought some with me to Spain, but it wasn’t much so I’d figured I’d leave it for emergencies. Since I could only buy it in large quantities, and I’d not yet figured out how deliveries worked, I’d put it off. A lot of runs though were ending in the same way – shattered, no energy – it had to be nutrition. That was also an obvious conclusion since in the heat my appetite had disappeared. Now, I don’t want to be some sales person here. Huel sells itself as a complete food replacement thing, and honestly fuck that. Food is amazing. I use it as a supplement. Here, it means that though I’m not massively hungry, I can easily sneak in another meal while my belly isn’t looking. It soon paid off and I was feeling a lot happier, phew.
In the same week, I went out and ran with a club. I’ll not lie, I was shitting myself. My Spanish at this point was still VERY basic, but the idea of spending another week doing solo intervals was enough of a stick to make me get to the park at 8.30pm and meet some really lovely people. Arriving, I asked for Susana who I’d been in touch with, my new friend pointed to Susana and off he went. This turned out to be a different Susana, but all fine and soon I was in a group and away up the road. We were doing an hour easy. Hmm, not really on the plan, but hey ho, I’m in a group and running is great again. Thanks also to the increased calorie intake I’m also feeling better than I have in weeks. After 10 minutes the pace ups a bit and I’m with a small bunch. We stop at 20, have a drink and discuss (hahahaha) what comes next. 2x20min blocks with a small uplift in pace – great! 20mins at 7.30 pace go by, and now I’m with Luis who’s talking of another 5 before we turn for home – ok! How are you doing? Fine! Pace now ups again and now I’m working quite hard. Back to the meeting point and I am incredibly sweaty. Time to do some core work on the grass apparently. It’s 10pm, ok sure! I finally arrive back home around 10.30pm, confident I’m not going to sleep much tonight.
Learning languages is hard. It’s frustrating, embarrassing and stressful. As the weeks go on, I’m not making less mistakes, I’m just worrying about them less. I go to the same bread stall at the market most days, the other day the lady corrected me on how to say ‘ensaimada’ since I’d said something fairly wrong. She did it one syllable at a time. You could take this as a lovely thing, that she tried to help me, or one of the most humiliating moments of your life. I’m choosing the positive. I bought cheese recently in the market, and it still makes me smile I picked up the courage. Silly isn’t it? It’s amazing how isolating it can feel when you can’t speak. How nerve wracking it is just doing simple things.
We also got put up a group this week. It’s a small school we’re going to, and a few teachers being ill meant groups were muddled up and we had quite a stressful week. Still, the teacher was good, so we’re still keeping up.
Week 5
Another week in the higher group and this week we hit the past tense. I’d foolishly assumed that since the names of the past tenses were similar to French then these would work in much the same way. This turned out to be wrong and I’ve spent the week with my head spinning. Currently, talking in the past is a multistage task which goes something like: ok, I want to say x. Is this an action, or does it describe something. So that should be this tense, now how do I conjugate that again? Oh hang on, what was it I was trying to say again. Oh man was that verb irregular? All of which happens frustratingly slowly and makes my brain throb such that I’m sure you can see my eyes bulging. Still, hopefully over the weekend it will settle in a bit.
I went out and joined in with a different running group (Redolat Team), because hey why make life easy for myself? I arrived at the track desperate for a wee and after asking a few people where I could find los baños I found them, felt much better and gingerly said ¡hola! to the guy stood nearest. As we set off up the path on a 4km warm up (I know!) we chatted in a bit of Spanish and some English. My new friend it turns out is an English teacher (how ludicrously lucky was that?!) and we’re a similar level of fitness.
We get to the track to start the session, and my new mate is chatting to the coach about what we’re doing. I’m pleased that I’m managing to follow along with much of what they’re saying, the gist of which is that the groups are probably too strong for either of us, but we’re fine to get on the back and run together. He turns to me and explains this in more detail, the session is 1,500m, then 500m and 3 sets. The second group we’re going to join is running at around 3.50/km. For those not up on that, that is seriously fast. We decide to go on the back and see what happens. What happens is we run at 3.50/km for the first set and are dropped within 200m. We complete the session all the same, exchange numbers and I’m looking forward to doing it all again next week.
Though many of the clubs here are free, they do insist that you buy their club training kit. I quite like this approach. When you see them running, the effect of a mass of runners in matching kit is quite striking, I’m thinking to suggest this to my lot when I get back.
On Saturday I went to the shop to buy the training top. I picked up a medium, and since I’d done a tempo session to get there, I didn’t try it on I just went to buy it. The guys there kindly told me it was too small, and wouldn’t let me buy it. I explained (sort of) I’d not wanted to try it since I was minging, and that I was usually a medium so what was the issue? Eventually I did what any sensible person might, I took off the slip I was wearing and stood topless at the counter and compared the two. Right enough, it was pretty small! There wasn’t a large available, so I’ll just have to go back next week.
Also, I think I’m probably going to have to get a haircut soon. Argh!
Week 6
Well this week definitely started well. Classes were great, not much new stuff, mainly revision so things were feeling a lot more comfortable. There was a minor blip first thing Wednesday, but coffee soon fixed that and I was quickly back up to speed.
Wednesday evening I went back to Redolat for some more type 2 fun. I got the instructions for the session fairly last minute, and dashed off up the road. I’d read 2x3x800m, bit of a gulp since that’s quite a lot of fun to be having. I arrived, went into the track changing area to find the toilets, and was collared by an official. I wasn’t entirely clear on what was said to me, but I wasn’t getting in tonight so I’d have to find another loo. Asking where that was simply yielded ‘I’m sorry’, so I was going to have to seek alternative arrangements.
I found my friend from the week before who told me we were in for 3x3x800m, a whole 3 more funs that I’d been expecting. Oh. Returning to the track, we met the same lady that collared me before, and now with an interpreter I found out I needed to pay! Luckily I had (most) of the €2,55 required, and now I know for next week. I’m aiming to be on first name terms with the lady by the time I go home.
Amazingly the session went alright. I managed to complete the session and only lost a few seconds in the last 2. I was happy to not be feeling as absolutely destroyed as the week before, and off I jogged home. I still knew though that tomorrow might be quite a day.
Waking up on Thursday, all felt amazingly alright. Class was fine, a quick 30 minute jog in the heat was pretty rough, but got back home and went straight back out to play piano. This was lovely. After this I went to meet a new language partner. He turned out to be lovely, and this should become a weekly thing. I managed to ‘talk’ for 30 minutes in Spanish!
I wandered back to the flat in a happy daze, sun shining I was starting to feel this was turning out how I hoped it might. I stopped to take a picture to just remind me of that sweet moment.
After a few minutes at home, me and wifey went to a language exchange our school organised. This was her first such outing and I was so chuffed for her taking that step. An hour into that though my brain had had enough. My concentration span evaporated, my focus was now a splurge. I struggled to try and stay with the conversation, but try as I might I just kept zoning out.
Friday, I slept really badly, and everything from the week landed on me at once. I felt awful. We had a test. I understood so little of the audio I wanted to run away. I didn’t even understand the instructions such that the second audio exercise on the other side of the sheet was a total surprise. Somehow, probably through sheer luck, I did ok in that test. I can’t say how glad I was when it was time for the weekend.
I managed to get myself a Redolat vest, so I’m now official!
As the week drew to a close, the plan held a session I’d been dreading for weeks. 80min, with the last 40 at half marathon pace. Having had a bit too much fun midweek, this session loomed with ever more terror and as I left the flat on Sunday am to get it done, I’ve rarely been so convinced I would fail. The reason that this session is so scary comes down to 2 things. Firstly, 40 minutes at pace is hard. It’s at the end of a big week deliberately to simulate fatigue, and it’s at the end of a long run for the same reason. 40 minutes is a long time in one chunk, so it feels daunting. Secondly, since the whole exercise is meant to simulate race day, it should be a gauge of where you’re at. This is meant to give you comfort that you’re in good shape, and a good idea of what you’re capable of on race day. The flip side though is what if it goes wrong? What if after 20 minutes at what should be an ok pace the wheels fall off and you want to crawl into the nearest bush and start a new life as a hedgehog?
Into the park and I need the loo already. They’re locked, but maybe it’ll go away. A small circuit later and no, it’s not gone away. Back to the loos which are now open thankfully after which I sulk my way up the path. Warm up 40 is nearly done, and I start to wind the pace up a little since the last time I did this I found that the delay on pace measurement on my watch meant pushing too hard and still being told I was under pace in the first 5 minutes or so – this was pretty demotivating so I wanted to hit the ground running. Time to get the party started and I’m quickly in the desired zone. Brilliant. This feels ok, so I keep going. The kms tick down steadily, and they’re coming in on message. 7mins to go and it’s feeling tough but I’m starting to feel it’s achievable. Another k and I’m forcing myself to smile, maybe it’ll help. The seconds count down and finally that buzz on my wrist saying I can stop. I’ve done it, thank fuck.
Mostly I wound up near 4.40/km. This is off PB pace, but after a tough week that’s probably ok. Maybe I can do better on the day. There’s one more session like this in 2 weeks time.
Week 7
Still not had a haircut.
This week it was Valencia day. This is to celebrate when the region of Valencia was freed from Moorish rule by James I in 1238, and the whole town was bustling with activity. It was odd for me seeing a bank holiday on a Wednesday, but it did break the week up a bit.
In Spain, people like fireworks. In the UK we love them too, but I’ve only ever heard of firework displays at night. Here in Spain though, people are hugely fond of the noise they make, often more so than the light show. To this end, there are also displays during the day called mascletà. These simply involve a huge amount of firecrackers set off together which make for an intense racket. In honesty I was pretty sceptical, but I can now see the appeal. The effect is really intense and definitely gets your heart racing. It’s a totally different experience to what we think of as a firework display, it’s far more visceral. I managed about ten minutes before running away.
At midnight on the eve of Valencia day, there was a firework display as we would think of it in the Rio Túria Park. The display was incredible, lighting up the entire skies in front of us. The noise reverberating off the tall buildings around us added another element I’ve not seen before, and as the display built to a crescendo the pretty colours disappeared and gave way to a mascletà in the sky. The noise of it was all encompassing, and I now want more…
On the day itself, we saw a parade through the streets. It reminded me of the carnival in the small town I come from, complete with slightly shonky floats moving slowly along the streets, school bands and a variety of performers. It was fun, but after an hour we’d seen enough and went back home.
Due to all the festivities this week, training got moved to Tuesday. Last week come Friday I was shattered, this week it happened on Thursday. It seems as if there’s a 2 day lag on training fatigue hitting me. Friday in particular I had a bad day at college. In a paired up exercise, I couldn’t understand anything being said to me. I got flustered and embarrassed which made things worse and worse. All part of the fun.
Sunday was a 10k. I don’t like 10ks, it’s a horrible distance. It’s just short enough that you can go to >80% for the whole thing, which makes for a thoroughly unpleasant experience. Still, I’d needed it for the plan, and after a good training session on Tuesday I was feeling reasonably confident of putting in a decent time. I’d had a look beforehand at the route and was under no illusions that this would be flat, fast and utterly soul destroying.
The course was a series of very straight out and back sections. With each, there were just enough people in front to obscure the turning point from view. It was warm, getting warmer and really humid. The kms ticked past though, and the endless straight roads kept coming. At 7km I wasn’t having a brilliant time, but somehow managed to keep somewhere near pace, only dropping at most 10s per km from target. Managing to rally a bit in the final k, I salvaged some of the second half and got myself a nice PB. By my watch 43.43, which is beautifully symmetrical to boot. At 4.21/km this is a good boost for the half, but does make me wonder if 4.30/km is a bit out of reach. We’ll soon find out.
Week 8
Can’t believe it’s already been 8 weeks. On the way to training this week I had a realisation that the number of weeks left was now into single figures, not that I should be counting them down.
This week at college has been the best one yet. We’re both really comfortable with the other guys in our class, the teachers now know us really well and I really trust them. Our conversation group has been shifted so that we’re now with the level above us. This would be otherwise quite daunting, but they’re a brilliant little unit, and we’ve laughed so much in these classes. It made me think that that element of laughter and fun had to date been missing. Don’t get me wrong, the classes are professional and the content is great – but at El Patio in Edinburgh we laughed so much and I hadn’t noticed that was missing. Inwardly as well I feel like I’ve turned a corner. I still struggle at times with concepts, but I’m now finding I worry about it less. It’s quite liberating! Learning languages will always be hard work, but it’s a fine line between feeling challenged and beaten.
As usual I went along to Redolat training. These guys are lovely, but completely loco. The sessions are always that bit bigger than I’m comfortable with. A few weeks ago I thought I was heading into 6 x 800m, it turned out to be 9. This week it was 4 x 2000m, with some guys doing 5. That’s epic, and hats off to them, on my 4th I was struggling to find any pace – but then the 10k was still in my legs so that makes sense. I’m also learning to never trust them when they talk about a target pace for the session. 4.12/k might be what they say, but 4.05 and faster is what they’ll do – at least for the first rep. Trudging home afterwards I felt what I thought was a stone in my shoe. This turned out to be a blister on the bottom of my foot which ended up scuppering the next few days running. Thankfully though it was still more than a week till the big day, so plenty of time for that to heal up. At this stage as well, there’s not much fitness to be gained anyway, so I wasn’t worried. With a week to go, the heavy lifting is done, now it’s all about managing fatigue.
After hearing a few people talk about it, me and wifey signed up for a 5k in aid of cancer research. Unfortunately though as we woke up on Sunday we were greeted by heavy rain. Now, I don’t want any of you thinking that a little rain is enough to put me off a 5k. Hardly, I’ve done enough seasons of cross country to earn a pair of gills. That said, I’ve a half marathon coming up, and with just a week to go my only priority is staying healthy and well rested. The training plan was 60mins, with 30 at HM pace, so I’d intended to use the race for that last 30minutes. This would have meant potentially hanging around and getting wet and cold. That to me sounded like a recipe for disaster, so I waited and went out later instead. As it was, I still got soaked, but I could at least keep running and stay warm. One more week to go, and this time around I have no idea where I’m going to end up. I’d like to be setting a new PB, but it’s currently feeling like a big ask. We shall soon see.
Week 9
Back to school and both of us were feeling good about things. Our classmates are a nice bunch. We’ve now been in an A2 group for a good few weeks, so we’ve repeated the same things a few times. We’ve had a few hints now at the subjunctive coming our way, and finally on Friday we were told that it was going to be formally introduced on Monday. This is code for our group being promoted to B1. We’ve been asked if we’re both happy to do this, and though I’m now reasonably comfortable with the material we’ve so far covered, wifey is thinking on spending another week or so in A2.
We both went to the chat group on Thursday evening which was really nice. It’s been a few weeks since the last one, and it definitely feels noticeable that I’d made some progress. It’s still difficult of course, and there are always loads of gaps, but there’s the start of a flow there somewhere. I think!
After last week’s blister, and general sore foot, I went out on Thursday and tried to make a decision as to what to do. I had hoped my Hokas would last until Christmas. Previous pairs have been pretty bombproof after all. Still, with a great big hole in both shoes, I started to figure that this was letting my foot drift out of the shoe and was causing a blister. I had dialled down my hopes to just getting me through the race, but after a 30minute easy run on Thursday it was pretty clear they were done. I had thought maybe a pair from Decathlon might be an idea if I just needed them for a couple of months, but untested trainers for a race is never a good idea. In the end I ponied up for a pair of Rincons, I’ve been wanting to try them for a while. They feel great, light and fast.
Playing piano this week I started to feel fed up with the limited selection of pieces I’ve brought. I’ve up to now been dotting around quite a lot. Roughly revising things, but not properly. This is a lot to do with the limited time I have to play, and a little to do with having grade pieces I want to conquer. I’ve decided instead to now spend each hour I go on one piece. I’ve taken the pressure off for the grade pieces, and I’m just playing what I want to play that day. I spent an hour with Greig on Friday, and I felt much happier.
El Medio then. Training this time around has been quite a mixed bag. The first month of the training plan back in Edinburgh I felt great, I felt strong in training sessions, and I was keeping up with folk who are normally way ahead of me. (So much so that some even commented, ‘You’re going well tonight’ which is code for ‘shit, you’re not normally this quick’.) The first few weeks in Valencia this continued, but I quickly hit a brick wall as my heat-suppressed appetite inevitably led to exhaustion. I actually believe this had a huge impact, and I’m not sure I fully recovered. The heat was a huge factor, with every session feeling really tough. In Valencia, I can’t think of a session where I felt like I was strong. The long runs with a HM paced finish we’re really tough, and in the back of my mind I knew then that a PB was probably out of reach. Still, I ploughed on, maybe a week of food and rest would wave a magic wand.
At the expo I started to finally feel excited about the event. On the day the atmosphere was amazing. I was buzzing, bag drop was easy and after the obligatory queue for the loo I was into the pen and ready to go. I wasn’t waiting long before the gun went off and 17.500 of us charged up the road. A bit of jostling as you’d expect, but this calmed down after a few k. The pace was on track and I was feeling alright until about 8k. Things started to wobble, but the pace was still ok until 9k where my legs turned to jelly and didn’t want to turn anymore. Any attempt by me to push harder meant I went straight into the red, which you just can’t do if you still have 12k to run. I watched as each k came in 5 or so seconds slower than the one before, knowing that any shot at a PB was long gone. Turning down into the city the sun shone down on us and I knew the cause of my woes. I resigned myself to just trying now to enjoy the course and the atmosphere, which throughout was amazing. As I crossed the line I saw people collapsing, and only then did I start to realise that it wasn’t just me having a tough day out. Walking back to get my bag, someone behind was sobbing to their friend. I’d had a tough day for sure, but I ran the whole way, needed no medical attention and vaguely enjoyed myself. I felt so ruined for the rest of the day that I’m confident there’s little more I could have done. Hey ho.
Week 10
On Tuesday, el medio and all the training finally hit me. It wasn’t till Wednesday I went for a run, and that turned out to be the only run of the week. Imagine, from 5 a week to just 1. 40km average to less than 9km. As the weekend approached, I started to feel like a cold was coming on, so I started on the First Defence. I’m theorising that with el medio done, my body has stopped and started to repair itself. This blink seems to have let some unwanted guests in.
Wifey did in the end drop into the A2 group, but this hasn’t turned out quite how she had hoped. It seems this group is lower than she’d thought, and a lot of that group are quite unfocused. This is meaning she feels like she’s drifting backwards and is meaning a whole different kind of frustration. Meanwhile with me we’ve started the scariest of all the grammar… el Subjuntivo. The hardest thing with the subjunctive is the concept, and knowing when to use it. This I’ve covered before in French, and thankfully it’s very similar in Spanish. So far, it’s not as horrible as people say… let’s see how long I can say that for!
On Thursday afternoon my parents arrived for the weekend. As luck would have it, this was followed by a public holiday on the Friday. Sheer chance frankly, but it turned out well. To keep them entertained, we’ve done more touristing in one weekend than me and Mrs P have previously managed in 9 weeks.
Friday we went to the beach so my dad could have a dip in the sea. I ran in with dad not long behind. As he popped his head out I noticed his hearing aid hanging out … pointing this out I just got ‘eh?’ Finally he caught up and dashed off back to the shore. Thankfully the hearing aids were resilient enough that they survived, but aside from this the sea water managed to block his ears up meaning he couldn’t hear much for the rest of weekend. Still, he had a brilliant time.
Saturday we went on a cycle tour out to Albufera. This was absolutely amazing. A good ride out to get to el Palmar, a boat ride, then off for some paella before heading back. I’d thought before we went that the tour was quite a lot (€70 each) – but once we’d had a huge amount of delicious food, a trip on a boat and a whole day out feeling like locals, we were left feeling we’d gotten quite a bargain.
On Sunday we all felt a bit tired (in our case this was thanks to some neighbours blasting out ‘simply the best’ at 3am), but decided the Oceanogràfic would be worth a go. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. Personally I’m a bit funny about zoos / animal attractions. This is one of the better ones I’ve seen. The animals have a good amount of space, and seem happy enough. We spent 4 hours gazing at sharks, rays and a whole host of amazing species. Walrus are massive!
Week 11
After spending most of the weekend mainlining Vicks First Defence, I finally had to admit that something wasn’t quite right. The human body is an amazing thing, and though mine held itself together brilliantly for 16 weeks of training and a half marathon, once I stopped my body went into repair mode and everything hit me. Still, I got away fairly lightly in the end. The cold, if that’s what it was, was like nothing I’ve had before. I basically felt pretty much fine, only my voice dropped about an octave. I felt a little bit tired, and sounded a bit more sexy than normal. I’ve had far worse.
I managed a short run on Wednesday which felt pretty fine. Went out again on Thursday and pushed the pace up a little, that also felt fairly alright. Friday however I woke myself up by sneezing, and spent much of the rest of the day blowing my nose. Somehow though I still woke up on Saturday feeling pretty good.
Having been looking around for day trips for a while, we decided to use Saturday to go on the train to Xàtiva. (Pronounced like chat-iva). I’d heard from our teacher that it was really nice, and photos of the castle looked fantastic. Getting on the train, it occurred to me this would be the first time since my adventure from Riba Roja that I’d left Valencia. Thinking back as well, there are few times in my life where I have stayed in one place for such a prolonged period of time. In Edinburgh we often take day trips to parkruns, or to see in-laws etc. I’d never noticed the importance of this before. The cabin fever I knew was there as well in running. No matter how good a running location is, and the Túria park is as good as you could want, if that’s all you ever run on you will eventually get bored. For me, running around 5 times a week, it took just over 2 months.
Xàtiva is a small town with a hilltop castle. Valencia city is pancake flat. Getting out of the train and looking up to the hill, the smile on my face was massive. Getting to the top, I felt such happiness to be up high again. I’ve been looking at a website this week (Valencia Mountain Enthusiasts) which details a lot of good walks which can be done using public transport. Gazing out from the castle that day I knew for sure that I would not be leaving it as long again until I saw my next mountain. I’ve also quietly decided on my project for next year, and it definitely involves inclines!
The train was so easy to use, and really inexpensive. The 50 minute ride to Xátiva was €17.90 return for both of us. On the ride out, we came up with a game of name that stop. When the train announced the name of the next stop, we would try to figure out what that name was before we could see it written at the station. We got none of them right sadly, but in our defence the names were in Valencian. The train ride also goes past mile upon mile of orange orchards. We must have had orchards on both sides of the train stretching as far as we could see for 30-40 minutes of the journey.
Week 12
It feels like the weeks are getting faster. I blinked and it was already Thursday morning.
There are some amazing things in the running culture here I really want to take home with me. The whole city is totally geared up now for the marathon on 1st December. There are posters around town, and it really feels like an event. As runners here are hitting their biggest training week, last weekend I saw a lot of the running clubs joining forces for the long run XXL, and running together. Friends were encouraged to turn out, cycle along if they weren’t running, and refreshment stands were put on at the turning point. How ace is that? So, with that done I wondered if the training session this week might be a bit less than the usual lunacy. Nope. 2x6km with 1km jog recovery. With the 4km warm up, that’s an 18km session, and once I’d jogged the 3km home I’d be at a HM for the evening.
I texted my mate with this, and he’d instead been planning another session – did I want to join. YES PLEASE. It also meant a 6pm start instead of 8pm so I was totally on board. He’s talking about a similar set up for next week, so that’s great news for me.
In class we’re still working on el subjuntivo. To be totally honest it’s not as scary as everyone makes out. The conjugations are fine, it’s the concept and when to use it which are tricky. I personally still find the past tenses harder. The conjugations of the indefinido (which is about very definite things) are bonkers.
Inspired by last week’s trip to Xàtiva, I was once again keen to find some hills to climb. After a bit of looking around, I picked out el Montduver, near Xeraco, as a decent challenge. Xeraco isn’t too far on the train, and a run from the station and back would be about 16km with around 900m climbing… *gulp*. Still, most of that would be in the first half of the run (though in hindsight I’m not sure how that makes it better). Information on the internet was a bit thin on the ground, but from what I could gather it seemed that there was an established trail loop to and from. Though I struggled to find much extra from gmaps, I was fairly confident that provided I could find the start of the trail, the rest should take care of itself.
Finding the trail turned out to be really easy, following it though was a different matter entirely. I had an inkling that the trail should be signposted from the road, and this turned out to be correct. The start of the trail kicks up very quickly with some rapid altitude gain. Nearing the top of this though I made an error going left and found myself wandering around an orange farm. I knew I’d messed up, so tried to take myself round in a circuit back to where I’d come from. This was fine until I found that to complete the circuit I’d need to do some rock climbing. I actually started to do this, before realising how stupid this was and descending. I could see that if I ran quickly across an orange tree terrace I should be back to where I’d gone wrong, so, crossing everything no one was looking I bolted across. Retracing my steps, I found a narrow, almost hidden, other path I’d dismissed before. Looking more closely I saw the white and yellow stripe markings of the trail and knew I was back on track. A short, narrow trail on a steep camber led to a lovely series of trails along the ridge in the right direction and things were great. The view was stunning. I reached a post, straight on for the peak, right to go down into the valley; on we go to the top. This was fine for a short while with some pretty technical ups and downs, then things got narrow with dense woodland in every direction. I fought through, over fallen trees which looked well trodden, brambles and thorns scratching my legs, thinking it must surely break soon, only to see no end to it anywhere. The camber got very steep, and the ground below me loose and slippery. I started to get concerned, this now felt wrong. I reasoned I must have made a mistake, where I had no idea, but back I turned. On the return I got muddled, taking a very slightly different route and at one point found myself stuck for a few seconds seeing no safe way to progress in any direction. This wasn’t fun anymore. I headed back where I’d come from. I saw no other routes I could have taken, I reasoned I either missed a turning, or I was right, and the path was overgrown and not passable.
At the post I saw earlier I now turned into the valley to descend to the road. The descent was rapid and tricky in places. I found a section of the path covered by a fallen tree which had been there for a fair while. At this stage I started to doubt everything, and went back to check I was definitely still on track. I was. The path came to a very abrupt end, turfing me out onto a concrete path down to an orange farm. Am I meant to be here?! Right, keep moving… I headed away from the mountain and toward the sea, but found a chain across the path. Is this to stop me going forward, or am I already in the bit I shouldn’t be? I decided to check by going back first. I could see the road I was heading to in the distance, maybe it loops round. Nope. A few minutes jog yielded a dead end. Back I went, now really not having my best time and crossed the chain and hoped for the best. A few minutes later I was back on the road none the wiser and finally now knew where I was and where I was going. Phew!
I was of course disappointed this little adventure didn’t go to plan, but it wouldn’t be an adventure if it was easy. It’s hard to rate the signage on the route really, since it’s very clearly intended for walkers, not runners. If you’re walking, you have a lot more time to look for markings. When running, a lot of the time you’re taking the direction that feels natural. I could easily have been concentrating on footing and missed something crucial.
Week 13
It’s been a while since I’ve really mentioned college, except odd bits on what we’re learning. The school we’ve been going to is really small. It’s also a place that caters for people learning for whatever period of time they have available. Both of these things come with positives and negatives. The flexibility of timescale is great since you can come and learn whenever you please. The trade off is that if you are at the school for a longer time, then your classmates will be quite transient. Some will stay for a week or so, some you’ll see for much longer. Every Monday, the make up of your class could be totally different. With a smaller college, you get a sense of family. You’ll get to know the team really well, and they you. This is a lovely thing, and keeps things on a really personable level. The trade off here is that a smaller college will have limited resources. Our school has only got 4 classrooms, and so can only offer 4 classes at a time. This means that class levels can’t be fine-tuned to student abilities, and you can find yourself in a class with a wider range of abilities than you might in a larger institution.
Aside from the first week, and one occasion when a few teachers were ill at the same time, I’ve had the same teacher for most of the weeks here. Though the make up of the class moved around, there were a few of us who had been together for quite a while. I was really happy in the group, loved my teacher and was really starting to feel I was making progress. It took me a while, but there was a point where I started to relax. There’s a tendency in language learning to get flustered when you don’t understand, to find it stressful and freak out. Though I still have moments I find hard, I find it easier to distance the emotion from it. It’s been hugely liberating, and feels like I’ve taken a big personal step forward.
Walking into class on Monday, I found that my class had been broken up. Having spent 3 weeks at B1, I was now joining quite a big group who had just completed A2 and were starting B1. Some of my previous group were with me, some weren’t. Over the week I gathered that the others had been moved to a B2 group. My class no longer existed. I tried, and failed to not take this personally. Why had some of my class been bumped up, and some of us knocked back 3 weeks? I tried, begrudgingly to just get on with it, thinking that the revision would at least do me some more good. The pace of the class was a lot slower than I was used to, and a few times I found myself bored and zoning out. I spoke to the team on Friday, and the upshot was that the choice I now had was stay where I was, in a class slightly too low, or, go into B2 and see how I get on. It’s a horrible choice to have to make, and I’m still quite cross I’m being put in this situation. So, Monday, I’m trying out B2 in the first 2 hours. Sink or swim I guess.
On Tuesday we went for a wine tasting evening organised by the school. I later found out that wifey has never been to one before, though I have. This is curious since she’s very much more enthusiastic about the stuff than me. Over the past year or so, I have pretty much stopped drinking. I’ve not made any sort of declaration, or even a firm rule, I simply find that I don’t enjoy it these days. With that said, wifey loves it, and I figured it was an evening speaking Spanish, and food was going to be provided!
The evening was brilliant. I can’t be sure if the venue was a bar or an off license, but the guy hosting was brilliantly ethusiastic and it was great to hang out with our classmates. We had three drinks to sample, all of which were from the region. I had wondered how I would get around having three boozes and manage to not drink them without anyone sussing me out. The first was a vermouth, which I have to say I really enjoyed. There wasn’t too much of the usual wine tasting nonsense thankfully. (Can you detect a hint of tobacco? No, I can smell wine. Furthermore, I’m fairly sure that neither of us has ever actually encountered a tobacco plant.)
Most of my white went into the bucket to make space for the red, much to wifey’s despair. After this telling off, I didn’t make the same mistake with the red, though here I’d already made sure to only get a small splash in the first place. I really had a lovely evening, and though I don’t mind wine, I think more than ever that me and booze are done. I mean ffs, I’m now a teetotal vegetarian running enthusiast.
This week I again went out running with my mate instead of going to training. In the ‘warm up 5k’ (I’m honestly not sure that 4.50/km counts as warm up pace) I felt pretty ropey. Still, on we went, and my brain went off wondering at what point I’d lose the heels and drift off pace. With 5km done, we got onto the type 2 fun part and notched the pace up to 4.30/km. The plan was to hold this for the next 9km, hahahahahaha. Best not to think about how far that is at the time. If anyone knows how you actually do that, please tell me. We turned at 8km and flew back down. My partner in crime uses his phone to track, and it reads aloud the stats each km. I could swear at one point it said we’d done a 4.13… still, I managed to stay on it, only dropping back a little in the final half a k when me amigo got a bit carried away. He is going to demolish the marathon next week, he’s absolutely flying now.
Walking back, he took me into his mum’s bakery. I met his mum, and his grandad which was so lovely. I was concerned my ears weren’t working, until he told them they needed to speak Castilian with me, explaining that they always use Valencian at home. After a chat in which I’m sure I made a hundred very basic mistakes, I was ushered up the road with a pie of some sort. Being incredibly British about it, I at first protested, but eventually resigned myself to just taking whatever it was and being very grateful about it. The unknown baked product looked like a pasty of some sort, and though I was basically convinced it was probably a meat filling, I figured this wasn’t the time to be an awkward vegetarian, and wifey would no doubt eat it if I wouldn’t. I’d then just tell him it was delicious regardless and that would be that.
Got home, sliced it open to find a stuffing of peppers, onions and NO MEAT AT ALL! Even better, it was incredibly delicious, I was so relieved. I later learned that the unidentified pastry was called an empanadilla, and I will be eating more of them. Also, this was I think the first pastry I’ve eaten in 3 months. Man I love pastry.
As a nice end to the week, we had some good friends visiting from London. It was so lovely to see them here. It also gave us a boot up the arse to do some actual touristing, which we managed to shoehorn in around the eating and drinking. I can confirm that the cathedral is very worth a visit. The recently restored painted ceiling is beautiful, and the audio guide was quite well done. I also particularly liked the basement level in the museum, where you can see the hotchpotch of human remains and previous buildings going back to Roman times. We didn’t get up the Micalet in the end, there was a big queue and we were getting hungry.
Week 14
So, after sticking my neck out, I started the week with the B2 group. It was good seeing some old classmates, but that didn’t really settle my nerves. It was quickly apparent that those in the class were a lot more competent than me, so I did my best to keep up. The teacher was one I’d encountered briefly before, and I knew she spoke clearly. The class was continuing an exercise they’d started on Friday, so I got a quick once-through of a 6 minute video and got the basic gist of what was going on. Probably in so much as a dog understands the chat over the dinner table. This also followed on from last week’s topic, which thankfully I had vaguely touched on before. It’s also, happily, a bit of grammar that works in the same way as English, so at least I could try and catch up quickly.
By the end my head was buzzing a bit. I was finding that I could keep up, but was a little too intimidated to contribute much. All very silly.
Tuesday in this class went much better. At this level a lot more people seem to do some days but not all of them, so the class make up shifts a lot. Wednesday was a reading comprehension exercise that had me clinging on by the skin of my teeth. Still, I clung on, and understood almost everything, even if I was still quite mute. Then somehow Thursday was a revision on the conditional, which I found fairly straightforward. Friday was then a mix of both, we did conditional statements. The sense of what the statements are about is a direct translation of English, so this part was easy enough. The Spanish versions need both the imperfect past and pluscuamperfecto in the subjunctive voice, neither of which I’ve seen before. Still, this is just another conjugation I need to memorise, rather than being something technical…
In all, it’s been a bit of a moveable feast, some days very hard, some days fine. I’m hoping as the weeks go on I’ll settle again, and hopefully it’ll do me some good.
Thursday evening I ran home from the piano studio via the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias and saw the near complete finish area for the marathon this Sunday. I’m getting really excited again to run in this glorious city. The sky as I made my way home was incredible.
A running friend on HelloTalk was asking me if I had any other races planned before I leave. In honesty, I’d not really wanted to do much, but said I’d sign up if there was something interesting. Now, for me at this stage ‘something interesting’ means soft ground and hills. He’d said there was a great race down at the Marina in December. It’s a flat 10k on the road. I can’t believe I’m genuinely thinking of doing it. I don’t even like 10ks. Still, it would be a nice last blast, so I figure if I’m at a loose end that weekend then why not. It’s only €11 and I might get yet another T-shirt to add to the collection.
Saturday I started out in a grump. I went to the park for a final 20 minute pootle in the park. On the track I found hordes of people coming toward me, few of them willing to give up much space for oncomers. I was curious as to what was going on, but after a minute or two I noticed their race numbers were all 2019, and figured it was a final shake out for the marathon. After more minutes of tutting, I turned round and went along with them instead. I returned home with plans of a day trip I already knew were unrealistic. Sometimes things just click into place though, and since that day the sun was shining and we were treated to some warmth, I suggested a walk on the beach. Wifey suggested we go for some waffles, and what followed was one of the best days we’ve had here. We stood with our toes in the sea gazing out into far distance across the Mediterranean without a care. In the evening we went to see a piano recital in a small club across town. This was brilliant, lovely place and atmosphere. Finally, a quick stop off for a bite to eat, then home under the now illuminated Christmas lights and off to bed.
Sunday was the day. I’d made plans to meet up with a guy I’ve spoken to a lot on HelloTalk, but frustratingly when I got there I found that the way through between 10k and marathon wasn’t going to happen. This was annoying, but time was clicking on and I still had to do the usual pre race things (bag, wee, warm up). Into the start line with only minutes to spare, smiles all round and bang goes the gun. I’m still not feeling great here, and I’ve started to realise this can only be down to a lack of strength training. I’m finding that I just don’t have the pace at the moment, and my endurance is limited. Given the miles I’ve done, it’s frustrating, but I’ll be back in the gym come January. Best to just enjoy the downtime I guess.
I still threw myself into the race though, putting 3km down at 4.23/k, so just over PB pace. I knew that wasn’t going to hold and eased it back a bit, feeling a familiar tingle in my legs I’d tried to ignore in the half which I think means lactic build up, ie, anaerobic. Keeping on like that will just mean jelly legs and all pace goes. I dialled it back to 4.30/40 and managed not to totally bomb this time. The atmosphere in town was amazing. Every corner held a new drumming ensemble, or radio station mobile disco, all of which was surrounded by crowds willing us on. At 6k I saw a huge screen showing the winner who had finished in a record breaking 26.38. I would dearly love to run along Carrer de Colon and not feel wretched, just once, but as we turned out of this dreaded street I was bathed in sunlight and Daft Punk and all was right with the world. 9k done, I got a high 5 from a petardo then we descended down into the city of arts and sciences for the final stretch to the line. This stretch was pure magic. The space age buildings now so familiar to me, the crowds cheering us, and knowing we were nearly home. Onto the blue runway over the water and across the line, job done and well done us!
Week 15
What a difference a day can make. I’d seen the weather for this week suggesting a change, but deep down I still didn’t believe it until I woke on Monday morning to heavy rain. The temperature didn’t drop immediately, but as we got to Wednesday having had 3 days of rain it had started to feel quite a bit cooler. I wonder if Spain is trying to help us readjust for going back to Edinburgh. Thanks for that chic@s. Thursday and it was still raining. Since the only way we can dry washing here is on the line outside, and both of us are operating on a reduced wardrobe, underwear was starting to run low.
I’m still clinging on in the B2 group. Many of the more advanced students are now finishing, and most days I just see the few who were in my previous group. This makes me feel a bit more comfortable, however I think my problem now is actually the teacher of this group. I’m not an expert on this, but things to me seem much less structured, much less formal, and I often wonder if I’m actually learning anything. I’m hoping that something is going in, but it doesn’t feel to me like the same sort of progress I was used to before. At the very least, it’s a few hours of a conversation group, so that’s a bit of practice at least. I wish I could just let it go and take it for what it is, but I’m still really upset I’ve been put in this position.
We’ve been treated to a short week since this Friday was constitution day. We thought it would be a great idea to go to the Oceanogràfic together, as it turned out so did quite a lot of Valencia. Still, even with quite a busy day there, we had a brilliant day spent gazing into the blue waters seeing an array of creatures. From the other side of the glass, jelly fish are really beautiful things, and really hypnotic to watch. It’s just a shame they grow to terrifying sizes and have a rather unpleasant manner of saying hi.
On Saturday we jumped on a train for another day trip, this time to Buñol. Buñol is a small town near Valencia most famous for the Tomatina. This happens in August, and on a weekend in December it’s a sleepy place. I had noted a few places of interest, and had a really vague idea of how I would get there. It seems that in Spain there is a huge network of walking trails, which are numbered. In Buñol, route 166 is a loop of around 7km which takes you to the Cueva Turche (a beautiful waterfall in a natural cliff-sided amphitheatre). The problem is that details of these trails online is pretty sparse, or at least I’m not bright enough to have found it yet. For those wanting to do this trail (and I do very much recommend it) the thing to do is head to the parqué sans Luis, where you will find the start of the trail. DON’T follow gmaps, which will take you down a big main road which doesn’t have a pavement! We both started to realise silly things we’d both been missing but hadn’t realised: the sound of a river, the noise of birds, uneven ground, and the smell of autumn leaves. Back in the town, we had a quick explore before catching a train. Buñol is on a few steep slopes, a bit like Edinburgh. There are old parts like the castle, and more recent buildings people live in, all of which are completely intermingled. It’s like someone attached recent elements, old elements, put them on a Rubik’s Cube and shuffled it. I absolutely loved it. It’s like when you go to someone’s house, and things are sort of chaotic but it feels like a home.
All week for some reason I’ve had a hankering for a paella. I knew a good place, so on Sunday morning I went off for a long run to make sure I could do it justice. For the run I did a loop I’d done once before to a river path further north (el Carraixet), and back along the sea front. With running I’m finding I’m now craving variety, any variety and something soft underfoot. The few ks along the road to get there aside I wasn’t disappointed. The trail along the Carraixet is lovely, and at this time of year there are a lot more birds to see. This included some coots, the first I’ve seen here, which was great. I was lucky also to find the tide was out, so I ran the whole way through Patacona and Malva Rosa on the sand. My lord the paella was good. If you’re in Valencia, go to Masusa in Russafa, it’s the business. After a few starters which were included in the menu del dia, the paella landed. The empty dish was received with an olé! After a coffee, we managed a short walk and sat in the Parc Central in the sun until the wind started to turn cooler. Top Sundaying!
Week 16
As we approach the last week we have here, I’m finding I have mixed feelings on the subject. This has been an incredible experience, I love so much about this city and I feel like it’s been so great for me personally. I have missed things though from Edinburgh. I’m sad that this is ending, but I also feel ready to go.
At college this week was much like the last few. I’ve been disappointed with the teacher in this group, and feel that lessons are often quite unstructured and as a result end up as a conversation group. If nothing else it’s good practice, but in terms of learning anything new it’s been a bit thin on the ground. On Friday though I found that next week the classes were changing again due to low numbers, and I’d be back with Maite. I’m so happy about this! For me it means that the college experience will end on a happy note. Following this news, I had to complete an evaluation form for the other teacher. I don’t like that I had to be slightly negative, but I also can’t lie.
Thursday was a day I’d been looking forward to for a while. I’d bought tickets for a Chopin piano concerto (#1) some weeks before, and I’d wanted to see this magical piece of music performed for quite a while. Arriving at the Palau de la Musica, the venue looked mysteriously closed. We, and another lady who’d just arrived tried to find out what was going on from the security chap. He informed us that the event was happening in the Reina Sofia auditori, some 15 minutes walk down the road. At this stage, we had probably exactly that before the show was due to begin, and due to some amazing fortune, the lady happened to have a taxi waiting just in case. We jumped in, and hot tailed it to the right venue. Though this was a stress, I was inwardly jumping for joy. I’d wanted to see something in the beautiful Calatrava opera house, and here we were! We got to our seats minutes before the lights dimmed, perfect! The night was so special, I fought back tears during the second movement, and we discovered some fabulous music by Leonard Bernstein after the interval.
During my stay here, I’ve been using HelloTalk quite a lot. For those that don’t know, it’s a language exchange app. It’s a bit like a budget version of WhatsApp, but with the facility to search for people to talk to. I would search for a Spanish speaker learning English, and then we both help each other. A guy I’ve been speaking to for the whole trip and me have been trying to meet up for weeks, but it’s always been thwarted. At the marathon I just couldn’t get to where he was for example. Finally on Friday we met up, and though it’s often nerve wracking, I was so glad we did. He was just lovely, we spoke mainly in Spanish, which for me on a Friday evening is never easy. Still, we managed!
On Saturday, I got up early and jogged over to the Marina to see the sunrise, this is another thing I’ve been meaning to do for a while. If there’s an advantage to be had in winter, it’s that to do this you don’t have to get up until 7. That said, I should probably have gotten up slightly earlier, although I got to the end of the pier just as the sun came up, I only saw the crazy colours in the sky on the run through the park. It would have been great to see them over the sea. Still, I can always do it again!
As luck would have it, the Pas Ras 10k I entered a while ago was back at the marina on Sunday. Since the race started at 9am, I got my chance to be back by the sea for sunrise much sooner than I’d expected. When turning up for any running event, there are basically only a few things to worry about, aside from of course running the thing. Toilet, bag drop, race number and where is the start line. When we arrived, the portaloos were being slid into place and opened, and with no queue (a rarity!) we decided to make best of it and get that one out of the way. Next up was the bag drop, which meant stripping down to a race vest. Although it’s still quite warm here, it can feel a little chilly first thing. Not quite cross country, but noticeable. The locals however are feeling the cold, and I’ve rarely seen so much clothing on runners in 10 degrees. A quick warm up on the beach left a few minutes to saunter down to the start line.
Of all the races I’ve done here, this one has to be hands down my favourite. I woke up with an ominous feeling in the back of my throat, so before I left had a blast on the Vicks First Defence. Reasoning that getting on a plane with a cold would be horrible, and feeling a bit crappy anyway, I decided the game plan for the morning would be to sit at the back, take it steady and pick it up if I felt alright. I found my spot with the 5 minute pacers and reasoned I’d be fairly happy with a few of those, then wind it up a little. Both the first few ks came in at 4.38… oops. I felt fine though, all in control, steady. Then 4.30… damn. Still feeling ok though, but now pulling it back a bit so the next few fell between these markers. At 5k we went through a water station, the cheers were brilliant and I now started to inch it up a little. This took maybe 5 seconds off per k, and still I felt pretty comfortable. Into 2k to go and I now started to push a little, picking a few people off as the line came into view. 1k to go and now starting to actually do some work, but feeling strong for the first time in a race since I got here.
The result was the slowest I’ve run a 10k here. However, I am still hugely encouraged by this run. The time was about 10s slower than the Valencia 10k, but felt much easier. That may be because I set off easier and got faster, rather than went off too hard and died. Still, there’s nothing like a negative split to make you feel good about yourself, and I’ll remember the Pas Ras al Port de Valencia fondly.
Week 17
Endings always feel weird. I wonder if because of that I subconsciously chose to make this week as normal as possible. I stuck to my weekly routines, with my normal visit to the piano studio, seeing my conversation partner, buying bread at the market. All the while a voice in my head kept reminding me that this was probably the last time I’d be doing these things for a long time. I’ve been asked a few times when I’ll be back, and the honest answer at the moment is I don’t know. I do know though it probably won’t be for at least a year.
College was so good this week, it was great to be back with Maite and we blasted through so much material. A lot of this for me was cementing what I’d seen in the last few weeks, so it was great to be ending on a high. On our last day, the college put on a ‘comida international’ – where all students attending could bring some food from their country for a big feast. Finishing up at Christmas has its advantages, not least of all that it’s a pause for everyone. I’m not normally one for drawing attention to myself, and quite often with things like this I’d be quite happy to just sneak out the back door when no one was looking. Still, it felt lovely having everyone there in the last hour. It really was like we’d made a little family there.
In the last week or so things now with Spanish seemed to have clicked. I don’t know what changed, and maybe I got more out of the previous weeks than I thought – but in this week I felt I was going from strength to strength. With my conversation partner I was able to just talk for 30 minutes. Sure, plenty of mistakes, some brief pauses, but so much progress. I had a moment during it where I pictured myself meeting him the first time, the difference is huge.
Then, before we knew it we were packed and heading to the airport. We’d spent our last weekend quietly visiting our favourite places in Russafa. No massive fanfare, just a little celebration of our time in a neighbourhood we got to know and love. A walk on the beach, a seat in wifey’s favourite sun trap, enjoying the last of the Spanish sun we’d see for a while. I don’t know at the moment when we’ll go back. I’m fairly confident it won’t be next year, but I don’t want for it to be too long. For now though, hasta pronto Valencia.
Parkrun Tour of Scotland 