Quick update...

For some reason, my friends and family just don't seem to think that a quick status update or a tweet contains enough information about the happenings of my competitions and experiences in Europe. They really can be quite demanding of me sometimes. So, to update them as well as the rest of y'all, here is a quick recap of my life over the last couple of days...

*my forehead still hurts and there is still a noticeable lump. (see blog below for further information.)

*I competed in a small competition in Linz, Austria last night. The good news is I won. The other news is all my jumps were just consistently average... but the good news in that is that they were consistent. I'm working hard on finding the silver lining in things these days. Most importantly though, is that I enjoyed myself competing and I know that ultimately I'm ready to jump far once things start timing up better, which would be awesome if that could happen Sunday.

*I landed in Russia today for a competition on Sunday. All I want to share about the trip so far is that it is -20 degrees outside. Please make sure you grasp the negative I included there. We walked outside the airport because we were told the van was "pulling up" and it didn't actually show up for 5 minutes. I learned a couple things--leggings might as well be fishnet stockings for all the good they do to combat weather, and the $50 coat I bought that seemed like it was really warm, is probably missing some of the material that makes coats functional in weather like this. I was seriously debating doing jumping jacks or high knees in place to keep warm. It's two hours later and I'm still shivering.

*the show I downloaded on my iPad for this trip is called Downton Abby and I'm hooked already. This has been the highlight of my trip since it's too bloody cold to walk outside and see the sights.

Thats it for now. Please continue to pray for me...

End of Season

I'm back in the good ol' U S of A now and my trip home signifies the end of the 2011 season for me. I'd like to say I went out with a bang, but the truth is it was more like a handheld sparkler than a fireworks show. The reason for that is nothing more than the fact that I was at the end of a five week span that saw me do 10 competitions in 7 different countries. In fact, during one eight day time period I somehow fit in four competitions. To say the least, my body was understandably wiped out. That is not the type of schedule you would draw up for peak performances, but it is the kind of schedule you make work when you know that these five weeks will be the last opportunity you have to go out and work for a very long time.

What I will say, however, is that I left Europe far better than I arrived--and that is true in both performance and attitude. I came to Europe probably in the best shape of my life and I couldn't do anything with it because mentally I was still the #1 guest at my very own pity party. But thankfully, I realized soon enough that that party was a real drag. Truth be told, if I could have stayed in Europe another month and done 10 more competitions I totally would have. Athlete's always like to say how they can't wait to come home but home for me right now doesn't seem all that great, and the gelato isn't nearly as good. Over the years I have really come to appreciate competing and living in Europe and all that being away from home has to offer… for the most part. There are a few things, however, that I am glad I will not have to deal with for a while.

Here is a list of my top 10 things I won't miss.

10. Lukewarm drinks. Nothing is cold and ice doesn't exist… so there you go.

9. The worst internet connections. Ever. There were literally times I would wait 15 min for a page to load.

8. European breakfast. Scrambled egg soup, hard bread, and mushrooms?! Eww. In fact, at one hotel this was ALL that was offered. And yes, you could bounce that roll off a wall.


7. Siesta time (in some countries) during the day and Sundays when all of civilization just shuts down. I'm used to what you want, when you want it, mentality. If I forget to eat lunch before 13:00 (that's 1 for the yanks) or don't go to the grocery store before Saturday, I end up with starvation as my only option.

6. The non-existence of lines. We are not a herd of animals and I stick out like a sore thumb, so please get behind me and wait your turn.



5. Cold, rainy weather. It's summer, but the majority of time I got ready for competitions dressed like this..



4. Smoking. Everybody. Everywhere

3. Sandwiches, especially when that is the only thing offered at airports. Hard bread, one slice of the most thinly sliced meat you can imagine, and butter.

2.
Beds not made for full-sized human beings and put so close together that you should be married to the person sleeping next to you, but instead it's a person who doesn't speak your language and prefers to be a nudist all day. (sorry…can't include picture of nudist)


1. The Euro. And all other forms of currency I encountered, that put my measly American dollar to shame and forced me to dread conversion calculations.


That being said, the things I actually enjoy and appreciate about being able to live and work on another continent would make a much longer list than this one. I'm bummed to be home, and I am even more bummed that it is going to be many, many months before I get to compete again. But, everything happens for a reason and I plan on making the most of my time off. Mostly eating.

My First Street Meet

Let's get the important details out of the way…

I chose Eye of the Tiger.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to make sure you visit my Facebook fan pageonce in a while because there are times when I really could use the help of the masses. Like when i am trying to remember songs I like or convincing my mother black people don't like exploring the wilderness as much as white folks do. I digress. In reality, a more appropriate song would have been "Singing in the Rain", even though I wasn't singing and even though that song is not in the least bit motivational. The part that makes it relevant is the rain, and it's the only song I can think of with rain in the title. And if the song happens to mention cold temperatures and a nasty side wind, it would have been that much more appropriate on Saturday.

I don't know what it is about parts of Europe, but they refuse to have Summer. When we were competing they told me it was 10 degrees. I had to find someone who remembered how to do the calculation from Celsius to (stupid American)Farenheit (read: found someone with an Iphone) to find out that was a blistery 50 degrees. And did I mention the rain and the wind?!! Oh yea, lovely jumping weather.

Beyond that though, I was determined to have fun. As soon as I heard that there was a street meet for long jump in Germany, I begged my manager to change my plans and send me there instead of Budapest, which was on the same day, even though I had been wanting to visit Budapest for ages. I had been to a couple of these street meets with my pole vault buddies this summer and they were just so much fun. For starters, you are the only event and so everyone that shows up is there for you. Did I mention I do long jump? We don't ever get attention like that. There is usually a dj involved, hence me picking a song to jump to. Oh.. and beer is also often present, which adds to the festive environment and makes it enjoyable to the crowd no matter if you jump far or not, because they're basically at a party! I'm telling you… it's a blast.

As you might have guessed, I didn't actually jump far. Nevertheless, I'm glad I went. These are the kind of meets that remind you how fun this sport can be and makes you appreciate that aspect of it. Next year, I will be back, and I plan on bringing the sunshine with me.

Does this look appropriate for late July? I literally put on every item of clothing I could, and I still was freezing. Maybe it's because I'm from California.


Our competition site... so cool!!


The "thanks for coming" gift was a 2 liter beer. Gotta love Germany!

My Time in Italy

I've been a busy gal. In a period of 8 days, I competed 4 times and 3 of those were over 5 days. Is that a recipe for peak performances and stellar conditions? Probably not. But I have been down that road this season, where you carefully plan out everything to a T, make sure you are getting the proper rest and recovery, eating your brussel sprouts, and ensuring your body is primed for optimal work. And as any quick internet search will tell you… it didn't work out so swell for me. So I tossed that plan out the window and decided to have some fun and eat a lot of pizza. And also try my best. As I wrote in my last blog, I really feel like I came to a point where I turned my brain around, so to speak. And ever since then I have been approaching this work in a different light. Do I take it seriously? Yea, to an extent. But there comes a point when you realize that they won't be taking you off the wait list for the Diamond League meeting in Monaco, when you have to look at the options you do have and make the most of them.

After I jumped in a small meet in Bottrop, Germany last week I headed over to Italy for three small competitions. If you know me, then you know I love me some Italy. I get to eat to my hearts content, drink an insane amount of cappucino's, and shop. Finances precluded me from doing too much of the latter, but the eating and drinking I did in abundance. Here is me in action over the last week...


A picture I took on the way to Pergine, Italy. Sometimes you stumble upon some of the most gorgeous places when you travel to these small meets. People in Italy didn't even know where this place was, but I'm glad I got the chance to visit.


I finished three books this past week. And when I read, I drink cappuccinos. And when I drink cappuccinos, I need a brioche to accompany it. necessity.


I had this exact same thing for lunch four days in a row. I was concerned that perhaps a person shouldn't consume that much pizza, so I made sure to balance it with a salad.


Lignano, Italy used to be my base in the summer. But as you can see, it's way more fitted to feeling like vacation than it is to training, which is why I now base in Germany. While I was here though, I decided to make the most of it!


Oh how i love gelato! And oh, how my tummy does not. Didn't stop me though...


What is so great about going to smaller meets, is that you feel like the big athlete. Fans in Italy are great... all the people want your autograph and to make a photo with you. It's nice to feel appreciated and to get a small dose of the Usain Bolt treatment. :)


Even though I was enjoying my time to the best of my ability, I still won 3 out of the 4 meets. Maybe if I had cut back on the gelato and pizza I would have won the fourth as well... but then I would have missed out on the gelato and pizza... hmm.

Brazil Part 1

Perhaps it's my skin tone. Or maybe the fact that I've recently done the Brazilian Blowout treatment to my hair. Whatever the case, these folks think I'm Brazilian. They speak to me so quickly in Portuguese that it makes my head spin. And the best I can do is smile and disappoint them. Only English,I say,… and maybe some spanish that I throw out in hopes that it happens to be the similar words they have in their language.

When I got to the competition site to compete, however, everyone knew that I was the American. My event consisted of 8 competitors, 7 of them from the home country, including the most recent Olympic Champion. The crowd was loud, energetic, and full of energy… until it was my turn to jump. Then it was crickets. I was so sure that my top two competitors were jumping world record distances because the crowd erupted in cheers every time they finished a fair jump, that I just knew there was a mistake when after the first three jumps the lady tried to tell me, in portuguese, that I would be jumping last. Last means you have the furthest jump so far in the competition, so I must've misunderstood her words mixed with hand signals. But I looked at the sheet and confirmed it. Sweet, I was winning.

I furthered my lead in the 5th round with a jump of 6.74 and continued to funnel the energy my way, even though I knew it wasn't meant for me. The truth of the matter is though, I sort of enjoy the role of the underdog. I knew I was ready to jump well, but I certainly didn't have any pressure from people assuming I was supposed to win. Not to mention it was a nice change that the entire crowd to stay and see the end of our competition even after all the running events were through because we had the crowd favorite competing and they were paying attention. We were the main show and not a side show that was quickly forgotten once the last race passed the finish line. Imagine that.

I have two more long jump competitions while I'm out here, and while I know I won't be the crowd favorite, I look forward to competing in the crowd's favorite event.

Coincidence

"Coincidences are God’s way of remaining anonymous"

Right now I am currently on the coast of Croatia. When I wake up in the morning and look out my window, this is what I see.


It’s not a bad way to start your day, let me tell you. Split, Croatia happens to be the place where I will end my season this year, competing in the Continental Cup. Based on how they choose the team for this meet, I wasn’t even supposed to be here and until a couple of weeks ago I thought I would be back in the states by now. Instead I’m in one of the most beautiful places in the world, spending a week in paradise and getting one last opportunity to jump in sand this season.

A couple of weeks ago you may remember a post I wrote about not competing in London. At that point, I didn’t know if I’d have any more meets and I was pretty bummed the meet I thought I’d have was not an option. I was sad…I moped…I complained…and literally the day of the meet I just decided to be over it. Bad moods and depressing attitudes can be toxic, and I wasn’t helping anyone, namely myself, by choosing to wallow in mine. So that night, while my competitors suited up to jump in cold and rainy conditions, I went out with friends and shared some pizza and wine.

Later that very same night, I got a text from the girl who was supposed to be competing for America at Continental Cup saying she wouldn’t be going and that it looked like the spot was mine. I just shook my head at the coincidence of it all. It was as if my not being in London had been replaced by something bigger and better! I know some people would be just fine with calling that a stroke of luck or that the timing of it all was some incredible fluke, but not me. Things happened as they did, in the order they did, at the precise timing they did, for a reason.

This will be my last meet of the season and I couldn’t imagine a better place to end it. I always like to take what I call “Postcard Pictures” whenever I visit somewhere really beautiful and use them as screensavers because it is a constant reminder of how blessed I am to be here. Right now I’m having a hard time choosing which one to use and I’ve only been here two days! Here are a couple in case you want to cast a vote…

Beer Bike

I was sitting outside at a café when I saw it. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I heard it first. Loud music accompanied by some very off key singing. When I turned to look I saw a group of people having the time of their lives onboard some sort of contraption they were pedaling. From the looks of it, they were celebrating some sort of Bachelor party but whatever it was, it looked fun! In true Bri fashion, I committed the website plastered on the side to memory and went home to look it up to see if I might be able to experience that kind of unique adventure.

It’s called a “Beer Bike” and basically it consists of 10-15 people sitting and pedaling on a Flinstone-esque machine and taking a tour of the city, all while drinking beer (there is a keg on board), eating sausage and chips, and blaring whatever music they desire. There was only one problem with this great idea. You couldn’t hop on with a couple of your buddies, the whole bike had to be rented by you and your friends and it was a 10 person minimum. So I waited patiently until I knew there were enough people I knew by name in the city at once, and then invited them all to join me for a party and a workout all rolled into one!

I played Bartender (my sneaky way of being able to stand in the center and not have to pedal for two hours straight), and my 10 buddies propelled us through the streets on a tour of the city. We had compiled a playlist of 80’s hits and sung at the top of our lungs to MJ, U2, and Madonna for 2 hours. It was a Tuesday and we had nothing to celebrate but that didn’t stop of from having a good time and making great memories!

Cologne, Germany

This is my second summer living in Germany. For the few years before that I had always been based in Italy, which is lovely for my eating habits but maybe not so much for my six-pack. There is only so long an athlete can sustain themselves on pizza and gelato. I found the threshold and crossed it…many times. Before coming to Germany though, I was slightly apprehensive. Sure, I travel to a lot of different places, but I never actually spend much time in any one place. In my mind, Germans were a bit stoic and unfriendly, not to mention I was never a huge fan of schnitzel. Staying in Cologne last summer though changed my opinion drastically. The city was vibrant and full of life, and the people were friendly and open-minded.

Last year my apartment was smack dab in the middle of city centre, close to all the action and the hustle and bustle of everything. It was my kind of place. People spoke English, you could find any kind of food you desired, and Starbucks was just down the street. I didn’t have to pay rent for that apartment though so when it came time this year to find a place and the money was coming out of my own pocket, I opted for something a little more affordable, which translated to not staying in tourist central. For the first couple of weeks I absolutely hated it and complained to anyone who would listen. I think I actually claimed to be living in the ghetto. Of course, if you’ve ever been to the ghetto you’d laugh that I had the nerve to say that, but the graffiti all over the walls was my proof.

There are some people who like to immerse themselves in the local culture and there are others who like to have as many comforts of home as possible to make them feel at ease. I tend to be the latter. This neighborhood I was in was not for my type. None of the restaurants had menus I could read, hardly anyone spoke good English or even bothered to try, and there was NO STARBUCKS with free wifi in the vicinity. And I already mentioned the graffiti. It was everywhere.

Now that I am in my last week here though, I am realizing how much I grew to like this place. The restaurants in my neighborhood are some of the best I’ve experienced in Germany. I know people and they know me. There is the guy at the corner Kebab place who knows my order by heart. And the nice man at the phone shop who made it so that I could have internet on my laptop and doesn’t mind spending 15 minutes setting it up for me while I wait because I can never understand the German instructions. And the group of men at the Italian café who say ciao Bella every.single.time I walk by. Or my favorite…the owner of Felafel King just around the corner. He’s from Lebanon and his English isn’t that good so sometimes we try Spanish. I don’ speak Spanish but he knows I’m from California so he figures I know enough. I’ve seen pictures of his wife and kids. I pretty much know his whole life story, actually. And he always asks about my best friend that visited. He says she looks like Naomi Campbell and that’s true only in the sense that she’s black. But hey…if you are going to be compared to anyone, Naomi Campbell ain’t bad.

The graffiti no longer bothers me and I actually prefer not having Starbucks around the corner. Even with free wifi, 4 euros is just too much for a latte. I am SO ready to go home but I think I will be excited to come back next summer and say hello to my new friends.

Dining on the Circuit

The circuit can often have some very eerie similarities to high school. One way this is clearly seen is in the dining hall. For the most part, our meals take place in a big room, buffet style. This is fine if you walk in with friends or quickly spot a group of people who like you that have saved you a seat, but sometimes that’s just not the case. Sometimes, it’s like that awkward first day of school when you walk in and everybody just stares, then turns back to their little clique of friends, who all seem to be laughing heartily—probably at you.

I remember my first international competition in 2001 (give me a break, I was still in college!) when I walked into the dining hall all alone and didn’t know a soul. I was just about ready to see if I could sneak my plate up back to my room and eat in solace when Angelo Taylor (someone I didn’t know at all) invited me to sit at his table. The fact that I remember this occurring is kind of crazy, but it just goes to show you the relief I must’ve felt in that moment. Nowadays, I know plenty of people and actually don’t mind sitting with people I don’t know, or by myself for that matter. But that’s because I am now in my comfort zone. Some other athletes may not be, so I decided to give you some helpful hints.

WHERE TO SIT:
Avoid being Clique-ish … It’s very easy to just do what is most comfortable so a lot of times you’ll see tables of just throwers or pole vaulters, etc. People also tend to gravitate towards their own countrymen. All this is very unnecessary. You must infiltrate! You also must make it easy for others to join your group as well. It is possible to have something in common with someone who throws the discus even if you’ve never held one in your life. And as long as someone can communicate with you in the same language, there are a ton of cool people who aren’t American. I always mix it up. In fact, I find that I pick up a pretty cool accent when I sit at a table full of Aussies or Brits and that is an added bonus. (Nevermind that both my Australian accent and British accent sound the same.)

WHO TO SIT WITH:
I like to eat. Therefore, my favorite people to eat with are the throwers. Why? Because they enjoy eating just as much as anybody. I also have found that they are some of the most enjoyable people to be around. They do tend to hang together so a lot of times I have to wiggle my way in to the group but it’s always worth it. I find distance runners to be all across the board. There are some that eat like rabbits and there are others who couldn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet but who can eat any thrower under the table. LOVE THAT! For all other event groups, you just have to use your judgment. A lot of times you get a lot of health nuts and this can be bothersome. I like to eat somewhat healthy but that’s only so I won’t develop cellulite. I hate to eat with people who refuse to put salad dressing on their salad and won’t eat more than 4 oz. of chicken because they might go over their calorie count for the day. These are the athletes who will never join you for a trip to the dessert table and look at you side eyed when you come back with a scoop of ice cream.


If anyone has hints to add, be my guest. :)

I'm Baaaack!

You haven’t heard from me much in the past week or so. I don’t know if you even noticed, but I somehow feel negligent when I don’t do any posting for days at a time, yet I see that people are still checking, waiting for the most thought provoking blogs that rock their world. Yea…not quite. Anyway, my reason for going M.I.A. was because I had a visit in Europe from the bestest friend EVER. I mean, it’s one thing for a friend to visit you stateside, but how many of you can say you know someone who would fly across an ocean to keep you company?! I’m a lucky girl.

Melanie was here for a week and she forced me to look up everything fun and interesting there is to do in Cologne so that I could be a good host. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be all that interested in seeing the track and weight room so I did my best to take her out and see the sights. Then, as an added bonus, we took a trip to Prague for the weekend. That’s why Europeans have it so good…they can just take an hour flight and be in a whole other country and experience a totally different culture. I fly for an hour at home and don’t even leave the state I live in!

Needless to say, Prague was great. Thanks to everyone who offered their opinions as to where we should spend a few days experiencing a different part of Europe. We enjoyed ourselves immensely and Mel even managed to fall in love. Well…maybe not quite love but she certainly helped us get some free dinners by being so appealing. Apparently, I’m not the flavor of the month in that part of Europe but next time I’m going to try and vacation somewhere I can be.

Because a post is always better with pictures, here are a few from our week together.

Mel being the perfect German, hanging out in a Biergarten with a sausage and a beer!


The Dom. A must see in Cologne.


People drink beer in Germany. Not water, not juice, not soda. Just. Beer. I prefer it on the river with the sun shining down.


View of Prague on the way up to see the Castle.


At a bar called "Propoganda", filled with Communist artifacts. I wonder what people think when we hand them our camera and then pose like this!


In the middle of Wenclalas Square. I felt like my presence added something.

Birthday Suits

Maybe Americans are prudes. Or maybe just I am. Whatever the case, I feel oddly uncomfortable being nude in pretty much any circumstance. I remember when I first started using locker rooms back in high school i'd run to the bathroom and change in a stall so I wouldn't have to undress in front of a bunch of girls my same age who had the same hardware I did. Was anyone interested in seeing me in my training bra? Probably not, but that didn't deter me. As I got older, my modest ways have stayed with me, although not to the same ridiculous degree. I can now change in a locker room but I will still do it with my back turned and in record time.

So imagine the look on my face when I decide to take a visit to the premiere spa in Cologne, Germany for a day of rest and relaxation and they inform me that in certain areas bathing suits are forbidden. Ok, so this co-ed spa with parts that are out in the middle of nature does not allow you to cover up your goodies if you so desire? I looked at the receptionist with a bit of a deer in the headlights look and she quickly continued that there were parts of the spa where bathing suits were fine. Well, it was quite obvious to me where I would be spending my afternoon.

Everything was fine, dandy, and modest until we somehow took a wrong turn towards the saunas and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a bunch of penises. My mouth immediately dropped open and my eyes darted upwards like the 12 year old I am and I tried to turn in another direction, but no matter which way I turned I was met with the same view. Naked people (mostly men), in their birthday suits. There was no escaping it and it was quickly becoming obvious that this was to be our experience at the spa. Even when we ventured inside to more whirpools and saunas and tried to pretend we were the unassuming Americans that just "forgot" to remove our suits, we were quickly reprimanded and told we must undress or go back to where they were currently holding the water aerobics class.

So, undress we did. However, I did my best to keep my towel secured and near me at all times. And to be honest, I didn't so much care about the strangers--although it was a bit creepy considering the men to women ratio was not that equal--but moreso my buddies. Why that is weird to me I have no idea. I kept up the charade until I tried to relax in the sauna and quickly realized that there is nothing natural or relaxing about being in a ridiculously hot sauna with a huge towel wrapped around you. I was suffocating and making myself miserable just so I wouldn't have to expose my bum to a stranger that had no problem exposing their bum to me! So off the towel came. Only in the dark sauna of course, but hey, it's a start.

Am I a prude? Would you have felt comfortable bearing it all in the name of relaxation?

Personal Space

I've become very accustomed to dealing with different cultures. I realize that oftentimes the way things are done back home, and expectations that we carry with us, don't always work in other parts of the world. But one thing that still continues to irk me is personal space. Scratch that, the idea of personal space, rather. It just doesn't exist in some places. And try as I might, I just can't get comfortable with people all up in my grill, so to speak. If we are in line, I don't need you breathing down my neck and taking two steps to my every one. If you need to tell me something, it's not going to be better understood the closer you get to my face. In fact, I'm actually finding it very hard to concentrate because I've now stopped the desire to breathe.

Well, this whole issue reached new heights for me on my flight home from Morocco the other day. I was flying Air Maroc, so the assumption that I was going to be in the minority was a done deal. The only plan I had for this flight, however, was to sleep. Not much else mattered. So I really tried to keep my cool during the check-in process as I was cut in front of, had my toe run over by a suitcase, and was yelled at for not taking two steps forward during passport checks. I mean, really?!! Does it matter if I move the two steps now when there is about 87 people still ahead of me? But whatever.

None of those things bothered me as much as my experience once I actually boarded the plane. I had the window--the middle seat was occupied by an older muslim woman. She claimed both arm rests right away. That wouldn't be such a problem normally, but in this particular plane the seats were so close together and space was so limited, that by her claiming the armrest on my side, she also overflowed into my seat. So to compensate, I tried to angle myself sideways. This was the state in which I began what I hoped to be a pleasant 3 hour nap. Apparently not, though. I started my journey by turning off my air conditioning vent so that i would be able to use my sweatshirt as a pillow. Imagine my surprise when I wake up chilly because miss lady next to me has opened my vent back up. Really? You do that here? Isn't that why we all have our own? It's really not my fault you have 10 layers of clothes on and are extra hot on the plane, but apparently I'm supposed to be mindful of that. Not soon after I feel pressure on my leg. The woman is literally trying to force my leg to move with pressure from her leg. So you've taken my arm space and now you want my leg space too?! Fine, you can have it. I close my eyes to continue my nap and not soon after I just get this feeling that something isn't right. I open my eyes and the lady is leaning over me to look out the window. It was as if I wasn't even there! I couldn't believe it. If you wanted a window seat, you should have asked for it like I did.

I'm pretty sure all my muttering under my breath and rolling my eyes didn't do a ton of good. We don't speak the same language, we have different ideas of what's acceptable, and the fact that I couldn't sleep peacefully on my flight meant nothing to her. So I figured I would complain to you, instead. Does anyone else experience this phenomena when traveling abroad?

American Perspectives

Americans think we’re the best at everything. Did you not know that? If you do something different than us, you do it wrong. I witness this all the time while traveling with my American counterparts in countries all over the world. We love to complain when things are different than how we are used to and we are at a loss at why the rest of the world just doesn’t get it. Because we spend so much of our time at hotels while at competitions, this is prime setting for complaints. But I’ve started thinking...what if we are the ones who have it backwards?!

Dear fellow Americans, perhaps we should take a closer look at a few of these things and contemplate how we might be looking at it all wrong. You might be surprised the next time you travel how much it all seems to make sense if you just take a slightly different perspective. Maybe they’re the ones who have it right…

*no washcloths: The World is going green and it’s leaving America behind. No, European hotels don’t have washcloths, and if you think about it, it makes perfect sense. They’re saving tons of gallons of water each and every day by not having to wash them. I mean, it’s not like I roll around in sand and am covered in dirt when I take a shower. Oh wait…

*mini beds placed two inches apart from each other: It’s a great way to get to know someone on a personal level. I also think it’s brilliant when you think for a second that you’ve been given a room with one big bed but in fact, all you need to do is pull the two twin beds apart and voila!

*Incomplete shower doors and/or curtains: I’m not totally sure about this one, but I’d like to take a wild guess and say that maybe you can also wash the bathroom floor the same time you’re washing your body. Or an impromptu game of slip and slide?

*Runny eggs: We must be cooking our eggs too long in America. It was meant to be a soup and we’ve ruined it by scrambling the heck out of them and boiling them far too long.

*room temperature, shot glass drinks: I’ve always thought that the Big Gulp was a monstrosity. I’ve learned now that all you really need is a swig or two before your meal gets to the table. Just wet your palette and be done with it. Come on, we all know that .2l wasn’t meant to be enjoyed with your meal…it’s just an appetizer. Anything more and you’d probably spoil your appetite anyway.

*no lifts (aka elevators): It’s true. We are lazy. But sometimes I think I deserve a bit of laziness when I’m carrying a 50 lb bag. Oh well, I’ll just relax when I get to my room and turn on the AC. Oh wait…nevermind. :/


Have I converted any Yanks? Anything I left out? Any Europeans want to co-sign on my observations?

Diamonds and Chitlins

The European Circuit covers a wide spectrum of meets. The top tiered meets are now part of The Diamond League Series and in this series you’re awarded points for finishing first, second, and third. The eight people with the most points at the end get to participate in the Diamond League final that happens at the end of August. But of course there are other meets to participate in as well. Some of these meets are really nice with great accommodations, food that is edible, and in cities you can find on a map. Some others…not so much. Among ourselves, we call these bottom level meets the Chitlin Circuit.

I’ve done my share of bottom level meets over the years and let’s just say it makes you grateful for high thread count sheets and discernable meat. This year though, I’ve been able to participate in all the Diamond League meets that have had my event and have done well enough to be tied for 1st in the points thus far. I was looking forward to the next Diamond League meet, in Paris, where my leg would be feeling a little bit better and I’d have a few more days of recovery under my belt. But it seems I have a case of counting chickens before they’re hatched apparently. I mistakenly thought that my performances so far this season, along with my place in the points race would guarantee me a spot in the meet. But no.

They’ve put me on a waitlist. That’s basically the same as sitting at home on a Friday night waiting for your phone to ring around 8pm for dinner plans. It sucks, and you know you’re better than that, but you keep your phone in clear view at all times anyway. (I’m totally kidding…ladies, don’t EVER accept dinner plans the night of.) I’m well aware of the fact that I should be in the meet and if I pleaded my case to you here, you’d completely agree with me. But that isn’t the way our world works sometimes. For all the objectivity that comes with the sport of track and field, there is a lot of subjectivity at play.

So not only do I not have a chance to compete in Paris for good prize money, try and earn more points to guarantee myself a spot in the Diamond League final, and eat wonderful French cuisine, I must pack my bags and take a 4:30 am flight to a city I would never be able to find on a map. In fact, I’m not even sure of the country. But I’ll be there…competing for peanuts.

If you can’t tell, I’m a little bitter about this whole situation. But if I’m being honest (and I try very hard to do so on this blog, if you couldn’t tell), it’s simply a case of me being dealt the bad hand this time. Yes, this time I “deserve” it, but has there been times when I was in top meets when other, more deserving jumpers sat at home? Probably. It doesn’t make me feel any better about it, but I guess that’s just life sometimes. I just want to compete at my best against the best jumpers in the world. But it seems that’s going to have to wait a while.

EDIT TO ADD: seems I just might be going to Paris afterall... OUI!!

Fish Day

Upon arrival in St. Martin yesterday, our host and meet director wanted to help us experience his island. Unfortunately for us, Carnival had ended the week prior… but we did happen to be just in time for Fish Day! “What is Fish Day”, you ask? Well when I first heard him say it I just figured I was having trouble understanding exactly what he was saying and that it was some loose Caribbean term for the festival we were supposed to be going to. But it turns out the festival is all about fish. These people go all Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. on you and devote an entire festival to the preparation and eating of every type of fish imaginable. And you can have it fried…bbq’ed…steamed…stewed…trust me, the possibilities are endless. Being the adventurous person I am, I had some shrimp skewers. There is just something about a fish that seems to be looking at me from the plate that gives me the heebie-jeebies.




I tried to capture a bit of video of the day and wanted to share it with you. A couple of things you will notice upon viewing, though. For starters, I really need to read an “Editing Video for Dummies” book, stat. I also need to ban the word awesome from my vocabulary. I’m not a surfer but it seems I want to be.

I Hate Flying

I know. Hate is such a strong word. And I really don’t like to use it in an undeserving context, but right now I can’t help but feel that it’s totally appropriate. I hate flying. Just the mere thought of boarding a plane gives me a headache. Which is probably why I’m sitting here right now with a pounding one. (Either that, or the fact that I’ve only had one cup of coffee). Tonight I get back on a plane to travel during the night all the way to Guadaloupe. I can’t even tell you exactly where that’s at, except that I know it takes a little over four hours from Miami to get there.

Originally I was supposed to leave last night so I could arrive a little earlier and get settled. But once I returned from Africa, I just knew I had to buy myself another day in my own bed. That last trip I did was monstrous and it definitely did a number on me. I am a frequent flyer for sure, but that round trip in a blink of an eye with multiple days of sleep lost had its way with me. And you want to know what made it 10 times worse? The sweet gentleman I had the pleasure of sitting next to.

The flight I boarded in Senegal was in transit from South Africa and pretty full already. But when I began my walk towards the back, I heard the coughing before I even saw the source. And when I got closer and realized it was coming from my row, I shuddered. He was coughing up substance, I’m sure. He was nice enough to use a handkerchief but what good does that do, really? This man was at least 90 years old so I tried my best to be kind and smile, but the smile was not returned. Nor was there a respect for personal space. He continued to lift the armrest so he could stretch out his bad hip and give himself some more room. Sure, I feel sorry that he had a bad hip and the fact that he was probably extremely uncomfortable being 90 years old and stuck on a plane for 20 hours, but that’s not my problem. He also completely invaded my nostrils. It was a constant flow of unpleasant and downright putrid smells coming from his direction the entire time. So much so that at one point I used my eye mask to cover my nose instead.

So right now I’m not a fan of planes or their passengers. I am dreading tonight’s trip but staying home doesn’t get the bills paid. Please pray that the seat next to me is either empty or occupied by Channing Tatum’s long lost twin.

Jetlagged

I like telling people how jetlagged I am after I travel. I suppose I’m trying to elicit sympathy or something. But then it occurred to me that there are probably many people out there that have never actually experienced jetlag. I throw around that word freely because many people in my circle know exactly what I’m talking about and have experienced it firsthand many, many times. For the rest of you though, I would say this: you may think you know, but you have no idea…

I remember, before I used to travel through time zones like I was passing through neighborhoods, thinking that jetlag was just feeling a bit tired and sleepy at the wrong time of day. Sure, that’s part of it but that explanation merely scratches the surface. Let me try and explain in better detail…

When you travel to the other side of the globe, you try your best to stay up until normal bedtime. This is a feat in and of itself. Every fiber of your being is telling you to close your eyes and succumb to mother nature, but you fight it and force your eyelids back open after every blink. I’ve been known to play games with myself and treat myself to an extra long blink. Usually this will end up in a 20-minute catnap that I snap out of and have to go splash my face with cold water.

When you finally do get to lay your head down on the pillow, it’s the best feeling in the world. Seriously. It’s like euphoria. You know how sometimes you get a really strong urge to thank God for the little things in life that you tend to overlook? This is one of those moments. I’m usually one of those people who toss and turn and have about 14 internal conversations before I can fall asleep, but nights like these I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.

It is the best. Sleep. Ever. And it lasts for probably about 3 hours. 4 if you’re lucky. And it’s not as if you groggily roll over and slowly slit your eyelids to look at the clock. You are wide-awake without the slightest hint of sleepiness in your body. If you try and close your eyes again, you’re simply using way too many eye muscles to keep them shut and your body is telling you it’s futile anyway. You’re up. And you know what else you are? Starving! I’m talking about hunger pains that dig deep into your soul and make funny noises that you want to blame on someone else. I’m a ravenous beast when I wake up from these types of slumbers.

Mornings like these can be the most productive of your life, especially if you aren’t used to being a morning person. I get my best cleaning done and have arrived to the grocery store before it even opened. It’s a good thing too because by late afternoon you are almost a useless human being. The tiredness will hit you like a ton of bricks. Actually, it’s more like the bricks are piled neatly on top of your skull and every 30 minutes another one is added. Oh…and you feel nauseous.

Now it’s just a waiting game. You try to outlast your crushing skull and the feelings of dizziness because you know if you just stay strong, you can beat this monster in a couple days and go back to being a productive member of society the whole day through. I’m on Day 2.

If you’ve experienced jetlag, how would you describe it? Anything I left out? Am I just a big baby or is this pretty accurate?

Dining in Doha

Eating in foreign countries is always an adventure. Coming to Qatar, many athletes weren't really sure what to expect, accept that we knew there would be no bacon served. Being that many of us had our prelims early in the morning, breakfast was a must. The following video takes you on a tour of the dining room during breakfast, as well as the subsequent measures taken when what is offered simply won't get the job done. Enjoy...

I'm in Doha

I made it to Doha! But really, if you told me I had woke up in a part of Los Angeles I had never visited before, I would have believed that too. Well…except for the men in dresses. Other than that though, not much is different out here in the Middle East. In walking distance from our hotel is every luxury from home you can imagine. Starbucks, Dairy Queen, Pizza Hut, TGIFridays, Radio Shack…the list goes on and on. We simply can’t leave any part of the world un-McDonaldized.

In an effort to bring something new and fresh to this blog, as well as familiarize some of you who may not know some of the stars of this sport too well, I’m going to be conducting a series of short spotlight type interviews to be featured all next week. What it won’t be is a schmoozy NBC type interview, with blah questions and anything resembling what Bob Costas might ask.

If you have any suggestions or questions you’re just dying to know, feel free to share them with me before I get started. But nobody cares when he or she started running track or what Tuesday’s practice looked like, so keep it interesting! This is, after all, a fabulous blog, and it must live up to its reputation!

Missing the Mark

I’d like to say it was the 22 hours of travel…Or the fact that I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time since Wednesday. There are certainly very legitimate reasons why I didn’t feel at my best today and why I felt just a little disconnected the whole meet. Those two previous things could very well have something to do with it…or they could not. Either way it doesn’t matter. Sometimes we don’t compete as well as we’d like to. Such is life. Such is sport.

It wasn’t a terrible day at the office. I still did manage to jump 6.52m (21’5), but I felt like I had a lot of missed opportunities. I only had two fair jumps out of six. That’s not a great ratio. Especially since I ran through without jumping twice (along with two fouls). Russia is a long way to travel for two fair jumps, especially since there were better jumps waiting to make an appearance. (I just have a feeling!) Granted, tonight might not have been the night for me to jump a PB for the win, but I still would have loved to have a better showing. And in case you were wondering…the Russians went 1, 2, 3. I can’t tell you which Russians, necessarily, because it seems they’re always new ones popping up, especially at meets in Russia. They jump super far, sometimes they stick around, and sometimes they don’t. Just know that if they’re from Russia, they will know how to jump!

And in case you were wondering, I did find another videographer for the meet, although I hated to replace my old one. He was great…he just needs some more practice. There is a lot going on so it’s a little hard to see everything, but here is one of my jumps where I actually jumped. Of course, it could have been one of my fouls…who knows.