Insomnia, Iceland and Life in General

On recent occasion, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll tell you why. I’ve been waking up in the middle night, and not to pee, which is not my normal pattern. Usually I can sleep through the night. Or rather, I am being woken up in the middle of the night. By pop songs. In my head. The song is so loud that it wakes me up. One night it was Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Another night it was Tik Tok by Ke$ha. I can usually go right back to sleep but it’s a little disturbing to wake-up at four am with “Tick tock on the clock/But the party don’t stop, no.” echoing in my head. And then when I wake-up the song usually sticks around for the first couple hours before evaporating. Much like the Italian I studied the night before usually does. I haven’t been able to find a reason for what’s happening (admittedly my research amounts to me writing this sentence) so let me know your theories.

About 16 minutes ago it was sunny with blue skies and playful, fluffy clouds. Spring innocence personified. In the past three minutes, gallons of gray paint were splashed across the heavens, heavy thunder grumbled forth and it’s now raining biblically. The locals say we’ve had an unusually cool and wet spring. This is my first spring in Ancona so I’m not going to argue. For me it’s been a lot like Portland is this time of year so I haven’t really noticed. Because of the sea, it’s a lot more salty and humid here, the kind of weather we call swampy or muggy and the Italians call afoso. I blame the volcano.

Speaking of blaming the volcano, Raimondo received a 28-hour train ride as a present from said volcano. He was in Berlin for work last week and his return flight was cancelled due to the “plume of ash”. Rather than wait to see if he could make it onto a flight the next morning (which in hindsight he should have) he boarded the train which took him through Munich, Austria, Venice, and Bologna before finally arriving in Ancona.

Speaking of Raimondo, I did something stupid Tuesday night. I went running. With Raimondo. (The running part was stupid; running with Raimondo was actually quite smart.) He has been training for a race in June and has been running a couple times a week for the last few months. Last night I decided to join him. He has also been doing curls using his bed as a weight to build arm strength. I decided not to join him for that. I’ve been inspired to run by his workouts, the fact that I don’t have a bike yet and by my sister’s amazing exploits. But let’s be clear, eight months in Italy where I’ve run once, done a fair bit of walking, and spent 13 days snowboarding leaves me ill suited to any sort of running.

A really long time ago I used to be a runner. A pretty good one too. But that was 15 pouds and years ago and I am not a runner anymore even if the zit popping adolescent in my head keeps insisting I am and peer pressures me into overdoing it whenever I start-up again. However, running with Raimondo helped me avoid my typical routine which includes telling myself such motivational bon mots as “ok, on this next hill we’re really going to push it”, and “c’mon wuss, is that all you got”, and “your breathing sounds like a walrus in heat”. He set the perfect, steady pace and by following him I was able to go for about 45 minutes, feel good the whole time and avoid the usual litany of pains that normally accompany my runs after a prolonged hiatus. Wednesday morning I was able to walk upright and contemplate the idea of another run next month. Along the trail where we were running were some bushes with little white flowers. Raimondo said they were edible and ate a few of them as we were running. Later that night he suffered a pretty severe case of what we’ll politely call “severe white flower stomach distress” so guess who I’m not going to trust for survival advice if we’re ever lost in the woods?

I went running again Thursday night, by myself, and again avoided maiming myself. I did however notice a weird phenomenon. My back fat started itching. After about 10 minutes I had a distinct itching sensation in the back fat region. Is this common?

Make a note: His race is in June and is on trampoli (stilts)! Apparently, millions of years ago or something there was a flood in his town and the men used stilts to ward off evil eels or carry bread cross the river or fight a battle. I’m a bit hazy on the details, but ever since, the town has had a festival each year and the festival features this race on stilts to commemorate (mock?) their brave ancestors. Like I said, I’m hazy on the details. The race is a 200 meter sprint and I think beer is included but maybe just for the spectators. Last year Raimondo finished dead last in a field that included a few eight year olds and a grandma with one leg who hopped the whole way. So this year he is on strict training plan including the above mentioned bed lifts, and is adamant about beating at least the eight year olds. I’ll report back as the hilarity ensues.