...madness came to town

This is a sordid tale of debauchery and insanity. Okay, maybe it's not that bad but it was pretty crazy. The year was... uh... 2013? Yeah, that sounds about right. I was studying in Japan and I think it was some time in October. Now, during the Fall semester I was a good girl. I walked around town like a tourist, tried to take as much of the culture in as possible and rarely went to any parties. I'm not a big party girl anyway and it was a new country, new people, new everything - I just didn't feel comfortable going to parties with people I hardly knew. Still, once I started warming up to everyone I felt that I should put in more of an effort to connect to people and socialize. So when someone brought up the idea of going to KC bar for a night out, I decided to join.

I had no idea what or where KC bar was or why it was so important but it seemed as if almost everyone was going and I felt I would regret passing it up. So when the day finally arrived I slipped on my little black dress (yes, the one with the zipper in the front), put on my red high heels (that I'd never worn before) and headed to the rooftop to hang out with the others and have a few drinks. I realized soon enough that wearing new shoes had been a giant mistake because they kept coming off and were not very easy to walk in but I'd already committed to it and was too proud to change.

I got to the bar ok - my legs weren't killing me yet - and was shocked to realize that the entrance fee was I think 2000 yen (or about... 17 euros at the time?). It seemed a lot but then we found out it was for a 2 hour all-you-can-drink. I was relatively new to the nomihodai concept so that seemed amazing (I had yet to discover places that had 6 hour or unlimited nomihodai for almost the same price) and I jumped at the idea, finding a nice place at the bar and ordering my first cocktails. I don't even remember what I ordered but it doesn't even matter. What matters is that I got my drink in record time and decided to order another right away. And then another. And another. They just kept coming and it seemed I'd found the perfect place for ordering: right in front of the bartender.

The first hour passed in a blur. I realized I was tipsy but I wasn't flat out drunk. I could still hold my balance while standing up and knew what was going on around me. After a while I decided to go dancing, squeezing through a mass of people to find a spot on the dance floor. It was pretty much impossible. The club was so small and there were way too many people around so that at first I ended up squished against the wall, almost unable to move. I decided to find another spot. I joined a group of friends and started dancing, certain I'd found a suitable spot. But as more people joined I ended up inching backwards bit by bit until I realized that I was dancing while basically sitting on a table at the same time. I was so far up that only one leg reached the floor. Time to move again.

My third attempt at dancing worked out great at first. I tried to find a spot in the middle of the dance floor and succeeded... until someone decided that it was a great idea to gather a bunch of people and put a hula hoop (that Mary had brought from home) around the whole group... and dance like that. I didn't want to be a part of the hula hoop group so I ended up getting pushed to the side of the room again. At first I didn't mind. The music was great, I was feeling the beat and I had a little bit of room to work with. But for some strange reason I kept getting pulled backwards and I felt like there was someone behind me. That couldn't be, though: I was right against the couch that was lining the wall... Oh... wait...

I turned around only to find that I'd been involuntarily giving a lap dance to some random Japanese guy sitting on the couch. He looked like he'd been enjoying himself but I felt awkward (and slightly violated) nonetheless. It was time to move again... and this time I felt like I needed a breath of fresh air. I headed out into the corridor only to almost stumble on a girl laying on the ground, barely moving. The small sober part of my brain was worried. Was she even alive? She was on her side, facing the wall and there were two other exchange students around her, trying to get her up. A part of me felt like I should help... and another part said I was too drunk to do anything even remotely helpful. I would just get in the way. And besides, there was already someone else pulling me toward the elevator, making it much easier to decide what to do.

A moment later I was outside. The air was nice and cool and I could finally move freely again. I was out of the stuffy loud hell that was the bar. I mean, it was nice and all but I could already feel myself getting tired of the loud noise, the smell of cigarettes and all of the sweaty people rubbing against me. I was enjoying some peace and fresh air when Mary came down as well, holding her broken-looking hula hoop and looking pretty broken herself. Apparently her LED hula hoop had cost quite the pretty penny and those drunk bastards in the club had basically broken it. She was desperately trying to put it back together but it just wasn't happening and she was pretty devastated. 

As I was trying to think of ways to comfort her, a large portion of our group started to shuffle out of the club. Apparently the party was over: the drinks had stopped coming and it was time to head home. Sadly, not all of us were in the condition to take the train. I saw one of our tallest male exchange students carried out between two small girls with a plastic bag in front of his face, hanging on to his ears like a feeding bag for horses. He got shoved into a taxi with the girls. And the girl who was passed out in the hallway? She got carried out over someone's shoulder, all while her friend was cursing, scratching and biting the ones trying to help her. Or was she the one doing the biting? Anyway, as I found out later, one of the girls managed to leave teeth marks on one guy's arm and the other one's chest... She made up for it later though by taking everyone who had helped her out to dinner. 

Compared to a lot of others, I actually felt like I was doing ok. I joined the group heading for the last train and got home safe and sound, all on my own... or well, I was kind of holding on to Alicea in the subway but that was mostly because it had become really difficult to walk in my heels.  The next morning we discovered that by some miracle everyone had made it home safe and sound and no one had gotten alcohol poisoning. And Mary had even managed to repair her hula hoop, using a pair of chopsticks. Sure, some of us had thrown up on the way home and someone put their phone into their mailbox. But hey, nobody needed to be taken to the hospital! And we were all still friends. Even the people involved in the biting-incident. Moral of the story is: never give exchange students access to unlimited alcohol. Especially tequila. They just don't know how to hold back. But also: giving exchange students access to unlimited alcohol makes for a pretty memorable night. 

We went to the same bar one other time. Was it as crazy as the first time? Well... not really. No one needed a plastic bag strapped to their face after leaving... but someone did lose their scarf that magically appeared in a playground the next day. But that's a story for another day. 

...purple latex-pandas got me through the half-marathon

This weekend I ran my second half-marathon. And survived. Obviously... Why did I decide to do it? Honestly, I don't even know. Temporary madness, I guess. Okay, so I'd done it before - more than a year ago - so I was pretty sure I'd be able to handle it but after registering for the distance I realized that I was probably overestimating myself. I wasn't in as good a shape as last year and even though I still went running 2-3 times a week, I wasn't as into it as a year before. See, the first time I decided to run the half marathon I had a lot of free time on my hands and I used that time to train. At least twice a week I would run 10-14 km and my regular running path was at least 8 km long. I was feeling pretty confident that I'd be able to handle 21 km.

This year was different however. I managed to injure myself sometime in March and couldn't run for weeks. Even after I started again it wasn't the same. I would get out of breath after 30 minutes, I would stop every time my legs started to feel sore and after getting a job I didn't really have that much time to go out and run. I was not the same person that I had been a year ago. I was slower, had less stamina and gave up way too easily. I knew for a fact that I was in a much worse shape because a month before the half marathon I decided do go on a 10 k run... and it was hell. It was excruciating and I felt like quitting every minute and after it was over I was ready to sleep for a week. So why in the world did I choose to run the half marathon again? I guess I just wanted to prove to myself that I still had it...

A few days before the run I started to get nervous. I hadn't run more than 10 km for over a year and now I was going to run twice that? It seemed insane... but I had no other choice. There was no backing out anymore - I needed to do this. Whether I managed to do it without stopping halfway through was another matter completely.

The day arrived, I gathered my stuff and headed to Tallinn. I was still pretty sure I wouldn't be able to run the whole thing - I would probably have to walk a little bit, maybe stop for water - but I would get over the finish line eventually. And hey, there were a few good things about the whole ordeal: the weather was nice and warm (maybe even too warm), I would get a medal for finishing (and I do love getting medals) and at least this got me out of the house. Otherwise I would have spent the entire Sunday on my couch, watching TV... which actually sounded wonderful...

In the starting corridor I felt like everybody around me looked so much more prepared for this. 'I can do this,' I mentally told myself, 'The weather is nice, I have enough energy and I'm totally... not ready for this... but I can do it!' Then came the loud bang that announced the start of the run and I... slowly shuffled forward. We all did. At least those of us that were somewhere in the middle. The guys in the front probably tore off running but me and the rest of us 'middle class runners' just slowly walked for the first few minutes of the run. Well, whatever. At least it gave me a few more moments to mentally prepare myself.

A few moments later the crowd started moving faster and the run started for real. And it was great! Just as I started running the perfect song came on in my playlist and I felt full of energy as I watched all the people around me cheering us on, waving and jumping around. There were so many colors around me, the city was full of life, the scenery was amazing and after the first kilometer or so the road went downhill, making the run so much easier than I had expected. I honestly felt like a million bucks and I was certain that I could do this now. We ran through the city, passed the old town and its medieval buildings, turned toward the sea and ran through a beautiful park. Everything seemed perfect! It wasn't too hot or too cold and looking at the sea made me feel calm and energized.

I took this time to observe my surroundings and people around me. On runs like this I usually try to find one person that is just a tiny bit faster than me and 'follow them' - not like a stalker or anything but I find that it's easier to keep going and push yourself if you act like you're trying to keep up with someone. I started looking for that person. There was a girl in front of me with a shirt saying 'Pain is temporary, glory is forever'. I liked that motto and thought it would give me enough motivation for the entire run. As it turned out, however, I was a bit too fast and before I knew it I'd already passed the girl. Oh well, time to find another victim.

And then I saw it: purple latex-pandas. There was some guy in front of me wearing a purple T-shirt with 'Purple Latex-Pandas' written on it and a picture of a pirate-y looking panda underneath the writing. Well... that was... something... I was confused, to say the least, and a bit curious. Was it some sort of sports team? A club? Some kind of... company? I had no idea. But it had caught my attention and I couldn't take my eyes off it. So Mr. 'Purple Latex-Pandas' became my new target. And it worked out pretty well, for most of the time. The guy was slightly faster than me and I had to push myself to keep up with him. I had some sort of motivation to keep going. Every time I thought about slowing down I kept repeating 'Hey, but Purple Latex-Pandas aren't slowing down' and just kept on trucking.

Now, the track was completely new for me - I hadn't run there before but looking at the map beforehand I had a rough idea where we were going and when we had to turn back. That being said, I discovered that I had slightly underestimated how long 21 km really was. At one point I felt like it was already time for the track to turn and start looping back but it just kept going and going and going and going... By that time my initial euphoria and optimism had started to fade and I began feeling the pain in my legs, the sweat on my skin and the burning sun on my back. Still, the first half of the run was relatively pain-free. It wasn't after I started running back that things got a lot harder. The sun was in my face now, there was no shade and I was getting hotter and thirstier every second. I tried to ignore everything and keep going but the longer I ran the more people started to annoy me.

See, it's nice and all that there were people cheering us on, coming to support their loved ones and all that jazz but honestly, after a while you start hating it. Why? Imagine running for over an hour and still having a long way ahead of you - you're dehydrated, tired, sweaty and in pain. And then there's a group of people standing on the sidelines going 'Come on! Faster! You can do it! Just push through it! Go, go, go!'

'Faster'?! 'Push through it'? YOU WANNA COME DOWN HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE?! I physically can't go faster!!! Do you even know what I've been through?! If you want me to go faster then come down here and carry me! I'm half dead here! You think I can do it? You know nothing, Jon Snow! Really, though, in the beginning it's pretty nice to have people cheering you on but after a while, when you're slowly dying from fatigue and you're whole body feels like a ton of bricks, you don't want people screaming at you to go faster. At least I don't. It was exceptionally bad at the finish line when people were yelling for me to go faster. 'Just one last push!', 'Go for it!', 'You're almost there - give it your all now!'. Yeah, thing is, I'd already given it my all. I had no energy to go faster. And the last few hundred meters was an uphill run so I felt that if I were to push myself even a tiny bit more I would probably just end up on the ground before even reaching the finish line. So I kept on trucking at my usual pace and survived the run... without having to walk or stop once. I was pretty happy with myself. Sure, my legs felt like I had concrete shoes on and I'd basically forgotten how to flex my knees (walking downstairs was almost impossible) but I had set a personal record and gotten a huge medal... for participation... but whatever, a medal is a medal, even when it's only for participation.

So, am I going to do it again? Probably. I will probably hate every second of it but I'll still do it. Just to show myself that I can. Besides, if I keep on training I might eventually realize my dream of running the half marathon in under two hours. Wouldn't that be neat...

...I became an adult... I think...

A few weeks ago I moved into my new apartment. My new home for the next year at least - possibly even longer. My first 'real' apartment, so to speak. See, when my sister finished high school and went to the university, our parents bought an apartment in Tartu. They figured that since both of their children would be studying there, it would be easier to just buy a place where we could live while we were studying. Dorm life didn't sound too appealing for either me or my sister and renting a place would, in the long run, cost more than buying an apartment. So, when I left my childhood home I didn't really feel like I'd grown up much because I was still living in a place that my parents were paying for. Fast forward several years: I'd just gotten my physiotherapy degree and moved away from Tartu, to a little town called Haapsalu. I needed a place to stay and a colleague of mine offered up her own place - she was moving out in August. I jumped at the offer and before I knew it, I had my first 'real' apartment.

Yes, I realize the place doesn't really belong to me but it's the first time I have to pay for it all on my own. Moving in was... great, in a way. I felt like I finally had a chance to personalize the whole place, make it suit my needs and make it look just the way I wanted. I was downright giddy at the idea. And on the other hand... it was pretty excruciating. My apartment is on the 4th floor... and I had a lot of stuff. Let me tell you: it is not much fun running up and down the stairs about eight times, carrying boxes and suitcases and everything else I'd decided to bring from Tartu. The last batch of stuff was the worst: I was already tired and then had to carry two dumbbells in one hand (total weight around 9 kg) and a gigantic squash in the other (thanks, grandma!). I must have looked ridiculous.

After getting all of my stuff to the apartment, I spent the better part of the evening just unpacking and making everything look neat. Took me a while but by the next day everything was set up the way I wanted. As I was drinking coffee on my balcony and looking down onto the playground, it hit me: 'Oh, shit! I think I might be an adult!'

I remember watching TV shows as a teenager where the main character was a strong independent single woman, living in a one bedroom apartment - she would drink wine while cooking, sing along to her favorite songs and had to handle everything on her own. I was that woman now. Dancing in my livingroom like an idiot just because I could, singing while cooking dinner and throwing my purse onto the couch as soon as I got home. Just because there was no one around to stop me. I didn't have to worry about anyone walking in and giving me a disapproving stare while I was trying (and failing) to do yoga in front of the TV. I could leave my stuff lying around without fearing it would get in the way of someone. I was free... and it was a bit terrifying.

I know a lot of people reading this are going to be like: 'Wait... aren't you like 26? It took you this long to become an adult?!' Yes. Yes it did. I took my sweet time because at one point in my adolescent life I realized that this is as good as it gets - once you become a real adult, life just gets way more complicated. There are bills and loans and rent and you can't run to your parents whenever something doesn't go as planned. I mean, you could but it would just be a childish thing to do. As an adult you kind of have to take care of yourself - otherwise you're just a pseudo-adult. Almost there but not quite.

After realizing that this was it - I was finally becoming an independent adult - I was kind of... confused. I mean, I knew that technically I was an adult. I met the requirements: I was old enough, had a steady job, an apartment, bills to pay... but I didn't really feel like an adult. I still felt like a kid, standing on the shoulders of another kid, wearing an adult-sized jacket and trying to pretend to be a grownup to get into the movies. I honestly don't have a clue how to be an adult. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Am I doing something wrong? How would I know? How do the other adults manage to make adulting seem so simple? Do they know something I don't? How are they so... confident and at ease with everything? I still feel like I have no idea what's going on. And then there are teenagers who look at me and think I've got my shit together. I don't! I honestly don't! My shit is scattered all over the place and I don't even know where most of it is. Are other adults as clueless as I am? Or did I just miss some sort of weird adulting-course that everybody but me is aware of? 

I am financially independent, working a full-time job, I try to take responsibility for my actions, I don't look to my parents to solve my problems - yeah, seems like it's all there. But why don't I feel like an adult? Is it something that comes in time? Or does being an adult mean that you're just a kid in disguise? The more I think about it, the more I lean toward option two. 

Still, for a moment there I was aware of the fact that I'd grown up. I wasn't a kid anymore. I am... a strong independent woman who don't need no man. And fueled by that thought I tidied up the apartment and took a shower. As I was stepping out I noticed that a small puddle of soapy water had formed on the floor in front of the washing machine. Ah, another problem for Adult-Grete to solve! Taking the shower head I pointed it toward the puddle to 'clean it up'... and successfully ended up flooding my entire bathroom... Nice going, Adult-Grete! Real sound thinking there! 

Adulting is hard よ.