Little thoughts for a big 2012

So, we are over the bump that turns one year into another and here are some thoughts already on 2012 and what might be in store.

Fireworks

If you did not see London's New Year's Eve fireworks display, I urge you to watch them - there is a version here. They had us gobsmacked and forgetting to drink our champers. They also gave me goosebumps. Not just because they are fireworks and I turn into a kid around them; but also because this city gave such an amazing show anyone not excited about the coming Olympics this year in London must be living in a ravioli (stolen Argentine idiom).

Weather

The week prior to New Year, I spent skiing in the Alps. One day, as I had to rest a pulled Achilles, I was on the balcony of our apartment sunning myself in just a towel. Two days later we were skiing in such snow and cloud, we couldn't see from pole to pole going down the piste. And the temperature had obviously nose-dived. The first day of 2012 here was grey with torrential rain. My pots are flooded, yet my bird bath has filled up nicely. The second day of 2012 had bright sunshine and blue skies - a perfect winter's day.

I guess it's like my grandma always says: "You just can't predict the weather in this area." Or anywhere, anymore.

Marriage

Today I found out that one of my friend has got engaged. And with our wedding at the end of this year in Argentina; and being bridesmaid for another friend in October, there is a whole lot of wedding planning, talking, decisions and excitement to be had.

Of course, a wedding has nothing to do with a marriage, and I am sure that during the course of the year, we will lay even stronger foundations so that our wedding day will be the start of a long, happy and healthy marriage.

Olympics

I have been accepted as a London 2012 Games Maker, one of the 70,000 volunteers who will help in some way to run the show. I am really excited; I twitch just thinking about it. I've got my training for my Spectater Entry post at the Athlete's Village next month. Bring it on.

The Run of a Lifetime

In 33 days, I will be having my last sleep in a tent with my friend Maria before we set off on Cruce de los Andes.

Legs will burn, blisters will pop. Stomachs will churn, bums will flop. Sights will reveal, faces will grin. Fatigue will heal, hearts will win.

Happy New Year

Busy, engaged

I recently, happily and surprisingly got engaged to my boyfriend during a trip to Berlin. He popped the question when I least expected it with a gorgeous ring I now feel naked without while it gets resized.

It's been an interesting first couple of engaged weeks: how people react (or don't), how people work invites to the wedding into their emails and conversations; and how some people just can't stop themselves asking questions there is no way I'll have the answer to even days before my wedding.

There's also the change in name. Boyfriend sounds fun, alive and there; fiancée sounds serious, foreign (pun intended) and waaaay up there. It's something I think only the two of use should say to each other. As well as the rest of the wedding details and ideas, can they not just stay between us?

Some of my best work has been done at 4am under pressure, can we not just have fun planning the honeymoon and worry about guests later?

For good measure and to check we were on the same page, Martín asked me in English and in Spanish. Luckily I said yes to both. Later, it made me chuckle:

What did the big telephone say to the little telephone? You're too young to be engaged!

I've had a little fun with that, and tried to do the same in Spanish. Doesn't work. In Spanish, if someone is already talking on the phone, they are 'ocupado' - busy.

Read that again. Busy.

Now all these questions make sense. There are lists and colours and designers and invites and dates and flights and food and music and more flights and rooms and photos and more which apparently have to be done.

I am loving the irony. And I'll get 'ocupado' soon, but for now, I think I just like being 'engaged'.

Making the Games

I was living in Brazil when I saw the announcement that London had won its bid to host the Olympic Games in 2012. I was overjoyed. For some reason it made me feel very warm and fuzzy inside and it was nothing to do with the 40 degree heat.

There's no denying the magic of the Olympics. It's not just the physical and mental journeys you take on your couch with those seemingly super human athletes who go for glory; there are also the stories of a wider human spirit. The courage to jump/swim/run/spin for your country knowing you don't really know what you're doing makes heroes and names as big as those with gold medals around their necks.

And each country brings their own touches to the games. That Chinese opening ceremony in 2008 is unforgettable; the backdrop to the triathlon in Sydney in 2000 memorable. The London 2012 posters already make me tingle for what this great city might muster up and what the culture festival it is going to throw in for good measure throughout the build-up and afterwards as well.

A couple of weeks ago I had an interview to be a Games Maker, one of the 70,000 volunteers which are needed to make the Olympic Games, well, flow. I had kind of lost hope of an interview, so was delighted when I got the email and excited to go along to LOCOG, it's 19th floor office in Canary Wharf and take part in the process.

Actually, it was more than a process, more than an interview. It was a little journey in itself. If, through the introductions, the enthusiastic sign in, the displays and videos on London 2012 and the film with Eddie Izzard giving us some interview tips, you weren't excited to show why you wanted to help out, then you really were in the wrong place. It was colourful, informative, creative and fun.

The interviewers are volunteers themselves and it's all very informal and natural. They are not interested in how many GCSEs you've got, how much you earn and your vast experience in teaching/telecommunications/trading. They simply want to know you. It was a very refreshing interview.

Stories of inspiration and perspiration still featured, but they didn't have to include those corporate buzz words. My interviewer (and I heard others) was laughing as we talked through my examples. They need people people for the spectator entry task and we simply had to show that; and a whole lot of heart for the Olympic Games.

Whether I get through of not remains to be seen, but what I am pleased about is that I got to be part of a mini Olympics London 2012 journey and glimpse at what they have done, are doing and what is to come.

The road to 2012 has been a very long one for many. And I loved the one step  I have been able to take on it so far.

Decisions, decisions

It's the impact I'm most interested in when it comes to decisions. On me. On those around me. On my time. On their time.

There have been lots of decisions to make recently about my life and our life. Even when you need to make a personal decision, you are a fool if you don't consider the nearest and dearest. If you share your life with someone, there is no need to include them in the decision over what to have on your toast. But leave them out of other stuff (job, money, health, travel) and your decisions, while very much your own, have an unkempt feel about them.

I know this because I have tried doing it. It came back, bit me right on the arse and I have learnt, that even decisions deemed to be solely yours, have consequences beyond your mental meandering.

Some decisions right now are becoming bolder in my everyday landscape. Some months ago, my friend Maria and I decided to sign up for Cruce de los Andes, a 3-day 100km race through the Andes mountains from Chile to Argentina. It was something that, after our first marathon together, we had set our hearts on. The decision wasn't a difficult one, but it was important that I made it with her. There is no one else I can do this with. No one else who gets me and the importance of this adventure. There is no one else I would, even, do it with and it was a 'now or never' decision that neither of us, I believe, will live to regret.

The race will take place in February. Mentally, it started back with the booking and physically it started once my leg had recovered. Today I ran my first 10km in 8 months and all the while I was thinking about the decision to do this challenge and how it will impact on life from now on; dark nights through the winter, training talk, nutrition and long distance support with Maria, and saying no to things when there are stairs to climb or hills to run.

Another major recent decision has been about my work, and this has really taught me the value of making decisions with those around you. The implications of my doing this or that on our rather topsy-turvy life at the moment is one I had to include. And the basis of the decision was one we both shared: happiness and sanity. As Martín will have decisions to make in the coming months after he flies past interview after interview, so it will be that I help him and consider those important things that aren't just counted in euros or pounds. If not, the decisions become illogical. I can't think of a position and paycheck without thinking about place and person.

I've always found it easy to make decisions and have usually been confident enough to run with them and 'see what happens'. Having consulted more, however, I have a feeling that the ones I have made recently will bear a lot more fruit because my tree is so much more grounded with supporting roots.

I can bend with the wind, but I bounce back.

Up where we don't belong

When I was 11, I wanted to be a pilot. It stayed with me for two years, until I realised I was much better at writing than physics; at talking than flying.

And now, I sit on my couch and watch the new British Airways advert. Goosebumps crawl across my arms. What would it have been like to fly with the wind in your hair? How would it have been training to lift all those tonnes off the ground and into the air? Could I really have become a captain?

I watch that advert and its romance makes me hold my breath. The first time I saw it, I was entranced. From the first scene of the man in that open-topped flying machine, I said to myself, Please be British Airways.

The magic of flying has never left me. It's not just that scientists never really understood how planes got in the air until relatively recently; or how they design those trays of food so everything fits within inches; or the walk of the crew as they stride along with their smart suitcases, imaculate and self-assured.

It's the possibility of the impossible. National Geopgraphic recently ran a front cover, Can we fly? http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/09/personal-flight/shute-text The dream will never go away.

I am fortunate enough to have a recurring dream about flying. It comes round about once every year, and it's exactly the same as the first time I dreamt it around the age of seven. I am flying over the estate I used to live on. It's a sunny day and I simply swoop over all the little pacthes of garden and cottages. It's exhilarating.

However, we came from the sea. Some 3.8 billion years ago life began there. Many of us live on islands. We are surrounded. The need to swim is therefore great. I couldn't imagine a life without seeing water, especially the ocean, and want to get wet. It pulses through our bodies, our cells.

And yet; that British Airways advert fills me with the nostalgia of flight. It was even the subject of my first prize winning poem when I was eight (see below).

But we don't belong there. I must keep my feet firmly on the ground. I will never be a British Airways captain.

I'll just keep dreaming.

FLIGHT OF FANCY

One night I was dreaming
I was flying like a concorde.
I could touch the clouds.
I could see the lord.

I said, "Could you pinch me
To see if I'm flying?"
The lord said, "You're dreaming."
I said, "But I'm trying."

"Trying what?" said the lord.
"I'm trying to fly," I said.
When all of a suddent as if by magic
I woke up in my bed.

To view the British Airways advert see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4JdQi60an0&feature=relmfu

Picture credit: Nic Morrish

Seeing the sea

I am having withdrawal symptoms.

A couple of weeks ago I had spent the whole day at a little beach on the south coast of France. The sea was warmer than the gigantic swimming pool. It was clearer and a lot more interesting. Fish swarmed and swayed with us as we bobbed, heads down, being part of their underwater world.

The beach was a little cove. The same people who had discovered it on previous days had come back. We were all part of the same family. This was our beach.

The sun was hot. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves as they reached the feet of the fat man on the shoreline.

Why does the ocean give us such as sense of peace? Especially as we know the damage it can wreak. I used to live with the sea on my doorstep. It wasn't the azul paradise I've just described. It was the Wash: an often churning brown colour, dark and dismal. And yet, it didn't really matter if it was thrashing at the sea wall, or looking like mirrored glass - a green, flat sheet which stretched between us and Lincolnshire - the sight of it always made my morning. Throwing back the curtains, stepping out on the way to work and seeing its mood was part of lightening mine.

It is no coincidence that Martín and I have a dream to retire to a small French island in the Atlantic, which by seasons has different relations with the sea. In summer, shining coved beaches host lazy days and crystal clear swims. In winter, the Atlantic rages at the savage coast, thrashing against one side of the island with fury and passion.

Passion is a good word for the sea. People that live near it don't realise their passion for it until it's not there every morning, silent and moody; or when they return from work, coasting gently to greet them.

I definitely need to find a job which allows me to sit on cliffs/beaches/mermaids' beds and do my stuff for most of the day.

The sea is inspiration. It is life. And I miss it.

Love

On 1 September four years ago, I met someone who was to change my life. Indeed, has changed my life. And will probably continue to change my life.

I don't believe that there is one person in the world for everyone. As we reach a world population of 7 billion this year, it is difficult to accept that only one mate exists; that there is only one love for each person. Ever.

Because love can end. Love can change. New loves are born. That's one great thing about love, it's very much like life: neverending circles of highs, lows, births, deaths and births again.

But that can also happen within love. After 10 weeks apart, and just after our fourth anniversary, my boyfriend will be coming back to London in 2 days' time. I am so excited to see him. It seems so much has happened over these past few months, that in some aspects our relationship, our love, will start again somehow. I tingle just thinking about it.

And when I think back to that time four years before and all the things we have done, said and seen, I can only hope and that the love we have now is one that changes, rises, dips and is reborn again and again; but that it does remain that which seems so hard to comprehend - my one true love.