What happened to the Alpaca?

Well, as some of you know I registered for another stair race. In Germany. I plan to go in June as my 2^nd to last trip before I leave here. I haven’t written about the leaving part yet, but I will.

BTW, the race is in a place called Bad Wildbader, the name gives me pause. And it’s outside. And it’s 6 pm(really,? that’s happy hour time), and it’s almost 2000 steps or nearly 100 flights.

So today a Spanish friend said she would go with me to climb stairs as she had “never heard of it before” but she canceled at the last minute at 0830 this morning. I was tired myself. I have insomnia and I slept badly as usual, and when her text beeped, I sat down and promptly fell asleep on the couch. 11 am, I woke and fought with myself over going to the stairs as it was getting hot, but the thought of failing in the German race made me go. No way am I gonna just drag myself through the next race or fall on my arse again.

Where is my old former self I keep wondering? The four-day-a-week exerciser, the captain of the stair team? The kettlebell instructor? Where did she go?

She moved to Spain and became damn near a full-time tourist in between the hell of dealing with moving to another country. That’s where she is. Oh right. That’s why her arms are now grandmother flabby, her butt is hanging like an orangutan, and her belly has a nice pooch with a muffin top.  Chronic vacations can do this. And alcohol, and the endless pastries, and siestas…..shall I go on? But at least I’m self-aware as an old counselor once told me.

I hate myself some days despite every pop-up on Facebook being about some goofy quote like “love yourself” “life could be worse” and “embrace your body”… blah blah, as if do-gooder quotes would change my deep-seated issues. I drink to a big NOT.

So I went to climb the stairs out of pure exacerbation with myself. Get the F-up and get out of the apartment, I said to myself. OK. That’s a good quote.

It was warm sunny and there was music playing as I approached the underground garage next to the beautiful palm park. I felt better, the sunshine was doing me good.

There was a tourist choo-choo train going by in front of the tourist office. People were out smiling and laughing.

The church bells started ringing all at once from different parts of the city. Ide forgotten today is Spain’s Mother’s Day and many were just leaving Mass. I pass by some huge roses growing near the park. They’re so big they bloom larger than your outstretched hand. Gorgeous. I hoped someone grabs one and gives it to their mom today.

So, I get to the stairs and my goal is 20 times minimum up and down the 5 flights of stairs. Or about 100 flights, or 1200 steps. Give or take a few.

So I begin to listen to slow “easy” Spanish stories from a website called smalltownspanishteacher.com on my phone. This will distract me as I head down to the bowels of the garage. Two days ago I did this to distract myself while climbing and had to reset it constantly because my mind wanders within five minutes and I don’t hear whatever it said. So I rewind and rewind to get through a 15-minute story. Pathetic. I swear I have ADHD. Today I’ll try and do better. Wait, is that a quote somewhere? Whatever.

Luckily it wasn’t too hot as I descended. The steps are cement, the walls a dirty white tile. The rails are steel, flat, and a little dirty. There is a glass-walled elevator that most people use when they park their cars. I see two young people and their two dachshunds riding it up to street level.

Going down was easy, I headed back up at a steady pace. One, then three, then four rounds (about 20 flights.)  I stop and do some pushups off the steps at the bottom where it’s coolest to help the granny arms. Hell, I need to do a thousand to help them, they’re so far gone. Or better yet, see a plastic surgeon cause I’m not getting any younger.  I did 25 half-ass pushups. Woopee, where’s a quote for that? “use your arms to love yourself” There ya go. Yuck.

So I’m listening to a Spanish story about an alpaca in Peru that runs away from the alpaca farm because she doesn’t want to get sheered. That’s only the first five minutes of the story, then my mind wandered to my next trip, and that I still needed to book a hotel.  Damn it, rewind. Concentrate, I tell myself. What happened to the Alpaca?

Step step, step… I’m getting hot, it’s almost 40 flights now.  The alpaca meets another one and discovers what it’s like to get sheered in the summer and that it’s not so bad. I need to clean the floor with bleach in my bathroom apartment to get the grout white.

 Damn, rewind again.

I’m up to 13 times now (about 65 flights), and my stomach is not happy as I’m a bit nauseous and I want to stop, but my goal is 20 times. I drink water.  I double-step it to get it over with sooner.

The alpaca is somewhere in the story meeting other animals in the mountains as she ran away to avoid the “cut day” at the farm.  When did she do that? What was the word for alpaca? And yarn? And sheep?

Rewind again.

People wonder why I’ve been in Spain for nearly two years and I still can’t speak or understand Spanish hardly. I swear it’s ADHD. Or its age. I’m 60 now, yea for me. Not.

I try one more time to listen longer than five damn minutes without my mind jumping and sidestepping up the stairs as it works different muscles. I’ve been climbing for 40 minutes. And still haven’t finished listening to a 15-minute story on tape. What’s wrong with that?

17 rounds.

The alpaca decides to go back to the farm and get sheered like all her buddies.  Darn, what happened before that? Jeeeese Louise.

Rewind ONE MORE TIME.

I’m at the finish line 19 rounds one more to go. I’m sweating, and my legs are tired.

I have a crazy idea. Try and do five more rounds and get to 125 flights.

I don’t. I’ve been climbing for an hour.

It’s 20, and I’m at the exit of the stairs. The alpaca story has finished, but I still don’t know what really happened.  Darn it.

I hear music and head to the Palmeras Parque. It’s lovely with thick lush greenery, towering palms, gravel paths, gazebos, fountains, and wildflowers. I need to sit in the shade and absorb nature, it makes me happy and will improve my attitude.

Sitting I listen to the birds, the fountains, and the breeze rustling the palms and trees all around me. It is like an oasis. Getting my energy back, I wander to the carnival, it’s almost 1 pm. Kids are riding and there are tables of people selling antiques and Knick knacks, there are tents with people just beginning to order food and drink. One tent has them making a giant pan of paella. Another grilling of what looks like a hundred chickens and sausages. There’s loud Spanish music playing.

It smells great.

I wander up and order a Tinto de Verano. It’s like sangria. So much for my low-carb and alcohol diet. But I’m in Spain and my time here will end soon. So the other voice says just enjoy it and shut off the tape.

For a measly two euros, I get a nice large glass. In the US this would be $12. Not here, no price gouging at outdoor events. Plus you can get tapas for less than two euros too and walk around in the park. No restrictions. What’s the quote for that? When in Spain, do as the Spanish do…… that’s my quote.

So I take my tinto Verano and walk back to the famous Elche Palmeras park. The world heritage site of Palms as it has over a million palms, most of which grow dates for Spain and Europe.  It really is gorgeous.  I find a shady spot, sit, and watch the birds and listen to the leaves rustle.

I figure out my training for the day.

20 flights are only 1200 steps.

I need to train for 2500 steps for Germany.

How many rewinds will that make?

I don’t know, but if there is a Tinto de Verano at the end, maybe my motivation will be better, but not my attention span.

Somewhere in Spain with ADHD