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Three Things Thursday: Post-Vacation Edition

December 29, 2011

I had a pretty amazing vacation to Abu Dhabi, UAE, to visit my parents for Christmas. Here are three loosely-related things for Thursday.

1. Tuesday morning (or Monday evening if you’re in the United States) started my training for the Rock ‘n’ Roll USA Half Marathon. I flew back at 2:45am Wednesday morning after staying out and about all day Tuesday, and managed to go on a run today, too. Did my strategy to kick jet lag in the ass via Ambien work? Time will tell. My long run will be postponed this weekend (pushed to Monday which will make my weekly mileage for the next week amaze-balls) while I drink excessively at a wedding in Savannah rest up from some knee and hip pain. But the wedding is true, too. More about my training in the new year, but I am mostly following Hal Higdon. Minus a little pain that I’m working through, so far so good.

2. Oh, eating healthy, how difficult you are while traveling…  I turned off tracking on Weight Watchers while I was gone, and, as predicted, I put on a few pounds. Apparently jet lag = ravenous. I’ll just go ahead and say this, though: all those dates, baklava, kofta, and labneh were absolutely worth it. I ate well and enjoyed my trip and ate sensibly almost never when I could. I’ll be back on track post-New Years travel, and I look forward to trying out the new Weight Watchers app, described and reviewed by my old co-worker.

UAE Christmas

So....I may not have watched what I ate very well, but look at how much fun I had! Go UAE!

3. At the request of my favorite Coach, here’s an anecdote from my trip: my family went to Dubai on my first full day there. We were looking for some specialty souks, and got pretty turned around. Our research on the area of town we were in was lacking, and it seemed pretty sketchy, but overall, the country is very safe, and my family is street- and foreign-country smart. Well, I thought we were. We’re walking along and my sister asks to find a restroom. My dad asks a guy on the street, who starts telling him about his shop, which is just down the street from the public restroom in this less-than-tourist part of town. He’s really chatting up my dad, and my dad, being the polite soul that he is, is inquiring about the shop, where it is, what he sells, etc. The man tells him about all the purses and sunglasses he has, and my dad recalls to the man that me, his oldest daughter, was just saying that she needed some new sunglasses, so this is perfect. My mom, sister, and I come out of the bathroom to find my dad still talking to the man. I have no interest in seeing his shop, but my dad, again, the most polite man ever, agrees to follow the man to his shop.

As we turn into a shady looking apartment building and wind down a narrow, dank hallway, I’m pretty sure I’m starring in a horror movie. That’s how they start, right? I’m debating yelling at my dad in German, assuming that this man might know what I’m saying in English, but he can’t possibly know what I’m saying in German, but then figure that his response will come in perfect German and will be something like, “You silly American. Of course I speak and understand German. Now, please, enter into my house of horrors.” So I just kept my mouth shut as he knocked, in a strange pattern, on an apartment door. We enter a very small room and the door is locked behind us. There are two other men in the room and an Indian couple looking at purses. It’s crowded, full of the type of goods Customs doesn’t look kindly upon, and really doesn’t have anything that I want. But now there are three men trying to show me every pair of sunglasses in the room. And my dad is saying, “You sure there’s nothing you want? Look, these ones are from Prada!”

Fortunately we were able to politely bow out. Never. taking. my. dad. shopping. again.

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