I just arrived back in Amsterdam after what seems to have been a long journey. In reality, I was traveling for only a few disjointed weeks - 7 days of Corporate Enthusiasm in Barcelona followed by 7 days in the good old US of A in the City of Brotherly Love. I had the privilege to attend Leadership Training at the Oh So Prestigious Wharton and then home to Wisconsin normalcy for 36 hours.
But I have the same weird feeling I had when I returned to Amsterdam after my two months off - everything looks a little different. I’m noticing things that I hadn’t noticed before. Like there is a shoe store for large footed people across the street from my flat. How did I miss that? And why is it that I seem to always locate myself near shoe shops for giants? I lived next to a Big Foot Shoe Store in London too. Strange, right? Apparently not – this population is growing. When I Googled “How Many Big Footed People Are There Anyway?” I found out the population is growing. It concerns me that the Dutch could be growing larger in any respect. They are already ginormous.
I have zero stories worth sharing from Philly, but going home made up for it. I saw both of my grandmothers, two aunts, a dear friend, and stayed with my sister and the fam. I had an outstanding time. One of the highlights (Lehman’s lunch being the best) was my sister taking me cross country skiing in a place called Timberland (I fully support the town in suing the outdoor apparel company that wrongfully stole their name). It was 0 degrees – that’s Fahrenheit folks - which required some careful planning for our attire, but you can see that it paid off.
Had anyone been at the well groomed Timberland trails, I guarantee they would have been very impressed by our professional cross country skiing attire. And the super special thing about these cool duds were that they kept me really warm. So warm that I sweated through all 4 of the tops I was wearing and the soggy long underwear bottoms my poor brother in law was kind enough to lend to me. Unfortunately I have a history of ruining his clothes. The crowning achievement was putting a hole through his brand new Levis while sliding down the side of a gigantic hill on my ass in the midst of a “hike” gone wrong with my dad.
This cross country adventure was a special one, not only because I was with my sister and hadn’t been skiing in an awfully long time, but because it was the same morning that 10,000 cross country skiers from around the world began their 50 km journey in Cable WI for the Birkebeiner race. If you’ve never heard of it, it is one of the most famous cross country sking races in the world and it is held annually in a town close to where I grew up. And if you’ve never cross country skied before then you don’t know that this race is 50 km’s of sheer hell.
While we were skiing I was struck by how out of shape I've become and that my balance had deteriorated to the point where standing on skis was a challenge. When I went downhill it was typically done with legs spread dangerously far apart and arms out wide like I was going to bear-hug an elephant. I was also struck by how fast my sister was on these pencil thin skis. It was a shame she was so far ahead that she missed my dramatic downhill stance, but she did stop and wait patiently at intervals to allow me to catch up.
On one of the first stops as she watched me on my approach, she cocked her head and said “Chris, I’ve never noticed this about you…” and in my head I’m wondering if she’s going to say that she’s surprised how the orange in my jacket really sets off my blue eyes, or that I have an unusually strong ability to wear furry headgear – or perhaps that I have a natural athletic talent that could result in a big endorsement deal. Instead she said “You are the spitting image of Cousin Tommy”
Now I already know that I am a dead ringer for my father, a 6’4” bald man (who is very good looking I’ll have you know!), but to discover that I’m also a twin of my balding 6'4" male cousin (also very good looking of course!) made me wonder. I can’t imagine what poor Tom will think when he finds out about it. Something tells me it will result in him wearing a blonde wig and having a look a like contest, but we'll see.
After we finished skiing, I was even more impressed that my 8 year old niece and 5 year old nephew had completed the mini Birke's a few days before. Sophia skied 3 kms and Nathan 1km. Betsy and I managed over 5 KM’s and I was about dead.
But now I'm back in snow-less Amsterdam trying to liven life up. I haven’t been updating my blog mostly because I have nothing I feel like writing about. It’s not fun when you have to force yourself to write about shit you don’t care about. Ironically I was in a writing workshop in AMS a couple weekends ago (and ended up sitting next to a girl who went to my high school which is completely and totally bizarre) and the instructor was commenting that most writers are at their best when they are miserable. But I’m the opposite. I didn’t even find out that I liked to write until I was happy, and when Christy ain’t happy, she's quiet. Which provides an explanation on why I haven't written anything in about a month.
But I have a plan and I refuse to idle in misery. No Siree! I’m taking this sorry ass to Ghent. That’s right, back to a random town nobody else travels to and most people haven't heard of. But I have a bit of confidence this time - I’ve heard too many good things about this little city and the guidebooks say there are even some things to do.
Plus, I need to get out of Amsterdam. Today when I cycled to work, I had to peddle hard to make it down a hill and the wind was gusting so hard I nearly fell off my bike. That pissed me off. This is when I stop writing...
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