London 2012

I just woke up to the physical hangover of a fairly exciting fortnight and all I can think about now is a bed. The exhaustion was dominating me last night, turning me into a bit of a cynic while setting my first foot in Stratford. Deep down inside of me, I was really enjoying, to the point that I couldn't sleep very well last night.

Nevertheless, I can happily affirm that I have survived the Olympic Games; London 2012 and all related to it, totally painless. In fact, I just realised this morning how beautiful days are since we are not receiving TfL's disruption newsletter every Friday. Because, let's admit it: we are used to it now, and it will all go back to normal after the 9th of September.

But my story started probably a month ago. Sitting in our basement, with the housemates, watching Ennis or Bolt strutting their stuff on the red Olympic track; And it is when it hit me: What are the odds of ME living almost round the corner from the Olympic Games in the future? Considering that I'm not planning to move to Brasil and that Madrid has sort of given up trying: Highly remote. I run upstairs rather confused and went into the most feared searching field: Olympic tickets. But this occasion was different than when I tried the time before. I chose the Paralympics tab and full of hope and convincement clicked on SEARCH. And there it was, a rainbow of cheapo 20-quid tickets up for grabs. And when for the most obvious: Final of Men Athletics. A month ahead.

COOL!

And there I was yesterday evening, warming up in Hackney Wick, gaining strength so start my Olympic journey. Because entering a super hygienic and highly sponsorised military zone can only be prepped with good pizza, locally brewed ale and complimentary raspberry muffin.

We entered officially, from Victoria Gate, just on the Green Way, and only known entrance for my without counting the official Startford monster. After walking peacefully paths of artificially grown lovely garden and fenced alleyways, there we were: full on, hordes of people dressed in red blue and white. I took the compulsory A-là Bolt photo and tried to blend in into the crowd.

The thing is that after spending so much time in dodgy London, land of the scruffy and up-cycled coffee shop, this fresh-paint smelling site, full of brands, pristine concrete and unbranded but branded food stalls was kind of disturbing. But it is not a critique. It is sort if like a cultural shock. At the end of the day, London has to be the best dressed at the dance, at least for a couple of months and that can only be achieved the way it has been done.

Even ALL the volunteers were too nice and upbeat with everybody, helping with directions, high five-ing everybody and taking countless pictures of us tourist without complaining and having a good laugh with us.

Leaving corporations aside, the experience was pretty exciting

Erm, we were almost on the last row, high up in the Stadium, but still impressive. Thankfully, almost all the seats were occupied.

Wait a minute, are those Olympic volunteers playing remote control cars in the middle of the Stadium?

Those Minis (massive product placement, amongst others) were actually carrying the Javelein or Discus Back to the athletes. Sounds lazy, doesn't it?

And just when we thought that we were just there to see the final of men wheelchair finals, it turned out to be almost everything involving the track: Javelin, Discus, Long Jump... spot on!

Sweepers

Precise as Swiss watches and coordinated like Chinese Army, so were the London 2012 volunteers. As impressive as the athletes.

The gun dude was pretty scary

Wheelchair 100m. Full of stamina.

Visually impaired runners also quite impressive. Admirable work the one carried out by the guides. They are supposed to arrive a bit before the athlete to the finish line and if their athlete wins a medal, so they do. Cool!

And the kings of the night: the blade runners. The carbon fibre blade lower amputees, all of them below knee from what I could see. Fantastic display. Enjoyed every second.

I saw Pistorius losing to the Brazilian double amputee. I even recorded it. Intense, very intense.

To sum up

The best: the people. The spectators, the athletes and the volunteers.

The worse: the overpriced food.

But we are kind of used to it.

Bravo London. You did well.

Let's meet to see what's up with the legacy. That's going to be another story.

Posted with Blogsy

Normal routine

The task of highly engineering your journey starts the moment you wake up. These mathematical actions of the rutine get perfectioned during the course of time and cannot be developed from day one.

As everybody knows, engineering requires the domain of different arts, combination of multiple skills and the hability to put them together for a good use.

The night before, while preparing your tea or right afterwards (remember not to let yourself relax of the pumped up stated of mind after surviving the evening rush hour), you should prepare your next day meal, bits and pieces for snack and breakfast included taking on account that you, must probably, will have to eat said meal without the aid of a microwaves and while seating in front of the computer. Not too juicy. Not too smelly. Not too messy. Options are reduced to a third.

Before going to bed, you careful select the outfit of the day, checking the very unreliable weather prediction and selecting the appropriate footwear for it. You prepare you lunchbag, your normal bag, and you set two alarms at the needed time in the morning. One alarm is never enough.

Forgot to say that it is essential to play as a team at home. I find essential to organise turns of coffee-maker hobbing, so that the first housemate that comes out of the shower, is the one in charge of laying a row of cups, put a spoonful of sugar and brewing that Illy coffee while the rest come downstairs. The caffetiere has been carefully filled with water and ground coffee the night before, just in case I forgot to mention it.

As the alarm goes of, the job is quite straight forward. Shower, teeth, makeup, clothes, coffee (and a biscuit if there is time) and off to the tube.

The pace of walking has already been determined by previous trial-and-error experiments. After a while, it is natural. No time for double checks. You've left your phone. Shame.

You know you're late because your 6:45 alert of 'No Disruptionson your line' from National Rail on your phone indicates that you should be halfway drinking your coffee. Passing by the blonde lady neighbourgh at X part of the street indicates the exact minute. If you find her next to your door, you're late.

Approaching the tube station, the Oyster card should be already in your hands. No time from Armageddon speeches from the Pentecostal church down the road. Develop the skillfull task of picking up one, I mean ONE issue of Metro newspaper without deacceleating the pace along the corridor. Same action while touching in the Oyster. Turn to the left to the right corridor of your usual southbound while, with the corner of you eye you check that any of your possible paths to point B is not disrupted.

Train is approaching while walking down the stairs but you know that it strategically waits a few more seconds to be filled with commuters of the line in front, to cope with the flow of passengers. You should arrive to your carriage keeping your cool, not panting. Change at your designated station. Always arrives with a couple of minutes of cushion. Time for placing yourself on the desired tile, next to the forth yellow spot on the platform. Strategic door to come right in front of the best exit to the final stop.

While climbing up the scalator, phone, Oyster and train tickets should be already in hand. Touch out. Oyster to the bag. Congratulate yourself. You made it in one piece to the big station. Put a smile on your face while you walk to your usual platform number X. Happiness disturb fellow commuters.

If lucky, you will get a freebie that day. Cereals, Oyster wallet, organic moisturiser, voucher for 50p off of Lurpak...

I'm hungry now.

Get your freebie without loosing your tickets. Tickets that have been strategically collected the day before as you arrived from work. Placed on the plastic wallet in order of usage. Outward trip. Plusbus. Return. Receipt. Visa.

Get in. Sit down. Think.

You've realised you've developed very strong OCDs.

Welcome to my life