Instead of words…
Instead of words…
I would like to address this blog to the most important person of my current life, Gabriel.
He is an ark angel, who took my guarding as a moonlighting (part time job).
It went something like this:
-At your service, my God….
-I have a job for you. There is little one, who would need a guarding angel with high experience.
- Please. I am an ark angel, sales and marketing, no guarding….ask the Security!
-Come on Gab, look down, you know her already…
-Oh, NO!!! She is back! No way, she is a little trouble maker!
-Miss Coco? She created only fashion.
-Only fashion?! She put women into trousers, made them smoking, she invented feminism! She made revolution. Fashion is dangerous.
Do you know how much a Chanel costume cost? (Gab lovingly caressed his own white coat ) God, you have no idea how many lady’s souls we lost because of these freaking expensive dresses!
-Well, why I need you, she is on mission again.
-Tennis? Horse riding? Curling?
-No, I invented something real tough. My new hobby. A new marketing place. Triathlon.
People will save or sell their soul to win the big ones…Common Market with Lucifer.
-Cool. I am interested. I bet she has the odds of 1:100000000 to win Hawaii…”
Something like 15 eventful years later Miss Coco was standing along the main road with hammering heart-she was hitch-hiking…in school hours, heading to the next town for a running race.
Coco’ s Mom used to tell her bed-time stories only about little girls kidnapped by sugar daddies, young girls got robbed, raped and killed while they were hitch hiking, etc…
Coco was summing up these stories and the statistics then she guessed her chance to survive the trip is 50%, she will GET raped and killed or NOT…
So she was standing with shaky legs but steady. Finger up, like Caesar would show in the arena: lets him/her survive!
-Oh, the little bitch again….whatever…
-But she has only 50% to survive the adventure!
-Come on God, you know it is not THAT dangerous.
-Yes, I know, but she does NOT! She believes she has half-half….
-Well, she still stand for it….I upgrade my bet, she has 1: 1000000…
-Oh, the “one to the million” that is my favorite odd! Then she will do it! They always do it!
-Yep, in the fairy tales….urban legend….whatever…”
The first car stoped at her, she was peeping into the window only to recognize her shocked Uncle, Tibi.
-What the Hell are you doing here?!-
Well, she could ask the same from him but she was smarter then to risk it….as
for the question of Uncle Tibi there were two possible answers:
1: hitch-hiking in school hours
2: selling sexual services as a PRO (pro is pro. They both doing it for money )
Well, Uncle Tibi is not that type who pick up hitch hikers….so both spent the trip in deep silence and mutual agreement to not mention this little adventure on family dinners.
“-GAB, this was funny….!
Little later Miss Coco got a racing bike for her 16th birthday. (Thanks Gab!) No more hitch-hiking, she traveled everywhere on her bike.
Once she was still like 60 kms to go when she got into a cold storm. Deep purple and shaking she arrived into a deserted village. Desperated she could not think better than she headed into a church for shelter. Closed.
“GAB! Do you pay any attention? She is on my door mat! I am busy, take care of her….-said God and put more sugar into his/her coffee.
-God, triathlon is an outdoor sport, she has to learn bringing proper clothes with herself, she will get showered so many times
-She is purple, help her out, now! I need a little peace.”
A man appeared on the street on his city bike. He stopped and offered his coat for the kid.
She arrived home warm and safe.
“Gab, that road- working coat stuff is super, few years and they convert it into goratex and dryfit sport wears.
-That is the plan, I am testing it now.
-You made a little slip anyway.
-She realized that the man and coat was dry while it was pouring.
Few years later….
“-Gab, how is her odds?-asked the God yawning….
-Rising. I am tired.”
Training camp on the Canary Island.
Coco- with her training group- was heading out into the desert for a long run with her fuel belt attached and filled with water. When half way out others were turning back they were thirsty and Coco- the kind hearted -offered her water portion for them while she continued her way into the desert with no water left.
About half way she was hallucinating an old man riding a mountain bike. He stoped and asked her if she was thirsty or just keeping her tongue out by fun?!
He opened his bag packed with cooled water bottles and gived her one. While she was gulping like a camel, he tried to find a common language.
“-Parlez francais? Italiano?-
-English please, but I am Hungarian.
-Ja, te is? (=ah, you too?!)”
The man was planning his next run by hiding one bottle per mile under a rock marked with his spray paint, measured by his GPS….
“Come on Gab, you overdid it! A Hungarian man in the desert?! Cooled mineral water?! Sparkling?
-Whatever…she likes sparkling.
-Confess it, you got fond of her!
-She sacrificed her own portion for others while she needed it more.
-You spoil her.”
I just want to thank you Gabriel your work and love for me. You are always there when I really need you. You keep me warm and hydrated, celebrate my success with me and comfort me when I fail. You are invisible but you always slip and I watch for it then I smile, because I know you are with me and you are funny.
Sometimes I do not see you at all and I despair but I am a big girl now, I could walk alone under your watching eyes and care.
Forgive me to adapt the title from Irwin Shaw, but the story is original.
Budapest is not quiet like L.A. or New York City but we also have traffic jams minus carpooling. Still, after the running session usually I pick up the youngest boy and drive him home- living close to each-other, saving him from the adventure of the public transportation but not from Coco’s life lessons….
The drive offers a great opportunity to talk about important things like, training and how to seduce a girl for example…
Almost running over a lady on the pedestrian crossing I told him how good idea is just hit the chosen girl, then that would provide “obligatory” dates as taking her to hospital, bringing her flower then ask her out as a remedy…etc….he said I am stupid, because the girl could be seriously injured by this little idea. Oh, well, there is no winning without taking some risk
So last time we stopped at a shopping center, just for 5 minutes. I needed some vitamin stuffs. Going to the health shop, I quickly jumped into my favorite boutique- an Italian designer shop- just for a quick glance. Oh, I have two great passions: shopping and the Italians.
Pizza, gelato, Michelangelo, anything….
After a not too short time the little fellow took everything out of my hands saying: “No, no, this is not you, this is too eclectic, this is too expensive!”….etc….and dragged me out of the shop.
I sadly realized this not going to be my evening, the boy would spoil it. But passion is passion. It not obligatory has to be MY evening. Shoppalcoholists are not selfish and vain, they love shopping for anyone….I asked the boy if he needed anything?
Well a teenage guy is always welcoming at least a T-shirt or something. So we went after a T-shirt for him as a nice change. Soon we realized we do not share the same taste. While he went after something colorful with numbers/license plate/ flags/graffiti on it, like any normal high school boy would wear combined with loose fit jeans and back sack. I kept looking something stylish, something with mono color, collar and buttons.
I tried to convince him to choose something big boyish, like his team mates are sporting in, who are already in the University, the gel brigade.
-Do not start too!
-The boys in the changing room already picking on me the same!
Even with narrowing eyes I could see on the wall my shadow, by the spot light, started to evaporate only to change shape: a cat? No. Cougar? NO!!! Aha, a tiger, a mother tiger!
(Well, the kids use to arrive to the training in ironed pink polo shirt, leather pants with western boots. First I asked:
-You just arrived from an ordinary school day with the tram?
(The poor vocabulary is matching to the rich outfit, must be)
On the last weekend on the bike race just after 5 minutes they finished, they were all in freshly ironed shirt?! Magic. There was no running water anywhere in 5 kms diameters…
How come that these kids are behaving like the lions for example? Where the males are sporting stylish hairdo and all, while the females are actually doing the hunting?!
All those species where the males are decorating themselves, in order to attract the females, are evolutionary dead ends. In the history of the human race we kept improving (do we?) because only the strongest, cleverest, most capable could heredities their genes.
But with the end of struggling and wars the males have no opportunity to impress the females, only by good looking. Here we arrived to the phenomenon of our times , the metro sexuality!
Is the sport could provide space to the males to outstand from the mass? Yes? Even when the girls around them kicking their asses in the same field?! )
So, my inner mother tiger is woken up.
I made an offer to the boy, if he let ME to choose something for him, he will get if from me.
It was not an easy battle to find the right piece….but finally we agreed on a nice polo shirt, very big boyish….
While I was waiting at the fitting room, I learned how mothers checked the shirts on their sons, by made them lifting their arms…etc.
However I was convinced the arm length of the chosen thing was way too short and the boy certainly will grow, I did not argue. Mothers know they can not win every battle in one time….
The next weekend we went out racing (hunting) on a sprint duathlon on the countryside.
(I won it by a mile, so that is not a story )
But our youngest, still junior, arrived with the big boys (elite) and finished 4th overall, winning his category!
At the finish line I watched him -with the eyes of a proud mother- standing sweaty, worn in the circle of young girls all admiring him and delivering their congratulation kisses….
Well, I guess the boy does not need stylish outfit or running over the girls to impress them….because winning is still sexy!!!!
Oh, well, Sugar Mommy is in action, again!
I wonder if anyone wonder- where Miss Coco disappeared, imagine a little cirrus cloud up in the blue sky, that is me now: going nowhere, worrying of nothing, just hanging out with a permanent sheepish grin on my face.
I spent two shorty camps in Tunesia and Croatia with my Hungarian kids (my Hungarian team), where my only goal was surviving them. I mean the kids.
Oh well, in those two years that I spent traveling and training along with Team TBB those cute little kids grew up. Physically…
The transformation like a storm left behind messy heads and testosterone driven body all equipped with the obligatory 6 packs…
10 minutes before we start the running session they knock on my door, they stand on my doormat all in underwear and sporting a worry look on their face (FAKE!): “Mom, what we should have to wear- long or short?!”
When Erika going mad on the front, they know exactly how to get me unfocused, a slight but way too long touch or comment on my butt and I am completely losing concentration.
It is all about diversion and I am easy to get diverted.
On the latest days I finally beat up one of them.
It happened right after swimming, when I was the last to leave the pool (the only one who never cheats down the cool down). We had hot showers all along the wall, only one less than we are. They tend to sit under the hot shower for hours and not being polite to offer it and I do NOT share so…..well, there were two of us and one empty shower. Just a quick glance at each-others and we started sprinting to get it first!
All of our boys are a light built climbers except one ( this one) who actually should have to be removed and sent to being rugby player.
He is quick. And mean. He could win it easy but he went for sure: he cut my way alongside the slippery pool deck and wanted to push me back into the water. I had my towel with me so I was determined not to get wet, I pulled the emergency break only to landing and sliding on my butt, slightly straining my ankle. At this point he tried to grab me-only to landing on my top. I got so mad thinking of the idea to get injured and spoil this season that hissing like a Furia, I started to beat him up, first with bare hands (left hook, straight right) only to realize it is hurt, so I continued with the slipper and the paddles he dropped.
(Geee….the kids are showering with their tools because we swam in salty water, they are so caring about their toys, so charming)
Ok, I only stopped because I ran out of hissing (air) and tryed to contain my prestige.
Honestly, I never hit anyone since the kindergarten.
Time has come when the little cirrus cloud gets a bit stormy…
Next day, we swam next to each other -owning the whole pool. The task was few times 200 meters drills, side touching (high elbow). I was happy like a puppy dog to be able to swim with them, when at the wall in the break one boy from the furthest side surfaced like a submarine and shyly whispered into my ears: “Erika, you are supposed to touch your side!”-then the submarine went back into his lane. Oh well, the coach never correct my doings, knowing Erika has her Team TBB ways, like hamstring tearing big gears and swimming with straight arms. The little fellow was only convinced I did not hear the instruction, so discretely he corrected me out. He paid attention to my VERY touchy feelings not liking being corrected front of others. Charming….
We closed the camp with a season opening road cycling race.
My goal was working on the anaerobic zone, pushing over the threshold, what was just what happened on the 1km climb in every lap. I maximized my heart rate at 174 RPM, what is the first time in two years I could pump my huge diesel heart over 170….
Acid was pouring even from my ears. I got dropped from the front elite male group at 60 km/h in a corner….soloing between two huge groups alone for a while. I was told it is not a TT riding, then the coach pulled next to me and encouraged to bridge over the gap alone and join to the front group….. sweet advise. I did not take it, but I waited for the second grupetto with the second placed girl and finishing the ride in aerobic zone for a nice change, then on the last hill we sprinted for the winning. No more mistake this time!
Well, small wind for this little cirrus cloud, all happy, shaping nicely to be one day no less than a hurrican called Coco..
May the wind blow from your back side and dry up your sweet sweats…
Or why I am not going to go to Krabi…
I just see what going to happen….
First everything will be sweet and sunny, the old team members embrace the newbies-helping, support and teaching them. The newbies will show great respect for the old ones, the Boss will treat everybody equal and fair.
Soon everybody going to be friends and they are living and training like a big happy family in this exotic paradise.
Every ones will improve fast and the Boss will be satisfied.
The first little cirrus cloud will appear few weeks later when the Thai masseur will tear Kate’s hamstring by accident. From this point things will happen fast.
Brando will suffer a shark attack while he is fishing in the water and the shark will bite off his arm.
(Of course the Boss will not accept this excuse for skipping the swim training….)
Things will turn real bad when Wongstar will be lost on the island during her usual marathon. By accident she will discover (and try) a top secret weed field guarded by armed bad guys. She hardly escapes – thanks for her bulletproof camelback and her speed!!!
This time few of the guys will try to escape the island but they will discover their passport is stolen by the Boss. (only safe keeping )
One night the bad guys will attack the camp and only few will escape by swimming to the next island….
It is written!
Oh no, thanks, this camp is not for me….
P.s.: Ok, I am only jealous….
Good luck and have fun there…..
(careful, this blog is HOT!)
Well, after the Brazilian waxing I present you the new waxing method, the Hungarian way….
However I have no idea why and what the Brazilians are waxing in the jungle, this winter we Hungarians had a nice reason for waxing!
It is all about lubrication or like Jonnyo would say: “ ROLLING RESISTANCE!”
Well, Canadians snows better about sliding-gliding. This little blog is not for them!
All you need is:
-LOVE (for cross-country skiing)
-Left over candles (wax) from Xmas for the romance
-hot iron (from junk market, better to buy it cold)
-oh, yes, your sexy toy (the ski!)
1.step: Melt some candles in the sacrificed pot…the color of the wax should have to match your ski or your eyes…
2.step: Spread the melted wax up onto the sole of the ski with something
3.step: Warm up the iron and with slow movements, smooth the wax onto the ski and let it froze!
What? Special colored wax for different type of snow? The temperature of the iron and the smoothing direction?
No worry, you have 50 % chance to do it right. You do it right or wrong.
Well, you are not preparing for the winter Olympics! Right? You only need to get fitter, so what you can lose?
Anyway, even the pros are “miswaxing” themselves very often, or at least this is the most common excuse…now you can use this exc-use!
I would like to express my love and care with my selfmade gingerbreads (see above) and wish for my readers, fans, friends, team-mates, coach, boss and sponsors -Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
As you can see, they are homeless snowmen. They have big sad nose, because they do not have even hats or broomsticks…. plus too much antifreeze juice
They will match to my Xmas tree: the ugliest one I can find on the market on the last day.
Because Christmas is about love. Unconditional love.
We must remember to love and care those who are neither beautiful, nor smart or nice or fast, not even deserving…
Who would disagree triathlon is not art?
In the end of the XV.th century a wealthy merchant gave a visit to a young artist “Michelangelo Who” and placed an order for an art object. (He must be cheap!) Whatever object….
His wife sent him for this mission, because every noble household own some art, to show their position in the society.
The young master made him a beautiful round painting, the so called Doni Madonna.
When the merchant came for it, he got hysteric.
Such a sacrilege, this shameful picture can not enter their house! He paid nothing and left with empty hand….only to come back on the next day…
His wife ordered him back, because she already took pride in the new treasure of the house front of her friends.
Michelangelo- also angry now- asked the double of the previous prize. Something like 100 ducats. (Difficult to convert, but it would be something like 100 USD ?)
Merchant back to home, no deal.
Merchant back to Michelangelo. Deal.
Then Mrs. Merchant indeed hided the “ugly” picture in the dark corner….
Some long years later, the same merchant visited the already famous Michelangelo again with a new order: a portrait about him and his lovely wife.
He got Michelangelo very busy and annoyed with his request, so he said NO for him.
The merchant got hysteric again hearing this, after all HE discovered the master and placed him his first serious order before anyone. Such ungratefulness…
Michelangelo wanting to get rid of him, pointed at his young fellow, who was always hanging around him copying his works as a practice.
-He will do it for you Signore.
-How rude you are Master, you send me over to a young beginner! Do you guarantee he will do it all right?
-Yes. You can take my word. Let me to introduce you to Signore Raffaello….
The lesson of this little story is the fact some bastard born to be lucky, they could not help on it…
The question of this story is how come that geniuses like a Michelangelo Buonarroti , a Raffaello Santi and a Leonardo da Vinci lived and worked at the same time and the same place?
Coincidence that Firenze, this Italian town, gave them nest in the same time?
What brought them higher and higher, what motivated them to overdo each other?
What make history, art, politics, evolution to push itself forward?
What make sport results, world records falling down?
It is so simple?
Do you often late from trainings, cut down the warm down, pee into the pool, drafting on the races or throw away empty gel foils?!
Well, this year you will get NOTHING from Team TBB’s Santa! And that is the minimum….
After the II. World War, communists decided they put order even the heroes of the fairy tales…rising up a tough and mental healthy generation.
They sack Santa Claus for example. Santa was formed in the memory of Saint Nicholas.
They reformed him, keeping in perspective the kids need a motivating figure who bring them present and candies IF they behaving good…
They removed the religious stuffs like the cross from his hat, his stick, plus his faithful servants, the devils….
Why a saint hanging around with devils?! There must be a story for that. Personally, I believe, everyone walking with a devil and an angel both side, whispering all the time.
I would listen, if I would know…..which one is which….?
So the devils, like religious items are gone. Poor old guy was happy when he could keep his dress at least. The red outfit was all right… J
He got a new name, Uncle Winter and a new servant: Miss Snowflake, a young and blond beauty in silver white.
Interestingly enough, the new employee did not cause any revolution among the Russian Daddies…
Hungarians-of course- followed the new, official trend only… Only Hungary is still a “matriarchate”. (It means, in the family, the women rule)
Moms declared: Miss Snowflake is a bitch!
“We snowflakes are unique, there is no two of us alike!” –haha, do you believe in this nonsense?! Prove it!
Moms stuck to the devils. There must be a threat for naughty kids. If the kids are good, they get present, if they are not: they get beat from the devils!
Well, that is an education.
America, for example, where every kids get presents from the Santa, no matter what, will only dig a path to having a soft and spoiled nation…
In Hungary life is not marshmallow.
So, the official Santa version is in Hungary in 2009, approved by the Hungarian parents, is:
Santa is coming to the kids by reindeer sledge (his name is Rudolf and he has a soft nose. I mean the reindeer…If you have kids, you know the details are important) parking at the front door. No way, Santa is coming down in the chimney!!! Such a dangerous idea…
He put his presents into the shiny-clean boots (They are personally cleaned by the kids. No, it does not count as children laboring…it is only black mailing) on the door mat. Santa does not enter the house!
Not with his snow-wet boots….
If the kids did not behaved good, they will get something only from the devils.
Nowadays, interestingly, the modern Santas are sporting devils very much look like Halle Berry’s catwoman: ladies in all black spandex, sexy tail, spiky whip….Take that Russian daddies!
In my time, the devils left behind (if they could not get hand on us) chocolate devils.
But we, shameless kids enjoyed eating those candies as much as those got from the Santa…So, chocolates devils disappears from the commercial and now devils are only delivering whip. A small, symbolic one, of course. It not so bad, only taste like…like whip?
The kids are supposed to put their candies into the window to show to the neighbors and other kids how good they were, by the number of the chocolate figures. They must keep them in the window as long as they can handle…I know kids who are managed to keep them till Easter! Insane.
With this, Hungarian parents made way to no sugar rush, cavity plus teaching discipline. The genial thing, it is all based on the vainity of their own offspring.
There are big kids still needing disciplines…
Here is my little collection so far, I put into my window….
Well, no Hungarian gypsy looks like Brad Pitt from the Snatch…
You can divide them into two groups: musicians, dealers and criminals. Those are three? Does not matter….
Those who are not making the final of the Hungarian-American Idol can go into the last group
When I was small and declared in the kindergarten I was a gypsy (well, I looked like one) my Mom almost sank under the ground in her shame….later she taught me that being one is not a chosen life style but you have to be born to be gypsy.
Still, I have a strange attraction toward them.
Every single Sunday morning there is a gypsy junk- market in Budapest what is one of my favorite places to visit. Alone. None of my blue stocking friends are wishing to escort me there.
I call these trips “treasure hunting”. You can find there anything you not even dreamed of.
This time I went for some old Bakelite discs for decorating my living room with them.
Then I wanted the New Moon DVD, just weeks before the official premier. Then some after- war old, original Xmas post cards, still not written and for those “whispering” Santa Clause bags I used to got into my candies when I was small. Hungarian kids got them not into a sock but in a special cellophane bag placed into the shiny shoes on the doormat.
Important part of adventure is to dress up for the market. No problem, with my Hawaiian tan, then a “whispering” warm- up training suit (+ obligatory baseball hat) with a matching trainer ( the newest Avia Bolt with the Troy Lee design just an ice on the cake
Wandering among the rows suddenly something caught my eyes. A sad Teddy bear was sitting all alone on the desk among some useless tools.
He was the exact copy of mine own at home only a bit bigger and darker in tone.
When I took him into my arms he gave that funny noise from the belly, a crying bear…
In an instant two things happened: some blood overflows from my heart and suddenly I slode down in a time-funnel I found myself in a toy store with my Mom front of a shelf filled with different wonders: dolls, bears, fairies…
“Which one would you like to have?”-asked my Mom and I pointed to my cutie with a certainty only a child can have in that important question, like choosing a partner for a life time…when the shopkeeper handed her into my hands, she gave this same little noise from the belly, a helpless bear cry. The same cry. (Maci became the most trendy bear in the country, dressed up in a retro- communist style designed and made by the little Coco Chanel J)
When I looked up into the gypsy grinning face I new I made a huge mistake….
Asking the prize- eye witnessing my hands holding the bear to my heart- he gave some enormous and ridiculous prize…he knew he got me.
When you about to find the husband for your honey bear you do not sink down to barging….
I am at home now happy with my treasures; true the New Moon DVD only sporting Russian speaking….
And here are the honey mooners: