Erika Csomor's Blog

The Beach

erikacsomor — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 12:17:29 +0000

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…..

The Hungarian waxing

erikacsomor — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 19:54:01 +0000

(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!

Very simple.

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!

Hats off season

erikacsomor — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 21:43:44 +0000

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…

The Italian job

erikacsomor — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 18:10:23 +0000

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?

RIVALRY?

Be good, if you can…

erikacsomor — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 11:02:36 +0000

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….

How I found a husband

erikacsomor — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 07:35:43 +0000

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:

The Tom Sawyer trick

erikacsomor — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 06:07:55 +0000

Do you still remember Tom, who got ordered by his aunt to paint their fence?

Tom made the boring and long job attractive by selling it for his friends.

Something similar happened here in Kona. People got lined up and ready to pay fortunes for equipment, nutrition, travel expenses to come here to Hawaii- only to burn to ashes on the lava field…

I am also a Tomboy, with the same attitude, (like Tom had for fence painting) toward the bike cleaning and preparing for the Big Bike Check-in…..long and boring….

I had an idea. If WTC could perform the Tom Sawyer trick here, I could do the same with my bike cleaning….

I occupied the Cervelo booth on the Expo, taking my P3 on their bike rack and started the cleaning process.

Soon a line formed by spectators (quiet a crowd because the actions of the closing expo) who were only guessing which Team TBB girl is under the oil painted face?! I was a true spectacle.

While I was giving more signatures (+ oily finger prints) and photos than the day before on the official signature hour, I started advertising my bike cleaning by grinning and looking excessively happy!

Tom accepted presents for letting his friends to paint a little bit, like marble ball, dead cat on string….etc…

I could live without all these, so I offered the cleaning sponge them (regarding the expo closing) FREE!!!

Well, the world is full of fools.

I found a guy who stood by me (turning the pedal while I put oil on the chain, etc) for an hour.

I asked if he is athlete too? He said he is a sponsor…???

Then he pointed out the booth just opposite us, he was from the very concurrency!

He was actually an industry spy!

He wanted to know top secret things like who gonna win the race tomorrow!?

I am a loyal to Cervelo so I DID NOT tell him!

P.S.

Later on I pushed my Pretty into the transition under the eyes of so many spies (who were counting how many bike goes with different bike parts etc…) and score ONE for Cervelo, Oval bars, ISM saddle and LG helmet!

Having fun tomorrow….

How I became a runner?

erikacsomor — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 12:34:44 +0000

“Give horses to your children, not money!”- Winston Churchill

I dedicate this little novel to Zali Sutton who turned 6 and facing serious challenges in her professional athletic carrier

Our coach is often referring about me as having “running background” or being “natural runner”, while he is right- as always- I think he has no idea what he is talking about…

So here is the story of “how I became a runner”….

-Hard to imagine but there was a life before the cell phones….

Information was transported by messengers.

In our little farm that was ME. The smallest, with two sticks instead of legs….and anyway, not really useful for anything else….

But that job did not make me any runner. Some messages were never delivered (went to the account of natural disaster) -the kid forgot it half way and went for playing soccer with neighbor kids…

Then around my 6^th birthday something happened….

Grandpa dragged me into the stable saying “there is a huge surprise for you Babi!”

I got all excited, I really, really wanted a bike for my birthday…

But there was Mathew IV. lying on the straw still wet.

A newborn baby horse. A boy. Mathew. Or exactly Mathew IV.

In our family, like in every royal family, the oldest son inherit ting not only the family name but the first name too. Same with the farm animals. Our every stallion got named Mathew and every mare Monique. Mathew, the fair-minded was our greatest king and Monique?! Well, this will stay the secret of my Grandpa forever….

So there was Mathew IV. My surprise.

I hated Mathew from the first sight, because:

1: He was not a bicycle,

2: He was now the smallest, cutest- the new favorite of the farm,

3: He was not too smart, but he figured out quickly that I am the equivalent of him in the human society and probably the only one with considering spear time, so we kids should have to keep and play together,

4: Mathew IV. has a green or wild card, being free in the yard…

5: Mathew was growing fast, and was a beast,

We played all day long the only possible game what Mathew could find out, he was chasing me and I escaped, madly…

I always tried to sneak along the walls silent, but the dogs, the bitches, always betrayed me…joining to the fun. I have never forgotten those interwalls.

With the time going on, I survived and outran many more Mathew and Monique.

I can thank my basic endurance and speed for them.

This is also the reason, why my family and any another Hungarian do not eat horse meat.

We do not eat family members….

The lesson of my little story?

Run Zali RUN!!!!

From Breaking Down till Twilight

erikacsomor — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 06:23:24 +0000

(the Embrunman story)

Today I sold my soul to the Devil. I would not name the Devil (for my own good) but the pact was about if I go home and write a handsome blog then he will forget me the last 3 hill reps….DEAL! (you do not wanna wait for the second offer of the Devil….)

I dedicate my little blog for my favorite vampires:

To Bella,

who does not stand the vampires, but she is a real KILLER. So they named the most famous female vamp in the history after HER…

To James,

who was eagerly listening to my vamp stories all the way from Austria to Leysin only lost concentration when Jacob came into the story.

“But whoTF is this Jacob?!”

“Well, he is a werewolf….”

“Aha.”

“It is a vampire love triangle, you see?”

“I see…”

Anyway, James was the coolest vamp in the story, however he did not last long L

Three vampires were holding a pre race briefing a la Hungarian/Californian/South African English at the dinner table.

The French program and info booklet in the middle, the meeting went on.

1. page: “Previous winners”- bla-bla-bla, history, quick page turning…

2.page: “Bike course map”- Up and down, up and down, bla, bla….more then 5000 meters altitude difference….whatever….

3.page: “Race Schedule”- start time at 6 a.m. huhhh, that is early…

(the first time when I heard about the separate female start at 5:50 a.m., I was in the mobile toilet at 5:45….SHIT!)

4.page: “prize money” –here we are!!!

The Hungarian vamp started to cut out the chart with her fork and knife to later stick on her bike stern.

Our master always told: “Be prepared! In any race, there will be a point (or two) where certain questions will come up. (Something like: what TF am I doing here?) If you do not have the answer ready, it is too late, you lost!”

So we were preparing. For any devilish question we will have the answer ready: The Wrong vamp copied the prize list onto her race bracelet. She is a born optimistic, she started the list from the top. To make it sure. She stopped at the 5.place position, dreaming….2000 EUROS!!! (Loud sight)

James Tarzan is a visual type. He made pictures into his head.

“ 1.place –a house, in South- Africa (of course)

2.place- a car, an African JEEP? Maybe?

3.place- ??? 3 camels?

……..”

At dawn, 6 very cool vampires got out of the cars, slamming the doors. (since we are doing the tube sessions, my car- door suffering permanent damage by too strong arms.)

Still dark, but the air is already filled with the smell of excited, perfume-sweet French blood….

The reasons of excitement are US! (“They arrived, they are here!” –whisper everywhere.)

But today we were on business.

Only the vamps have TT bars and deep carbon race wheels on. We took it serious, the business.

At 5:50, I ran into the water panicky. Vamps can see in the darkness well, but I desperately threw myself on the feet of the first swimmer. I can not let the lighting boat pull away….well, you never knows what lying on the bottom of the dark lake, still sleepy and cranky….soon I dared to look back, the front swimmer and me pulled away from the group. Cool, we dropped Bella!

Don’t we?! The speed and the right arm of the swimmer was very suspect. I had a “déjà vu” J

Since when Bella has a 6 beats kick?! I never seen her without her pull boy….I mean not Steve but the other one, the yellow one….

Soon, I pulled next to Bella, offering her my help.

No, it was not about fair play or vamp camaraderie….I can not let Bella to take all the glory, the glory of leading the swimming! First she did not share it….In the second lap she accepted it, and I was swimming on the front like mad. Vamp or not, you do not wanna hold up Bella

First out of the water in Blue Seventy the two vamps! Leaving a five minutes gap behind…all the franchies were swimming in the dark J

I got all emotional. ME? First out of the water? Nobody will believe me….

On the first big climb the leader guys caught up. Bella hold a quick family meeting with Steve, I was discrete so I kept a distance but I guess every meeting is the same.

“STEVE,you did not forget it, do you? I love you honey! Me too!….etc”

The plan was for me going hard on the bike, freaking out everyone, then jogging the marathon.

I took the Wrongstar’s advise something like; “How to be an Asian/European/International triathlon Super Star # 1102? –Push yourself into the front and get a personal official leader motor biker who will clear up the way and pace you nicely while the national heroines go down in the plughole with a 40 minutes deficit.

While the French referee made photos about me with his mobile phone, I was wondering where the famous French nationalism disappeared ?!

They cut out their heart and they offered it on tray for a Hungarian vamp?!….I even got a helicopter on the biggest top. How cool is that would be, if I would be a guy, like Jonnyo, with technical interest?!

I only saw it was big and noisy and I was struggling to keep my stylish hairdo intact in the whirlwind and smile for the cameras while I was actually sweating blood…

Like every vamp, I am schizoid. Like vamps are yelling to their victims to run away, but in the same moment they are chasing them down- I was yelling the same way to the moto driver to pull away from me (Allez, allez, vite!) but in the same instant I was accelerating after it….The killer instinct. Blood is blood.

After 180 km arriving back into town I was happy and relived to get off my bike. IF…

Not clearly remembering the course map, I was cursing all the way up on an extra bonus 6 km climb….the Frenchies went all crazy: Here lay the national pride!

Finally they got me!

Off the bike I only went for surviving…..

Bella passed me soon enough, I only could follow her progress by the pale and drained guys lying on the side of the road…”Bella, Bella….do not be piggy! Leave something (someone) for me too….”

Wongstar was the smartest. She had on her back her special drink….so called berry mix….(rolling eyes) she was flying….

At Twilight, all 6 vamps settled down sipping catch-up as a camouflage, with French fries….not make it suspect.

We left with “greasy” pay checks. Wongstar was hypnotized and kept saying: “5.place-2000 Euros….” again and again…

Only James seemed a bit annoyed with pulling 3 naughty camels behind…..

Coco the Pooh

erikacsomor — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 16:53:23 +0000

Coco the Pooh and her friends all live in the 100 Acre Wood….

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, Coco visited her friend Tigger, (alias the Wongstar.

We can call this “Star Alliance”) but she was not at home (she was bouncing somewhere, of course)

So Pooh decided to take the Tele-cabin up to the top, because she was so sick already staying in her cave for 3 days and very in need for some fresh air and change. Well, the tourist path also containing pretty many bushes also…

Pooh, the silly old Pooh was also pretty sure she would find a McDonalds or something on the top, because once she heard from Owl (alias Jonnyo)- who knows everything lot better than anyone in the 100 Acre Wood- that when he was sick, only the fries (chips) stayed inside.

No catch-up for the Pooh….

Pooh also wanted to ask a menu, because the Coke would kill all the bugs, viruses or whatever. The Coke probably would kill you too finally, but that would not matter to you after ALL….

So Pooh took the Tele-cabins, but only up-way, because she was afraid with her bad luck on the way down she would snap the cable. Not like she would mind her life but caring for some innocent animals bringing down in the process…

Pooh only found freaking rocks and flowers on the top, no food at all, not even a jar of honey…..

Pooh hates walking. Pooh also convinced, those who are hiking alone without kids or dogs are psychos (or at least something very wrong with them) so better to avoid single hikers…

Pooh had nothing with her on the way down so she was forced to live on wild strawberries and raspberries….not much fun for a bear from the urbanization….burning 1000 kcal for picking up few 1 kcal…

She was so bored that she started humming a note for herself while balancing on the rocky path.

Something like this: “Pooh is poo.

Even the poo could make a downhill

Thanks for Newton

The bigger is the poo

The faster is the whooooo”

Well it is not rhyming in English but translate for Hungarian….