[running aside – skip the next page if not interested]
Despite feeling pretty rubbish, I decided to go for a run and was pleasantly surprised to discover that there was going to be a traditional Christmas day race held right outside the doorstep of our hosts. After going and registering myself (it was free too, yay:)), I dosed up on ventalin and did a bit of a warm-up. A few practice striders gave me the assurance I needed that I wasn't going to collapse mid-race unable to breathe, so I mentally prepared myself to give it a good go.
The pace was fast and furious from the word go. It wasn't like your typical fun-run in Australia – everyone here looked pretty serious, and the runners in the front few rows were all wearing a singlet from an athletics club. Even the kids, perpetually destined to go out too hard and suffer the rest of the way, seemed to do a lot better than I'm accustomed to. With a downhill start, everyone sprinted to avoid being trampled by those behind them. I would've been in about 50th place, but I was forced to run at 3:00/k just to hold on. After about 500m, people started to die off a little bit and I moved up in the pack.
Went through the first km in 3:24, feeling pretty controlled. An uphill stretch had me taking a few more places. Although my legs were really sore from all the riding, I felt really strong – I guess climbing those mountains helps with running as well as cycling. It's all a bit of a blur after that. I set my sights on a man in a yellow singlet and tried to bridge the gap, but despite dropping a few more people, I never managed to catch him. A kid who looked like he was about 13 was still with me after 3km, and I started to worry that he'd beat me. I put on a spurt up the next hill and managed to drop him, but it was a close thing! The last 1500m was all uphill, and I passed a few more people. I didn't realise the finish line was where we started though and thinking we still had further to go, I didn't really kick at the end and got passed with 100m to go.
According to my GPS, it was 4.45km in 16:10 (3:38/k) – not too bad considering the undulating course and my utter lack of rest. Luke said he thought I came about 10th, which I was surprised at. Not too bad at all.
I've been pretty consistent with my running while I've been in Europe. My shin splints seem to be behind me, and I've been gradually increasing my mileage, doing two short runs in the morning and evening. I'm increasing the distance every week - started off at 2km per workout, and I'm now up to 3.5k. Hopefully I should have a decent fitness base when I get back to Aus.
[/running aside]
To back up the enormous amount of food I'd eaten last night, I set about trying to consume all of the muesli and juice (plus a few catalan specialties our hosts provided) I'd bought last night to lighten the load. The result was I ate so much I could hardly walk! Luke accused me of not enjoying what I was eating, but I disagree – I enjoyed it so much I just kept on eating until I couldn't continue:P
As if he hadn't already done enough for me, Martin called up the hostel in Sarinena where I'd lost my phone, and got them to agree to send it to him (and he'll then send it to the Dietrich family in Germany where I can pick it up). I tried to offer to leave money for the postage, but he wasn't having any of it. Such incredibly nice people, I'm so glad we met them:)
At about one, we realised we should probably get going or else we wouldn't make it to Barcelona by sunset. So we packed up our things, said our goodbyes, and headed down the road, guided by a hand-drawn map.
Saying goodbye
It was a nice route and a nice day for cycling, but I was incredibly sore and feeling really quite sick (and full to the bursting with too much food), so I didn't enjoy it as much as I normally would've. I was going so slowly up the hills, that I was beginning to think it would take us six hours to do the 50k to Barcelona instead of the 'three hours maximum' that Martin had told us.
I gradually warmed up, and our pace increased a bit, but I really was not having fun, and was very much looking forward to collapsing into bed at a hostel somewhere. After negotiating the tricky entry into Barcelona (big cities and bikes really don't mix in my experience), we reached the outskirts in time to witness a rather nice sunset. We rode a little bit further in and then realised we should probably work out where in the city we were going. It took a while to find an open wifi connection, but at about 7ish, I'd found a decent looking hostel and had plotted the route on google maps. It was 11km away, so we were thinking that by maybe 9 at the latest, we'd be happily installed in a room somewhere...wrong!
Without a compass to guide us, we rode around for two hours without making any significant progress. I eventually found another wifi connection, and discovered we were still 8km away. Getting really sick of it now, I turned on my GPS to get a reading for north. We just had to get to the coast and follow it round for a while, so it seemed quite easy. Deceptively easy in fact, because after hitting the coast and following it round for a while, we found our way blocked by the large port complex and had to turn back. I was almost in a catatonic state by then, throat too sore to talk, but grimly rode on at a snail's pace up this enormous hill past the athletics track used in the '96 Olympic Games.
Barcelona's skyline
After the hideously long climb, we went straight back down the other side and I tried to suppress the thought that we probably could've just gone around it. At 11pm, while making another wifi stop, I saw a bunch of people clustered around a fire in a park, and dearly hoped that wasn't where we'd have to spend the night.
Eventually, after much stopping and starting and consulting google maps, we got to the street where the hostel was meant to be. Hmm, funny, it doesn't seem to be here. Oh wait, there was a sign for the Alberg. Hmm, and some kind of notice from the council on the door. Scanning the page, trying to find familiar words “Cerrado” (Closed)
Noooooooooooo!! It was 12am, we'd already ridden 80km – a lot further than I'd anticipated – and we had nowhere to stay:S Summoning up some strength from a reservoir deep down in the well of endurance, I managed to find another hostel quite nearby. We rode on, didn't end up finding it, but saw someone leaving a Pension and decided to give it a shot. I was worried it was too late and no-one would be there to answer the door, but luckily it was a 24 hr joint, and a cheerful old man with a German accent booked us in for two nights.
It was with an unimaginable sense of relief that I sank into bed and fell asleep straight away.
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