Shaken Not Stirred

We benefited from having a room located on the ship's port side, as I stepped onto our balcony I had a panoramic view of what 40K euro a square foot looked like. I took my first drink of coffee while scanning the mountain side, I made note of the 100 foot black yacht "Ice Angel" exiting the harbor. I don't think I know a number high enough as to what a floor plan of the inventory in the Monte Carlo Yacht Club would be?

The Monaco Walking Tour was first on the agenda. After a leisure day in Tuscany, Ash and I were ready take the city as our own, something that no country has successfully accomplished. We started outside the Oceanographic Museum, founded by Prince Albert I and contributed to by the legendary oceanographer Jacques Cousteau.

The diverse gardens that lined the walkways were home to a variety of Cacti and Olive Trees. All exceptionally manicured, lending a perfect compliment to the picturesque Italian Alps on the Eastern Horizon and the Southern edge of Monaco's French ally.

After absorbing less than fifty percent of what the tour guide explained to us about the history of the 450 acres of land, we walked through the Cathedral that still serves the town today.

I'm unsure if it is I that travels back in time or if the 11 year old George travels to the future to take control of my person when I'm on any kind of tour. I'm sure most all of my educators would remember all too well the blank look that comes over my face when the depth of the subject broaches the seven minute barrier. This is what I was thinking about as Stephanie explained the history of the Grimaldi for more than ten minutes.

Monaco's Palace was the next stop and the "changing of the guard" the next event before departing to Monte Carlo's most famous attraction, The Casino. After thanking our guide (Merci Stephanie), we had lunch at the Cafe de Paris and decided to come back to the Casino in the evening. We walked our lunch off around the famous square, had a drink on the terrace of the Hermitage hotel, overlooking the harbor and immediately across from us the Oceanographic and Palace.

  

The French Pastry shop that we purchased our Eclair's at was more commercial than we otherwise prefer but their taste was authentic enough. As we descended down the hill side, we walked around the harbor to get back to the Silver Spirit (there's got to be a billion dollars worth of yachts).

The couple's massage courtesy of TFS preceded changing into our formal attire for the evening. Ash in a stunning white dress with silver shimmering accents and I in my first ever "slim fit", navy Calvin Klein.

We were both the best dressed couple in the Casino that night. I had visions of a grand lobby and gaming area so when we walked by the Bentleys and Lambos, up the stairs and in the main room that consisted of at most six open tables, I was a little underwhelmed. I realized it was a Thursday night and the end of the tourist season but despite that, I assumed it'd be larger with a bit more grandeur than a 1920s Boston Speakeasy. When James Bond walks in and says "shaken not stirred", there is at least a game of craps going on but nay, not on this night. If for nothing else then to say that I did it, I placed my bet and watched the dealer spin the tiny ball around the roulette table. Ashleigh placed a bet as well and we talked to a couple from Staten Island. After burning through the 50 Euros, it was time for a drink.

We joined our new friends from Houston for the remainder of our time in Monte Carlo, their company enhanced our experience (thanks Steven and Ashley). Ordering Martini's on the terrace of the Fairmont Hotel (Fairmont Hotel sits on top of the tunnel that has been made famous by the most popular Formula 1 race), taking in the Mediterranean after sunset and sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the world made my pupils go into Supernova mode, it was too much.

The Silver Spirit gave us a 9:30 curfew and we were on the deck of La Terezza Restaurant enjoying our scallops at 9:15. Our view this time, the lights of the city. As the engines churned the sea, seven decks below us and we pulled out of the harbor, the city receded in to the horizon, I thought to myself "we did it all".

Tuscany

Florence was the fifth stop on the Ashleigh and George Italian tour of 2007. That vacation was two weeks long and as much as I hate to admit it, we were unable to capture the same exuberance for Florence that we had for Rome. The train riding did take a toll on our 24 year old bodies and as a result we didn't attack the city with the same zeal.

So, we left a little on the table last time in Florence. Our goal this time was to: experience more of the Tuscan countryside, leave nothing on the table and not a drop at the bottom of our wine glass.

An hour journey from the Port town of Liverno in to the Chianti region is all it took for our group of 20 to reach one of the most distinguished vineyard's under the Tuscan Sun. The scenery was like a younger vintage table wine: simplistic, beautiful and satisfying. 

Ornellaia is by Italian standards a young vineyard started in the late eighties with the help of California wine mogul Robert Mondavi, it quickly became the standard bearer for the region. Its complexity and depth are direct results from the care and quality of execution from harvest to aging to bottle. The vineyard is a great parallel on a trip provided by TFS to Toyota Manufacturing.

After the tour and the tasting, we enjoyed a Tuscan lunch with some new friends from Texas that made me want to sleep on the way home but instead I found myself conversing with the head of TFS on a range of topics that lasted the entire bus drive back.

Winemaking is a great metaphor for life; while there are variables that you cannot control for the most part, what you put in, is what you get out.
 

Portovecchio Corsica

To hear the Italians describe the weather in France, the skies opened up like a pig slit from ear to groin and as the rain came crashing down so too were our hopes for a tour of the French Island's wineries'. Like any vacation abroad (or anywhere in fact) adapting to the circumstances and overcoming the obstacles is essential to a successful day.

It has been my great pleasure to have traveled to so many of the most beautiful cities in the world with my soul mate, to have experienced a soggy morning on a day that (for no other reason but that it was her 30th Birthday), should otherwise have been filled horizon to horizon with only the most vibrant and softest golden sunshine.

You can look out your port or starboard, see a gray sky and be depressed that a tour was canceled or you can view it as an opportunity. Anyone can experience a canned tourist speech about how beautiful the countryside is or how marvelous and historic the Port town of Corsica has been for centuries.

I punch these keys and scream about perspective so much that the idea of it all, I fear is more tired than a cruise ship butler (at least coming from me AGAIN, like I know so much more than everyone else). If I would have gone on a French Winery tour, than I could have easily been typing about how incredible my experience was but that wasn’t in the cards today.

On this unexpected rainy morning, I took my birthday bride for a tour into the city of Corsica France. We walked by the Police station and the tourism bureau. We talked with shop owners and enjoyed the memories that resurface as a direct cause of being back in Europe for our third time.

As we journeyed deeper in to the city, we came upon a beautifully manicured French Cemetery. The head stones and mausoleums were well maintained, there was one that dated back to 1906 that had fresh flowers on it. I was moved by the depth of both the detail and vulnerability that were clearly evident.

After taking advantage of authentic Primo sandwiches at a local market of which we enjoyed as we walked up, down, around and thorough the tiny yet maneuverable streets of the tiny port town, we stopped long enough to take part in the commerce aspect of visiting a foreign city.

 

As the tender navigated the short choppy waves back to the Silver Sprit, we reconnected with some friends that we met as we boarded our vessel. Experiences were exchanged and goodbyes executed back and forth.

Ashleigh experienced firsthand, the hospitality that exists amongst the upper levels of TFS. Her birthday did not go unmentioned as all 37 dealers applauded the occasion prior to our formal dinner. Diane and her daughter from DC and Armando and Louise from West Palm were exceptional dinner company.

As the evening drew to a close and that familiar feeling of being efficiently exhausted began to set in, we bid our farewells for the evening and retired to our quarters, only to find that the crew and Captain had not forgotten Ash's milestone. Balloons taped to the ceiling, cake at the ready, bath drawn with rose petals strewn about and candles lit, it all screamed "SURPRISE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Bonjourno Roma!

It feels amazing to be back. We touched ground and proceeded to the ship without one hiccup. I am a little bummed that we didn't get the 2 hours or so in the city but that only makes me more thankful for our previous trip. It was special on many levels and We'll be back one day!

The ship is amazing, I haven't been one to compare but I have a feeling that there isn't much that is nicer. After a quick settle and reboot of our bearings, Ash and I headed to the pool deck on nine.

We ordered a Caprese Salad Buffalo Mozzarella, tomatoes and olive oil and: prosciutto, mushroom, artichoke and olive pizza, complimented with Italian wine.

The meet and greet was next on the agenda, it was short and sweet and before we knew it, we were dining on the seventh deck restaurant "La Terezza". We initially were turned away because of a lack of reservation but Ashleigh flicked her eyelashes, twirled her finger inside of her loose curl and very sweetly informed the 70 year old host that "it's my birthday tomorrow", after they performed CPR and brought the poor man's heart back to a fast beat with the on board defibrillator, we were seated and given a four course meal.

Kate and Leo Moment

Conversation that husbands and wives share ensued. The kind that don't come on normal nine to five days but aren't extinct either. We all know the kind. It's going to be a great week!

Lift Off

It's 4:27pm and we should be 33 minutes into our flight to Rome but as it turns out, we've hit a bit of a snag. The captain came over the speaker and informed us that it'd be another 40 minutes before we'd know if we would need additional maintenance. I'm disappointed about the inconvenience but it'd be a hell of a lot more inconvenient if Delta didn't catch whatever potential problem that the plane has prior to being 40K feet over the Atlantic.

This kills a little bit of the buzz but like I mentioned before I'd rather the buzz be killed before anything else.

As I typed the last sentence the captain, announced that we were all systems go. Ashleigh found out that the lavatories weren't flushing with the right amount of pressure. I guess that's a big problem on a 10 hour flight with 300 passengers. Who would've thunk it?

15 minutes later.....

So we started to taxi and pulled back the gate, when they fired up the engines a fuel pump light came on, the apprehension in the pilot’s voice was more a derivative of having to make such a disappointing announcement than from unease about the mechanical problem. They're having maintenance come back aboard....Yuck!

20 minutes later....

They've decided to give us the option to de-board while we wait, (not good) while they determine what they need to do.

90 minutes later.....

GRRR!!! So the fuel pump issue in the wing situation can't be fixed, which isn't a concern of the pilot, apparently that happens from time to time. The solution is to take on more fuel and re-map or route but this takes approval and we are now waiting for that said approval from the suits.

30 minutes later....

If you’re getting tired and annoyed by this disrupting style then imagine how we feel. We have the approval the higher ups but during our delay they sent our ground crew away and now they're rounding them back up. They said another 20 minutes.

30 minutes later......

We started to taxi out when a female passenger freaked out, we pulled back to the gate so that she could get off and now finally they've just asked us to turn off all devices so that we can finally take off. Total time: 210 minute delay.

9ish Hours later....

Wheels touch down.

Marathon I: My Journey, My Testimony

The following web log will I fear come off as a pretentious, self serving piece that reads like I typed it with only one hand because the other was too busy patting myself on my back.

I've said before that this space is primarily about my roles as Husband and Daddy and serves to chronicle moments or events that I am passionate for or that I feel my offspring might one day be curious enough to inquire about. With that said, Pierce, this is how the number 26.2 kicked your Daddy's butt.

As the elevator made its descent from my floor, I stared down at my yellow and blue Brooks Ghost Fives, a sight that became familiar to me over the last few months. I was anxious and truth be told probably nervous.

The doors opened and we picked up one more passenger, the baby boomer surveyed me and made the obvious observation, "going for a run"? "Yes sir, running my first marathon today". He reached across the small space, shook my hand and explained that before two exploded discs, he too was a distance runner. As the doors opened and our brief encounter came to a close, he said, what later became the greatest case of foreshadowing that I have ever personally experienced: "Remember, the most important thing is that you finish".

I ordered my usual race day breakfast, OJ and a PB&J sandwich, (I order only by initials). As I waited for my fuel, I recounted the restless night of sleep that I enjoyed. The toddler size 8W foot in my back proved difficult to escape, no use re-arranging him, he just scooted closer. At one point he decided that my armpit would be a suitable spot for his head. His unorthodox sleeping preference was not the only challenge, the pasta wasn't settling well and the handful of tums proved fruitless.

I walked down the hall, past the hotel pool, into the restroom and reluctantly, let my body reject The Old Spaghetti Factory. As I balanced on one knee, looking through blurry eyes, I thought to myself, "I can't be starting out this way". It did and the anxiety became overwhelming. I ate my breakfast, met Ash and Pierce and went to the start line.

I stretched, kissed the family and told Ash that I'd see her in around four hours. I liked my tempo; I was racing within myself and not the other racers. I extinguished the queasy feeling after the sixth mile and began to settle in. However, on mile eight I experienced what felt like someone taking their index finger and thumb and pinching my left calf. It was a foreign twinge and it caused me to slow my pace but I kept moving. The pinch became more prominent on mile nine and by mile ten it was as if there were two hands aggressively grabbing at the back of both calves.

"This can't be happening" is what I was thinking and walking was what I began to do. Baby Boomer #2 cruised beside me and began to walk with me, sensing my pain she asked if I was cramping. I answered; she asked if I was Christian, I answered; she explained to me that this was her 65th marathon and in her previous race she was cramping during mile 12 and prayed for comfort, she said she received it and as it would turn out, qualified for Boston (her first time). I congratulated her. She told me to repeat the Lord's Prayer and ask him to massage my calves and that he would. Before cruising off she told me that I would be able to finish.

I took plenty of water at the station on mile 12, stretched and started off. I did a combination of hobbling, walking and shuffling for two miles. There wasn't a water station at 14! Like a mirage in a desert, I wanted one. At one point between 14 and 15, my left leg felt like I stepped into a vice, as the pressure built, my calf tightened, my left foot turned inward and I hit the pavement.

Selfishly, the easiest thing to do was feel sorry for myself. There I was, picking asphalt out of my arm at the race I'd been working toward for 18 months and training relentlessly for the last four. Thoughts of quitting entered my mind and exited just as quickly. I couldn't help but think about how my pace was shot. Originally this wasn’t about time; it was about accomplishing something that I wanted to do when I was 17. As I lay in that park, clutching my calf, writhing, I quit the easy and sobered up. I remembered seeing at the start, three racers pushing quadriplegics, what would they give for the ability to run? Perspective is the ultimate elixir.

This is the part in Rocky, where the Stallion is down but not out, the ref counting, the montage begins to play with the music in the background (you know the music, everyone knows the music). "Get up!" yells Mick, "I didn't hear no bell"! I remembered watching the London Games, a racer in the 5K tripped. She was American, clearly not hurt; she pouted, pounded the track with her fists and cried. She didn't finish. I stared at too many 5am skies during my training to have a "DNF" in my result column.

Baby Boomer #3 stopped and asked if it was my knee or calf? After hearing the answer he said it's a warm day, get some water, (He meant well, thanks pal!). I walked with another injured runner to mile 16, drank several cups of water and used a volunteer's phone to call Ash, I told her I wasn't going to come across when I thought I would.

I rebooted, stretched, prayed and never stopped. I trotted off slowly, building confidence. My lungs were fresh but my wheels were tender, my thought was that if I could get to water station 18 and repeat the process to 20 and on then I should be able to make it.

I recited the Lord's Prayer over those last ten miles more than I had in the last decade. One foot in front of the other I looked for the next station. I couldn't help but think about how miserable Pierce must be waiting for, what must have seemed like forever for his slow-poke father to finish and that led me to start thinking about Ashleigh and how much she supported me. I couldn't have done this without either of them. ASIU!

I saw them at mile 22, driving toward me they pulled off to the side ahead of me, Ashleigh jumped out and started waiving the sign that she had made with Pierce. GO! GO! GO, DAD! I told her I was sorry, used the emotion for fuel the last two miles. The cool thing about being one of the last to cross is that only my supporters were left at the Finish Line. I was able to take Pierce from Ash's arms and run out the last bit carrying him across.

Marathon's are often used as metaphors for life. There is always going to be unforeseen obstacles. You train and educate yourself as best you can to deal with unexpected variables. I was dealt a curve ball that changed the whole complexion of my race, I had never experienced a cramp, if I hadn't trained as hard as I did maybe finishing wouldn't have been a possibility. At the end of the day, I achieved my original goal and kept a promise I made to myself when I wrote this entry:

http://gchernandez3.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html

Marathon I: 5 hours 25 minutes

Marathon II, April 27th 2013, I'm coming for you, with a new goal in mind.

Thank you for my three messengers and the comfort you brought me, I couldn't have done it without you.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth,
As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
Forever.
Amen.

My experiences are new to me; the lessons learned are probably not new to you. Most of the time, I'm just working out what the Silver and Black lining is.

Saying goodnight - guest blogger- P's Mom

Two years ago, I said goodnight to my life as I had grown to know it. I still remember with blissful naivety the long walks my husband and I had together while we waited for Pierce to arrive. The lengthy talks about our future and the many things we would teach him. Two years ago I said goodnight to long, easy walks hand in hand and I said good morning to a completely different way of living, a different way of being.

I said goodnight to selfish hours of restful evenings on George’s shoulder and woke up to a purpose beyond anything I could have dreamed. Making a family changed who I was as a person. As I sit tonight, preparing to say goodnight to my one year old, I think of how much this little creature has made a difference in my life. How every day I want to be better for him, for me, for us.

He not only made me better, but made my already amazing spouse burn brighter with his presence. I said goodnight to loving George as just my dearest friend, greatest confidant, partner in crime or that 16 year old boy that made me smile like no other person ever had, or ever would. He became P’s dada. This new man, with a goodness I had the chance to fall in love with all over again.

Tonight, I say goodnight to the past two years, the greatest, most challenging of my life. I sit typing this with the naivete of a young mother with only one angel to dote upon. I know I will continue to say good morning with a thankfulness in my heart for this gift of happiness and the rediscovery of goodness in life and the people in it.

Thank you so much to the people in my life who made it easier to choose happiness on rainy mornings. Who made me smile on cloudy days. Who helped clear the foggy evenings with words of kindness. Your goodness, your love, has made ALL the difference.

But most of all, thank you to my little man. You are all I could have ever dreamed of...and more. When I wake in the morning (and every morning) I pray I can return the the light and love you have brought to me. I am so excited for all the adventures your two year old self can bring.

Wishing you a beautiful, blissful morrow.