another event at the airport

Date	Celsius ° (C*9/5)+32=F	Place of run	Duration (min)	start time	One inside loop	9 flights (sec)	Sets of 11 pull-ups	Sets of 25 push-ups
12 May	≈ 8	Nizhenskaya,Moscow,	≈ 25	07:43	1:22.17	32.47	3	2

            I’m nearly completely healthy.  Stomach, head, nose and all or fine; only the knees and hips are giving me small problems. My runs are not long lately because of niggling pains and discomfort.  The times for the sprints around the loop and up the stairs are remarkably consistent—gives me hope that when these little pains disappear, I may set some new records. 

A writing about my most recent stare down with the authorities at the airport:

30 April 2014

I didn't bring a hand grenade to the airport today. I did bring the small bag of goodies that I use during my lessons—golf ball-sized speaker to use with the iPod, glue stick, pencil sharpener, two USB drives, electrical cords and adapters, and something else. 

As I went through security, the dude at the TV screen asked if I have a nozhnitzi. I didn't process the word because I thought he said nosh.

"No way!" I shouted in a whisper.  With disgust, I added, "I don't have a nosh!"  (Who would be so stupid? Only an idiot would bring a nosh to the airport!! That'd be like bringing a hand grenade or something). Then another word came into my mind, and all was clear.  The dude hadn't said nosh (knife) but nozhnitzi (scissors).  My spirit sunk as I remembered the tool I use for various and sundry purposes like to cut up little pictures from photocopies for my youngest students.  It was a good one, too–real sharp, comfortable grip, very easy to use. I bought it this January to replace the one a different Moscow-airport-dude made me throw away last December.  

Dude: Is someone here with you? You can go back and give it to them. Or, you can go back outside, place it in a bag, and check it.

I looked at the sea of humanity waiting to trickle through a narrow door. Although I had an hour, I didn't want I risk it. 

James: No, no one's here. I'm not going back. 

            I'm not sure why—maybe because he saw the look of anguish on my face—but he slowly and quietly (was that a conspiratorial wink?) handed me the scissors. 

"Why did he give them back?" I thought. "Well, let's see what we can do with this opportunity."

I turned and calmly started toward the next door that led through the security area and toward the airplanes. I wanted to see how serious he was about keeping that scissors off the plane; many times, people can't be bothered to do their jobs.  When he called after me, I pretended not to hear. After three steps, another passenger tapped me on the shoulder. 

Sigh.  The gig is up, I can’t pretend not to notice a tap on the shoulder.  I turned and disgustedly tossed the $8 pair of scissors in the garbage.  I had forced the dude to get up and start after me.

So…I had acted like a juvenile, like a terribly annoying American jerk, misrepresenting fine upstanding citizens of our country.  

Can I really be so important?  

At any rate, I didn't make any friends at that checkpoint. 

One person, when she read my little story, thought she needed to give the view from the other side. “…After all, it's not written on your forehead that you're NOT going to pierce someone with your scissors. So if I were in that line with you, I'd be on that dude's side.”

I wanted make it clear that I understood his actions, “Of course. I wasn't disgusted at HIM.”

            She missed the point, "I understand you were disgusted with the regulations."

Still MORE clarification needed, “Нет, нет, нет! I was disgusted with MYSELF!”

Now she got it, and I even scored some brownie points with this little exchange, “Not many people would feel the same in your situation. I like you for it =)”

Ah, yes, one of my best qualities: self-deprecation.  It comes easily.  My life is rife with raw material.