This weekend was quite eventful, as my testimony will soon reveal. Saturday I got on the bus from Oxford to London with plans to crash at an American university student's flat. Emma, the student, met my grandmother on Semester at Sea. A student at Dartmouth, she is taking a semester at University College of London to broaden her horizons and host strange men on her couch (i.e. me). I arrived in London, and then made my way on to the metro with the help of two new friends, one from South Africa and one from somewhere in the Middle East (she didn't say where). They helped me with metro matters and I engaged in a journey, with a transfer, and successfully walked towards Emma's place. We mostly had a chill night, and then I woke up early to go to my half marathon in Greenwitch. It started at The O2, a huge concert dome, and got progressively prettier as the 13 miles progressed. I ran near parks and through small towns, all the while accompanied by the adulating cheers of small children.
After the 2:04 hour half marathon, I was thoroughly exhausted. I successfully navigated back to Emma's flat, took a shower, and then decided to reward myself with a hamburger at Jamie Oliver's "Barbecoa". This, dear readers, proved to be a near fatal decision.
I ate the delicious burger, and started my way back to Emma's to pick up my stuff before getting back to Oxford. While on the Underground Metro, I started sweating. My muscles were already crying out from the day's activity, and my stomach and head were complaining as well. I thought I could shake it off, but the hamburger, it seems, would not be quelled by my prayers. After I got off of my first subway train to get on my next one, I promptly got sick on the floor of a side tunnel in the cross-over station. Really sick. It was bad. I then got on the next train, thinking the worst had passed. It had not. I got off the train, found an emergency station, and clicked the intercom to demand an attendant. He came, took my bags, and was a stellar human being. He even responded with alacrity when I tapped his arm and motioned that I was going to be sick as we walked arm in arm to his office. Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a trash bag from a nearby booth and held it open for me as I got sick. I hung out in his office, debated whether or not to go to the hospital, and ultimately felt good enough to make me way back to the bus station and get to oxford. Now I have books to read, so I hope this was a good yarn. I will be going back to the city on Tuesday, so here's hoping for a better experience.
Emma and I
A fraction of the 70,000 half-marathon runners
Who doesn't love participatory medals?
My view of St. George's cathedral from "Barbecoa"
The burger that almost killed me. Worth it.
St. Georges
Thames from the Millennium Bridge
Tourists
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