The city on the move

At Engel's square, Eira. Looking South at the sea.

The perfect Easter weather continued still today and I couldn't resist going out even though my ankle was hurting pretty badly (can it be an inflammation?) after the 40km of running during the Easter holidays. My mum was as supportive as always, saying: "You shouldn't go to the half marathon with that little practice". She has difficulties in realizing that I might have changed from those school years when I hated sport. In contrast, my sister had an extra challenge for the Helsinki City Run, the goal of all this training: for every minute over her target time (i.e. 2h30 for a half-marathon for both of us), she'll donate 1 Euro for the protection of the Baltic Sea, and for every minute she'll run faster, she'll donate 50 cents. I decided to take this challenge as well - maybe giving an extra 5 Euros if I make it to the finish line in the first place.

The tower in the Sinebrychoff parc (or as the people here call it "Koff's parc"or just "Koffari"), built by the Russian brewery family in the early 19th century.

As for today, the city was on the move in their impeccable outdoor gear. Maybe I have mentioned this already, but I'm always amazed how the Finns invest in their outdoor clothing. The pejorative way of calling the Finns the "shell suit nation" (or more generally tracking suit nation) has got a new meaning as the people do their Sunday passegiata (the Italian way of having a walk and making an appearance in their best clothes) in expensive gore-tex clothes. Or maybe the shell suit nation has divided into two classes: the gore-tex nation and the shell suit nation. I did my passegiata, of course, in my vintage Gucci velvet skirt and Dior sun glasses (ah, what a snob!) that got their first spring appearance. But I think I did my fair share of shell suiting with those aforementioned 40km.

Anyhow, Eira and Punavuori looked gorgeous in the intense sun light. The Finnish flags are there because of the Mikael Agricola day (the guy who invented written Finnish in the 16th century), we are not that americanized (n.b. because we're quite americanized) that we'd have them around all the time.

The statue of Juhani Aho, a great Finnish author from the 19th century who also gave the name for my book club.

I quite like some of the recent additions to the neighbourhood. The wavy windows on the top floor are superbe.

Solitary people

This morning I went running despite the grey and foggy weather. I could barely see hundred metres in front of me and the sea didn't have any horizon. At one point, I could spot a few men emerging from the sea. Six men, each one around 20 metres from the next one, sitting on their little foldable chairs ice-fishing by the small hole in the ice. An absurd sight, or rather, what a curious hobby (an example on this equally curious Youtube video, the basic ice-fishing vocabulary includes, at least according to this video, "jumalauta" = fucking hell, "saatana"= damn, "vittu"=fuck, "kahden kilon siika"=2kg whitefish).

Visit Finland website writes: "At some point in their life, almost every Finn has sat by an ice hole, ice-fishing for perch, the national fish of Finland. Many have got such a bite on the end of their lines that this has kindled a lifelong spark for fishing." Honestly, I can't imagine what kind of a bite would get me to try out ice-fishing.

At the same time, ice-fishing reflects so well the Finnish solitary mentality (Visit Finland calls it "Finnish meditation"). While the elderly Italian signori gather around the fountain in the central piazza of the town to sip some aperitif together, the Finns take their lunch packs and enjoy their solitude in the cold and wind, alone on the ice. I wonder if my generation of men continues to do so - if the behaviour and mentality haven't changed, maybe there won't be any cold winters to practice ice-fishing in 30 years time in any case.

P.S. Five years ago in South America me and my friends complained about the ubiquitous reggaeton music. Yesterday, I went to a reggeaton dance class to shake the booty. My moves surely need some polishing, but the two guys on the class were just hopeless and not making any difference between hips or shoulders. However, I appreciated them trying out. Two men less going ice fishing...

Let it snow!

First of all, happy New Year 2012! Let us face it with tolerance and adventurous mind and without prejudices.
Secondly, let's start complaining...

So far it has been a very grey winter and it hasn't snowed at all in Helsinki. People were unhappy. I, on the other hand, considered the +4 °C temperature perfect, especially because I could still use my autumn coat (of the style that, I only now discovered, was basically the symbol of bourgeoisie in France).

It started snowing today. Big white flakes outside of my office window, but I didn't feel at all excited. Immediately, there were responses on Facebook: "Snow :)" or "S-N-O-W" and maybe three exclamation points.

I expected that my Italian leather shoes would be destroyed and I would need to walk in a weird position in order to avoid slipping or to veer around the melted snow. When outside, I didn't dare to use the umbrella. First, because it didn't seem to snow that much or that wet. And second, because I didn't know the appropriate umbrella convention any more: was it OK to use umbrella in the snow or would I look like someone who doesn't enjoy the first snow and spoils other people's excitement? Normally, I don't care that much about what strangers think of me but somehow umbrella use is one of my weak points. The social custom in the streets seemed divided but I made my own decision, the next time I'll be using an umbrella!

I went to buy new running shoes. I doubt now that I will use them soon if the weather continues like this. However, I was inspired by my sister's decision to run a half marathon in May. Even though the lower early bird fee didn't apply any longer (of course I had missed it by a day), I was also considering of finally doing it. I should mention that this has been my plan ever since the summer 2006 when I started practising in Paris under the dictation of my professor. I bought my Asics then...

God dammit, someone wrote on Facebook about going to run in the snow with the Arctic jogging shoes. I had seen those in the sport shop just before. They have iron spikes! It can't be normal to want to run that much that you start wearing iron spikes in your shoes. Haven't these people heard of port wine, candle light and a good book??

Anyway, I got my new pair of Asics (not the Arctic ones, obviously) and went to Musiikkitalo, the new Music house of Helsinki, to get the free tickets they distribute in the beginning of the month to a chamber music concert (it's not that I don't want to pay, but this is the only occasion they play chamber music). Through the wet snow and wind. And god dammit, there were no more tickets even if this was the first day of the distribution and I had thought this would be a nice thing to do with a guy I like. They had run out of tickets already at noon. Little old ladies being pretty active, huh? Yes, the girl replied.

I went to Ruohonjuuri, the eco-fair trade shop, to get some comfort food. Mascara running down on my cheeks, I was offered a free bite of hemp tofu. I was at the same time trying to blow my nose (another annoying side-effect of this weather, though: "Boogers are a sign that your nose is working the way it should". Great!) and listening how to use tofu in a dessert (I completely missed the recipe as I was trying to look civilized with my combined mascara, sweat and booger problem, but it should be on www.soya.fi). I bought some hemp tofu and run for the bus in this stupid "oh, falling down, oups, missing the bus" -way. I got it and wondered if I looked cute like I would be looking in a Hollywood film under the same circumstances (at home I discovered that I had seen better days and mascara definitely looked better on my eye lashes).

I got home and was a bit disappointed that there were no more Facebook status updates on snow, it would have been useful for this blog entry. The snow does seem like a minor thing now that I'm inside and drinking the leftovers of the New Year's Eve prosecco (you see the excellent flow in the writing; it's the prosecchino!).

Anyway, a third point should be made. Even though I hate to disappoint my family who laugh of the idea that I regard myself as a quite positive person, I understood a couple of days ago that year 2011 had been pretty excellent and there's no way I can complain about my life in Helsinki. Most things in my life had fallen in right spots after all; the magic was to not yield to the temptation of existentialist analysis and the allure of cynicism (hey, maybe we all have something to learn from the presidential candidate Paavo Väyrynen!). So, I think I'll just lay on the sofa now, have some port wine, put on some candles and read a good book (alternatively watch an episode of the West Wing with my pet (soft toy) rat laying on my chest).

Corri La Vita - Running Against Cancer

In the beginning of September, after a welfare state related conference in Budapest, my Finnish colleagues run the Budapest half-marathon. I went to cheer on the runners and got immersed in the great sport atmosphere. DJ was playing samba and YMCA and excited runners ready to cross the city were shouting and cheering themselves as well. I wanted to be part of the group. Instead, while the thousands of runners left the park for their 20 km tour, I went to do my own tour in a nearby flee-market and had a beer in the fresh autumn air. I was obviously a second class tourist.

Feeling the adrenaline-filled atmosphere, I got inspired by the idea of running in such a mass happening myself, and when I saw the poster for Corri La Vita, 12km run in Florence to raise money for the fight against breast cancer, my opportunity had occurred. I went to sign up immediately to a closest sport shop. However, they had already closed the inscrizione and I left with two pairs of shorts instead making me even more motivated to run Corri La Vita.

The statue of Neptune in Piazza Signoria, the starting point of our run. All photos from here.

I have done jogging about five times this year so I felt I needed to do some emergency exercise to see if I was able to run 12km in the first place. So, I put on my new professional high-tech running shorts and a Harvard t-shirt that I was a bit embarrased to wear (yeah, no wonder some people think I'm Americana...). I run up to Piazzale Michelangelo and instead of doing my usual tour I continued up on the hill (beautiful!). It became dark and it started drizzling a bit, a car honked at me in the lonely street. I was almost sure that I had already got lost when I was suddenly back in Piazza Pitti. At home, quite dead but not dead, I checked out every runner's favourite web site Gmaps Pedometer and found out that I had run 11,3 km. I was ready for Corri La Vita.

Well, not quite. In Italy, you need a medical certificate proving you can do "agonistic sports" in order to participate in a running competition. I didn't have one so when I was signing-up (the second time, I managed to do it), I told that I wanted to do a non-competitive 12km run. Not possible (although their website said it was). I was only allowed to do a 5km passegiata. I don't know if I was disappointed or relieved. Sunday morning I still put my jogging stuff on (this time a Salvatore Ferragamo sponsored Corri La Vita t-shirt) and headed to Piazza Signoria. I asked two stuff members if I can run 12km fuori competizione; they didn't know. There was an announcement that I didn't understand but most probably it explained the organisational issues that I was desperately trying to figure out.


It was 9h35 when the shutgun finally announced the start of the competition. I was still trying to find out where I should start and if I was obliged to do the 5km family walk. I followed the masses of people and asked once again if I can run the longer distance. "Tutti lo fanno", replied the older man, so I was all set for the tour despite the poor (and excellent example of) Italian organisation.


It was great fun and running with 20 000 other people felt somehow very humble. We were all doing this insane agonistic sport and were connected by some weird solidarity. Those participating in the competition were far ahead of me and the people around me, so I mostly saw people taking it pretty easy, enjoying the sunny Sunday morning; rather smiling than grimacing out of agony. After a steep descent from Forte del Belvedere to San Niccolo we had to do a huge and equally steep ascent up to Piazzale Michelangelo (some grimaces were now visible). The best runners were already coming down from the hill when I started climbing up. 7km had passed and I wasn't the only one to walk up this hill (who ever thinks that Tuscan hills are charming should go jogging in this street).


My time was 1h10. The best woman arrived 30 minutes before me. But it didn't matter, I was glad to have made it, to have a discount coupon for La Perla lingerie and receive a Salvatore Ferragamo t-shirt (well, made in Haiti...). I'm actually thinking again of doing a half-marathon, though I liked the non-competitive character of Corri La Vita and the idea of collecting money for cancer rehabilitation (it collected 270 000 euros). Maybe I'll make it an annual tradition, a great excuse to come to Florence.

My Running History

When a discussion turns to physical activities or sports classes at school, it doesn’t leave anybody quiet. In most cases, looking back on those events doesn’t make you wonder why you haven’t skied during the last 15 years. I still remember very clearly the turning point when I learnt that any kind of athletic activity wasn’t my cup of tea. Every year at school we had a cross-country skiing competition (now I honestly think that all sorts of sports competitions for kids under 10 years old are a product of teachers’ sadistic mind), but the most important one took place when I was 7 years old (that is, my first skiing competition). I used my sisters’ old and miserable skies, called “Lasagne”, and indeed nomen est omen, the skies got stuck in the snow and even when going downhill I needed to push myself forward. I was the last one. I hated sports. I hated sports for the next 12 years that I spent in the Finnish school system.

Almost 20 years later, I thought I could start practising for a marathon (isn’t this a requirement for any successful person in today’s society?). I was living in the posh 16^th arrondissement of Paris and my professor gave a programme to exercise for a half-marathon. I began with 30 minutes. My old sport shoes (yes, I actually had a pair) gave me painful blisters but instead of giving up I used a third of my lousy trainee's salary to get a pair of Asics. I obeyed the programme and increased the running minutes even to 2 hours. I ran in Bois de Boulogne, equally popular for runners as for prostitutes. I didn’t mind the swaying vans or the cars stopping to negotiate a price with the prostitutes, the wood was a beautiful place to run around. I wasn’t yet ready for a half-marathon when the autumn came and I returned to Turku where the cold rain took over my motivation as a runner.

I started running again in Florence with the suitable weather conditions. First I ran around the stadium with many other runners, but when I moved to the centre I started running uphill to Piazzale Michelangelo where I ran through the tourist crowds that come to see the amazingly beautiful view and the copy of Michelangelo’s David. The view was a pleasure for me as well and I have to admit that I liked to show the tourists that what they came to visit from abroad, I saw every day even when doing sports.

Running in Berlin was more like my Bois de Boulogne experience except that prostitutes were replaced by the drug dealers in Hasenheide Park. While observing the prostitutes and drug dealers was interesting in both places, in Berlin hanging around in some of the cool cafés was more interesting than running in general (not that there are no cool cafés in Paris, but in Berlin I could actually afford them as well).

Listening to the same “running music” playlist, I also got to some weird suburbs in Boston. When Rammstein shouted “Du Hast” in Florence, I was somewhere close to the river or running downhill through the woods; when I heard Rammstein in Boston I was following a long stretch of asphalt street that took me past gas stations and ugly apartment blocks. I only went jogging once in Boston.

Now, in Tampere, the same playlist took me to a supermarket, then past a place where we had scout meetings, through a field where they have built some new houses recently, past the hill where I got stuck in the skiing competition, a little pond where I played after school with my friends, to a playground where they have replaced the cool (and probably a bit dangerous) carousel (man-shaped, a bit like giant whirligig) with some boring (and probably safer) basic playground stuff. I had run really fast in the hot afternoon and at home I threw up. I think I will never run a marathon, instead, I think Nordic walking is great if only it was acceptable (or not embarrassing) for young people or in the urban setting (so far, I have only practised it at our summer cottage in the countryside).