Air travel these days feels more and more like incarceration. The admissions procedure involves confiscation of potentially lethal weapons like toothpaste, hand cream, and bottles of water. Shoes and outerwear have to be removed.
Pompous officials bark terse orders: 'Go to the agriculture checkpoint', 'Go to the x-ray machine', 'Stand over there and wait your turn'. They gratuitously send inmates (sorry, I mean, passengers) though a maze of barriers, backwards and forwards and backwards and forwards, even when there are only 3 people ahead in the queue.
It must be very entertaining for them to see us all submit meekly to their demands.
Then we are herded onto a plane, to sit in cramped conditions that I wouldn't wish on an animal. We are fed low-grade, high-fat food - high in fat because of the sedative effect it has on the body and mind.
We eat with plastic cutlery, in case we take it into our heads to try and stab someone to death with a teaspoon. We are forced to breathe recycled air of low oxygen content ??" a further sedative. And we all sit there, humble and compliant, dully watching movies carefully selected not to rouse us to riot.
Eventually ('Do not unfasten your seatbelt until the captain has turned off the Fasten Seatbelt signs') we are released from captivity.
Air travel used to be exciting, even glamorous. Now it is a drudge. Rowing across oceans may be slow and unpleasant. But it's starting to seem increasingly attractive. At least you get to preserve your dignity.
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The last time I'd seen Mariya was in 2003, and we were on top of a mountain in Peru - a mountain called Pisco. Pisco is also the name of the Peruvian national drink. (See picture left - on the summit, note the ice in my hair.) This time we were a bit warmer, sitting on a beach in Hawai'i, drinking Sunset beers on Sunset Beach, at sunset. There seems to be a certain theme emerging.
After a weekend's hard work schmoozing at the Maui Writers' Conference and a morning discussing logistics and media at the Waikiki Yacht Club I felt like I deserved some time off, so we took the afternoon to go snorkelling on the North Shore and buy a picnic to go along with our sundowners.
I may not have the chance to revisit Hawaii before I arrive there after rowing 2600 miles from San Francisco. I'm already looking forward to being there again. Maybe it will lend a sense of urgency to my paddling to know what a paradise I'm heading for.
Mariya on Sunset Beach, 2006
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I can't walk. This is not ideal for someone aspiring to run a marathon in two months' time.
Over the course of the last 3 days, my right hip has inexplicably stiffened to the point where I can barely hobble across the room, let alone run 26.2 miles.
'I don't think you're going to be doing any running any time soon,' the physio said as he rubbed beeswax into my right buttock (they call this therapy?!). Treatment continued with ice and electrical charges. But all the waxing, freezing and electrocuting failed to have any significant effect.
I am indignant. I carefully designed my training programme to avoid undue shock to my body. I have been diligent in my stretching - 15 minutes every morning. Yet, over the course of the weekend, when I actually took a few days off from exercise, I have developed a showstopping injury.
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Ten days ago I started tracking my time using WorkTimer to find out where it all goes to. This pie chart shows the result.
Only time I spent at my desk is included - I may be a sad case, but I'm not so sad that I take my laptop everywhere just so I can clock my time.
The slices of pie account for 32 hours out of 168. Factor in sleeping (about 50 hours), preparing and eating food (14), bathing and dressing (7), and physical training (20 including travel time), plus killing time in airports and flying to Maui for the Writers' Conference, and this seems about right.
'The unexamined life is not worth living', Socrates said. True, maybe, but in this case I feel better informed but none the wiser.
Examined my life may be, but am I using the right examination tool? Do these figures tell me if I have balance in my life? Do they tell me if I'm happy? Do they tell me whether I've made progress towards my goals? I'm not convinced they do.
Am I using a microscope to examine my life, when I should be using a telescope? Or vice versa?
Any ideas and comments genuinely welcomed. How do you evaluate your own life? Or how would you, if you had time?
Speaking of time, must dash!
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