Last summer, Ethel and I found ourselves facing an opportunity that absolutely, positively, could not be ignored: a chance to visit Iceland. The decision making process was tortuous: "Um, yes."
Sometime during the process of sorting through details and logistics, Ethel stumbled upon an ultramarathon that was happening during one of the blocks of dates we were looking at, so that pretty much guaranteed that going was a foregone conclusion. Especially when I signed us both up for the race without consulting Ethel. Haha, love you!
Blue gives way...
If you're one of my seven regular readers, you're well aware that I'm unable to keep from photoing what I see out of airplane windows. This disturbing pattern is showing no sign of easing up anytime soon, either. In other news, Iceland is only seven hours from Seattle, which makes sense if you look at a globe instead of a map, so it's more accessible than you might think.
A little bit of backstory is that my friend Joe had recently moved to Iceland to take on some exciting ventures, so we'd have the benefit of some local knowledge and networking. I love traveling by the seat of my pants, but I've got equal love for traveling with expert guidance, and this trip (thankfully) would fall into the latter category.
Some further backstory is that work had been quite volatile for me during the months leading up to the trip, so scheduling it was a bit of a crapshoot, and it ended up resulting in some back-to-back-to-back 90+ hour weeks with no margin for error leading up to our departure. As such, training suffered, stress skyrocketed, and I clattered up to the airport ready to sleep like the dead.
In other words, a SNAFU in its most pure interpretation, so game on.
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