Daftar Hotel - Zodiak Entertainment's light entertainment format That's My Kid (30x30') has been picked up in Egypt and Russia.
Hotel di Palembang The gameshow, which tests the extent to which parents know their children, has been given the green light by Egyptian Radio & Television and CTC in Russia.
The format, created by Zodiak's in-house creative unit Zodiak Distillery, was launched at Mipcom last year and is billed as a Mr & Mrs for kids and parents. Zodiak Entertainment Russia will produce the version for CTC.
Roger Sanford and Jeff Mains are pretty sure there are no coincidences in life. Should they need any proof, they simply consider the events that found them trudging together through ice and mud at the planet's southernmost tip.
Some time ago, Sanford, vice president of media services at MediaTile, set for himself the ambitious goal of running a marathon on all seven continents. By the fall of 2009, he had completed 26.2-mile races in a host of far-away lands. Sanford's final frontier to conquer: Antarctica.
Yes, there is a marathon there.
In November Sanford registered for the Antarctica Marathon and began training for the March 10 contest. That same month he arrived early to pick up his daughter at a National Charity League event. Sanford walked into the dinner with a sinking feeling as he realized he was the sole male in attendance. But moments later Mains, there to chauffeur his own daughter home, also appeared. The hostess quickly deposited the two dads at the same table.
"It was one of those things where you're the only two guys in the room, so you start talking about guy stuff: 'How 'bout those Niners,' and 'What sports do you do?' " Sanford recalls, laughing. "In the course of the evening I happened to mention that I was training for a marathon in Antarctica. I remember Jeff's eyes getting really big, and then he started shaking his head."
As Sanford discovered, Mains is a fellow Los Gatan.
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He also happens to be the chief executive officer of a company called ANPC, which develops airplane landing, navigation and traffic management systems. At the time of the NCL dinner, Mains had just been contracted to install his company's transponder landing technology at a military base—in Antarctica.
"When Roger told me about the Antarctica Marathon, I realized that the starting point was about a mile from where I was going to be, at exactly the same time I was going to be there in March," Mains says. "What are the chances of that?"
Adds Sanford, "Here I'd had this lifetime goal of doing all of these races, but there was no way I could ever have pulled this one off by myself. And then out of the blue, the one person in the world who could help me make it happen sits down next to me at a charity event. It was pretty amazing."
Mains had completed one marathon prior to meeting Sanford, and wasn't sure he wanted to do another. But after their initial conversation, the idea of doing the race somehow began to make sense. Accordingly, even as he and his ANPC colleagues collected the equipment and gear needed to transport and install their system at the base on King George Island, Mains registered for the race and started training. In the process he lost (and has since kept off) 25 pounds.
"Right before Christmas last year I ran into some old friends and we were talking about the race. I told them I hadn't done a really long run yet; they told me I'd never finish the marathon. I think there was a part of me that felt like, 'Oh, yeah? I'll show them,' " Mains admits.
Training for any marathon is never "... well, a walk in the park. Proper conditioning of feet, legs, heart and respiratory system is challenging under the most ideal circumstances. Factor in the need to contend with severe weather fluctuations, grueling terrain and near hurricane-force winds, and that training takes on epic, ominous significance.
Also, given that the site selected for the race lacked (before Mains and ANPC) the necessary technology to permit commercial airlines to land, most of the marathoners' only option to reach the starting line was to board an ocean liner for the majority of the trip. Then they were required to transfer to small inflatable Zodiak boats to reach shore. In doing so, they would traverse one of the most treacherous stretches of water known to man: Drake Passage, which marks the confluence of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, at the southern tip of South America between Cape Horn and the South Shetland Islands.
Mains says he was prepared—in theory—for what he was about to face. "If anything," he notes, "the people at Marathon Tours and Travel, which puts on the race, are over the top about trying to describe what you'll be dealing with. They said it would be muddy and cold, we'd have to bring all of these layers of clothing and protection for our faces, we'd have to go through a lifeboat drill and all kinds of other stuff. But still, we had no idea what we were in for."
Originally, Mains and a colleague from ANPC were to fly to King George Island on a Chilean military plane. But due to the Feb. 27 earthquake in Chile, they were forced to take the sea route through Drake Passage on a day when Mother Nature seemed to be particularly cranky.
Says Mains, "I woke up to the ship doing 30-degree rolls, and said, 'Are you kidding?' They told me that was only a two on a scale of one to 10. I would never want to see a three!"
Sanford and most of the other runners also were aboard the ship, an aging Russian spy vessel that was making its last voyage before retirement.
"My roommate was really seasick; he actually opened the porthole at one point, to get some air," says Sanford. "Suddenly I heard a noise, and this wall of water came pouring into the room. I ran to unplug his laptop, which had started smoking, while I was standing in a huge puddle of water. That definitely put me in contention for a Darwin Award."
That experience, as it turns out, more or less set the tone for what Sanford and Mains were to face. Race day found the 100 marathon registrants bundled up (Mains wore three layers on top and two pairs of running tights, capped by a jacket and hat; Sanford was similarly attired) and battling 30 mph headwinds. The racecourse—a hilly, 6.5-mile loop that runners would traverse four times—was a viscous quagmire from the previous night's rains. The temperature: somewhere south of 30 degrees.
Mains says the combination of conditions prompted an unexpected response. "It was absolutely miserable. I fell multiple times, and Roger did, too. But it was so ridiculous, I just kept laughing; what else are you going to do? You're out there in the wind, it's sleeting rain, people are soaking wet and falling everywhere. But why be in a bad mood about it?"
"I look at the pictures now, and the whole idea just seems insane," Mains adds. "But at the time I realized I could be really mad or I could just go with it. I was pretty sure I'd finish unless I fell and hit my head. So I actually ended up having a great time."
Of course, in that remote corner of the world, posting a great "time" is not precisely a realistic goal. Under normal conditions, world-class marathoners cross the finish line in just over two hours. At the Antarctica contest, the winner spent nearly twice that amount of time on the course. Mains and Sanford each logged close to six hours making the four circuits, frequently mired in mud.
"I don't think my shoes will ever recover," Sanford says ruefully. "I'm thinking about framing them." Mains has a more practical suggestion. "I'm planning on sealing mine in Lucite," he reports.
Mains has the honor of having run an "ultra." Given the profound respect with which Antarctican locals hold the environment, the race management team was allowed to place only the most minimally invasive markers at each mile. Most were spindly wire sticks, with red flags fluttering above. Unfortunately, the latter proved too inviting to the local wildlife.
"In Antarctica they have these weird birds called skuas, that look kind of like a duck-billed platypus," says Mains. "They kept dive-bombing the mile markers and eating the flags. I found out later that I'd actually wandered off course and ran farther than I was supposed to, because the markers were gone."
Sanford faced his own challenges. As the miles and hours wear on, marathoners normally consume various types of gels that deliver calories, sugar and carbohydrates. Mindful that runners were forbidden to drop wrappers or other debris from individual gel packs (and not thinking about the temperature at race time), Sanford opted to keep a roll of gel "blocks" in his jacket.
Says Sanford, "I bit into a block, and it was frozen. I pulled it off my teeth "... and one of my crowns came out with it." Ever the practical athlete, Sanford yanked his crown out of the solidified goo, stashed it in his pocket, and kept running.
Once Mains and Sanford and company finished the race and collected their medals, Sanford caught the last Zodiak back to the ship and sailed for home. Mains remained behind to oversee the installation of his company's transponder landing system at the base.
"I was so exhausted doing the flight checks," he remembers. "We worked 18-hour days for several days after the marathon, so I think I was just too busy to get sore. My adrenaline was going, and it was crazy "... but good crazy."
With the success of those flight checks, commercial air travel is now possible at the "end of the Earth." Sanford is proud of what his friend's company has brought to Antarctica, saying, "In the past, humans have left a footprint on the continent, with diesel from the boats they had to use to get there, and the need to be sustained until the weather would allow them to leave. But now people can go in and out by airplane, and not have to stay for long periods of time. Jeff's system will really help protect the environment, while increasing access to Antarctica."
Reflecting on his own adventure, Mains says he's doubly pleased. "For me it was neat personally and professionally, because we installed our system in one of the harshest environments on Earth. Now, anyone who can fly under instrumentation can land in Antarctica, without any special equipment on their plane.
"Also, to sit down at that event last year, and to meet Roger and end up doing the marathon together "... this was the ultimate business-pleasure trip."
Hearing this last statement, the two friends look at each other and dissolve into long, loud laughter. "OK," Mains says finally, wiping his eyes, " 'pleasure' is probably a relative term."
