Shoe you love me?
DSW is like a shoe convention hall. I might have been intimidated, except that I knew I was looking for a new brown work shoe. That level of specificity allowed me to hone in on the three rows that contained brown shoes that were work appropriate. Work appropriate sometimes crossed the line into not, like the brown skechers with the dragon lightly etched in the heel. According to my informal survey of brown shoes, it seems that the slip-on is a popular choice these days. Trying to be "with it" I tried on a few pairs. I liked the way they looked with their smooth lines unbroken by the chaos of laces, but I worried. What if I had the urge to run, would the slip-ons stay on or would they go all antonym on me and slip off? I lightly tested several pairs and I didn't like what I was feeling. It felt precarious. The shoes might not slip off, but in a sprint I wasn't sure any of them could be trusted. After more pacing in strange shoes and some internal debate including the question of "How often will you really run in these?" and the disdainful and a smidge disrespectful "Unh," answer, I decided to go ahead and purchase the brand new version of the shoes I already own. I can run in those in a pinch. They look good. The only reason to change was really to prove that I could. I don't want people thinking I'm stuck in my ways.
To prove that I'm very comfortable with change, I also got a new pair of running shoes. Talk about change, I purchased a pair of 2140 series Asics. They are way different than the 2130 series I had before. I'm kind of unpredictable.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I had to be in 3 places at once
This weekend was crazy with Ultimate. I was supposed to play in two one-day tournaments and coach one two-day tournament. I created a priority hierarchy, which would allow me to play in one, and coach half. I was ok with my decision. Then some rain came and they rescheduled, so I had coached half and it felt like the team might end up in the championship game, but I was scheduled to play in two tournaments on the same day in different places. I like to chase plastic, but across town is not possible. I headed out this morning, not actually knowing where I would play. Finally at 8:30, the news came that the rain had stopped us again and I should finish my stint coaching.
I did. The team made it to the finals after a strong run of 13-1 and 13-7. Habit was set to play a team of alums they'd beaten previously. The air changed and the tournament went from kind of silly and fun to serious, championship Ultimate. Layouts, big throws, and intensity became the norm. Habit had looked like they were about to fall to pieces when the previous game was at 12-4 and now they had more energy than I'd seen all year. It was borderline sick (the good kind). Points were traded. Lemon swiped a disc right out of a guy's hand. Tini made a HUGE layout for a swing that looked completely out of reach. He landed with a thud and left a divot the size of his head in the endzone. Madness. Habit had a 6-4 lead, but dropped half 7-6. The fight kept coming. Everybody was playing with great intensity. Habit was moving the disc well, but the break throws from the alums were really hurting. There were some BIG grabs from Lemon and Classics. The highlights stick out, but it was all around solid play that kept Habit in the game. I think the alums built a 9-7 lead and then Habit knotted the game at 10-10, before falling 13-11. It was the best I've seen the team play and I'm really excited to try to find a way to sustain that effort. I'm so glad I got to be there to witness it.
This weekend was crazy with Ultimate. I was supposed to play in two one-day tournaments and coach one two-day tournament. I created a priority hierarchy, which would allow me to play in one, and coach half. I was ok with my decision. Then some rain came and they rescheduled, so I had coached half and it felt like the team might end up in the championship game, but I was scheduled to play in two tournaments on the same day in different places. I like to chase plastic, but across town is not possible. I headed out this morning, not actually knowing where I would play. Finally at 8:30, the news came that the rain had stopped us again and I should finish my stint coaching.
I did. The team made it to the finals after a strong run of 13-1 and 13-7. Habit was set to play a team of alums they'd beaten previously. The air changed and the tournament went from kind of silly and fun to serious, championship Ultimate. Layouts, big throws, and intensity became the norm. Habit had looked like they were about to fall to pieces when the previous game was at 12-4 and now they had more energy than I'd seen all year. It was borderline sick (the good kind). Points were traded. Lemon swiped a disc right out of a guy's hand. Tini made a HUGE layout for a swing that looked completely out of reach. He landed with a thud and left a divot the size of his head in the endzone. Madness. Habit had a 6-4 lead, but dropped half 7-6. The fight kept coming. Everybody was playing with great intensity. Habit was moving the disc well, but the break throws from the alums were really hurting. There were some BIG grabs from Lemon and Classics. The highlights stick out, but it was all around solid play that kept Habit in the game. I think the alums built a 9-7 lead and then Habit knotted the game at 10-10, before falling 13-11. It was the best I've seen the team play and I'm really excited to try to find a way to sustain that effort. I'm so glad I got to be there to witness it.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Zippedy-doo-whaaaat?
My karma must be a bit out of whack. Today was some kind of odd. I had an immediate need for a Zipcar this morning. Zipcar allows me to rent cars by the hour and is usually near public transportation or high-traffic areas. Weekends are usually busy, but in three years I've always been able to find a car somewhat close to where I need it. I was able to find a car, but when I went to make a reservation, I found that I could not. For some reason, my credit card information was messed up. That took some time and phone calls to get solved. There were no cars in my vicinity, so I had to Metro a stop to find the Honda Fit I'd reserved. The morning was already an ordeal for other reasons, but When I started the Fit, I got nothing. After another phone call, the Zipcar rep decided the best course of action was to transfer my reservation from the Fit to a Mini Cooper. That's ok, except that the Fit had 5 seats and the Mini did not. We squeezed, like clowns, in a sporty little car and headed to our destination.
All was well, except for some cramped muscles and spaces and we made it to our destination. Hours passed and then I went to start the Mini I inserted the round fob, pushed down the brake, and pressed the "start" engine button. Nothing happened. I couldn't believe it. I checked the brake, the fob, the shifter, the windshield wiper, and the radio. I tried again. Still nothing. Disbelieving I called the zip folks again. At first the help was confused as he thought we were moving. I said, no, we were very much sitting still in a parking lot with the engine off. He went through a series of locking and unlocking of the doors remotely, which was odd and somehow both frightening and comforting. We are so close to flying cars, I know it! Eventually, the zip help was convinced that I should try the fob, brake, button press again. I did and the Mini came to life.
Karma corrected? Perhaps.
My karma must be a bit out of whack. Today was some kind of odd. I had an immediate need for a Zipcar this morning. Zipcar allows me to rent cars by the hour and is usually near public transportation or high-traffic areas. Weekends are usually busy, but in three years I've always been able to find a car somewhat close to where I need it. I was able to find a car, but when I went to make a reservation, I found that I could not. For some reason, my credit card information was messed up. That took some time and phone calls to get solved. There were no cars in my vicinity, so I had to Metro a stop to find the Honda Fit I'd reserved. The morning was already an ordeal for other reasons, but When I started the Fit, I got nothing. After another phone call, the Zipcar rep decided the best course of action was to transfer my reservation from the Fit to a Mini Cooper. That's ok, except that the Fit had 5 seats and the Mini did not. We squeezed, like clowns, in a sporty little car and headed to our destination.
All was well, except for some cramped muscles and spaces and we made it to our destination. Hours passed and then I went to start the Mini I inserted the round fob, pushed down the brake, and pressed the "start" engine button. Nothing happened. I couldn't believe it. I checked the brake, the fob, the shifter, the windshield wiper, and the radio. I tried again. Still nothing. Disbelieving I called the zip folks again. At first the help was confused as he thought we were moving. I said, no, we were very much sitting still in a parking lot with the engine off. He went through a series of locking and unlocking of the doors remotely, which was odd and somehow both frightening and comforting. We are so close to flying cars, I know it! Eventually, the zip help was convinced that I should try the fob, brake, button press again. I did and the Mini came to life.
Karma corrected? Perhaps.
Friday, November 13, 2009
TV: my viewing habits
I thought I'd provide a run down of the shows that I am watching, so you can watch them too and prevent another Dollhouse.
I have been watching Dollhouse, but it's been an uninspiring season. There seemed to be some intrigue and interesting questions about what it meant to be human last season, but this season there wasn't much to go on. Fox must have noticed the same since they've killed it. I'm disappointed that we won't get resolution, but I'm not even sure there was anything to resolve.
I'm still holding on to How I Met Your Mother, hoping that one day we'll actually find out. The show manages about one genuinely likable moment per episode and is sometimes good for a really hearty laugh. Slap bets are pretty amazing and I find that like FutureMarshall and FutureTed, I'm making FutureDave deal with more and more of the ramifications of my decisions (or non-decisions).
I've recently picked up Modern Family. It's got Carol Vescey from Ed, the actual Ed from Married With Children and a pretty hilarious kid. The other cast members have their moments, but the kid just cracks me up. It's three families who are all part of one big extended family and I like the balance of the three stories and the interplay of the group. The kid is holding this one together though.
I also watch Glee. I have some concerns about their ability to tell a story throughout the season, but for now I like the music and the drama is on the right side of that show about pies that I quit watching. This could really go either way.
I'm still holding strong with The Office. I don't like Jim in his new role as much and Pam seems a touch crazier, but overall this group is one that I'm willing to continue to watch for quite some time. I feel pretty connected at this point. It's almost like a real office.
Community has my attention. The character Ahbed is the funniest character on TV. He has stolen the show multiple times. His Batman was hand-waving, foot-stomping fantastic. The other characters have good roles and the right mix of likable and not.
There are a lot of ensembles on this list, eh?
I'm still watching Grey's Anatomy. It has some good moments, balanced by some pretty silly overblown drama, but I feel invested enough to stick it out for at least this season.
I'm also still watching Project Runway. I have the sense that they are moving away from the creative process and into the human drama. I don't approve. I probably should've called it quits, but I'm loyal to Heidi and I like Tim and a some of the designers were really good looking this season.
Oh yeah, I'm all about the creative process.
Tivo is keeping me up to date and I just found a new hour on Fridays. Tuning in or out or on or rewinding to catch that again...
I thought I'd provide a run down of the shows that I am watching, so you can watch them too and prevent another Dollhouse.
I have been watching Dollhouse, but it's been an uninspiring season. There seemed to be some intrigue and interesting questions about what it meant to be human last season, but this season there wasn't much to go on. Fox must have noticed the same since they've killed it. I'm disappointed that we won't get resolution, but I'm not even sure there was anything to resolve.
I'm still holding on to How I Met Your Mother, hoping that one day we'll actually find out. The show manages about one genuinely likable moment per episode and is sometimes good for a really hearty laugh. Slap bets are pretty amazing and I find that like FutureMarshall and FutureTed, I'm making FutureDave deal with more and more of the ramifications of my decisions (or non-decisions).
I've recently picked up Modern Family. It's got Carol Vescey from Ed, the actual Ed from Married With Children and a pretty hilarious kid. The other cast members have their moments, but the kid just cracks me up. It's three families who are all part of one big extended family and I like the balance of the three stories and the interplay of the group. The kid is holding this one together though.
I also watch Glee. I have some concerns about their ability to tell a story throughout the season, but for now I like the music and the drama is on the right side of that show about pies that I quit watching. This could really go either way.
I'm still holding strong with The Office. I don't like Jim in his new role as much and Pam seems a touch crazier, but overall this group is one that I'm willing to continue to watch for quite some time. I feel pretty connected at this point. It's almost like a real office.
Community has my attention. The character Ahbed is the funniest character on TV. He has stolen the show multiple times. His Batman was hand-waving, foot-stomping fantastic. The other characters have good roles and the right mix of likable and not.
There are a lot of ensembles on this list, eh?
I'm still watching Grey's Anatomy. It has some good moments, balanced by some pretty silly overblown drama, but I feel invested enough to stick it out for at least this season.
I'm also still watching Project Runway. I have the sense that they are moving away from the creative process and into the human drama. I don't approve. I probably should've called it quits, but I'm loyal to Heidi and I like Tim and a some of the designers were really good looking this season.
Oh yeah, I'm all about the creative process.
Tivo is keeping me up to date and I just found a new hour on Fridays. Tuning in or out or on or rewinding to catch that again...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Oh, Internet, what are you up to?
A recent post on an Ultimate website I read is reporting that the women's team that won Club Nationals is done playing women's Ultimate and is looking for new challenges. It reads a bit like an April Fool's joke, but there is no indication that it is, including but not limited to the fact that it is not April. I don't follow the elite teams in any division closely, and I've never watched this particular team play. I've read that they've won Club Nationals four years running. It's not a long dynasty, but that's impressive. If this shift is true, it's fascinating to think about. I wish I had real insight to offer, but I only have questions.
My first questions tend to be about the level of play and the competition: How does the best women's team stack up against open teams? Are they good enough to beat mid-level open club teams? Strong enough to snag a series bid and knock an open team out? Is a division called open just waiting for something like this to happen?
My next questions are about spirit: Can egos on either side handle this climate? Presumably, the women's team would lose more games than usual. How used to dominance are they? Presumably, there are open teams who would not handle losing to a women's team very well. Can spirit of the game keep tempers in check?
I have questions about the community reaction: Would Ultimate as a whole be supportive of a women's team in the open division? Would this generate interest in the sport outside of the Ultimate community or confirm our niche status? Are there examples of this happening in other sports? If successful, could this open the door for other such cross-overs?
I really don't have any answers and I suspect that this will soon be revealed as a lark, but I think I would be interested to see an exhibition. I think about the women at CUA who play against men at nearly every tournament. An individual match-up may differ from a team setting, but I find both to be courageous.
A recent post on an Ultimate website I read is reporting that the women's team that won Club Nationals is done playing women's Ultimate and is looking for new challenges. It reads a bit like an April Fool's joke, but there is no indication that it is, including but not limited to the fact that it is not April. I don't follow the elite teams in any division closely, and I've never watched this particular team play. I've read that they've won Club Nationals four years running. It's not a long dynasty, but that's impressive. If this shift is true, it's fascinating to think about. I wish I had real insight to offer, but I only have questions.
My first questions tend to be about the level of play and the competition: How does the best women's team stack up against open teams? Are they good enough to beat mid-level open club teams? Strong enough to snag a series bid and knock an open team out? Is a division called open just waiting for something like this to happen?
My next questions are about spirit: Can egos on either side handle this climate? Presumably, the women's team would lose more games than usual. How used to dominance are they? Presumably, there are open teams who would not handle losing to a women's team very well. Can spirit of the game keep tempers in check?
I have questions about the community reaction: Would Ultimate as a whole be supportive of a women's team in the open division? Would this generate interest in the sport outside of the Ultimate community or confirm our niche status? Are there examples of this happening in other sports? If successful, could this open the door for other such cross-overs?
I really don't have any answers and I suspect that this will soon be revealed as a lark, but I think I would be interested to see an exhibition. I think about the women at CUA who play against men at nearly every tournament. An individual match-up may differ from a team setting, but I find both to be courageous.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
four on the floor, one on the bus?
Today marks the first time I have taken the bus from home to work and then back again at the end of the day. Sometimes it feels like the rain is winning.
Tonight marks the first time I have driven a manual transmission vehicle in quite some time. I thought I was going to get a shot of re-living my early years (read 15.5 to about 28.5) in Iceland, but that rug was pulled out from under me by the rental agency. I had another shot a few weeks ago, but a series of car-borrowing events later put me behind the wheel of yet another automatic transmission machine. Tonight, through the generosity of others, I got my chance.
I will grant that Taylor Swift's song "You belong to me" may have contributed to my sense of nostalgia, but I still felt a ripple when I sat down in the driver's seat, depressed the clutch, put my right hand on the stick shift and was whisked away to another time and place. I felt the heartache of my late teens seep through the transmission and enter my body through my hand. I couldn't find a girlfriend, I wasn't sure of my place in the world, the rain made me sad and lonely. I released the stick and breathed back into my thirties. It's a more confident place, though perhaps not as far removed from those days as I like to pretend. As I maneuvered in and out of parallel parking spots, another wave of nostalgia came over me, this time in a surge of valet-instilled confidence. I was the sort of parking machine that women and men alike adored and under-tipped. I could park your big boat of a Lincoln towncar or pull around your late 90s T-bird, no sweat. I'm versatile that way. Manual, automatic, past, present- it's all here. Baby.
Today marks the first time I have taken the bus from home to work and then back again at the end of the day. Sometimes it feels like the rain is winning.
Tonight marks the first time I have driven a manual transmission vehicle in quite some time. I thought I was going to get a shot of re-living my early years (read 15.5 to about 28.5) in Iceland, but that rug was pulled out from under me by the rental agency. I had another shot a few weeks ago, but a series of car-borrowing events later put me behind the wheel of yet another automatic transmission machine. Tonight, through the generosity of others, I got my chance.
I will grant that Taylor Swift's song "You belong to me" may have contributed to my sense of nostalgia, but I still felt a ripple when I sat down in the driver's seat, depressed the clutch, put my right hand on the stick shift and was whisked away to another time and place. I felt the heartache of my late teens seep through the transmission and enter my body through my hand. I couldn't find a girlfriend, I wasn't sure of my place in the world, the rain made me sad and lonely. I released the stick and breathed back into my thirties. It's a more confident place, though perhaps not as far removed from those days as I like to pretend. As I maneuvered in and out of parallel parking spots, another wave of nostalgia came over me, this time in a surge of valet-instilled confidence. I was the sort of parking machine that women and men alike adored and under-tipped. I could park your big boat of a Lincoln towncar or pull around your late 90s T-bird, no sweat. I'm versatile that way. Manual, automatic, past, present- it's all here. Baby.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The turning point
This evening is on a teetering bridge made of rope and two by fours. If I scamper across, I'll go to bed early feeling productive and satisfied. If I stand here and stare at the abyss I will go to sleep late wondering how TV and the Internet managed to completely soak up my night off. I used to have hobbies, but lately it seems like I have exercise/Ultimate or I don't. This imbalance can be off-putting some nights, but mostly it's fine. Tonight, however, I'm passing on exercise, having gone pretty hard for several days in a row. Without Ultimate and without exercise my evening is free. I'd like to read, maybe play the banjo, or just meditate a moment on my career path, but somehow I find myself in the habit of just trying to fill the moments between thoughts of exercise and Ultimate or the actual activity. It's time for more action.
When I finish this paragraph, I'm leaving the Internet behind for several hours. I'm going to change clothes a la Monsieur Rogers, crack open a book and get to reading in my rarely used reading corner. When I get tired of being curled up, I will tune my banjo and bluegrass out. When even my leisure needs planning, I start to wonder who inhabits this mind of mine.
This evening is on a teetering bridge made of rope and two by fours. If I scamper across, I'll go to bed early feeling productive and satisfied. If I stand here and stare at the abyss I will go to sleep late wondering how TV and the Internet managed to completely soak up my night off. I used to have hobbies, but lately it seems like I have exercise/Ultimate or I don't. This imbalance can be off-putting some nights, but mostly it's fine. Tonight, however, I'm passing on exercise, having gone pretty hard for several days in a row. Without Ultimate and without exercise my evening is free. I'd like to read, maybe play the banjo, or just meditate a moment on my career path, but somehow I find myself in the habit of just trying to fill the moments between thoughts of exercise and Ultimate or the actual activity. It's time for more action.
When I finish this paragraph, I'm leaving the Internet behind for several hours. I'm going to change clothes a la Monsieur Rogers, crack open a book and get to reading in my rarely used reading corner. When I get tired of being curled up, I will tune my banjo and bluegrass out. When even my leisure needs planning, I start to wonder who inhabits this mind of mine.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Seeking inspiration
I found myself in a full-on physical funk this evening when the little hand was on the six and big hand was on the twelve. My evening still involved getting home and working out. I was so tired I considered taking a cab home. I was going to call off the workout, but instead my mind started to wander to places of inspiration and motivation. I thought of the blog I'd read earlier in the day about my friend's 50 mile, 10-hour running odyssey. She ran 50 freaking miles. Wow. In the post, she detailed her run and the support she had a long the way. As I trotted home, weary only from a day of work, I thought about the support waiting for me. I couldn't quit today, not after I'd complained about others saying they were in before the moment when they bail. This is not FASHION, people. One minute you are IN and the next, you should still be in. I couldn't quit today because I'd already said I was in. I like to live up to the ideals and expectations I have of others. I didn't realize I would be tested so quickly. I arrived home and found my workout partners ready and waiting. My support was in place. There was really no quitting now. I turned to one final piece of inspiration and motivation, I turned to the toaster pastry of choice- the Pop-Tart. The Pop-Tart pushed me over the edge. I worked out. I lived up to my ideals. It's not 50 miles, but it's a step in that direction. I don't know what turned my mind to the positive tip, but I'd like to keep it around.
I found myself in a full-on physical funk this evening when the little hand was on the six and big hand was on the twelve. My evening still involved getting home and working out. I was so tired I considered taking a cab home. I was going to call off the workout, but instead my mind started to wander to places of inspiration and motivation. I thought of the blog I'd read earlier in the day about my friend's 50 mile, 10-hour running odyssey. She ran 50 freaking miles. Wow. In the post, she detailed her run and the support she had a long the way. As I trotted home, weary only from a day of work, I thought about the support waiting for me. I couldn't quit today, not after I'd complained about others saying they were in before the moment when they bail. This is not FASHION, people. One minute you are IN and the next, you should still be in. I couldn't quit today because I'd already said I was in. I like to live up to the ideals and expectations I have of others. I didn't realize I would be tested so quickly. I arrived home and found my workout partners ready and waiting. My support was in place. There was really no quitting now. I turned to one final piece of inspiration and motivation, I turned to the toaster pastry of choice- the Pop-Tart. The Pop-Tart pushed me over the edge. I worked out. I lived up to my ideals. It's not 50 miles, but it's a step in that direction. I don't know what turned my mind to the positive tip, but I'd like to keep it around.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Focus on the positive
My rec league team had an unexpectedly great day. We were a small squad and I felt guilty as I’ve been a mostly absent captain, but once and a while, none of that matters. We started off trading points against a team and eventually pulled away. From there, we never really looked back. Our small group was clicking. Everything we did seemed to be working. Guys who have played fast and loose in the past, brought it down a notch. Our defense wasn’t great, but we were close enough to cause some problems and then able to punch it in for the score. ("Stalk and score", anyone?) Everyone was involved. Everyone was getting open, making good grabs, and working hard. The throws were generally pretty good. We had deep looks, we had dump swing offense, we busted through the zone on this perfect windless day in November.
My personal highlights involved laying out for a D on a dump by a member of Bad Habit and catching a trailing edge score off a ricochet D. I tried to huck a few times, but didn’t have much success. My game remains in the mid-range. I’m also excited because my Ultimate protégé coworker said that today might keep her coming back for more in the spring. Yeah, team.
My rec league team had an unexpectedly great day. We were a small squad and I felt guilty as I’ve been a mostly absent captain, but once and a while, none of that matters. We started off trading points against a team and eventually pulled away. From there, we never really looked back. Our small group was clicking. Everything we did seemed to be working. Guys who have played fast and loose in the past, brought it down a notch. Our defense wasn’t great, but we were close enough to cause some problems and then able to punch it in for the score. ("Stalk and score", anyone?) Everyone was involved. Everyone was getting open, making good grabs, and working hard. The throws were generally pretty good. We had deep looks, we had dump swing offense, we busted through the zone on this perfect windless day in November.
My personal highlights involved laying out for a D on a dump by a member of Bad Habit and catching a trailing edge score off a ricochet D. I tried to huck a few times, but didn’t have much success. My game remains in the mid-range. I’m also excited because my Ultimate protégé coworker said that today might keep her coming back for more in the spring. Yeah, team.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Soda pops and italian subs
There aren't many days that I drink soda, but I couldn't pass up some post-practice root beer. The glass bottle in hand, sweetness on the lips and tongue, and the satisfying clink of a teammate to teammate cheer. Topping that off with an Italian sub from the warehouse district was the filling in the pothole. So smooth. I never would have ventured into the authentic Italian place on my own for a variety of reasons, but none so much as the fact that the building looked like a roughed up, downtrodden warehouse. Inside riches were displayed in olive oil of all shapes and sizes. Cans and bottles, truffles and extra extra virgin, all the olive oil I could imagine dominated the scene. In the far back, there was a butcher and some sandwich makers. They churned out real Italian subs, just like one might expect from the back of warehouse filled with olive oil and wine. If I knew Italian I'd whip it out right now and say, "delicious." I'm not that worldly, instead I present another post and the celebration of soda and subs.
There aren't many days that I drink soda, but I couldn't pass up some post-practice root beer. The glass bottle in hand, sweetness on the lips and tongue, and the satisfying clink of a teammate to teammate cheer. Topping that off with an Italian sub from the warehouse district was the filling in the pothole. So smooth. I never would have ventured into the authentic Italian place on my own for a variety of reasons, but none so much as the fact that the building looked like a roughed up, downtrodden warehouse. Inside riches were displayed in olive oil of all shapes and sizes. Cans and bottles, truffles and extra extra virgin, all the olive oil I could imagine dominated the scene. In the far back, there was a butcher and some sandwich makers. They churned out real Italian subs, just like one might expect from the back of warehouse filled with olive oil and wine. If I knew Italian I'd whip it out right now and say, "delicious." I'm not that worldly, instead I present another post and the celebration of soda and subs.
Friday, November 06, 2009
more on lifting, more on vanity
There's another benefit of lifting that I neglected- MUSCLES! Every month or so, I find some muscles I never knew I had. Muscles remind me of a lot of people I know. They'll stay out of the way, lay low, try not to do work if they don't have to, but then give them a project and they work hard. Keep them motivated and they flourish. It started with my underarms. One day I flexed and I had triceps. My stick-figure arm suddenly had a little bulge. It was pleasing. I spent time in front of the mirror confirming that my imagination was not playing tricks. A tickle attack was in full force at some later date and I naturally tensed my stomach muscles. I knew I had stomach muscles, but these were tickle-stoppers. They shut down the attack. Now, this week as I was reaching across my body to grab a toothbrush, I found wings. I'm a few years removed from anything remotely resembling an anatomy class, so I don't know what they are, but trust me, I've never seen these muscles before.
If muscles were stocks, my portfolio would be looking good. Unfortunately, I still wouldn't be ready for retirement.
There's another benefit of lifting that I neglected- MUSCLES! Every month or so, I find some muscles I never knew I had. Muscles remind me of a lot of people I know. They'll stay out of the way, lay low, try not to do work if they don't have to, but then give them a project and they work hard. Keep them motivated and they flourish. It started with my underarms. One day I flexed and I had triceps. My stick-figure arm suddenly had a little bulge. It was pleasing. I spent time in front of the mirror confirming that my imagination was not playing tricks. A tickle attack was in full force at some later date and I naturally tensed my stomach muscles. I knew I had stomach muscles, but these were tickle-stoppers. They shut down the attack. Now, this week as I was reaching across my body to grab a toothbrush, I found wings. I'm a few years removed from anything remotely resembling an anatomy class, so I don't know what they are, but trust me, I've never seen these muscles before.
If muscles were stocks, my portfolio would be looking good. Unfortunately, I still wouldn't be ready for retirement.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Lifting and special feelings
Some time ago, along about May or June, I started showing up at Alan's house to fit in a few basement weightroom workouts. I've never been much of a fan of weights. I never finished a weight workout feeling great like I did after a run. The workouts always took a lot of time and even though I didn't know what results to expect I knew that I didn't want to be too muscular. The best way to avoid that was to avoid the whole scene, I decided. I tend to make sweeping decisions even when they don't make sense. Then in May or June, after many declined invitations I decided to head to the basement and workout again. I wouldn't do it four days a week, but maybe two and I'd see what happened. I found that working out with Alan and Jim was nice enough. It felt like we were struggling together, a bit like the old days on a high school cross country team. They were (and are) clearly stronger, but weights like running can be an individual pursuit with individual standards and improvement.
I stuck with my two or almost two days a week and mixed in Ultimate, bike riding, running, and the fun stuff I enjoyed. Much of my exercise was transit, but I was spending a lot of time exercising. This netted some pretty nifty previously chronicled results in a mile I ran in July and I knew that much of the credit belonged to the lifting I'd been doing. That motivated me to continue to keep up my efforts in the weightroom. Throughout the summer, my efforts remained consistent. Then, as luck or fate or something would have it, Alan and I became housemates. That put his superior collection of weightlifting paraphenilia in the garage, as in close enough to trip over. The excuses not to work out shrank significantly.
At first I thought the weights were too close to the television. I could feel myself being sucked in and away from working out, but as we got into our new routine, I found something had changed. I found that I wanted to work out. I found that when I didn't work out, I was disappointed. It was a familiar feeling that I get with running. Now, I find that I'm itching to workout when I'm sitting on the couch. I don't get the same satifisfaction from lifting that I get from running, but I get more than I thought possible. I know that the strength will contribute to my other goals, running goals, Ultimate goals, and my own well-being.
That's a pretty special feeling.
Some time ago, along about May or June, I started showing up at Alan's house to fit in a few basement weightroom workouts. I've never been much of a fan of weights. I never finished a weight workout feeling great like I did after a run. The workouts always took a lot of time and even though I didn't know what results to expect I knew that I didn't want to be too muscular. The best way to avoid that was to avoid the whole scene, I decided. I tend to make sweeping decisions even when they don't make sense. Then in May or June, after many declined invitations I decided to head to the basement and workout again. I wouldn't do it four days a week, but maybe two and I'd see what happened. I found that working out with Alan and Jim was nice enough. It felt like we were struggling together, a bit like the old days on a high school cross country team. They were (and are) clearly stronger, but weights like running can be an individual pursuit with individual standards and improvement.
I stuck with my two or almost two days a week and mixed in Ultimate, bike riding, running, and the fun stuff I enjoyed. Much of my exercise was transit, but I was spending a lot of time exercising. This netted some pretty nifty previously chronicled results in a mile I ran in July and I knew that much of the credit belonged to the lifting I'd been doing. That motivated me to continue to keep up my efforts in the weightroom. Throughout the summer, my efforts remained consistent. Then, as luck or fate or something would have it, Alan and I became housemates. That put his superior collection of weightlifting paraphenilia in the garage, as in close enough to trip over. The excuses not to work out shrank significantly.
At first I thought the weights were too close to the television. I could feel myself being sucked in and away from working out, but as we got into our new routine, I found something had changed. I found that I wanted to work out. I found that when I didn't work out, I was disappointed. It was a familiar feeling that I get with running. Now, I find that I'm itching to workout when I'm sitting on the couch. I don't get the same satifisfaction from lifting that I get from running, but I get more than I thought possible. I know that the strength will contribute to my other goals, running goals, Ultimate goals, and my own well-being.
That's a pretty special feeling.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Put that one in the kitty
A look through the archives reveals that yesterday’s post was treading on territory dangerously close to a post written in May. Either the realization is slower than I realized or my memory is so poor that I get to have the same epiphany every few months.
In hopes of getting out of my rut, I’m going to enter some new territory. This territory is inhabited by furry alien beings.
I’m not a pet guy. My sister had a fish when we were growing up, but for the most part I’ve spent my life in a pet-free zone. I did live with a dumb dog named Champ for a while, but that relationship never really clicked. Champ ran with me a time or two, but he couldn’t catch a disc and his conversation skills were lacking. He also smelled like dog. That wasn’t really his fault, but it wasn’t endearing.
I’ve gone many years again without a pet and I was happy, or mostly happy. I certainly didn’t feel like I was missing anything. I don’t hate animals, I just don’t have much use for them. I don’t connect. I don’t feel warm and cuddly when they are near. Did I mention they smell?
Not too long ago, I moved. I have new housemates. One of my housemates is named Manley and that’s my favorite thing about him. I think that’s worse than saying he’s ugly, but he has a great personality. For the record, Manley isn’t ugly and he doesn’t have a great personality. He’s got a cool name. Manley and I have the house to ourselves this week. It’s a bachelor pad. We’re watching movies in our skivvies, drinking brews, working out, staying up late watching inappropriate TV, tossing the lacrosse ball around, and belching without remorse. Awesome, huh?
No. Manley does not live up to his name. He doesn’t do manly things at all. He doesn’t even really do cat things. I’m told he’s a fine cuddler if the stars are aligned, but I’m also told that he’s a nasty biter if they aren’t. He’s a chubby cat and while he does chase a ball, bat a plush mouse, and eat, he doesn’t do much else.
There’s some tension in the bachelor pad. It grows with each passing meal. Manley wants more food. I want him to leave me alone while I scoop out his meal pellets. Will this end in bloodshed? Does Manley have secret hidden ninja powers? Will some other housemate return in time to quell this growing feud?
A look through the archives reveals that yesterday’s post was treading on territory dangerously close to a post written in May. Either the realization is slower than I realized or my memory is so poor that I get to have the same epiphany every few months.
In hopes of getting out of my rut, I’m going to enter some new territory. This territory is inhabited by furry alien beings.
I’m not a pet guy. My sister had a fish when we were growing up, but for the most part I’ve spent my life in a pet-free zone. I did live with a dumb dog named Champ for a while, but that relationship never really clicked. Champ ran with me a time or two, but he couldn’t catch a disc and his conversation skills were lacking. He also smelled like dog. That wasn’t really his fault, but it wasn’t endearing.
I’ve gone many years again without a pet and I was happy, or mostly happy. I certainly didn’t feel like I was missing anything. I don’t hate animals, I just don’t have much use for them. I don’t connect. I don’t feel warm and cuddly when they are near. Did I mention they smell?
Not too long ago, I moved. I have new housemates. One of my housemates is named Manley and that’s my favorite thing about him. I think that’s worse than saying he’s ugly, but he has a great personality. For the record, Manley isn’t ugly and he doesn’t have a great personality. He’s got a cool name. Manley and I have the house to ourselves this week. It’s a bachelor pad. We’re watching movies in our skivvies, drinking brews, working out, staying up late watching inappropriate TV, tossing the lacrosse ball around, and belching without remorse. Awesome, huh?
No. Manley does not live up to his name. He doesn’t do manly things at all. He doesn’t even really do cat things. I’m told he’s a fine cuddler if the stars are aligned, but I’m also told that he’s a nasty biter if they aren’t. He’s a chubby cat and while he does chase a ball, bat a plush mouse, and eat, he doesn’t do much else.
There’s some tension in the bachelor pad. It grows with each passing meal. Manley wants more food. I want him to leave me alone while I scoop out his meal pellets. Will this end in bloodshed? Does Manley have secret hidden ninja powers? Will some other housemate return in time to quell this growing feud?
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
The slow burn of realization on the Ultimate field
When I first moved to town and I found CUltimAte, I was a year or two older than college seniors. I was the same age or younger than the grad students. I could slip into a college Ultimate tournament quite comfortably. If memory serves, I didn't play in the series or in games where I didn't belong, especially in the Spring. I jumped in to help the team or help myself to some more playing time, but not at the cost of someone's season, I gambled. The calendars have flopped over a time or seven and those college seniors I started with return only for the alumni game. New college seniors and grad students stand in their place, but time has moved on. I don't have quite the same speed or the same leap that I did back then, but my throws are better, and I can still hold my own. Last year, I jumped in to a mixed tournament during the fall college season. Being on the field was fun, but it didn't sit entirely right with me somehow.
This year, as the team has sometimes struggled with numbers, I've been asked to "cleat up" and take the field. I've resisted. I feel bad if I'm at a tournament where colleges expect to face colleges and I take advantage of a new player just learning the game. I feel worse if a college player uses superior speed and ability to take advantage of me in this same setting. So, I decline.
Saturday, the team faced a team of Haverford alums. I don't feel bad about battling college graduates, so I laced up the green cleats, donned the clown dress and afro-wig, and went to work. The team and I battled, but we again made too many mistakes to keep it close. The Mario-Kart clad alums were a bit drunk, but mostly solid. I had a few good moments- Tini picked up the junk deep put I threw his way. They threw zone without wind and I enjoyed dropping it over and around their cup. I picked up a layout D and got to hustle on the field. I got to share more directly in some of the frustration of our re-building year. I dropped a disc. I think I resisted throwing one away. We got rolled, but I couldn't stop smiling. I know the theme repeats itself here many times, but Ultimate means a lot to me. It's allowed me to meet and play with a lot of people. It keeps evolving with me or to me. I hope to be a part of it as long as it keeps bringing me joy and/or hot chocolate in a box.
When I first moved to town and I found CUltimAte, I was a year or two older than college seniors. I was the same age or younger than the grad students. I could slip into a college Ultimate tournament quite comfortably. If memory serves, I didn't play in the series or in games where I didn't belong, especially in the Spring. I jumped in to help the team or help myself to some more playing time, but not at the cost of someone's season, I gambled. The calendars have flopped over a time or seven and those college seniors I started with return only for the alumni game. New college seniors and grad students stand in their place, but time has moved on. I don't have quite the same speed or the same leap that I did back then, but my throws are better, and I can still hold my own. Last year, I jumped in to a mixed tournament during the fall college season. Being on the field was fun, but it didn't sit entirely right with me somehow.
This year, as the team has sometimes struggled with numbers, I've been asked to "cleat up" and take the field. I've resisted. I feel bad if I'm at a tournament where colleges expect to face colleges and I take advantage of a new player just learning the game. I feel worse if a college player uses superior speed and ability to take advantage of me in this same setting. So, I decline.
Saturday, the team faced a team of Haverford alums. I don't feel bad about battling college graduates, so I laced up the green cleats, donned the clown dress and afro-wig, and went to work. The team and I battled, but we again made too many mistakes to keep it close. The Mario-Kart clad alums were a bit drunk, but mostly solid. I had a few good moments- Tini picked up the junk deep put I threw his way. They threw zone without wind and I enjoyed dropping it over and around their cup. I picked up a layout D and got to hustle on the field. I got to share more directly in some of the frustration of our re-building year. I dropped a disc. I think I resisted throwing one away. We got rolled, but I couldn't stop smiling. I know the theme repeats itself here many times, but Ultimate means a lot to me. It's allowed me to meet and play with a lot of people. It keeps evolving with me or to me. I hope to be a part of it as long as it keeps bringing me joy and/or hot chocolate in a box.
Monday, November 02, 2009
I can do whatever I like
I've been told that it's National Blog Post Writing Month. It's supposedly this less-involved lower-key version of National Novel Writing Month. As a NaBloPo writer, I'm supposed to post something to my blog everyday. I'd link to the official site, but it's got all of these rules that I don't want to follow. Mostly the rules I don't want to follow are that since I didn't post yesterday I am no longer eligible for prizes. So, I'm making up my own rules while I try to build on my NaNoWriMo success of some five years ago by actually trying to get a little bit of writing done this month. In that less-than-inspired way, I plan to write more posts, post more writing, and find meaningful* ways to rearrange the language to suit my needs.
If I were betting, I'd say my readers can expect more posts about Ultimate, running, my vanity, lost cell phones, and the ongoing struggle of being a thirty-something man with the mindset of a twenty-something. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I may again combine all five.
All of this is available for the low, low price of time. In the time it takes to brush some teeth, I can offer insight and brightening power.
*Meaningful in this case refers more to the act of making sense or attempting word play and less to the general appeal to the senses or emotions.
I've been told that it's National Blog Post Writing Month. It's supposedly this less-involved lower-key version of National Novel Writing Month. As a NaBloPo writer, I'm supposed to post something to my blog everyday. I'd link to the official site, but it's got all of these rules that I don't want to follow. Mostly the rules I don't want to follow are that since I didn't post yesterday I am no longer eligible for prizes. So, I'm making up my own rules while I try to build on my NaNoWriMo success of some five years ago by actually trying to get a little bit of writing done this month. In that less-than-inspired way, I plan to write more posts, post more writing, and find meaningful* ways to rearrange the language to suit my needs.
If I were betting, I'd say my readers can expect more posts about Ultimate, running, my vanity, lost cell phones, and the ongoing struggle of being a thirty-something man with the mindset of a twenty-something. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I may again combine all five.
All of this is available for the low, low price of time. In the time it takes to brush some teeth, I can offer insight and brightening power.
*Meaningful in this case refers more to the act of making sense or attempting word play and less to the general appeal to the senses or emotions.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Of land and way, the ice and nor variety
Pronoun and character introduction: In the retelling of this journey will be C, she of world-traveling renown and amateur travel agent prowess and me, of this blog. The two of us will be the "we" to which I generally refer. If other we's sneak in, I trust that context will provide appropriate clues. Get on with it, then.
September 14- After a stint in the late twenties- to thirties-island-haven Hoboken and a plane ride across some of the Atlantic Ocean, we arrived in Keflavik, Iceland. The hour by Icelandic digital watch was in the sixes, but in my mind it was much later and earlier than that. We'd taken herbal "no jet-lag" pills, but even their black magic was not strong enough to overcome insufficient shut-eye. The bus from the airport to our hostel rolled through a grey-cloud covered land dotted with houses and cairns. We arrived at the downtown youth hostel at 0730, plopped down luggage and hundreds of krona (ISK) and enjoyed our yogurt that's also a website, skyrs.is. Too early for a room, we wandered the streets of the capital city, Reykjavik. We visited a church, Hallgrimskirkja, that was under construction and tried to find ways to battle weariness by wandering the streets and doing a little shopping. We eventually made our way to a library where I read a collection of Peanuts comics and dozed off.
After a restful three hour nap in our hostel, we had dinner at Geysir, the restaurant with cute little lamps in the windows, not the hot steam erupting from the ground, and I had my first introduction to the soft drink Malt. Malt was a sweet stout-like beverage. My taste buds found it curious and kind of wonderful. We capped off our night with a swim and some relaxing in geothermal pools. There are several of these pools around the city, but this was not really a tourist spot. It was a community pool with some geothermal heating. It was warm (39 and 42 degrees Celsius) and relaxing and made sleep even easier.
September 15- After some deliberation regarding the various touring options, we decided to rent a car. I'd started to get excited about driving a manual transmission vehicle when the rental agent asked, "Is automatic ok?" We took the red Opel Corsa to the streets, some of them gravel, and hit the tourist hot spots in Southwest Iceland. We found Geysir, where Strokkur erupted every 6-10 minutes, more often than even Old Faithful, as a crowd gathered to watch. Geysir itself has been quiet for some time, but to its credit is the reason that we call geysers by their name. We drove on, chasing rainbows through the black and green of lava rock and rolling rocky terrain to find the waterfalls and rainbows of Gulfoss. It was postcard perfect and I'm told that it's quite a sight in the winter when it's frozen. We stopped at a Pylsa stand for Iceland hot dogs and a Malt. Pylsa were everywhere. We ended up with hot dogs at more meals than I think either of us would have anticipated. The pylsa at this stand were quite good. We hit more of the dirt roads, drove along the coast, had some consistent sunshine for a few hours, saw just a few cars, and bounced and pitched our way to the Blue Lagoon, passing gorgeous views and rocky hills along the way.
The Blue Lagoon lived up to its billing. The water was milky-blue and warm. The price was high. I didn't want to leave until I'd shriveled into a prune-y version of myself with hardened hair. There were saunas and massage areas available, but we mostly stuck to slowly wading and floating around, sometimes with our silica masks. Silica masks and beards don't go that well together, but I tried. After nearly two hours of geothermal lagoon time, we polished off Iceland with my whale steak and Viking stout and C's reindeer burger and Polar beer. The steak was good, but I don't think the burger held up so well. I'm certain that Santa is none too pleased.
September 16, 17- We arrived in Oslo, Norway and almost immediately took a train to Finse. Our travel days were consistently sunny and few more gorgeous than this one. The train ride was about six hours long, but at every turn, at least when I was awake, beautiful views were just outside the window. There were lakes and streams with backdrops of mountains, some colored by evergreen and others starting to turn in the fall. We were on a rolling brochure for the natural majesty of Norway. As darkness came, we arrived at the highest train station in Norway, Finse, at 1,222 meters above sea level. The small town had sent a brisk wind and a light rain as a welcoming committee. We were right next to a glacier, but wouldn't know until the train brought us through again in several days. We made our way through the cold and dark to our shelter about 200 meters back of the train station and out on a peninsula. I could see the dark outlines of snow-capped mountains pouring into the wind-blown lake and couldn't contain my excitement.
Our lodging was spartan and cold as there seemed to be no heat in the rooms. After dinner with three interesting Norwegian fellows who were headed out to hunt the next day, we threw on our stocking caps and buried ourselves deep beneath the heavy comforters. We managed to shiver to sleep and make it through to morning fitfully, but without freezing. The temperature didn't rise well either and we set off on our bike ride in spitting rain at three degrees Celsius. We wore most of the clothes we'd packed, which made our bags light. I was nervous about our fingers and toes and a little upset with myself for not being better prepared. It was mid-week and bordering on the miserable, so for most of the trip down we were alone, or only in the sight of one older couple. The trail was rocky and the sky was gray, but the scenery remained unbelievable. I took more pictures that consist of colored homes, bodies of water, and rocky hillside than I should probably admit. Our route followed close to the train tracks, but there were a few moments when I wondered how long it might be before someone would find our frozen bodies on the trail. I talked C into wearing her spare socks as gloves and I worked hard to warm up my hands at every chance I got. The day eventually got warmer as we made our way down. We descended 1,220 meters over 56 or so kilometers. Our patience was separately tested, but I was mostly prepared and spent my time waiting enjoying the scenery. We survived without much incident after a 6.5 hour ride. The last 20 km had been crazy steep. Our destination was Flam, 2 meters above sea level and on a fjord. I was unimpressed by the Flam-fjord view after enjoying so many mountain views, but my perspective would be altered another day. We had dinner in Norway's only train car restaurant. The Norwegian meatballs and the faux-attraction of a train car restaurant were only enough to sustain, not entertain. The hostel shower, even at 10 krone per 5 minutes was glorious. I may have been tired, but I hatched a theory that "upstand" might mean urinal in Norwegian. That amused me. I probably could have asked since everyone spoke English well, but I already felt guilty enough about that.
September 18- After 13.5 hours of sleep in our hostel cabin, we ate our co-op shopping-procured-breakfast on our porch. We covered all the Norwegian breakfast bases as we understood them, drinkable yogurt, cheese, bread. Our drinkable yogurt may have been blueberry flavored milk, but the line there looks pretty blurry to me. We hiked about 9 km over fjord to Aurland, had lunch, and then caught a boat to Gravunden (?). "Oh, my fjord!" I have run out of ways to describe the views we saw. It was "fjords gone wild," and I only stopped taking pictures because I couldn't find any new ways to show how impressive it all seemed as our ferry-like boat slid through the water framed by high rocky gray and green mountains climbing into the sky on both sides. We took the bus back to Flam and went through the mountains. It was the only way to save space on my camera's memory card and there were no boats back.
September 19- It was another bright and sunny day spent traveling. We took the Flamsbana train ride, but the views were familiar as we'd already biked them. We could see from the train window how much busier the bike trail was. I still admired the scenery as we took another train back to Oslo. We skipped a possible Venga Boys concert at Oslo University, but saw where the king sleeps and some of Oslo in the night. The hip section of town on the harbor reminded me of an Ikea catalog explosion. The architecture was that mixture of awesome and sparse with hard corners and functional square shapes. The buildings in this area seemed to be high-priced lofts and places of business.
September 20- I had trouble getting going despite "breakfast in a bag" at the P hotel in downtown Oslo. We finally made our way through the gray skies and sprinkles to Vigeland Park where it was all-you-care to see naked statues. We stopped for coffee and then decided to tour separately. C went to see Munch and I went to see mini bottles. The entrance fee was steep, but this was the largest mini bottle collection in the world. I saw thousands of mini bottles. If Oslo were a giant hotel, this building would have been a brilliant mini bar. It had bottles from all over the world and in all shapes. Some were quite beautiful in blown glass, while others were quite crude and included or were part of lewd humor. I was quite interested in the Scotch section and in section of cognacs where a whole collection of mini bottles shaped like Napoleon resided.
We had dinner at a hipster joint and drinks at Olympen. We were expecting a dive, but instead found ourselves in a pretty nice bar with large wooden tables and 20 foot tall red velvet curtains. I tried the Norwegian drink Aquavit which I'd discovered at the mini bottle gallery. It was a bit like cough syrup. It grew on me as I sipped it, but I think I was supposed to shoot it and I don't know that I ever need to have another taste.
The end- Icelandair took us back to Iceland and then on to New York. We slipped on to a standby flight and made it home in time to be exhausted. The pictures turned out great and reliving it a month later is not a bad way to go. I've told everyone that I was quite taken by Norway, but I think I'd enjoy more outdoor adventures in either place. I'm keeping my passport handy. The world awaits.
Pronoun and character introduction: In the retelling of this journey will be C, she of world-traveling renown and amateur travel agent prowess and me, of this blog. The two of us will be the "we" to which I generally refer. If other we's sneak in, I trust that context will provide appropriate clues. Get on with it, then.
September 14- After a stint in the late twenties- to thirties-island-haven Hoboken and a plane ride across some of the Atlantic Ocean, we arrived in Keflavik, Iceland. The hour by Icelandic digital watch was in the sixes, but in my mind it was much later and earlier than that. We'd taken herbal "no jet-lag" pills, but even their black magic was not strong enough to overcome insufficient shut-eye. The bus from the airport to our hostel rolled through a grey-cloud covered land dotted with houses and cairns. We arrived at the downtown youth hostel at 0730, plopped down luggage and hundreds of krona (ISK) and enjoyed our yogurt that's also a website, skyrs.is. Too early for a room, we wandered the streets of the capital city, Reykjavik. We visited a church, Hallgrimskirkja, that was under construction and tried to find ways to battle weariness by wandering the streets and doing a little shopping. We eventually made our way to a library where I read a collection of Peanuts comics and dozed off.
After a restful three hour nap in our hostel, we had dinner at Geysir, the restaurant with cute little lamps in the windows, not the hot steam erupting from the ground, and I had my first introduction to the soft drink Malt. Malt was a sweet stout-like beverage. My taste buds found it curious and kind of wonderful. We capped off our night with a swim and some relaxing in geothermal pools. There are several of these pools around the city, but this was not really a tourist spot. It was a community pool with some geothermal heating. It was warm (39 and 42 degrees Celsius) and relaxing and made sleep even easier.
September 15- After some deliberation regarding the various touring options, we decided to rent a car. I'd started to get excited about driving a manual transmission vehicle when the rental agent asked, "Is automatic ok?" We took the red Opel Corsa to the streets, some of them gravel, and hit the tourist hot spots in Southwest Iceland. We found Geysir, where Strokkur erupted every 6-10 minutes, more often than even Old Faithful, as a crowd gathered to watch. Geysir itself has been quiet for some time, but to its credit is the reason that we call geysers by their name. We drove on, chasing rainbows through the black and green of lava rock and rolling rocky terrain to find the waterfalls and rainbows of Gulfoss. It was postcard perfect and I'm told that it's quite a sight in the winter when it's frozen. We stopped at a Pylsa stand for Iceland hot dogs and a Malt. Pylsa were everywhere. We ended up with hot dogs at more meals than I think either of us would have anticipated. The pylsa at this stand were quite good. We hit more of the dirt roads, drove along the coast, had some consistent sunshine for a few hours, saw just a few cars, and bounced and pitched our way to the Blue Lagoon, passing gorgeous views and rocky hills along the way.
The Blue Lagoon lived up to its billing. The water was milky-blue and warm. The price was high. I didn't want to leave until I'd shriveled into a prune-y version of myself with hardened hair. There were saunas and massage areas available, but we mostly stuck to slowly wading and floating around, sometimes with our silica masks. Silica masks and beards don't go that well together, but I tried. After nearly two hours of geothermal lagoon time, we polished off Iceland with my whale steak and Viking stout and C's reindeer burger and Polar beer. The steak was good, but I don't think the burger held up so well. I'm certain that Santa is none too pleased.
September 16, 17- We arrived in Oslo, Norway and almost immediately took a train to Finse. Our travel days were consistently sunny and few more gorgeous than this one. The train ride was about six hours long, but at every turn, at least when I was awake, beautiful views were just outside the window. There were lakes and streams with backdrops of mountains, some colored by evergreen and others starting to turn in the fall. We were on a rolling brochure for the natural majesty of Norway. As darkness came, we arrived at the highest train station in Norway, Finse, at 1,222 meters above sea level. The small town had sent a brisk wind and a light rain as a welcoming committee. We were right next to a glacier, but wouldn't know until the train brought us through again in several days. We made our way through the cold and dark to our shelter about 200 meters back of the train station and out on a peninsula. I could see the dark outlines of snow-capped mountains pouring into the wind-blown lake and couldn't contain my excitement.
Our lodging was spartan and cold as there seemed to be no heat in the rooms. After dinner with three interesting Norwegian fellows who were headed out to hunt the next day, we threw on our stocking caps and buried ourselves deep beneath the heavy comforters. We managed to shiver to sleep and make it through to morning fitfully, but without freezing. The temperature didn't rise well either and we set off on our bike ride in spitting rain at three degrees Celsius. We wore most of the clothes we'd packed, which made our bags light. I was nervous about our fingers and toes and a little upset with myself for not being better prepared. It was mid-week and bordering on the miserable, so for most of the trip down we were alone, or only in the sight of one older couple. The trail was rocky and the sky was gray, but the scenery remained unbelievable. I took more pictures that consist of colored homes, bodies of water, and rocky hillside than I should probably admit. Our route followed close to the train tracks, but there were a few moments when I wondered how long it might be before someone would find our frozen bodies on the trail. I talked C into wearing her spare socks as gloves and I worked hard to warm up my hands at every chance I got. The day eventually got warmer as we made our way down. We descended 1,220 meters over 56 or so kilometers. Our patience was separately tested, but I was mostly prepared and spent my time waiting enjoying the scenery. We survived without much incident after a 6.5 hour ride. The last 20 km had been crazy steep. Our destination was Flam, 2 meters above sea level and on a fjord. I was unimpressed by the Flam-fjord view after enjoying so many mountain views, but my perspective would be altered another day. We had dinner in Norway's only train car restaurant. The Norwegian meatballs and the faux-attraction of a train car restaurant were only enough to sustain, not entertain. The hostel shower, even at 10 krone per 5 minutes was glorious. I may have been tired, but I hatched a theory that "upstand" might mean urinal in Norwegian. That amused me. I probably could have asked since everyone spoke English well, but I already felt guilty enough about that.
September 18- After 13.5 hours of sleep in our hostel cabin, we ate our co-op shopping-procured-breakfast on our porch. We covered all the Norwegian breakfast bases as we understood them, drinkable yogurt, cheese, bread. Our drinkable yogurt may have been blueberry flavored milk, but the line there looks pretty blurry to me. We hiked about 9 km over fjord to Aurland, had lunch, and then caught a boat to Gravunden (?). "Oh, my fjord!" I have run out of ways to describe the views we saw. It was "fjords gone wild," and I only stopped taking pictures because I couldn't find any new ways to show how impressive it all seemed as our ferry-like boat slid through the water framed by high rocky gray and green mountains climbing into the sky on both sides. We took the bus back to Flam and went through the mountains. It was the only way to save space on my camera's memory card and there were no boats back.
September 19- It was another bright and sunny day spent traveling. We took the Flamsbana train ride, but the views were familiar as we'd already biked them. We could see from the train window how much busier the bike trail was. I still admired the scenery as we took another train back to Oslo. We skipped a possible Venga Boys concert at Oslo University, but saw where the king sleeps and some of Oslo in the night. The hip section of town on the harbor reminded me of an Ikea catalog explosion. The architecture was that mixture of awesome and sparse with hard corners and functional square shapes. The buildings in this area seemed to be high-priced lofts and places of business.
September 20- I had trouble getting going despite "breakfast in a bag" at the P hotel in downtown Oslo. We finally made our way through the gray skies and sprinkles to Vigeland Park where it was all-you-care to see naked statues. We stopped for coffee and then decided to tour separately. C went to see Munch and I went to see mini bottles. The entrance fee was steep, but this was the largest mini bottle collection in the world. I saw thousands of mini bottles. If Oslo were a giant hotel, this building would have been a brilliant mini bar. It had bottles from all over the world and in all shapes. Some were quite beautiful in blown glass, while others were quite crude and included or were part of lewd humor. I was quite interested in the Scotch section and in section of cognacs where a whole collection of mini bottles shaped like Napoleon resided.
We had dinner at a hipster joint and drinks at Olympen. We were expecting a dive, but instead found ourselves in a pretty nice bar with large wooden tables and 20 foot tall red velvet curtains. I tried the Norwegian drink Aquavit which I'd discovered at the mini bottle gallery. It was a bit like cough syrup. It grew on me as I sipped it, but I think I was supposed to shoot it and I don't know that I ever need to have another taste.
The end- Icelandair took us back to Iceland and then on to New York. We slipped on to a standby flight and made it home in time to be exhausted. The pictures turned out great and reliving it a month later is not a bad way to go. I've told everyone that I was quite taken by Norway, but I think I'd enjoy more outdoor adventures in either place. I'm keeping my passport handy. The world awaits.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Motion seconded
Disappointed that I wouldn't be able to join some friends running a race over the weekend, I jumped at the chance to run in a 5k at the Ham Festival in Trigg County, Kentucky. Surprisingly, C agreed to run/walk too. Perhaps it was Southern hospitality, but I wasn't asking questions.
There were about 40 people entered in the race. I knew that I would have a chance to win, but I also understood that my control was limited. I tried to explain this to C, but the mere act of explanation seemed to further cement me as the favorite in her mind. As I told her that even if I had a great race that would really only be different from a good race by 20 or 30 seconds. I didn't talk about what having a bad race would mean. She politely listened and told me that no one else in the race would be thinking about those differences. After seeing a few other people warm up, C did grant me that a few others might at least be thinking about their races.
I eyed my competition and narrowed it down to a trio of high-schoolers, likely on a local cross-country team, an older guy in blue shorts, and a guy about my age in a grey singlet. I knew that looks could be deceiving, but mentally figured this group would pose the threats. I still run like a respectable high-schooler in the 5k, so I had a pretty good idea what I might be up against. Later I would find out that the high-schoolers among my competition had eyed me and targeted me in the very same way. I guess a little judging by the cover can be effective.
I started the race in the second row behind an eager group of munchkins. It was an out and back course, a slight uphill out and a slight downhill back. After passing the kids, I was in a small pack with the threats I'd identified. The grey singlet was already starting to pull away. Blue shorts slowed and announced "It's time to slow down." For some reason, I responded, "But, I have to go after him."
Soon, I found myself alone and breathing. I focused on grey singlet's back. I crossed the mile in 5:23. Grey singlet carried on and I continued to lose just a little bit of ground as we carried on. I remember very little- a few words of encouragement, thanking a volunteer, and grey singlet slowly pulling away. As I came upon the two-mile mark, I was amused to see C headed in the other direction. We crossed our marks a few seconds apart. I'd run 11:03 at two miles, but was delighted that for now I can claim that I'm twice as fast. This will come in handy when we are getting ready to go somewhere.
From there, I pushed on. One man asked if I was going to be able to catch grey. I told him I didn't know, but I was trying. My efforts didn't amount to much more than maintaining the status quo, maybe pushing it slightly. I finished in 17:11. Second place. Grey was some 40 seconds ahead and 50 dollars richer. At least my streak stayed alive. I think I've now finished second overall or in my age group in 5 consecutive events.
Later in the day after the endorphins wore away, I found that I was sore. In very appropriate fashion, as I wandered the streets at the annual festival celebrating pigs, I found it was my hamstrings that were causing me the most trouble.
I'm serious.
Disappointed that I wouldn't be able to join some friends running a race over the weekend, I jumped at the chance to run in a 5k at the Ham Festival in Trigg County, Kentucky. Surprisingly, C agreed to run/walk too. Perhaps it was Southern hospitality, but I wasn't asking questions.
There were about 40 people entered in the race. I knew that I would have a chance to win, but I also understood that my control was limited. I tried to explain this to C, but the mere act of explanation seemed to further cement me as the favorite in her mind. As I told her that even if I had a great race that would really only be different from a good race by 20 or 30 seconds. I didn't talk about what having a bad race would mean. She politely listened and told me that no one else in the race would be thinking about those differences. After seeing a few other people warm up, C did grant me that a few others might at least be thinking about their races.
I eyed my competition and narrowed it down to a trio of high-schoolers, likely on a local cross-country team, an older guy in blue shorts, and a guy about my age in a grey singlet. I knew that looks could be deceiving, but mentally figured this group would pose the threats. I still run like a respectable high-schooler in the 5k, so I had a pretty good idea what I might be up against. Later I would find out that the high-schoolers among my competition had eyed me and targeted me in the very same way. I guess a little judging by the cover can be effective.
I started the race in the second row behind an eager group of munchkins. It was an out and back course, a slight uphill out and a slight downhill back. After passing the kids, I was in a small pack with the threats I'd identified. The grey singlet was already starting to pull away. Blue shorts slowed and announced "It's time to slow down." For some reason, I responded, "But, I have to go after him."
Soon, I found myself alone and breathing. I focused on grey singlet's back. I crossed the mile in 5:23. Grey singlet carried on and I continued to lose just a little bit of ground as we carried on. I remember very little- a few words of encouragement, thanking a volunteer, and grey singlet slowly pulling away. As I came upon the two-mile mark, I was amused to see C headed in the other direction. We crossed our marks a few seconds apart. I'd run 11:03 at two miles, but was delighted that for now I can claim that I'm twice as fast. This will come in handy when we are getting ready to go somewhere.
From there, I pushed on. One man asked if I was going to be able to catch grey. I told him I didn't know, but I was trying. My efforts didn't amount to much more than maintaining the status quo, maybe pushing it slightly. I finished in 17:11. Second place. Grey was some 40 seconds ahead and 50 dollars richer. At least my streak stayed alive. I think I've now finished second overall or in my age group in 5 consecutive events.
Later in the day after the endorphins wore away, I found that I was sore. In very appropriate fashion, as I wandered the streets at the annual festival celebrating pigs, I found it was my hamstrings that were causing me the most trouble.
I'm serious.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Scared of the curb
I don't know how people rage against the machine every day. I am exhausted from my bike rides in the city lately. There's nowhere for me to hide. I was honked at and yelled at over the weekend. The honking provoked me to have a stare in a rearview mirror and then have a conversation where neither party heard a thing through closed windows. The holler to "ride on the sidewalk" prompted a deep angry shout of, "I'm on the road and I belong on the road." I don't know if I've ever shouted with such fury.
The problem lies in my route, but no route from my new home is without traffic. There are cars everywhere. As I ride, I also find that my moral superiority has slipped away and I find that I am particularly concerned about how drivers view not just me, but all bicyclists. I now better understand why some cyclists choose to don neon gear and have flags waving on the backs of their bikes. They are trying to convince one more driver to see them and then hopefully share the road with them without comment. It's a battle and if it didn't rock so much to get to work in 15 minutes with awakened heart and lungs, I'm not sure I could fight it.
I don't know how people rage against the machine every day. I am exhausted from my bike rides in the city lately. There's nowhere for me to hide. I was honked at and yelled at over the weekend. The honking provoked me to have a stare in a rearview mirror and then have a conversation where neither party heard a thing through closed windows. The holler to "ride on the sidewalk" prompted a deep angry shout of, "I'm on the road and I belong on the road." I don't know if I've ever shouted with such fury.
The problem lies in my route, but no route from my new home is without traffic. There are cars everywhere. As I ride, I also find that my moral superiority has slipped away and I find that I am particularly concerned about how drivers view not just me, but all bicyclists. I now better understand why some cyclists choose to don neon gear and have flags waving on the backs of their bikes. They are trying to convince one more driver to see them and then hopefully share the road with them without comment. It's a battle and if it didn't rock so much to get to work in 15 minutes with awakened heart and lungs, I'm not sure I could fight it.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
New home: A poem of sorts
The dishwasher is training for a marathon,
Boston if the electric kettle has anything to do with it.
The TV stops and goes at my command.
Couches and desks fill up empty spaces.
There's a cat who adores me when I open a can
I climb out of the ground to greet the day
and shower beneath foot falls.
It takes six keys to enter, but only one to leave.
The dishwasher is training for a marathon,
Boston if the electric kettle has anything to do with it.
The TV stops and goes at my command.
Couches and desks fill up empty spaces.
There's a cat who adores me when I open a can
I climb out of the ground to greet the day
and shower beneath foot falls.
It takes six keys to enter, but only one to leave.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I'm not a blogaholic
It’s been 21 days since I last posted.
That sentence makes me sound like I want to join a support group. I have notes in the back of the “Iceland Review” all laid out for a chronological trip review, but I’m not ready yet to review it. Instead, I’m caught up in Saturday’s Ultimate games.
I’ve resolved to make my weekend Ultimate games take a backseat to my other fitness goals. That means I’m not going to skip a workout on Friday just because I have a game on Saturday. It means I still want to find time to run or even race and play. In theory, I believe this to be good well-rounded life-balancing policy. In practice, I am already finding this to be a painful way to exist.
On Saturday, we had a double-header and something like 3 subs. I found myself in the games more than I wanted to be, largely because I worked out on Friday and I was still sore. The first game was a lazily-defended, deep-cut slug fest. I was happy to be one of the deep cutters, less happy that I keep getting burnt on the defensive end. We can blame my sore legs, but it’s starting to feel like 50/50 discs go to the other guy 70% of the time. It’s the ones where I’ve got a step that I’m getting. In the first game, I often had a step. I need to figure out how to get back in the mix more often, even as I am getting out-jumped.
Other things to think about:
-Maybe if I’m going to show up sore, I shouldn’t be quite so zealous when it comes to getting down the field on defense on the pull. There were some great pulls though, and I like when hustle defense leads to a Callahan.
-I can do better dictating on offense and defense. I’m being too passive when my man is close on almost everything except for my force side cuts.
-Either the team needs to recognize our personality or I do. We’re going to have a tough time out-muscling other teams, so we have to play smarter and move the disc better. We looked pretty recreational with our clogging and inefficient use of players on the field.
We lost the first game 16-15. I had to watch the disc zip by me too fast and far to be the game-winning score and then watch my man jump up and grab number 16 for his team. The second game was a rainy mess and I didn’t have much fight and neither did the team. It was a bit rough.
It’s been 21 days since I last posted.
That sentence makes me sound like I want to join a support group. I have notes in the back of the “Iceland Review” all laid out for a chronological trip review, but I’m not ready yet to review it. Instead, I’m caught up in Saturday’s Ultimate games.
I’ve resolved to make my weekend Ultimate games take a backseat to my other fitness goals. That means I’m not going to skip a workout on Friday just because I have a game on Saturday. It means I still want to find time to run or even race and play. In theory, I believe this to be good well-rounded life-balancing policy. In practice, I am already finding this to be a painful way to exist.
On Saturday, we had a double-header and something like 3 subs. I found myself in the games more than I wanted to be, largely because I worked out on Friday and I was still sore. The first game was a lazily-defended, deep-cut slug fest. I was happy to be one of the deep cutters, less happy that I keep getting burnt on the defensive end. We can blame my sore legs, but it’s starting to feel like 50/50 discs go to the other guy 70% of the time. It’s the ones where I’ve got a step that I’m getting. In the first game, I often had a step. I need to figure out how to get back in the mix more often, even as I am getting out-jumped.
Other things to think about:
-Maybe if I’m going to show up sore, I shouldn’t be quite so zealous when it comes to getting down the field on defense on the pull. There were some great pulls though, and I like when hustle defense leads to a Callahan.
-I can do better dictating on offense and defense. I’m being too passive when my man is close on almost everything except for my force side cuts.
-Either the team needs to recognize our personality or I do. We’re going to have a tough time out-muscling other teams, so we have to play smarter and move the disc better. We looked pretty recreational with our clogging and inefficient use of players on the field.
We lost the first game 16-15. I had to watch the disc zip by me too fast and far to be the game-winning score and then watch my man jump up and grab number 16 for his team. The second game was a rainy mess and I didn’t have much fight and neither did the team. It was a bit rough.
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