Through a series of mistakes and miscalculations, I ended up missing my bus and had to drive my car in to school this morning and park it on one of the university parking ramps. Thursdays are my crap days anyway -- I usually arrive on campus around 8am and have back-to-back-to-back obligations until after 6pm. And just so you know, it is nearly impossible to plan, pack, and lug around the amount of food a day of this length requires, since I don't stay in one place all day.
Today, however, would be even longer -- I caught a poetry slam that lasted until after 7. (It was AWESOME, by the way. I'm attending a free writing workshop they're putting on tomorrow at the library.) I actually had a short break just before their performance, and I wanted to go home and get some dinner...except that it would cost me $15 duckets to get my car out of the ramp! Screw that! They stop monitoring the ramp at midnight -- then I can get the damn car out for free.
But to stay until midnight, I'd still need to go home to get the power pack for my laptop and workout clothes. So I took the bus home anyway, gathered up all my stuff, and then caught the next bus back to campus. Despite my ambitions to be productive, I am dead on my feet nonetheless. I have no desire to exercise, so I'm counting the 30-minute walk to and from the bus stop as my workout. Actually, being on foot in the cold night air was peacefully invigorating, if that's possible. Though it had "cold and lonely" written all over it, I really enjoyed waiting for the bus alone in the dark.
The walk across campus to the student union was also pretty fantastic -- though I nearly froze my fingers off to get a photo of the capitol building that even approached being in focus. Worth it, anyway.
But now, despite drinking down a large coffee, I can barely keep my eyes open except to look longingly at my car, trapped on the third level of the parking ramp for another hour and a half.
This is a view from the steps of the Old Capitol building. Just beyond the trees, you can see two brick buildings. Actually, you can see the one brick building with all the windows, but the other -- the massive brick blob -- somehow manages to disappear behind the one tree in the foreground that doesn't have any leaves. This is the building that houses my department and my office. And it was designed to be riot proof.
That's right.
It was apparently built at the tail-end or right after that period in history when college students paid attention to the world around them, got pissed, and took potentially destructive action. With the exception of faculty offices, you can only see out if you stay near the doors. Every door in the building is a fire door, so leaving my office to go to the restroom is a workout. Similarly, the first floor is laid out in a such a pattern with oddly-angled turns such that one becomes disoriented in the building very easily. Students can almost never find their instructors' offices -- or even the department office at times! It took me the better part of a semester to match the specific portions of the inside to their outside-world counterparts, and correctly identify which of four unevenly placed exit doors connected them.
During my first year, I don't know how many times I ended up walking 3/4 of the way around the building because I could never be sure which was the shortest path between the part of the building where I was standing and where I wanted to end up.
A perfect physical representation of the problem I have with academia in general.
I took this picture the same day that two emails went out over the grad student listserv "encouraging" more attendance at department seminar.
More concerned about being considered a "great thinker" than they are with doing the kind of thinking (or ACTING, for that matter) that might actually do someone any good.
When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
by Walt Whitman
When I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
“For singer/songwriter Carrie Newcomer, beauty is discovered in the midst of the ordinary. Life is experienced in the spaces between darkness and light. Truth is found in the bond between music and word. On one level, the listener experiences these types of connections through Newcomer’s lyrics, which explore life with a progressive spiritual sensibility. In a world that encourages us to move faster and think bigger, Newcomer invites the listener to slow down and reflect on the small things that make life worthwhile. For her, ‘songwriting is not about being clever, flashy or fancy—it is about telling a compelling story in language and music with elegance and clarity.’ The result is a resonant soundtrack for a world that is both sacred and ordinary.”
I think the best evidence that I can be happy anywhere is the fact that I love Iowa in the winter. So much, in fact, that I started wishing for snow at the end of September this season. The first winter I was here was apparently the worst in about a decade -- bitterly cold, lots of ice. I was fine. My definition of "cold" certainly got revised, but I adapted well. I learned how to strategize my snow removal -- mostly to suck it up and clear some away mid-storm so it would be a little easier the next time I'd have leave the house on a schedule. I also discovered the peculiar comfort that the sound of snow plows in the wee hours of night/morning brings.
Right now a snow storm is dumping 5-9 inches of snow on us. I was leaving downtown this afternoon when it started coming down in big, fluffy flakes -- my favorite! The next thing I knew, I found myself down by the train station, so I fired off a few pictures.
I thought the brick apartment building across the street from the station was especially pretty in the snow. I can only imagine those are also some fantastic sittin' porches in the summer, too. I'll miss those evenings sipping on tall, sweaty glasses of iced tea and air thick with humidity and fireflies. *sigh*
As soon as I knew I would be coming to Iowa for grad school, I immediately went in search of any and all songs that mention Iowa in them. Turns out there are quite a few -- an entire CD's worth. Some are obviously better than others, this one by Abi Tapia being one of the better ones.
I decided when I got here that I wanted to have the kind of experience here that would make me cry when it came time to leave. After three years, I've been doing more crying here than ever before (and not in a good way), and I'm itching to move away ASAP in May...it makes me sad. I don't want to go out like that. Maybe it would be better if I stay through the summer and do all the Iowa things I want to do before I go -- like RAGBRAI, for instance. Or an adventure race with Laura. Then again, I should really try to get a job. Wouldn't it be great to be a park ranger in Alaska or Yosemite? What an adventure either of those would be! Even better to have a tenure-track job waiting for me in the fall? Well, I have time to decide. And no job offers yet, so it's not productive to imagine an entire path with any of that on it or worry about decisions that haven't even been presented as choices yet.
In case there were any lingering doubts about colors and places to be, take a look at this cookie jar I painted circa 1998 at the beginning of my blue and yellow phase.
It is one of very few possessions that made it through the last 12 moves. I love this cookie jar. And it's never even held cookies! Only tea and recipe cards! I love it because it is so calming and blissful. Light, airy spaces -- that's all I want in life.
Right now it sits on the counter in my yellow (!) kitchen next to a window that looks out on a bed of wildflowers in the summer.
Does it look familiar? It should.
Here is my favorite picture of myself, taken by the side of the road somewhere in Oregon in 1997. It doesn't really point to a special time in my life, but I think it captures the best of my spirit -- who I would like to be, without the mania that sometimes accompanies orange.
But you know what takes the cake? This picture I took on a bike ride a couple weeks after I moved to Iowa. Oh, and for the record, I did not get off my bike or stop pedaling to take this picture. What can I say? You can take the girl out of orange, but you can't take orange out of the girl...
Note: I didn't plan this post for St. Patty's Day, but it sorta worked out, no?
February was a strange month. It started with a batch of clean laundry and the choice between putting on my orange or green turtleneck. Orange had long been my defining color. At one point, there was so much orange in my wardrobe that it constituted an entire load of laundry on its own. But the green...I had never really liked green at all before, but somehow, that green sweater was calling me. Twice before this I had chosen the green over the orange, but that day the choice bothered me. Was I no longer the kinda gal who draped herself in orange? And why all of a sudden was I being drawn to green?
Later that week, I attempted to do some spring cleaning. The fatal error was beginning in the room that houses my trunk-o-stuffs. You know, the one with yearbooks, old letters, track ribbons, PHOTOS. "Sidetracked" doesn't even begin to describe what happened.
It was one thing to look over all these different versions of myself, at different times in my life, through pictures and letters and journals. Then around mid-month, there was an odd e-mail exchange wherein I was confronted by yet another version of myself, this time through another's eyes. It was very idealized, and I was left wondering what happened that version of myself, and whether she ever really existed in the first place. On top of that, my advisor shared a letter of recommendation she wrote for me. Seriously, I don't know who she was writing about. I mean, there were parts that felt vaguely familiar, but other parts that left me feeling like an inadequate fraud. (She assures me it was the truth...*shrug*)
All of that leads me back to the colors. Some people have the same favorite color their whole lives, but mine has changed a bit over the past ten years. (Oh man, has it really been that long?!) In some ways, I can see people treating me like an orange-yellow person even though, on the inside, I feel like I'm growing into someone else. So I decided to look up what my favorite colors might reveal about me, and I think it accounts for the different periods of my life better than anything I might have put in my trunk.
1997-2001 Yellow. These are the years I was finishing college, moving to DC for grad school, then Seattle, then back to New Mexico for another master's degree.
Yellow is the color of happiness, wisdom and imagination, Yellow is chosen by the mentally adventurous, searching for novelty and self-fulfillment. Yellow usually goes with a sunny and shrewd personality, with a good business head and a strong sense of humor. It is the color of intellectuality and all things to do with the mind. Yellow folks are usually clear and precise thinkers who have a good opinion of their own mental capacities and who have lofty ideals. They may at times tend to shun responsibility, preferring freedom of thought and action.
2001-2007 Enter orange. To quote a Faith Hill tune, I'd say these years could easily be characterized as "living and loving and learning the hard way." Also: "full speed ahead," and "taking big fat juicy bites out of life" would cover it too. Yellow was still very much a part of it, but in more of a supporting role until the orange overshadowed it completely around 2003-4. I love orange for it's brashness and impracticality. I mean, it's RIDICULOUS! Love it! Plus, not many people like orange or have the guts to wear it. In your early-mid twenties, that's all fine and good. But late 20s into your 30s...well, I'll say that I still like orange and yellow but have less need for an all-encompassing orange lifestyle.
Orange: This color of luxury and pleasure appeals to the flamboyant and fun-loving person who likes a lively social round. Orange people may be inclined to dramatize a bit, and people notice them, but they are generally good-natured and popular. They can be a little fickle and vacillating, but on the whole they try hard to be agreeable. Orange is the color of youth, strength, fearlessness, curiosity and restlessness. 2009 Green. I guess my trend toward green has been two or three years in the making. I've really been wanting to move toward a life of balance and peace so I can thrive. Hence, the latest blog makeover.
The color of harmony and balance, green symbolizes hope, renewal and peace, and is usually liked by the gentle and sincere. Greens are generally frank, community-minded people, fairly sociable but preferring peace at any price. Green people can be too self-effacing, modest and patient, so they may get exploited by others. They are usually refined, civilized and reputable.
In reality, I'm not sure if I'm really going all the way to green as the star, but it is definitely part of an ensemble cast. When I look back, blue has always been in the mix as a supporting player, accented by white. Given their descriptions, I see how they fit into the background as minor, but present, parts of myself. Not surprisingly, when orange took over, the blue dropped out entirely.
Blue: Soft, soothing, compassionate and caring, blue is the color of deliberation and introspection, conservatism and duty. Patient, persevering, conscientious, sensitive and self-controlled, Blues like to be admired for their steady character and wisdom. They are faithful, but are often worriers with somewhat inflexible beliefs and can be too cautious, and suspicious of flamboyant behavior.
White: Symbolic of purity, innocence and naivete, white has strong connotations of youth and purity. If you are an older person, your preference for white could indicate a desire for perfection and impossible ideals, maybe an attempt to recapture lost youth and freshness. It may also symbolize a desire for simplicity or the simple life.
That scene above is how I think I will always remember Iowa. Blue skies, puffy white clouds, and green rolling hills.
But green. I think I'm going to feature green for a little while...for all the reasons Kermit thinks it's not easy, and for all the reasons it's what he wants to be.
Maybe it's because I've been watching too much Intervention, but after the hellish week I had last week (in which I worked my ass off and still turned in one steaming pile of crap after another) and a generally underwhelming embarrassing semester altogether, something's gotta give.
I remember when I used to be good at things. Like, really good at things. And I used to LOVE school. And I used to blog regularly. What the hell happened?
I honestly don't know. But here's what I'm going to do about it:
Endorphin therapy.
Now that the 140.6 monkey is off my back, I'm going to work my way back up from the shorter distances and get faster. Some call it "training." I call it "what you're supposed to do instead of showing up on race day, undertrained, and hoping for the best."
But really, I'm in it for the side-effects: more energy and ability to focus. I think that'll fix a lot of other stuff that's been dragging in my life.
Yes, this is LOOONG overdue. No excuses besides simply not being in a writing mood. *shrugs* What can I say? It's been a whirlwind month.
In Part Two of the Multi-Sport Athlete Exchange Program (Part One: Dam-to-Dam), Danielle came out to the east side of Iowa and joined me for the Lake Geode Challenge.
It should be obvious by now that recounting the minutiae of race day kinda bores me, and during this race I decided on a truncated form for race reports. HOWEVER, this particular day wound up being one of those turning-point kinds of races, so I actually have something to say about this one.
It was my first tri of the season (I couldn't get to the QC tri for the flood) and the first day back from strep. I was going to treat it like a long training day (I was only looking to finish somewhere close to my average paces without being too miserable and/or collapsing).
And then late on Mile 5 of the 10K run, I entered the race.
The Lake Geode run course is mercilessly hilly. I unapologetically walked all the hills -- until the approach to the Mile 6 sign. Here, I heard the footsteps of the two women approaching. I said to myself, "No free passes," and started to run again. They eventually passed me, but I kept them within reach.
I re-passed them as we approached the finish chute. And then, inexplicably, this gutsy broad re-re-passed in a dead sprint, and of course I gave chase! In the end, I ran out of pavement and lost 2nd place in our age group by one foot.
The irony is that she and I were easily 8th and 9th from last in this race overall. I had no illusions about where we were in the pack, and figured placing/hardware was out of the question. But, dammit, neither one of us was going to let the other get a "free pass" especially not that close to the finish line. And even though I "lost," I am so grateful to that woman -- that gutsy broad -- who made me dig deep and enter that race, if even for the last moments, because she lit a fire in me that I had almost forgotten about. We high-fived on the other side of the line as I gave her heartfelt congratulations. Forget Inner Ass-Kicker, she helped me rediscover my own Inner Gutsy Broad -- who is way tougher, hands down.
When I got home I watched this clip a few times, reveling in my renewed competitive, yet appreciative spirit and shed a few tears of recognition at the final voiceover:
To be clear, I don't put myself on the same level as these elite athletes, but stripped down to the least common denominator, their moment was our moment writ large. For me, this drive is part of what makes me an athlete. Yes, triathlon is sometimes about going the distance, other times about the competition, but at its best about digging deeper after you thought you had nothing left.
So thank you, Stephanie May of Somewhere in Iowa for making me dig deep that day and energizing my inner athlete. But thanks especially for helping me re-discover my Inner Gutsy Broad, who admires yours...and is hot on your heels! :D
June 30 was the one-year anniversary of my arrival in Iowa. I celebrated with a short (40 minutes is short now?) run. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I get a unique joy from running on country roads that I just don't get from neighborhood running.
Don't get me wrong, the neighborhoods of Iowa City have a special brand of serenity and peace that I've not found anywhere else. But the Zen of country running is on a level all its own. As I was pondering this entry, I happened upon a post on the Zen of Running. Reading through it, I realized that I get this from all the sports in triathlon. I'd say that breathing is particularly meditative for me when I swim, but contemplation and being in the moment are what buoy me on the bike and run.
I suppose this also explains why I haven't been blogging as much as of late. At first, I thought it was something about only being able to train or blog, but not both at the same time. But mostly, I've just been more introspective and in my own head for quite a while now. It's probably for that reason I'm unable to render this feeling in a satisfactory way.
Today was my first multisport event of the 2008 season, my first true duathlon ever, and Lucy Q's racing debut. She showed herself well (and pretty much paid for herself in numbers of peeps passed, which I will discuss momentarily).
First of all, I got pulled over for speeding on my way to the event -- and got off with a warning! (That NEVER happens to me -- I always end up with a ticket, but I suspect that turning off the gangsta rap that I had blaring probably helped.) I was a little worried about what that might augur for the race...in the end it's probably just ironic, as I am slow-ass-slow on foot.
Clothing Removal Required to Have a Good Time At last! I am vindicated for the Jermaine Stewart Debacle! Despite being chilly in Iowa City when I left this morning, it was surprisingly warm (and sunny and perfect overall) in the Quad Cities and I quickly realized I was wearing WAY too many clothes. I have to admit, I did not plan well for this: I was wearing full tights, capris, a tank, a long sleeve shirt, AND a windbreaker. Luckily, I brought a short sleeve jersey along, but I left a pair of bike shorts sitting on my bed. What to do? Well...I decided not overheating was a fair trade-off for no butt padding. Yup, I went commando under my capris. BUT I was temperature-comfy and I didn't really notice the lack of padding.
Lucy Q -- My Trusty Steed After a standard-issue out-&-back run, I hopped on my bike and took off for the 17K ride. It was mostly on quiet country roads, and the last few miles had a pesky headwind. I don't know what kind of crazy mojo I've got going for me all of a sudden, but I not only managed a 15+ mph avg (official times forthcoming), I PASSED TEN PEOPLE on the bike leg!!! (You better believe I was counting) It's one thing to pass a bunch of other women, but I will admit, I felt a special kind of joy when I picked off those last three guys -- going 17-22 mph!!! Even though two of them passed me again on the run, passing on the bike is a triumph I hardly ever experience. Certainly not 10 times in a short race and certainly not when there is a headwind. Oh Lucy Q, I love you!
We Ain't in New Mexico Anymore One thing I noticed at this race is that peeps don't talk here. I mean, I've spent a LOT of time at the back of the pack. In New Mexico, we're all back there cheering for each other and giving supportive words when we pass, or on approach to turn-arounds, etc. Frankly, that was one of the most pleasant surprises when I first started -- it certainly made it easier to continue in the activity. But there was significantly less of that going on here. Except for the cheers I gave people, I don't know how many of the athletes would have said anything. Of course, the volunteers and spectators were amazing with the cheering, but I was left scratching my head about the relative silence of the other participants. Maybe this race had a lot of super-newbies who don't yet know to do that. *shrugs*
So...I finished with a time of 1:18:04. I forgot to hit my watch for splits, so I'll update that as soon as the race organizers post their results. I am chomping at the bit to find out how fast I rode. (Also forgot to zero out my computer -- D'oh!)
Today I finally got to take Lucy Q out for her inaugural ride. She just needs a few tweaks (aerobar placement, a new saddle) and we'll be all set for a glorious summer of training.
But what a great day!! The weather was perfect, and I saw 6 other cyclists out today. The major triumph for the day is that I got myself out the door and did it even though I'm hungover from last night (that'll teach me). I even pushed hard on the last 3 miles. This is huge. I usually just spend the day on the couch with Law & Order reruns and chicken wings. I don't even do homework.
A new leaf, indeed!
Also, it's good to write blog posts (as well as sign up for races, set goals, etc.) while still high on endorphins.
P.S. I don't think I ever properly introduced Lucy Q besides the bike porn. She is a Quintana Roo Lucero; "Lucy Q" just worked.
Epicenter was in Illinois, but at 5.2 it's no wonder we felt it here.
I must admit, I feel a little responsible.
Last week, we had a tornado warning, and ever since then I have been telling anyone who would listen how much I prefer earthquakes to tornadoes. And yesterday on the street, I had an impassioned conversation with my friends wherein I *might* have uttered the words "please give me an earthquake!"
My apologies to the Midwest.
Here's the crazy thing: it was kind of comforting...like a little bit of home (for those of you who don't know, I spent my first 20 yrs in CA). But the fact that I didn't sleep through it, as I did easily in my younger days, tells me that maybe they're right about not being able to go home again.
*sigh*
Still, despite my preference for earthquakes over tornadoes, I will (for the benefit of my new, retrofit-less Midwestern neighbors) be more careful how I word it next time.
When I said winter broke me, what I meant was it froze my pipes. That's right. I showered at the rec center on Monday and Tuesday and made a couple late night trips to the 24-hour grocery to go pee in the middle of the night.
Un-friggin'-believable.
$260 bones and an hour of pipe heating later, I am not as in love with Iowa as I once was. And who's to say they're not going to just freeze right back up? IT'S -3!!!
Until we get back to reasonable temperatures (which is the high 20s/low 30s to me these days--egads, what's become of me?!), I will be nervous that my next trip to the loo will be disastrous.
The COOLEST thing happened today: I arrived home from a training run and there was a package in front of my door from Duane and Kelly. That all by itself was super cool...then I opened it.
And howled!
Corn bread, corn tortillas, corn puffs, popcorn, corn cob holders, corn chips, corn nuts, creamed corn, and whole kernel corn. (This sentence is even funnier if you read it using Bubba's voice from Forrest Gump.)
I'm sure you've noticed I've been MIA for the last week. I had a mild case of the doldrums that seemed to be going around tribloggerland last week. This package + some much-needed words of empathy and support from Megan and Jenny = KrissyGo back in business.
I actually had a short break just before their performance, and I wanted to go home and get some dinner...except that it would cost me $15 duckets to get my car out of the ramp! Screw that! They stop monitoring the ramp at midnight -- then I can get the damn car out for free.
But now, despite drinking down a large coffee, I can barely keep my eyes open except to look longingly at my car, trapped on the third level of the parking ramp for another hour and a half.
