Life is what happens when you're making plans

As a rabid plan-maker, I hate that phrase. While I can't quite bring myself to be booking cruise packages for two years from now (even if they are on super-sale), but I do religiously buy plane tickets about 6 months in advance. Without a lot of plans, I'm prone to feeling like I'm spinning my wheels or wasting my life.

So this weekend was the Minneapolis Polar Bear Plunge. Of the many, many plans I made this year, this was probably the one that concerned me least. A 5k? Done that about 5 times already. Jump in a frozen lake? I'm from Minnesota. How bad could it be?

Well, two things happened.
1) I started realizing that running 3 miles after being very half-ass about my training schedule would suck.
1b) Jumping in freezing cold water would probably suck too.
2) Jon's appendix burst.

Jon had been having strange pains for more than a week. He'd gone to the doctor last week who ruled out things like a UTI and said "Come back in a few weeks or months if the pain is still there." Well, about a week after that he got what looked like the flu and the pains became pretty consistent. I insisted he go to the doctor again to rule out something like appendicitis.

After the doctor sent him home for not looking sick enough for appendicitis, but taking a blood sample just in case, they called us about an hour later and said "Get yourself to the hospital NOW!" The lab results showed his white blood cell count at almost 3 times the recommended range and a quick CT scan showed his appendix had already burst ("Like a bomb went off" I believe was the official assessment). Jon was admitted to the hospital & the doctors were uncertain what to do with him: operate? antibiotics? It was pretty scary.

Did I mention this was two days before the polar plunge?

Like it or not, Jon has become my designated race-helper since I took up running. He drops me off, picks me up, takes my picture, holds my stuff. Racing is a big to-do. Driving yourself, being responsible for your own stuff, asking strangers to take your picture (or taking none at all -- the horror!)... it's all pretty inconvenient. Having someone help you is just about essential.

So now my love was holed up in a hospital with an iffy prognosis (not deadly, they just weren't sure what to do with him) and I wanted to do nothing but be there for him. Except not only do I have the plunge, I am scheduled virtually every other moment around it with things like work. The horror, reprised.

The night before the plunge it started to hit me that this didn't sound very fun at all. It was to be the coldest day on the forecast. It was supposed to snow that day. It already had snowed so it would be slippery. I tossed and turned and finally got myself out of bed at 5 am, figured this was all the sleep I'd get. I got dressed and suddenly the thought of jumping in a lake in these clothes seemed crazy!

Thankfully, my friend Stephanie was already planning to be a spectator and took over for Jon. It was the first time she'd been to a race and expressed very cute, genuine concern about what would happen if I, or anyone else, slipped and twisted an ankle.

This is what I considered a "wacky" outfit... basically I just wanted to stay warm!

There were far more runners than I imagined but it was still a very sparse race, maybe a few hundred at most. Quickly, just about everyone passed me. I passed the walkers and that's about all I'm assured of. There was no starting gun, no chip times, none of that. Despite feeling like I had kind of squandered my training schedule on couch time, I was determined to run the whole way. And I did. 38 minutes later, I crossed the "finish line" (which was a sign that said finish next to a clock). Certainly not my best time but not bad for a race that was slippery, snowy and that I didn't even really try.

Am I really going to jump into that hole in the lake? Well, my friends and family donated $75 to Special Olympics to guarantee I'd actually do it.

Next came the plunge. Since I tend to get a burst of heat right after exercise, I decided to head down to the ice right away. I handed Stephanie my sweatshirt and hat and walked out in my t-shirt, shorts, leggings and running shoes. I tried to find Stephanie in the crowd to pose for cheeky pictures and I think the plunge officials thought I was stalling. So they counted off "3-2-1!" and I jumped.

Before

During

Of course, it was a shock. I think I was making these old-lady-getting-mugged noises which kind of turned into "I'malive!I'malive!I'malive!" The worst part was the wet part of me hitting the 25 degree air. But it also felt surprisingly invigorating. I nearly skipped the hot tub but most of the officials insisted I utilize it. WOW! It was like someone sucked every inch of cold out of me with an invisible vacuum. I only stayed in a couple minutes but it was all I needed. Walking back to the changing area, I felt fine. My dry clothes felt like cloth from heaven. Stephanie made a passing comment that she should've done the plunge. And I told her, as I will forever tell everyone, I totally recommend it!

After... being a human fog machine.

Despite the low turnout for the race, the plunge itself actually had about 4,000 participants, many who dress in outrageous costumes. But I wanted to get out of there. In other miracles, Jon was responding extremely well to antibiotics and they were sending home, after only 48 hours in the hospital. This is pretty amazing because most accounts of a burst appendix that we found online said the average hospital stay was at least a week.

It's just the way that I am. I worry. I make plans and then I sit and fret about all the things that could go wrong. And this time, things really did go wrong, or at least not right. It was the most wintery day of our mostly un-winter-like winter. Jon had a pretty serious medical emergency. And yet it all worked out. Jon's fine. I was able to raise my fundraising total. I did pretty well at the 5k all things considered and the plunge was as thrilling as everyone said it would be. Plus Stephanie was there for me, too.

The whole experience made me feel a tiny bit less panicky about my trip to South America (for which I've been having an excess of panicky thoughts!).... which is a good thing. I leave two weeks from tomorrow!

So You Want To Be A Writer?

Charles Bukowski, the drunk, poet laureate, late-blooming voice of his (grown) generation said if you want to be a writer, it better be bursting out of you, you better be writing nonstop to the suffering of the rest of your life, or don't even bother.

Being a writer has always been on or near the radar for me. When I was a kid, I used to "write" "books" (yes, both terms are separately questionable). What I actually did was manufacture "books" by cutting and folding sheets of paper to be about 10 pages long, writing the title, designing the cover and writing approximately half a page inside. I never finished a book and don't actually believe I ever made it past the second page. I did however make my own "library" complete with library cards so my friends could check out these future books that I was for sure going to write. I distinctly remember one series, my own version of the Babysitter's Club or the Saddle Club, called "Ballet or Horses" where I had drawn a wistful ballerina hugging a horse with her ballet slippers hung up on the wall next to a horseshoe. The heroine's dilemma was how to fit in her love of ballet in with her love of horses. Yeah. I never actually wrote that story, let along the series.

That's the thing: I love conceptualizing stories. I have a lot of ideas: a comedy about working in a psych ward. Two women who can't find husbands have a baby together, as friends. An older man brings home a young Filipino bride. A Korean version of Lost in Translation. All ideas, all stuck in my head.

Then of course there are my real-life stories. This year I've had the idea to write a collection of short humorous creatively non-fiction travel stories from my years of traveling. I certainly have enough stories to write a book. In fact, thanks to this blog, a lot of them have already been written.

Somehow this has come to a near boil inside me lately. I haven't slept well, falling asleep and waking up to the idea I am wasting my time by not writing. I've skipped some runs that I desperately need for my upcoming races, telling myself I'm going to spend time sorting this problem out and getting inspired. I skipped my Spanish class last night to watch TED talks, which if you are not familiar, is a conference of brilliant people speaking brilliantly about an array of topics (including productivity, perfectionism, motivation, writing, creativity). Eat, Pray, Love author Elizabeth Gilbert gave a particularly brilliant talk about how a writer's job is not to necessarily write perfectly or write ground-breaking material, just to show up and write anyway.


So I wonder where that leaves me. Is writing bursting from me? No, not at all. But is there an intense pressure in me, full of squealing nouns, verbs & adjectives chanting write!write!write!write!? YES. There absolutely is. To use disgusting imagery, I'm constipated with ideas. Painfully so.

It would be nice if I just took some writer's ex-lax and went to town. But I'm a perfectionist. Unless I can be sure my writerly turd will be a perfect turd, I hold it in. (maaaaaybe time for a new metaphor)

Like my childhood self, I try to set up the whole frickin' library before I put pencil to paper.
I can't write unless I quit my job.
I can't write until I get a better computer.
I can't write until I go on this trip.
I can't write until I take this writing class.
I can't write until I finish the whole outline.
I can't write until I know who is going to read it.
I can't write unless I know it's going to get published.
I can't write until I take time off from work.

Seriously, I could go on and on and on.

I've tried giving up this dream several times but, seductive siren that it is, it keeps luring me back. I'll read a book, particularly a travel memoir, and think I could write at least this well! I get compliments on my writing skills in odd places, like the progress notes I write each day for my patients, which egg this dream on. I start looking seriously into grad programs like counseling or social work and when I find out a peer is pursuing an MFA in writing, I think that should be me!

But I can't get an MFA in writing. You can't give an MFA to someone who doesn't write.

The older I get, the more I understand nothing in life is certain. A lot of my co-workers are in their early 20s and very certain about things like marriage, kids, career trajectories. I used to be, too. Now I am understanding why older people just smile and nod when listening to the "certainties" of the younger generation.

And yet... I'm certain I'm going to be a writer. I feel too old to be saying this. A 30-year-old non-writing writer has done so little to prove this will come to fruition. And yet, I just know. It might not be my final life's work but I really think I will start writing, really writing, regularly and I will publish a book, maybe more than one or maybe even many books. And somehow that "certainty" feels real, more real than 10 years ago when I thought by now I'd be married, a mother, with a PhD in psychology and living someplace like NYC.

To the spirit of Charles Bukowski, I tell you, yes... I have to write. It might just be a little later. (Fun sidenote: Charles Bukowski worked odd jobs until he finally found writerly fame at age 49!)

Now, if you'd excuse me, I suddenly have to go to the bathroom.

Did I ever tell you about the time I went contra dancing?

Confession: I'm kind of a lazy traveler. Like my tagline "it seemed like a good idea at the time," I find myself signing up for adventures and instantly wishing I'd just accept myself as a couch-lounging TV-watching sloth. But that doesn't ever seem to stop me. So after nearly three days of traveling across the country to my friend Michelle's place in Belfast, Maine, last fall, I was suddenly dreading the suggestion that we all go contra dancing when I got there.

My arrival to Michelle's pad included a Mexican-themed dinner party with delicious food and fun conversation with Michelle's friends. The clock kept ticking by and I was starting to think my wish of pure laziness was about to come true. I even took my shoes off! Finally, it was decided if we were going to go at all, we should go now.

I employed my usual lazy person input: "I'm fine going or staying, either one, whatever, yawwwwwn," kind of hoping this would be a clue that, BOY, I must be really tired from traveling and maybe what I really needed was a quiet night and a third bowl of ice cream.

But nay... Michelle, my vivacious, ball-of-energy, life-loving friend clearly thinks the cure for days and days of buses and trains is not more sitting, but dancing.

Which brings me to my next thought: What the hell is contra dancing??

Honestly, after hearing about contra dancing for several years, I somehow got it confused with this:


So that was totally what I was expecting.

We walked the couple blocks to a community hall and this is essentially what we found:


Yes, as it turns out, contra dancing is not unlike square dancing. It is the hippier, more fun-loving cousin of square dancing. Which is ironic because as roommates, Michelle & I once spent a good chunk of an evening watching old folks square dance on a public access station with captions saying "Square dancing is friendship in motion" and "Say no to drugs, say yes to dancing."

And here we were: in Belfast, Maine, happening upon a packed house of friendship in motion all over the place.

Michelle nearly peed her pants in excitement. Myself, I likely was trying to avoid peeing because of anxiety. All I could think is, I cannot dance like this!

We sat on the periphery to watch and try to make sense of the twirling bodies, intermingling partners and just exactly how many men were wearing skirts (I'm going to put the official count at about five). When the song ended, a grey-haired bushy-bearded man who might have a part time job as Santa Claus asked Michelle to dance. Lover-of-everything that she is, she enthusiastically said yes. I quickly secured myself one of Michelle's female friends (I forgot her name... let's call her Lisa) as a partner and the fourth said she was happy to sit out another round.

Contra dancing, as hippie-filled and free-loving as it seems, is a little sexist. It was pretty amazing how many men were out dancing, but I soon found out that being part of a same-sex dancing couple who has no idea how to do the dances (not Lisa, who was our one veteran dancer for our group, I'm meaning me!) can really eff it up for everyone. After a very brief demonstration of how to do the dances, we were off. By off, I mean we started and by off, I also mean I was wayyyyy off on my dance moves, crashing into everyone and probably crushing a lot of barefoot toes along the way.

"This is my first time contra dancing, EVER!" I would shout as each new partner grabbed me to do our choreographed twirl before I'd line up again with Lisa. "That's great!" just about every one of them said "Don't worry about getting it right. All you need to do is have fun."

Now, I know that's not true, legions of contra dancers. As much as you say I would be fine just having fun, I know I was the weakest link in your contra dance-chain and I repeatedly snapped.

As if my inability to remember approximately 4 dance moves didn't make it bad enough, once we got to the end of the line of partners, we were supposed to do it all in reverse and head back. This was a major problem. There are "man dances" and there are "woman dances." Lisa had officiated me the "woman" of our duo but that was very unclear to all our rotating partners. "Who's the man?" they'd repeatedly ask as what was supposed to be a uniform figure 8 would turn into a head-on collision. After some sloppy run-ins that looked a lot closer to moshing than friendship in motion, I'd revel to get into our starting spots again, new partners and new chances not to screw this up!

After 10 minutes, the dance was over and I was a disgusting sweaty mess. There was a big intermission and during that time, the rest of my group caught my lazy germs and we walked our smelly bodies back home. Michelle was hooked. Before we left, she grabbed every dance brochure she could find. She was relatively new to the town and thanks to her job working with senior citizens, was a little desperate to find people more her age (and speed).

My contra dancing shoes (or lack there of), however, are probably hung up for good. The contra dancing feet of the world will thank me for this.

Keep me alive until Alaska

This is my new mantra, much to the tune of the Beastie Boys' No Sleep Til Brooklyn. Two days ago, my bf and I booked an Alaskan cruise (or as I like to call it The Cheapest Way To Get To The Final Frontier). With this, I'll join the 50 State Club.

While I'm certainly not the first to accomplish this, I am the first one I have ever had the pleasure of meeting (if I say so myself...). I think it's a big frickin' deal! And so do 9 of my Facebook friends. Out of 180. I know, I know, not everyone uses Facebook who has an account and not everyone clicks the "like" button if they, in their head, really did like this fact. But then I saw a recent engagement announcement garner approximately 1,200% as many positive responses and I made a gigantic pouty face.

Dramatization -- I don't look so horse-like. I might look a bit like a raccoon, though. Or a manatee.

I believe in terms of Facebook likability, my declaration of widespread travel is a bit above status updates such as "My weekend starts now!" but still below "Go Packers!"

Here's the thing: I may never get married. In fact, I'm so far from getting married that if I ever do get married, my 30-year-old self will be spin her head, exorcist-style, from surprise. So saying I'm going to Alaska in May IS my engagement announcement. Stopping for a day in Ketchikan and another in Juneau is the wedding. I didn't register for gifts, but I'm open to cash donations. And the nice thing about getting "married" to visiting all the states is we can never get divorced. I will never un-visit a state. This is forever, baby!

There was a time in my youth when I got pretty annoyingly desperate to be accepted by the masses. Then I started listening to Hole and kinda turned into PHS' only riot grrrl and just stopped caring what others thought. Fifteen years later, I'm back to begging for a slow clap.

I'm shameless.

I can't believe I'm going down this path, but you know the sayings "Dance like nobody's watching. Sing like nobody's listening."? They're cheesy as hell. But I've really been trying to spin a few of my own: Tell jokes like nobody is going to laugh at them. Write blogs like nobody is actually reading them (especially if they came through the Google search "prostitutes in Busan," the most commonly searched phrase that leads to my blog--boy, are those jerks disappointed when they get here!). Travel like nobody's impressed. Seek adventure like nobody wants to hear about it. Fundraise like nobody's willing to donate!

When I stop trying to impress everyone, I will realize that 9 awesome friends are jazzed about my future accomplishment. Which is 9 more people than were in my high school's grungy girl band fan club (excluding me, of course!).

....and now they blew it!

I really didn't want to do another consecutive fundraising post. I considered writing about topics like "things I Googled" and "funny pictures I post on my friends' Facebook walls for their birthdays." But I can't stop thinking about THE SUSAN G KOMEN/PLANNED PARENTHOOD CONTROVERSY

Ugggghhhhhhhh.

It makes me sick. This morning I woke up devising new ways that I can raise more money for the fight against breast cancer. Now I'm feeling like Gob in Arrested Development.

All over the news, blogs and Twitter, people are calling for the boycott of Susan G Komen. People are swearing to never support them again and instead donate their charitable giving to countless other pro-women's health organizations.... basically anywhere but Komen. And the fact that it seems the only people standing up for Komen right now are saying things such as "I will finally start supporting you now that you've cut your ties with Planned Parenthood! Thanks for ending your support of baby-killers!" makes me equally as uncomfortable.

Two weeks ago, I signed up for the Susan G Komen 3-Day thinking I could raise thousands of dollars to help eradicate a disease that is holding my boyfriend's mother hostage. The more I looked into the organization, the more excited I was to be supporting them. They seemed to legitimately be working to end breast cancer. I knew there was some controversy with SGK but as far as I knew, it was just their support of Planned Parenthood (the money specifically supporting breast & cervical cancer screenings -- not abortions! -- but any affiliation made some people upset). In that time I've raised almost $400! That's nowhere near the $2300 I need to raise, but it's @#$%-ton of money!

If this news had come out the day before I planned to register, I probably would not have. But it came out after and instead of quitting in protest (and walking away from hundreds of dollars I raised) or soldiering on and accepting donations from all these new "pro-life" supporters, I am demanding answers.

I'm inside the organization now. I'm registered, I'm a fundraiser and I'm upset! Despite several statements stating they are not politically motivated in this, it looks entirely political. You know, I have a very strong personal political stance but I will say that the 3-Day walk is the last place I would like to wave my own agenda.

In all likelihood, I will continue to fundraise for Susan G Komen. But not today. No, today, and tomorrow, and in the days and weeks ahead, I will write them and express my displeasure with them cutting funding to an organization that is widely accessed by low-income women (and men!) throughout the country. I will demand transparency to know where these funds that will no longer go to Planned Parenthood will now be funneled. And I will wait for an answer as to how they will reach out to the poor and the uninsured to ensure that they do not succumb to the disease that they declare to hate so much.

$2300 is not going to cure cancer (says me, Capt Obvious). And one person's letters are not going to undo this decision. But $2300 multiplied by thousands of people can seriously help the cause. And thousands of people each sending one letter will send a message. I'm actually very pleased with the backlash. Susan G Komen HAS to do damage control to not lose thousands, if not millions, for their cause. The cause is prevention, a cure, and the end of cancer.

If, like me, you're also feeling unsettled, take 20 minutes, write them, and tell them how you really feel! That's exactly what I will be doing... along with wishing/praying/hoping/vision-boarding that Susan G Komen will come out again as an organization fighting breast cancer to benefit all woman (and man-)kind with no political agenda.

Susan G. Komen for the Cure

5005 LBJ Freeway, Suite 250

Dallas, TX 75244

And you can email them on their website.

Do it!

I Blew It!

Fundraising is hard to do.

I knew this ahead of time. In fact, as a bleeding heart with legs, I'm attracted to jobs and activities that help the disadvantaged -- but words like "fundraising" and "volunteer recruitment" trigger my gag reflex. Anything where you are asking others to give up their time and money, I feel as queasy and uncomfortable as I believe I am making them feel.

Scratch the first line of this post, what I really mean to say is
I @#$%ING HATE FUNDRAISING!!!!

So when I signed up to raise $2300 for the Susan G Komen 3-Day, I thought, oh God, I'm about to write a $2300 check so I can avoid asking for help at all costs.

But since I have started so far in advance.... And since I have a lot of expensive plans this year..... And since this is a freaking challenge and where's the challenge in coughing up the money yourself??.... I thought I would give it a try.

Well... I blew it!

Before my most recent "blowing it," I felt a little like I blew it before. I might have blindly walked into this event under the idea that I would be floated through this endeavor by an angel named MATCHING FUNDS. I got this idea from a patient at my work actually who told me her work has ponied up half the funds for this very same event that she walks every year. I thought -- my work is always talking about volunteerism and charitable giving. They'll be sure to donate! I even found a charitable contributions form on the website.

So I sign up... I type in my company's name under the MATCHING FUNDS link on the Komen site -- and what I find is a succinctly written paragraph that may as well be a big red STOP sign. In summary it said: We do not do matching funds.

An email to the giving/volunteerism coordinator later and I'm basically supposed to NOT expect anything from work. Ugggggghhhhh. Dreams of having half my funds magically appear are dashed.

Which brings me to today. I finally worked up the guts to email my department at work to get donations not only for Komen but for the Polar Plunge as well. I basically "replied all" to one of several fundraising emails I received from my coworkers last year. My department is pretty sizable: almost 300 people. I write what I think is a cute, heartfelt email and take a deep breath and press send. I feel nervous. Will people laugh at me? (for raising money for Special Olympics & breast cancer research -- yes, these are real thoughts I have) Will everyone ignore it? I purposefully don't check my work email for a couple hours and instead see if I get any pings from my donation sites.

After a few hours of nothing, I check the work account. My first response is from my director basically saying "While I applaud your efforts, you're violating our non-solicitation policy. I'm going to send out an email reminding people they can't be doing what you're doing." The second was from a person who I've never met telling me she's uncomfortable being solicited and to take her off my email list.

This is what I do:

This is a dramatization: I looked a lot less attractive

I run to the shower and bawl away, all while a voice in the back of my head says "You're 30! You're crying because you got a slap on the wrist! You're not even in real trouble!" Strangely, I was reading an article about shame/perfectionism right before I got these emails. Irony much?!

But still... I was embarrassed. If one coworker-I-don't-know among the masses felt offended, others did, too. And then this not-so-subtle email saying DO NOT SOLICIT will go out basically piggybacking my solicitation efforts. I feel dumb. I know there was no way to know this, especially due to others sending similar emails... But like the article said, people are perfectionists because they want to ward off blame, shame & rejection. And I got (what feels like) all three.

And again, like MATCHING FUNDS, my ability to lean on coworkers has been kicked out from under me. My only salvation is the email is out there. If I get one donation, well, then I guess it was worth it. That said, my embarrassed/shameful/perfectionist side of me sooooo does not want to go to work tomorrow.

Party Like It's 2-0-1-2

It just occurred to me that 2012 might be the Best. Year. Ever. Yeah, the world might end, but we've been risking that every year since we started keeping track of years.

In general, I try to overload my life with big, sensational events while spending the rest of my time being as lazy as possible.

Here's what I did in 2011:
- Visited Chicago
- Visited my 47th state: Hawaii
- Flew in a helicopter over Maui & Moloka'i
- Went whale watching
- Snorkeled with sea turtles
- Visited my 48th state: Oklahoma
- Visited my 49th state: Texas
- Attended SXSW
- Ran my 2nd 10K
- Completed a half-marathon
- Joined a regularly performing improv team
- Visited NYC
- Turned 30
- Ran the TC 10 Mile
- Went on a cross-country train/bus tour to Chicago, Boston, Maine, DC
- Visited the Maritime provinces: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia & Prince Edward Island
- Donated $$$ to charity
- Asked for a raise & got even more than I hoped for
- Was pretty damn lazy the rest of the time

For leaving the country only once (to Canada! Does that even count?), I think 2011 turned out pretty great.

But 2012, you apocalyptic maven you, is starting to look more spectacular. Maybe it's that I'm 30, unmarried, childless, without debt, without a real home, with a job many view as transitional. Basically nothing is stopping me from doing whatever I want. And I want to do a lot!

If all my lucky stars align, here's what I'll be doing this year:

1. Participating in the Minneapolis Dash & Splash

I already blogged (and begged) about this, but on March 3rd, I'm signed up to run a 5k race around Lake Calhoun & then jump into it's frozen waters -- all to support the MN Special Olympics. So far the reactions have been "Really....???" and "I hope you don't get sick"... to which I say: "Yes, really!" and "Yeah, I hope I don't either."

2. Learn Spanish

I'm partway through Level 1 of Rosetta Stone Spanish: Latin America edition. Plus I signed up for a community ed Spanish class (just like the show!). My goal is to finish all three levels of Rosetta Stone by the end of the year. Rapido!

3. Visit my best friend in Chile

One of my best friends has been living in Chile for almost two years and I'm finally going to see her. What started out has a one-year stint teaching in China has turned into her meeting a Chilean man in China, marrying him and having almost two children (2nd one is due this summer!). I had the pleasure to visit her in China during that first year abroad so I can't wait to see her for three weeks in March. Also while I'm there, I'll....


4. Run the Santiago Half-Marathon

The running program I'm using suggested doing a half marathon right around the time I'd be in Chile. Coincidentally, the Santiago Marathon & Half-Marathon are being held while I'm there. After totally flubbing MY NAME on the registration form (my friend assures me they'll still let me race), I'm signed up to run 21km on April 1st through the streets of Santiago. How do they say? ¡Ay, caramba!

5. Take a solo trip through Argentina to Buenos Aires & Uruguay

Am I a seasoned traveler? Well, yes, kind of. I'm also pretty chickenshit. I traveled through southern China & Hong Kong by myself so that's my only hope that I'll manage to take 6-7 days to bus through the Andes and explore BA & either Montevideo or Colonia, Uruguay. It's a well-worn travelers' path so I shouldn't be worried. I feel for this not unlike I did to go skydiving: I'm gonna do it and I'm excited and it's going to be awesome but I'm scaaaaaarrrreeeed (that's me fall out of a plane/falling out of a bus in the Andes).

6. Run Grandma's Marathon

If this list hasn't already revealed that I'm totally a list-ticker, then it should be plainly obvious now when I say that it's been a goal of mine to run a marathon at some point in my life. Everyone who keeps lists of accomplishments has this on there. Running Grandma's will be special because my mom ran Grandma's Marathon just about every year of my childhood. I rebelled against running when I was young because my mom's passion for it bordered on obsession. It took until I was older to really get what an amazing accomplishment she has done all those years. So though I wanted to run a marathon before age 30, after two years of running leading up to it, I will hopefully complete it by age 30.

7. Visit my 50th state: Alaska

This is another thing I hoped to do before 30 and have edited to be "by 30": visit all 50 states. In celebration of completing (or at least attempting!) Grandma's Marathon & of my soon-to-be 31st birthday, I'm aiming to go to Alaska around the time of the Midnight Sun (late June/early July). The chances that I will go alone are very high... but as a solid 30-something... I just don't care! Why should I wait? Besides, if I can handle people who speak Spanish alone, I can surely face a state filled with bears.

8. Be a bridesmaid in my (other) best friend's wedding

Despite never being close to being married, the phrase "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride" absolutely does not apply to me: I've never even been a bridesmaid! That will change in July when I get to be maid of honor in my (non-South America-living) best friend's wedding. I am unbelievably excited. My friend has truly found a lid to her pot in her husband-to-be and I can't wait to see them make it official. Plus she is so cool, creative and fun so I've already decided it will be one of the best weddings I'll have ever been to -- and it's not for 6 months.

9. Compete in the Warrior Dash

I keep saying I want to get fit to be strong --- not to look good or be skinny. Well, if I give the Warrior Dash a try, that will prove that I'm trying to be the strongest I can. Otherwise, how will I complete the 3-mile obstacle course that includes crawling through the mud & jumping over fire? But I also might want the above picture of myself. Because I'm vain.

10. Weigh, uh, less

I can't remember the right way to do this: if you want to lose weight, are you supposed to keep it a secret so people don't butt in and pass judgment over every last barrel of ice cream you might be shoveling in your mouth? Or is it that you're supposed to tell everyone and then you can't even get your hands on the ice cream barrel because everyone sent it to Wisconsin out of your reach? I can never remember. But yeah. I guess I'm going with option B. The girl who has pounds to lose wants to lose some pounds. Surprise!

11. Write A Book

Blame my mom. She put it in my head that I could write a book. Really, anyone can. Paris Hilton has "written" more than one book. Well, this year I'm going to write one. Start to finish. My biggest obstacle is perfection. Sure I'd love to write a book and have it turn out with such success as David Sedaris or Elizabeth Gilbert...especially if I write about myself (because that's all I know!)... but I need to be accepting that I can write a book and maybe nobody will read it. AND THAT'S OKAY. ...But really, if I write it, you all should buy it.

12. Fundraise for & walk in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day

Hey-oh! As I mentioned in my last fundraising blog, I'm going to do a helluva fundraising challenge: raising $2300 and walking 60 miles for breast cancer research. I will speak to this more at a later date, but I will say I'm doing this to honor my boyfriend's mother Cindy so who is battling breast cancer. This blows my mind thinking about how much I'll have to raise and how far I'll have to walk -- but then again, I just visited Cindy in the hospital yesterday and I think -- this is nothing compared to what she is going through.

13. Travel the World

So my best friend is getting married (not the one that I'll be the bridesmaid for ... or the one in South America... this is a different best friend!) and to celebrate, she plans to travel the world with her new husband. Kind of a round-the-world honeymoon. The thing is -- she invited me along! I'm still working out logistics but I want to go for at least part of it (the whole thing might be impossible.... or is it???). Her wedding is this summer so sometime after the marathon, Alaska, being a bridesmaid, the Warrior Dash and the 3-Day, I'm hoping to barge in on someone else's honeymoon.

This isn't a wishlist, this is a serious-plans-list. I'm already picking up extra shifts at work, cutting out unnecessary expenses, practicing my Spanish and have joined Weight Watchers. While I'm not quite sure the Mayan calendar is right about the world's end, I do have a fire in me urging me to do these things now. Or maybe that's the barrel of ice cream talking. But I honestly feel like if ice cream could talk, it would advise me to drop all the above and stick to marathons of Project Runway.... which is precisely my Plan B. But for now... I'll just shut up and do what I planned.

I'd Jump In A Lake For You

I love nothing more than someone asking me "Have you ever (fill in the blank)?" and being able to answer, "Why, yes, I have! Back in...."

Have you ever skydived? Yes!
Have you ever competed in a triathlon? Yes!
Have you ever slept in a car? YES!
Have you ever jumped into a frozen lake? .....no. :(

Last winter at work, we watched coverage of a local polar plunge on the news and a co-worker asked if I'd ever done something like that before. When I told her no, she said "Really? That seems like something you'd do. You've done everything."

Well, I haven't done everything (I'm trying!). But while I've never necessarily sought out frozen-lake-jumping in the past, it certainly did have ADVENTURE stamped on it.

So this year, I signed up. It turns out, they don't let you just jump in a frozen lake for fun (at least not officially). You've got a raise some money first! Thankfully, the cause is the MN Special Olympics. I have no personal relationship with the Special Olympics but I do have plenty of history working with people with disabilities. Any organization that highlights the super-abilities of those who were born with or came into a disability deserves my money ahem the money that other people donate on my behalf!

Signing up for the Polar Plunge was not impulsive. Tacking on a 5k road race was. So instead of being part of the Minneapolis Polar Bear Plunge, I'm actually registered to take part in the Dash & Splash. I'll just run around a frozen lake, then jump in. Afterward I'll celebrate with an 8.5-hour shift at work.

This blog isn't just to brag (well, sort of... isn't that point of blogging in general: either bragging or complaining? What, you mean sometimes people don't just blog about themselves? Inconceivable!)... it's to solicit donations. Ha! I entrapped you. Like a sly condo timeshare salesmen, I hooked you with some leisure time before asking for your money.

Honestly, if you have $5-10 to give, head over HERE and help me reach my fundraising goal of $75 (and thanks to people who are obligated to ♥ me, I'm 27% there). Of course all donations welcomed, big and small, but if you are feeling like a Mr. or Ms. Do-Goodery, I say hold your horses. The same day I decided to run/jump/support the Special Olympics, I also signed up for a charity fundraiser that makes $75 look like pocket change. If you want to give more than $5, I'd say donate a small amount now and maybe a larger amount to the cause that I'm raising $$$$ for. But that's later and this is now. 


Gimme yr money. And I'll give you something like this:

Not my photo -- but I hope to emulate it as much as possible

THANKS!

Sobey Nights

I recently went on a train & bus adventure around the right-ward side of the US & Canada. For two weeks I Amtrak'd and Megabus'd among friends on the eastern seaboard. I came home and was met with "What was the highlight??" questions bombing my face. And I bombed them right back. Because the highlight?

Sleeping in a car in the Canadian Maritime Provinces.

I've slept in a car a few times. One late August weekend, I drove with my friend Aaron to Wisconsin Dells to attend my friend Megan's graduation party. She rented a boat and we cruised down the Wisconsin River. Despite not knowing anyone, I met some interesting people. I made it back to the campsite, and realized all the tent sites were occupied. I slept in the front seat of my car, joined by one of Megan's friends. Just as I was falling asleep, one of the other party-mates climbed into the backseat to sleep. This may have been a peak hippie moment for me.

The other time was when Stephanie and I had taken a roadtrip to the Gulf Coast. Let me just preface this by saying my hair was red & pink and Stephanie's was blue. This was our frame of mind. So the fact that we car-slept in Wal-Mart parking lots in Iowa, the Ozarks, Arkansas, Missippi & St Louis shouldn't be that surprising.

And, of course, 8 nights of camping in a van in New Zealand (read back in my blog for this story... it's worth the internet time wasting, I swear!)

Clearly I'm an expert at car-camping. So when Michelle suggested we could sleep in the car, I emphatically responded "YES!!!" Well, that and I had offered to shoulder a larger portion of the cost as Michelle is technically of volunteer of the US government. So free accommodations were in my price range.

It was the first week of November that we drove across the Canadian border into New Brunswick. We went to the reversing falls in St John, which I was probably more thrilled about than visually necessitated. I had done a report about this very location at some point in my childhood and here I was. Let me tell you, visually, it does not look like water flowing up falls. No, it was a ton of whirlpools... which was still interesting.

The Reversing Falls in St John, New Brunswick. Just a big whirlpooling mess.

We decided to head to Parc Rockwood (sure, I'm guessing 99% of New Brunswickers call it Rockwood Park, but if they are going to write the French name on the sign, I will say the French name!) to look for possible campsites. We got there at dusk and got in a short sunsety hike. It was quite chilly and the ponds looked like mirrors. It was pretty sweet. We got back into the car, set up our winterized sleeping bags, brushed our teeth, peed in the woods and climbed into bed at nightfall -- approximately 7 pm.

If you're going to freeze in front of a mirror-still pond, at least do it with some color!

Nature, looking all show-offy

After I downed some Melatonin and attempted to settle in, we were still wide awake and jibber-jabbery an hour later. A car pulled into the trail head and then turned around and left. We hadn't really considered people would stop by and we hoped that on a chilly night, people would stay away. Shortly, another vehicle pulled in. First they parked across the small lot and then they turned around and backed into a spot right next to us. Well, not quite. It was a pickup truck and the cab was far enough ahead that we couldn't see the person inside. They shut off their lights and had their window totally rolled down. The temperature had to be 40F at the most. Michelle and I looked at each other like "WTF!" After about three minutes, the lights came on and the truck drove off.

Forget sleeping. I was wide awake now. Michelle and I kept scoring each others percentages of wanting to stay/leave. She even ended up making a very expensive cell phone call her to partner, an experienced camper and backpacker, for advice (the advice: If you feel freaked out, leave. You'll never sleep!) Actually I think the advice included getting a motel room. Pssssh. This woodsy-trail camping that I had done with Jon in NZ was not seeming so great right now. I did, however, have a back-up plan: Wal-Mart parking lot camping like with Stephanie.

I convinced Michelle, my wonderful nature-loving pal, to drive us over to St John's next-best-thing-to-a-Wal-Mart, Sobey's. It was nearly 9:00 when we got there but there were several car dotting the parking lot. We parked near the back corner, but not the exact back corner. That would look suspicious. Beneath a parking lot light that never dimmed, we slept as soundly as you can in the back of a Suburu. We woke to the windows glazed with ice... on the inside of the car. "That moisture came out of us!" Michelle exclaimed, excitedly.

This is a Where's Waldo puzzle for Michelle... can you see her?

The next day included a ridiculous cold, windy and ill-placed camp lunch in Nova Scotia and crossing the 9-mile Confederation Bridge to Prince Edward Island. After driving by all the deserted tourist traps, we enjoyed our evening at PEI National Park, an oceanfront red clay beach. We were one of the last ones back to our car and found ourselves alone in the NP parking lot. Michelle was excited to camp here, where we would be able to see stars and hear wilderness outside our windows (there was a warning sign for coyotes!). Not me. On one of the most idyllic places on probably earth, I envisioned harassing teenagers or surly Mounties waking us from our slumber. Or maybe just another creepy-creepo pick-up truck driver like in New Brunswick.

Sunset, moonrise at Prince Edward Island National Park -- see, this place is not fit for a night's sleep. No way!

Michelle relented and we located another Sobey's. This lot was much smaller and the "back" of the lot was right next to a busy highway. This would not do. In addition, we had spent most of the day in the car. Michelle, a yogi and all around lover of outdoors and movement, was going kind of crazy. We kind of bopped back and forth between Sobey's and the gas petrol station across the street. Finally, at about 10 pm, after setting up camp in Sobey's in a very dissatisfied way, we drove next door to the Canadian version of Home Depot. They only had about 2 parking lot lights on, meaning we weren't blinded... this was a car-camping paradise. I slept the entire night. Michelle, I fear, never did adjust to car-sleeping.  

Sunrise near the home builder's parking lot in Prince Edward Island -- complete with condensation evaporated from our very own bodies. Beautiful, isn't it?

A sunrise over a parking lot can be just as lovely. Thanks for not hassling us, Sobey's.

My Own Trainspotting

Basically - ME - right this moment

Remember that scene from Trainspotting where Ewan MacGregor was coming off heroin? He was sweating, writhing, and hallucinating about a baby crawling on the ceiling. Yeah, I'm going through that. But it's not heroin -- it's sugar & processed foods.

This all started a couple days ago. I watched the movie Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead about two men who were moderately to severely overweight and on a lot of health related medications totally turn their life around by going on a juice fast. I've been there/done that with juicing (SO 2005!)... but for someone who is mostly vegetarian, I sure am skimping on vegetables.

Co-inka-dinka-lly, in two months I am running the TC 10 Mile. The training is, well, it's "good enough." Let's just say I'll never overdo it. The food, THE FOOD... that is going to get me scooped up by the draggin' wagon. So I put two and two together and decided to do my own 2 Month Detox... one without sugar, processed food, alcohol or fun. I started yesterday.

Okay, since in my line of work I actually do come across people coming off heroin, I can say what I'm experiencing is not that bad. But it's not pleasant either. The grocery list of symptoms looks like this:

- I'M STARVING. Which is weird, because I am eating ALL. THE. TIME. Food does not enter me fast enough. Yesterday I spent $70 on groceries and I believe I've eaten most of it.

- I'm tired. I napped yesterday and I'm treating most of today like a nap with my eyes open.

- I have no energy. I have given up sugar twice before and that sticks out in my memory. I remember sleeping like 9 hours a night and still feeling tired all day. 9 hours is a great improvement for me, I am a 7-hours-and-hating-it kinda gal normally. But cleaning the bathtub seems like a 4.5 mile run to me. The actual 4.5 mile run I'm supposed to do today miiiight be walked. And I might call Jon halfway through to pick me up.

- I'm mentally unwell. I came across this blog entry about sugar/caffeine/refined carb withdrawal symptoms and so many commenters put into words what I was feeling. Abandoned. Disconnected. Disinterested. Restless. Scared. Right now I feel like I have the worst case of ADD without the H for energy. I can't stop thinking about food. I also constantly worry I can't make this damn slow, unprocessed food fast enough. Every sugared/processed food word I encounter, I lust after. I read the word "Sprite" and I keep thinking to myself, "Go buy a Sprite and this will all be over. A Sprite will change all this. It's normal to be addicted to sugar. Nobody eats just fruits, vegetables, whole grains, legumes, nuts, eggs and chicken. That's impossible. Get that Sprite. And a box of Wheat Thins, too." Just while writing that sentence, my body had a physical reaction that translates to "I'M STARVING! GO DRINK A SPRITE OR DIE!!!" And I don't even ever drink Sprite.

It occurred to me that while today is my day off... I'm kind of having a sick day. Work would be difficult feeling like this. It really makes me question this idea: On one hand, what am I doing to myself? But on the other... what is sugar & processed food doing to me that this happens after just 48 hours without it?!
 I'm going to keep going as far as I can with it -- though 8 weeks is looking kind of lofty right now. If I make it through the week, it will be a miracle. But right now, I gotta go... I'm, yet again, starving.