Nothing Has Changed, Everything Has Changed

I got engaged two weeks ago.

The proposal was expected (after six years of dating) but also caught me off guard (so much so that I pretty much collapsed in the snow when it happened). Since then, nothing has changed, and everything has changed.

I say nothing has changed, because it really hasn't. At some point I realized I loved him and always would, that I wanted to be with him to the exclusion of anyone else. Though I should say "points," because if love is anything, it is cyclical.

Not-So-Breaking News

Why "symbolically" attempt to repeal health care reform?  It's just that the Republicans are so darn sentimental...

The Season of Self-Loathing

So, January.  It’s cliché, I know, to talk about New Year’s resolutions.  But I don’t have much else to discuss (and I must discuss something, as “posting on the blog once a week” is one of my NYRs), and it beats all the other topics my friends are discussing these days: the doomsday scenario of the Republicans taking over the House, the doomsday scenario of the Michigan coaching situation, etc.

My problem with NYRs is that I already feel the pressure, almost every day, to be perfect in all aspects of life.  I touched on this idea in my last post—the struggle of trying to be a successful student while maintaining a rigorous workout schedule.  Do I really need another push, telling me I have to better myself in some way?  A nagging voice telling me I must make up for my positively slovenly behavior of the past few months?  (I made Christmas cookies, yes.  And I ate quite a few…GUILTY!)

The other problem with NYRs is that they’re often contradictory.  Last year at this time, I embarked on a Paleo Challenge, where I ate nothing but whole, real foods for six weeks.  No sugar, wheat, dairy, beans, legumes, or processed anything.  I felt great, I looked pretty good (if I do say so myself), and I felt pretty darn virtuous.  The problem was, it was really difficult to maintain, not least of all because it was expensive.  And that’s where the contradiction comes in: I want to eat well, but I also want to spend less money.  I need to spend less money.  I currently make negative money.

Life of the Body, Life of the Mind

This move to Pittsburgh has been a momentous one.  I changed cities, career paths, the direction of my life.  While this is certainly a movement forward for me, I sometimes feel like I’m making a trade.  No offense to Pittsburgh, but when it comes to swapping it for Brooklyn, I feel like I’m getting a bit of a raw deal.  (Though I do appreciate the 30%+ discount on rent.)  But I also feel like I’ve traded a life of the body for a life of the mind.

When the Going Gets Tough, Hug a Kitty

So.  It's been a while.  It's not that I've had nothing to write about; in fact, the problem is just the opposite: I've had so much to write about that every time I sit down to write a new post, an, "I'm back!" post, I become paralyzed as my fingers hover over the keys.  I've had a few false starts: I began a post about my vacation, started one about marriage and babies...then never finished either.

Then, today, as I was suffering through a tortuous run, it hit me: fuck it, I'll write about this.

But first, a summary.  In mid-July I quite my job in New York.  I spent one-and-a-half blissful weeks doing all the things I've ever wanted to do in NYC: visiting the Whitney, going surfing in the Rockaways, touring the Cloisters, etc.  Then there was half a week of harried, stressful packing.  I decided to leave NYC--and my job, and my lovely friends--to go to Pittsburgh, pursue a graduate degree, and write (and teach) full time.  However, I still had some time before school started.  So the BF and I began a wonderful, perhaps overly ambitious, summer vacation.  In the span of about three weeks, we visited Cincinnati, Nashville, Chicago, Ann Arbor, Detroit, and a very northwestern tip of Michigan.

Eventually, we had to get back to reality.  I've been in Pittsburgh now for two weeks.  Classes have started, I like them, and I am mostly very happy to be here.  It's lonely though; I don't know anyone in Pittsburgh, and I'm a minimum four-and-a-half hour drive from anyone who loves me.  But, I try not to dwell on that fact.

So, back to that run.  For some reason, even though I have been running off and on for about 12 years of my life, running here has felt unnatural.  Today, for example, the very first steps I took, all I could think was: I'm uncomfortable.  Half a mile in, I had to stop and take off my top layer of clothing.  What on earth had possessed me to wear long sleeves?  Then my headphones kept flapping, and hitting me in a way that irked me like crazy.  I thought: how had I ever done this before?

The fact is, in running, as in life, it doesn't get easier.  It's just when you start to get comfortable that things tend to get tough all over again.

With the running, I know I am pushing it a little too hard.  I've been on the road, I'm going through huge changes--my body and mind are a mess.  But I signed up for the Chicago Marathon (10/10/10) ages ago, before I even knew I was coming to Pittsburgh, and committed to running with a group of serious runner friends.  So every day I keep thinking about where I should be physically, and getting frustrated by where I actually am.  In addition to my mental roadblocks, it's been difficult to adjust to the topography here.  Michigan and New York--both places I lived and ran before--were very similar in their low, flat terrain.  And though Pitt isn't Denver, the elevation is higher than what I'm used to, and it's hilly.  The other day I was convinced I had run uphill both ways to and from my house.

Just as my lack of preparedness has hurt my running, it's the things I didn't prepare for that have made this transition so difficult.  First, there was the flood that occurred in my new apartment while the BF and I were on vacation.  While I was anxious about starting school again, I hadn't anticipated spending hours a week on the phone with my new landlord, trying to get things fixed.  My first day of orientation, I found myself in a school bathroom in tears.  It was a lot to take on my first day in an unfamiliar place.

I also didn't fully foresee how hard it would be to live apart from the BF again.  We did the distance things once before, and remarkably well too.  I knew I was going to miss him, and I knew we were going to get through this like we had before.  I just didn't know how hard it would be to watch him pull away in his car, leaving me alone here, in the fullest sense of the word.  I didn't just cry; I sobbed.  For days, it felt like I'd lost an appendage, a piece of myself.

But for now, I think, the hardest part is over.  My apartment is fixed, I've started to meet people, and the BF and I have settled into a comfortable and frequent phone routine.  I can only hope the running will also fall into place in time, that I'll relearn my stride, and be able to take on the hills with confidence, perhaps even enthusiasm. All I can do is lace up my shoes again tomorrow, and try again.  At the very least, I can still go to Chicago to cheer on my friends.

Yes, the worst seems to be behind me--at least, until it gets tougher all over again.

On the Road

Snippets has been on the road the past two weeks, but more posts are coming soon! Am currently at Hamburger University* in Elmhurst, IL. I've chosen to minor in ketchup.


*Hamburger University is real. We happen to be staying at the Hyatt on the campus of McDonald's headquarters.

Mow, Dog, Mow!

The best is when he looks at the camera like, "Whaddup."

Thanks to my friend Matt at Warming Glow for this one.

Rush Hour Reject

Things I'm not going to miss about New York City: this guy

CrossFit: A Field Guide (Part Deux)

So here it is!  The long-awaited (by about three of you) Part II of the CrossFit Field Guide.  Part I covered the workouts, jargon, and people.  Part II covers the all-important topics of wardrobe, diet, and controversy. 

(But really, it’s just a thinly veiled mash note to my companions and coaches at my box, CrossFit South Brooklyn.  I’ll be moving at the end of the month and will miss them dearly, but in the words of the Governator, I’LL BE BACK!  That’s a promise.)  

The Wardrobe

The CrossFit aesthetic is unusual, to say the least. As in other realms of fashion, the men are more uniform and less loud in their dress. The typical CrossFit Male is often undistinguishable from the rest of the gym-going population of men: t-shirt, shorts, and gym shoes. There are, however, subtle differences. Whereas your average gym-goer wears Nike or adidas trainers, the CrossFit male is more likely to be wearing weightlifting shoes or Converse. He is also more apt to take his shirt off mid-workout; a practice often frowned upon at most corporate gyms.

In warmer months, the CrossFit Male may often been seen barefoot. Contrary to popular belief, weightlifting and running are often better executed this way, as one can better get a "feel" for the floor. I can just imagine countless non-Paleolithic members of society cringing at the potential dangers: you could drop a weight on your foot! You could step on glass! (Not to mention the socio-economic implications; one CF friend of mine, while walking home barefoot from the box, was offered money by a stranger to "buy some shoes"; the bystander likely thought he was another recession victim). In my experience, people tend to get over their aversion to shoelessness sooner or later. I began lifting in stocking feet after a few months--though I still wear shoes while walking and running the streets of Brooklyn. Apologies to my fellow CF-ers, but I'm not crazy. I don't wish to test whether or not my tetanus shots are up-to-date.  Perhaps the impracticalities of going barefoot are what make Vibrams, those weird reptilian-looking shoes with toes, more popular among the CrossFit demographic (both male and female) than the general population.

While popular with yogis, the lululemon-brand clothing is also popular among CF-ers, both male and female. I quickly discovered why. Though it still makes me cringe to spend nearly $100 on stretchy pants, the quality is unmistakable, and necessary. While doing common CF exercises like deadlifts and squats, which require an extreme ass-out position, inferior-quality pants and shorts are stretched to their limits, often exposing the wearer to the extreme. I'll expand no further on the subject.

The CrossFit Female is often colorful and expressive in her attire.  Clothes are often short or tight, or some combination of the two.  This is less for show [though if you looked like this (fast forward to 1 minute), who wouldn’t want to show off a little?] and more for practicality’s sake.  You don’t want to be mid-workout worrying about a baggy shirt or pair of shorts riding up, or getting tangled in a jump rope.

In this way, the CF Female may seem to resemble any other woman bound for Pilates class—until you get to the all-important part of the wardrobe known as accessories.  The most distinguishing accessories of the CF Female are the tall socks.  Calf-length, knee-high, or over-the-knee, these socks also serve a purpose in CrossFitting.  They protect your shins from bar scrapes and scars while doing deadlifts, cleans, and snatches.  They protect your calves from rope burn while climbing.  And as a bonus, when paired with short shorts, they show off toned quads and hammies.

Other accessories worn by both male and female CFers include sweatbands, bandanas, and things called skins, which I believe are supposed to improve your circulation and/or make you look like a serious athlete.  There are also the all-important affiliate* t-shirts, which sport sayings ranging from the serious (“Fitness is Earned”) to the silly (“I eat burpees** for breakfast”).  CFers also love things adorned with skulls.  It’s all about looking tough.

21st Century Loneliness

Apartment hunting is a stressful business. And aprtment hunting in a time crunch (say, within 24 hours), in an unfamiliar city? Even worse.

And so my parents, boyfriend, and I approached last weekend's apartment search in Pittsburgh with anti-anxiety meds, inhalers, and Kevlar in tow. And so it was our first appointment was at The Most Depressing Apartment Building of All Time.

Judging from the pictures and the price, I thought the M-- building housed luxury units for graduate students and young professionals. But when we got inside the shabby lobby and took the elevator to the 7th floor, which smelled like an old folks' home, I knew my assumption had been dead wrong.

As building manager R-- led us to the first apartment, I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the smell and the 70s-era red patterned carpet. We entered the first studio, which still looked to be inhabited. Pictures lined the walls, and several surfaces held doilies, plants, and more photographs. A single bed, shoved against the wall, was covered by an afghan. A cupboard door had been clearly labeled with a sticker that said "PILLS." It was clear we were in an old person's apartment. And it became even clearer, viewing the three 40-something people packing up boxes, that we were in an old, dead person's apartment.

Upon piecing these facts together, I was horrified. I nodded mutely as R-- pointed out the features of the space. I wanted out of there--fast.

Before entering the second apartment, R-- expressed resentment over how dirty the current tenant was. She assured me the studio would be thoroughly cleaned before move-in. She knocked on the door and received no response. Before entering, R-- covered her nose with her hand.

The place reeked of cat piss and general griminess. The sound of water could be heard from somewhere off to the right. "She's in the shower," R-- explained, and once again I felt horribly intrusive; combined with the smell, I was ready to leave as soon as we had arrived. We quickly toured the place under the glare of an angry-looking black cat and, mercifully, left before the tenant exited the shower.

The third and final apartment was a 1-bedroom, pricier than the rest. While it housed a living tenant, and did not have any malicious odor, it could still have been considered the most depressing.

"This tenant," R-- explained, "sleeps in the living room."

Upon entering, the only sign of life within view was a pile of shoes next to the door. In the living room, there was indeed a bed, or rather, a boxspring and mattress, messily made up. A computer sat in front of it, humming away atop some packing crates. Cords were strewn everywhere, and there was no other decoration in sight. I wanted to suggest to R-- that instead of renting the apartment, she should preserve it as a contemporary art piece and charge admission. Perhaps call it "21st Century Loneliness."

I said goodbye to R--, lease application in hand, knowing I would throw it away as soon as she was out of sight. Even if she had been giving the apartments away, I could never bring myself to move into that domicile of depression.

Observation

What's the worst part about telling your friend that his/her boyfriend/girlfriend/fiancée sucks? You CAN'T. Sigh.

One is the Loneliest Number

Being on vacation alone is no fun. Actually, I am on "fakecation," which in my case means a work trip at a swanky hotel in Puerto Rico. But still. Even though i have to work a majority of the time, it's a great place. The kind of place you wish you could share with someone else; preferably with one you love.

The one I love is in NYC, which means I am left to marvel at everything alone: the palm trees, the ocean, the way the maid arranged my shoes and cosmetics in an aesthetically pleasing manner. It's just not as much fun when you can't share the "ooh"s and "ahh"s with someone else.

So what to do? Drown my loneliness in alcohol? Flirt with a stranger? No and no. (Though I did have a few glasses of wine. Open bar!!) Instead, I bought tuna at the gift shop and fed some stray cats. And dangled a jump rope from my balcony, to annoy my co-worker with the room directly below mine. I don't think he noticed. His significant other is in there with him.

Highway to Hell

This is the second time I have been on a torturously long bus ride and thought: maybe I have died and am in some sort of awful purgatory, where I am forced to ride a bus for all eternity, forever deprived of decent food, sleep and an empty bladder.

We have probably been clocking an average speed of 45 mph this whole trip. It is insanity. I am losing my mind. I wish 1990s Sandra Bullock would bust in and press this guy's foot down on the pedal. To be fair, there is a lot of construction going on. But still, we're in a freaking megabus! Take out some orange cones, dude. Ain't no thing.

But back to that first bus trip, it was Barcelona to Granada. The one memorable thing about the ride was my friend M. relieving himself in his Nalgene bottle about an hour into the trip. His brilliant plan to get tanked before the 14-hour drive had one flaw: no bathrooms on the bus.

Since I'm Trapped...

...I might as well post a link to The Folded Word! My 3-poem series has been nominated for an award, and you can vote here:

http://folded.wordpress.com/2010/06/16/vote-for-3cheers-spring-2010/

Cheers!

El Autobus, Part Tres

So there's this guy on here that looks like Bill from Bill & Ted. Kind of. But what's perplexing to me is he is doing nothing, just kind of hanging out, talking to people occasionally. No iPod. No books. No magazines. How can you get on an 8-hour (now about 10-hour) bus ride so unprepared?

And a couple has been coloring, in a coloring book. I'm not sure how old they are, but certainly too old for coloring.

I can't imagine going anywhere without a book. If I don't have reading material on the subway, I feel antsy. Really! As a kid, I used to keep the box of cereal in front of me while I ate breakfast, just so I had something to read. Did you know there's only one gram of sugar in cheerios?

7 hours down, 2.5 to go

Megabus Part Deux!

Well, there was a minor freakout for a while there, as the power was out on the bus and I had to shut off my iPhone to conserve battery. But power is back! However, the bus is still crawling along at what feels like 45 mph. Make that 15 mph. Hopefully we'll get there before Sunday.

I've got some exciting posts in the hopper, including Part Two of my guide to CrossFit, and a tribute to Butter Jesus. Who/What is Butter Jesus, you ask? You'll have to stay tuned to find out. These posts require much linkage and photograph-age and right now I'm mobile, bare-bones blogging only.

So for now I would like to share a thought I had today--which is totally inappropriate, unsuitable for minors, and probably indicative of a serious problem--about an aspect of drinking I kind of enjoy. It's this: I think it's funny to wake up the next morning, and slowly start to remember all the stupid shit I said and did the night before. Like: why was I running up and down the steps of all the brownstones on my walk home, chanting, "Up the stairs! Down the stairs!" the whole way? Or yelling, "Kobe, you suck!" at a bar half-filled with Lakers fans? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

So kids, do as Auntie Snippy says and not as she does: drink in moderation! Forgetting things you did while drunk is dangerous and not funny at all.

The bus has slowed to a stop on the highway. Help!

4 hours, 20 minutes down, hours to go: endless

Live! From Megabus!

Last night I had a fantastic time at my "I'm 26 and 10 days old party!" I imbibed A LOT of tequila. This despite the fact that I had to wake up at 6:30 this morning, drag a suitcase to work, leave work with said bag, and take a bus to Pittsburgh: an 8-hour trip. Apparently, with age does NOT come wisdom. I've tried reading; I've tried sleeping; neither venture was successful. I tried downloading an album of nature sounds to help with the sleeping, but all the falling water noise made me feel like I had to pee.

2 hours down, 6 to go

Snippy Snacks

Snippy Snacks

1/4 c. coconut oil

1/4 c. honey

1/2 c. pumpkin

2 tsp. vanilla

2 1/2 c. almond flour or meal

1/2 tsp sea salt

2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 c. walnuts, broken into small pieces

1 c. coconut flakes

1/2 c. raisins

In a large bow mix the oil, honey, pumpkin and vanilla. In a smaller bowl, blend all of the dry ingredients: almond flour, salt, cinnamon, baking soda, walnuts, coconut, and raisins. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and mix completely. Drop by the teaspoonful on to a baking sheet lined with parchment. Flatten the cookies slightly and be sure to space them adequately. Bake at 350F for 9 - 11 minutes.

Credit where credit is due: adapted from this recipe from another CrossFitter

Oh, Heil No!

Yes, that man in the middle IS wearing a lederhosen.  Because nothing says "Happy Memorial Weekend" like a traditional German costume.  Granted, this photo was taken outside of a German-style beer garden, but really guy?  You have no business wearing this getup unless it's Halloween or Oktoberfest...in MUNICH.  Not in New York City, during a holiday weekend that celebrates the men and women who died in service to our country, including those in the Allied forces.

Before and After

Photos taken at the end of the Brooklyn Half Marathon in 2009 (left) and 2010 (right).  What a difference almost a year of CrossFit makes!