Chill

The past few months have been very full of events. The marathon, dance practice gearing up for another competition in the spring, and starting my AFP program in Skydiving. It leads to an amazingly full life… and also stress fractures. The past four weeks I have been forced to change how I live my life with varying degrees of success. Unable to dance, jump, or even walk quickly.

I love all of the things I do but what do I miss by rushing around? A couple weekends ago I got to see the inside of the Washington Monument in DC. There are 897 stairs but also an elevator. I would love to know how they inserted it after the monument was built. Along the inside are 193 blocks given by states, cities, and other entities to honor our first president. The alternative, less altruistic, motive was to provide the stones when funding ran out. They are completely unseen from the outside. There are hidden treasures all over if you slow down enough to see them.

While in DC I also had my first official at-a-spa massage. The timing was perfect as I adjust to learning to slow down. (Plus it's a DayZero item) I’m one of the only people I know of who tenses up at a massage and have to continually be told to relax. I was a lot more successful in this one than in past mini massages after facials.

My favorite part of the Pixar film ‘Up’ is the girl’s adventure book. Ellie loves adventure and has a scrapbook where she records everything. In the end, it turns out she saw her whole life as an adventure shared with her childhood friend who became her husband, even though she never got to build the house on Paradise Falls. It is a sweet, endearing part of the movie. I think about it a lot as I go flying around the world. Is adventure really about the things I do? Or is it rather more about my approach and attitude towards all aspects of life? And the type of people I choose to fill my life with? There can be adventure in the quiet moments of life too. Granted, as soon as the doctor says I can, I am back on the dance floor and in the sky. Being chill can only last for so long.

Addiction

Ever since my first tandem skydive, I've developed a bit of an addiction to the sport. To clarify: I'm willing to sleep in a tent in 30 mile and hour winds, travel for hours on buses, sleep on a bench along side homeless men talking to themselves, spend whole weekends staring at the sky hoping for sun, all for the chance of getting up in the sky and jumping out of a "perfectly good airplane".

After your first skydive each jump has certain skills to demonstrate. There is a set progression baby-stepping your way to fully jumping on your own, getting your a-license, and being known as a fun-jumper. Yes, we do this for fun.

By the third windy day attempting to dive, I was so tired of sitting on the ground; all I wanted to do was jump. One of the instructors understood this need and took me up in a tandem so that I could at least fly. In addition, while on a commercial airline I stared out the window wishing I had a parachute. Now, this might not be understandable to a majority of people but among those who frequent dropzones every weekend, no other response would make sense. After numerous wind delays where it was not safe for me to try and land on my own, this weekend I’ve finally officially begun my AFP training. That means I have my own parachute, jump out of the plane with an instructor next to me but not attached by a harness, and once I pull, I am under canopy on my own including landing. Just as scary and amazing as it sounds.

It’s hard to put into words why I ended up being so obsessed with skydiving. I’ve heard stories of how people from all different backgrounds found diving. There are social hobby divers like myself, those who do this for a job, complete with all the benefits and frustrations of any job, and those who have found freedom and, in a way, salvation in diving.

Skydivers are an interesting lot. They literally put their life on the line in order to fully live it. Certain traits like risk taking, a fondness for travel, few physical attachments, and the willingness to do anything for a story are typical. My stories of petting a cheetah and leaving for a two week international trip with four days preparation are usually unique. But on the dropzone the response beomes “I’ve done that” or at least something similar. One thing I love is never having to defend myself or my choices to divers. They get it. I’ve yet to hear that I’m crazy. In that way I’ve found kindred spirits in the diving community. Now along with any niche community they do have their quirks but are charming all the same.

The thing that has surprised me the most while training is the control over almost all aspects, even when falling at 120 miles per hour. Depending on body position, a skydiver can move faster, slower, left, right, turn, flip, basically moving in all directions of a three dimensional space. At each level there are different tasks to demonstrate control over. While focusing on each these, I find that the whole idea of the ground coming towards me disappears.

The idea of consuming concentration is one of the many reasons I like skydiving. The body still responds with a flight or fight response and you have to push past that to be completely in the moment, eventually using the body’s response to your advantage. Even instructors and divers with hundreds of jumps get butterflies. I noticed each person had a way of centering themselves before the door of the plane opened. A brief moment of closing the eyes and breathing, visualizing the jump ahead.

I also like the clear cut sense of success. If you get up and walk away from the dive it was successful. Even with things to improve (arch position ;)) the dive is an accomplishment. The most dangerous diver is the one who thinks they have nothing to improve. Diving simplifies priorities. The most important thing is to pull (in a stable position). Whatever else you do in the air don’t forget that step.

I also like the personal responsibility aspect to the success of skydiving. Skydiving for me is a very individual thing. I have to make the decision to leave the plane. And I determine how much preparation I give to each jump. My new friend, M, has a great outlook on life and diving. She shared about the significance of consequences and taking responsibility in diving and therefore life. When we jump out of the plane we have to accept the consequences of our decisions. That includes accountability to learn correct maneuvers, how to get out of malfunctions, and what we want to accomplish.

My other friend, I, recently completed his certification jumps and graduated from AFP. Having someone to talk to who is only a handful of jumps ahead of me is great because we can vent the struggles and frustrations from learning a whole new skill set, give encouragement when dives don’t go quite as planned (because they won’t always), share in the excitement and glow from a successful dive, and enable and shamelessly encourage each other’s addictions to this sport. Though to be perfectly honest, the competitive side of me wishes that I could spend a week diving and get my A-license before him.

Even if all of this makes very little sense, I highly recommend adding skydiving at least once to any sort of life list you create. I’ll always be willing to go along.

Rain

At what age do we decide that rain ruins a picnic? In the rain everyone treks into work with scowls on their faces. Except a this little girl about five years old. She had cute little ladybug boots, with a matching raincoat and umbrella that instead of covering her head she twirled around. Rain meant it was time to play, just as sun means its time to play.

Years ago, while vacationing in Disney, it started to rain. I forget whether Aimee or Rob started playing in the rain first but soon the three of us where slipping and sliding around, getting completely soaked. Back under the awning, my parents were receiving dirty looks from all the other parents whose children wanted to join us. My parents say they endured the looks because we were too old to disciple, but I think they understand the need to play.

The subways are always grumpy places when it is raining. Filling a tiny space with a bunch of wet people who have decided that the rain messed up their plans causes people to snap. I witnessed two old ladies on the train the morning of the ladybug princess. One started lecturing about deference to elders, complaining that all respect had left society. She continued on for a few stops even after the recipient had clearly stopped listening. The other woman jumped onto the train saying “I would have never fit before. I’m shrinking. Thank God for old age.” When another rider yelled at people to move in, her response was “Don’t worry about them, they are just tired this morning. How are you?” The yeller had no clue how to respond to such a positive response.

When I’m old, I want to be like the second lady. But her attitude wasn’t something she magically obtained one day. She had to develop a habit of choosing to be happy. A pattern of complaining, likewise, will carry on till you are a bitter old woman (or man).

Kids have the amazing ability to live in the present; to take whatever comes and make the best of it. They don’t (initially) live life measuring events up to an ideal situation. Hopefully I can develop a habit of playing in the rain, whatever form that takes.

Marathon

This weekend I completed a marathon in the Hamptons. I went into the marathon without training because I hate running alone. I also had spent the two nights before on 8-hour bus rides to and from Buffalo to celebrate my brothers 21st b-day. (Happy Birthday Robert!) It didn’t make the best conditions for running a marathon but I truly had no idea what I was getting into. Unlike my half marathon where I wanted to run the whole thing (and did), my goal for the marathon was simply to not give up (I didn’t).

Mile 1-5: Feeling good, running at a nice pace, lots of people and spectators and smiles.
Mile 7-13: They split the full marathon runners away. Because I’m running at a steady but slow pace I’m towards the back and there aren't a lot of us, no cheerers, no change in scenery. My extroverted side is getting grumpy. My ankles are starting to hurt but self talk is working. I tend to self-talk in two different ways. The first is tough love: “Jennifer, do you really need to walk? I didn’t think so.” The second is as if I were a two-year old or a dog: “What a good girl. Look at you running.”
Mile 13.1 Halfway there! Still feeling lonely and now the pain has moved to my calves but every step after this is farther than I have run before.
Mile 15: Took a 10 second walk which broke my mental game. Still to make it 15 miles is pretty darn good.
Mile 17: Minor breakdown. My legs are killing me and there hasn’t been people in a very long time. I switch between running like a little old lady and walking. I have no internal motivation to run, instead feeding off the energy I get from crowds.
Mile 20: Dance party and back to running. ‘Tightrope’ has become my new running song. Dancing makes me happier even when I’m dancing like a crazy person alone in the woods.
Mile 22: I have a full blown temper tantrum like a 4-year old, except I didn’t stomp my feet because they hurt so badly. I would have been completely embarrassed to let anyone hear my whining but there was no one around me. “I hate these woods, I hate running, this isn’t fun anymore, I hate this, I’m all alone, I want to quit, this sucks.” All I really wanted to do was sit down in the middle of the road but I knew my legs wouldn’t let me back up.
Mile 23: I laughed at how dramatic I was being and started to run again. There was a group of people who were cheering on a friend running slightly behind me and I adopted them as my own. I knew I couldn’t quit now. I can’t tell if it was a personal need or because I didn’t want to have to tell people that I quit. Either way my new goal was to run the last three miles. I had a tear streaked face but a smile.
Mile 24: Ran by the ocean didn’t even see it. I’ve heard it looked beautiful.
Mile 25: The last mile seemed like the longest.
Mile 26.2: As soon as I saw the finish line I started full out running. Everything else disappeared. My headphones flew out of my ears and started flapping behind me. I’m sure my face looks crazed in the picture. But… I FINISHED.

I’m glad I took on the challenge and completed a marathon. However, I don’t think I’ll get addicted to marathons. I averaged a little over a 13 minute mile which all things considered is a respectable time. Granted, I was towards the back of the pack but despite more physical pain than my mind was able to process and a high level of emotional turmoil I finished.

Congrats to Jeff & Nick on completing the Hamptons Half Marathon- their first endurance race.

Longkong

The first question you may be asking is: “What in the world is a Longkong?” It is a fruit native to Thailand, slightly larger than a grape but smaller than a strawberry, with a distinctive sweet and sour taste. It has translucent flesh with a shiny seed the size of a marble in the center that has a rich brown color.

The next question would be: “Why devote a blog entry to such a fruit?” Especially a blog where I typically share things I consider to be adventures. I have spent over six years trying to find this fruit. It became a mystical endeavor for me, an adventure in its own right. It made sense I couldn’t find it in upstate New York. But for the past three years I have lived in NYC, where anything and everything you could possible want from around the globe is offered to you. Except, apparently, the Longkong. In every new grocery store, every little hole-in-the-wall deli, every fruit stand, I explored the fruit section looking and hoping without result.

Last week I went to the fruit man by my work and saw a large box filled with small round tan circles. I barely restrained myself to buying two pounds; I wanted the whole box.

The fruit isn’t some ambrosia-like substance. It is about more than just the taste for me. Every time I peel back the thin tan skin, I’m reminded of sitting on benches eating with the girls from the Home of Blessing in Thailand after they returned from school. They didn’t own many possessions but they took such delight in sharing their lives with us. Plus, like all students, it provided a distraction from starting their homework. While working on building a road or clearing the rice fields we had pockets filled with Longkong.

Camp+

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nuT1uvDR64

Labor Day weekend I went to summer camp with my go-to outdoorsy friend M and Urban Escapes. It had all the right ingredients to recreate the world of middle school sleepaway camp, plus a few additions, like wine, to update it for adults. There were roaring bonfires with sing-alongs and smores; small wooden cabins with bunk beds and bugs; games such as volleyball, capture the flag, flag football, and kickball; exercise with yoga and trail runs; crafts such as lanyard keychain making; water events of blobbing and a zip line; and nightly dance parties. There was even a 20+ person cup game. Our behavior matched that of summer camps I remember with new friends, innocent flirtations, mild drama, and sneaking around after curfew. The guides had an amazing comaraderie between themselves though many of them had never met and that created an atmosphere of friendship and fun for the rest of us.

The video and picture are of blobbing. Which, as I so gracefully demonstrate, is a lot more entertaining when it goes slightly wrong. Thanks to R&D for the spectacular gang blob.

This summer has been dominated by water activities. I went kayaking on the Hudson with my sister. Downtown Boathouse is a free kayaking rental program which allows you to kayak against the beautiful backdrop of the Upper West Side. The day was perfect and not only because we did not tip into the sketchy dirty water filled with lotto tickets and other trash.

I also went whitewater rafting. The guides said there were level 3 rapids. I doubt it. Still we did go through rapids backwards as a general rule, hit almost every rock even if it was on the opposite side of the river from us, and propel everyone on my side of the boat into the water.

Biodegradable

From my water bottle:

“This bottle is completely biodegradable… This bottle currently biodegrades in every State in the U.S. except CA”

So does the bottle like CA so much that it wants to stay there forever? Or does it hate the state so much that it refuses to do its part to help with the pollution issue in protest?

Skydiving

The best part about life is every experience is different. I've jumped off things and over things but the sensation of jumping out of a plane while sky diving is unique and not just because my ears hate the change in altitude. I thought the best way to share the experience is through a photo montage. A link to the video is first:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcFOr-kPA-g


Signing our lives away... literally.

My dive group

Getting ready to board!














"Whoa. That's a long..."














"...way down"














No idea you go headfirst towards the ground at 200 miles an hour.














"Look at me I did it!"














Stable but fast. Jumped at 14,000 feet. The little pink chute (not pictured) is for stability. It doesn't seem to slow you down any.














Enjoying the ride.














Spinning in circles.














Trying to take it all in.














Simply smiling and flying














My instructor (Rob) was also keeping an eye on my videographer (Timmayo). Here he is telling him to pull his legs in. Clearly signals sent to me wouldn't be processed. I use their names because if you go this is the team you want. But if you go with me, I get first claim.














Goofing off at 6,000 feet.














Isn't there something you should be doing at 5,000 feet?














Oh yeah, pulling the cord.

I opened the chute! (with a little help). What isn't pictured here is the floating time. Suspended in the air, spinning is circles, taking in the sights.















Coming in for the landing.















A suprisingly graceful landing.

The complete team, back on solid ground.

I never consciously thought I would die but my body responded with a survival instinct. Time slows down, the world seems brighter, and I become very hyper. The views are amazing and because the senses are on overload, it is possible to take in the sights even when in free fall. After the parachute is released you float above the world in a calm manner. My instructor and I followed some hawks because they are the clues to thermals which allow you to stay in the air longer. I was the first one out of the plane of my team and the last to touch down. We spun different ways and I learned how to stop the chute in the air giving an odd feeling of weightlessness and gravity at the same time.

A new friend and fellow team member eloquently captured her personal deeper meaning behind sky diving over lunch as “Letting Go”. For me, it took some time for my survival part of the brain to quiet enough for me to realize that the deep recesses of my brain had also been working while traveling though the air at 200 miles per hour.

When I look at my life and the next steps I’m “supposed” to take, I realize I don’t want the traditional life. I kept trying to ignore that, to force myself into roles that don’t give me purpose. I decided years ago that 27 would be the best year of my life. So far I’m right. The reason: I am purposefully creating this wonderful year. Filling it with the expereinces I want. The theme of this year is perfectly captured in skydiving: Creating amazing, bright, meaningful moments.

I went skydiving in New Jersey at Freefall Adventure. They are the largest center in the Northeast. The instructors are amazing. Everyone responds to the stress of their first jump differently and the instructors work hard to match what is needed for each individual. Calming down those that are nervous, rationally talking through those that are reserved, and blending hyped up excitement with instruction for those that can’t stop talking. Take a wild guess which I would be. If you can’t figure it out re-watch the video.

Hiking

One of the hardest adjustments about living in the City is the lack of weekend hiking trips. Growing up between the Adirondacks and the Catskills meant we went hiking a lot. Since moving to Manhattan, it’s a little more difficult to get out into nature. While my sister was in grad school (Congrats Aimee you’re done!) I would meet up with her for the weekend. Luckily there are a few groups in Manhattan that take hikers up to the mountains. This past weekend my friend M and I decided to go on a hike, swim, wine trip. The idea was to hike for 2.5 miles to a lake, swim in said lake, then hike 2.5 miles back to the car and go to a local vineyard for a wine tasting.

That was the idea.

Instead we and the 13 other people on the trip wandered around lost for approximately 15 miles in 90 degree heat without ever finding the lake.

We wandered along the white path, the blue path, the white/blue path, the white and blue path (they are all different), the yellow path, and there was a touch of the red path in there as well. I’m surprised that everyone stayed as positive as they did. I’m not saying people were happy with the situation. But it could have been a lot worse than the mild grumblings at the tail end of the group as we solemnly marched through the woods.

The only reason we got out of the woods was another participant took a picture of the map and used his iphone to locate our position with GPS. Iphones typically have spotty service but in the middle of the woods it seemed to work fine. We added to the Iphone ad campaign: “15 people lost in the woods… there’s an ap for that”

For me in terms of personal self-growth, I saw again how I don’t have a lot of patience. I’ve been hiking almost my whole life. The groups from Manhattan are usually made up of people who have never been hiking before. Because of this, the pace is slow with a lot of stops. Eventually my friend and I were irritated enough and moved ahead of the group, allowing us to hike at a faster more enjoyable speed. Plus it gave us time to catch up. That is until we got to a road that wasn’t supposed to be there. The first of a few strange roads. The most frustrating part was sitting in a batch of ferns knowing beyond a doubt that this was the way we had come and having the rest of the group decide that taking the white trail was better. Like I said, patience is something I don’t seem to have a lot of.

I hike with a goal in mind. I tend to walk as quickly up the mountain as I can to the summit. It’s a clear cut success or fail approach. In comparison, my dad hikes for the journey. Whether he makes it to the summit or not, he is out in nature, taking pictures of flowers and insects that I never see because I am sprinting ahead. This past weekend we never got to the lake but the journey was memorable. Part of the reason it was so memorable was because it was difficult. That and by the end dehydration was starting causing us to laugh at anything.

Fire-eating

Create the moment, remember the moment, and cherish the moment. ~Isaak Gelbinovich

My favorite moment from the Toastmasters conference I attended this weekend actually occurred after the event itself. As we were leaving, two of the presenters were practicing fire eating. That's right, the circus act type of thing. I was asked if I wanted to learn.

Why not?

Life is all about choices. It can be basic and grey, driven by fear or filled with experiences and colorful. I’m very blessed to have a life where I’m not worried about food or shelter. Instead, I can focus on creating a life filled with powerful moments and limitless snapshots. Some have an adrenaline rush like cliff jumping or trapeze school. But others are precious, like seeing Adi smile for the first time* or watching a group of high school students who’d never experienced anything outside of upper middle class America start to broaden their understanding of the world and take charge of their lives. It’s all about the journey. I never want to look back on my life and say “I wish I had done X when I had the chance but I was too afraid.”

The concept of fire-eating is simple. Limitations we face are often self-imposed responses to obstacles. The human mind and body are capable of so much more than we express. Fire is an influential symbol because we have experience with the power of fire. It cooks food, can destroy forests and houses, can burn a person, and brings needed heat and light. The concept of fire-eating says by overcoming fear and believing you can accomplish this task; you empower and equip yourself to take charge of your life in other areas.

I do want to make a note: I wasn’t alone trying this out in my apartment on a whim. Croix Sather is a motivational speaker/success hypnotist who frequently uses fire-eating in his presentations and has a lot of experience teaching participants how to eat fire safely. (Check out his website here) Before we even started practicing, he explained the physics of the process. Then he explained the personal implications, how the fire symbolized taking control of all aspects of my life. Throughout the experience he stood next to me, talking me through each step. I, however, had to be the one to actually put the fire in my mouth. No one else can do that, or anything else, for you.

As a side note, I think joining the circus might be my Plan B. I've got the trapeze down, riding on an elephant's head, cheetah taming, and now fire eating. Once I learn to juggle I’m set. Does the circus go to Australia and Antarctica? This could be my ticket to finish visiting all seven.

* For those who don’t know: Adi is a sweet young boy I met while working in a Romanian orphanage. All these years later he is still on my heart. For those who do know the story of Adi: Can you believe he is already 14? (He was five when I met him)

Names

This past weekend at a Toastmaster conference, one of the speakers talked about the power of words to create your life whether in blessing or curse. I got to thinking about a subset, the power of names.

Many creation stories describe a process for naming things, but one that is connected to the creation itself. We give names to pets to separate them from other animals and show possession. There are dogs and then there was MY dog Jeremiah. Nicknames are given to demonstrate connection to another person, secret jokes known only to a small group of privileged people. Last names demonstrate lineage, middle names at times are used to show respect to a family member.

Then there are the names that we use in our internal dialog. The same syntax is used (in present day English) to demonstrate a state of being such as I am hungry and names. I am Jennifer. Because of this, the phrase “I am” ties directly into our understanding of who we are as a person. “Names” such as Beautiful or Stupid when used in this syntax over time can become as much a part of ourselves as our given names.

While in Kenya, I was given a “second name” that means Spirit of the Cheetah. I love the second name concept. It isn’t a nickname used by only a few friends, it isn’t a middle name picked by parents. It is a name given after puberty, usually by the group, to pinpoint the defining characteristic of the person, who they truly are. In cultures where a second name is used it has at least equal weight to the person’s given name. Introductions use either name, often both. To the kids at the orphanage, not having a second name was almost as if I was missing part of myself.

In my life at the moment there are a couple intimidating situations. To me, my second name has become a reminder of who I am. Without having to do anything more, I am Wanguarai. Therefore, I already possess the skills needed to overcome the obstacles.

Plus, I’ve pet a grown cheetah. Even though she looks dead or sleeping in the picture, she definitely isn’t. If I can approach a full grown animal that has the ability to rip my arm off before I even start running, can the situations I’m facing now be that difficult? Incidentally, cheetahs purr like giant house cats when petted.

Records

When I put “Break a Record” into my 101 list, I didn’t think I would actually be able to accomplish it. I’m not about to grow my nails out really long and there is no way the world’s largest duct tape ball could fit in my crooked little apartment. I can’t pogo stick across the country or pop my eyes out of their sockets. Although I can hope to be the oldest person alive, unless the world implodes and I am the only person left, that won’t be accomplished in the next two years. So what is a girl to do?

Join the largest dodge ball game in the world.

The previous record was around 600 people. My game, run completely for publicity purposes by Samsung, had 730-something people. Because a corporation organized it, we had t-shirts, 600 dodge balls, and official refs. It was single elimination, the kind you played in elementary school before creating all the extra rules like lighthouse, doctor, and something related to a candle. But because there were so many people, the single elimination part didn’t work out so well. If you got hit, you just moved to a different location in the field, picked up another ball to throw, and continued playing. I’m pretty sure the video caught me doing just that. Plus, if you caught a ball, there was no way to determine the individual who had thrown it out of the sea of blue (I was on the yellow team) so they stayed in as well.

I couldn’t throw far enough to make it to the other side (shot-putting record is way out of my league) so I ran out into the middle to push ammunition back to my team. I lasted longer than I thought as a sitting duck but there was no way to pretend I didn’t get hit eventually.

Another group in Texas is trying to break the record. Still, at least for the next two weeks, I can say that I participated in a world record breaking dodge ball game.

Suspicious

I generally don’t watch SNL. In fact, this week's show (5/8) might be the first episode I’ve seen in full. One skit stood out to me, correction, one exchange.

MEYERS - "Times Square was evacuated for the second time in a week on Thursday to investigate a threatening looking package that turned out to be a harmless cooler full of water. It was one of four NYPD trips to Midtown prompted by calls reporting suspicious behavior… Really? We have to call in suspicious looking behavior in Times Square? Have you ever been to Times Square? It’s where “suspicious” goes to hang out! Really."

POEHLER - "And really, which thing would they like me to report? There’s steam coming out the street. Out of towners taking pictures of landmarks. And 15 people are pedaling by on an alien super bike. I mean really?"

It got me thinking about all the strange things that you see here in the City. Some of my favorite harmless but out-of-the-ordinary people, in no particular order:

1) The guy with the cat on his head. He’s trained his cat to sit on top of his head as he wanders around the city.

2) The guy with the taxidermy dog that he pulls around on a leash and wheels.

3) The evangelist who decided that “Jesus can’t be the messiah. I’ll tell you why… Because Jesus… in Spanish… is “pronounced Hay Zoos… Don’t you get it?... As in ‘Hey Zeus, how ya doing’… I’ve done a lot of research on this.” In addition Christmas, Easter, and Halloween are the mark of the beast and Lucifer is female.

4) The guy who sings in his underwear and makes over $100K a year doing so. (Naked Cowboy)

5) The guy who sings opera under a bridge in Central Park while dancing in a loincloth and playing the violin. (Thoth)

6) The thousands of people that participate in the pantless subway ride in the middle of winter every year. I might participate if I wasn’t worried about running into a client or a co-worker. Pity growing old and mature.

7) The subway magician complete with live bird. If that thing ever gets away from him I think I’ll be screaming along with everyone else.

Fellow New Yorkers feel free to add to the list.


Note: My sister and I walked past the van earlier that evening. I don't remember seeing it and we were well past it before the cops cleared the streets. Still crazy.

Spontaneity

My life has become full with regularly scheduled activities. While I love everything I have planned, the clubs I’ve joined, the dance classes, ect., it doesn’t leave much room for spontaneity. The blend of sanguine and choleric in my personality demands I have to have both. Without both structure and spontaneity I get grumpy.

I wanted to see what would happen if I purposly didn't plan anything going into Friday. It was great! One of those perfect NYC weekends that make me want to brag about what an amazing place I live in.

I went with a friend to see two solo musicals at a local theater. Then to the Guggenheim to see the new photography exhibit. I found it disturbing instead of introspective or fascinating. Part of the problem is nothing in the Gugg will ever compare to "I Want to Believe", the first exhibit I saw there. Then I spent the wonderfully weathered Sunday strolling on the High Line with a few friends. The High Line is a raised, abandoned, railroad track recently converted to an elevated park. To end the day we went to eat at the Frying Pan, a restaurant created on board a previously sunken ship.

Where else can you do all that in a weekend?

13.1

I started Easter weekend by running a half marathon. 13.1 miles of one foot in front of the other, endless pavement, two+ hours, countess steps… quite the challenge. I was supposed to have been training for weeks leading up to the event but my life is already filled to the brim, so I ran 4-6 miles once a week. I figure training for my dance competition two weeks ago and the fact that I am competitive and stubborn did the rest. I didn’t stop or walk! I actually found it easier than I had anticipated, although my right ankle tends to disagree with me even now. By mile seven I knew I would complete the race without stopping; the miles were flying by. I maintained my slow speed throughout even when I wanted to start going faster at mile ten. I kept thinking about the classic tale of the tortoise and the hare. Finishing was more important than speed. I did “sprint” over the finish line. At least I think I was running fast. I might have just been crawling along with a funny look on my face.

The race was organized through World Vision, a great organization that I have been sponsoring a child with for the past year. They also do disaster relief work and community development. Runners were either running to raise funds for Kenya (like myself) or Haiti. I found out about the race shortly after returning from Kenya so it made a lot of sense.

One of my friends came out to show support and take pictures. It helped a lot knowing that someone was along the path to cheer me on. In addition, a few teens from Grace Chapel in Clifton Park ran. It was great to see them again and I saw their parents at Mile 10- a nice little boost up a hill. Congrats Jordan, Lindsey, Rachel, and Kayla!

Competition

I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday. There were so many observations, thoughts, and feelings from this weekend that I can't process quite yet. So the videos will have to speak for themselves. Sufficient to say, I want to do this again soon though I suspect I'll be riding the competition high for some time.

There are 5 videos: Cha Cha Bronze 1, Rumba Bronze 1, Open Waltz, Open Tango, and Open Foxtrot. The open dances were at a Silver 1 level in terms of steps I think.

Ballroom

“While I dance I cannot judge, I cannot hate, I cannot separate myself from life. I can only be joyful and whole. That is why I dance.” ~Hans Bos

There haven’t been many updates to my blog recently; all my limited free time has been spent getting ready for my first ballroom dance competition! Plus, I haven’t figured out how to describe something that is a passion and a therapy at the same time with words that will make everyone who reads this understand just what an amazing thing ballroom dancing can be. I have danced my whole life but nothing compared to the training necessary to compete. And I’m only at Bronze I.

Dancing is one of the only things that got me through graduate school. I realized I can handle the stress of the working world much better when I have ballroom as an outlet. The world just seems more calm and manageable when I’m floating around the dance floor. During the hour practice session (oh, if only I could afford to practice a few hours a week instead of just one) nothing else matters.

I’ve taken private lessons since December. Originally I took a few classes but didn’t think I could afford to go continuously so I had to stop. A few weeks later the instructor called me up to say that he wanted me to take lessons in whatever capacity I could. Since then I’ve figured out how to make it work. I’ve realized it is an outlet I need to have in my life as a stress reducer.

Like any specific skill set, the technicality of ballroom dancing is something that most social dancers and observers can’t comprehend. For a given move there are about 15 different things to worry about before even taking a step. Not to mention that many times parts of my body connected by skin, bones, muscles, and tendons, have to move in opposite directions. Try as I might, my belly button cannot move at a 90 degree angle to my rib cage. Everything matters in competitive ballroom, which toe has weight first, the tilt of my head, the angle between my pointed fingers... and then make the move elegant and effortless.

I like the connection between relationships/communication and dancing. My dance partner, who is a professional dancer competing for over 10 years, can tell what foot I have weight on when I am standing behind him with only one hand on his shoulder. Traditionally, the man is the lead and the female is the follower. This has been changing with the growing acceptance of same-sex ballroom dancing and the fact that often the woman will take a “back-lead” if she is the better of the pair. But there is an interesting thing about the leading. One cannot lead by pulling and pushing at whim. If the women is on the wrong foot for a move the guy can't lead it without risking injury or awkwardness. The choices are to change the desired next move to relate to where the woman is standing or move her to gently to shift her weight. In the same manner, leading is not about pushing and pulling people but working with where they are or gently shifting the direction.

Similar to public speaking, the way you hold your body and use your hands drastically changes the message you are trying to portray. Giggling in the Tango, as I tend to do, doesn’t quite have the same feeling the sultry, passionate dance is supposed to express. Other skills like eye contact and variation of tone and intensity are all important flourishes that set a great dancer and a great speaker apart.

I leave for my first competition tomorrow. I’m nervous and excited. I’ve had to deal with frustrating practices and the fact there will be people who are much better than me on the dance floor. But when it comes down to it, I love getting dressed up, I love social events, I love being the center of attention when I dance, and I love dancing.

Videos of the competition will be forthcoming.

Snowman

This weekend I participated in a SnowDay. I play kickball in the spring with a local group, good old fashioned school yard kickball. As we got a few inches of snow, the group organized a snowman contest, kickball games, and a capture the flag game. Even in NYC where anything goes it is amazing to me the rude comments that get called out about how we are losers playing kickball or making snowman. Not everyone seems to understand the joy of acting like a kid and letting loose. I don't know if it makes them uncomfortable or they are just jealous.

I hope I never get too old to appreciate a good snowman making contest.

The other side of our upside down snowman is a bunny. That's right it is a Rubin's Vase snowman. I'm not sure how we lost.

Unplug

Over MLK weekend I did a un-plug/detox. There were two parts: not using anything that needed a plug for 72 hours, sans lights, and a very modified diet consisting of brown rice, lemon water, and spinach. I was supposed to eat bitter greens but as a girl who hates vegetables spinach was my compromise.

The detox part had its struggles. I crave fried, microwavable, and highly addicting comfort food. I’m lucky I have a fast metabolism. While I was in Kenya, aside from the few times I ate out, everything was (truly) organic and unprocessed. I felt better, had more energy, my skin cleared up, and I promptly went back to my old habits as soon as I returned. The Detox was meant to jump start my eating right. It also is #31 on my Day Zero list. I found that I was less hungry as the food I was eating had more fiber and other nutrients type things that I usually don’t get. But I couldn’t eat when I was bored which I frequently was as TV, music, and movies were all off limits. I tend to multi task usually eating dinner, reading a book, and watching tv all at the same time. For the weekend I attempted to do only one thing at a time. When I was eating dinner, I was eating dinner.

The unplug portion (#29) of the weekend had its own struggles. More than my addiction to processed food I am addicted to noise. When I come home the TV goes on even if I’m not watching it. If not the TV, then the radio or a movie. There is always noise around me. In addition, now that I have internet at my apartment, I’ll read through blogs or check my email more times then necessary. Not having all these safety distractions was harder than I thought it would be. It did give me time to think about the deeper meaning behind my room always being a mess, what I’m chasing after, and my positive characteristics and things I want to change. My journal has a lot of “hmm”, “wow”, and “oooooh” moments.

While not outwardly fun as some of the other things I do in my life, the experience of just being by myself for 72 hours was an adventure too. I’m planning on doing it again in the Spring, working with the natural cycles of the human body.

Favorite quote of the weekend: "Whoever you are, whatever you are, start with that." ~Alice Walker

Concern

Check out Concern Worldwide, an organization I’ve worked with in the past here in the states. They, along with many other organizations, sent staff to Haiti to aid in the relief effort. One staff member, Susan Finucane, left for Haiti within a few hours of the earthquake. On Concern's blog she shares an update of the situation, including the heartache, struggles to get aid through the bottleneck of anarchy, and a story of hope taking the form of a Celinda, a little girl born after the earthquake.

Trapeze

To celebrate the New Year I went with a couple friends to Trapeze School. Yes, “Fly trough the air with the greatest of ease” trapeze school. Why not? It’s one of the perks to living in a cultural mecca- almost anything you can possibly want to do is here. It also happens to be #92 on my DayZero list. I knew I wouldn’t balk once I got up there but climbing the ladder got the adrenalin pumping. Plus, as a child, I was never able to do the monkey bars, a thought prominent in my mind as I leaned over the edge of the platform. Now, not only would I leap from a platform, hang from a bar, pull my knees over my head, and then let go with my hands, I would do so 30-something feet in the air while moving.

Either my arms are stronger than they were when I was a child or I am less willing to accept defeat. It was a fun experience. My friend goes almost every week and I can see why. There is a therapeutic and addictive aspect to overcoming an obstacle and successfully mastering The Catch. A Flyer cannot say they have learned a trick until they make the catch.

When you cliff jump time seems to slow down allowing for a lot of clear, distinct thoughts: “Why did I just leave the safety of the ground? Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Okay I’m still in the air. Why haven’t I hit water yet? What a pretty water snake. I hope it’s not poisonous.”

However, this is not the case while Flying. Perhaps it is because your mind is so full with all the steps that need to be taken that you don’t have time to think about anything else. “Jump, swing, knees up, hands off, wow I didn’t fall off, reach out, grab bar, legs down, forward, back, kick, eek I’m doing a back flip… net”

The following videos are of the Knee Hang trick with differnet endings. The first is with a backflip, another thing that I was never able to do as a child. Perhaps I should try a Slip-and-Slide again. The second video is Knee Hang with Catch. The squeak is from me being completly surprised that the move actually worked.