Rain Rain Go Away

Last night, I went to bed rather late, and once again, had to drag my butt to the gym. However, on top of being tired, it is DREADFULLY DREARY outside today. It's pouring buckets, cold, miserable, cloudy and gray. In a nutshell, the weather sucks.
So of course, I run to the gym. Decked out in my rain coat, rain pants and soon to be soaked running shoes, it was hard to get myself to start that first step. I know they say a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and that sounds all fine and dandy, but did the person who said that walk those thousand miles just to make sure?

Anyways...As bleary-eyed as I was this morning, I did manage a good workout. However, the most interesting moment was half way through the morning. Eye candy and I were both in the pit (basement weights area) and then he left. I finished doing my routine and realized that I really needed to stretch. So I walked on upstairs and managed to see him again as he finished up whatever he was doing.
His comment to me was, "Are you stalking me?" My reply was, "No, I wanted to stretch." However, in the back of my mind, I really wanted to say, "Don't you wish." I think it would have livened up the conversation a little, but I was working out! Nobody has witty conversations while working out because they are concentrating. So the rest of my stretching I contemplated what exactly "Are you stalking me?" meant.
It could have meant, "Hey, I'm just teasing, but I do see you around a lot. Must be the common interest of working out in the mornings."
Or
"Wow, I see you around way too much in the mornings. I have this feeling you are a creeper. Are you?"
Or even:
"You are a bodacious babe and you rock my socks. Calling you a stalker is the only thing I can come up with spur of the moment. And I wanted to talk to you."

I'm leaning toward option 3. It's the only one where I'm a bodacious babe.

And, that's the conclusion I came to while jogging home in the miserable downpour. It brightened up my otherwise deary morning.

One in the same

With as much time as people spend on work and school, it's hard to imagine separating work from real life. How do people go from "work-person" to "living my life person." And are those people actually different? And why would someone want to separate themselves into two different people? And that begs the question, who is the real person, and who's a fake? Or are they both aspects of the same person? Why would someone want to separate them-self? I wonder if that means that humans are intrinsically bipolar or schizophrenic. Maybe that's one of the reasons people have a hard time figuring out what they want. There are so many aspects of themselves to please.

At Heart

Last night I decided to go climbing at the wall, which I usually do once a week. I was attempting this 5.9 and having a heck of a time with it. There was all sorts of smearing that I was supposed to do and handholds that literally took layers of skin from my fingertips. In case you didn't know, smearing is where there isn't technically a hold for you feet, but you make do and just jam your foot on the wall until it sticks, or slips off and you fall. One of the two.

Anyways, after a bunch of "cheating", which is where you grab onto holds that don't correlate to your specific climb, I was pretty discouraged. I mean, 5.9's are decently hard, but the person ahead of me cruised up just fine. I did manage to make it to the top, but discouragement was pretty high by then. Obviously I need some time to work that route out.

After getting down, I went to say bye to Christy; my version of a rock climbing goddess. She's lots shorter and super strong and can do pull-ups like nobody's business. She was attempting some bouldering problems and pulled them off really well. I said jokingly in our exchange that one day I hope to be a "real climber" and she laughed and said "Me too! I still don't feel like a real rock climber."

I couldn't believe that. How could she not feel like a real rock climber? I mean she goes almost every weekend rock climbing, she is dating a rock climber, she works at a climbing wall and she is a great climber. All of those point to being a real climber right? After those thoughts quickly went through my head, Christy reconsidered her words.
"You know what. I think people become climbers when they decide that they are a climber. Everyone who's here has climbing in their hearts and that's all that matters. Some people peak at 5.9's, 5.10's or 5.13's. It's about being on the rock, trying your hardest and just doing it. So, yeah. I guess I am a climber."

Now I just have to decide when I've become a real climber. I think I'm still a ways off yet. But I'm sure as long as I have climbing at heart, it'll come to me one day.

Fear of Fall

This morning, riding into work I was enjoying the crisp air, the warm sunshine, the comforting way that the wind whooshed past me and the beautiful organges and reds the leaves have turned.
It was about the time I got to the Bardeen Quad when I saw the leaf blowers and rakes and UIUC workers happily tending to our meticulously trimmed quad. And wouldn't you know it, leaves COVERED the sidewalk. And not just leaves. There were sticks, pebbles, nuts, etc... all sorts of stuff. And it was about that time that I realized almost muscle in my body had tensed. Was I really afraid of the pile of autumn gloriousness in my way?
Heck yes I was! After falling two weeks ago in a torrential down pour because of a stupid pile of slimey, slick leaves, I'm afraid my bike tires are going to once again slip on the cement. That leaves me with the option of falling, tumbling, rolling, and leaving another not so pretty bruise and endless potential for road rash. What a wimp!
So of course I drove through the pile of stuff. I'll have to admit, I had a second of panic when the edge of my tire hit an acorn and did a little jog on the sidewalk, but I stayed on and endured. I don't really know if that was bravery or stupidity, but I really don't like the idea of being afraid of falling off of my bike. I mean, everyone knows that just me walking has the potential for disaster written all over it. Heck, the first three times I met Nick, I was falling (literally) down my basement stairs.

So now I need to find a way to not be afraid of my bike. I'm thinking that this season isn't the best one to re-teach me that lesson. So once I go home for Thanksgiving, I'm going to return Greenie (Yes, I named my bike.) to the sacred shelter of my garage. And for the duration of the winter I hope it will think about what it's done.
In the meantime I'll be taking some time to convince myself to 1. get a helmet and 2. get back on that horse in the spring.

PJ's and Eggs

I never thought I'd be one of those people. You know the kind. They walk around public places looking very unkempt. Their hair is all over their place. Usually they are in sweat pants, or at least something with elastic holding up their pants. Usually the footwear of choice are flip flops, although sandals and groudy looking sneakers also top that list.
So I have a confession to make.
Today, I went to the grocery store in plaid flannel pajama pants and flip flops. The simple truth of the matter is that I got back to my apartment around 7 and realized that I hadn't eaten, and that I did NOT want the chicken and squash leftovers from the night before. I wanted eggs with cheese and ham, and I wanted it NOW! I had made the mistake of pre-maturely exchanging my pants with my pj's and was in the process of changing my shirt when the thought occurred to me that I had no eggs!
Just considering re-donning my pants was enough to make me weak in the knees, so I made the executive decision that I could, like many college students, trudge to the store in whatever I pulled out of my closet. So I did.
Nobody stopped me. I don't think anyone stared. And I was in and out in a flash with nobody the wiser. And that's when I realized how dangerous this habit could become. I mean, if nobody cares what pants I wear, then why should I? Imagine the slippery slope to comfort I could have fallen down? What if this habit followed me to my job? You can't expect to teach students in pajamas can you? I mean, surely if one could, one would. I guess that is why some people have professionalism and others don't. It's about respecting yourself enough to say, I'm better than those old plaid flannel pants. I WILL make the effort, and I will earn other people's respect through my appearance.
WOW. I hope my mom never reads this blog. She'll cry with joy. And my sister will jump up and down and suggest a shopping spree.
Maybe I take back what I said. I really do love these plaid pants! And I'm not a real adult yet. Right?

Eye Candy

So this morning I realized that sometimes I'll only start a project on time if there is something to look forward to while I'm completing it.

For instance, on the weekends, you'll almost never find me doing any of my work that is really difficult or strenuous. It's usually just me catching up on grading, organizing files, reading chapters of books or things for research. However, if my friend Borsey calls me and he's headed to the library, I'll usually tag along for a good couple of hours and actually get my work done. I know once I'm there I'm basically stuck. But when I get bored I can usually get Borsey to joke around a little with me before he goes back to memorizing vet stuff.

This morning I realized how far that incentive actually goes. I hadn't slept too well last night because my neighbors who live above me were snoring quite loudly. Usually I don't hear them because I basically sleep like living dead, but not last night. So when my alarm clock went off this morning at the dreadfully bleak time of 6:15am, I was convinced that working out this morning was a bad idea. So I fumbled around bleary-eyed until my fingers found the snooze button and gleefully hit it as hard as I could.
Nine minutes later I was once again awoken. Luckily this time, I had fallen asleep with my hand still on the alarm, so hitting snooze was a breeze. All of a sudden, in my sleepy stupor I remembered that "Eye Candy" would be at the gym this morning. Due to the fact, I grumpily acknowledged that I would in fact get my butt out of bed in a timely manner to make it to the gym on time.

Background Info:Eye Candy is a guy that I met over the summer at a volunteering gig for Special Olympics, and formed an insta-crush on due to the David Boreanaz resemblance.

Sadly, this morning I was basically done with my workout by the time he showed up...(slacker!). However, I did get the "Good Morning" from him that is the essence of our rather limited interactions. And how funny is this... we both were wearing shirts that said "Happy Camper" today.

After writing this, I know how it sounds. I don't have a legit crush on the guy, I just needed to find another motivation to get to the gym on time, and seeing people I know or interact with always helps me get started.

Now if only there was someone who popped out of my physical geochemistry book every time I opened it, I might already have my homework done.

Reconsider

Well, after a full night of sleeping on the strike issue. I've decided that I've changed my mind.
1. Graduate students are in school to make more money LATER in life.
2. They know that money will be tight and their time will be constrained.
3. Graduate students do not in fact work 40 hours a week on teaching.
4. If graduate students want to start families or already have families and want to become graduate students, they should talk those financial obligations over with their spouse ahead of time.

Maybe if people saw graduate school as more of a stepping stone, sort of like undergraduate work, they would be more understanding of the living wage conditions they are or are not earning. And also, the wage you receive is based upon how much grant money your department pulls in. The faculty and students have to be dedicated to writing grants and bringing money into the department.

I guess I am of the mindset that the University hasn't reneged on anything they provided for in the contract I signed, so I'm not too worried about it.