Thanksgiving (TG)

Tomorrow is that blessed day, which occurs only once a year. Everyone gets together to celebrate giving thanks. It started out as pilgrims giving thanks for a harvest after they all starved their first winter, but now it's really all about the food.

I mean, what would Thanksgiving be without the turkey, cranberry sauce (with the rings), stuffing, gravy, black olives in dishes, corn, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a veritable barrage of pies and all those people to eat it with you?

You could still give thanks. Right? I mean, if thanksgiving in this country is so popular because of the strife and peril that our ancestors went through, shouldn't we honor that a little more? Did they sacrifice so we could stuff our faces into a food coma? I don't think so. They sacrificed for religious rights, freedom, and for some, just for the spirit of adventure to see unseen lands.

I wish our country was a lot more like that of old. Where people put in a days hard work and felt the satisfaction from the sweat and blood and tears. They lived with the seasons and felt alive! How many people these days aren't connected to life? People have eye strain because of how much time they spend on the computer or watching TV. Spines have curved due to all the sitting, and abs of steel are only found in gyms.

So tomorrow, I propose giving thanks for accomplished tasks or of hardships now past, instead of being thankful for our material possessions, large bank accounts, or prestige. We should all be thankful for the things that aren't so tangible. Family willing to look past our shortcomings, friends who have our back through think and thin, good work ethics which help us achieve more out of our life and for accomplishing something meaningful on an individual level. Maybe people should be thankful that they can be the change they want to see in the world. They just need the courage to try.

Kicking Butt

Sometimes friends can make all the difference in the world. I'd been stressed out all week with proposals, homework, little sleep, etc. By Friday, I was running on basically nothing except adrenaline. My bestie Brett showed up in the last 20 minutes of my proposal writing tornado and said, "Take your time, we do have the next 48 hours to do nothing."

It hadn't hit me yet how true that was. I'd been working on an INSANE schedule, freaking out and generally not being a human being. I was frazzled, and didn't realize that the weekend had in fact arrived!

So true to our athletic natures we decided to go rock climbing after dinner and did some great climbs. Brett had never climbed before, so he had the virgin climber fear of falling, which meant he only got half way up the first time. I was just calmly belaying him when his hand slipped a little on a caterpillar hold and heard the word, "DOWN!" as clear as day.

Deciding to be nicer to him than I was to my friend Ian, I let him down and started releasing him from the rope when he decided that he wanted to climb again. His fear apparently mastered, he managed to get to the top and did a nice job.

My first climb had an overhang in it, but was pretty "juggy" so not too bad. I had a rough time at a spot in the middle, and totally cheated, but felt pretty good about it for the most part.

And here's where the story gets good. There's a guy named Noah who works at the climbing wall, and has the biggest crush on me. He's this tall, gangling brown haired human monkey-man. He tries to be nice to people, but is one of those "trying way too hard for female attention" kind of guys. It can get pretty annoying. I try not to abuse that too much, but him and his friend were doing a run right where I wanted to go. They climbed it maybe 5 times before I decided to ask Noah if he'd belay me, incidentally on the run that they were at.

It was a 5.9, which meant it was going to be rough, but I don't feel too bad hanging on the rope with Noah on the bottom. He's actually a pretty supportive belayer. He's patient and doesn't hurry climbers.

So long story short... Noah helped me a little on a rough part, but I finally managed to climb up a 5.9 on an overhang, using an under-cling and kicked just a little bit of butt.

In order to really haul my butt over cliffs, I need to drop a little weight, but until then, I've defeated a 5.9. And that's something.

Specialized Nerd

Almost on my way home today I remembered that I had to pick up my Geology Club bar crawl T-Shirt from my friend Dan who is Vice-President of the club. ;)
Upon reciept of said T-shirt, I took the time to read it. No joke it says:
"We're cumingtonite to poikioblast your cleavage"
Equally classy, the back says, "We'll be subducting all night long!"
Obviously I start cracking up. Whoever came up with these T-shirts was pure genius.

And here's where the head scratching begins. In order to understand how funny this saying really is, you'd have to know that the word cumingtonite is actually a metamorphic silicate mineral... AKA a mineral made under intense heat and pressure. Poikioblast is a mineral with bits of other, older rock bits inside of it. It's a product of deformation. And cleavage... well that's where two sides of a crystal meet. Hard not to figure that one out eh?

Among others... here are my favorite geology puns.
"Geology Rocks"
"Schist Happens"
"Gneiss Cleavage"
"Hot igneous body"
"Geologists make the bedrock"
"Subduction leads to orogeny"

The beauty of being in the "know" is that you can appreciate these little nuances.

Not only do these nerdy little jokes make you feel at home, but it defines people who understand the essence of who you are in your working world.

If you don't believe me, here's some examples from other places.

Teachers talking about "No Child Left Untested"
Engineers celebrating Pi day.
Microbiologists saying "Titer this!"
Nurse pun: Nurses are I.V. leaguers.

Just to let you all know... everyone does it.

Face it: Everyone is a nerd in some way or another. The trick is embracing your nerdiness and loving yourself even more for it!

Doesn't that just rock?

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.