vertical mathematics

three thousand summers

2012-01-31T06:35:00.000-08:00

I wake up early after freezing all night long. As I drive down main street I catch sight of an illuminated sign reading, "+18 degrees F". Warm for this early, unseasonably so. Yesterday, despite the month, I walked around town for a bit in a t-shirt, squinting from the sun. The weather here catches me off guard. As a child of the northwest my winters have always been dark and damp; evergreens and moss and rain storms for months without reprieve.
The first time I ever really visited the desert, apart from family trips as a child, was with N. Driving due south from Seattle we headed for Joshua Tree National Park. The pace of this adventure allowed me to appreciate the subtle changes in terrain as we crossed through the mountains in Oregon, then California. A dry winter became such a novelty, something to daydream about as I languished in my Seattle sorrows.

The time has come to set out on the road again. I am nervous, as always. My solo travels make me aware of how small I am within the greater context of the world. This is something that I love to be reminded of- as sometimes it is easy to feel as though the entire world could be held in the palm of one's hand. Traveling alone makes me reach out to other people, forces me to interact in some small way, makes me braver. I learn to trust my instinct. I learn what I really like. Off to CO for a week, then to the Denver airport. Almost time.

eldorado

2012-01-30T06:38:00.001-08:00

A month of hard work pays off- I pass my national registry and practical exams and become a Wilderness EMT.
A lifetime of work pays off- I wake up without that sinking feeling; look in the mirror without slinking backwards, keep the hate at a minimum.
A bit of truth pays off- the call comes in starting with a "+", SAT phone crackling with a slight delay. My heartbeat kicks us a few notches.

Heading to Colorado in a couple days. Just over a week until I pick him up at the Denver airport, then only another eight days until he leaves again.

enormous sky

2012-01-25T11:34:00.000-08:00

I.

A little over a decade and a half ago she and I met, sometime, for the very first time. I don't specifically remember this moment yet think fondly of it from time to time. Memories from later include paisley dresses (her) and electric blue tights with my mother's running shirt (me). Later, there were walks home from middle school in which I insisted on walking in the middle of the road, eliciting screams and later eye rolls. We spent hours on the phone together, as any good duo should, and read one another poems we had written. Once, in a fit of rage and tears, we burned letters to our ex boyfriends in a cooking pot with another girlfriend.

A few weeks ago I called her from the truck, engine still humming to will away the cold, Seattle hip-hop barely audible from the stereo. She could tell, she said, just by the way I was breathing, that I needed that conversation. We no longer communicate in words but more so in subtlety. This is how it is supposed to be.

II.

Ripping open the postage box- the one so much heavier than I expected- I find a mug (handmade) and a bottle of homebrew. Something catches in my throat and I choke it back down. This is how it is supposed to be.

III.

This is how it's supposed to be.

all for me

2012-01-23T07:38:00.001-08:00

I love listening to horrible pop music. I love drinking decaf coffee. I love sitting in the balcony at the movie theatre with all the other 21 and overs, drinking strong IPAs and cringing at Tom Cruise. I love early mornings with friends; cereal with blueberries and orange juice. I love the roar of the truck engine turning over after a few idle days, love punching buttons at the gas station, love defrosting my coffee cup in restroom bathroom.
I love the promise of letters from far away. I love the thought of the open road.

I love forgetting what my face looks and knowing myself only through my own eyes.

is it you?

2012-01-22T15:08:00.000-08:00

I am realizing that my mom is a lot smarter than I give her credit for. Or, maybe, really, just more perceptive. She said, calmly, "You know, it doesn't quite matter the physical time that you spend with someone. There are plenty of people who go through life in relationships that leave them numb. Relationships that give them no happiness, no joy. If the time you spend with someone leaves you feeling full and happy then the numbers don't quite matter."
I know what she's talking about.

Today is my half birthday. A meaningless number in the grand scheme of things, but also a sort of place-marker. I think back six months, a year ago and can't believe all of the things that have happened. This dream world that I am cruising through leaves me breathless.

I dream of his face in my hands, of bodies colliding, of standing in the Denver airport, heart pounding, so close. Can't wait.

the best the best the best

2012-01-21T08:34:00.000-08:00

I.

He knocks on my door and I wake suddenly, remembering the promise of coffee and good conversation in the morning. Slowly, I roll out of bed and pull on the same jeans I've been wearing for the past year, my second skin. Black t-shirt, snow boots, big puffy jacket, hat that I shrunk in the dryer. I pad down the hall, hearing the floorboards creak in all the right places, not noticing chalk all over the front of my shirt.

We laugh in mutual recognition of our idiosyncrasies. He says he loves the quirky personalities. I appreciate this more deeply than I can explain. But A is one of those people who I feel most like myself around; no longer feel as though I have much to hide. True friendship is a beautiful thing.

II.

Mountains, my friend. Mountains and sunsets and laughter and beer. Something like that.

I was.

2012-01-20T22:53:00.000-08:00

This is the part that I love the best:

"You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you love. You don’t need a reason to leave. Wanting to leave is enough. Leaving doesn’t mean you’re incapable of real love or that you’ll never love anyone else again. It doesn’t mean you’re morally bankrupt or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac. It means you wish to change the terms of one particular relationship. That’s all. Be brave enough to break your own heart."

I can feel that gritty, punk part unfolding through the honesty. Through the words I choose in the dark spaces of the bar. With others who are sober or who are completely obliterated, or who I barely know. My classmates and I down those beers in acknowledgement of the date- Friday can't possibly come soon enough and yet week after week we return to the Monday grind, satiated by the knowledge. This is one of those things I don't want to end but couldn't live forever. This is an experience to go deep into.

My time in the ER was more real but less scary than I thought. I am about where I would expect for someone who hasn't been in school for years. I am okay with all of my short-comings and all of my faults tonight. These people, the purpose, the knowledge, and the loud music relax these tired bones. I am made whole again.

sheep

2012-01-16T16:33:00.000-08:00

Eight days have gone by. I try not to worry, or even to think too much. It's easy to get worked up when all you have is your imagination. Much harder to take concrete information and turn it into something else.
I check the weather to make sure no major storms have moved through. It's supposedly sunny, 55 degrees, however, it's common knowledge that weather in-town never really reflects the mountains. Silence can be such an annoyance. It feels almost intentional- this distance- this disconnect- although it certainly isn't.

I think the only way is to remember what it's like when he is here. To acknowledge and then store that information somewhere in the back of my mind; to hold onto the sunshine, and be fucking patient.

the revolution was a lie

2012-01-15T12:36:00.000-08:00

Information is the catalyst for it all. Finding out makes all the difference. Guess-work is a place to start. Believing that there is a way helps release the tension.

So does listening to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rkju7HkJOv4

Happy weekend.

HOT AND DANGEROUS

2012-01-08T15:41:00.002-08:00

I.

I wake up in the dark. Drive into the canyon and pick up S. Get to try ER right on time. Put on gloves.

I wake up in the dark. My alarm hasn't gone off yet. I'm thinking about him, can't sleep, don't want to start thinking about what it means to be apart for so long. Five weeks in eight months. Boyfriend, I say. Yes, he's my boyfriend. How novel.

I wake up in the dark. The wind is ripping outside of the tent, rain running in little rivers under the corners. I light the stove.

II.

I fell in love, but now I just feel tired. He's not here to share the little pieces of the day. I realize that this is the most important part of the relationship, the details that make it. I like the drudgery, the normalcy, the coffee and the same-ness. I like the being on the road with one another. I like the snuggling. I like the sex.

No phone contact, sporadic e-mails, repeating the same sweet phrases until they give me a toothache. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person who can take "I love you" and "I miss you" and turn them into doubt. For once, I just want the simple.

Exactly one month from today and I pick him up in Denver. Lordy.

all we could ask for

2011-12-31T22:41:00.000-08:00

(YOU/YOU/YOU 2011)

I miss you in a way I can't really describe right now. Walked away from a tall blonde with a guitar this evening to spend these last seventeen minutes of the year alone in your bed, while you're thousands of miles away. Tomorrow the journey takes on a completely different tone as the year rolls over. I try to think about the thousands of small things that came together to make this year the beast that it was- from heartbreak, to finding the flow, to cranking hard, to leaving my city, to finding those special people, to suffering hard, to forging a path, to those moments that brought you and I together.

These are the last moments in a long journey; the final countdown towards the zero I've been waiting for. These past 12 months have meant more to me than I can explain, having the space and time to leave the place I grew up in, to push hard, to fall in love so fully again and again and again and again and again....

You're a part of this equation, so much more than you will ever know. The only thing I am sure of, going into this new year, the one that is supposed to end all years, is my desire to be with you. I want to be with you. I want you, wholly. You have connected to a part of my heart that I put away for a while. I am connected to you.

I love you.

we could lose it all

2011-12-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

(M. 2011, writing me a letter)

I.

There are several different types of moments that make me sublimely happy. Beyond stoked. Out of my mind.

One of those is that second when someone you've been waiting for walks in through the door. No matter how long it's been, you always recognize them, always seems to find the lines in their face the same.

II

You have to find the thing that moves you. You have to ignore what you look like on the outside. Sometimes I want to reach through time and change the tiniest little thing. Maybe then it wouldn't be acne, blushing too red too easily, slight asthma, glasses, the works. I sometimes think what it would be like to be one of those girls that comes back from a run looking like she just had sex instead of looking like she was about to die. I sometimes think about who I would be without all of those subtle things.
There's no happy acceptance on the other side of this conversation. Moreover, there is just acceptance, a different kind of beast. It's one thing to invite in with open arms, it's another entirely to realize something about yourself begrudgingly and with hesitation. I am the latter, on all accounts.
I wish someone would have told me that the strong drugs used to fix one problem would make the other worse. I wish someone would have told me that there is no easy fix, that sometimes just being yourself is the best option possible. I think of all the people who love me for exactly what I am- who know the extent of the red face or the heaving lungs or the squint behind the coke-bottle lenses. I think of those people and what they would say. Any man worth his salt would stand by those things, whole-heartedly, without reservation. And any man that does not is not worth it.

christmas eve from a Jew

2011-12-24T10:27:00.000-08:00

Coffee makes everything better.

(UTAH/ARIZONA BORDER 2011- The best trip ever, so far.)

big dog little dog

2011-12-23T20:46:00.003-08:00

big dog little dog

2011-12-23T20:46:00.001-08:00

newness

2011-12-23T19:48:00.000-08:00

(LANDER, WY 2011)

We're starting a rock band.

came to win

2011-12-07T14:07:00.000-08:00

(UTAH)

"Most things are good in opposition to something else," he says.

My dad never says he loves me when we hang up the phone. He rarely says it in person, choosing instead to show his affection in other, less forward ways. Indian food, good movies and book recommendations seem to take the place of those words; a willingness to be there, show up, not ask too many questions, not lecture too much. I used to prompt and try to pull the phrase out, as if hearing the actual words would make the sentiment more meaningful. Eventually, I got tired of hearing him laugh.

"Yep," he would say.
"Yep.... what?" I would ask, holding my breath.
"Alright, talk to you later."
"Love you dad."
"Yep."

And so it would go.

When I called my dad today I didn't intend to talk for an hour. But the conversation lingered on, the words kept coming and I couldn't push them down. His prophecy had fallen on deaf, immature ears years earlier. Now, older, hopefully wiser, I recognize how much of this he could have seen. How much he did see. But we all have to live our own lives, we all have to walk down those roads one at a time. I appreciate that my dad has never said "I told you so." I appreciate this and I also recognize that he doesn't have to, my own voice is loud enough to drown us all out. I live on both sides of this line within myself; I point the finger with more vigor than any other; I am the most and the least compassionate, all at once.

Today, in a way, the levy broke. As all of the words spilled out, so came the frustration and defeat. My dad listened patiently, letting me figure out the words, then offered a few simple ideas.

"I'm here to help you," he said.
"I know dad." I felt my voice break. "Okay, well, thanks, I love you." It always comes out, out of habit.
"Love you to," he said.

Sometimes that is enough.

ice rink

2011-12-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

(FAMILY/FAMILY/FAMILY)

Yesterday, as I drove back to Lander, I caught sight of the Tetons in my rearview mirror and something kind of broke.

changing my mind.

2011-12-05T12:11:00.001-08:00

(JACKSON)

I.

I got tired of the exposure. The feeling that, somehow, all parts of me were out for common observation, the only thing that I could hide would be the words behind it all. Even then, things became really complicated. The anger came in, slowly at first, and then more and more, listening to her words.
How easy it is sometimes to feel played.
I wanted to shrink back into that shell; retract the soft and squishy parts, avoid the hard conversations, stop questioning what was really said and find some sort of consistent way to live.

II.

I lived at my parents house, the blue velvet couch always rubbing the wrong way, twisting up the sheets. I took the bus.

III.

Be calculated with your next move, he says. Don't just go somewhere to go. Make sure that you have something set up and go towards that. Find a place where you can do the things you want to. Don't compromise. Be careful, he warns.
I hear it in his voice.
I will, I say.
No, be careful. Keep all your limbs attached to the ground.

today

2011-12-03T18:26:00.000-08:00

Some days you win.

Some days you have moments where you are grinning ear to ear and things are moving in slow motion and you say to yourself, "I bet this is what they mean by powder". Some days you are so in the moment that you understand what is happening while it is happening- can appreciate how good the turns are as they slide by under your toes. Some days you are so in control.
Some days the job that you came for has 30 people all standing awkwardly in the same room hearing the words "we will only hire two of you". Some days the nice people who are letting you crash at their place forget to leave the door unlocked while they are away at a Christmas party and so instead of showering and going to bed early and having the place to yourself you have a very truthful conversation with your best friend on the phone as you drive around in the snow, aimless. Some days the man on the radio says, during this very brief and slightly hilarious drive, that is is -10 degrees out. Some days when you get up the nerve to call said nice people the phone goes straight to voicemail and you want to be angry, really, but they are 74 years old and so it's hard. Some days you wander back to the hostel where you stayed on night one of this crazy adventure and run into the same nice guy at the front desk who lets you crash in the downstairs lobby for as long as you want. And, some days, while you are down there you eat a whole raspberry dark chocolate bar and call it dinner. Some days you wonder how it all comes together and how it all works and how, despite the days that don't go as planned, you still wake up the next day with some idea that it will all make sense eventually. Some days you go to the bagel shop twice and let your mind you places it shouldn't and endure the cold feet and the uncertainty and the doubt for the moments like the ones that only happen some day.

what they call w-p-p

2011-12-02T14:34:00.001-08:00

The view from the inside and the outside are really different, sometimes. There are days when I feel alone, scared, over-worked, out of my element, tired and ready to quit. Then there are days where I am stoked, independent, elated, powerful and ready. These actually usually occupy the same days, oftentimes the same hours or even moments. With no one else to bounce ideas off of I sometimes find myself running circles because I haven't quite planned things out. Sometimes it's nice to pass someone else the torch and close your eyes for a minute. But being alone on the road that doesn't happen all that often.

It's nice to get some perspective from close friends every once in a while. I'm sitting in my car, getting nuked by snow in Jackson, WY when she says to me, "This is the time that we are supposed to make mistakes. Go for it. You have nothing to lose. Try as hard as you can and make it happen". I hear her and for a minute I feel a surge of energy that is quickly overcome by the throbbing in my left hand.

Tweaked joint pulling too hard at the climbing gym this morning after an epic-ly frigid morning trying to ride at Snow King. Hands that don't warm up after hiking straight up hill start to worry me. I work fast to pull a nice transition- snowshoes off, board on, collapse the pole and strap everything to my pack before I lose all feeling. Then, chunky shit-snow as a reward. Icy crust, dusted with light powder but breaking unevenly, impossible to turn. I can see the car so I just pull the board off and don't even bother to put the snowshoes back on. Back at the Subaru I seriously consider driving away and just leaving everything behind. Only in the movies.

So instead, I take advantage of the ladies day at the gym and get in at half price making use of all the options. Climbing, gym upstairs, hob-nobing with locals I met in Red Rocks and of course, the shower. One thing they don't mention is that anything in your car will be frozen solid in December in Wyoming so all that nice shampoo and lotion I have is out of the question. Not to mention the water I left in my coffee mug last night which I melted out in the grocery store bathroom this morning. I lather up with the hand soap on the wall, change my bra for the first time in days and head back to the car. I'll be back this evening for round two most likely but for now, on to the library.

I continually think about adjustments I would make to this system. Taking the bench seat out of my Subaru has been great. Haven't had to sleep in the back yet, but could see it coming. A truck is enticing for it's live-in abilities but a van is much more lovely in my eyes. However, if Wyoming winters have taught me anything so far (and, uh, it's only December 2nd) it's that you really need to know your shit in whatever vehicle you're driving. From what I remember, even vans with AWD don't do that well on 10% grade mountain passes. So, 4x4 vans are what I dream of.

I'm here at the library and he's out there, a couple hundred miles away, getting nuked by snow in the mountains. A friend sends me an e-mail to let me know he sent out a message and for a split second I think of driving six hours back over the pass just to see his crooked handwriting. It's futile. This is the adventure life, the thing that everyone talks about, the fruit that from the outside looks sweeter than anything else. There is no other way, really, than to just live it.

now that right there calls for a celebration.

2011-11-26T17:14:00.001-08:00

(SNOQUALMIE PASS/GREENLAKE/2011)

I.

Ever have to have one of those discussions?

She says to me- write it all down, figure it all out, edit out the parts you want to and then just do it. It's that last part that makes me nervous. I tell myself that anyone worth their salt will listen carefully and take away the important parts; not create an elephant out of innuendo. That's the risk you run by getting close with people. By showing your true colors. Eventually you'll have to admit to the imperfect, no matter how small, and take whatever mundane facial expression they have for you.
With careful consideration I start to jot some notes down. Try to think things through without editing too soon. Putting pen to paper, watching the words come out, trying to explain the idiosyncrasies of being human is almost cathartic. Once it's out there, it's out there.

II.

He shows up with flowers and ice cream. Kisses me sweetly and says he wore a sweatshirt I've never seen so I'd be impressed. Looks more fit than the last time I saw him. In the morning he kisses my face until I give in and kiss him back, smiling into the crook in his neck, the place that is becoming so familiar.

conclusion

2011-11-25T17:21:00.001-08:00

(ABSAROKAS, 2011)

... and then sometimes you get shut down by a whiteout. Yep.

possibility

2011-11-25T08:09:00.001-08:00

(RYAN WORCESTER//BY SETH HOLTON)

Avalanche danger says moderate. Human-triggered slides possible. 2 foot depth on top of the crust. Unstable but not catastrophic. I try to do the math, quickly. Two hours each way, sun sets at 5pm. This isn't what I would call an alpine start- probably wouldn't even touch my board until sometime after noon.
But lazy mornings, two cups of coffee, having my car start after more than a month in the same lot- these are all good things. I think sometimes the accumulation of blowing off the little things is what ultimately results in complications. So I'll remain steadfast in trying to do the right thing. Which means, sometimes, just saying "fuck it" and throwing the board into the car too late and going anyway.

waiting for you to come home or come out

2011-11-22T16:06:00.000-08:00

(MOAB, UT. MY FAVORITE PLACE TO SLEEP.)

Nights are getting longer, you see. Days in the northwest are getting blacker. Time to head back to the middle so I can snuggle with him and watch the sky light itself on fire in the evening.

I'd like to take a moment to record something that can only be described as "the epicness". There's this hankering, this longing, this pulsing feeling that comes into my life every now and then that tells me I am not epic enough. As in, sure you went climbing but you didn't run it out. Or, yeah, you went snowboarding but it was inbounds. Sometimes it's hard to get a good gauge on where good old-fashioned fun ends and epicness starts. But I think that this presents a couple of interesting things, the least of which is the idea that whatever you are doing just isn't quite great enough.
I don't remember who, but someone once told me that the times comes in adulthood where you must realize that you are ordinary. Sure, special, and a shining flower and unique and all that jazz but also completely and totally normal. The opposite of epic. This is a concept that I think has struck me over the past couple of months- just how mediocre I really am at a lot of the things that I am passionate about- at least compared to the sparkling 1%.
That's what really gets me I guess. The comparison factor doesn't have a clear starting or ending point. And while you may be maxing out just by driving to the climb in bad weather, someone else may be out there soloing the damn thing while you sit in the car desperately trying to figure out if you are going to continue.
It's a game to play in your own head, without too much to gain from finding an answer. So, today, yes, I admit, I am not that freaking epic. Oh how I would love to be, just as I would love to be x, y or z in so many other things. But I am stuck right here, so I am going to damn well enjoy it.

Did you say you knew which way was north?

2011-11-20T17:19:00.000-08:00

(CENTRAL OREGON)

(VEGAS)

(VEGAS)

He's moving to California with his new girlfriend.

corn

2011-11-20T16:36:00.000-08:00

(Vegas sunrise from Red Rocks, 2011)

I started the song again and choked back the words.
I love you. Isn't quite right.
I miss you. Doesn't begin to explain the feeling.
Bad Toto lyrics. Absolutely.

"All I wanna do
when I wake up in the morning
is see your eyes

All I wanna do in the middle of the evening
is hold you tight"

Yes, it has come to this.

passion pit

2011-11-19T16:54:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there is a clear distinction between making a decision and making the right decision. I have recently been humbled by the power of attempting to perform the latter while wanting desperately to do the former. When family is involved, history has weight. Ignorance burns bridges.

(My feelings of anger had no clear direction, they simply existed and hung in space. I was pulled down, pulled in two directions, pulled against myself and against reason. I grated through my own thoughts.)

Here is the thing- family is family. Longevity is a force of its own, warranting respect. Trying hard sometimes means keeping your mouth shut, doing the right thing and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

weighted

2011-11-16T23:07:00.000-08:00

(Summer)

Sometimes it is easy to get crushed by who someone has been.

come home love

2011-11-15T09:37:00.000-08:00

I.
I don’t do my laundry. Instead, I shove everything into the duffel bag, huck the bag into the back of a Subaru, watch as it disappears into the belly of a plane. In Seattle I smile as it slides back into my hands.
“I wonder if I got a letter,” I say out loud in the terminal. My friends look confused as I pull back the zipper, exposing a thick, white card imprinted with the letters “TSA”.
“Yep,” I nod. “They always check the duffels. Easier to open, I guess.” Thanks airport security. Smiling to myself, I imagine the tired Homeland Security officer taken aback by the discovery of a bag full of dirty laundry. Not so glamorous.

II.
Sometimes he looks at me and I miss a beat. Other times I roll my eyes, and blush with embarrassment. I look away.
The space that grows between us when he is gone is filled with longing this time. I understand, intellectually, why it is that we are doing what we are doing. There’s not much sense in trying to keep two wild people contained yet when set on our opposite courses I feel the pull of him from four states away. The familiar sounds of the answering machine, the silence.

III.
40 degrees. Thighs feel the chill coming off of the water as I pound the pavement. Today I’ve remembered hat and gloves but my cheeks are still burning. Lungs heaving.

IIII.
Oatmeal stout.
Bad Top 40 radio.
Mini-Van mom-driving.

alone on the wall

2011-11-15T09:33:00.000-08:00

sense of place

2011-11-12T07:33:00.001-08:00

The dial tone gets louder and louder; the ring gets longer. Sometimes those hard phone calls are the ones that stretch out in front of you forever. The words you just can’t say.
“I’m going home,” I think. But then, my brain knows better. I am going to the place that I was born. I am geographically returning to someplace that I have been. But my home is somewhere much deeper in the desert. Or maybe it’s simply the groove that has been worn into the front seat of my car. It could be the shower in the Noble while I watch bubbles of electric colored shampoo pool against a drain that isn’t working. Home is the place that I stop looking behind me and let my head relax against whatever is nearest.

I haven’t felt that pulling feeling in a while. Going against the grain, a hand brushed to the concrete, the abrasion of breathing too deeply in the cold morning air. But sometimes it likes to creep in. I no longer think of it as unfamiliar, even if we haven’t knocked heads in a while. I wonder if this is what he means when he says, “You have a spark”.
“Whatever happens,” he says. “You have that spark. You’ll be amazing. It’s going to be amazing”.
Behind us is the grocery store. I love roaming the worn wooden isles of this place, having just discovered this doorway, right off of Main Street. When I travel I look for bookstores, small grocery stores, gear shops. I look for gas stations close to the highway. I look for the mental explosion of a place that haunts you in your dreams.

Moab, UT is really good.

something out of nothing where I come from

2011-11-10T19:47:00.000-08:00

There are things they don’t tell you about being alone. There is the way that the open road will always seem longer and more beautiful. There are the nights that bring on complete and total loneliness like you have never felt before. There are the things that you have to laugh about, loudly, on your own because yes, they are just that funny.

They won’t tell you about the dreamland that is driving for hours alone. I do my best thinking in this space yet I am also pushed to the darkest corners of my mind in this spot. There’s something amazing about the specific things that draw in your eye when you are responsible for driving. Not able to spend hours lounging with my head against the window I focus intensely on the same monotony for hours- a long, sometimes winding, sometimes straight black line. The scenery is absorbed in colors. Here, brighter, oranges and tan of the high desert; here, muted, dark, less vertical relief. It is not so much seeing as becoming a part of.

The gas stations, the rest stops, the act of pumping gas and pouring coffee into the same blue mug and turning the key and playing the music more loudly becomes the same. They are one gas station, one rest stop, one giant cup of Joe. This is my personal “Groundhog Day”.

I am not sad to travel alone. I am simply aware of my aloneness and in this, I become more aware of my time with others. The back of his truck, stuffed with sleeping bags, condensation on the window, desert towers, my wallpaper.

packing, again

2011-10-04T10:44:00.000-07:00

I blink. One thousand dollars. It's laughable, really.

Physical form succumbs to overall exhaustion. Two miles into the run I trip, skin my knee, fall in cow shit, laugh. Hiking to the crag I can't catch my breath. I can't fall asleep then am wide awake at 4 AM.

Instead of trying to resist, I go with it. 4? Okay, sounds good. Pull myself up out of bed, humming. Make some coffee, drink way too much of it way to fast. Layer, de layer, caffeine sweats. Writing scholarship applications like a madwoman. Trying to figure out how to phrase things so they are as honest as possible without giving too much of myself away. Yes, it was hard. No, it's not anymore. Do I deserve it? No, no one does. I'm just another person who is seriously passionate about dirt and rocks and trees and wants to keep playing and making other people happy.

I signed another contract for the spring. Proctoring. A quick count reveals that this means between May 2011 and May 2012 I will have spent 9 1/2 months in the field. I don't know how to feel about this.

Talking to my sister on the phone, writing letters to friends and family. Driving long distances for small adventures. Eating a good meal surrounded by like-minded folks. The little things start adding up to a life! Feeling pretty good, despite the exhaustion.

Wishes:

Yosemite
Big expedition
Three month vacation from my vacation
my situation to come back home sooner
more time

oh oh oh

2011-08-30T13:01:00.000-07:00

(Bend, OR Beerfest 2011)

Just living the life, I guess.

I look over at the foot of my bed- mountain bike, crash pad, jean cut offs. Downstairs, in the storage locker, I can see how the physical puzzle pieces of my life fit together. Climbing gear pushed under the bindings of my snowboard, kitchen set-up cozy in its rubbermaid box. I'm living a transient life on the road and yet sleeping in a bed. I like being clean and warm and yet choose to spent most of my time outdoors. I like listening to bad pop music but want to be as tough as possible. Dichotomy.

It seems like when you're trying to find the right things to say sometimes they start to disappear.

In a couple days I'll be back in the field, somewhere in the Winds, swatting bugs and eating a little too much flour. Maybe then everything will start to make sense again.

oranjeboom

2011-08-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

Refusing to deal with multiple levels of bullshit. Refusing to go into the mountains with a giant group of people who have no idea what they are doing, no matter how nice.
Drawing the line at the things that just don't feel right. Not pushing through into a place where I'm doing something with no positive energy or motivation behind it.

Tonight for some reason (and folks, lets be honest, it could have been the beer) I felt really compelled to pull my computer out and start writing. I'm not talking about some sort of beautiful fictional prose or even accurate documentation. Oh no, I'm speaking of the dullest form of writing possible: e-mail. But for some reason, all I wanted to do was put those words down on the screen, send out some thoughts and connect with friends and family in a way I haven't been able to for a while.
After the third e-mail I got into a flow of sorts, banging out thoughts without hesitation. J. Dad. T. B. Each one became easier, my brain more alive. And lets face it- I'm aware that my writing... my grammar, my sentence construction, my spelling.... leaves something to be desired. I am no longer confident in my ability to put those thoughts together into something that is beautiful. However, I am confident in my ability to put them together in a way that is real. That's all that I want these days. Just to be genuine.

welcome

2011-08-24T07:44:00.001-07:00

My hands are shaking before I even have my first sip of coffee. By the time I've finished the americano I can't keep the pen steady. It's 8 in the morning and 80 degrees outside. A new version of hot.

I half my bank account before the morning is over, the probable cause of the shortness of breath and shakiness. Instead, I like blaming the altitude. Lander isn't that high but it's a more convenient answer. Instead of truly focusing I scroll through climbing photos of South Africa, putting together winter plans in my brain. The not knowing is an okay and thrilling way to live right now, especially when the weather is warm and the familiar faces abound. Small town life agrees with me.

How do you ever know which way to go?

chorus line

2011-04-21T18:40:00.000-07:00

My sister has started smiling more. The boxes in my room get fatter and fatter while things on the shelves disappear.
One week and we're on the road again.

again and again

2011-04-13T10:14:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those people that gets obsessed. My focus is best when it is complete, shutting out all other stimulus. I used to have a bad habit of using sick days to watch an entire season of a TV show I had never seen. Or listening to the same song on maximum volume twenty times in a row, only to later lose interest. Somehow the monotony and repetition was cathartic for my brain.
I've learned that, without something productive to gnaw on, my mind becomes an instrument of torture. Looping through thoughts, I don't really seem to make any headway and instead dig deeper into the same old grooves. It's things like climbing that take the place of these mental patterns and allow me to actually spend quiet time, alone.
As I've gotten older I've come to respect this quality in myself as something to channel for good instead of evil. Understanding certain things, I've been able to find outlets that speak to this personality trait rather than work against it.
This summer I'm off on a road trip to Utah to climb with S., then to Lander for the NOLS instructor course (35 days in the backcountry) and finally back to beautiful Leavenworth for a wilderness EMT course (30 days). Each of these experiences involves complete immersion; in some case, such as with NOLS, I'll have no outside contact for the duration of the course. While this thought is a little daunting I know that I am well suited for these types of scenarios. I like to become, completely, what I am experiencing. Ultimately, it is the contrast of all the different phases of my life that is made even more special by how intense they each are.

lactic acid mouth

2011-04-04T09:59:00.000-07:00

It takes a while for my legs to remember what it feels like to be good-tired. They start grumbling at me pretty early on up the trail. For a while I play a trick on myself and try to figure out exactly what it is that hurts- my breathing is labored but I'm not suffocating, my legs burn but they aren't cramping, my shoulders are a little creaky but can't really be described as "painful". As I go through the list I try to find something that could cause me to stop and can't really pinpoint any one ailment. This is the frustration, the laughable irony of realizing that the only concrete thing that is telling me to stop is my brain. Sometimes that's the hardest thing to quiet.

A long run with friends helps me to remember why I started doing it all in the first place. Sometimes you have to push past the initial pain to reach that place of contentment. Slow warm-ups aren't a myth; this I must remind myself.

So, okay, fine, I don't hate running. I just dislike starting.

H2O

2011-03-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Photo Credits: Liz Lantz (!!!), rainfromthesky, my random photo inspiration folder (if this is you, let me know!)

Surfing has always held a special place in my heart. Or, more accurately, my mind.

A couple years ago a very generous friend of mine gave me her wetsuit when she moved to Portland. Her husband, drawn towards other things, gave me his old board. The pair sat in my closet for a while until one day I pulled the board from its bag and noticed that wax had melted into a prominent ridge on one side, most likely a consequence of living on its side in LA for a while. Using an old tarp to cover the floor, I spent a few afternoons scraping the excess wax in the sliver of summer sun that beamed in through my bedroom window. My strongest recollection of this time is the distinct smell of surf wax and the anticipation of where the board and I would go.

I grew up on the coast and, almost inadvertently, created an insatiable need to see water at almost all times. Sometimes I take for granted how wet the northwest is, other than as an excuse to become a little bit more of a homebody. But with my explorations through landlocked states I've come to appreciate what it is to be surrounded by liquid.

spicy sweet

2011-03-11T12:20:00.001-08:00

Last night I shared dinner and bottle of wine with S. and D., ate one too many broken fortune cookies and drove home in the dark grinning like an idiot. This morning when I got up the mailbox was still empty. This serves as a constant reminder. Standing on my porch barefooted, glaring angrily at the absence of something, the metal at the bottom of the box pressing cold against my fingers. To be still and to wait is one thing; to be held captive by someone who isn't delivering is another. I'm glad to be reminded, sometimes, that I am better off in my own biosphere, underneath my shell. Too much energy towards someone who is closed off just makes me feel empty anyway.

Yoga to reggae in the living room- breathing deep. I can actually hear my muscles tearing this time. Probably could have used a little bit more yoga, sooner. The thing about it is- I used to be too competitive. I wanted to be the best at something that is centered only around personal gains, an impossibility, really. I didn't get what I needed out of it until I was able to start the practice on my own terms. Which, for me, just so happens to be spontaneously in my living room, listening to Collie Buddz.

"Hey", my grandma says, "whatever floats your boat".

Chinatown to buy a cleaver and a wok. Turning my head against the stares. I like being this far out in my own city.

pushing your life to the limit

2011-03-03T14:05:00.001-08:00

Every morning when I wake up, I shuffle into the kitchen and pull out the oats. Fat, raw snowflakes- into the microwave, pull out the soymilk. Honey. Cinnamon. Raisins. Maybe a little crystalized ginger if I'm feeling snazzy. Or a banana. Or even sometimes raw almonds or some sunflower seeds.

This morning I jumped up feeling brand new
Feeling my highs and my lows

I brew up some tea and pour a glass of water, sit down at the small table in the corner and look out into the backyard. The chickens are usually up making their rounds, saluting the morning sun. They scratch and peck in the dirt and pull out new buds that have pushed up since the previous day.

Hawaiian music playing in the background, I start pulling cookbooks off the shelf above the fridge and flip through while the tea goes cold and the oatmeal vanishes.

SEE THROUGH SOUL

2011-02-10T10:31:00.000-08:00

Thanks very much to SH for reading every single word of this amazing, life-changing blog.
May you enjoy many more cryptic, long-winded posts about how much I love playing in the dirt.

Haha. ;)

backcountry

2011-02-05T20:01:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning in the mountains. Snuggled up under the blankets, M and T murmuring and rolling around on the bunk beneath me, all three of us fighting the sunshine coming in through the windows. Finally, pulled out of bed, I was struck by the stillness and the bright white of being surrounded by snow. Waking up in the mountains fills my heart up to the very brim.
We ate blueberry pancakes for breakfast, complete with ginger tea, coffee, kombucha. Pulled on the snow gear and headed out the door.
Snow conditions seemed bad for riding so I left my board in Seattle and opted instead to travel a little bit more lightly on snowshoes. Crunching up through steep terrain in deep powder, fresh flakes sticking to my eyelashes and tongue.
Moonlight Basin Day- crystal blue ice, frozen over lakes, keeping her warm and dry, quinoa and sweet potatoes for lunch in the woods, finding the rhythm, snow patrol puppies, tacos (round two), laughing again and again and again just because it is.

Getting on a plane for the first time in three years next week. Nervous to touch down.

jumping the gun

2011-01-29T14:50:00.000-08:00

The north face of Mt. Baring.

You ever do that thing where you listen to the same song over and over again? ;)

I drove to Bellingham at 70 MPH with 3 ft of visibility, slight nerves and a hunch that he wasn't going to be too impressed. You do the math.
As it turns out, some people choose to deal with things head on while others continue to engage in the same scenarios as if nothing has changed when in fact everything has changed. I'm congratulating myself that at least I've managed to do the former.

That thing about listening to the same song over and over? Kind of like looking at photos from trips you took years ago, over and over again. Kind of like refreshing your browser four times a minute. Kind of like eating oatmeal everyday for breakfast. Kind of like staying or going or not staying or not going or just talking about staying and going.

I'm trying to be patient but inside I'm all kinds of amped up, just waiting for the news. Approximately two weeks until things become more concrete. Big plans around the corner. :)

2011-01-09T09:47:00.000-08:00

Sometimes those people you met a long time ago come back to meet you again.

Thrive.

2010-11-30T09:37:00.000-08:00

A younger me.

in the mountains

2010-11-29T09:12:00.000-08:00

Positive thinking cultivates success guys, it's totally true.

It's a long gray morning in the city. My mind is still filled with thoughts of the weekend's adventures. I heard once, from a far away and distant mentor of mine, that the adventure starts when everything goes wrong. I love this idea, that one can take something seemingly not great and use the mind to turn it into the jumping off point for something really positive. Objectively, there are always too many good things happening at once, not too few. It's all about where you look.

Friday G. and I drove over the pass on highway 2. We stopped just short of the summit to chain up for icy conditions and when I tried to cross the snowbank on the side of the road to find a place to pee I plunged in, up to my knees. The snow was powdery, very dry for western Washington conditions, and I laughed, shaking out each jean pant leg. Amazing, for how much nice outdoor gear I own, how often I end up walking around in the rain or snow in cotton and tennis shoes. You'd think a girl would learn.
Driving through the Tumwater the water looked still in the darkness, rolling in cold swells towards the canyon. Leavenworth, brightly lit for the holiday season, was a dazzling display. I took five consecutive photos through the fogged window of the car, each one looking as though I were admiring planet earth from deep in space. We headed to South- drank some sweet basil margaritas, ate some tacos, listened to some live music-and then plunged back into the cold night to continue on to Cashmere.
As we turned onto the icy bridge the welcoming sign for Cashmere, WA "home of applets and cotlets" burned bright. Next door, the local BBQ joint was closed down, its entrance guarded by a single, golden statue of a pig.

The house was quickly warm and I felt myself being pulled towards sleep. The mix of quiet snow falling on the roof and alcohol made staying awake nearly impossible, and although it was only 9:00, I languished on the couch. Cashmere, home to just under 3.000 people, was still except for our neighbors. Their booze infused backyard bonfire mayhem punctuated my thoughts as I gave in to the darkness and drifted off.

Morning burned bluebird bright. Driving into Plain, WA I was struck by the absolute beauty of the Washington countryside. In a way, I feel more connected to these portions of the state than the city right now. I am pulled towards these open spaces, towards the simplicity of what they are but also what they represent- the images and also the negative spaces that they can create. Hot chocolate in Plain, Getting directions based on cow fields. And always, creating new memories to layer on top of the old ones, bittersweet.

My snowboard sunk heavily into the fresh powder and suddenly I was knee deep, feeling as though I were swimming underwater. Tiny snowflakes were hanging in the air, sticking to my gloved hands as I popped out of my bindings and rescued my board from a deep hole. I tried to distract my mind, to not think about how heavy the snow really felt, how it would feel if it were me in the hole instead of my board. Instead, I secured the board to my pack, kicked a few heavy steps into the snow and turned 180 degrees to face the mountains again. Plunging forward I felt an old and familiar feeling creep in; the feeling of breathing heavily to know that you are alive, pulsing temples, sweat spiking through the various layers I was wearing to keep myself warm. One step after the other, always forward.

I don't remember returned to the city, too tired to catalogue those moments. Instead, a hot shower later, some new aches and pains are discovered. I stop worrying about whether or not it is enough, because of course it is.

2010-11-13T15:05:00.000-08:00

By 2:30 am I've reached a very nervous point, knowing the toll that being awake takes on my body. The beer and wine have both faded into stone cold sober. I sit up in bed and adjust to being vertical, feeling the muscles in my back resisting, not wanting to hold me upright.

Sugar, caffeine, alcohol, sometimes wheat, dairy, saturated fat, staying up late- these days I'm a good kid. I don't do much in the way of city life because I am only equipped to pour myself into one existence or the other. I choose my outdoor life.

Loudly.

2010-11-10T13:40:00.000-08:00

Washington's weather is changing. We're reaching the in-between point where everyday has possibility for something new- will it be surprise sunny skies or enough snow to carve turns in? Dark, violent rains that coat my glasses? Strawberry-orange sunrise?

Every year it seems that the change in seasons catches people off guard- I'm always amazed how at every turn people want to remark on the weather. "I can't believe how ______ it is?!" they exclaim, scrunching up their faces. "Is it usual for this time of year?!"

Wanderlust gives way to laziness while I curl up and look through photos of bouldering in Gold Bar, drink tea and try to imagine myself all the way to Bishop.

Psyche.

2010-11-01T09:06:00.000-07:00

'Acceptance' is one of those universal things that I'm always trying to learn. I used to think poorly of the term because it seemed to imply a "lie down and take it" attitude. However, these days I'm having a bit of a change of heart.
Acceptance has recently become the ability to make choices that improve my life, no matter what the situation is. I guess one could argue that this sounds a little bit more like 'flexibility'- I'm here to suggest that the two have much more to do with one another than you might think. Don't stop believing and it will all come together.

Putting this into practice in my own reality has brought me to a place that I fought for a long, long time to end up in; previously with little success. For a while I tried whatever I could to get excited about climbing- training plans, magazines, movies, spray, beating myself up for not being strong enough, and at times, denial. "I am so psyched!!!” I'd think and then promptly frown and think of a million places I would rather be. I was quick to notice the cold or how my boyfriend at the time always seemed so checked out or how I felt too scared to be having fun. Let me tell you- climbing trips aren't short or free and that's a lot of resources to be eating up to have a miserable time.

During this time I lived with a nagging feeling that I was being disingenuous to myself, not knowing what it was that would actually get me excited. It seemed that people all around me were psyched out of their minds and while I was 'living the dream' I couldn't figure out why it just wasn't working for me. This is usually the point where self-deprecation really kicks in- the "what is wrong with me" mindset is easier than admitting maybe it's just an attitude thing.

This past weekend- more so, the past couple of months- have been pivotal in helping me to move past some major mental roadblocks. I have come to see that I stopped climbing for myself for quite a time. Here's the thing; I don't really blame anyone else for holding me back or not attending to my priorities because that would be avoiding the uncomfortable. We create our own reality- I created mine. I'm coming to accept that I can climb or not climb and the reality is that, a few people aside, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. I can climb 5.6 bolt ladders on choss or 5.13r trad (ok, not yet) or steep snow or ice or big mountains... and no one really minds which one I do, or even if I do it. The greater contribution is whether or not I am a supportive partner, good friend or person motivated to bring more positive energy into the world. Ultra-cheesy? Yes. True? You decide.

The feeling that, maybe if I could just 'get psyched' things would improve, has left me. In its place is an unbelievable amount of energy that I have funneled into 1,300 miles on the road in the past week. I have climbed in the pouring rain in the desert, regarding the unstable, wet rock as some of the ‘most dangerous climbing I’ve ever done’ and been rewarded with sports bra climbing conditions the next day. I have crushed plastic in a gym the size of a garage after driving two hours in the dark. In all of these instances I have felt there is nowhere else I would have rather been, surrounded by people sharing the feeling.

As I climb, I notice that I am much more likely to urge myself forward, more sure of my ability to safely gauge the terrain or fall lines, eager to be a part of the experience. Someone once told me, in a darker moment of my climbing, that I had to find the place where I no longer cared about failing in order to break through and send. I've also heard this as, "Feel the fear and do it anyway". My experience recently has been this- there is no way to strong-arm oneself into this place other than to step back, smile and accept.

I am psyched.

2010-09-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

I haven't written for a very long time here because so much has happened. Some of the wounds are very much too deep.

Wyatt and I don't get to sleep next to one another anymore, nor do we race through the woods to see who tires first. I looked back through old memories the other day and couldn't quite shake the feeling that I have moved onto a new life. I definitely believe that we live a thousand times over. Looking back it's not always obvious when these changes occurred but it possible to see the many different people that we are. And still, always just ourselves.

I have grown physically smaller and stronger, leaner, more apt to bite my tongue but still sometimes a rambling, laughing goon. My climbing partners have changed, I have gotten back on the bike, I have run more miles than my knees care to count. Overall, I am more appreciative of living everyday. I think, even through the hurt, I smile more easily.

The human capacity to love and to love again is an amazing thing. I have loved and am better for it, whether or not it has brought me an equal amount of love. Right now I love the first hot sip of coffee in the morning, feeling light while climbing, drinking too many IPA's with friends, making use of more hours in the day than before, driving to mix tapes that my sister made and remembering, again and again, that it will all be okay.

2010-07-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

This was a very long time ago.
I think that having a sibling is one of the most wonderful, sacred, annoying, frustrating things that could happen to a person. I really, really love my sister and can't wait to hang out with her when we are both old and wrinkly.

2010-07-08T09:01:00.000-07:00

More than once I've been told that this photo makes me look like a little boy. It's old- if I try to estimate accurately I'd say that it was taken almost four years ago. Whistler is a place that I always considered to be out of reach for me in both winter and summer. It is expensive and big, in a foreign country (yes, Canada is a foreign country, despite being close), and the bike park isn't especially forgiving. I wrecked off a bridge there once and haven't forgotten the feeling.

I'm not concerned with looking like a little boy so much because this photo so accurately describes all of the things that I was feeling at the time- nervousness, anticipation, pure and unadulterated joy, confusion and peace. Conflicting emotions, yes, that can all reside in the same space or person. I miss riding at Whistler. Mostly I just miss the big, open skies, following people who were much better than I and getting a glimpse of a distant future that could be.

2010-06-08T10:46:00.000-07:00

The human condition persists.
These three people are worth spending some precious time checking out:

TIM MATSUI
http://timmatsui.com/

CORY RICHARDS
http://crichardsphoto.com/

JIMMY CHIN
http://www.jimmychin.com/

They will change your mind.

bikes

2009-08-01T09:32:00.000-07:00

Sometime over the past couple of weeks I feel like I fell into a bit more of a groove. The early morning coffee production, sometimes with Nic and sometimes without, has been refined to an art. In my ever-sleepy state I am still able to enjoy the hissing of the kettle on the stove and the sharp smell of the grounds.

In retrospect-
Sometimes things are so abundantly obvious as to be invisible. For some reason I couldn't connect to dots from my lack of cycling to my lack of calm. But about a year ago I put down the bike and couldn't pick it back up. There was too much connected to it. Too much riding on all of those memories that always resurfaced with every pedal stroke. Unrelenting thoughts about people connected to the bike world and places I had been. I always came out of that haze feeling like I had failed in some way.
It is always during the hardest times in ones life that we are able to find the things that really give us strength. Hardship brings about the clarity to find inspiration and the recklessness to follow it.

For me, nothing will ever fill the void like the bike. I need that relationship in my life, no matter what form it chooses to take. Coasting down the street on a cruiser brings me as much joy as ripping it at Whistler or squeezing through tiny channels in downtown traffic.
Like an old friend, our relationship does not dwindle with space or time, but I know now that I will always come back to it. That feeling comforts me.

2009-07-13T13:22:00.001-07:00

By far, the greatest thing about the human species is our ability to forget.

hide behind.

2009-06-11T10:52:00.000-07:00

There is more than our one-dimensional selves. We are more than what we do, or are we?

moderation

2009-05-21T16:04:00.000-07:00

Do one thing every day that scares you.

That's what she said to me before we parted ways. When I left, it was bluebird on the mountain and the stillness in the air was making my ears ring. I drove the winding road back to Longmire with the windows down and the music loud. In the day light the Nisqually Glacier looked even more imposing than it had as a shadow the night before.

I've been trying to live by these words or at the very least, remember them. I'm afraid of so much more than I used to be so there is a lot to work with.

Listening to the phone.

2009-04-20T09:36:00.000-07:00

Sun is finally out in the morning. Makes it much easier to wake up.
Our house is pretty quiet in the morning these days. Good place for meditation.

marching through those pearly gates.

2009-04-05T20:29:00.000-07:00

Progress can be measured in such little bits. It's all about attitude.

The other day my friend Brittany and I attempted to climb at Little Si, only to be shut down by some bad weather. Or, more accurately, some very wet rock underneath bluebird skies. The routes which remained dry from the night before were some scary looking 14's and thus, we made our way back to the parking lot with great hopes of finding some dry rock elsewhere.
One large chocolate-peanut butter milkshake later we were back on I-90, headed towards Exit 38. Which, it turns out, was covered in four inches of snow.

It was at this point that many would have thrown in the towel- remarking on their enduring bad luck, the audacity of the weather in not cooperating, silently berating their climbing partner for wanting to try some "early season" climbing. Fessing is like smoking- you do it even though you know it's bad for you, and despite being bad for you sometimes it feels oh so good.

Yet at that moment Brittany and I, driven by milkshake, looked at one another with sheer determination and both asked, "Well, where to?" It was in that otherwise insignificant moment that I felt my inspiration for climbing swell a little bit. Optimism and determination are contagious and having a climbing partner who appreciates that dynamic can make all the difference. I'm so thankful to be climbing with people these days who just want to have the best time possible.
Really, it's all about attitude.

Too cool for three dollar showers!

2009-03-31T08:11:00.000-07:00

Rock climbers are the best.

Life as a dog.

2009-03-31T07:50:00.000-07:00

Headed South again!

2009-03-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

This weekend we're headed to Smith and Trout Creek for a two day whirlwind of climbing! In the sun! FINALLY!

Beth Rodden touched my dog.

2009-03-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've had a lot of time off from work. In the interest of staying somewhat in shape I've taken to "hiking" Little Si out by North Bend with Wyatt. It's a somewhat twisted agenda- hiking a trail that leads to a crag that I cannot climb due to both injury and weather to stand and look at the rock and maybe say "wow" once or twice and finish the hike and then walk back by the rock and say "wow" a couple more times and hike out all the while thinking about climbing. Hmmmmm.

When I am not running circles in these well-worn grooves in my mind, I let my thoughts wander and try to enjoy the smells and sounds of being away from the city. Wyatt runs hot laps around my legs and never gets tired of rolling in the snow or the mud which, lets face it, is impossible not to smile at.

Yesterday, at Little Si, I started to think about mortality. Nic and I were hanging out at home recently and as he was lying on his yoga mat stretching he started talking quietly about how we only have one body. How, if we don't take care of that body, it won't last very long or allow us to pursue our goals after it breaks.
As I thought back to this conversation I became aware of how old and creaky my body feels despite being quite young in age. It's interesting to be reminded that I am only human- and that what I ask my physical form to do requires some maintenance other than cheeseburgers.

-rachel

one day and I'm sick of plastic- nic

2009-03-15T21:11:00.000-07:00

So sick of plastic climbing and rain drops. Woke up this morn to snow falling, and tales of powder turns. Not for me though I went to the gym and it was lame. What psyche I had was burned out of me by the crappy pink floyd soundtrack. The gym is a soul suck, face it. I would rather have hand warmers in my chalk bag and my snowboard pants over my harness, getting ready for the big wipper. Just me and my partner and a big cliff. Can't wait for a clear day, I'm going to tell work to fuck off.

natural ebb and flow

2009-03-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

"This American Life" on NPR has been one my favorite radio programs for quite some time. One of the most indulgent, wonderful feelings on the road was live streaming one episode while laying in the van on a rest day. Just a little slice of 9-5 culture while living a life that is anything but. The newest episode, 'human resources', is fascinating and disturbing all at once.

Wyatt and I hiked Little Si with my friend D. the other day, throwing snow up in the air and whooping with the shear joy of it.

little nugget, bad attitude

2009-03-10T11:38:00.000-07:00

Injury can turn the best of us into ego-driven, three-headed monsters. I know I've been fighting my urge to act like a little snot lately, not always with the greatest success. My body hurts badly and in various places- the culmination of these injuries has become debilitating.
In an attempt to keep myself relatively sane while the weather is too intense to climb outside (and under a gym climbing ban) I've taken to swimming at the local pool a couple nights a week. The last time I swam this regularly was while road racing several years ago and I've found some strange comfort in the smell of chlorine, the throb of my strokes under water and the burning in my chest while I try not to drown.
Nic has resisted my attempts to turn him into my swimming partner and my tales of ninety year old men in tight trunks don't seem to be very persuasive.

So, uh, anyone want to swim laps?

Nostalgia is a dirty word.

2009-03-06T18:19:00.000-08:00

The first thing that I noticed was how pale and tired everyone looked. The second was how much I missed Wyatt during the day; how much I wanted to watch him run between the cactus plants, ears flopping.

Nic and I went and got our hair cut, side by side, the other night and now we both look a little less like dirtbags. And yes, we are that nerdy.

Happy March.

slowly, my child.

2009-03-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

I've taken to drinking a lot of coffee in the morning these days.

back on the bike

2009-02-26T10:16:00.000-08:00

I can't believe it snowed again in Seattle.
We're leaving Bishop today, headed home. The sun, high in the sky, soon to be a distant memory.

jazz hands

2009-02-23T14:29:00.000-08:00

Bishop, CA.

Hot Rocks

2009-02-19T10:04:00.000-08:00

Nic loves the red alien. And the pink tri cam. And the gris gris.

Fun in PDX

2009-02-19T09:52:00.001-08:00

Oh yeah, Happy belated Valentines Day.

teardrop shaped

2009-02-19T09:35:00.000-08:00

We made it to Bishop, finally!

The change in location has brought better weather, although still cold. Rachel and I spent a couple of days in the Happy Boulders, working on our sunburns and gleefully running from one boulder to the next.
The camping pit has changed for the better since I've been here, and Kava is gone!!! Harsh. I sent action figure again, my first v7 was down graded to a v6!! I flashed Serengetii and nearly flashed the hulk. I then proceeded to punk out on the top out, oh well, I think I could climb the harder lines here if I camped out underneath a problem for a day or two. Some friends from seattle are here, strong Jon, Lizzie and Ryu. We have been loving it.

"because the ground is hard"

2009-02-15T12:23:00.000-08:00

We're so crispy from the sun.

The smell in the laundromat is overwhelming- a weeks worth of dirty diapers, fried chicken and detergent. Driving west on 62 towards Yucca Valley the crosswind nearly blows me into the other lane, desert sand filling the skies.

Nic red pointed Hot Rocks (5.11c) and one-hung Jumpin' Jack Crack (5.11b). Our new neighbors just spent four months in Bishop; my favorite climbing partner from Argentina is spending his winter here, last night we were invited to a wedding/smoke out/orgy.

My shoulder is on fire, my hands are black. I miss everyone.

mirrored images

2009-02-09T10:53:00.000-08:00

Nic says: I sent caveman (V7) and fell off the last move of the bachar crackar (V4) of the desert, go figure. Bouldering in J tree, the rock here is like gold!!!!!

Nic and I left Seattle on January 31st and drove to Portland to visit my old friend Travis Blue. After one extremely raucous night of fish tacos, margaritas, furry hats and wild late-night-walk-abouts we continued south on Interstate Five, looking for some sun. Traveling down through Oregon and into California the weather looked perfect for climbing- 70 and sunny all day! A day and a half later we were at the mouth to Joshua Tree National Park, itching to get on some rock.
Nic's parents drove from Utah in their amazing camper and we spent the next couple of days climbing in the sun, eating home-cooked meals and waxing poetic on what it's like to live the good life. Doesn't really get any better than that.

The weather over the past few days has gone from tropical to today's conditions- snowing and 37. We are completely at the mercy of the weather gods out here but it is so beautiful in Joshua Tree that it's fulfilling even if we just sit and stare.

I've been scaring myself silly most days while Nic moves gracefully through the twisting, steep landscape. It is amazing to be here with him, as he knows this place like the back of his, hand and he is constantly pointing out interesting and hidden lines.

It is enough these days just to have a good cup of coffee, a little open space to roam, the infinite desert sky and two very warm bunkmates.

Rawicalous Arakkis Battlevan

2009-01-27T10:16:00.000-08:00

Last day of work tomorrow! Woo! Just some thoughts as of late . . .

I.

It's been unusually cold here in the Northwest these past couple of days. Weather has always been fascinating to me as it governs so much of what I do and this unexpected cold front has left me thinking about how adaptable we are to different weather conditions.

II.

The first five pounds made me happy not to be so tired or so cold all the time anymore. The second five were from celebration- beer, french fries and bacon; long, lazy mornings with him under the covers instead of out in the cold, chest heaving. Watching the seasons change instead of feeling them yanked out from underneath me.
It's hard to explain how gleefully I watched my physical form change from a mangy, worn animal into something a little softer. The feeling was something akin to slipping into a different skin.

As athletes, we do silly, weird things to our bodies to get them to perform more efficiently, faster or longer. With climbing, I am trying to make a conscious effort not to over-think things. A little ironic, I know. Yet having watched so many of my friends beat themselves up to climb one grade harder or ride one second faster it seems that most often they just suck the fun out of what they are doing.

Not to say it's all bad. Nutrition and training can be very fulfilling, especially when they work for the individual. It's all about finding what works for you. And what is working for me recently is french fries, bacon, early morning snuggling and an extra five or so pounds I consider my own personal crash pad.

oodles of noodles

2009-01-20T16:20:00.001-08:00

So much love and so much goodness.

I love my sister more than words could ever say.
-Rachel

good versus evil

2009-01-19T13:56:00.000-08:00

The sickness finally pulls me under, my head swimming. I've caught the cold that everyone has.
The sun is out this weekend! I am cuddled under the covers watching surf movies and finally letting my body rest.
Ten days!

water landing

2009-01-16T09:01:00.000-08:00

salt and pepper

2009-01-15T23:20:00.000-08:00

It's always interesting to see what people come up with when they try really hard.

6 degrees of celebration

2009-01-11T14:21:00.000-08:00

There are some people who come into the climbing shop where I work who only want to commiserate about how awful their life is- nothing ever fits them, the weather is always horrible, their partners always suck and drag them down.
Similarly, there are some people who just want an outlet to talk about how awesome their accomplishments are. As a shop employee I occasionally get the feeling that I am validating an experience just by being present for the re-telling.

Only a couple of weeks before the trip- I can't wait!

I love this.

2009-01-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

"As the Gym Turns" by Cory Richards
featured in Issue 15 of Alpinist

"I walk into the climbing gym with Dave; the first person we see is Lisa, Dave's ex-girlfriend. She's now dating Greg, who had asked Maresa, my ex, out before she and I met. Maresa is now dating Caleb, who was the rebound for Lisa while she was getting over Dave.
What the hell happened to my climbing gym?
The soap opera has too many subplots to count. If one were to connect the dots, nearly everyone in the gym, it seems, has been sexually involved, directly or indirectly, with everyone else.
An hour into my workout, I realize that the social scene at the gym is not only annoying, it's dangerous. I'm twenty-five feet off the ground looking at enough slack for a forty-footer. Dave seems to be taking the idea of a dynamic belay a little casually as he stares at the girl ten feet to his right. He continues feeding me slack, one arm length at a time . . . but I haven't moved in three minutes.
"T-t-t-t-take," I stutter as my fingers begin slipping off the greasy crimp. It's a good ten seconds before he's reeled in all the coils on the ground. I let go and hang quietly above the Tuesday-night meat market.
The consequences of habitual gym courtship should not be taken lightly. Should you break up, you'll have to work out visitation rights for the gym; should you acquire more than one ex at the facility, the schedule juggling with become exponentially more problematic. Friends and acquaintances will be forced to listen to your incessant bitching about your ex-lovers new "climbing partner". Likewise, your motivation to train will be inextricably challenged. You'll start doing a lap around the parking lot, looking for their Subaru or Toyota. Making sure that the ex's dog, "Shiitake", isn't tied up outside the entrance will become as important as remembering your shoes and harness. Every same-sex patron will become a probable suitor for your lost love. And every such suitor will have a better body, bigger muscles, or be a better climber than you . . . Hell, they're probably a better lover too. Get used to it.
But now, as I hang twenty-five feet above the ground, it all seems fairly trivial. After taking in the slack, Dave has resumed staring at the girl to the right. Naturally, he interest piques my own, and I look, too. The girl has long, slender legs and small hips. The olive skin of her back is crisscrossed by the tiny straps of a maroon Patagonia halter, and her sandy-blonde hair is pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. Recognition flickers: it's Maresa- my ex.
"Hey, Dave," she says through her sexy grin.
"Hey," he fumbles, trying to conceal his blatant stare. It's a miserable failure. I tell him to lower me; it's time to leave.
On my way out, I ask an employee for a piece of paper and pen. After scribbling a short sentence, I fold the paper and drop it in the comments box at the end of the counter. My suggestion is simple, and I stand behind it with my entire existence.
"What did you write?" Dave asks as he pushes through the exit.
"I told them they should change the name of the gym," I reply.
"To what?"
"Melrose Place."

good thoughts.

2009-01-05T09:19:00.000-08:00

It's snowing again in Seattle!!!

This morning I started thinking about what it means to let go of something that you put a lot of time and energy into- whether it's a relationship or a hobby or a lifestyle. Most of my significant memories from the last five or more years are bike-related. Sport, work or leisure; I spent hours in the saddle, sometimes moving forwards and sometimes going nowhere. Giving yourself that completely to something can mean walking the line between commitment and obsession. Broken bones, torn ligaments, numb hands, dehydration, grinding knees and then convincing yourself it's a good idea to wake up and do it all again.

For a while I felt like I was banging my head against a wall in the same way that one feels knowing a relationship is over but not having the guts to let go. It was apparent how burned out I was and yet I kept asking myself, "If I quit now, what will I have wasted all that time for?" So I continued riding, all the while taking bigger and bigger risks in downtown traffic, riding seven days a week for weeks on end and moving into a place where my riding was fueled by a lot of negative energy. It was around this time that I started climbing.

Having had space and time away from racing and working all day on the bike I've come to appreciate riding, in moderation. Riding is as much an integral part of me as having blue eyes is but it has become something that I am no longer dependent upon to keep me sane. However, I am really looking forward to ripping up the trails in Utah! As to whether or not I will ever race again, who knows? I'm not ruling anything out.

Lately I've been climbing harder than I ever have before and it feels really great and very positive. It's all about having fun, these days.

-Rachel

one of each, two of the same

2008-12-30T13:22:00.000-08:00

Repeated Seth Holton, just because.

"Love what is ahead by loving what came before".
- B's Numi teabag

eat me

2008-12-29T11:34:00.001-08:00

I wake up this morning with my hands so swollen that I can barely make a fist. My forearm shakes with the effort, every muscle tight, every nerve firing.

"Climbing makes you a better climber, almost every time".
-Justin

"It would be harder if it were steeper".
-Todd

N. is in J Tree right now and I am running circles in the city, wishing that I could be out in the middle of the desert.

how high?

2008-12-24T08:32:00.000-08:00

We took my best friend's mother sledding for the very first time; my sister is a year older than she was this time last year; it hasn't stopped snowing in Seattle since he left.

move along

2008-12-12T10:36:00.000-08:00

better than Christmas

2008-12-10T10:06:00.000-08:00

Today has definitely been better than Christmas so far and it's only 10:08 am.
A very large box from Organic Climbing was waiting for me- filled with the most beautiful, well-constructed gear ever! Thanks Josh, you rock! For those of you not familiar with Organic it would be in your best interest to check them out at organicclimbing.com!

that Dave Matthew's song

2008-12-08T19:24:00.000-08:00

43 degrees and clear; rain; 46 degrees and cloudy.

chicken little

2008-12-05T12:27:00.000-08:00

The ability to stay inspired when everything seems much harder and more pointless than it used to lies in staying connected to the people that pushed you off the ledge in the first place.

don't let money change ya

2008-11-29T18:11:00.000-08:00

"There is another world, but it is in this one".
-W.B. Yeats

The last photo is of my personal hero for his honesty and his unreal bike skills.
J, you made it all worth it.

Give and Take

2008-11-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving.

my little sister looks exactly like me

2008-11-24T08:12:00.000-08:00

It's amazing how some things seem like they never happened at all.

How far would you go to get where you want to be?
Would you give up coffee? Sleep on your parents couch for a couple of months? Work seven days a week for a whole month?
Give up your cell phone?

Holdstrom 9000

2008-11-20T11:43:00.000-08:00

My friend Seth Holton is an amazing photographer. I met Seth years ago, through some impossible chain of events; then again, it seems the best people in life sometimes come out of nowhere.
Seth's photos are especially aesthetic to me because they are of people and places that have influenced the way I look at my life. That being said, he continues to impress me with his ability to capture these people and places in ways that I would have otherwise missed.
Seth sold me my very first camera from his personal collection. He taught me how to shoot film.
Here's to you Holton for teaching me what's really important after all these years.

INFINITE

Places we were (never) meant to be.

2008-11-18T16:59:00.000-08:00

Frey, Argentina- just outside of Bariloche. A few thousand miles away from home.