You know, I’ve always loved camping. Immersing myself in the beauty of nature, freedom from material concerns - a certain happiness comes from that. But I’ve also always felt deep in my bones that snow camping is one of the best things in the world. It gives you that special kind of happiness that comes from waking up to find that you are still alive
Monday, January 30, 2012
Peanut Butter Sandwiches
Sometimes, friendship is as simple as saving that peanut butter sandwich. When you are both full of strength in your legs, but left with empty heaving bellies, one can turn to the other. Without question you tear the sandwich in half. It doesn't matter to me which side you take both say to the other. Because it's not about self.
It's about the concrete steps that you sit on together, chilly on your butt through your leggings. It's about the sunshine and the remnants of conversation strewn between the both of you and the miles you just traveled - free as the steps you pound out on the sidewalk and as rambling as the paths you run.
*For about a year, my friend Sam and I would run together every day. Long runs, to prepare for cross country season or long-distance track. There was always a peanut butter sandwich - actually given to Sam by Emma (another friend) during lunch because she didn't like them. It became tradition for Sam and I, every day to wait until after our tiring run to split the sandwich in half and share it - continuing our conversations.
It's about the concrete steps that you sit on together, chilly on your butt through your leggings. It's about the sunshine and the remnants of conversation strewn between the both of you and the miles you just traveled - free as the steps you pound out on the sidewalk and as rambling as the paths you run.
*For about a year, my friend Sam and I would run together every day. Long runs, to prepare for cross country season or long-distance track. There was always a peanut butter sandwich - actually given to Sam by Emma (another friend) during lunch because she didn't like them. It became tradition for Sam and I, every day to wait until after our tiring run to split the sandwich in half and share it - continuing our conversations.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Why do you bike?
I remember just a few months ago, when running was like a this balloon that had inflated inside my head, leaving room for nothing else. I just started my career as a distance runner on the track team. I loved running and I found I was good at it too. I two relays in my first varsity meet. My balloon was popped though after about a month when I hurt my hip badly and couldn't run competitively the rest of my season.
It drove me insane when it happened. At first and all I could think of was how much I wanted to just run and run and run for miles and miles and hours and hours. But something equally amazing grew out of that misfortune. Even flowers can grow from where just dirt used to be.
It was during those weeks of injury that I began to bike like no other, trying to replace my runners high with even more miles of cycling. To be honest, biking never has replaced for me what running gives. A run ends in this weary drained feeling, like all those busy thoughts in my head have been pounded out, leaving only dizzy contentment. A bike ride never leaves me that way.
If running was like a balloon in my head ever inflating, biking was like roots shooting out. I still remember the first time I rode to church and crossed the bridge over the river. It was like a door opening to a whole new world. All these remote places that we would drive to, like kick-boxing, the art store and church were accessible. And there was something more tangible about the journey on my bicycle where I could feel the miles beneath me and inside of my limbs.
The further I go and the more I explore on my bike the greater the feeling grows. I feel like I am part of the landscape; I belong in the painting. And the roads, telephone lines and Ohio countryside belong in me, inside my thighs. I have lived over those miles and felt them by the power of my lungs and legs. Each time I go further or discover a new route I feel myself and those miles inside of me grow.
Last Sunday someone asked me why I biked to church. I didn't know how to say all of it then. And just like the miles, the reasons keep on growing.
The short answer is simply because I enjoy it.
It drove me insane when it happened. At first and all I could think of was how much I wanted to just run and run and run for miles and miles and hours and hours. But something equally amazing grew out of that misfortune. Even flowers can grow from where just dirt used to be.
It was during those weeks of injury that I began to bike like no other, trying to replace my runners high with even more miles of cycling. To be honest, biking never has replaced for me what running gives. A run ends in this weary drained feeling, like all those busy thoughts in my head have been pounded out, leaving only dizzy contentment. A bike ride never leaves me that way.
If running was like a balloon in my head ever inflating, biking was like roots shooting out. I still remember the first time I rode to church and crossed the bridge over the river. It was like a door opening to a whole new world. All these remote places that we would drive to, like kick-boxing, the art store and church were accessible. And there was something more tangible about the journey on my bicycle where I could feel the miles beneath me and inside of my limbs.
The further I go and the more I explore on my bike the greater the feeling grows. I feel like I am part of the landscape; I belong in the painting. And the roads, telephone lines and Ohio countryside belong in me, inside my thighs. I have lived over those miles and felt them by the power of my lungs and legs. Each time I go further or discover a new route I feel myself and those miles inside of me grow.
Last Sunday someone asked me why I biked to church. I didn't know how to say all of it then. And just like the miles, the reasons keep on growing.
The short answer is simply because I enjoy it.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Picasso
I've always thought that Picasso was over-rated, until this....
I was in New Orleans with my friends at an art museum. I saw this painting and was struck by how his almost sloppy brush strokes captured the realness of the objects so well.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Living in the Trees
In my math class (Honors Advanced Functions and trigonometry), we were assigned to find the price of our dream house and then calculate the mortgage on it under various conditions using the formula:
A=R([1-[r/n]^nt]/[r/n])
Where A is the annuity, consisting of nt equal payments of R dollars each with an interest rate r, and n is the number of times per year that the payment is made.
It's the easiest and most practical project we've had all year in math, except for the price of dream house is being elusive.
Because I want to live in the trees, and apparently that is: priceless.
A=R([1-[r/n]^nt]/[r/n])
Where A is the annuity, consisting of nt equal payments of R dollars each with an interest rate r, and n is the number of times per year that the payment is made.
It's the easiest and most practical project we've had all year in math, except for the price of dream house is being elusive.
Because I want to live in the trees, and apparently that is: priceless.Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Runner
Can you imagine if stars only happened only once every fifty years? We would all probably just stand outside, staying up all night to watch them. We would soak them up with awe.
When I run they are always there though, so instead of peering curiously at them, I let them peer down at me. I focus on my ragged breathing - in through my nose, out through my mouth. I focus on the rhythm of the music pounding in my ears and try to keep my feet in tempo, even when my legs are aching.
I adore running on the snow, where my feet are the first feet to ever fall. It makes me feel like an explorer of a new fantastic world. I feel like an astronaut on the moon - "one small step for man..."
I think that if I could run to the moon, I would. If I could run all the way to the stars up in sky then I would. And once I was there, in distance space on my star, I would turn around to look at the earth. Imagine seeing earth for the first time in your life like that like a cut out circle from black construction paper. I think I would just stand and stare at it. I would soak up that picture of earth in awe.
When I run they are always there though, so instead of peering curiously at them, I let them peer down at me. I focus on my ragged breathing - in through my nose, out through my mouth. I focus on the rhythm of the music pounding in my ears and try to keep my feet in tempo, even when my legs are aching.
I adore running on the snow, where my feet are the first feet to ever fall. It makes me feel like an explorer of a new fantastic world. I feel like an astronaut on the moon - "one small step for man..."
I think that if I could run to the moon, I would. If I could run all the way to the stars up in sky then I would. And once I was there, in distance space on my star, I would turn around to look at the earth. Imagine seeing earth for the first time in your life like that like a cut out circle from black construction paper. I think I would just stand and stare at it. I would soak up that picture of earth in awe.
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