Wearing Rain Boots 3 Days After I REALLY REALLY Should Have

I tromped around campus today through the puddles and chilly rain and splashed occasionally in the small puddles. It was convenient to have rain boots. I felt prepared. Unlike Sunday, in which Abby thought it would be a FANTASTIC idea to wear flip flops to a regatta pretty much entirely covered in inches of cold, muddy water.

Rest in peace, left Old Navy flip flop. You suffered an unfortunate death during de-rigging. Your body may never be found. But in all honesty, those flip flops cost like 3 dollars. I am just happy I got back with all my toes.

As usual I was saved by my constantly more practical and informed sister, who by magical fate was also at the regatta, and had a pair of huge old sneakers for me to slosh around in.

She rocks. She is also never getting her shoes back. They are pretty disgusting.

They are also still sitting stinkily in my closet. It's not like I'm actually going to be proactive about it.

Anyway, so that was the regatta. My boat happened to get fifth out of twenty-eight teams, which is pretty darn awesome. We also crushed most of the novice New York teams we'll be facing in the spring, which is encouraging.

It's winter training now, which means no more actual rowing. I've been offered the chance to try for a varsity seat in the spring despite my limited experience, which means I have to work my butt off. It started yesterday with a four mile run.

Four miles. I thought there was no way. I entirely avoided any running activities growing up. I felt more natural in the water. Basketball involved mainly shuffling and short sprints, as well as me being freakishly tall at a young age. I put up with it in field hockey just because I liked hitting things...and people...so much. I was a defender. I can't exactly lie and say there was never any shoving involved.

But I did it. I ran four miles. And it was fine. I realized I was in better shape than I thought I was, with this whole "crew" thing. I also got to reap the benefits of that "runner's high" thing, something that I was convinced didn't exist because I had spent most of the runs prior to this one thinking about how much I hated to run. That probably never helped.

So, from now on, I am:

1. Thinking positively.

2. Wearing proper foot attire.

3. Not putting off homework by blogging.

I guess I'll get on that now.

The Birthday Post...and More?

I'm 19 now. Well, I have been for two days.

I'm in college. Procrastination is a luxury I sometimes pay out for.

It's my second in-college birthday, and I have to say it's still a little strange going it alone. But instead of my sister with me, I had amazing friends and teammates. I was serenaded at practice and given a lovely crafty frame with their signatures on it. I came back from practice to find my room covered in balloons, streamers and signs.

I have actually no idea what to do with the balloons. I've piled them in the corner by my desk, surrounding my feet. It's definitely strange but totally cool at the same time.

So it was great. I even had a class cancelled and took a celebratory nap because of it. Me. Napping. It was amazing, and I totally intend to do it again when I have time in...June.

This week I made it through two more exams. It was not very enjoyable. Even the weekend, however, will not involve much sleeping. I have 7:30 a.m. Saturday practice and then I get to see my parents and my sister at a regatta on Sunday! It will be kind of a flashback to high school years, with Claire and I playing sports and my parents lugging Costco products to feed many hungry athletes. Except, now they have to drag them across multiple states instead of down the street. And Claire and I are on different teams.

But I am sure there will be some things that will feel exactly the same. My mom will totally mom (yes, that's a verb now) my teammates without even trying, and they will love her. My dad will probably wear his Indiana Jones hat, on the off chance it is sunny. He will also meet like 9 people from Western Massachusetts. They will instantly become best friends.

Claire and I will giggle excessively.

That is just how these things work. This is how my family functions.

So basically I can't wait for Sunday.

Not, NOT the Birthday Post

I promise I'll tell you how fabulous it was.

But this is just funnier, and more applicable to my attention span right now.

You've heard about ESPN analyst Steve Phillip's "Fatal Attraction" scandal with his 22 year-old apparently production assistant?

Yes?

Well no one produces psycho mistresses production assistants like the Park School!

Oh, and look! She even gave us advice on Dean Lynch's blog!

Awkwardddddd

No, The World isn't Ending, I'm Just Blogging Two Days in a Row

It's no secret that journalism and I have a rocky relationship. It's pretty love/hate.

I think that's just the name of the game, though.

One of my professors said he became a journalist because it was the last adventure job. It could send you anywhere with anyone. This was one of the things I struggled with. I'm a planner, and I hate uncertainty. If you've ever sat helplessly at your desk with one eye one your telephone and the other on the clock eating away at your deadline, you get it.

I was always a reserved kid. The thoughts and crazy ideas I brewed in my head usually ended up on paper or whispered in my sister's ear. Last year, getting up the courage to approach a source at a game or call for an interview took way more internal pep-talking than normal. I'm not a people person, but they fascinate me. I've always been a wide-eyed observer, content to watch interactions and file them away in my puzzle-piece worldview.

I came to journalism wanting to write, and wanting to find replacements for the holes I had in my portrait of the world. No blemishes of deadlines and pyramid structure appeared in my vision of seeking out social and political justice with few strokes of a pen.

Today the adventure of journalism took me on a tree-lined hike through Ithaca for a piece I'm doing for a class on the state of bed and breakfasts in the economic decline. It felt almost like a reparation for its betrayal of my idealistic expectations, its repeated failures as an art and as a science.

After my hour-long walk down I sat in an 200 year old inn, surrounded by smells of baking and old books, chatting with the owner of the William Henry Miller Inn. She was entertaining, helpful, cheerful and warm. The glass china cabinets, paisley rugs, and creaky stairs reminded me of home. Beyond all the bed and breakfast-y charm, however, was a great interview. I'd gone in expecting a tale of a struggling business. Instead, I found an inn that used its kindness to reach success. Needless to say, it was cool.

I hiked back up the hill to campus, wondering why exactly I thought it would be a good idea to walk back up to campus. Right on the edge of campus, I stopped and looked around to see if anyone could see me. Then, I walked over to a tree surrounded by bright red leaves and walked around happily in my boots.

Because, you know, the best way to congratulate yourself on a job well done is stomping on crunchy leaves.

I got back to my room with flushed cheeks and chapped hands. I switched on the television to watch New Orleans finish off the Giants. Collapsing on my bed, I realized journalism had given me a pretty good Sunday.

Break rocks.

A Wonderful Break

I got a call from my mother yesterday afternoon. She was just calling to confirm that I wasn't in some ditch somewhere and was, in fact, alive.

You see, I expected this break to be incredibly low-key. I expected to spend a lot of time doing nothing. So when my parents hadn't heard from me, they wondered. Especially after I didn't return their call.

I've been having a blast. I haven't been sleeping in, but it's been great. When I asked my coach for a land workout I could do over break, I instead ended up with the most intense "workout buddy" ever, our assistant coach E. We pretty much all aspire to be her. So along with two other rowers, A and...A, actually, I've been getting my butt kicked for the past three mornings.

I've been hanging out with A all weekend. We bond especially well because she's 5' 11" and I'm 6 foot. There's a thing about tall women. We automatically understand and relate to each other on some basic level. I mean, the large shoe event at Nordstroms is probably the most civil and cheerful epic shoe sale you will ever experience. It's just how it is. We get it.

And, she's a great workout partner because she has the same goal as I do. We both want to live up to our height--to our potential. So we were ready to gain some ground while everyone else slept. She's also a voice major on an opera path, so you know I totally want to recruit her as an awesome karaoke partner. Right?

Anyway, so I got back from practice this morning and collapsed onto my bed. I turned on college football. I dozed to the sounds of cheers and whistles and men of a certain age talking in dramatic tones. It was beautiful. It actually felt like a break. Of course, I then got up and scheduled an interview for tomorrow. Because I still need to keep in some contact with reality.

And that's my life.

A Breather

I'm taking a little break from studying to blog. Because I feel like it.

And a part of me misses recording the absolutely mundane. I've been doing a lot of my sentimentalization lately. Yes, apparently "sentimentalization" is a word. That's awesome.

Yesterday my political justice group somehow managed to pull out an awesome presentation on the role of FISA in international justice. It's really cool when things turn out way better than you expect.

Then I hightailed it to radio, and there was absolutely no news. None. My local news story was about the debut of a solar powered trash compactor on the Commons.

Yeah.

At practice we did 3k erg tests. I did okay. I wasn't all together thrilled with my result. I know I can do better, and that gets at me, but I know it could have been worse. The problem was that that test was followed by an insanely hard and insanely cold practice. By the end, my throat was swollen and raw and I couldn't breathe deeply without coughing.

I got back from practice and steamed myself in the shower for approximately forever. I then churned out a paper for ethics. By that point I felt absolutely horrible and went to bed early to be up for my 6:30 work shift. I'm pretty sure I broke a fever during the night, and apparently I scared my roommate half to death because I got up at 1am, left the room, and came back approximately 10 seconds later. She asked me directly if she'd woken me accidentally, I didn't respond, crawled back in bed, and passed out. So I guess I was sleepwalking, seeing as I don't remember doing any of this. I did actually feel way better when I woke up.

I am seriously looking forward to four days of break. With which I intend to spend some quality time with my bed and hot liquids. And the frosted covered animal crackers I bought at Target. Them too.

And now, I'm off to my history midterm.

Love is Love

Love is love. Family is family.

Despite our midwest pedigree and our Southern transplantation, I think we're truly a New England family. Love is found in a strong handshake, a hand on a shoulder, a twinkle in the eye. It's found in quiet and contemplative moments under clear and cold skies. A roar of laughter over a dry joke over wooden tables and local draught beers on wooden tables.

There's another love--just as pure, just as strong--that swells like a warm tide. It rushes through each close embrace, each busy kiss and each genuine brilliant smile. It's a love that envelopes and spreads, it expands and it strengthens. It is a full, cacophonous house and a glass of aged red wine. It does not discriminate but it is true.

These two kinds of love melded beautifully this weekend. My Uncle Judd married my new Aunt Michelle in a ceremony that never flagged in its celebration and its happiness. It was the kind of happiness that lasts when everyone involved knows that two kind and loving people finally found the match they deserve.

It was an incredible weekend.

Congratulations, Judd and Michelle!

Can We Talk About How Awesome Things Can Be?

Let's face it.

I stress. A lot. Stuff happens. Deadlines catch up to you. Your desk gets unbelievably messy. The weather sucks. You haven't folded the laundry you did four days ago. Schedules conflict. Sleep is something you daydream about. You spend your life in the Park school and in the middle of a lake, wearing spandex.

For clarification purposes, yes, I am often wearing spandex in Park.

But today, we won. My boat won it's first race ever by rowing better than we ever had. At the end I was wondering if I could still inhale.

Before a swim race I would push my goggles in repeatedly, shake my arms, and focus. In my pacing I would push myself as hard as my body and mind would let me. Crew doesn't let you do that. If it's too hard for you, too bad. It's not. You keep pulling because even though every muscle and every labored is telling you you can't, you can.

It's awesome.

It's also awesome when you have a roommate who knows you so well she buys you Cheez-Its for a good luck present. How ridiculously cool is that? I mean, seriously.

Be jealous.

So for the rest of this week, I'll push through. I'll blast the Chicago, Next to Normal, and Aida soundtracks and I'll get work done. And then I get to go participate in an amazing wedding with people who mean the world to me.

How cool is THAT?