I've never had the desire to go to Egypt.
Really I've never had the desire to go to the Middle East in general; anywhere European has always made the top of my list. But I've really really never had the desire to go to Egypt. Yet here I sit in Jerusalem after returning from a week in Egypt. And it was awesome.
Yes, there were a few experiences I could have done without. Like the overnight train ride in a smelly compartment that still felt dirty after we neurotically sanitized every surface. Or the "shower" I took under a trickle of Nile water in a shower spotted with what was very probably brown mold. Or the fly-infested, wet-floored, toilet-paper-less bathroom with unflushable toilets. I could have lived a very happy life without having any one of those stories to recount, and the fact that they're all true makes me cringe a little inside. (It also makes me slightly impressed that I made it through them without vomiting, though I can't pretend that I never gagged, or that I only gagged a little.)
Disgusting experiences aside, Egypt was a phenomenal place. We toured sites that I never expected to see in my life - like the Great Pyramids of Giza. We rode camels through a village along the banks of the Nile. We haggled in the marketplace for souvenirs, and in some cases got swindled by very pushy merchants. I never expected to have so much fun in Egypt.
What made the biggest impact on me even more than the amazing ancient sites - and they were amazing - was the extreme difference in culture. Our professors weren't joking when they told us that Egypt is a desert, and the people only survive because of the Nile. The Nile serves as their source of water for everything - drinking, cleaning, farming, watering animals. It also serves as their sewage system. I thought some of the streets of Jerusalem were dirty. And then I took my first shower in Egypt with water that smelled very faintly like a rusty public toilet. It was as unsanitary as I thought possible.
Yet to the people of Egypt, it's absolutely not a problem. They drink the Nile's water (which we were expressly forbidden to do with the threat of severe gastrointestinal distress as the consequence). They wash their clothes in it, make their living off it, and I even saw a few brave souls swimming in it. It's no more a big deal to them than drinking from the tap in America would be to me. I don't think it's possible to be a germophobe in Egypt.
I also couldn't believe the extreme heat. Most days it felt like I walked into an oven when I stepped out the hotel doors, and I can't say that I've ever sweated more in my life than I did in one morning's worth of touring. Getting back to my air conditioned hotel room was a necessity every day, and everyone complained heartily if the air on the bus wasn't up to par.
But once again, to the people of Egypt, the heat is not a problem. They live in it and work in it, and I'm not convinced that the vast majority has access to working air conditioning. I have no idea how they do it, especially given the amount of clothing they wear. We saw very few Egyptian women, but almost all those we did wore traditional Muslim attire, complete with long sleeves and headdress. And many of the men wore a long sleeve robe with clothes underneath. It's very impressive to observe how they live their religion regardless of their surroundings (like the 100+ degree temperatures typical of the region), but I've decided it's a very good thing I was not born Egyptian. I think I would sweat my body away.
Overall, Egypt made for a great trip. One that I'm not willing to repeat in a hurry, but that was worthwhile while it lasted.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
My First Jerusalem Experience
Since I am apparently abysmal at sticking to a once-a-day blog, I decided to transform this little experiment of mine into something different: a blog of my experiences in Jerusalem (and elsewhere). Don't expect anything close to daily. I'd rather be out seeing and doing than sitting at a computer writing about it.
I am privileged enough to be studying abroad in the Holy Land for the next three and half months, and the experience has already been beyond incredible. I have been here only since Wednesday, but it feels like weeks have gone by. Maybe once the program actually gets going, I'll stop feeling like time is standing still.
Today my roommates and I took a walk through the Old City. Jerusalem is divided into three main parts: East Jerusalem, West Jerusalem, and the Old City. East is where the Palestinians live, and where the BYU Jerusalem Center is located. West is where the Jewish people live. And the Old City . . . well I'm still not entirely sure what that is. The Dome of the Rock can be found in the Old City, and the Western Wall. And it's divided into four quarters: Muslim, Jewish, Christian, and Armenian (where the Armenians came into the picture, I have no idea). The Old City can be dangerous at times, and we have several restrictions on when we can visit it. But today we had free time and no restrictions, so we decided to have our first experience.
What an experience it was! We went through Damascus Gate, which leads to a street full of open-air shops that sell everything from underwear to hunks of raw meat. We've been told more than once that many people have things stolen from them at Damascus Gate because the pickpockets are so good at what they do, so we all clutched our purses while trying not to act like typical tourists.
Once we made it through the gate, we were met by a cart that almost ran us over, and hundreds of people pushing us everywhere. The market was absolutely insane, and something that you would never find in America. Let me give you an example. There was a man, sitting on a piece of cardboard that was covering what looked like the skinned carcass of a cow. There is no way that can be sanitary. And yet, it was perfectly acceptable here. No one thought twice about the raw meat festering in the hot and crowded market, a stark contrast to the neat and hygienic grocery stores of the United States.
Everything here seems to be that way - something I would never see in my sheltered life in America. And I thought I knew what it meant to be cultural. This trip has already taught me that I have so much more to learn.
I am privileged enough to be studying abroad in the Holy Land for the next three and half months, and the experience has already been beyond incredible. I have been here only since Wednesday, but it feels like weeks have gone by. Maybe once the program actually gets going, I'll stop feeling like time is standing still.
Today my roommates and I took a walk through the Old City. Jerusalem is divided into three main parts: East Jerusalem, West Jerusalem, and the Old City. East is where the Palestinians live, and where the BYU Jerusalem Center is located. West is where the Jewish people live. And the Old City . . . well I'm still not entirely sure what that is. The Dome of the Rock can be found in the Old City, and the Western Wall. And it's divided into four quarters: Muslim, Jewish, Christian, and Armenian (where the Armenians came into the picture, I have no idea). The Old City can be dangerous at times, and we have several restrictions on when we can visit it. But today we had free time and no restrictions, so we decided to have our first experience.
What an experience it was! We went through Damascus Gate, which leads to a street full of open-air shops that sell everything from underwear to hunks of raw meat. We've been told more than once that many people have things stolen from them at Damascus Gate because the pickpockets are so good at what they do, so we all clutched our purses while trying not to act like typical tourists.
Once we made it through the gate, we were met by a cart that almost ran us over, and hundreds of people pushing us everywhere. The market was absolutely insane, and something that you would never find in America. Let me give you an example. There was a man, sitting on a piece of cardboard that was covering what looked like the skinned carcass of a cow. There is no way that can be sanitary. And yet, it was perfectly acceptable here. No one thought twice about the raw meat festering in the hot and crowded market, a stark contrast to the neat and hygienic grocery stores of the United States.
Everything here seems to be that way - something I would never see in my sheltered life in America. And I thought I knew what it meant to be cultural. This trip has already taught me that I have so much more to learn.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Pushiness
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Whenever I take those theoretically scientific personality tests, they always tell me that I'm an introverted person. Which I completely agree with. I much prefer my comfort zone, and breaking out of my shell makes me irrationally nervous.
This introversion also causes me, more often than not, to keep my feelings quiet. If I'm ever in a big group of people, I prefer to listen to the conversation rather than actively participate in it. And if someone upsets me, the last thing I'd do would be to tell them. My hobbies include reading and movie watching, and I often choose to go shopping alone. It's not that I hate being social, it's just that only enjoy being social for so long before I need alone time.
Sometimes, my odd hermit tendencies can be detrimental to my relationships, and it's times like these when I need a little push to get me to speak up or go out or whatever the situation requires. I don't always enjoy these pushes, but I almost always find that I'm glad for them in the end. Like when my mom pushed me to go play tennis with friends even though I'm an abysmal tennis player. Or when Skyler pushed me to actually share my feelings instead of 'thinking about them' first. I almost think I could be an extrovert if people would just push me to be. Though I'm perfectly happy with my introverted self. And I'm grateful for those little pushes that keep me from becoming a true hermit.
Whenever I take those theoretically scientific personality tests, they always tell me that I'm an introverted person. Which I completely agree with. I much prefer my comfort zone, and breaking out of my shell makes me irrationally nervous.
This introversion also causes me, more often than not, to keep my feelings quiet. If I'm ever in a big group of people, I prefer to listen to the conversation rather than actively participate in it. And if someone upsets me, the last thing I'd do would be to tell them. My hobbies include reading and movie watching, and I often choose to go shopping alone. It's not that I hate being social, it's just that only enjoy being social for so long before I need alone time.
Sometimes, my odd hermit tendencies can be detrimental to my relationships, and it's times like these when I need a little push to get me to speak up or go out or whatever the situation requires. I don't always enjoy these pushes, but I almost always find that I'm glad for them in the end. Like when my mom pushed me to go play tennis with friends even though I'm an abysmal tennis player. Or when Skyler pushed me to actually share my feelings instead of 'thinking about them' first. I almost think I could be an extrovert if people would just push me to be. Though I'm perfectly happy with my introverted self. And I'm grateful for those little pushes that keep me from becoming a true hermit.
Hot (Skype) Dates
Friday, August 6, 2010
Long distance relationships get really old really fast. Though, to be fair, a long distance relationship is better than no relationship, at least with the current guy. And Skyler and I do almost everything possible to stay in touch: text, talk on the phone, facebook, the occasional email, and skype. About the only communication mode we haven't broken into is letter writing, but that might happen while I'm in Jerusalem. Well, at least maybe postcard writing.
Tonight, we had a skype date. I say 'date,' but really we'd just decided to skype tonight, so I'm not entirely sure it classifies as a date, especially when it was interrupted by my dad and his brother and brother's girlfriend. Regardless, it was quite fun.
I think skype is little short of amazing. I find it so incredible that live video feed is able to be sent over the internet. Though almost anything regarding the internet baffles me; that we can send data at all is something I consider to be a modern miracle. While the picture quality of the webcam might not always be top-notch, I really have nothing to complain about when it comes to video chatting. Personally, I'm so grateful for it that I'd like to shake the hand of whoever invented it, because somehow, hot skype dates seems to make five weeks a little more bearable.
Long distance relationships get really old really fast. Though, to be fair, a long distance relationship is better than no relationship, at least with the current guy. And Skyler and I do almost everything possible to stay in touch: text, talk on the phone, facebook, the occasional email, and skype. About the only communication mode we haven't broken into is letter writing, but that might happen while I'm in Jerusalem. Well, at least maybe postcard writing.
Tonight, we had a skype date. I say 'date,' but really we'd just decided to skype tonight, so I'm not entirely sure it classifies as a date, especially when it was interrupted by my dad and his brother and brother's girlfriend. Regardless, it was quite fun.
I think skype is little short of amazing. I find it so incredible that live video feed is able to be sent over the internet. Though almost anything regarding the internet baffles me; that we can send data at all is something I consider to be a modern miracle. While the picture quality of the webcam might not always be top-notch, I really have nothing to complain about when it comes to video chatting. Personally, I'm so grateful for it that I'd like to shake the hand of whoever invented it, because somehow, hot skype dates seems to make five weeks a little more bearable.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Hershey*
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I swear if my dog wakes me up at 6:30 in the morning one more time by barking at non-existent squirrels, I will put her up for sale faster than you can say 'woof!' If you ever wondered why my dog and I do not get along, here you have perfect proof. I've surprised myself by not locking her out of the house yet.
However, as much as Hershey drives me up the wall, there are a few (a very few) qualities that I at least find amusing about her. The first being that I'm pretty sure she dreams. I actually really wish I could know what she dreams about (if, in fact, dogs can dream), because she gets awfully funny when she's deeply asleep. Her eyes come half open and start rolling (which is actually really creepy, not funny), her tongue sticks out, her nose twitches, and sometimes her paws even start to move. Like she's having a dream about chasing down a rabbit or attacking the neighbor dog or something equally dog-worthy. If there's anything about Hershey that I enjoy, it's watching her dream.
The other point in her favor is that she can be very cute when she decides to cuddle. However, letting her cuddle with you is always a gamble, because she can also be very annoying. If she's just taking a little cat nap next to me, I don't mind it so much. She doesn't move, she isn't barking, and she doesn't take up much space. But, if she snuggles up for a good long sleep, I know I'm in trouble, because those are the times when she sprawls out and takes up all the available space. You wouldn't believe it, but my little eleven-pound dog has actually squeezed me off the couch before because she spreads out so much when she sleeps. I don't know how my parents stand to sleep with her every night.
I'm not entirely sure why I decided to write a post about my dog tonight, because I'm still a little bitter about her untimely wake-up call. But I suppose she deserves some recognition for being, well, the family dog. And I am semi-trying to make our relationship more based on love than on hate, mostly by bribing her with treats and occasionally letting her sleep on my recliner. I suppose writing a post about how grateful I am for her (*in very specific circumstances) was inevitable.
The face that isn't always as cute as it seems (though sometimes it is).
I swear if my dog wakes me up at 6:30 in the morning one more time by barking at non-existent squirrels, I will put her up for sale faster than you can say 'woof!' If you ever wondered why my dog and I do not get along, here you have perfect proof. I've surprised myself by not locking her out of the house yet.
However, as much as Hershey drives me up the wall, there are a few (a very few) qualities that I at least find amusing about her. The first being that I'm pretty sure she dreams. I actually really wish I could know what she dreams about (if, in fact, dogs can dream), because she gets awfully funny when she's deeply asleep. Her eyes come half open and start rolling (which is actually really creepy, not funny), her tongue sticks out, her nose twitches, and sometimes her paws even start to move. Like she's having a dream about chasing down a rabbit or attacking the neighbor dog or something equally dog-worthy. If there's anything about Hershey that I enjoy, it's watching her dream.
The other point in her favor is that she can be very cute when she decides to cuddle. However, letting her cuddle with you is always a gamble, because she can also be very annoying. If she's just taking a little cat nap next to me, I don't mind it so much. She doesn't move, she isn't barking, and she doesn't take up much space. But, if she snuggles up for a good long sleep, I know I'm in trouble, because those are the times when she sprawls out and takes up all the available space. You wouldn't believe it, but my little eleven-pound dog has actually squeezed me off the couch before because she spreads out so much when she sleeps. I don't know how my parents stand to sleep with her every night.
I'm not entirely sure why I decided to write a post about my dog tonight, because I'm still a little bitter about her untimely wake-up call. But I suppose she deserves some recognition for being, well, the family dog. And I am semi-trying to make our relationship more based on love than on hate, mostly by bribing her with treats and occasionally letting her sleep on my recliner. I suppose writing a post about how grateful I am for her (*in very specific circumstances) was inevitable.
The face that isn't always as cute as it seems (though sometimes it is).
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The Humor in Hindsight
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Today my mom and I had an almost completely unproductive adventure: we went shopping. The purpose of our trip was to come up with some sort of wardrobe that I could take with me to Jerusalem, since the culture is much more modest and conservative over there than it is here. Unfortunately, we came up with very little.
The other purpose to our adventure was to get my mom's cell phone fixed, as well as clear up a few issues with our plan. This purpose was just as unsuccessful as the other one, though looking back it was at least a little humorous.
See, we started out by going to the Verizon kiosk in the mall. The employee that we talked to informed us that they only dealt with Verizon FIOS, and that we'd need to go to the upstairs Verizon kiosk to deal with phone issues.
So we trekked upstairs and quickly located the second kiosk. Where the employee there promptly informed us that he could do nothing about the phone, and he could not help us with our other issues. He then spent about ten minutes telling us where to go, what to ask for, and how Verizon could help, adding in a personal story of how they helped him when his phone pocket-downloaded three hundred dollars worth of crap (this story took up about nine of our ten conversation minutes).
And on we continued, driving about ten minutes to a shopping center where we located an actual Verizon store. However, it turned out to be a Verizon wireless store, meaning that it could do nothing about the phone and nothing about the issues. The poor employee in that store was so bored that I think he was actually excited to help us when we walked in. Though really he couldn't help us at all.
But he did point us onward, and we wound up at our fourth Verizon place of the day. The employee at this store could order my mom a new phone, but he wasn't able to diagnose what was wrong with her current one, and he could sortof tell her what caused her other issues, but he couldn't do anything to fix them. He could tell us where to go to get everything taken care of though, so we made progress! However, our ridiculous run-around took so long that, by the time we finished at the fourth store, the time was 6:06, and the fifth store that should have been able to fix all our problems was closed. At least we knew where to start tomorrow.
I'm not sure where exactly the gratitude comes in here, because it was extremely frustrating at the time. Luckily, it turned out to be one of those stories that I'm able to look back on and laugh at. So I guess that's something - the humor in hindsight. It really helps put perspective on what would otherwise be a frustrating life.
Today my mom and I had an almost completely unproductive adventure: we went shopping. The purpose of our trip was to come up with some sort of wardrobe that I could take with me to Jerusalem, since the culture is much more modest and conservative over there than it is here. Unfortunately, we came up with very little.
The other purpose to our adventure was to get my mom's cell phone fixed, as well as clear up a few issues with our plan. This purpose was just as unsuccessful as the other one, though looking back it was at least a little humorous.
See, we started out by going to the Verizon kiosk in the mall. The employee that we talked to informed us that they only dealt with Verizon FIOS, and that we'd need to go to the upstairs Verizon kiosk to deal with phone issues.
So we trekked upstairs and quickly located the second kiosk. Where the employee there promptly informed us that he could do nothing about the phone, and he could not help us with our other issues. He then spent about ten minutes telling us where to go, what to ask for, and how Verizon could help, adding in a personal story of how they helped him when his phone pocket-downloaded three hundred dollars worth of crap (this story took up about nine of our ten conversation minutes).
And on we continued, driving about ten minutes to a shopping center where we located an actual Verizon store. However, it turned out to be a Verizon wireless store, meaning that it could do nothing about the phone and nothing about the issues. The poor employee in that store was so bored that I think he was actually excited to help us when we walked in. Though really he couldn't help us at all.
But he did point us onward, and we wound up at our fourth Verizon place of the day. The employee at this store could order my mom a new phone, but he wasn't able to diagnose what was wrong with her current one, and he could sortof tell her what caused her other issues, but he couldn't do anything to fix them. He could tell us where to go to get everything taken care of though, so we made progress! However, our ridiculous run-around took so long that, by the time we finished at the fourth store, the time was 6:06, and the fifth store that should have been able to fix all our problems was closed. At least we knew where to start tomorrow.
I'm not sure where exactly the gratitude comes in here, because it was extremely frustrating at the time. Luckily, it turned out to be one of those stories that I'm able to look back on and laugh at. So I guess that's something - the humor in hindsight. It really helps put perspective on what would otherwise be a frustrating life.
Teachers Who Care
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I am almost positive that every child out there has had a teacher at some point that didn't care about his or her well-being. Unfortunately, I don't know that the opposite is true, that every child has had a teacher that was deeply invested in his or her well-being. I would hope that it is, but the reality might not be so optimistic.
Luckily for me, I have had the good fortunate to have more than one teacher who actually cared about me as an individual. And one of those teachers happens to be the Institute teacher in my stake, Brother Premont. Brother Premont is a rather funny guy, and he really loves to talk. His lessons run long more often than not, but he always has a snack ready for us after, and he likes to catch up with our lives while we bond over cookies or root beer floats.
Tonight I had a very nice conversation with Brother Premont as we discussed everything from my upcoming travel plans to the BYU football team. He really takes an interest in my life, and making sure that I'm living a very happy one. It's comforting to know that there are teachers like him out there, teachers who really care about the students they teach and who actually wish to better their students' lives rather than just get them through the class. And I'll always be grateful for teachers like Brother Premont.
I am almost positive that every child out there has had a teacher at some point that didn't care about his or her well-being. Unfortunately, I don't know that the opposite is true, that every child has had a teacher that was deeply invested in his or her well-being. I would hope that it is, but the reality might not be so optimistic.
Luckily for me, I have had the good fortunate to have more than one teacher who actually cared about me as an individual. And one of those teachers happens to be the Institute teacher in my stake, Brother Premont. Brother Premont is a rather funny guy, and he really loves to talk. His lessons run long more often than not, but he always has a snack ready for us after, and he likes to catch up with our lives while we bond over cookies or root beer floats.
Tonight I had a very nice conversation with Brother Premont as we discussed everything from my upcoming travel plans to the BYU football team. He really takes an interest in my life, and making sure that I'm living a very happy one. It's comforting to know that there are teachers like him out there, teachers who really care about the students they teach and who actually wish to better their students' lives rather than just get them through the class. And I'll always be grateful for teachers like Brother Premont.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Custard and Italian Ice
Monday, August 2, 2010
Maryland has many wonders that my family and I have discovered over the years, but I have to say that one of the most wonderful wonders we've crossed paths with is a delightful italian ice and custard place known as Rita's. Currently, Rita's is an East Coast and Southern phenomenon, which is a real tragedy for those living in the West who never have the opportunity to sample the heavenly creations that come from these summertime stands. Thankfully, I have the pleasure of living five minutes away from a Rita's, and it has been a staple of my summertime menu for the past few years.
Tonight, my parents and I discovered Rita's competition - a little shop known as Meadow-something Custard. Something. (It's name wasn't quite as easy to remember.) It was a rather interesting place, run by eager high school students and owned by a very eager middle-aged man. The menu was a bit more extensive than the fares that Rita's offered, but I'm not yet convinced that the quality was as good. However, it seemed to be an opponent worthy of challenging the powerhouse that is Rita's. I'll be interested to see how this battle ends. And while I wait, I'm grateful for an unending supply of custard and italian ice. Somehow it makes the summer that much better.
Maryland has many wonders that my family and I have discovered over the years, but I have to say that one of the most wonderful wonders we've crossed paths with is a delightful italian ice and custard place known as Rita's. Currently, Rita's is an East Coast and Southern phenomenon, which is a real tragedy for those living in the West who never have the opportunity to sample the heavenly creations that come from these summertime stands. Thankfully, I have the pleasure of living five minutes away from a Rita's, and it has been a staple of my summertime menu for the past few years.
Tonight, my parents and I discovered Rita's competition - a little shop known as Meadow-something Custard. Something. (It's name wasn't quite as easy to remember.) It was a rather interesting place, run by eager high school students and owned by a very eager middle-aged man. The menu was a bit more extensive than the fares that Rita's offered, but I'm not yet convinced that the quality was as good. However, it seemed to be an opponent worthy of challenging the powerhouse that is Rita's. I'll be interested to see how this battle ends. And while I wait, I'm grateful for an unending supply of custard and italian ice. Somehow it makes the summer that much better.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Peanuts
Sunday, August 1, 2010
No, this post does not refer to the salty nut variety. Or even to the double-dipped chocolate kind. It refers to the card game called Peanuts, my favorite card game, actually. It's known by a variety of names and played in a variety of ways, but one constant holds true: it's the best card game out there. Each person has their own deck in what can be most easily described as multi-player solitaire, and it requires a fast pace and quick reaction time. If you play with my family, there may even be a little violence involved.
The reason I love this game so much is not for the adrenaline rush, or my about-five-year winning streak, or even for my totally awesome Cracker Jack playing cards; it's because we always play it as a family. It's our family game (at least when I have my way; otherwise the game generally tends to be Racko). For a little while in high school, we played it almost every Sunday night, until my family got tired of losing to me every time (you think I exaggerate, but I really win every time). It was great family bonding time, even with Carlton accusing me of cheating and Derek actually cheating. And I think that's something to be grateful for.
No, this post does not refer to the salty nut variety. Or even to the double-dipped chocolate kind. It refers to the card game called Peanuts, my favorite card game, actually. It's known by a variety of names and played in a variety of ways, but one constant holds true: it's the best card game out there. Each person has their own deck in what can be most easily described as multi-player solitaire, and it requires a fast pace and quick reaction time. If you play with my family, there may even be a little violence involved.
The reason I love this game so much is not for the adrenaline rush, or my about-five-year winning streak, or even for my totally awesome Cracker Jack playing cards; it's because we always play it as a family. It's our family game (at least when I have my way; otherwise the game generally tends to be Racko). For a little while in high school, we played it almost every Sunday night, until my family got tired of losing to me every time (you think I exaggerate, but I really win every time). It was great family bonding time, even with Carlton accusing me of cheating and Derek actually cheating. And I think that's something to be grateful for.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Happiness
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The speed at which time seems to whiz by is a constant source of amazement to me. How one minute, it's June, and I'm dragging myself through the last days of Spanish class, and how seemingly hours later, it's the last day of July, and summer is half gone. I'm convinced there really are not enough hours in the day, because some of them must get skipped for life to go so fast. I can't seem to think of another explanation.
I suppose I'm not complaining at the lack of time, since just yesterday I was moaning about the abundance of time on my hands, but it does occasionally worry me that my days are speedily sliding away. What if, in all those hours that get left out of the day, I'm missing some extremely important lesson I need to learn that will help me through the rest of my life? I think time needs to stop and smell the roses, at least long enough for me to catch up.
Yet, I know very well that it will not. Time will continue the crazy race that it's running, sprinting toward it's unseen finish. Personally, I think a nice, slow mosey pace would do wonders for my peace of mind, but nobody asked me. At least I can be grateful for the happiness of my breakneck life, because there's no doubt that overall, life is very good. Though there's always room to find more joy in this high-speed journey.
The speed at which time seems to whiz by is a constant source of amazement to me. How one minute, it's June, and I'm dragging myself through the last days of Spanish class, and how seemingly hours later, it's the last day of July, and summer is half gone. I'm convinced there really are not enough hours in the day, because some of them must get skipped for life to go so fast. I can't seem to think of another explanation.
I suppose I'm not complaining at the lack of time, since just yesterday I was moaning about the abundance of time on my hands, but it does occasionally worry me that my days are speedily sliding away. What if, in all those hours that get left out of the day, I'm missing some extremely important lesson I need to learn that will help me through the rest of my life? I think time needs to stop and smell the roses, at least long enough for me to catch up.
Yet, I know very well that it will not. Time will continue the crazy race that it's running, sprinting toward it's unseen finish. Personally, I think a nice, slow mosey pace would do wonders for my peace of mind, but nobody asked me. At least I can be grateful for the happiness of my breakneck life, because there's no doubt that overall, life is very good. Though there's always room to find more joy in this high-speed journey.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Being Entertained
Friday, July 30, 2010
I'm afraid I'm out of practice with this daily blog thing, because I can't think of anything to write about. This is pathetic. At least I remembered that I needed to blog, so that's something.
The truth is, my mood has been less than positive for the past few days, and it puts a damper on my grateful thoughts. While I was in school, stressed out of my mind by taking too many credits and working too many hours, I dreamed of the blissful days of summer, when I would be home with nothing to do and hours to do it in, not a care in the world disrupting my well-earned break from the responsibilities of life. It sounds so idyllic, written out like that, but in reality it's anything but. The reality is that I am bored.
I have absolutely nothing to do with my days. Sure, it's nice to have a day like that every so often, when you can unwind and take a quick little break from life. But day after day after day of entertaining myself with cross stitch and TV movies takes it toll, and I have four more weeks of it. I'll be lucky if I come out the other end with my sanity still intact.
Thankfully (there we have some gratitude!), my mother is willing to entertain me. Or maybe she's simply trying to entertain herself and decides to take pity on me by taking me to movies with her and letting me talk her ear off about the wonderfulness of Skyler. Either way, she holds off the boredom for a portion of each day and helps me retain what I call my sanity. I'm grateful to be entertained.
I'm afraid I'm out of practice with this daily blog thing, because I can't think of anything to write about. This is pathetic. At least I remembered that I needed to blog, so that's something.
The truth is, my mood has been less than positive for the past few days, and it puts a damper on my grateful thoughts. While I was in school, stressed out of my mind by taking too many credits and working too many hours, I dreamed of the blissful days of summer, when I would be home with nothing to do and hours to do it in, not a care in the world disrupting my well-earned break from the responsibilities of life. It sounds so idyllic, written out like that, but in reality it's anything but. The reality is that I am bored.
I have absolutely nothing to do with my days. Sure, it's nice to have a day like that every so often, when you can unwind and take a quick little break from life. But day after day after day of entertaining myself with cross stitch and TV movies takes it toll, and I have four more weeks of it. I'll be lucky if I come out the other end with my sanity still intact.
Thankfully (there we have some gratitude!), my mother is willing to entertain me. Or maybe she's simply trying to entertain herself and decides to take pity on me by taking me to movies with her and letting me talk her ear off about the wonderfulness of Skyler. Either way, she holds off the boredom for a portion of each day and helps me retain what I call my sanity. I'm grateful to be entertained.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Recap
As you may have noticed, I am behind. By quite a few days actually. And the problem with being so far behind is the daunting task it presents of catching up. And the problem with this daunting task is, well, it's daunting, and one that I'm not particularly keen on dealing with. So, in an effort to actually continue this daily blog, I'm afraid I will be skipping the days I've missed and starting anew with today. Skip is a bit harsh though, because I will complete 365 posts; they just won't be consecutive. So, here we go again.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The unfortunate thing about skipping so many days is that several of those days were full of excitement. Because I like to share my excitement, and because I love pictures, today's post will be a pictorial recap of my summer so far.
Because I've uploaded a large amount of pictures from our Rome trip into an album on facebook, I'll simply post the link here. I'd rather not post 178 pictures onto my blog as well. This would be the url:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045860&id=1224510276&l=7892cbee4b
Onto the company pictures! My aunt, uncle, and cousins came to visit for a week, and luckily Skyler was able to come sortof that same week as well, so it was quite hectic around here for a good ten days while we toured our visitors around the area. A few pictures of our adventures for your viewing pleasure.
The white stone of the buildings in DC are really quite stunning.
It's semi blurry, and my cousin Audrey was taking a picture at the same time, which accounts for the orange light on Skyler's shirt, but I like it all the same.
I might have gotten a little carried away with my artistic picture taking.
Skyler and my dad were a little tired by the time we made it the World War II memorial. While the rest of us put our feet in the fountain, they slept.
At Ford's Theater. He didn't want to smile because 'something sad happened there.'
Waiting for everyone at Arlington National Cemetery. I believe this was our fifth try for a picture.
The best temple in the world.
I love this picture, even though it is a bit blurry. It's just so candid.
At the beach on Assateague Island. Skyler got a little bit sunburned.
The wild horses on the island.
From our trip to the Baltimore Aquarium. I couldn't believe how colorful the coral is!
If you ever see this little guy in the water, run.
And of course, Raven's Stadium, so Skyler could rub it in his brother's face.
There you have the adventures of my summer. Very fun and very warm. Thank goodness for recaps.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The unfortunate thing about skipping so many days is that several of those days were full of excitement. Because I like to share my excitement, and because I love pictures, today's post will be a pictorial recap of my summer so far.
Because I've uploaded a large amount of pictures from our Rome trip into an album on facebook, I'll simply post the link here. I'd rather not post 178 pictures onto my blog as well. This would be the url:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045860&id=1224510276&l=7892cbee4b
Onto the company pictures! My aunt, uncle, and cousins came to visit for a week, and luckily Skyler was able to come sortof that same week as well, so it was quite hectic around here for a good ten days while we toured our visitors around the area. A few pictures of our adventures for your viewing pleasure.
The white stone of the buildings in DC are really quite stunning.
It's semi blurry, and my cousin Audrey was taking a picture at the same time, which accounts for the orange light on Skyler's shirt, but I like it all the same.
I might have gotten a little carried away with my artistic picture taking.
Skyler and my dad were a little tired by the time we made it the World War II memorial. While the rest of us put our feet in the fountain, they slept.
At Ford's Theater. He didn't want to smile because 'something sad happened there.'
Waiting for everyone at Arlington National Cemetery. I believe this was our fifth try for a picture.
The best temple in the world.
I love this picture, even though it is a bit blurry. It's just so candid.
At the beach on Assateague Island. Skyler got a little bit sunburned.
The wild horses on the island.
From our trip to the Baltimore Aquarium. I couldn't believe how colorful the coral is!
If you ever see this little guy in the water, run.
And of course, Raven's Stadium, so Skyler could rub it in his brother's face.
There you have the adventures of my summer. Very fun and very warm. Thank goodness for recaps.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Weddings
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Today has been anticipated for quite some time, because today was Sam and Jason's wedding day. It was rather brutally hot, though that was to be expected since it is the middle of June in St. George, and the sun was practically blistering (again, to be expected), but overall the day turned out beautifully. First was waiting outside the temple for them to come out, which they finally did, looking off-the-charts happy. Then the reception later that night, where I'm confident they smiled more than I thought humanly possible. It was a really very happy day, and it reminded me to be grateful for the joy of others around us, which can so easily lift us up too. Congrats, Sam and Jason!
And, because I love taking pictures, and a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, here's a few pictures!
Outside the temple, with all their cute bridesmaids.
With all the girls.
First dance.
Decorating the car. Andrew was quite good at this.
She's so cute.
The boys didn't get too into it.
And throwing the bouquet.
Today has been anticipated for quite some time, because today was Sam and Jason's wedding day. It was rather brutally hot, though that was to be expected since it is the middle of June in St. George, and the sun was practically blistering (again, to be expected), but overall the day turned out beautifully. First was waiting outside the temple for them to come out, which they finally did, looking off-the-charts happy. Then the reception later that night, where I'm confident they smiled more than I thought humanly possible. It was a really very happy day, and it reminded me to be grateful for the joy of others around us, which can so easily lift us up too. Congrats, Sam and Jason!
And, because I love taking pictures, and a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, here's a few pictures!
Outside the temple, with all their cute bridesmaids.
With all the girls.
First dance.
Decorating the car. Andrew was quite good at this.
She's so cute.
The boys didn't get too into it.
And throwing the bouquet.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Toy Story 3
Friday, June 18, 2010
Cinematic masterpiece. Artistic genius. Most epic movie to grace theaters this year. Toy Story 3.
I am a Disney fan. Though fan might not be a strong enough word. Fanatic. Obsessed nutcase. These are perhaps more apt descriptions. I love the old Disney movies, most of which we own on VHS, and several of which I now own on DVD. I can quote large portions of my most well-loved films, and sing along to at least the chorus of almost all the classic songs. I have a Disney princess calendar, and my nineteenth birthday celebration was Disney princess themed. To me, Disney is the best thing invented since sliced bread.
This obsessive love has, in recent years, extended to include most Pixar films as well, since they are a marvelous movie-making pair and all; it's only right that I am fond of them both. And Pixar has made several notable additions to my Disney collection of favorites: Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., The Incredibles, Up. And, of course, the Toy Storys.
Who could fail to love the Toy Story series? On top of being voiced by notable funnymen Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, Woody and Buzz have a friendship that everyone wishes to someday have with their friends. Starting out as enemies, they eventually learn to work together, and by the end are rescuing each other from perilous situations. It's phenomenal. So who in their right minds would be unexcited to see the latest installment?
Definitely not me. I'd been looking forward to this movie for quite some time, and my hopes were not disappointed in the slightest. The movie was absolutely wonderful, a definite success, especially considering it was a sequel, which are usually poor when dealing with Disney (no offense). I loved every second of it. Thank you Pixar, for making my afternoon so very well-spent.
Cinematic masterpiece. Artistic genius. Most epic movie to grace theaters this year. Toy Story 3.
I am a Disney fan. Though fan might not be a strong enough word. Fanatic. Obsessed nutcase. These are perhaps more apt descriptions. I love the old Disney movies, most of which we own on VHS, and several of which I now own on DVD. I can quote large portions of my most well-loved films, and sing along to at least the chorus of almost all the classic songs. I have a Disney princess calendar, and my nineteenth birthday celebration was Disney princess themed. To me, Disney is the best thing invented since sliced bread.
This obsessive love has, in recent years, extended to include most Pixar films as well, since they are a marvelous movie-making pair and all; it's only right that I am fond of them both. And Pixar has made several notable additions to my Disney collection of favorites: Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., The Incredibles, Up. And, of course, the Toy Storys.
Who could fail to love the Toy Story series? On top of being voiced by notable funnymen Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, Woody and Buzz have a friendship that everyone wishes to someday have with their friends. Starting out as enemies, they eventually learn to work together, and by the end are rescuing each other from perilous situations. It's phenomenal. So who in their right minds would be unexcited to see the latest installment?
Definitely not me. I'd been looking forward to this movie for quite some time, and my hopes were not disappointed in the slightest. The movie was absolutely wonderful, a definite success, especially considering it was a sequel, which are usually poor when dealing with Disney (no offense). I loved every second of it. Thank you Pixar, for making my afternoon so very well-spent.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I'm Not Allowed To Write About It
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The subject of today's post . . . well, I'm not actually allowed to tell you, because Skyler once informed me that he doesn't want an entire post dedicated to him. I guess technically I'm going against his wishes a tiny bit; hopefully he'll understand. But I will now be content to be grateful in silence for the best thing to ever come into my life. I'm sorry, dear reader, that I can't tell you more. I'm not allowed to write about it.
The subject of today's post . . . well, I'm not actually allowed to tell you, because Skyler once informed me that he doesn't want an entire post dedicated to him. I guess technically I'm going against his wishes a tiny bit; hopefully he'll understand. But I will now be content to be grateful in silence for the best thing to ever come into my life. I'm sorry, dear reader, that I can't tell you more. I'm not allowed to write about it.
Totes
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
If you asked me right this minute what holds the number one spot on my list of things I hate, it would unquestionably and without a doubt be packing. I literally HATE it. Packing requires thought and effort and care (if you don't want your stuff to be mangled upon unpacking), yet in the back of your mind you know that all that thought and effort and care really amounts to nothing in the long run, because it will all be quickly undone by the imminent unpacking (regardless of how unmangled it may be). There is very little about packing that I find remotely appealing.
The one, single, very small, semi-redeeming quality that I've discovered about packing my apartment up every time I move (I still haven't discovered anything redeeming about packing for a trip, other than it means I'm going on a trip) is the totes I use to pack everything into. How pathetically . . . pathetic does that sound? The only thing I enjoy about the process is the cheap plastic bins that protect my priceless life-items from harm. Put that way, it makes me sound rather shallow.
But there's something about totes that put me in an organizational mood, and if there's one thing I (occasionally) love, it's organization. Though you would probably never guess that from the current state of my room. I think I get excited over the organizational implements, like totes, not the organization itself. At least I get over something related to it, which is a step in the right direction after all.
Because I love totes, and because they're remarkably handy when I have lots and lots of stuff that needs storing, I've been amassing quite a collection in the past few years. Currently I have nine totes, and almost all my stuff fits in them! Which makes storing them at my uncle's house much more convenient. I quite love my totes, even though the unpleasantness of packing is not really diminished by them. Such is life. I'll be content with being grateful for my totes.
If you asked me right this minute what holds the number one spot on my list of things I hate, it would unquestionably and without a doubt be packing. I literally HATE it. Packing requires thought and effort and care (if you don't want your stuff to be mangled upon unpacking), yet in the back of your mind you know that all that thought and effort and care really amounts to nothing in the long run, because it will all be quickly undone by the imminent unpacking (regardless of how unmangled it may be). There is very little about packing that I find remotely appealing.
The one, single, very small, semi-redeeming quality that I've discovered about packing my apartment up every time I move (I still haven't discovered anything redeeming about packing for a trip, other than it means I'm going on a trip) is the totes I use to pack everything into. How pathetically . . . pathetic does that sound? The only thing I enjoy about the process is the cheap plastic bins that protect my priceless life-items from harm. Put that way, it makes me sound rather shallow.
But there's something about totes that put me in an organizational mood, and if there's one thing I (occasionally) love, it's organization. Though you would probably never guess that from the current state of my room. I think I get excited over the organizational implements, like totes, not the organization itself. At least I get over something related to it, which is a step in the right direction after all.
Because I love totes, and because they're remarkably handy when I have lots and lots of stuff that needs storing, I've been amassing quite a collection in the past few years. Currently I have nine totes, and almost all my stuff fits in them! Which makes storing them at my uncle's house much more convenient. I quite love my totes, even though the unpleasantness of packing is not really diminished by them. Such is life. I'll be content with being grateful for my totes.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Freedom
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Don't let the title fool you; this post is not a philosophical, early fourth of July discussion on the benefits of living in a free country. Or anything similar. Instead, it's about what you would probably expect if you knew that I took my final final for my Spanish class today. Yes that's right: today's post is about the freedom of not having Spanish class any longer.
It's such a good feeling, knowing that classes are over with, and for the next two months I have nothing to do but enjoy my summer. Theoretically these next two months should include a job, but I'm not entirely sure it will be able to, since it is only two months and employers tend not to hire for such a short time frame. But we'll see. Right now I'd like to simply bask in the wonderful feeling of freedom, freedom from Spanish forever. Oh it's a feeling to be grateful for.
Don't let the title fool you; this post is not a philosophical, early fourth of July discussion on the benefits of living in a free country. Or anything similar. Instead, it's about what you would probably expect if you knew that I took my final final for my Spanish class today. Yes that's right: today's post is about the freedom of not having Spanish class any longer.
It's such a good feeling, knowing that classes are over with, and for the next two months I have nothing to do but enjoy my summer. Theoretically these next two months should include a job, but I'm not entirely sure it will be able to, since it is only two months and employers tend not to hire for such a short time frame. But we'll see. Right now I'd like to simply bask in the wonderful feeling of freedom, freedom from Spanish forever. Oh it's a feeling to be grateful for.
Verb Conjugations.
Monday, June 14, 2010
In all of my planning of blog posts (which really isn't that extensive, trust me), I always thought this post would be about the last day of Spanish class, or at the very least the last day of Spring classes. However, I think you've probably heard me complain enough, or more than enough, about the misery that has been my Spring class experience, and decided to not subject you to any more whining. Please contain your excitement.
Instead, today's post will actually sortof praise Spanish. I know this is also a huge departure from the norm, but bare with me. I hope it will be worth your time.
Today I took my final Spanish oral exam. I've never been a huge fan of oral exams because speaking has always been my biggest weakness when it comes to the Spanish language. I can mostly understand what I read, and I can write a relatively understandable (though probably not grammatically correct) sentence, and I can semi comprehend what's being said as long as it's said slowly enough. But I am an awful speaker. This probably stems from my fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid; I think I've heard one too many stories of word mix-ups, when you say pregnant instead of embarrassed or something equally dumb, and these stories make my too nervous to practice speaking, therefore making me an awful speaker. Add to this nervousness the fact that oral exams are done in front of the professor for a grade, and the pitiful speaking ability I do have disappears completely.
In fact, I did so badly on my midterm oral exam that my professor told me, "you seemed to struggle with . . . Spanish." This was actually an accident; he meant to say I struggle with past and future verb conjugations, but those two things are such a major part of the language that his first accidental assessment was pretty accurate. However, I'm happy to report that I did better this time around. Marginally better, but better nonetheless. I think it had something to do with my improvement on my verb conjugations.
Really I shouldn't be grateful for those pesky things, because there are so many ways to conjugate a verb that it really makes the Spanish language, or any language for that matter, infinitely more complicated than it could be if it only had a few verb forms. However, strangely I am grateful for them. Even though I'm absolutely terrible at conjugating verbs correctly, and I have to cycle through all the forms I can remember before I finally hit on the right one, I still enjoy trying to conjugate them. It acts like a puzzle in my brain, and I like puzzles, so I'm grateful for anything that makes me enjoy Spanish just a little bit more.
In all of my planning of blog posts (which really isn't that extensive, trust me), I always thought this post would be about the last day of Spanish class, or at the very least the last day of Spring classes. However, I think you've probably heard me complain enough, or more than enough, about the misery that has been my Spring class experience, and decided to not subject you to any more whining. Please contain your excitement.
Instead, today's post will actually sortof praise Spanish. I know this is also a huge departure from the norm, but bare with me. I hope it will be worth your time.
Today I took my final Spanish oral exam. I've never been a huge fan of oral exams because speaking has always been my biggest weakness when it comes to the Spanish language. I can mostly understand what I read, and I can write a relatively understandable (though probably not grammatically correct) sentence, and I can semi comprehend what's being said as long as it's said slowly enough. But I am an awful speaker. This probably stems from my fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid; I think I've heard one too many stories of word mix-ups, when you say pregnant instead of embarrassed or something equally dumb, and these stories make my too nervous to practice speaking, therefore making me an awful speaker. Add to this nervousness the fact that oral exams are done in front of the professor for a grade, and the pitiful speaking ability I do have disappears completely.
In fact, I did so badly on my midterm oral exam that my professor told me, "you seemed to struggle with . . . Spanish." This was actually an accident; he meant to say I struggle with past and future verb conjugations, but those two things are such a major part of the language that his first accidental assessment was pretty accurate. However, I'm happy to report that I did better this time around. Marginally better, but better nonetheless. I think it had something to do with my improvement on my verb conjugations.
Really I shouldn't be grateful for those pesky things, because there are so many ways to conjugate a verb that it really makes the Spanish language, or any language for that matter, infinitely more complicated than it could be if it only had a few verb forms. However, strangely I am grateful for them. Even though I'm absolutely terrible at conjugating verbs correctly, and I have to cycle through all the forms I can remember before I finally hit on the right one, I still enjoy trying to conjugate them. It acts like a puzzle in my brain, and I like puzzles, so I'm grateful for anything that makes me enjoy Spanish just a little bit more.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Inspiring Literature
Sunday, June 13, 2010
This has just been a weekend for inspiration. First the marathon yesterday, now the movie tonight. I made my usual Sunday trip to my aunt and uncle's house tonight, where we enjoyed the cinematic genius that is the movie Invictus.
I wanted to see the movie when it came out, but being the poor college student that I am (and getting poorer by the minute, it feels like) I didn't. By the time I remembered that I could see it with good conscience at the dollar theater, it had already left the dollar theater. Luckily for me, however, my aunt and uncle own the movie, and decided that tonight would be a good night to watch it, which I wholeheartedly agreed to, and not just because Matt Damon is one of the main characters.
I absolutely loved the movie. It was in turn funny and sad, not to mention extremely inspiring. But I think the story behind it is even more fascinating than the movie. Nelson Mandela must be the most extraordinary person I've heard of in a long time. He spent twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the president of South Africa, and he did not use his power to attack those who had put him behind bars. If I were him, that would have been the first thing I did! Talk about amazing forgiveness.
The other thing I really enjoyed about it was the actual poem itself, written by William Ernest Henley. It must be the English major in me, but I really like when movies have a strong literary tie-in. Here is the full text of the poem, titled "Invictus":
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I just love inspiring literature, and I'm grateful for it. If literature didn't stir something inside someone somewhere, then it wouldn't have much purpose, really.
This has just been a weekend for inspiration. First the marathon yesterday, now the movie tonight. I made my usual Sunday trip to my aunt and uncle's house tonight, where we enjoyed the cinematic genius that is the movie Invictus.
I wanted to see the movie when it came out, but being the poor college student that I am (and getting poorer by the minute, it feels like) I didn't. By the time I remembered that I could see it with good conscience at the dollar theater, it had already left the dollar theater. Luckily for me, however, my aunt and uncle own the movie, and decided that tonight would be a good night to watch it, which I wholeheartedly agreed to, and not just because Matt Damon is one of the main characters.
I absolutely loved the movie. It was in turn funny and sad, not to mention extremely inspiring. But I think the story behind it is even more fascinating than the movie. Nelson Mandela must be the most extraordinary person I've heard of in a long time. He spent twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the president of South Africa, and he did not use his power to attack those who had put him behind bars. If I were him, that would have been the first thing I did! Talk about amazing forgiveness.
The other thing I really enjoyed about it was the actual poem itself, written by William Ernest Henley. It must be the English major in me, but I really like when movies have a strong literary tie-in. Here is the full text of the poem, titled "Invictus":
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I just love inspiring literature, and I'm grateful for it. If literature didn't stir something inside someone somewhere, then it wouldn't have much purpose, really.
Marathons
Saturday, June 12, 2010
As previously stated, I am not a runner. I never have been; I think I hit my running peak during my freshman year of high school when my friend talked me into running on the track team. That was a brutal experience that I never repeated. I think I would like to be one; imagine how much more in shape I could be if I actually liked just aimlessly running around outside for a half hour or so each day. But alas, I still have no developed a taste for it. Hopefully some day. For now, I'll stick to sitting indoors and lamenting what I lack, because I find that much more satisfactory.
Just because I don't like running doesn't mean that I don't like to watch others run. Something about other runners inspires me to get up and go, though it mostly inspires my mind, and very rarely does my body follow. However, I still find it pretty cool to watch others do something so extraordinary, regardless of its tendency to leave me quite jealous. I was reminded of this strange mix of awe and envy this morning, and about seven in the morning, when I stood on the side of the road helping distribute Powerade to a bunch of runners.
See, Maren has developed this impressive ability to talk me into doing things. This morning, those things included waking up at five o'clock to be at an aid station by five-thirty to volunteer for the Provo Marathon until eleven-thirty. Oh, and did I mention it was raining for the first hour? And in the fifties for the rest of the morning? How Maren managed to talk me into it, I will never know. Maybe it was the free t-shirt that lured me; free clothing tends to have a very strong pull on me. Regardless, at six o'clock this morning, I was not a happy camper. I even texted a sleeping Skyler to vent my displeasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't reply until he woke up at a decent hour for a Saturday morning.
But, as generally happens when Maren talks me into things, the experience turned out to be extremely rewarding in the end. Once the rain stopped, the runners came through, and I'd become decent at filling the cups to a good level with Powerade, so that neither the runners nor the volunteers would end up with blue stains down their fronts, it became a much more pleasant experience. And a very inspiring one at that.
Some of those marathon runners are absolutely phenomenal; they cruised through the station (we were at mile twenty-four, meaning they had two miles till the finish, and they already run most of the race) like they'd just started the race, and I can guarantee they were running faster at mile twenty-four than I would be running at mile two. It was incredible. And there were some runners who I never would have pegged to run a marathon, but they were right up there with the front of the pack. And then there were the two barefoot runners, a guy and a girl, who came through wearing absolutely nothing on their feet and still going strong. Now that takes practice.
It didn't matter whether the runners were in first place or last - they were still an inspiration to a non-runner like me. Thank you all those runners for their inspiration. Some day I'm going to run a marathon too!
As previously stated, I am not a runner. I never have been; I think I hit my running peak during my freshman year of high school when my friend talked me into running on the track team. That was a brutal experience that I never repeated. I think I would like to be one; imagine how much more in shape I could be if I actually liked just aimlessly running around outside for a half hour or so each day. But alas, I still have no developed a taste for it. Hopefully some day. For now, I'll stick to sitting indoors and lamenting what I lack, because I find that much more satisfactory.
Just because I don't like running doesn't mean that I don't like to watch others run. Something about other runners inspires me to get up and go, though it mostly inspires my mind, and very rarely does my body follow. However, I still find it pretty cool to watch others do something so extraordinary, regardless of its tendency to leave me quite jealous. I was reminded of this strange mix of awe and envy this morning, and about seven in the morning, when I stood on the side of the road helping distribute Powerade to a bunch of runners.
See, Maren has developed this impressive ability to talk me into doing things. This morning, those things included waking up at five o'clock to be at an aid station by five-thirty to volunteer for the Provo Marathon until eleven-thirty. Oh, and did I mention it was raining for the first hour? And in the fifties for the rest of the morning? How Maren managed to talk me into it, I will never know. Maybe it was the free t-shirt that lured me; free clothing tends to have a very strong pull on me. Regardless, at six o'clock this morning, I was not a happy camper. I even texted a sleeping Skyler to vent my displeasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't reply until he woke up at a decent hour for a Saturday morning.
But, as generally happens when Maren talks me into things, the experience turned out to be extremely rewarding in the end. Once the rain stopped, the runners came through, and I'd become decent at filling the cups to a good level with Powerade, so that neither the runners nor the volunteers would end up with blue stains down their fronts, it became a much more pleasant experience. And a very inspiring one at that.
Some of those marathon runners are absolutely phenomenal; they cruised through the station (we were at mile twenty-four, meaning they had two miles till the finish, and they already run most of the race) like they'd just started the race, and I can guarantee they were running faster at mile twenty-four than I would be running at mile two. It was incredible. And there were some runners who I never would have pegged to run a marathon, but they were right up there with the front of the pack. And then there were the two barefoot runners, a guy and a girl, who came through wearing absolutely nothing on their feet and still going strong. Now that takes practice.
It didn't matter whether the runners were in first place or last - they were still an inspiration to a non-runner like me. Thank you all those runners for their inspiration. Some day I'm going to run a marathon too!
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