May in New England...Here again

Walking through the Van Wickle gates at Brown's Convocation in September of 2011 with my Public Policy classmates. In  approximately 2 weeks, I'll be walking through these gates for the second time.

It's Friday, May 10, 2013 in Providence, Rhode Island. 

One final paper to go. Almost 3 semesters down. Warm, sunny humid days, trees in full bloom. Graduation is two weeks, the tickets are purchased for campus dance, Brown's year-end extravaganza, and I'm here again? The same place I was three years ago? 

Ah, and indeed it is. Getting a Master's degree has been a bit different from undergrad -- I've missed that free travel and food associated with gymnastics competitions!! Going to school in the middle of Providence, Rhode Island has also shifted the experience considerably -- there is a lot more restaurant hopping!

Four hours worth of gymnastics practice time has been replaced by studying and writing papers. I've tried to add in at least 45 minutes of cardio and occasional TRX classes/workout videos to produce some muscle mass...it's helped me concentrate more during this second year of grad school, that's for sure.

Basically, right now I am for some reason feeling the urgency to add an entry before I complete my final paper -- a toast to two years of grad school and successfully finding a job! I've got at least another year of enjoying Providence and traveling around New England with my boyfriend, with whom I've gotten to travel to many New England sites I've long wanted to visit but never took the time to follow through.

Watch out, world. School is out for summer...possibly forever??

Some pictoral highlights of the year:

Seeing Plimoth Plantation with mom Kay Smith -- 40 or so years after she visited the East Coast for the first time

Getting pastries after a bike ride in Falmouth, MA on Cape Cod. 

With mom Kay Smith at the Cliff Walk in Newport, RI. 

"Igloofest" in Montreal...a giant outdoor party in the snow in Montreal's old Port...complete with Ice Sculptures and techno dancing. Oh, those French Canadians.....

Dave visits WA and we do the Space Needle in January.

Chicken and Waffles...my first time at Roscoe's Fried Chicken in Los Angeles, California. Visited for a job interview in February.  

Eat. Run. Inspiration.

When I tapped the screen of my Kindle Fire yesterday afternoon and got to the final page of ultra marathon hero Scott Jurek's book Eat and Run, I felt like crying. For multiple reasons:

1. I was done with an INCREDIBLE book.
2. His last chapter encapsulates the entire book's dedication to the resilience of the human spirit. 
3. Scott Jurek is a badass! I weep for the strength and courage to be like him. 

From start to finish, I was riveted. I bought the book immediately after finishing Chris McDougall's 2009 bestseller, Born to Run. And Jurek did not disappoint. 

Eat and Run was released on June 5, 2012

His childhood in Minnesota was riddled with hardship. He was called "pee wee" in elementary school, his mother's life disintegrated because of multiple sclerosis right in front of his eyes, his father was grouchy, and they were poor. When Scott was 19 and attending a nearby university, his dad kicked him out of the house (and it was NOT due to a rebellious lifestyle). His father's words "sometimes you just do things" came to be words Jurek would live by his entire life. 

Scott Jurek, Ultra Hero. He's won 7 consecutive Western States,
ran with the Tarahumara in Born to Run, and is, in fact, a vegan.
He currently lives in Boulder, Colorado. Shout out to my
Smith brethren! 

In one particular passage, Jurek asks, "Did 'Sometimes you just do things' really mean: 'Try not to think of the consequences, just trust in yourself and the universe'?"

He asks, "Was my dad not just a hardass Minnesotan but a mystic?" 

That's what makes the book compelling to people of all backgrounds, vocations, and athletic inclinations. It's not a book about running. It's a testament to the human spirit. (Though I'd bet anyone who reads it will be inspired to push themselves to new heights on daily jogs...)

Jurek's citation of spiritual reading reinforces the mind-body-spirit aspect of exercise/sport -- especially endurance sports. He also brings in nutrition and how using intuition to get the most from training regimens takes you the extra mile in competition. It's the way he became a winner. 

I found  myself having flashbacks to when I really started improving in gymnastics. I came to a point where natural talent wouldn't cut it anymore. I started listening to relaxation tapes, visualizing my routines, watching everything I ate, measuring out the nutritional components, and training smarter. 

What if pushing to achieve something with my body didn't end with gymnastics? What if I can be something more, accomplish something new athletically? What if, at the ripe age of 24, I'm only just beginning? 

More than anything, this book has you asking these kinds of questions. It gives you reason to hope for a better future. And a new kind of logic: that pushing the body and mind are interrelated. That to be all you can be, the mind, body, and spirit are not mutually exclusive. Improving one aspect influences the other aspects of your life, like a domino effect: changing your career, family life, and relationships. 

Here's to becoming something more: faster, stronger, nicer, better. Here's to balance, to inner peace. Scott Jurek, you inspire me. 

Back to Blogging: Running...Rhode Island-style

OH...hello!

I've taken the time this summer to touch base with the blog. Moving on with grad school life, without those adventures of yonder year when I was traversing different continents....and moving beyond the undergraduate gymnastics competition scene. So what's new??

Since that time of gymnastics bliss is over (as is the FREE TRAVEL associated with division I collegiate gymnastics), I've taken up a new pastime: running.

My friend Natalie made it up last weekend to run the Little Compton Road Race - an 8k that covered terrain through sleepy Little Compton, an idyllic New England beach town. Natalie grew up in Little Compton, so we made sure to cover the must-dos: visit downtown (check), eat brunch at "The Barn" (check), and go to Horseneck Beach in neighboring Mass (check). SO much fun.

(Can I add that typical west-coaster dismay at how STRANGE it is crossing state borders so quickly?? Weird stuff, man.)

Having a smashingly fun time in 90 degree heat @ the annual Little Compton Road Race

One of the things I find the most refreshing about waking up to run the races is encountering runners of all abilities, at all times. I felt the same when I ran the Cox Half Marathon with Natalie in May, and again during the Queens 10k in NYC two weeks ago.

Of course, the influence from Natalie (see her vegan/runner's blog here, at http://willrunforveggies.com/) hasn't hurt. She is a marathoner and has inspired me to look into her vegan runner's lifestyle. This has led to reading The China Study, Born to Run, and contemplating the Kindle purchase of Eat and Run, by ultramarathon hero Scott Jurek.

I find it amazing how so many runners note how "the world's #1 amateur participation sport" made them better human beings. I guess it's all about finding that place of zen - and running for miles and miles gets you there. This summer has definitely given me a chance to reduce grad school anxiety with a daily schedule made up of a 3-5 mile interval runs before my internship in Boston. Saving those long runs for the weekends.

The next big race we're both running is the Amica Half Marathon and Marathon in Newport, RI - set for October. (I'm doing the half, Natalie's doing the full).

Will keep you posted on the prep work...and of course, other goings-oh and those world issues I find interesting (and that I mentioned in the header of this post). It's good to be back.

Third world country? Some time in the sun in Monterrico

We hopped into an assortment of Land Rovers and Toyota Excursions, plopped the kids in the backseat, and loaded the cars with tons of food (crusts for pizza, mangoes and apples, pasta, and tuna, lettuce and bread for sandwiches) to last the weekend.

We sat for one painstaking hour in city traffic, waiting to get out. We stopped by Mcdonald's on the outskirts of the city, then zoomed past toll roads, farm lands, and gas power plants.

But when we arrived to a beautiful cluster of white beach condos, we knew it was all worth it.

It sounds like an average American vacation in the states. It could have been a trip in New Jersey to the "shore", or in New Hampshire to Rye Beach. From the Coronado Cays to the oceanfront for a picnic in San Diego, CA. Or even our two hour journey to Ocean Shores from Tacoma, Washington.

But no - I was with a bunch of families from the gymnastics gym in Guatemala. And we were headed to one family's beach condo in Monterrico, Guatemala.

Black volcanic sand. Palm trees. A gigantic pool that snaked under bridges and into every corner of the complex's courtyard. Speakers playing Latino and American music. Headphones, a book, and a reclining lounge chair. Pure bliss.

Minus the sunburn still on my back. But other than that, pure bliss.

One of the gym coaches was like, "You didn't think you'd be getting this when you came to Guatemala, did you?" I laughed and shook my head. "Yeah, you show these pictures to your friends and they won't believe you're in Guatemala!"

No joke. the conclusion I've reached is that nice beach locales are pretty much the same everywhere. Sand, surf, and sun. Except for here (in comparison to places in the northern "Estados Unidos"), the water was pretty warm, and the waves were huge.

I'm grateful to the families here for welcoming us gymnastics instructors with open arms and treating us to just another weekend of family fun in Guatemala. Thank you, Guatemala, for showing me a good time. (And for the bonus tan!)

The magic of Pacaya

From the top - with Kent's mom. Volcan Agua sits to the right.

Lord of the Rings moment. Pacaya's crater in the background.

Pacaya from afar.

Creepy doll head on the way up. Lake Amatitlan in the background.

After a couple of weeks nary a post, I believe last weekend's excursion up Pacaya warrants some quality blog time.

I'd known I wanted to climb at least one volcano in my time here, and the Spring Break visit of the family my Olympika colleague Kent was the perfect opportunity.

Let me begin by saying that volcanoes are part of the mystical beauty of Guatemala. They surround the city, add perceived depths to area lakes, and provided terrain suitable for guerrilla rebels during Guate's 36-year Civil War.

They can be unpredictable, tempestuous, and passionate. Hmm. A lot like Guatemala.

The last volcanic eruption took place last May - during Olympika's own Copa Olympika gymnastics meet. Ash came pouring down, spewed from Pacaya, shortly followed by a torrential downpour (it WAS the rainy season) that caused mudslides and damage that still hasn't been completely fixed.

So we were going to climb that very volcano. YAY. Gotta experience the true Guate, baby.

And really, nothing about the climb was too arduous, intense, or rugged. It was an hour's hike up well-worn dirt roads with a Guatemalan guide (who spoke only Spanish) and looked to be in his early teens. But then again, he could have been older. Nutritional deficiencies often make older people look younger in the countryside and highlands.

Other people followed us from the base of the hike, peddling horse rides as an alternative to climbing via exercise/legs.

"No, gracias," I smiled as one boy nagged me for the 15th time about the benefits of climbing on horseback. "Me gusta hacer ejercicio!!" Good god. He didn't get the hint until we were like 10 minutes from timberline.

And that was when things got interesting. As we snapped photographs, I had this all-consuming feeling that I was in a Lord of the Rings movie, about to drop the ring into the crater looming above our heads. Seriously. I was looking for Smeagol, waiting for him to pounce on me any second, hissing "My precious...."

Luckily we merely trudged higher to the level wonderland beneath the crater. Beautiful photo ops, caves full of a heat that made them more like saunas, and random pits that would set logs logs on fire when tossed into their depths.

Pacaya. So this is what a volcano is like, up close and personal. The sun set as we slid along the shortcuts down hill, filling our shoes with lava ash and trying not to sprain ankles. Man, that guide liked to travel fast.

The lights of Guatemala City glittered in the background and I couldn't help but think: this is living. Volcanoes really exist. There are places that have sauna-like caves. And it's all there for the taking, if you're up for it. It just comes down to desire.

PS - KELLI and anyone else who visits - we will climb Pacaya! :)

Lago de Atitlan

Lago. De. Atitlan.

Refreshing. Caliente. Beautiful.

I set eyes on the splendor of Guate's Lake Atitlan Saturday afternoon and saw immediately why it's included on the list of "1,000 Places to See Before You Die." About a 3 hour ride from Guatemala City, you can zig zag on the mountain roads and speed as fast as possible for earthly vehicles, but once you arrive at Atitlan, all you can do is humbly submit yourself to the wonder of nature and enjoy the ride, even if it means slowing way way down.

The town of Panajachel, accessible by a car ride down steep volcanic ridges, is the largest tourist town on the lake. Bars, hotels, boats, tuk-tuks, hippies, restaurants, artisan markets - you name it. It was easy for my coworkers and I to find a place to stay for $5 a night (40 Quetzales).

After all, all you really need is a bed to rest in after days full of trekking through neighboring towns and hitting up the various bars.

Empanadas with Chimichurri at the Argentinian pizzeria served as an ample caloric substitute to excess drinking on Saturday night. The cheese-filled ones were the best (preceded by cheesy burritos on the street - so-called "gringas").

The towns of Santiago and San Pedro were accessible by a 45 minute boat ride across the placid blue of the lake. Santiago features a room for worshippers of the Mayan saint Maximom - consisting of a wooden statue of the saint surrounded by candles and offerings of cigars and alcohol. Two men poured liquor down Maximom's throat between chants in an ancient Mayan language indecipherable to Spanish or English speakers. The throat clicking definitely added a bit of mystique to the ceremony.



Outside of Guatemala City, most women wear traditional Mayan clothing, tortillas are still made piping hot and chargrilled streetside, and restaurants advertise $2 breakfasts of beans, eggs, and plaintains with Nescafe. It's a land unto itself - yes, it features modern ATMs and bathrooms (though you're lucky to find hot water in showers for rooms $5 a night or less), but the culture is distinctly Mayan.

After a final jaunt to Chichicastenango to look at the legendary market, Kent, Bob and I lunched on pollo a la plancha with salad and rice before calling it a weekend and heading back to Guatemala City. The closer we got, the more and more the radio DJs talked exclusively in Spanish. In the highlands, it's all a mixture of Spanish and the various Mayan tongues.

Swimmers bathing in the 80 degree sun, hippies lounging in the backpacker alleys of San Pedro, and public boat drivers zooming across the water.

One month in and still so much more to see. There's nothing quite like Guatemala.

Bus

One snapshot of life in Guate:

After doing my grocery shopping at the Maxi Bodega down the road, I stepped onto the bus with a "Buenas Tardes" for the driver.

I was lucky today: one look down the aisle and I found an empty seat for myself and my groceries. We took off with a lurch, zig zagging back into traffic.

And then we stopped without a reason - at least that's how it appeared at first. I watched the guy who collects money on the bus step out to a roadside stand and buy two huge fleshy wedges of watermelon. While the bus started moving, he jumped on and grabbed the handrail, handing a slice to the driver.

For the rest of the drive, there sat the driver at work, taking gigantic bites out of a watermelon with one hand, driving with the other, and comprehending bus stop requests from the riders.

Latin music blared from the stereos and the mid-day rush of schoolkids, moms, and a few randoms enjoyed the public transportation of the Quetzal nation.