Day, let’s see, day twelve with my grandparents on my stint here in Texas. Perhaps I inadvertently sensed my stay’s midpoint and chose to retrospect (and anticipate) on the visit.
Christmas came and went in literary buildup/climax/resolution fashion. Aided by music from Kenny Rogers, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and a gaggle of easy listening giants, we partook in the standard modern American traditions of food and festivities.
Two nights before Christmas, on the eve of Christmas Eve, I flexed my culinary muscles and gifted my grandparents with an eclectic home-cooked meal. Baked salmon- soy, honey, and fresh ginger marinade; roasted root vegetables- turnips, parsnips, carrots and baby red potatoes in rosemary and thyme olive oil; and rice- coconut curried Jasmine grains with raisins. Sounds fancy, but anyone that reads this whom I have cooked for knows these are tried-and-true classics in Calvin’s repertoire. I only wished for acceptance from my grandparents’ palates. Thankfully they enjoyed all three items. I could not have asked for more!
I spent Christmas Eve on the telephone with family and friends and trying my hand at Rummikub with grandma and grandpa. My grandparents are both ex-NASA employees and thus veritable machines at all math-based games. Rummy may not seem too challenging mathematically, but keen arithmetic combined with rapid logical skills makes my grandparents stone-faced assassins of the card table.
My grandmother Milly retaliated with her culinary expertise on Christmas day by baking foods that I, as a relatively inexperienced and unmarried college student, have never tackled. Turkey, cranberry sauce, corn-pudding, herbed stuffing, and sweet potatoes blanketed the table to create a traditional yet Southern feast. We all ate well and are still reaping the leftovers at least once a day.
Holding true to our habit of traveling into Crockett nearly every day, we’ve made the twelve-mile drive five times in the past week. From groceries, to movies, to more groceries and hair appointments there is always a reason to hop in the truck. I say hop, though of course I mean gimp up to the door, throw my crutches in the backseat, and hoist myself up into the cab.
The injury is going quite well. Actually, if not for the memory of the X-rayed fracture I would assume nothing is wrong. I began exercising in earnest five days ago with Pilates and stretching exercises, then via doctor/physical therapist recommendations began pedaling on the stationary recumbent bicycle in the living room. How sweet it was to crack a sweat again, even if it took wearing a beanie and Polartec top while sitting near the fire! Over the subsequent days I have upped the resistance and duration and now am nearly at full time and exertion. Riding places less load on my fracture than standing; I feel no pain.
Funny, though I know that I have progressed so much in regards to self-esteem and personal identity, I still place a lot of emotional health on exercising daily. Now, however, the zeal seems less aesthetic and more chemical, I simply feel better if I get in some aerobic activity. Is that healthy or not? I believe that it’s OK to need to feel driven, and if I’m unchallenged in other aspects I fall to exercising for relief. Heck, there are worse vices and coping mechanisms in the world, and I feel like my motivations are sound.
Tomorrow we head off to Houston for a slew of touristy events; I’ll be certain to write afterwards. Today I’m pre-cooking some homemade meatballs for a dinner with family on Thursday… feeding four children and five adults is something new to me so I need luck on my side.
Calvin
PS, In divine timing, I finished reading Anna Karenina on Christmas morning. The Tolstoy novel concludes on a rather spiritual note, in which Levin realizes that his own over analysis and scientism stood in the way of a relationship with God. He always had the answers but was mired in the wrong questions. It was a good way to start Christmas day.
12.28.2004
12.21.2004
Zee Humans
“Yah, zee humane body is a strange thing. We fall off dee building, we are fine. Zen, we eat cooked speenach and chip zee tooth.�
-Gwenyth
I agree, Gwenyth. En route to Houston aboard SWA flight 679, thanks to a plane change in Las Vegas Nevada, I met German-born-turned-Vegas-high-roller Gwyneth. Even seated one could see she failed to stand more than five feet tall, and her attire and various souvenir knick-knacks revealed she often traveled internationally. As an awarded micro-biologist employed by the government (tiz top seecret, I can not reeveel), the conversation should have revolved around her work and lifestyle; but my circumstances fueled the dialogue.
I have a brace on; full leg, yes, but bendable at the knee and compact enough to fit between airplane ‘seats’. On Wednesday December 15, T-minus 42 hours till departure for Texas, a car hit me: pedaling home from the university around two p.m., a car shot out of a parking lot and side-swiped me into traffic. The irony is almost too great! Read Twisted Metal written on December 8 where I describe a horrific cycling accident and the human spirit revealed in such a situation.
This scenario failed to rekindle my trust in the human species. I picked myself up off the road and stepped down onto a sloppy left knee, immediately indicative of torn ligaments or a fractured lower leg. Hopping, then, on my right leg onto a nearby patch of grass, I looked over at the mid-thirties female driver, dressed in scrubs and apparently commuting to/from work, expecting her to get out and frantically offer help. Instead, in true “the world is lost and our species are egotistical ass-wipes fashion�, she lit her cigarette and stared blankly ahead of her. I, clutching my leg, began refocusing on the scene around me: my bike in the middle of the road, cars returning to speed and honking at each other in late-for-work frustration, and the sound of sirens already approaching.
Someone called it in, apparently, but it was not the driver. Only after an onlooker pulled my Redline out of the road, after someone pushed a cell-phone to my ear to call anyone of relation or acquaintance, did she exit the vehicle (Kia, silver, crappy) and strike up a conversation. “You have cell phone, you have?�…. Great. Any and every anti-white-bread-American fiber inside me inflamed at her obviously foreign accent. The police showed, took a report, plopped me in the ambulance and shuttled off to the ER.
To make a long story short, three hours at the ER with Lauren and her mother revealed a Tibial Plateau fracture, non-displaced, on the outside of my left knee. No torn ACL, no surgery required, and little internal bleeding. Shattered femurs sometimes turn fatal and internal bone shrapnel requires hours of surgery to fish out… I am lucky. Lauren and her mother, Mary, helped pass the time and replace some of my disillusion with mankind: we tried desperately to keep the mood light and the topics varied, and Lauren gently massaged my feelings about the impending Christmas/Training venture in Texas. She knew the potentially negative precipice my mind was balanced upon, though between her, Mary and a moderate dose of Vicadin I staved the depression.
First off, I did not even consider canceling my trip to Texas. If anything the distance from my bicycle facilitates being crutch-bound. I still fully subscribe to the idea “things happen for a reason�, so maybe I was meant to catch more fish, read more books, and of course spend more time with my family here in the South.
It is still a jagged pill to swallow, primarily since I have witnessed a phenomenal build-up of fitness in anticipation of three weeks pedaling in 68-degree Texas “winter� sunshine. To my left, through the large bay-windows overlooking Houston County Lake, the sun’s glare reflects off glassy-smooth water, dissecting itself through dense Oak leaves before invading my retina. Curse this beautiful weather with its summer breezes, pinched Fall-like sunshine, and cornucopia of rich, moist, living scents.
So here I am. Surely I would enjoy two weeks away from home and visiting family, though I fear that three weeks without diversion might push it. I may be happy that third week, but I do not want my grandparents fearing my boredom… I suppose that the “Calvinisms� in me try and always will try to make everyone happy. Thanks for reading. Wish me luck in healing; I view this as a great opportunity for my health and lifestyle to reveal itself through unprecedented recovery.
Regards-
Calvino
-Gwenyth
I agree, Gwenyth. En route to Houston aboard SWA flight 679, thanks to a plane change in Las Vegas Nevada, I met German-born-turned-Vegas-high-roller Gwyneth. Even seated one could see she failed to stand more than five feet tall, and her attire and various souvenir knick-knacks revealed she often traveled internationally. As an awarded micro-biologist employed by the government (tiz top seecret, I can not reeveel), the conversation should have revolved around her work and lifestyle; but my circumstances fueled the dialogue.
I have a brace on; full leg, yes, but bendable at the knee and compact enough to fit between airplane ‘seats’. On Wednesday December 15, T-minus 42 hours till departure for Texas, a car hit me: pedaling home from the university around two p.m., a car shot out of a parking lot and side-swiped me into traffic. The irony is almost too great! Read Twisted Metal written on December 8 where I describe a horrific cycling accident and the human spirit revealed in such a situation.
This scenario failed to rekindle my trust in the human species. I picked myself up off the road and stepped down onto a sloppy left knee, immediately indicative of torn ligaments or a fractured lower leg. Hopping, then, on my right leg onto a nearby patch of grass, I looked over at the mid-thirties female driver, dressed in scrubs and apparently commuting to/from work, expecting her to get out and frantically offer help. Instead, in true “the world is lost and our species are egotistical ass-wipes fashion�, she lit her cigarette and stared blankly ahead of her. I, clutching my leg, began refocusing on the scene around me: my bike in the middle of the road, cars returning to speed and honking at each other in late-for-work frustration, and the sound of sirens already approaching.
Someone called it in, apparently, but it was not the driver. Only after an onlooker pulled my Redline out of the road, after someone pushed a cell-phone to my ear to call anyone of relation or acquaintance, did she exit the vehicle (Kia, silver, crappy) and strike up a conversation. “You have cell phone, you have?�…. Great. Any and every anti-white-bread-American fiber inside me inflamed at her obviously foreign accent. The police showed, took a report, plopped me in the ambulance and shuttled off to the ER.
To make a long story short, three hours at the ER with Lauren and her mother revealed a Tibial Plateau fracture, non-displaced, on the outside of my left knee. No torn ACL, no surgery required, and little internal bleeding. Shattered femurs sometimes turn fatal and internal bone shrapnel requires hours of surgery to fish out… I am lucky. Lauren and her mother, Mary, helped pass the time and replace some of my disillusion with mankind: we tried desperately to keep the mood light and the topics varied, and Lauren gently massaged my feelings about the impending Christmas/Training venture in Texas. She knew the potentially negative precipice my mind was balanced upon, though between her, Mary and a moderate dose of Vicadin I staved the depression.
First off, I did not even consider canceling my trip to Texas. If anything the distance from my bicycle facilitates being crutch-bound. I still fully subscribe to the idea “things happen for a reason�, so maybe I was meant to catch more fish, read more books, and of course spend more time with my family here in the South.
It is still a jagged pill to swallow, primarily since I have witnessed a phenomenal build-up of fitness in anticipation of three weeks pedaling in 68-degree Texas “winter� sunshine. To my left, through the large bay-windows overlooking Houston County Lake, the sun’s glare reflects off glassy-smooth water, dissecting itself through dense Oak leaves before invading my retina. Curse this beautiful weather with its summer breezes, pinched Fall-like sunshine, and cornucopia of rich, moist, living scents.
So here I am. Surely I would enjoy two weeks away from home and visiting family, though I fear that three weeks without diversion might push it. I may be happy that third week, but I do not want my grandparents fearing my boredom… I suppose that the “Calvinisms� in me try and always will try to make everyone happy. Thanks for reading. Wish me luck in healing; I view this as a great opportunity for my health and lifestyle to reveal itself through unprecedented recovery.
Regards-
Calvino
12.08.2004
Twisted Mettle
The weather is crap today, super heavy rain with no chance of abating. I woke up and took Lauren to her subbing job and was thus granted access to a vehicle. Near the university, I saw a few cops lined up placing cones and waving people around what appeared to be a nasty accident. It was hard to see through the raindrops but I could see only one car involved... and one bicycle. I passed the black Cutlas and a few yards further passed a crumpled 1980's Peugeot road bike. Neither the driver nor the cyclist were to be seen.
I went into the nearby Jackson's to fuel up and grab some caffeinated sugar-water (they try to call it coffee) and asked the clerk if she knew the details of the accident. "Yeah," she says, "some idiot bike rider was in the middle of the lane wearing full black clothing and no lights." She chuckled. "Idiot didn't have any lights on, I don't feel bad for him a bit." Jaded low-life gas-selling chain-smoking yellow-toothed overweight goonie ape hooker. She has no clue, even if that guy was in the wrong, he was still someone and no one deserves that. I took my crap-coffee and bid her a good day.
The day has continued on this interesting streak. I completed and will display my acoustics design in, oh, five minutes. Quite the crunch-time scenario involving impossible-to-machine PVC pipe and burns from a hot glue gun. Plus, I got into a heated (yet frivolous) discussion with my roomies back home. Blah. More to come. I'm feeling vocal today but am out of time. Stay tuned.
I went into the nearby Jackson's to fuel up and grab some caffeinated sugar-water (they try to call it coffee) and asked the clerk if she knew the details of the accident. "Yeah," she says, "some idiot bike rider was in the middle of the lane wearing full black clothing and no lights." She chuckled. "Idiot didn't have any lights on, I don't feel bad for him a bit." Jaded low-life gas-selling chain-smoking yellow-toothed overweight goonie ape hooker. She has no clue, even if that guy was in the wrong, he was still someone and no one deserves that. I took my crap-coffee and bid her a good day.
The day has continued on this interesting streak. I completed and will display my acoustics design in, oh, five minutes. Quite the crunch-time scenario involving impossible-to-machine PVC pipe and burns from a hot glue gun. Plus, I got into a heated (yet frivolous) discussion with my roomies back home. Blah. More to come. I'm feeling vocal today but am out of time. Stay tuned.
12.06.2004
Monday mayhem
Ah, the beginning of another week. I am counting the days for the semester to end... not because school is a bear, but because I am anxiously awaiting my holiday vacation down in Texas. I leave December 17 and won't return for three weeks... lots of time to visit the g-parents and ride my bike in the Texas climate.
Overall I am feeling well, though I have caught myself being a bit irritable this past week. A combination of inadequate sleep, substantial training load, and end-of-semester engineering projects is pushing my mental envelop. Lauren and I managed to get out of town on Friday afternoon, which was a relief, but the respite was halted when I desired to return for training and schoolwork here in Boise. That of course created a minor rift in our romantic excursion, but we survived it and learned to appreciate the time.
I was thinking last night about my living situation, and am pleased that things are going well. Ironically, Drew recently gained acceptance into the University of Idaho and will begin school on January 12, 2005. I started adding up the days and realized I only have ten days left sharing a house with her and Lauren... I leave for Texas then she leaves for school before my return. When I get back Lauren and I will have the house together for another two weeks before we go our individual ways and move somewhere else. I am sad about the situation, I don't want things to change now! However, Lauren and I agree that living together (just her and I) would be possible but too 'marital' for now, so we will pursue other options: most likely I with Dave and Ron, she with ??? We will see how that all plays out.
For now I am off to lift, then ride, then sit in a lab and drill holes in a PVC pipe (silly acoustical design project, don't ask!). The weather is sunny despite local weathermen predictions and I get to pedal 'a fuera' (outside), sweet.
Overall I am feeling well, though I have caught myself being a bit irritable this past week. A combination of inadequate sleep, substantial training load, and end-of-semester engineering projects is pushing my mental envelop. Lauren and I managed to get out of town on Friday afternoon, which was a relief, but the respite was halted when I desired to return for training and schoolwork here in Boise. That of course created a minor rift in our romantic excursion, but we survived it and learned to appreciate the time.
I was thinking last night about my living situation, and am pleased that things are going well. Ironically, Drew recently gained acceptance into the University of Idaho and will begin school on January 12, 2005. I started adding up the days and realized I only have ten days left sharing a house with her and Lauren... I leave for Texas then she leaves for school before my return. When I get back Lauren and I will have the house together for another two weeks before we go our individual ways and move somewhere else. I am sad about the situation, I don't want things to change now! However, Lauren and I agree that living together (just her and I) would be possible but too 'marital' for now, so we will pursue other options: most likely I with Dave and Ron, she with ??? We will see how that all plays out.
For now I am off to lift, then ride, then sit in a lab and drill holes in a PVC pipe (silly acoustical design project, don't ask!). The weather is sunny despite local weathermen predictions and I get to pedal 'a fuera' (outside), sweet.
11.20.2004
Feelings, sha la la la
Dawson's Coffee House is a madhouse this morning. Take the normal freaky-high volume of Saturday caffeine addicts and throw in the new crowd of hot-cocoa-hungry kids downtown to see the holiday parade. There are all kinds of new faces in here: lots of fathers drug in to pacify screaming kids and antsy housewives. I think I've heard the phrase "Ameri-what-oh?, what the hell is that? Don't you have folgers or something?". Good times.
I am feeling quite a few things this morning, all in a positive light. I was scheduled to meet up with a group this morning over at Flying M to discuss the evils of consumerism and corporations... I guess they all had riots or boycotts to attend because no one showed. Water off the proverbial duck, however, and I relocated to my favorite java junction here on 8th street.
Looking out onto the street, seeing the thick-steam exhalations from mouths outdoors, I am reminded of the chilly holiday seasons, and the subconscious association of climate with family memories. We (the family) used to embrace post-Thanksgiving consumerism and venture up to Boise or over to Twin to get Christmas shopping done, and this morning I am recalling hordes of silly details about those trips. I remember the terrible dichotomy my father faced with shopping malls: must go there for selection but hate the crowds and waiting. The definition of immature ADD, my dad could never stand in line for more than ten minutes before throwing merchandise on the floor and spectacularly stomping out the door. Still, I and my sister and mother really looked forward to those trips, and the onset of winter promised at least one chance to get out of Elko and see the bigger waters of Boise, Salt Lake, or Twin Falls.
There is some sadness associated with that, of course, but the feeling is fleeting and soon replaced with anticipation of the future. I leave this Wednesday for Elko, to which I'll travel with my sister and return with my mother. The time at home will be so rejuvenating and I'm hungry for the family time. Strange feelings this morning.
I am feeling quite a few things this morning, all in a positive light. I was scheduled to meet up with a group this morning over at Flying M to discuss the evils of consumerism and corporations... I guess they all had riots or boycotts to attend because no one showed. Water off the proverbial duck, however, and I relocated to my favorite java junction here on 8th street.
Looking out onto the street, seeing the thick-steam exhalations from mouths outdoors, I am reminded of the chilly holiday seasons, and the subconscious association of climate with family memories. We (the family) used to embrace post-Thanksgiving consumerism and venture up to Boise or over to Twin to get Christmas shopping done, and this morning I am recalling hordes of silly details about those trips. I remember the terrible dichotomy my father faced with shopping malls: must go there for selection but hate the crowds and waiting. The definition of immature ADD, my dad could never stand in line for more than ten minutes before throwing merchandise on the floor and spectacularly stomping out the door. Still, I and my sister and mother really looked forward to those trips, and the onset of winter promised at least one chance to get out of Elko and see the bigger waters of Boise, Salt Lake, or Twin Falls.
There is some sadness associated with that, of course, but the feeling is fleeting and soon replaced with anticipation of the future. I leave this Wednesday for Elko, to which I'll travel with my sister and return with my mother. The time at home will be so rejuvenating and I'm hungry for the family time. Strange feelings this morning.
11.12.2004
House of the Rising Sun
With a title like that, you must be expecting some pretty philosophical scribbling; some insight, some revelations, some optimism. Well hey, that's not the case. It just happened to be the last song I heard on my way out the door this afternoon... which meant I was whistling it when my front tire washed out on my way across a damp bridge down by the university.
Now my elbow is raw and my wool pants, previously a forest green, appear identical to the weather-treated lumber they kissed when I went down. Nothing like a good wake up when you don't need to be woken up. The day has been funky anyway, and I didn't need that to supplement the crappiness.
Things are on the mend hopefully, and I'm really trying to reverse this downward-spiraling toilet-bowl mind-set. Holly is swinging by in a few to grab coffee and possibly a dollar movie with me. Maybe we can get there late so we miss all the consumerism-fueled previews and advertisements.
That is another thing thing feeding the fire this afternoon. I am already seeing Christmas banners and decorations up in businesses all over town. Do you think I see "Celebrate Jesus's Birthday"? Hardly... even the coffee cup I'm sipping out of has a fat Santa asking me to buy Starbucks for my loved ones this year. I am going to send out some propaganda from Adbusters.org to all my friends and loved ones to try and relay my thoughts about this embracing of consumerism. Buy more live more love more or else? If we really need an excuse to purchase, why blend it or mask it behind the facade of a prophetic celebration?
Breath. Just, chill. I've been in knots since watching ER with Lauren last night. Like I needed that: dude comes in off the street, drunker than Captain Morgan, passes out on the ER floor and proceeds to vomit blood from internal bleeding. The writers of ER proceeded to detail Mr. Morgan's battle with alcoholism: from widowed husband, to dysfunctional father, to incarcerated murderer. And now, here he is, dying from Liver/Kidney/Esophagal meltdown but finally realizing all his sins and wanting to make amends with his long-since alienated son.
I stayed calloused and unemotional until Lauren probed into how I could relate it to my own father. Shit. Leave it up to primetime TV to touch the nerves. I read Anna Kerinina for an hour before being able to drift off to sleep.
Holly is here. Take care.
Now my elbow is raw and my wool pants, previously a forest green, appear identical to the weather-treated lumber they kissed when I went down. Nothing like a good wake up when you don't need to be woken up. The day has been funky anyway, and I didn't need that to supplement the crappiness.
Things are on the mend hopefully, and I'm really trying to reverse this downward-spiraling toilet-bowl mind-set. Holly is swinging by in a few to grab coffee and possibly a dollar movie with me. Maybe we can get there late so we miss all the consumerism-fueled previews and advertisements.
That is another thing thing feeding the fire this afternoon. I am already seeing Christmas banners and decorations up in businesses all over town. Do you think I see "Celebrate Jesus's Birthday"? Hardly... even the coffee cup I'm sipping out of has a fat Santa asking me to buy Starbucks for my loved ones this year. I am going to send out some propaganda from Adbusters.org to all my friends and loved ones to try and relay my thoughts about this embracing of consumerism. Buy more live more love more or else? If we really need an excuse to purchase, why blend it or mask it behind the facade of a prophetic celebration?
Breath. Just, chill. I've been in knots since watching ER with Lauren last night. Like I needed that: dude comes in off the street, drunker than Captain Morgan, passes out on the ER floor and proceeds to vomit blood from internal bleeding. The writers of ER proceeded to detail Mr. Morgan's battle with alcoholism: from widowed husband, to dysfunctional father, to incarcerated murderer. And now, here he is, dying from Liver/Kidney/Esophagal meltdown but finally realizing all his sins and wanting to make amends with his long-since alienated son.
I stayed calloused and unemotional until Lauren probed into how I could relate it to my own father. Shit. Leave it up to primetime TV to touch the nerves. I read Anna Kerinina for an hour before being able to drift off to sleep.
Holly is here. Take care.
11.11.2004
A month?
Has it really been more than a month since I've last typed? Not good, not good at all, considering this thing is supposed to be set up as an online vent/therapy session. That either means I have experienced exceptional mental clarity and a seamless lifestyle... or I've botteled everything up.
The whole idea was to scribble daily notes from my relentlessly undulating frame of mind... but in that regard the amplitude has waned considerably. Not so many highs, not so many lows, but a general sense of progress and more confidence in the future.
Today was a wet-chamois day on the bike. Accuweather.com claims a temp of 42 degrees here in the valley. 42 degrees and raining makes for a short ride, typically, though today I managed to log an hour and a half. Jason Dykstra, a team mate and riding buddy, would call my ride today a Gilligan Ride, ie no plan or purpose or time frame; just feeling it out and podunking along. I swung by to see Remi, simply curious whether I would find him alive or not since it has been so long. He is, of course, alive. It is always good and troubling to see him all at once. I hope that he finds some balance someday, not because I doubt his cycling abilities, but because I know the dangers of placing all your eggs in one basket. It is akward to not have anything except riding to talk about, and with Remi we often find dead spots in the conversation.
Things back at the Ranch are tense, but that is all part of living with roommates and living with a significant other. I've never been in the situation I am in now, so there is no retrospection to help me decide the correct way to act or feel. I sometimes wish there was a neutral third party overwatching my life and relationships, helping to sort out when I overstep and when I am stepped on. I won't embellish the relationship topic, but things are OK just hard.
Blah. Most boring entry to date. Hard to feel creative when the weather is so gloomy. Hard to do anything but eat, sleep, and drink hot beverages when the weather is gloomy. Seattle has a whole lot of damn good restaurants and four billion coffee shops for that very reason. Class is calling for me, unfortunately.
The whole idea was to scribble daily notes from my relentlessly undulating frame of mind... but in that regard the amplitude has waned considerably. Not so many highs, not so many lows, but a general sense of progress and more confidence in the future.
Today was a wet-chamois day on the bike. Accuweather.com claims a temp of 42 degrees here in the valley. 42 degrees and raining makes for a short ride, typically, though today I managed to log an hour and a half. Jason Dykstra, a team mate and riding buddy, would call my ride today a Gilligan Ride, ie no plan or purpose or time frame; just feeling it out and podunking along. I swung by to see Remi, simply curious whether I would find him alive or not since it has been so long. He is, of course, alive. It is always good and troubling to see him all at once. I hope that he finds some balance someday, not because I doubt his cycling abilities, but because I know the dangers of placing all your eggs in one basket. It is akward to not have anything except riding to talk about, and with Remi we often find dead spots in the conversation.
Things back at the Ranch are tense, but that is all part of living with roommates and living with a significant other. I've never been in the situation I am in now, so there is no retrospection to help me decide the correct way to act or feel. I sometimes wish there was a neutral third party overwatching my life and relationships, helping to sort out when I overstep and when I am stepped on. I won't embellish the relationship topic, but things are OK just hard.
Blah. Most boring entry to date. Hard to feel creative when the weather is so gloomy. Hard to do anything but eat, sleep, and drink hot beverages when the weather is gloomy. Seattle has a whole lot of damn good restaurants and four billion coffee shops for that very reason. Class is calling for me, unfortunately.
10.04.2004
Getaway, Get Away.
It's been a bit since I've written, just staying occupied I suppose. It took me a full two weeks to finally kick that cold. Although I'm still fighting some serious nose crud I think that it's all attributable to the pm in the air (engineering nerdspeak: particulate matter, ie pollen and pollution).
About two weeks ago, during our bouts with individual colds, Lauren and I decided on a trip down to Elko over the weekend of October second. Five days before departure Lauren changed her mind, justifiably so, citing a need to unwind on her own and soul-search a little. Initially I felt sad and somewhat confused, but after some thought decided that I, too, might benefit from a solo trip down to my homeland. The strange part was using her family's truck... I have a hard time borrowing things from my own family members, and although I'm close with Lauren's mom and dad I still felt awkward using the little red truck. I got over it though once I hit the road. For a beater old Nissan with just shy of 150,000 miles it runs decently; almost reminded me of zipping home in the Metro back in the old days.
I got to Elko on Friday afternoon and logged a nap in the familiar too-short bed in 'my bedroom' at the folks' house. From the moment I arrived I could feel myself relaxing... like tight piano wires inside of me twanging loose in the familiar surroundings. My mom was still at work but left behind the traditional Post-It note on my bed along with some clean towels. She'll never give up hope that I start showering more frequently...
Over the next two days we had a lot of time to visit, a lot of time to think. My mom is a coffee junkie like I am (though she's managed to switch primarily to decaf while I'm still 'chasing the caffeine dragon') so we hit every java-hut at least once during my visit. It's not the coffee, you know, just the reason to sit down and spill thoughts. My mom is a great friend and more. She knows that we can share things on many levels, both friendship and kinship. My sister doesn't swill the mud like we do, but we found our own reasons to sit and catch up.
Saturday morning I watched Jacob play football in what is his first season of tackle football. Yep, big kid stuff. He's a big kid for his age- tall that is, but looks awfully outweighed against the kids one or two years older on the field. He's figuring it out though and made the last tackle of the game. The sweet part is that he has so much fun out there, much more than I ever did in team sports. From 30-yards away we could see him, from the free-safety position, extending his Gatorade-stained tongue out at us. Sweet, how many kids could make faces while on a football field?
Mattie's Bar and Grill, the local 'hot-spot' in Elko, charges $1.00 per game for billiards. My good friend Steve Crapo was bartending and hooking us up with some beverages, however, so we were able to afford a few games. For a Saturday evening it was pretty dead in there, which I relished. I don't particularly enjoy running into old friends at the bars in Elko, nor do I enjoy inhaling so much tobacco smoke. The scant crowd improved my visit with my pool opponent, my sis. The game itself reminded us both of my father, which of course drew out a lot of sighs, head-shaking, some cuss-words, and a general sick feeling in my gut.
My father is an extremely skilled billiard-boy, a skill he's never seemed to lose nor grow modest in, regardless of time or chemical saturation. Apparently Mr. James Allan is residing once again in Elko, Nevada, and I was prepared to run into him (and anticipating it). Never happened, though, which I can attest did not affect me one way or the other. The last time my sister saw him he was spun out worse than ever: grinding teeth, darting, wild eyes, busy hands and fingers, sweaty hair and skin. An oh-so-upsetting feature is his smell, she said; sour and indicative of a whole lot of time away from soap and water. Despite all that I was prepped to see him.
The visit concluded with a short drive up Lamoille canyon to witness Fall's effect on the plants and animals there. Bob, who was stuck working all weekend, had made the drive a few days earlier and said "the colors are unbelievable, unbelievable. Wait till you see them, unbelievable." He didn't lie a bit, I saw colors that even Crayola would have a hard time naming. Try: Golden Fizz Yellow, Grenadine Red, Mantis Green perhaps. It looked as if humungous drops of paint, hundreds of yards across, had fallen from the sky and splashed imaginary and impossible colors in clumps across the canyon walls and the valley floor. Groves of canary-yellow aspen butted up against opposing thickets of citron-green birch and elm. I have oftenseen the confetti-like muddle of leaves on trees in other areas during the Fall season, but there in the canyon entire fields flaunted shades I'd never seen in my life.
Soul-clearing, for sure. You know, throughout the Bible the wilderness is mentioned as a place where man goes to find God; to escape the bustle of culture and life and open his ears to something higher. Even Jesus went on a little 'outing' for 40 days to really connect with God. There is no coincidence there. Standing a gasp with a yawning canyon before you, spilling colors and sounds and smells so alien to society, you find something more.
I wanted to tell all about the drive home and my reconnection with Lauren, renewed with appreciation for her presence in my life. But for now I'm riding the high of that memory in the canyon. I'm tired of riding, I'm going for a hike.
Regards-
calvino
About two weeks ago, during our bouts with individual colds, Lauren and I decided on a trip down to Elko over the weekend of October second. Five days before departure Lauren changed her mind, justifiably so, citing a need to unwind on her own and soul-search a little. Initially I felt sad and somewhat confused, but after some thought decided that I, too, might benefit from a solo trip down to my homeland. The strange part was using her family's truck... I have a hard time borrowing things from my own family members, and although I'm close with Lauren's mom and dad I still felt awkward using the little red truck. I got over it though once I hit the road. For a beater old Nissan with just shy of 150,000 miles it runs decently; almost reminded me of zipping home in the Metro back in the old days.
I got to Elko on Friday afternoon and logged a nap in the familiar too-short bed in 'my bedroom' at the folks' house. From the moment I arrived I could feel myself relaxing... like tight piano wires inside of me twanging loose in the familiar surroundings. My mom was still at work but left behind the traditional Post-It note on my bed along with some clean towels. She'll never give up hope that I start showering more frequently...
Over the next two days we had a lot of time to visit, a lot of time to think. My mom is a coffee junkie like I am (though she's managed to switch primarily to decaf while I'm still 'chasing the caffeine dragon') so we hit every java-hut at least once during my visit. It's not the coffee, you know, just the reason to sit down and spill thoughts. My mom is a great friend and more. She knows that we can share things on many levels, both friendship and kinship. My sister doesn't swill the mud like we do, but we found our own reasons to sit and catch up.
Saturday morning I watched Jacob play football in what is his first season of tackle football. Yep, big kid stuff. He's a big kid for his age- tall that is, but looks awfully outweighed against the kids one or two years older on the field. He's figuring it out though and made the last tackle of the game. The sweet part is that he has so much fun out there, much more than I ever did in team sports. From 30-yards away we could see him, from the free-safety position, extending his Gatorade-stained tongue out at us. Sweet, how many kids could make faces while on a football field?
Mattie's Bar and Grill, the local 'hot-spot' in Elko, charges $1.00 per game for billiards. My good friend Steve Crapo was bartending and hooking us up with some beverages, however, so we were able to afford a few games. For a Saturday evening it was pretty dead in there, which I relished. I don't particularly enjoy running into old friends at the bars in Elko, nor do I enjoy inhaling so much tobacco smoke. The scant crowd improved my visit with my pool opponent, my sis. The game itself reminded us both of my father, which of course drew out a lot of sighs, head-shaking, some cuss-words, and a general sick feeling in my gut.
My father is an extremely skilled billiard-boy, a skill he's never seemed to lose nor grow modest in, regardless of time or chemical saturation. Apparently Mr. James Allan is residing once again in Elko, Nevada, and I was prepared to run into him (and anticipating it). Never happened, though, which I can attest did not affect me one way or the other. The last time my sister saw him he was spun out worse than ever: grinding teeth, darting, wild eyes, busy hands and fingers, sweaty hair and skin. An oh-so-upsetting feature is his smell, she said; sour and indicative of a whole lot of time away from soap and water. Despite all that I was prepped to see him.
The visit concluded with a short drive up Lamoille canyon to witness Fall's effect on the plants and animals there. Bob, who was stuck working all weekend, had made the drive a few days earlier and said "the colors are unbelievable, unbelievable. Wait till you see them, unbelievable." He didn't lie a bit, I saw colors that even Crayola would have a hard time naming. Try: Golden Fizz Yellow, Grenadine Red, Mantis Green perhaps. It looked as if humungous drops of paint, hundreds of yards across, had fallen from the sky and splashed imaginary and impossible colors in clumps across the canyon walls and the valley floor. Groves of canary-yellow aspen butted up against opposing thickets of citron-green birch and elm. I have oftenseen the confetti-like muddle of leaves on trees in other areas during the Fall season, but there in the canyon entire fields flaunted shades I'd never seen in my life.
Soul-clearing, for sure. You know, throughout the Bible the wilderness is mentioned as a place where man goes to find God; to escape the bustle of culture and life and open his ears to something higher. Even Jesus went on a little 'outing' for 40 days to really connect with God. There is no coincidence there. Standing a gasp with a yawning canyon before you, spilling colors and sounds and smells so alien to society, you find something more.
I wanted to tell all about the drive home and my reconnection with Lauren, renewed with appreciation for her presence in my life. But for now I'm riding the high of that memory in the canyon. I'm tired of riding, I'm going for a hike.
Regards-
calvino
9.20.2004
down-time
I have a hard time letting myself be lethargic. OK, see, there I go. I have a hard time letting myself rest and be idle because I view it as lethargy.
For the past five days I have been battling a cold, helplessly letting it run its course from my nose, to my throat, now to my chest. Geez let's hope it ends there instead of continuing the journey southward. This is a predictable and seemingly unavoidable pattern in my life: after a season of traveling and racing my bike I often catch some bummer virus once I settle down in the Fall.
Lauren had the same bug about a week before I did, though she managed to kick it in much less time. Why? She truly embraces the downtime... sure, it sucks to be sick and it sucks to feel miserable; but does napping all day, journaling, and catching up on corny soap-operas really seem that bad? To me, yes, though I don't condemn her for it. If anything I am jealous; even with the flu I pop my eyes open at six a.m. and start mentally arranging my day. Let's say I manage to lock myself in the house in an attempt to rest... well, the house needs cleaning and the clothes need washing and my bike needs maintenance. I am my own worst enemy, and my virus's best friend.
Fortunately the weather encourages me to rest. The past week has been dark and damp here in the "City of Trees", and the temperature low enough to entice me into sinking into a down comforter. Nonetheless I am still sick and still stir crazy.
That's all I've got for now. I am at the school studying for my first test of the year: Chapters one through five in ME 532: Fundamentals of Acoustics. Yay, wish me luck. I'm hepped up on cold medicine, coffee, and Brownie Bites and ready to go! Just kidding. Later.
For the past five days I have been battling a cold, helplessly letting it run its course from my nose, to my throat, now to my chest. Geez let's hope it ends there instead of continuing the journey southward. This is a predictable and seemingly unavoidable pattern in my life: after a season of traveling and racing my bike I often catch some bummer virus once I settle down in the Fall.
Lauren had the same bug about a week before I did, though she managed to kick it in much less time. Why? She truly embraces the downtime... sure, it sucks to be sick and it sucks to feel miserable; but does napping all day, journaling, and catching up on corny soap-operas really seem that bad? To me, yes, though I don't condemn her for it. If anything I am jealous; even with the flu I pop my eyes open at six a.m. and start mentally arranging my day. Let's say I manage to lock myself in the house in an attempt to rest... well, the house needs cleaning and the clothes need washing and my bike needs maintenance. I am my own worst enemy, and my virus's best friend.
Fortunately the weather encourages me to rest. The past week has been dark and damp here in the "City of Trees", and the temperature low enough to entice me into sinking into a down comforter. Nonetheless I am still sick and still stir crazy.
That's all I've got for now. I am at the school studying for my first test of the year: Chapters one through five in ME 532: Fundamentals of Acoustics. Yay, wish me luck. I'm hepped up on cold medicine, coffee, and Brownie Bites and ready to go! Just kidding. Later.
9.14.2004
At the cabin
The past weekend was awesome. Although we had to amend our plans so I could return to grade papers, Lauren and I got to spend some time up at her dad's cabin in Crouch, Idaho. The name itself, Crouch, doesn't sound too appealing. In fact it makes me think of "Squat", or "Squatters"- people who illegally reside in a disheveled home. The town couldn't be more of an opposite... beautiful split-level cabins owned by ranchers and retired city folk, a slow laid-back pace and an economy that relies on local river-guide companies and ranching. Sure, it still has a small percentage of "squatters" just like any town; in fact, my father called it home for more than a year! But overall it's a quiet Idaho town.
We left Saturday evening, about six p.m., in Lauren's little red truck. After stopping at the store for some necessities (see: candybars and wine coolers) we floored it over the summit into Horseshoe Bend. I had been sort of anxious that evening; grumpy about my job of grading papers and antsy from not exercising at all over the past week: I was in serious need of a getaway. We passed through HB and continued up the road into Banks, then headed east towards Crouch. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the temporary sugar-high we were fetching from the NutRoll candybar, but we decided to pull over and hop in the river. "Hop", as in dive head-first into an ice cold eddy near some rocks. It was so exhilarating, such a shock to the system, so liberating. I left any and all anxieties in the river.
By the time we got back in the truck and got up to the cabin, the light was abating and the temperature dropping; the day conceding defeat to the relentlessly impending darkness. We opted not to go for a hike as previously planned but instead sat on the porch listening to the invisible critters around us. We played our part in the food chain by flipping on the porch light... hordes of insect victims flew from the forest to the lightsource only to be intercepted by bats on the way. We grew tired of feeding the creatures and went up to the loft to bed down for the evening. Between the Dave Sedaris satire I read to Lauren and the sub-forty temperatures outside, we both started to nod off comfortably snuggled down into the thick cotton blankets. I actually slept in a separate bed: less firm, unfortunately, but I was able to stretch out without vying for space and covers against Lauren and her dog, McKinley.
At six a.m. I awoke to Elk cries down in the valley. There is an Elk ranch that raises them for meat and "Elk Antler Velvet Capsules", supposed to be an 'exceptional blood tonic and all-around supplement' (see: snake oil). Elk sound so primitive: you could sware that the piercing screams are coming from some mammoth just beyond sight. The cold night also brought rain to the valley, and it was still raining when Lauren and I left the cabin for an early morning hike.
We drove back down towards Banks a few miles and parked beside the road. Skinny-Dipper Hot Springs lye in wait just a mile or so up a hillside trail, and we set out with conviction up the slippery slope. It was still raining, and by the time we got to the pools we were both soaked and cold: a perfect prep for a dip in a natural hot bath. The water temperature was perfect, hot but not too hot to completely submerge myself and sit on the sandy bottom of the pool. The moment was sublime: clouds rolling up the mountainside around us, fat rain-drops plopping on the surface of the water, the steam swirling up off the pool then joining the passing mist. Lauren is beautiful, I see it more everyday, but especially in moments like these. Her beauty is amplified by raw nature. So far away from the sounds and influences of the busy city, she was illuminated.
That was the highlight of the entire trip, the highlight of my entire month. We made it back to Boise that afternoon: I went down to the U to grade and she returned to the cabin, picking up her father en route. The alone time was actually great to reflect on the magnitude of the experience and its affect on my soul.
It's Tuesday now and I'm back in the grind of school and work. Of course, how much of a grind could it really be if I am able to take such an interval to write these silly details? Life is, wow.
We left Saturday evening, about six p.m., in Lauren's little red truck. After stopping at the store for some necessities (see: candybars and wine coolers) we floored it over the summit into Horseshoe Bend. I had been sort of anxious that evening; grumpy about my job of grading papers and antsy from not exercising at all over the past week: I was in serious need of a getaway. We passed through HB and continued up the road into Banks, then headed east towards Crouch. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the temporary sugar-high we were fetching from the NutRoll candybar, but we decided to pull over and hop in the river. "Hop", as in dive head-first into an ice cold eddy near some rocks. It was so exhilarating, such a shock to the system, so liberating. I left any and all anxieties in the river.
By the time we got back in the truck and got up to the cabin, the light was abating and the temperature dropping; the day conceding defeat to the relentlessly impending darkness. We opted not to go for a hike as previously planned but instead sat on the porch listening to the invisible critters around us. We played our part in the food chain by flipping on the porch light... hordes of insect victims flew from the forest to the lightsource only to be intercepted by bats on the way. We grew tired of feeding the creatures and went up to the loft to bed down for the evening. Between the Dave Sedaris satire I read to Lauren and the sub-forty temperatures outside, we both started to nod off comfortably snuggled down into the thick cotton blankets. I actually slept in a separate bed: less firm, unfortunately, but I was able to stretch out without vying for space and covers against Lauren and her dog, McKinley.
At six a.m. I awoke to Elk cries down in the valley. There is an Elk ranch that raises them for meat and "Elk Antler Velvet Capsules", supposed to be an 'exceptional blood tonic and all-around supplement' (see: snake oil). Elk sound so primitive: you could sware that the piercing screams are coming from some mammoth just beyond sight. The cold night also brought rain to the valley, and it was still raining when Lauren and I left the cabin for an early morning hike.
We drove back down towards Banks a few miles and parked beside the road. Skinny-Dipper Hot Springs lye in wait just a mile or so up a hillside trail, and we set out with conviction up the slippery slope. It was still raining, and by the time we got to the pools we were both soaked and cold: a perfect prep for a dip in a natural hot bath. The water temperature was perfect, hot but not too hot to completely submerge myself and sit on the sandy bottom of the pool. The moment was sublime: clouds rolling up the mountainside around us, fat rain-drops plopping on the surface of the water, the steam swirling up off the pool then joining the passing mist. Lauren is beautiful, I see it more everyday, but especially in moments like these. Her beauty is amplified by raw nature. So far away from the sounds and influences of the busy city, she was illuminated.
That was the highlight of the entire trip, the highlight of my entire month. We made it back to Boise that afternoon: I went down to the U to grade and she returned to the cabin, picking up her father en route. The alone time was actually great to reflect on the magnitude of the experience and its affect on my soul.
It's Tuesday now and I'm back in the grind of school and work. Of course, how much of a grind could it really be if I am able to take such an interval to write these silly details? Life is, wow.
9.11.2004
weekend
How is this for symbolism: last night I dreamt of being on a long road ride, nothing new there. However, as the ride progressed the terrain went from smooth, buttery pavement to unfinished chip-seal to washboard double-track strewn with debris. I finally crested over the hill to learn that I'd found a duplicate Boise, identical in landmarks, climate, even social groups and people... yet I was some 100 km from my familiar Boise.
A breeze picked up, I was in down town suddenly. The voracious wind became so strong that I could no longer pedal my bike, hardly could I walk. Soon I was leaning over at an angle nearly parallel to the ground, straining calves and quads in an attempt to simply walk down the sidewalk. The seriously weird part: all of my surroundings, the trees and dust on the ground and the stacked papers on nearby tables... none of them were moving in the slightest. People walked by me totally unaffected by the invisible force that I was struggling against. I felt like I was somehow cursed to battle this insurmountable curse that resisted me.
Hm, lots to think about there. Of course, the dream also included a talking squirrel with a skunk-like fur pattern, and a floating zeppelin that delivered Cheetos snackpacks to the hordes of frogs below... but I'm still trying to sort those details out in my head....
A breeze picked up, I was in down town suddenly. The voracious wind became so strong that I could no longer pedal my bike, hardly could I walk. Soon I was leaning over at an angle nearly parallel to the ground, straining calves and quads in an attempt to simply walk down the sidewalk. The seriously weird part: all of my surroundings, the trees and dust on the ground and the stacked papers on nearby tables... none of them were moving in the slightest. People walked by me totally unaffected by the invisible force that I was struggling against. I felt like I was somehow cursed to battle this insurmountable curse that resisted me.
Hm, lots to think about there. Of course, the dream also included a talking squirrel with a skunk-like fur pattern, and a floating zeppelin that delivered Cheetos snackpacks to the hordes of frogs below... but I'm still trying to sort those details out in my head....
9.10.2004
elation
I have to often wonder if I'm manic depressant, or at least manic-normal (if there exists such a thing). I catch myself grinning and riding these extreme waves of contentment, pleased with everything that invades my senses or impends in the near future.
I try not to analyze that too much. If I'm sad, ie sad for a long period of time, hell yes it warrants some investigation. But elation and general well being should not be questioned, just ridden. So yes, it is one of those mornings. I got up at six a.m. and made some Espresso for Lauren and myself... good coffee and a good laugh to start the day off. She's into quality (one shot of espresso + sugary cream) while I'm into quantity (a bit of cream, a shot of espresso, a whole lot of water). She pedalled off to substitute and I pedalled off to grade papers... both of us caffeinated enough to set p.r.'s (personal records) on our way to work.
Papers are graded, time sheet is turned in, and I'm back at my favorite local hangout; killing some time and rubbing my chin over the latest New York Times crossword puzzle. I have no clue what the rest of the day holds, though I'll try to substitute this afternoon, but am not too worried about it. There's a distinguished lecturer at the college around noon; something about Finite Microscopy, which I may drop in on.... funny to think that I may be up there within a semester or two, clad in a shirt and tie and GAP chinos trying my darndest to assert some form of intellect and professionalism. I'll let you know when that is, so you can come and laugh at my awkward change of character.
I've a lot to share regarding my new pursuits. It's almost as if I've realized my ignorance in a few areas of life and am hungry for knowledge. More on that later.
I try not to analyze that too much. If I'm sad, ie sad for a long period of time, hell yes it warrants some investigation. But elation and general well being should not be questioned, just ridden. So yes, it is one of those mornings. I got up at six a.m. and made some Espresso for Lauren and myself... good coffee and a good laugh to start the day off. She's into quality (one shot of espresso + sugary cream) while I'm into quantity (a bit of cream, a shot of espresso, a whole lot of water). She pedalled off to substitute and I pedalled off to grade papers... both of us caffeinated enough to set p.r.'s (personal records) on our way to work.
Papers are graded, time sheet is turned in, and I'm back at my favorite local hangout; killing some time and rubbing my chin over the latest New York Times crossword puzzle. I have no clue what the rest of the day holds, though I'll try to substitute this afternoon, but am not too worried about it. There's a distinguished lecturer at the college around noon; something about Finite Microscopy, which I may drop in on.... funny to think that I may be up there within a semester or two, clad in a shirt and tie and GAP chinos trying my darndest to assert some form of intellect and professionalism. I'll let you know when that is, so you can come and laugh at my awkward change of character.
I've a lot to share regarding my new pursuits. It's almost as if I've realized my ignorance in a few areas of life and am hungry for knowledge. More on that later.
9.07.2004
finito
Sort of a bummer way to end the year, the cycling year that is, but it's over. I feel like I've been trying to eek out motivation and good legs and a good head for the entire summer. Unfortunately, I'm shutting it down. I'd like to "buck up" and "pull my head out", to "show myself and everyone else what I'm capable of"; but I can't beat the feeling of being an under-dog and beyond repair.
Yeah, it's been a big year for me: depression then injuries then trying to scrape up what remained to race at a national level. But I'm sick of that excuse. In all truth everyone goes through serious stuff in life, and the champions are the ones able to persevere nonetheless. The hard part is the personal failure I'm facing, having to acknowledge that I couldn't rise above and shine after my issues.
That gives me a lot of things to digest over the approaching hiatus from cycling. What went wrong, why have I thrown in the towel in the face of this challenge? I know that there will always be bumps in the road, trancas y arrancas as the Spanish say, but will I learn to face them differently or repeatedly find a way to bury my head in the sand?
Thank goodness I'm in school; thank goodness I'm working; thank goodness I only have a limited number of hours per week to nerp out and over-analyze my being. This fall will be the best one of my life, I am anticipating, if I can keep a bigger perspective and continue to grow emotionally... It's just darn hard right now to not feel cheated (even if I myself am the cheator), and discontent with the year's athletic endeavors. Time to reprioritize and focus on my values in life... I'm actually really looking forward to joining a study group (see: spirituality) now that I'm not skipping town every weekend. Love, education, health... Breathe, Calvin.
Of course I'm still going to pedal, and of course I'll still be racing my buns off, I just wish I could have finished 2004 with a few good rides to carry my thoughts through the winter months. The winter serves as the ultimate "reset button" for cyclists... come January we'll all be on the same page fitness-wise, and I can begin to build up confidence in my abilities. Anyway, I'm out for now.
Yeah, it's been a big year for me: depression then injuries then trying to scrape up what remained to race at a national level. But I'm sick of that excuse. In all truth everyone goes through serious stuff in life, and the champions are the ones able to persevere nonetheless. The hard part is the personal failure I'm facing, having to acknowledge that I couldn't rise above and shine after my issues.
That gives me a lot of things to digest over the approaching hiatus from cycling. What went wrong, why have I thrown in the towel in the face of this challenge? I know that there will always be bumps in the road, trancas y arrancas as the Spanish say, but will I learn to face them differently or repeatedly find a way to bury my head in the sand?
Thank goodness I'm in school; thank goodness I'm working; thank goodness I only have a limited number of hours per week to nerp out and over-analyze my being. This fall will be the best one of my life, I am anticipating, if I can keep a bigger perspective and continue to grow emotionally... It's just darn hard right now to not feel cheated (even if I myself am the cheator), and discontent with the year's athletic endeavors. Time to reprioritize and focus on my values in life... I'm actually really looking forward to joining a study group (see: spirituality) now that I'm not skipping town every weekend. Love, education, health... Breathe, Calvin.
Of course I'm still going to pedal, and of course I'll still be racing my buns off, I just wish I could have finished 2004 with a few good rides to carry my thoughts through the winter months. The winter serves as the ultimate "reset button" for cyclists... come January we'll all be on the same page fitness-wise, and I can begin to build up confidence in my abilities. Anyway, I'm out for now.
9.01.2004
Education
It seems like I've been here all day, trapped (voluntarily) in the institute of education. My whole day has revolved around school. I got up this morning and ran Lauren over to Verizon elementary, bidding her farewell and good luck on her way to a substitute PE position. All she was missing was the classic plastic whistle around her neck... we'll work on that. That was seven hours ago, yet I'm still in the education mix.
The paperwork is filed and I'm ready to start working for the university. Hold on, you say! When did Calvin decide to approach BSU again!? Not only am I working for BSU, I am currently enrolled in my first two classes toward my master's degree. Hah hah. I caught the bug to start studying again somewhere around a month ago. Now look at me, six credits richer (and 1400 dollars poorer) and already feeling at home in my studies.
About work, I've managed to procure a job as a grader for three separate undergraduate classes. This is ideal, I'll make some cash and refresh my badly atrophied brain in the subjects of mechanical engineering. Dozens of Statics, Dynamics, and Mechanics of Materials students will soon feel the wrath of my red pen! Other than that, I'm still registered to substitute teach here in the valley, grades K-12, so between the two I should be able to come out ahead (or at least even) before re-draining my funds at next season's races.
Must say that I'm stoked to be back at school. The routine is good for my life.... I enjoy feeling like I'm keeping sharp and making progress toward a future career. Plus, I've learned a whole lot about myself this past year, and found that I have to sort of prove to myself that I'm more than just a bike rider. Balance is key.
blah, are you bored yet? I'm off to grade papers.
The paperwork is filed and I'm ready to start working for the university. Hold on, you say! When did Calvin decide to approach BSU again!? Not only am I working for BSU, I am currently enrolled in my first two classes toward my master's degree. Hah hah. I caught the bug to start studying again somewhere around a month ago. Now look at me, six credits richer (and 1400 dollars poorer) and already feeling at home in my studies.
About work, I've managed to procure a job as a grader for three separate undergraduate classes. This is ideal, I'll make some cash and refresh my badly atrophied brain in the subjects of mechanical engineering. Dozens of Statics, Dynamics, and Mechanics of Materials students will soon feel the wrath of my red pen! Other than that, I'm still registered to substitute teach here in the valley, grades K-12, so between the two I should be able to come out ahead (or at least even) before re-draining my funds at next season's races.
Must say that I'm stoked to be back at school. The routine is good for my life.... I enjoy feeling like I'm keeping sharp and making progress toward a future career. Plus, I've learned a whole lot about myself this past year, and found that I have to sort of prove to myself that I'm more than just a bike rider. Balance is key.
blah, are you bored yet? I'm off to grade papers.
prolix
Well here we go. I first got the idea to start an 'online diary' from my friend and team mate Tommy Crawford, who has his own blog out there somewhere. Apparently, some of you all like to read my occasional updates, and I figured this would be a good option.
A good option because I won't clutter your mailbox with unwanted text, nor will I feel obligated to refine what I write (thus procrastinating filling you in on the details). So yeah, here we go. The title of this first blog, PROLIX, is one of my favorite words. It's defined as "excessively wordy", which certainly sets the tone for the upcoming entries. Hope you enjoy, or at least I hope it doesn't put you to sleep. This should be interesting...
A good option because I won't clutter your mailbox with unwanted text, nor will I feel obligated to refine what I write (thus procrastinating filling you in on the details). So yeah, here we go. The title of this first blog, PROLIX, is one of my favorite words. It's defined as "excessively wordy", which certainly sets the tone for the upcoming entries. Hope you enjoy, or at least I hope it doesn't put you to sleep. This should be interesting...
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