One picture Tuesday

And what probably is the corniest picture. EVER. Also taken with a phone. My apologies but today has been a horribly tiring day.  

Got the anonymous feedback from my students. Two things are troubling me: firstly (and I have yet to read it properly) there seems to be very few negative comments, and, moving from that, very little feedback. Secondly, the fact that they liked me does not mean that a) i'm a good teacher, and, most importantly, b) that they learned anything. 

And yes, I bought a handbag but not any shoes! YAY! One minor hurdle has passed but the "big ice cliff" (to quote one of my students when talking about an assignment) is still unresolved. However, I have a backup plan! It involves getting really angry at everybody, quitting and going climbing for three years. These years (and achievements within) should give me a good enough CV for my barista personal trainer career. The sad and at the same time exciting reality of this is that this is actually a very well specified backup plan, in that I have figured out all the climbing venues, all the climbing trips and all the other detail$. All I need is just to get really angry. And while there might be some degree of insanity associated with the fact that one goes to school for 24 years only to let it all go to waste and start a barista personal trainer career, I have to say, it really makes one sleep better at night. 

Realization

Yesterday morning at 5:30 am I went to Chambers Gully again. And I failed. Again. My sekret plan was to run until I reached this beeg beeg slope, also called the "Motherfucker" (not that motherfucker, but yeah, close enough). I my mind, I visualized myself flying on this motherfucker and getting to the top of it, without any shortness of breath, smoothly going through the flat top, and then turning around and running back. The words to note here are "smoothly", "flying",  and "without shortness of breath".

And then I actually started running. I stopped at each and every one of the slopes. I stopped after each and every one of the slopes. And I stopped in the middle as well. Sometimes, more than once. I did not discriminate between the motherfuckers. I stopped at the big motherfuckers, and I stopped at the small motherfuckers. Throughout this ordeal, all I could think of was: "how could I do this so easily before?!"   "Why is this so hard now? I'm definitely fitter and skinnier and have much much more miles under my belt!", or,  closer to reality: "WHAT THE FUCK!?"

Eventually I reached the bend that I thought was right before the Motherfucker. And I turned that bend in the track and what I saw was not the Motherfucker but a smaller one - still serious though, but not the Motherfucker. And I stopped. And started to cry. I am not sure if it was frustration or tiredness, but the fact is that I didn't event try the small motherfucker. I cannot even begin to say how sad the fact that I didn't even try made me, and it still does now. The last time a slope made me lose control and cry was in South America and I definitely tried that motherfucker! Aargh.

So I changed the music to a slower one (Adele - don't you remember, if you must know), and sat down, put my back against a tree, and sort of dozed off for a couple of minutes. Afterwards, epiphany:
Turns out, for tough endurance-based journeys, it's 60% mind 40% body. At least! (Am very tempted to say 75% mind and 25% body.)  So when the mind is not there or plays the "I'm gonna playback a route I don't know and therefore mis-prepare you for what is to come" game, it's just not gonna work. Sigh. Time to rest.

Last week I gave birth

... To a grant proposal. This semester I am teaching and coordinating 2.5 courses. That is, I am the coordinator for two courses - three if you count the Singapore one - and teaching half of another one. This is suddenly so loaded because, as you know, a colleague has leukemia and another one has a retina problem. And there you have it, we all have to chip in and do stuff. Which we, or at least I, do. But boy is it tiring!

Mondays are especially tiring because I have two two-hour lectures back to back and a one hour tutorial. This literally saps me of any possible energy and positive vibe. It's taken it's toll on the second lecture because I'm obviously at my least entertaining ten.

As usual, this can be easily solved by coffee :)

The three second brain

I can't remember where I shared my new year's (climbing) resolution. Was it here? was it on facebook? Or did I twit it to my three other halves? Or whatsapp with only one of them? Did I talk about the latest book I've read at a dinner party? Or was it on goodreads? Was I able to say something convincing about it or just blab: "it was so cool! by this author whose name I can't remember, let me google him"

When did I have a good, significant, important thought? It was definitely last year, because I've spent this whole year getting over how it started*. And if it was last year, where in god's name did I share it? And what was it?

Have I always been like this? Or is it just stress? Or still shock? (Motherfucker, i am looking at you). More importantly, do I need (another) holiday? Welcome to the new year!


*I am still not over it, Motherfucker. May your balls drop off you like the coward that you are.

PS. T. and I made it to the forums! Motherfucker complained about us! Here's the whole story! (Guess who fatclimber is, hahaha)

All iz better

I don't want to end the week in a negative mood. I am feeling better, thanks to everybody's comments both here and offline. Went for a short run today and! Stuffed my face with some cherries. Here's who I met on my run:

Happiness only real when shared

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, died this morning during the Battle of the Five Armies. Or at least he died in my version of "The Hobbit", which I almost finished reading today.

Because you see, I couldn't finish it. Not this morning, at least.

I never cry. Until everything stacks up and then I cry for everything. And usually what sets it off is either a random book (dumbledore's death is memorable) or a movie (Up for example). And if there's nobody there to distract my attention (very easily done, mind you) I cry and I cry and I cry. Today I cry for being alone, for the silence on the campus (everybody's on leave), for my old dog, for dead friends, for dying friends, for missing my family, for the smell of christmas in my grandmother's house, and for missing Marian, and friends.

And since I'm still tired after the US trip, I am still crying. I stopped briefly this morning, and continued during lunch - while talking to Marian- and then really started again at around 5:30 pm. Cried while driving to the climbing gym. And crying now while writing this.

However, this time I must have banged my head or something - or really froze in the grand canyon - because I feel like going to buy myself a pack of cigarettes and take a nice, long, drag out of one. And then light it, and probably faint because of the toxicity. This is the first time I felt like smoking since I missed the Zurich flight in 2008. I feel guilty and also ready to tell myself to suck it up. And also ready to tell myself to LEAVE ME ALONE!

Ah, first world dilemmas! I got myself addicted to cigarettes, and then I quit, and now poor little me is alone and needs some comfort, and wants to smoke again. Boo hoo hoo.

That being said, depression is a bitch, and no matter how many cool and feel-happy things I do, they are worth absolutely nothing if there's nobody (even a blog, or, a dog :) ) to share them with.

An all time low

I never used to watch movies. I prefer reading a book (any book!) to watching a movie. A movie has to have absolutely fantastic reviews for me to watch it. I guess you could say I prefer my own imagination to any director's imagination.

I never used to have dinner. It would have to be a particular horrific training or a particular bad day for me to have dinner. Or a special event. Like graduation or climbing night with the girls (but even then, low on the carbs).

I never used to skip climbing, even if it was in the olden days when san would not speak to me (to shy to speak to the crazy ang moh) and i would have to climb alone.

Last night, I did not go climbing. I watched two movies ("crazy, stupid, love" and "i now pronounce you chuck and larry", if you must know), while eating dinner - polenta with two types of cheese (cheddar and feta) and sour cream, followed by a big bowl of popcorn, two liquorice pieces, three apples, two pears, and two pieces of chicken breast (sorry ionuca & shuhui, i fell off the wagon).

I know that I am now back to my original self cause I am thinking about what book to read when I get home. Should it be another culture novel? Hm ...

Swamped

Sorry for the lack of updates. Been in Singapore for a while and was to busy hugging Marian and bickering with San and Dodo. It's so good to be back!!! Slowly realizing that this might be the last time I am back for this year, if you don't count the sekret planned escape to desaru for new year's eve (if that happens) And also realizing that next time I am back some of my friends (hur hur) will have to find a place for me to stay (hint hint wink wink) ...

These realizations are also making the small farewells that I already have to make a little bit bitter and a little bit more emotional. There will be a flood of tears when I board QF 82 again on Sunday, I am sure! In the meantime, I finish with something good to think about: one of the best durians I've had in a while (ha!) This Saturday, I will pig out on durians, even if I have to buy them from Giant.

A new kind of depression

When I moved here three months ago, two friends came over to help me with buying a car, renting a place, etc. This was very helpful to me because not only was I clueless in a new country, but, contrary to previous clueless situations, I was clueless and alone. Things were quite rushed for the first week and so I didn't have the time or the energy to feel alone or like I missed my friends or Marian. And then they left.

That hit me pretty bad in terms of loneliness and depression. I know this because immediately after they left I stopped eating and in the following week(s) I lost enough kg (don't know exactly, I don't have a scale) to drop from a size 8-10 to a size 6. Things were better after that because I went to visit said friends and I went to Singapore again. And I started eating. I think of that as stage 1 of my peculiar depression.

I am now entering another stage in which depression, loneliness etc., manifests itself through not wanting to initiate contact with people (they are so far away anyway, so why bother), through eating ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING, sleeping 10-11 hours a night, talking to my goldfish, and by doing copious amounts of online shopping. I find this depression more destructive than the other, because in the former I could at least say that something good (i.e. loss of weight) was coming out of it, the latter is not only depleting my bank account but also adding fat to my thighs. Hopefully it will end soon since I am visiting my friends again, and I will go to singapore at the end of the month. The question remains though, what fresh hell will await me after that?

It's been a week now

And finally I think I can talk about the farewell without starting to cry. And I know everybody is waiting with bated breaths to know wether I cried or not before I entered the gate.

And the answer to this is ... almost.

I was getting ready to go through the gates. And I was walking in front trying to control the tears that were already filling my eyes. When Daniel, who was walking besides me, sees the tears and says: "Awww... don't cry!" Which of course started them a bit but I managed to control them despite Daniel's insistence "Awww... don't cry!"

And I reach the gate and turn around to hug Sandra and Doris and I see that San is crying already and then of course all floodgates were open and there we were, the three of us, crying like lunatics.

And of course now that the floodgates are open I can't stop at all. And i go through customs and through airport clearance, and through the gates and I am still crying. And of course I have no tissue and the mucus flood from hell is spurting from my nose (yes, I wiped it on my pants thank you very much).

When I got on the plane my first stop was to the bathroom, where I picked up a big wad of tissue paper, because the girls had made a scrapbook for me and I knew I was going to cry. And cry I did, at every single page (pictures to come, once i find the camera cable).

This was despite the romanian couple that was sitting behind me and that was having the FIGHT FROM HELL (in romanian of course). I got to know all the private details of their life, how much they hated and despised their respective families, and how they were new immigrants, going, of all places, to Adelaide. And they fought and fought and screamed and fought and I was sure they were going to get a divorce right there and now because nobody says "death is going to de-flower your mom" (I KID YOU NOT) to somebody else and expect that somebody to be married to them after this?!!?! Right?! And I was caught in the worst of situations because I should have said something the moment i heard them speak romanian and how would it look if I said something now, three hours into their fight? And I was crying (because of the scrapbook) and angry (because of the nasty words they were saying to each other) and as such I devoured Jensen's bak kwa.

My only sweet revenge was when, before landing, I opened up charlene's box of chocolates, turned around and offered them some (in romanian). By now they were happy with each other again but the look of embarrassment (on his face) and surprise (on hers) was priceless.

And the image of sandra crying still brings tears to my eyes because it's not often that her hard shell cracks, least of all in front of so many strangers.

[and i promise, this is one of the last depressing posts]