Running uphill

Running uphill is like childbirth (or so I'm told): you remember that it was painful, but you forget just how painful it was.

This saturday I visited one of my Australian Golgothas, Chambers Gully. In Singapore, my Golgotha was Vigilante Drive, a steep hill (I know, Singapore and hills!) near NUS. In Adelaide, I have two Golgothas: one is Chambers Gully (not close to uni), and the other is Montefiore Hill (close to uni).

Anyway. FRIENDS! Wtf!? I started running uphill on Chambers Gully and within 30 seconds my legs and my lungs started to shout in unison: WHAT THE FUCK!? I had forgotten not only how fucking steep it was, but also I was in awe of my January, February self - I used to run on those slopes like a fucking mountain goat!

This time around, I stopped at every slope and took a photo of it. I called it "documenting spring" whereas what I should have called it was "Inception: Fatclimber goes running". Anyways, spring is here and the gully was in bloom:

 To be fair, and without really being a wuss, it is steeper in real life than in the photos:

 I do not remember exactly but I think the gully is not as green in the summer as it is now. Definitely not looking forward to that (I still want to join Six foot track, so this means that this will be my Golgotha come the summer).

 And this is howI felt at the end of it:

Perspective

I've been climbing and running and whatnot for six days in a row: that is, I climbed on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and I ran on Tuesday and Wednesday and, wait! Thursday. I am now officially dead - this is my ghost typing by the way.

Last night I found out that two of my students have plagiarized. The problem that I have with this is that it really makes me feel guilty that I probably did something wrong - put this with the tiredness and the grumpiness and all the shit and it's going to spiral very quickly into the spiral of doom. And then another (bright but lazy) student quit the course, leading me further into even more existential questions. Sigh.

And there's nothing like total tiredness to sap the life force and the psyche out of you - add a few kicks to self esteem
And I started today on a very low on the everything side.


And then today, after many many many weeks of not answering my call and thus making me think only the worst, that colleague and friend that has leukemia finally called back! And suddenly deadlines and marks and feedbacks and submissions and budgets and casuals and phdstudents and trainings and not fucking things up, not burning down the place doesn't really matter because at least I'm alive and healthy to bitch about it.

2

1. The lady 

at the shop selling the five fingers answering my doubts ("but orange is a bit wild for a shoe color ..."): "Well, you're already out there for wearing them in the first place, I say go all the way". This basically sold me on them.

2. 7.2 km

in 34 minutes. FTW!

No more time

Yesterday I managed a hattrick: not only did I forget my running gear and my climbing gear, but I managed to come to work wearing a skirt. Normally, the first two will not make any difference to my climbing, as I tend to buy pants that are also good for climbing (hint: I've forgotten my gear oh so many times). But yesterday, a skirt meant no pants which also meant no climbing. So I went to buy pants and decided to buy some running shoes as well. 

I've been toying with buying the Five Fingers for a long time. Initially I wanted to buy them after finishing Six Foot Track (if I finished Six Foot Track that is). When that didn't happen, I said I would buy them when I got to Singapore in September. In September, I went as far as to put a pair on and try them out. Then I decided that I would probably embarrass my running partner too much if I wore them so I didn't buy them. And then my running partner decided to fuck up his knee. Fast forward to yesterday. I went, I saw, I bought, and in five seconds flat I was 150 AUD poorer. Plus extra if you count THE AMAZING GREEN MERINO BEANIE in the backend (who buys beanies in summer? People that are going to new zealand, that's who).

Anyway, I bought the five fingers and then decided to follow the instructions closely:

Wear them around the house for a couple of days to start with and then on short walks. We can't stress enough the importance of taking your time. 

And so I wore them for five seconds in my office and then proceeded to go do my hill repeats. Because time is something I no longer have (<- Enter grumpy, tired, hungry, Claudia. Wait. What else is new?!) I went out of the building wearing only tights and an old t-shirt found in the back of the car. I hate wearing only tights around work - nobody has to be subjected to this! The t-shirt was orange, which was accidentally matching the five fingers. I wore my most badass face and going out didn't meet anybody. Of course, coming back in I met my PhD student, two of my students, AND school staff. PFFT.


Truth be told, I started determined to go do the hill repeats but then only ran 4km in the five fingers. The first thing you notice is nothing. There is nothing between your feet and the ground. You feel every pebble, every root, and every crack in the damn asphalt. You sort of quickly have to change your running stride, to stand straight (problem with me) and run with smaller steps (not a problem with me, as I am short-ish - taller than you, dodo!)  My right ankle, the I-have-sprained-it-and-then-ran-a-marathon-on-it-sprained-and-thus-lost-a-ligament, gave me some trouble at first but was fine towards the end.  The second thing you notice is just how much faster you are on uphill terrain, especially stairs (I may have done some stairs repeats in the building). The balls of your feet and the knee joint act as supherior springs that propel  you pretty effectively. Nice! The last thing I noticed was just how much my toes like to stick together, and how much they hated being spread out in the five fingers. It may be from being snuggled into climbing shoes that are at least one size smaller for five years now.

Tomorrow I'm hitting the hills in these, weather permitting. Otherwise, I'm hitting the hills in my trail running shoes. There.is.no.more.time. and I'm starting to get a bit panicky. Will I be fit enough? Just how tough is it? AAARGH!

One picture Tuesday

A two cormorant day is always a good day.

PSYCHED!!! x 2

The fuckwit that decided eons ago that having Monday 9am lectures is a fucking good idea should be hanged. We arrived late last night, and I managed to get to sleep even later, as I got caught up with preparing my lecture (had prepared it, but wanted to make sure - ha! one day, this will be the death of me). Needless to say, today's lecture did not go as awesomely as I would have wanted it, and this is an understatement.

But enough about me, let's talk about the Grampians!! I think that any trip to the Grampians that leaves you sapped of any arm strength (I pumped out while typing the above paragraph) but at least doubly psyched to go back, is a fantastically awesome trip. We explored a lot of problems in the first day and did a couple, and focused on three problems on the second day. I did not send anything new, but was happy to see that at least I can cruise V3-V4s that I have done before. Lygon Street Massacre remains my favorite problem in the V3 range (and yes, I can hear both D. and M. groan now) but this is because I am short and have decent finger strength. Or maybe just short.

And for the announcement of the day, I have the beta for Master Bates (V5) OH YEAH!!! It looks like the kind of things that I can project as it is definitely not my style - crimpy face climb, as opposed to overhanging powerful ROAR climbs. Master Bates involves a weird toe hook (NEAR MY LEFT PALM!), followed by a shitty crimp in which you downclimb to a good foothold, only to climb back again to a series of crimps, up to a sidepull pocket still to be explored and then onwards for the highball top-out over a garden of rocks below. A garden of rocks below. A garden of rocks below. And a tree. AAARGH! PSYCHED!! By the looks of it, we will go back two weeks from now, so hopefully there will be some sending going on.

The guys tried to do "Mary", but Mary, being the good girl that she is, didn't give in, despite the numerous beached whaling and humping that ensured over her top lip. (<-- This is not vulgar!) Hopefully by the end of the day I will have some photos of M. going for the hump on Mary's top lip. 

PSYCHED!!!

Today we're driving to the grampians for a full weekend of bouldering-weather permitting. Now this would have me squealing (literally) anytime but this time it's special, as we're taking new people to the gramps. I've always been giddy doing that, including for the motherfucker, because it's just so different and so many problems and so awesomely cool and aaaaargh!!! PSYCHED!!!


I've been like a fucking jack russell on speed for the whole day* and not even rude people, nasty chairs, clueless students and tons of assignments to mark have not been able to dampen that. PSYCHED!!!

*the morning had me in tears when my friend said "I've lost running", but after that things got a bit better - they tend to, once they hit rock bottom ...

Fuck this shit

My friend and running partner will probably stop running forever because his left knee is killing him. His left knee is killing him enough to warrant a visit to the doctor and thoughts about surgery, and that from somebody, who, like me, has serious problems with declaring any sort of pain.

In the quiet words of Shakespeare,  I say, ... "Fuck this shit".

Not only does he love running but running, in a similar manner to me, keeps him sane. Although, for some obscure reason, he actually enjoys it. And I really mean actually enjoys it, and not like me after 30 kms when the endorphins are finally kicking in, and then only as a measure of just how badly my body is breaking down.

Fuck this shit.

what one may say when frustrated or annoyed to the point that one gives up or no longer wants to complete the task at hand. Usually results in the task not being complteted. (Urban dictionary)

He is the one that introduced me to Six Foot Track by telling me just how dangerous and stupid and difficult that track is. He, of course, had ran it. And, of course, the mention of just how dangerous and stupid and difficult that track is made absolutely drool over it and want to run it.

Fuck this shit. What now? I keep telling him that climbing does not really need solid knees and probably he will come and join us if running will not be an option anymore. I guess this is probably the only time when I won't be happy somebody new joins climbing. Fuck this shit.

One picture Tuesday

About two years ago Jensen and I were climbing in the gym (whereby climbing meant that he gave me routes I couldn't do and I gave him routes he would flash).  I was waiting for San to arrive when I decided that I will improve my always crappy sloper strength (must be the fatness, really,  or the fact that I don't practice slopers, because otherwise I cannot explain why my sloper strength just does not increase) by doing a slopey route. It involved this green ball. I know it did because then I stepped on it. And when I stepped on it, it cracked like in the picture*. 

I just want to say that there's nothing that screams FAT!!! than the sound and sight of resin (it's supposed to be superiorly durable, enough to hang and put your life in it!!) cracking under your right foot!

*It's been like this for two years (was it more than two years?) It's sad and funny at the same time that the only mark I've left on that gym is DESTRUCTION! 

A trilogy of sorts

I'm in Singapore for a week and I ran twice already, and probably I will run again tomorrow (wait, today). My last run was probably one of the most horrible runs I've had in at least a year. You see, it was the run of three daemons. Because I can definitely tackle the run of one daemon, and the run of two daemons, but I have yet to tackle the run of three daemons.


In the order of bad-assness, my three daemons are heat, gluttony, and thoughts. I decided to run at 10am on Wednesday morning. Let me put it this way: 10am on Thursday morning in Singapore is not the same as 10am Thursday morning in Adelaide. It's damn hot and humid, that's what it is. My legs were swollen, and I was sweating like a pig. That's when I decided to take off my shirt - "at least get a tan", I thought. I was now much cooler but also about 200% more self conscious, as I was running through the damn CBD. So I alternated between taking off my shirt, running a bit, and then putting it back on. And I ran and I stopped and i ran some more again. And then I stopped again. And ran. And stopped. And ran. Because of all this on-off business, my hair started to stick to my face and get into my (now) dry mouth. There's nothing like the taste of hair on a dry-mouth day.

Now you see, the reason why I was running at 10am instead of 7am was because at 7am I had had a very nice and very very big breakfast, and had then spent the next 3 hours digesting it off and doing some work. But the little monster was not done being digested and kept creeping up (literally) on me, threatening to have me puke in the middle of the CBD on very nicely dressed passers-by. So in between taking off my shirt (and putting it back on), I would also stop to prevent myself from puking my breakfast. It would not have been a good sight, plus, me puking my breakfast would have had said breakfast stick to the hair that was in my mouth, and thus have it stick with me for the rest of the run. Literally. Thus I had to stop SOME MORE.

But the most badass daemon were my thoughts. Nasty nasty things are happening and thoughts concerning them stop me dead in my tracks. Now don't get me wrong, I could have handled this little baby just nice if it were by itself, but with the other two, it was practically impossible. Thoughts aplenty and my (not positive*) inner voice bringing up images related to them ... For some, I would use the anger to propel me, but for others I would just stop suddenly and try (and fail) to blink them away. Thoughts, you ask. Like my paternal grandmother dying alone after being ignored by my father for at least five years. Or seeing my friends suffer in teary silence and realize that there's nothing, and I mean NOTHING, that I can do to make it go away. And this feeling of helplessness started the big momma voice in my head (not positive*), who started rattling on all the things i did wrong (imaginary or for real) since i was 6 years on (it has a very good memory). So in between taking off my shirt (and putting it back on), and trying not to puke my breakfast, I would also stop to get it to shut up. Which it did ... the next fucking day.

And before you ask, I'm running again tomorrow.

*understatement.

I BOUGHT THE TICKETS!!!

Today I bought the tickets for what will probably be this year's bestest trip. I will be going to New Zealand for an advanced mountaineering school for two weeks. Then, following what looks and feels at this point like a stupid sense of responsibility, I will come back and mark my students' exams ... Hopefully this will not earn me too many bad karma points because after this, weather permitting, I will return to New Zealand to climb Mount Cook.

Following previous missed trips and flights and issues with dates etc. I did ask somebody to check my first New Zealand trip, only to realize after I bought tickets the for the second leg that I didn't ask anybody to check them. Ah well ... I guess I have to learn one way or another.

But enough about that little minor issue (who needs plane tickets anyway?) and more to the important one: Training must start yesterday!! Goodbye carbs, the few sips of alcohol that I had been indulging myself (I actually had a half glass of wine for my cousin's wedding), the tons of durians that I planned to consume while back in Adelaide (note to Dodo: I still want durian on Friday, ok?!), goodbye extra time spent with students, and, more importantly, goodbye dinners! ... and welcome  heavy backpacks, steep hills, stair repeats, early early morning treks through waterfall and chambers gully. Sigh. In a former life I was a queen.

ROAR!

One picture Tuesday

I went running yesterday around my hotel:

It was indeed a bit of a challenge to run in 90% (NINETY PERCENT!) humidity, but I prevailed and got where I wanted to get. Of course, I then proceeded to get lost on the way back. 

Eventually I made it to the hotel, showered and went for my first proper meal of the day, dinner!

If I ever have a dog

I will call him Mao Shan Wang, or Shan for short. Another possibility would be to call him "Durian" or, Kopi. Today, while researching about the awesomeness of Mao Shan Wang, I have found that "the coffee tasting durian" is indeed a variant, or a "cultivar" if you must of the durian. It's called Kop!

Regardless, there is something really really naughty about eating durians in a three star hotel, and I just done done it :)

Humility

An article about David Graham contained this quote:

Never think you’re that cool. You’re still just climbing rocks in the woods with bugs, and everyone thinks you’re crazy.

I've always been humble when facing mountains. Especially when facing rock faces and/or ice waterfalls, a mix of awe and humility shoots through me and I'm stunned and just sit there with a stupid grin on my face.

In the past weeks something new has moved into the picture. I've become apprehensive. I'm not sure why, but while the perspective of facing (ahem) death, cold and/or fatigue is does no longer extract 100% squeals of excitement from me, but there is now a tiny drop of realization that if something happens to me, other people, i.e. my family, friends, and (!) students, might suffer in some remote way. Or maybe is the realization of just how good life is (see previous post) that makes me be apprehensive about losing it?

Or maybe, I'm just getting old.

Life is good

You take the plane over a sea (an ocean?) and arrive on a new continent. You're a tourist in your former home city and things are weird. You rush through customs, collect your bag, refuse the expensive cabs the uncles at the airport taxi stand try to give you, and take a normal cab. Arrive at the hotel, queue behind the 200 zillions iranians and their families that were just checking in, and then finally check in yourself.

A quick shower and change and you are out again. Wearing jeans, tshirt and running shoes it's only normal to run to the MRT station rather than walk. Your jeans tighten around your legs as you realize just how humid it is. You run and run, descend the 90 steps into the MRT station only to realize as you reach it that: a) you have no cash in the local currency; b) you may not have money on your MRT card; and c) you might have to climb the 90 steps back up. Luckily, the MRT god smiles on you today and your card works.

You reach the destination and roam around aimlessly realizing that you have no phone and thus no way to tell your friend you have arrived. Also, no way of spotting her as she is, like everybody else, short, skinny, and with black hair. Finally you spot her and give her a sweaty bear hug. Onwards for a Tom Yam soup and a chat and life is good again. I've missed you San!

One picture Tuesday

It was love at first sight.

Citing from wikipedia:
"Aoraki / Mount Cook is the highest mountain in New Zealand, reaching 3,754 metres (12,316 ft).^[1] It lies in the Southern Alps, the mountain range which runs the length of the South Island. A popular tourist destination,^[2] it is also a favourite challenge for mountain climbers. Aoraki / Mount Cook consists of three summits lying slightly south and east of the main divide, the Low Peak, Middle Peak and High Peak, with the Tasman Glacier to the east and theHooker Glacier to the west."

With a bit of luck* and hopefully not to big of a negative karma from my students, in December 2012 I would have safely gotten to the summit and back. 

*And what looks like a ginormous amount of training.

The curse of the fountain pen

While in communist Romania and during primary and secondary school, we were forced to write with fountain pens, apparently because fountain pens make for better cursive handwriting? This was a blessing and a curse at the same time. It was a blessing for the above reasons but it was a curse because

• The goddamn things were expensive
• They leaked
• I kept loosing mine, so I always had to buy one and always had to hide that from my mother and always had to make the new nip stop scratching and I ALWAYS (because I kept loosing them) had to buy exactly the same one. Turns out, there were a limited number of blue fountain pens with golden nip that one could buy (that's because my mother wanted to be special and bought the blue one instead of the red one, damn it!)

After secondary school I stopped writing with fountain pens but developed a strong obsession for stationery that has followed me through my (4+5+6 = 15!) remaining years of school. (23 years of school OH MY GOD!) Until last semester, when I bought this beauty:

This has got to be the best color out there and the pen is just fantastic. And then my students gave me this:

I was so immensely touched that I put the ribbon from the pen box on the rear view mirror of Snow White. And. I. really. hate. ribbons.

 And then one day I couldn't find the green fountain pen. And then one of the students sent a silly email that sort of suggested (if you read the email while doing a headstand and scratching your back with your toe, or you were really really really HUNGRY) that me helping them out could be easily rewarded (WTF!?!) with more gifts. The red fountain pen was immediately banished to a place where it would not grade exams as I had been fantasising it would and I went the next day and bought a new Lamy green fountain pen. Although identical with the first one, it was not really the same as i had accidentally bought a medium nip instead of a fine one.

 The exams came and went (and five red ballpoint pens with them!) and the red pen sat in its box right next to my rising star in teaching award. I would see it every day thanks to its bright red color. Until one night when I had ran out of red ballpoint pens and I just had to use it. The students had finished the particular course I was teaching and if I had to wait until they graduated (seeing how I hope some of them would eventually do higher degrees) it would be a looong loong time, so what the hell?! I reasoned. And the next day (I kid you not) I found the initial green fountain pen under Snow White's seat. Scratched and dirty but alive.

Weekend questions

This past weekend we went to Reedy Creek to boulder. D found the nicest problem, I found the most powerful one and M, in true fashion, found the weirdest one (also the hardest methinks)

The greatest mystery remaining is still: while this is definitely the face of happiness:

Is this the face of constipation or extreme focus?

More photos here (also showing Stalin in action).

A story of sorts

My grandmother, in her 80 years of living, had never travelled abroad. She had never boarded a plane either. The only words she knows in English are "OK" and "no". Until a couple of weeks ago when she boarded a plane for Istanbul, and then for Dubai, and then for Sydney, to come to her other grandchild's wedding. I look at her and still can't believe she's here. She looks at us (her two grandchildren), and while she says she's very happy to be here with us, she also says she's sad she can't talk to both of us (my cousin speaks very poor romanian).

She's here in Sydney now and she's having a blast. She is not moving as freely as she used to,  and she needs to do warm up exercises in order to get out of bed, but she remembers what pills she has to take (most of them natural remedies) and now she enjoys shopping at Target and watching the ocean. From Romania, she bought me some acne creams, an electrical ceramic pot*, and a herb-based thingy to improve digestion. For the life of me I can't understand how she made it past  quarantine, but there you have it. She also wrote me a letter detailing a face mask (2 teaspoons of onion juice, lemon juice, and honey) that she found in a natural remedy magazine (Formula AS) and finishing off with "PLEASE make this. Grandma"

*because I don't have time to cook (says she)

One picture Tuesday

A bucketful of stainless steel balls. That's what I need in order to get through that roof. Because you see, I start to lead and then I reach the middle of the roof (2m after the light) and I suddenly get scared and instead of gripping the big big hold I stick my thumb into the bolt hole. And then I can't move anymore and I flail like a wingless chicken and fall.

The story of my life: I could do so many things if only I had a bucket of stainless steel, shiny, balls.

Not drowning

Last year around this time I decided to add further work on my plate and get in touch with my feminine side (snort!). So I joined tango! That turned out to be unfeasible in the long run, because after and during tango I got depressed and then started climbing and then work suddenly went from being busy to being FUCK THIS SHIT WHEN WILL I SLEEP AGAIN?! busy (and has not calmed down) . So then I stopped.

And then a month ago a climbing friend overheard me say that I can swim, if not drowning is considered swimming. And she decided that I will learn how to swim. Or else. She had also been a swimming instructor before getting addicted to climbing, so here I am, going to the Adelaide pool. Three buckets of water swallowed and four sessions later, and I am happy to announce that last night I swam about 1km of freestyle (using fins).

Newsflash:

 If you have friends to support you and tools to make your job easier, things can be quite enjoyable.

One picture Tuesday

Friends, hell has frozen over. This is because over the weekend I went. to. a. spa. Incredible and utter relaxation came my way.

Adult decisions

Apparently one of the things about turning 30 is the fact that you have to make adult decisions. Well, who the fuck would have known?!!!?

That being said, even though I'm 30, I still feel (and act, sadly) like I'm 18. "Nobody tells you", says a colleague, "that you still feel and act like you're 18! It's just that you look old and you act crazy! So damn unfair!"

Anyway, by adult decisions I mean decisions in which I do not get things to go EXACTLY like I want. To the dot.

The first one involves the Adelaide marathon that I was planning on running. It was supposed to be my first marathon on my home turf and I was really looking forward to getting a sub-4 on its very very hilly track. Turns out, I have to go to a wedding in Sydney. My cousin's wedding. Thing is, I would have normally not gone to the wedding, but my grandmother is coming from home. And as such, I have to go. However, I was thinking of flying back immediately after the saturday reception and do the marathon the next day. Not really achievable, at least not properly achievable because romanian weddings tend to be very tiring. So, I'm not doing the Adelaide marathon.

The second one involves my New Zealand expedition. It's going to be a three-week expedition that I will have to break in a two-week trip, followed by a one-week break, and finishing it with the last week. This is because my students have their exam in that period, and I have to be back to grade their exams. I don't have to, as I'm actually not supposed to mark their exams, but I feel so guilty (really, it made me sick to my stomach before I decided on the crazy 2-1-1 plan) for leaving them on their own (?!) that I. just. can't. It's going to probably cost me the Mount Cook summit (planned for the last week), but once I decided on this and emailed the guides I felt incredibly relieved.

To sum it up:

Adulthood, what the fuck?!

One picture Tuesday

But more about adult decisions tomorrow. Today it's all about color!

And so it begins

Come this november, I will be going to an Advanced Mountaineering school taking place in New Zealand. This school is important in many ways, most of which I will not mention here yet, for fear of jinxing them. Nevertheless, I'm going to New Zealand! Again! for an Advanced Mountaineering school!

Rejoice! Wait, no.

Train!

For Aconcagua, i trained twice a week by running uphill on the only hill in Singapore, Vigilante Drive, carrying what seemed like tonnes of water. That training was extremely convenient as the hill was very very close to the NUS campus. This time, there ain't no vigilante drive, and the closest serious hill is 10 km away from school. This means that at least once (if not twice) a week, i will (again) have to wake up at a crazy hour to get my ass out of the bed and house, in order to go walking/running up what is a very gully. 

This would mean that I won't be able to sleep in (i.e. until 7am) on Monday (lecture at 9am), Tuesday (running), Thursday (running), Friday (Chambers Gully), Sunday (running).  Sigh. 

What I would really wish would be for google to have a hill-finding function such that I could locate the steepest hill in the vicinity of the school - i.e. the hill that gives me the best workout / meter. 

High

In the past few days I have been feeling increasingly depressed about two adult decisions that I have to make, where an adult decision is one in which I have to recognize that things will not go EXACTLY my way and that I have to compromise some stuff. Compromise, I hate that word.

Anyway, so I have been feeling down and had been listening to depressing music and brooding and thinking and etc. And last night I went to the climbing gym. On the way there, I resisted the temptation to give in to the "meh" and TURN BACK and go home and lie in a corner. I resisted this temptation three times! I got there and decided two things.

Firstly, I decided to lead. Not on my own, obviously, as we all know what a chicken I am, but somebody prompted me many many times to go.

 Secondly, I decided to lead the roof route. Now the roof route has around 7-10 meters of increasingly overhanging roof, up to the point where the overhang becomes horizontal and then you still have about 5 meters to go. I tried the route once and quit in the middle of the roof, down climbed to the quick draw and hanged.

The second time I led it (without any prompting, I decided this myself!), I got really pumped but also really psyched and in the middle of the roof just went for the next jug. Of course, I was pumped and psyched and did not get it, which resulted in me falling in an empty empty space and swinging like mad about 10-15 meters off the ground*.

IT WAS FANTASTIC!!! The adrenaline rush, the pump and the psyche got me so bubbly last night that I was laughing while coming down and am still living off that high today.

I think I have just found the best cure for depression: adrenaline. Heh.


* there were around 20 kids watching this and I think them and their mothers pissed their pants when this happened (at least judging by the massive shrieking that followed) Sorry!

What's in a name?

... that which we call a rose ...

Talking to my distributed systems class about how naming is an important topic in distributed systems, this phrase kept ringing in my head (i was, I must admit, under the influence of at least two? three? coffees and a couple (four?) panadols).  And it has finally occurred to me just how important names & labels are in my life. And just how immensely powerful a shift from a negative name or label to a positive one can be. And how inanimate objects come to life once named.

Turns out, I name everything.
- school computer: Annapurna; unassuming but deadly mwahahaha
- new laptop: Matterhorn; small and pointy
- ipad: Mont Blanc
- kindle: Hippo
- phone: Gecko
- camera: Tommy
- car: Snow White
- big red suitcase: Boris the Second (after dodo's Boris from switzerland)
- old green crash mat: The Green Lantern
- new black diamond mondo crash mat: Stalin (it's big and it's so goddamn red)
- climbing rope: Sky
- shoes: The Mad Hornets
- myself: Old. Fat. Weak.

Not only do I name everything, but if something remains unnamed, then it also remains unused. Now the only question is ...

.... Can you tell I had a very lonely childhood without many friends?

One picture Tuesday

Australia may not be many things that would make my heart squeal (mountainous for example) but it definitely is the land of the rainbows. Went to the grampians this weekend for a brief stint before lectures on Monday 9-11am and  4-6pm. Got a serious cold and also sent some stuff, which made me tired and delirious for Monday's lecture, but it sure made me happy!

My name is Lian

Du Lian.

It's amazing how absorbed you are with things when you attend workshops - I attended at teaching workshop for the past two days and yesterday i was convinced it was Tuesday! 

Anyway, I bought this smelly frozen goodness yesterday night and we have decided we're going to eat it on Sunday - it is only a thai durian but nonetheless, A DURIAN! On my kitchen top! THAWING! nom nom nom! I can barely contain my enthusiasm.

Yes

I have a life-long rule that requires me always to say  "YES" (convincingly) while going into a hair saloon, regardless of what the hair stylist would propose. This has resulted in some very very interesting cuts, none of which i particularly enjoyed

- In 2008 I wanted something short and manageable such that I could go to South America for two monts and not worry about the hair. I got this, which made me be mistaken for a boy for two months. The series of questions that lead to this was: "Short?" "Yes"; "How short?" "I don't know, what do you think?"; "Three cm short?" "Yes".

- And then I wanted bangs, and Singaporean hair stylists have experience only with cutting straight hair - sadly I can't find the picture to show you.

- Then for the wedding I wanted something fluffy. "Curls?" "Yes." "Big curls?" "Yes"

- When I came to Adelaide I wanted something shorter again, because by then I was carrying around what seemed like 5 kg of hair. The series of questions were: "Short?" "Yes" "This short?" "Yes" "Layered?" "Yes" "Straightened?""Yes". This is what I got. Please note that I really wanted a short hair cut and I really hate any form of hair straightening.

- And then on Thursday I went climbing with a version of this haircut and the hair annoyed the crap out of me, so i went to get it cut. "Short?" "Yes" "Very short?" "Yes" "Can I use the shaving machine?""Yes""I'll cut it to some length first and then you can say if you like it, ok?""Yes"[... cut cut cut]"Do you like it?""Yes". Damn, still no short hair. This one is weird, too!

The good part about this is that nobody has asked if they should die my hair, or shave it. 

A story of defeat in pictures

This week I tried to have my first run after the Goldcoast marathon and after coming back from Singapore (more on this tomorrow). It was HORRIBLE. I could barely run 2 km, and even those 2 with stops and pulls and kicks and walks. A student's offhand comment about my marathon time from last year (I have become an Internet persona - FUCK IT!) got me to look back at the photos from the finish line from last year, and compare them with this year.

2012 Finish (04:00:41): Defeated and almost dead - actually, when the girl just in front of me collapsed, I was seriously tempted :)

2011 Finish (04:07:53): Happy, no pressure.

Sigh. My superstitious self says that it must be the watch, the shoes, or the sunglasses I'm wearing, because other than that I didn't change anything in my outfit.

Shoulder muscles-wise, it's good to see that nothing has changed - they could have gotten bigger.

One picture Tuesday

I went to Singapore last week for Marian's commencement. I will have to come clean and confess that I started eating when I got off the plane, and I stopped eating when i got on it.

I pigged out on durian but not as much as I would have wanted, sadly. How can people hate this fruit?

Good to be back

Having spent the past 3 months travelling through Australia - if numerous work and/or pain visits to Brisbane, Sydney, Goldcoast, Grampians (Horsham!)  can be considered travelling - I had forgotten how absolutely glamorous Singapore is. The first hit of glamour is when you reach Changi airport and everything is shiny and spotless and pwetty.

And then if you happen to have arrived at night and you take a cab in the city, the Singapore skyline leaves you truly and utterly speechless. It's all glass and steel and fancy, funky architecture (well, at least until you reach the HDBs, but then again not many tourists do). I had never realised just how nice this actually is. Alas, while admiring it, it also dawned on me how much I would detest living in a big city again. I must admit I was a bit surprised, as it never occurred to me that I would be such a boring, homely girl. Wait, I'm not!

Anyway, it's good to be back for the besties (more musings on this tomorrow),  for the food (FOOD! FOOD!), but also to see my (former) supervisor, and to realise, just how much of a copy of him I have become*. Let the feasting and the shopping (ahem) begin!!

*minus the sociopathic micro-management issues that is.

One picture Tuesday

Well, I was going to post a picture of a durian seeing how I am going to Singapore nom nom nom! But, I decided for this instead:

Grading exam papers

Some time ago I made the (probably stupid) decision to grade all of my students' exam papers, to give me an idea about how badly I failed as a lecturer. Gah. Of course, it does not help with my general mood that I've been up from five am doing this. Anyway, I've been trying to keep myself fed and watered and coffeed and I'm taking frequent (painful - remember, yesterday's marathon?) walks around the department to try to calm myself down. But what really helps is this:

04:00:41

Oh, the fucking irony. I am sitting in the god damned Brisbane airport and literally crying in frustration (must be because i'm tired but the tears, they are flowing)

It was so fucking close and I made this stupid stupid mistake to start sprinting for the damn finish too early! And then I got a damn stitch and almost didn't make it to the finish...

DAMN! My first sub-4 marathon, so god damned close, yet so fucking far!!!!!!

Fuck it!

Fuck it, we're doomed

Early this month, Texas Republican delegates met in Fort Worth to approve their 2012 platform, notable parts of which take aim at the state's education system. Excerpts from the document can be found below:
"Classroom Discipline –We recommend that local school boards and classroom teachers be given more authority to deal with disciplinary problems. Corporal punishment is effective and legal in Texas."
"Sex Education – We recognize parental responsibility and authority regarding sex education. We believe that parents must be given an opportunity to review the material prior to giving their consent. We oppose any sex education other than abstinence until marriage"

Some things never change

This morning I overslept because I had an exam at 9:20. I woke up at 7 am, sat on the couch for a while, read a bit, then got into a superior panic that I will be late, so at about 8 am left the house.

Got into the car and into massive traffic. Stopped for coffee and rolls. Did some batshit crazy driving to get past the massive traffic jams (heh, I was trained in Bucharest) . Arrived at the exam hall at 8:30-ish am. Convinced car park lady that I'm a lecturer - why is it so hard for people to believe that?!! Parked and headed for the exam hall.
By this time I had 2 coffees on board. Went into a frantic panic when realizing that my exam was not listed.

Tried to access internet. No fucking signal available. Rushed outside. Found signal.

Exam at 1:50 pm.

I never learn.

One picture Tuesday

This is truly destiny, especially following yesterday's post. Here's what a friend played yesterday in a ferocious battle with me (no, I am not DrTitanium, I am ...):

A hierarchy of sorts

When I was young(er) (ahem) I always wanted to be sporty and cool, while my mother always insisted that I should study more. Truth be said, studying was cheaper (we were poor) and I wasn't really talented at sports either. The lack of talent is still with me today, sadly, but nowadays I can do what I bloody well please (something I was doing back then anyway*), and I have on my side the advantage that I never ever quit. So, to my mother's despair, I now enjoy sports such as climbing, running, and, for a year or so while in singapore, yoga and tennis. Needless to say and for obvious reasons, my mother absolutely loves the yoga, tennis, and the (short-distance) running, but loathes climbing, especially rock climbing (as opposed to bouldering).

I've spent the past couple of runs thinking about

• why the fuck am I running so much?
• why is climbing just the best thing is this whole wide universe?

The answer to the first one is simple: I did say a long time ago that I will run a marathon every year, but that is not really the answer, as I can (I  hope) quietly let that promise go (sneaky much?!). Truth is, the running high and the endorphins and goddam kilometers of pain are addictive, once I get past 15km or so. Another important truth, which also ties in nicely with the second question, is that running is inherently competitive, where the person you are competing with is nobody else but you.

I cannot say that yoga and tennis are not challenging - handstands, anyone? I was decent at tennis but only because I was good at running: had a lot of anger in me, could run for four hours straight on the tennis court, and had strong biceps and wrist control, hence good (but imprecise) forehand. But there is something about running that puts it above these, and I think it's the long distance, the constant counting game ("Right, I did 10 km, now only 30 km to go, that's about a quarter, if I go at this pace I'll be halfway in about an hour, and then two hours after that and we're done"), the zone where nothing matters as long as you keep going, the stories of everybody running around you** and the incredible euforia when crossing the finish line, when you feel like a king/queen (albeit a dead king/queen).

Climbing is even more like this, even if you take out the element of painful death - which you can, for a large part of rock-climbing. The mental game is more complex than "roar, you can do it!" and requires careful posing of one's self in a good, positive place, aka the 2 sq. m. zone around yourself.  The adrenaline rush is unexpected and varies from climber to climber, route to route, and move to move. It can be triggered by anything, even by casual comments from passer-bys for the most self-conscious ones of us. It also is highly dependant on the number of coffees you drank that day, which we know can be quite a problem with some of us (ahem). And despite the adrenaline rush, one still has to be extremely precise, focused and cool.

And then we come to injuries - as opposed to running, injuries in climbing are sudden (i.e. not overuse injuries as most in running), loud (ankle breaking, tendons popping, elbows, shoulders, and knee dislocating), and leave permanent psychological scars, which further complicate the mental game when one has to convince one's body to lunge, jump, and hang on particularly badly injured (in the past) limbs, especially if it's that particular move that caused the injury in the past.

And lastly, the pump. Besides the adrenaline rush, I would say the pump, and the feeling of your fingers taking all  your weight (including that caused by the pizza you binged on last night, ahem) is what makes climbing so addictive. For non climbers, a good way to experience this pump is to try open and close your fist for 10 minutes or so. And then go do a pull-up.

So, in summary: death, mental game, adrenaline, pain, pump, addiction. While I could have said that at first, and thus could have returned to the rejoinder I still have to write, I really had to get this out of my system.

* I once ran away from home to go to the local gymnastics selection - I made it to the metro station.
** I once saw a female runner guiding a blind man that seemed to be her father - they were fast, despite running on a single pairs of eyes!

This should hopefully do it

21km today, 7 more on Tuesday and that will be it. No carbs for the entire week, until a massive bread pig-out on Saturday, and hopefully finish 42km on Sunday. Firstly, without injury. Secondly, under 4:20 hrs such that I can qualify for Sixfoot Track. Again. And hopefully, manage to register and run it next year. Ah well, such is life.

Tom Yam

It took me ages to find the best tom yam recipe out there, at least "best" by my standards. I was a bit reluctant to post anything until I really got it right, as tom yam is my favourite soup of all times. Ever.

So, here it is (Disclaimer: there may be a little too much chili for the average person, please adjust quantities as appropriate).

Ingredients for the broth
2 litres of water, brought to boil
4 kefir lime leaves - torn
2-3 cm galangal, cut into small pieces (see picture)
1-2 stalks of lemongrass, cut fairly large but SMASHED!
12 bird's eye chillies (still needed about 3-5 chillies to make it spicy for me, but this one was pleasantly mild)
juice from 2 lemons (or many many limes - use limes if you have)
4 table spoons fish sauce

Ingredients for the soup:
straw mushrooms
seafood or chicken or fish or all - up to you
Optional:
carrots thinly sliced
cauliflower
broccoli

Preparation.
1. Bring water to boil
2. Dump everything in.
3. Add soup ingredients, and bring to boil.
4. Adjust salt (fish sauce), sourness (lemon) or spiciness (chillies) to taste.


1. Kefir lime leaves & galangal:

2. Cut lemongrass and then smash it (use hammer if not proper kitchen tools. If no hammer, use fat knife. If no fat knife, just section the stalks in half).

 3. Chillies (chopped fine)

4. Lemons, but limes work better.

5. Boil water and dump everything in.

One picture Tuesday

Last night I made Tom Yam soup, as promised. It was most nom!

What's done ...

... cannot be undone.

• Like running 30 km yesterday and not feeling so upbeat today (actually, feeling like I got hit by a truck. Many times.) even after 5 (FIVE) doubleshot expressos.
• Like having 5 (FIVE) doubleshot expressos and wondering why the hell do i feel so jittery
• Like mentoring somebody for a year, offering them a job, relying on them to do the job, only have them tell you that they have found something else and thus are not actually taking the job you have offered. FUCKERS.
• Like getting depressed over the above and going and polishing off a hamburger (vegetarian) considering that I was only planning to eat tom yam today.
• Like dreaming last night that I was doing one-arm pull-ups - mind you, with my good hand

Slacking

Last year I ran the gold coast marathon in 4:07-02? Minutes. This permitted me to register and join the Six Foot Track ultra-marathon in the blue mountains. It is a fantastically difficult race, with many many hills (2900m in total) and many many many down hills (3200m), river crossings, steep drops and 45 km in all. It was the first race for which I had to qualify in advance - and I was superiorly PSYCHED! about it.


And then of course, it rained. And rained. And then it got cancelled. Apparently the river crossing was so flooded it was really dangerous. Woosses. Pfft! And so, I didn't run it, but these guys tried:
Cox River Crossing, Six Foot Track


And so, I have to run gold coast marathon again. It is a flat repetitive marathon for which I stand the best chance to get under 4:10, which is the qualifying time for 6foot next year.

This year though, I havent trained*. And while I think it is possible to run a marathon in sheer will power, I am not so sure about running a 4 hour marathon WITHOUT INJURY. Needless to say, no rest for me until the marathon. It will be fun.

* i got depressed after 6foot got cancelled and my running partner had a knee surgery - I sakrificed and ran with him through his slow and steady recovery, but had no mojo to run extra runs on my own.

For fuck's sake

Dear friends, When one of my students commented that he can easily find my singapore web page with all the mountains and all the pictures and all that, I thought to myself: "well, at least he can't find my blog"... Hahahahhahaha please give me a moment to laugh myself crazy, because today marks the day when this blog goes more public than I would have ever wanted. This brings up a whole bunch of issues of privacy and appropriateness and all that, but it also brings up the more important issue of "what the fuck am i going to do now?" Do I censor myself and only talk about pretty butterflies and beautiful rainbows and unicorns [enter Charlie theme]? Do I reduce the number of swear words per line? Do I change the blog? Put up passwords? I really really like the name of the blog because it refers to a 6c climbing route in romania that I have yet to do (25 meters, dyno at the end, so now you know why I have yet to do it) . It also is kind of funny for those that know romanian. In retrospect I am glad I do not really like to blog about work (with the exception of the Motherfucker, of course) because that would have been really awkward. So now what?

One picture Tuesday

Training run in Brisbane CBD.

Romanian songs

Marian and I recently drove to the Grampians and back in two days, only to climb 4 hours. In my book, this is definitely worth the 800 km drive - I've driven more km for less, such as 5 minutes to pet some dogs, or even worse, just to buy some very good cheese pastries. But this is not what I want to talk about. While we were driving we abused youtube and Marian's telstra connection. We listened to Romanian songs from the past, and i realised that almost every song made me teary for different reasons (unsurprisingly, all songs are on the depressive side):

• dead friends
• old, sekret and never talked about love
• leaving home
• yet another long lost love (looks like I loved a lot in my younger age hahahah)
• and definitely one of my favourite songs ever

One picture Tuesday

The grampians in autumn...

The need to blog

First of all, it's been a hell of a semester, and I know this is not a good enough reason. However, this semester I had to work hard to get my teaching back on par, as well as keeping up with my admin duties and with my research. And I did, and in my usual fashion, I gave it all I had and then some. And got a teaching award as well as students clapping at the end of my last lecture. I'm not so psyched about the award but I am psyched about the clapping, I must admit! I went all out on this and of course there was nothing left for blogging - almost nothing left for eating or climbing as well. In the months that passed, i have come to realize that I need blogging for two reasons: - firstly, it helps me keep track of time and also mark those events that mean something. This is important because i feel that it's just too easy to get trapped into a whirlwind and forget about everything else. Time seems to go by much faster than it used to, wtf? - secondly, and most importantly, I am not only writing for myself but for dodo and san (and jensen! and everybody else!), whom i miss dearly almost every hour of every single fucking day. So yeah, here's to new beginnings!

Back

Finally decided to post again, and also decided to start this with a cat photo.

Grand Canyon

Here's a very very overdue post about hiking. In December 2011, I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back. All by myself. I do not consider it an extraordinary hiking accomplishment, except for the scary oh so scary trek in the middle of the night.

Because you see, the trek is advertised as hard to difficult and on all the panels and all the brochures you are advised NOT to attempt trekking to the bottom of the canyon and back in the same day. I figured I could do this as it was winter (and not the peak of summer, as the brochures seemed to suggest), and also I could turn back anytime I wanted and thought I was not going to make my cut-off time (<- these sound like famous last words, right?!)

Then, because I was supposed to catch a bus at 12, I woke up at 4 am and started. Turns out, 4 am is THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, a time during which

A) it might snow
B) it might be dark
C) it might be freezing
D) all of the above.


And so I froze, and it was pitch dark and it was scary and it snowed for about half my trek. And I had an amazingly scary feeling of being all alone in the quiet and the darkness and the cold.

And then I got to the bottom of it. And the sunrise came.

And I walked a bit further and saw this! The Colorado river!

And the sun got warmer, but it still could not warm up the old bones:

After this, I had to turn around and walk back. Turns out, you walk 3km down to the bottom of it, and then 3 km straight back up. The trek itself is pretty tame, but some people chose to take the mules!

This was the slippery slippery snow (there's eternity on the left of the path) - I was so glad I had my walking poles!

One last look before ending it:

And a nice, freezing sunset on the drive back to Phoenix. Here's to getting out of the house more!

One picture Tuesday

One of the advantages (heh) of living during communist times was that we didn't get to taste Coca-Cola until maybe very late 80s, by which time we were already 7-ish year old. Another advantage would be that we didn't know how things and brands were called until we had been using them for a while (see for example how we romanians say "Nike").

A particular brand is 7UP. I was absolutely convinced that it is actually ZUP because of how the logo looked. I was convinced that it is called ZUP for many many years, until I saw and heard the commercial.

The smell of paper

I love my Kindle. I really do. It is the bestest for many reasons. 1. It is the old kindle, so it has these really really nice buttons on the sides. This allows me to easily change pages. None of that annoying swipe to change the current page for me! 2. It carries many many MANY books, which is great. In particular for the book I am reading now (Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell), this is very good, as the book itself is 798 pages. PAGES! The only problem I have with the Kindle is that, after about two years of using it, I find myself really missing paper books. Not only do I miss paper books (which obviously results in me buying tons and tons of paper books at one go), but I find that I never re-read books that I have read on the kindle. This is because I can't see them on the bookshelf and therefore am not reminded by the fun times I had while reading them.

Sandra and I are nursing...

... A baby.

Our baby is very demanding. He does not allow us to sleep, which makes us dizzy for the entire day.

Our baby is very fussy about his food and does not allow us to enjoy ours.

Our baby only wants to eat chicken soup - either the jewish or the chinese variety, he is not fussy about that. However, he only wants to eat chicken soup and nothing else.

Our baby gives us left-side headaches and makes us feel very dizzy. This is how we know it's our baby.

Our baby did not allow me to run yesterday.

Our baby did not allow Sandra to climb yesterday.

Our baby is brought in this relationship by either Sandra or myself, we are yet not clear about that. We do, however, blame each other. There are no such things as "accidents" nowadays.

Guess what our baby is.

I'll see you in September

I hate it when long weeks seem soo long when you start them, and then midway you realize that they are only 7 days long. The time to say goodbye is coming soon, or has already come in some cases. Said hello to Jensen yesterday and said goodbye again one hour and a half later. Turned around quickly and left in a hurry because I was getting teary ->> Oh my, I am still bad at leaving people: you would think that after all this training I would finally get good at something. Or maybe I am the eternal trainee, who knows?

Will say goodbye again to friends tonight, and then again on Saturday & Sunday. The image of san crying last time and of me crying all the way to adelaide (without having any tissue with me!) is not helping right now and it didn't help last night either. This obviously needs to be reframed into a "until next time" thing because I really don't think I can take it.

I just wish we could all live together in the same place forever. But then again, i wish we would all live forever, and for africa to be food-full and peaceful, and for all of us to shit rainbows off our (skinny!) asses. And one obviously can't have them all.

The concert

The singer is fat and much older than I remember her, from what is probably sixteen years ago. Two sikh men in the audience have serious bellies, serious faces and even more serious turbans. One of them has a jet black santa-like beard, and the other one has a snow white santa-like beard as well. They stand up and they sing the lyrics and dance, raising their arms up in the air.

For a Singaporean audience, this concert is most happening. We all know the lyrics to at least 80% of the songs. Botak Jones, a somewhat famous western food joint, is sponsoring the concert, and you wonder if they will be sponsoring Beiber fifteen years from now, if he will still be able to sing by then - God help us if he is!

When the guitars start the first beats of Zombie, everybody is standing and you can feel the static in the air.

By the end of the concert, the image of the skinny girl from sixteen years ago is completely replaced by the woman with flabby arms and deflated tattoos. And it really doesn't matter, because boy oh boy can she sing!

Good to be back

... In Singapore. And see everybody, and especially see San and Dodo. We had a hectic day yesterday, when me, dodo and san went shopping. I must say that I had forgotten just how crowded and busy singapore is. I guess living in the countryside Adelaide really makes one forget. I had also forgotten just how consumerist and branded singapore is. Nearly everyone is wearing superiorly branded clothes, shoes, watches, phones, etc. Old people use iPads and iPhones while they get their feet massaged in the airport. Kids on the very very crowded MRT start crying, and their parents immediately hand them an iPad to cool down that angsty spirit.

I had also forgotten how it is to walk walk around all day. In adelaide I am mostly confined to my office and my car, and the climbing gym and running track. But boy oh boy, is walking around while shopping an endurance sport! Today was spent seeing Jud, Ely bear, Planet, Reg, Northern Lights and Uncle Pan and the fat pig while we flew kites and stunt kites at marina barrage. The atmosphere was just like the old days during training and i really really enjoyed it. And also pigged out on the durian cake that the dodo bird bought (MOST YUM!) We all look like we are part of team singapore kite flying! I guess while during the most depressing days in Adelaide I was complaining about how much I missed them, it's really being here with them that makes me realize indeed how much that was.


... And yes, I bought lots of clothes and lots of branded stuff too :)