20 years of my life. Wasted!

I spent the entire weekend reading. That, and showing my friend and mountaineering mentor around the wineries of Adelaide. But mostly, reading. Oh, and eating nectarines. Lots of them. That, and reading. I read "The man in the high castle" and "Among others" and started on "Montaineering, the freedom of the hills" and "The Golden Notebook" and "Ubik". I even read a few student reports while I was supposed to be, uh, resting ...

What I'm really not saying, and I should, is that "The man in the high castle" is my first PKD. I will say this again: I am 30 (THIRTY GODDAMMIT!!!) years old and I have just read my first PKD. This means that I have wasted 27 years of my life. Well, really 20, as one could probably not really appreciate PKD until ten years old.

To add insult to the injury, I have yet to read any Heinlein. Or any Le Guin. How could I be so stupid, so out of touch with reality? (<- dexter's laboratory quote) And, more importantly, dear me, where do I start?!?!! There's only so few days left!!! AAARGH!!!

Shallowness

At some unspecified point next week there will be a meeting that may or may not decide my future as an academic. Really. The possible outcomes of this meeting are either "yay! still a chance at academia!" or "Boo, gotta start finding new careers! Barista trainer here I come!!"

I have decided that, if the outcome is positive, I will maybe reward myself with a nice beautiful bag that has been living in the window of this shop I keep walking past. And maybe a little notebook if the outcome is really good. If the outcome is negative, I will definitely reward myself with a bag and at least a pair of shoes. Vain, I am.

Also, I have decided I should be an octopus!! Or maybe, I was an octopus in my past life, which would explain why I am not one now and why all this suffering in this current life. As king octopus, I probably wore all my shoes and all my bags at the same time on my hundred-strong tentacles! This was great because I could give my bags and shoes all the TLC they deserved. Other octopodes carried me on their back and I didn't have to carry any loads. Other than, of course, the load of the bags and shoes I was showing off. Of course, as king octopus, I could eat anything and not get fat, and most importantly, I was flashing V8s.

But I digress. The bag has thus become a minor-major focus at this point - and yesterday all I could think of was "Let next week come sooner and the outcome be revealed such that I can finally get me that bag!!!" ROAR!!!

Technorati Tags: Ne.

One picture Tuesday

Today's photo was going to be an inspirational photo from the grampians. Or maybe, from New Zealand, while I pondered my upcoming trip woo hoo! That is all going down the drain because earlier this morning, I found out that KIWIS GROW ON VINES!!!!!!!

I know that this is not a surprise for some, but it was for me! And, after a quick run around the school, turns out it was a surprise for my boss as well hahaha. Life is good. We're all dodos.

Grampians wee!!!!

Marian sent Mary and Claudia sent The Claw. And if I were to stop here, you would just not know first, how fantastically awesome it was, and second, how close we came to Marian sending Lygon Street Massacre and Claudia sending Master Bates.

The beta I had for "The Claw" turned out to be totally useless. There was no way in hell in which I could link the route following it. I could, indeed, do it by parts easily, but really needed a truckload of oomph in order to finish it like that. And so I changed the beta completely, requiring me to hold a shitty crimp with my injured hand, load on it, step very high with my right leg, load the leg, and then cross my right hand in the pocket that makes the claw, and then onwards to victory. There's a video of me doing it - I will post it once I get over the fact that I was not wearing at t-shirt.

The next day I tried Master Bates. The ending section, that requires one to have a bucketfull of stainless steel balls, went within the fifth try. Subsequently, it went really really quickly, every time I tried it. I had done the start in the previous trip and was superiorly confident about it, so I was pretty certain it was going to go. This allowed me to dream. I visualized myself coming back from the Grampians with two beautiful V5s under my belt. I saw myself telling Sibby how I did master bates and how easy the ending was. And then I tried the start.

And I couldn't even start. Not then, and not in the two hundred times I tried after that. Must've been the giant bucket of stainless steel balls I was carrying with me in order to get to the top part. Either that or the grampians gods decided to smack me for visualizing the end without actually being there. Pfft.

One picture Tuesday

Providing that nothing special happens, this weekend we're going to the Grampians! It will probably be the last or second last grampians trip before going to new zealand. My sekret plan is to try to finish The Claw (V5) in the first day, and work on Master Bates in the second day. It's important to try the claw in the first day methinks, because it's really intensive and it requires me to be superiorly fresh. Or, you know, loose weight, become skinnier, stronger, more mentally focused, all before saturday. DOABLE!

Humble and angry

Today the chief engineer from "insert famous web search company name here" for "insert country & region where I am here" gave a guest lecture during my lecture. It was fun and relaxing for me to finally sit in a lecture theatre at this university (damn those chairs are uncomfortable), which was a challenge in itself as these days I find it very hard to sit still for more than 10 minutes (must be the coffee I guess). It was also humbling to think of this very exciting journey from the three year-old girl queueing up for hours on end just for the possibility of maybe getting some food in communist Romania, to sitting in my lecture theatre as the chief engineer from  -insert famous web search company name here- for -insert country&region where I am here- gave a guest lecture. I wouldn't go as far to say that it was a hard journey, although this is relative too, but I would say that it's a loong fucking way, even if you only count it in kilometers and years. And if you consider just how blatantly below average I am both in knowledge and intelligence (but this in itself is the topic of another post), then it becomes a loong motherfucking way. But I digress. Humility was in my thoughts and soul.

And also anger. Initially a bit of a surprise, but then damn outright anger. At the number of students that were NOT there. We got I think, with gross over-estimation, about 55% of the class attending. This is great, and most of the students I had expected to be there were there, but this also means that 45% of the class was not attending. Now normally, I would think that it would be the lecturer's responsibility  to engage the learners into the lectures, into doing assignments, and well ... learning. This is especially true for immature learners that well, are immature with respect to taking responsibility of their learning. I would also think that ah well, maybe the lecture was boring, or maybe they have deadlines, or they are working, or they have a lot of work, or they overslept, or the bus came late or  the dog ate their fucking alarm clock! etc. But not today. Not when we're talking about the opportunity of being in the same room with the chief engineer from "insert famous web search company name here" for "insert country & region where I am here" giving a guest lecture! And asking him questions! and finding out about how stuff works! Potentially asking for internship opportunities! Not today.

In NUS at some point we had a guest lecture from some mid-level software engineer from "insert famous web search company name here".  The 200-people lecture theatre that had been booked overflowed and people had to watch the lecture live, streaming, in another room. The lecture had not been advertised more than what I did, and the little bit of advertising that went on took place a month - A MONTH! - before the visit.

And to this I say:

FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

A call from Kathmandu

The highlight of an otherwise shitty day was talking on the phone with the bird. She was, of course, in Kathmandu. The conversation was, of course, highly philosophical:

The bird (without saying hello): "do you want a spaghetti top or a vest?"

Me:"wha?!! DODO BIRD HOW WAS NEPAL?!!"

The bird:"ah it was allright. Spaghetti top or vest?!!"

Me:"wha?!! Whatever you like leh"

The bird:" I can't choose so that's why I called you! What would you like?"

Me:"Me?! oh, for me?! I don't know leh, both of them show my guns so both are scary. Pick whatever you like. "

The bird:"so if I get you a spaghetti top then you wear it?"

Me:"ok get the vest. I miss you dodo bird! When are you back?"

The bird: "Sunday. Ok I will hang up, I think this is expensive.. "

I heart teknology.

One picture tuesday

A while ago I found out that Marian was going home for Christmas, leaving me all by myself for both Christmas and New Year. I visualized myself sitting in the shade with a cat purring on my chest while reading the many many books I had just ordered online.

And then multiple offers piled up to relieve me of my loneliness. At first, I thought I was going to go to Melbourne for a pig out Christmas. But then! Jensen and my favorite producer are coming over to visit, so it looks like I'm going to spend Christmas in the grampians, woo hoo! They too, don't camp.. What is it with people these days?!!?!!

Fluffiness

Spotting koalas is like doing pull-ups: the first one is very hard, but the rest follow easily given enough persistence and application. On Saturday I went in my "conquer the motherfucker" (CTM) run. This time, I ran up chambers gully and descended on Mount Lofty. In my next CTM run I plan to run up chambers gully, down mount lofty, and then up mount lofty and down chambers gully. Provided that I'll do it, this will be the final full CTM run for this year. I've been doing so many CTM runs now that I feel there's a need for either a label or a new blog entirely dedicated to CTMs.

I spotted eleven koalas in this run, all in the lower parts of Chambers Gully, before reaching the motherfucker. They were small koalas, big koalas, moving koalas, sleeping koalas, chewing koalas. All were very fluffy koalas.

Sweet thoughts

Until I started to actually earn something, I used borrowed gear for all my mountaineering trips. And by gear I mean everything other than backpack and boots, as gore-tex and merino base layers and crampons and harnesses and ropes and helmets and poles and gloves and beanies etc were very expensive. This always resulted in me wearing clothes that were too big for me and had weird color combinations, making for very very funny pictures. For example, I used a down jacket that was size XL for Aconcagua. It was very good (kept my knees warm too!) but it made me look like a very very fat blue! penguin. With an orange beanie!

I cannot begin to say how much my mother opposes me doing any type of climbing and mountaineering, and long distance running for that matter. Oh, and trail running. And bungee jumping. She would really love it if I did more tennis, not-long-distance running, and frankly, would be very happy if the only sport I did was chess. She gets so disturbed and so worried about any trip I take (probably more disturbed as she ages), that I don't even tell her anymore. All of our grampians trips have been "trekking with friends". I did not tell her about the last Alps trip (and had to take the photos down from picasa as well), and I will not tell her about New Zealand either. At least not about Mount Cook. When I went to Aconcagua she checked (and worried) about the wind conditions and the weather conditions and every fucking little thing more than we did. She, of course, had interwebs, which we didn't.

Even with all this, when I went in my first alpine climbing trip, she bought me a (very expensive for Romania) pair of crampons that I badly needed and I didn't have money for as I was at the time a poor-er PhD student. That pair of crampons turned out to be the first technical alpine piece of gear I owned. I have yet to take them out and look at them but here is a photo of how they looked when they were new:

Vanity

... definitely my favorite sin.


On Sunday I went for the usual long run with the club people. As my running partner is still out of commission and will probably be forever for "not short" distances, I had planned to run alone. I had my running playlist and my not-bouncy-waterproof headphones on, and was ready to run at whatever pace I felt like. Which was, on a lazy Sunday morning, after climbing harder on Saturday and reading ALL THOSE ABSTRACTS!, a slow to very very slow to "I'd be faster if I walked" pace. The run went through North Adelaide (nice, pwetty!) and then all the way to Regency park (not nice, not pwetty!), and back again, for a total of 18km.

I had planned my slow slow pace by texting San and telling her that I will be stopping throughout my run to take pictures of pwetty North Adelaide in spring.

And then we started the run. For some reason that was later edified, I started at the front of the pack, but not exactly leading the pack. Once we reached the first uphill section I moved at the front of the pack, because of my tendency to sprint. Up. Hilly. Sections! And yes, I'm still trying to stop doing that. This however, posed two problems.

Firstly, I had no idea where we were going, although I had a map. This is because the instructions that came with that map were "head north on X street, then west on that street and then east on the other street" etc. Why not say left and right and straight and back!?! WHY?! Also, the map itself, as in the drawing, was so badly printed that you had to be "not-a-tourist" to know where the hell you were going. And so, a lot of pressure on me: had to take my headphones off everytime I reached an intersection and wait for people from behind to shout at me if I were to be taking the wrong turn. Hopefully shout after me, because they do enjoy to pull tricks on you!

Secondly, I was at the front of the pack. Which meant that I had to keep going at the front of the pack. As I'm absolutely pathetic at pacing - my pace has three levels: "This is slow", "I can't really talk right now", and "WHAT THE FUCK!?" - I needed to pace myself to ensure that I was within sight of the group (so as not to get lost) but still in front of it (so as not to loose face), without turning to look behind too often. Heh. Vanity.

Turns out that the group had run Yurebilla* the previous weekend and the faster runners were still recovering, and therefore were slow as snails.

And so we ran.  I stopped only when I really had to, but I didn't sprint either. I did a thorough review of every part in my body that hurt. I did this review many many times, and frankly, my conversation with myself either went through the list of pains and aches or was interrupted with more complex philosophical issues such as: "Oh, a bird! Oh, two birds!" or "What should I have for breakfast when I get home?" or "If I run on the street now, will cars run over me?!".  I guess this is really the place where you want to be for a "not short" run: not mulling over the world's problems, having arguments with your various relatives or (ahem) motherfuckers,  or giving in to your inner voice (always negative, if you must know), but just humming along without caring about anything.

The pace was not bad either: I think in the end it turned out to be 5:25 min/km, which, provided that I kept this for the remaining 24kms, would get me under 4hrs/marathon, without even stressing about it. So I guess the morale is not to really stress about it.

*Good thing I didn't know Yurebilla was on, or I might have tried it this year.

One picture Tuesday

Labor day long weekend was upon us: we couldn't go to the grampians because a conference track I am chairing had its deadline over the weekend, which implied that I to work 2/3 days to get it done. And so I did. However, on Saturday I slept in, snoozing blissfully until 6:45 am!

On Sunday I couldn't sleep in more than 7:00 am because I went for the sunday long-ish run (more about it tomorrow!)

However, yesterday i so totally slept in, waking up at 7:30 am and going for a run up Chambers Gully (the motherfucker was conquered again, hooray!).

And yeah, this is Suzie, our cat - just realized she never made it here - she likes to sleep on her back.

P0rn

I have decided to do at least one set (1-3-5-7-5-3-1) of pull-ups per day. I have also decided to give up dinner until november. As such, things will turn pretty shitty chez Claudia!

To keep the psyche up, I have decided that everyday from now on I will start (and end) my day with climbing p0rn. This is very difficult as my hands get very very very sweaty.

I started my day with bouldering championships.

This what I'm ending my day with (it's also one of the few videos in which sharma is not talking, thank god!)

2+1

We were supposed to travel the world to climb and boulder, and occasionally visit on our rest days. We would have my kickass (TM) omelette for breakfast every-fucking-day, and, if travelling in the summer in cherry-capable countries, we were going to pig out on cherries and sour cherries etc., that we would not necessarily buy. One of us would remain crazy fit climbwise, thus giving the rest of us wusses the possibility to climb harder routes that we would otherwise be unable to setup or clear. We would almost all eat crazy spicy food all the fucking time, and wonder at the overall wussness of one of us. When not driving, I would have to be exiled to the back seat or tear Marian's heart out because I'm such a great co-pilot. When driving, I would take crazy pictures of the people sleeping in the backseat.

We were supposed to live happily ever-fucking-after. And we probably will. Just not together. This is my second time as a divorce kid, and what I have to say now is very simple: Fuck this shit. I was three when my father and mother divorced and I took my mother's side  for fifteen years (also aided by the fact that my father never wanted to see me), only to realize five more years later (I know, I'm slow) that things are not always black and white and that, as a person outside the couple, the most inconsiderate and presumptuous thing you can do is take sides. Or choose. I'm a divorce kid once more, as the glorious foursome that was has turned into a rotating 2+1 that still struggles to find balance and new magic. And it's not even a threesome as the +1 person is, six months down the track, still broken.

New trips are planned and new magic is scheduled, but the person that's missing (the -1 from above if you want) still looms. Sometimes I wonder if all of us would not be better off with having our memories completely erased. 

One picture Tuesday

My friend is visiting, and therefore I have to do all the touristy stuff. This is relaxing and frustrating at the same time: I haven't climbed since Wednesday, but have conquered the motherfucker. And saw two koalas in a single run. Nevertheless, I haven't climbed since Wednesday. But then again, she will probably never visit me in Adelaide again. Sigh. Selfish, I am.  

One day she forgot her camera, and therefore I had to give her Tommy. This resulted in me taking picture with the (gasp!) phone. This is a weird, un-edited one. Am thinking of starting a new category of iPhone pictures.

Also, spring is here: time to take some time to go outside, sit on a sunlit bench, and ponder. In the winter, I used to sit on the steps of the library and watch the students walk by during lunchtime: summer is more interesting as the campus fashion (or lack thereof) is terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time.

For you, dodo bird!

The dodo bird is going to Nepal.

After that, she is doing I do not know what and something or other and then she's coming to Adelaide, right before I leave for New Zealand. Dodo bird, please remember to send us your flight details. I miss you dodo bird, please have fun for me in Nepal. It's really something else!

Oh and I miss you and can't wait to see you and all that. Wait, I just said that.

News

1. I decided to call the Motherfucker, Rose Petals instead. Judging by yesterday's post, I really need the word motherfucker again, and I think that to some extent I need to move on from this. It's been nine months and three weeks but who's counting. So, for old times sake, one last one: Fuck you, Mothefucker! And moving on to: Fuck you, Rose Petals!

2. My running partner will be able to run again in three weeks. It's been a while since I've been so happy and so truly and utterly relieved. So happy and relieved that when I found out I started to squeal and jump up and down and squeal some more, to the utter embarrassment of the colleague that told me the good news, and to the utter bewilderment of the passers-by (we were on the main street, going to lunch). Life is good.

SQUEAL!!!!!!

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.

One picture Tuesday

Tonight I was supposed to go climbing. But then I spent one hour with a student discussing a mark on his report. And then another hour talking to colleagues about maybe doing a summer school next year (if I'm still here, that is). The highlight of the evening was coffee with d. and a discussion about boundaries and personal time. About setting them that is. And having it. My resolution for that is to tell students from the start of the meeting how much time I have - this will help them organize what they need to get out of the meeting but also help me plan my time - with the understanding that if I do not say how much free time I have then the meeting can go on for as long as it needs to. 

But then!

Well obviously I couldn't go climbing anymore. But then of course I felt guilty about it (heh. But still, time, I have not!) So I proceeded to do pyramid pull-ups on the rim of my office door!

My first set went smoothly with 1-3-5-7-5-3-1, with 20-30 seconds break between each set. My second set did not go so well: I failed at 5 on the 7 and then at 4 on the 5. My third set was even worse: I failed at the fourth pull-up on the 5, and then after it I failed at the 5th, so I decided to end it quickly. Not surprisingly, I could easily do the 3 and 1 that followed. I am still surprised that my first set went so smoothly, and also blessingly pumped after all three. Not a total failure of the night, I would say.  

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.