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.