Learning to Scuba Dive

I've always wanted to learn to dive, but it seemed too exotic, too expensive and too far away. Well, now that I'm going to be living on a cruise ship, it will be none of those things. So I'm learning to dive.

I took the online course as the classroom component, and today was my first in-person session. We didn't make it in the pool, due to all the cancellations, but we did spend some valuable time fitting equipment and practicing setting up some gear. Pool sessions will follow, and soon I'll be ready for some open water dives.

Whenever I get on the boat.

On the road again

I went on tour with the current show that I'm working on to Hamilton, New York. It is a small town in upstate New York, remarkable only in that it is the home of Colgate University.

In the middle of November, our minds were turned to worries of snowstorms and blizzards that would either prevent us from getting there, keep our audience sizes to less than a dozen, or trap us in the one-street town. Luckily for us, it was unseasonably warm, with no snow on the ground, and even a drizzle or two. Wildlife turned out to be a bigger problem, when the person in front of us hit a deer as we were driving the 16' box truck. No one hit any deer, or had any other driving mishaps, and we were all safely in the middle of nowhere.

We shuttled from the hotel to the theater on the town's main road (and the only 'highway' for miles), passing college bars, a nice variety of restaurants, and a post office. There was a gas station, but I didn't see a grocery store. I bet it was there, somewhere. Couldn't have been too far away.

Touring a show is a lot of work, and we hadn't done this show in over a year, so this stop was a major learning opportunity to get the kinks out and get situated. Which meant a lot of hours in the theater. Finally, on the penultimate day, I got an hour off. Then Saturday, I got most of the day off. Luckily, this time was enough to exhaustively explore Hamilton, NY (except I never did find a grocery store... Puzzling. But I wasn't looking for one).

Then a late-night strike, a celebration with the cast, and an early morning drive back. Like clockwork, we're back in Philly, the show is packed up and awaiting our next venture, and life goes on.

Run a 5K? Why not

In the latest event in my series of boredom-inspired adventures, I decided to start running.

Now I'm a goal-oriented person, and I know that and acknowledge that. So when I turned my attentions to running, I decided to utilize that knowledge. I have tried to run in the past, and although I'm physically able, I hate it. I have talked to many people who share my aversion to running. It's just not a fun thing. So I gave myself a goal.

I outlined a schedule of 5Ks and longer runs for the next three months, since I knew my schedule and anticipated general location. I looked up some pointers and tips to start running.

"Start running slowly and gradually. Build up to distance. Just get out and be active. It will take many months to build up endurance. Start by taking a brisk walk, then run for 30 seconds followed by 90 seconds of walking. Alternate in short intervals. As you become more accustomed to running, increase the duration of your runs."

I ran 1.5 miles my first time out.

Less than 2 weeks later, I ran my first 5K.

I beat my target time, and won my age group.

Back to a big city

And here I thought I was a country gal... I am glad to be busy again. I don't know if it's necessarily the city, or just the fact that I have friends, a job, a mail box and errands again. Maybe if I had all of those things in the country, I wouldn't be as glad to get back to a big city.

But here I am, visiting apartments, cleaning out my PO box (which got piled a little bit high with mail while I was gone), having meetings, hiring workers, planning events, having lunch with friends and unpacking my car (one item at a time, it feels like). And seeing a show.

What a busy day. Finally.

Tomorrow: work in New York City, then back down to Philly late at night.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; finale

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-Sometimes, spending the night doesn't mean sleeping...

I was visiting a friend in Barcelona. At the end of the trip, we went to the train station to get my ticket for the night train back to Italy, where I was living at the time. No problems there, I had my Eurorail pass and got a discount.

The problems began when we got to the other train station and my train wasn't on the list... Upon closer scrutiny of the ticket, we realized that I thought the train departed almost 2 hours after it actually did. So I missed it by a long shot. Darn it! I learned my lesson about not double checking times, and to not rely on keeping multiple countries-worth of train schedules in my head.

So we head to the nearest internet cafe, and I book a flight home for early the next morning (I had to be back in Italy the next day). It stretched the bank a little bit, but this was back when the exchange rate wasn't so horrible.

The problem came when we checked the train schedule to the airport, and saw that I couldn't get from my friend's place to the airport in time for the flight the next morning. It was too early, and the trains would not start running in time. Well, no big deal, I've spent the night in train stations before. So I go to the appropriate train station (the main metro hub of Barcelona, nicely populated and well-furnished), say good bye to my friend, and settle in for the night.

Not half an hour later, the guard came over to my section of seats and kicked us all out of the building. Confused, I asked what was wrong. His broken English reply (my Spanish was quite sufficient, there was no call to treat me like a stupid American): "Finished!"

I guess the main transportation hub of Barcelona closes at midnight.

So I shuffle out into the cold night air (it's March, still pretty freezing at night) along with the other travelers looking to weather the night. We cluster around the back door and wait. I head off into the city, to find what I can find, and maybe nap a good place to hole up for the next few hours. I find a big park/slide/lake by Gaudi in the shape of a dragon. Awesome. I explore it, then plunk down and start in on a book that my friend has just lent me. Around 1:30am, I'm too cold to keep sitting there. I pack up and go for a walk around the general viscinity of the station. About three quarters of the way around, I hear a gunshot. That changes my course immediately, and I beeline back to the trainstation.

I rejoin the ranks of frigid travelers, and hunker down to wait for the dawn. I pull out my trusty towel for some warmth, pick up my book again, and munch some cookies for warmth. This lasts half an hour. At which point, I notice a man has sat beside me. I keep reading. He slides closer. I keep 'reading.' He slides closer and tries to engage me in conversation. I am thoroughly engrossed in 'reading.' He stalwartly keeps attempting conversation, and eventually I gather he wants food. No more cookies left. I stuff the bag in my backpack, edge away from him, and keep studiously 'reading.' He edges right on closer. I hurriedly pack up and shuffle off 10', to the other end of the door area. I sit down and read, having made my desire to be left alone quite clear.

And my friend comes back and sits next to me. I immediately pack up and move again. This time no sitting, just standing there reading. He follows. I edge away. He edges closer. I edge away. He edges closer. I stuff my book in my pack and storm over to the other side of the door area, cross my arms and fume.

And he follows me. This goes on for some time, and at one point I went around a concrete block in the entrance plaza to get out of his sight, and there are 5 more homeless men. Oops. Not a good move. I rapidly get through them, outdistance the one chasing me, and return to the cluster of international travelers miserable around the door. No one looks at me.

No one says anything this whole time. I'm starting to get worried, so I'm looking for someone to help me. This homeless guy is relentless. I keep checking my watch and reckoning when the doors will open. It's 3am. Doors open at 4, or at 5?

There's a well-dressed older professor-type who looks British, a very young Asian couple who have somehow burrowed their heads into their armpits for warmth, a family from perhaps Eastern Europe who are coping well with the cold thanks to sitting on their luggage, recruiting extra clothing, and huddling together. There are a handful more people around. No one acknowledges me and my pursuer.

I play cat and mouse for a while. He never gets tired. I glare at him. I nearly growl with animosity every time he gets near. He's ubiquitous. He keeps babbling under his breath, not fully formed words, but his out-held hand makes his intention clear. I have nothing for him.

Finally, at 4am, the building opens again. We pour inside, seeking the warmth and comfort. The homeless man does not follow. I bolt for my train's platform, nearly doze waiting for the train to arrive, and finally get on my way to the airport and home to Italy.

Doesn't matter, go up.

Mount Adams: check.

It's the hardest of the Presidentials. Called a "hiker's mountain," all approaches have at least a 4,000 ft vertical elevation gain. It's the second highest mountain in the range (5,774 ft), and as someone put it, "the highest without an auto road to the summit."
And I was in no mood to climb it. I put off my climb for a day, due to being lazy (and recovering from Mt Washington's calf-burning decent). I finally told myself, you're doing it. I woke up at 8am and the rest went like clockwork.
Mountain climbing (well, mountaineering; there's no technical climbing skills involved) and distance-hiking are studies in inevitability, I say. You get a lot of time to yourself out there (especially if you go solo, as I do). I spend my time thinking on a wide variety of topics. One of my eloquent theories that I have formulated is the "study of inevitability." For me, climbing a mountain or completing a long-distance trail is inevitable, once I set my mind to it. Sure, each step is torturous and the whole thing is difficult, but it's not a challenge in the sense that it might not work out. Of course there are the accidents and rare occurrences that can derail the best laid plans or overcome the strongest willpower. But barring those, there's no question that the job will get done.

I go to bed the night before a climb (of this simple magnitude, we're not talking Rainer here) and know that the next day I'll summit. I'm prepared, skilled and focused. It's not a question of if I'll hate it (I probably will), if the weather will be fine (my research says it will, but my pack is prepared if it's not), or if my legs will give out on the climb (they better not, because they'd have to keep going anyway). It's just one step after another.

Eventually, there will be no more mountain in front of me. I can keep climbing long after the earth stops rising. I'm not the fastest climber/hiker, but I am inevitable. Each step is progress. Walking up a mountain is the seemingly unceasing task of making one's head height into one's foot height.

And then you're done. Then you get to go back down, and that's the worst part. No achievement to look forward to, gravity mocking you like it's your friend. Slinking back to where you began.

But somehow I can distance my emotions, feelings, thoughts and so forth from my overall goal. It doesn't matter that I'm exhausted, hate the experience, think this is stupid, am uncomfortable and could think of plenty of other things to be doing at the moment. Climb.
But I'm tired.
Doesn't matter, go up.
I could turn around right now and have hot tea and watch a movie!
Doesn't matter, go up.
This mountain is stupid, there's no accomplishment in climbing it.
Doesn't matter, go up.
The trail dips while I'm not at the summit yet! How dare it!
Doesn't matter, go up.
I don't want to.
Doesn't matter, go up.

I find it's best when I don't consider the scale of the task at hand. Yeah, it's inevitable that I'll get to the top/end, and I know that, but then each moment is just a chore. I'm putting in my time, nothing special. Each step in a marathon is just the tortured completion of the whole. So if the whole is bound to be complete, that just makes the moment torture. So I free the mind and go elsewhere.

I do math problems, plan my life, philosophize, relive past accomplishments, categorize feelings, re-live past events, tell someone off, budget the month, reconcile my college experience, resolve arguments on personal and global scales, ruminate, write computer programs and tie knots. All in my head. Sometimes I talk out loud. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I scowl, sometimes I cry. Is this normal?

Doesn't matter, go up.

Above the clouds

On Friday, I climbed Mount Washington, the highest mountain in the Northeast United States. It stands a lofty 6288' above sea level, and is the keystone of the Presidentials, and the White Mountains. Its closest competitors lie in the Blue Ridge Mountains, down in North Carolina. It's the 8th tallest peak this side of the Mississippi.

Friday was a clear day among foul ones, with Thursday being completely overcast (I drove past the Presidentials, and couldn't even see the start of their slopes, only 100 ft away) and Saturday being rainy and stormy.
I started early and took my time, and soon enough I was at the top. I'm getting the hang of this climbing mountains business. No need to say that the trail was vertical in some places, there was a lot of scrambling over rocks, etc. I guess that all goes with the territory. Certainly with the White Mountains.

Above treeline is not some arctic tundra, as I had pictured. It's pretty reliably cluttered with talus. No easy way up, and no easy way down.









I went up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail (then ducked onto the Lion Head Trail), which was extremely well kept. It was a swath 12' wide, and more or less paved. Unfortunately, it was paved with more rocks (although there were random). It wasn't easy going. But I guess it's a durable surface, to withstand the hundreds of people who travel it.