Autumn Tales from my $200 Ikea Futon

Autumn smells different out here. Different in a way that I can't quite wrap my mind around. Like sun-toasted pine needles and dew, smells that I usually think of in terms of summer and spring. In the humid Midwest, summer comes along and the world lights up in bold shades of green grass and leaves shimmering silver in the sun's rays. When the heat breaks with the day all of the greenery and life and heat bubbles in my veins and I get restless and I get reckless. It carelessly follows that summers are for abandon: parties and concerts and festivals and spending the days drinking and the nights dancing and sweaty, sloppy passion in plenty of places where proper people don't get sweaty, sloppy, or passionate. Then, like clockwork, the last night of summer comes and there's a chill in the air that you can distinctly smell - the humidity cooling and condensing on the still-green leaves instead of hanging heavy in the air. This poignant night always acted like the period at the end of a long, rambling sentence and put to an end a season of debauched behavior. It's always the first night in a long time when I want to protect myself against the chill in a blanket instead of just sleeping in some scraps of cotton. It's the first night in a long time when I want a cup of tea and a book instead of a beer and company. My feet are always tired. And this night shifts my behavior back to fall - the mundane of errands and work and nights watching movies and lacking the energy or desire to go out and party like my summer self.

But that didn't happen here. 

Summer here just smelled like death - dried-out, dead plants in the baking sun and dust. Grass died instead of glowed in shades of green and I think because the season was so far from what I was expecting, I didn't live it the way I usually do, the way I wanted to, the way that satisfies my inner demon and quiets my mind from destructive action until the next summer. I spent a majority of my time behaving as a responsible adult. 

Clearly, this is not acceptable. Little did I know that those same Midwestern summer smells would return in Pacific autumn and relight my desire for a little more of everything. And the strange thing is that fall has nearly passed and all of these cravings and wanderlust don't seem to be going anywhere. 

So as I sit here on my newly assembled Ikea couch sipping a glass of wine that was bottled within 100 miles, let me tell some tales. 

I've been going out partying a lot more. A lot more drinking and a lot more dancing. And these things make me happy. My first reminder that these things are superfun came with a rather innocent night out with some lovely ladies:

Shortly after, it was time for a team offsite around the mountains and clear blue waters of the southern region of Lake Tahoe, close to where the California border merges into Nevada.

We were packing for a large crew.... but most of the car was filled with beer and wine and liquor. 

It is beautiful. I'd love to go back under similar context.

Outside of one aggressive afternoon of uphill running (across state lines!!) in preparation for one particular upcoming 30K, I spent a majority of that trip drinking in the hot tub with teammates. At night it was particularly special. You're so far from city life and light pollution that when you turn all the lights out, you can soak in the warm waters and just see stars for days in the cloudless, pitch-black sky - the stars even reflected in the calm waters of the lake. A perfectly romantic setting for getting drunk and discussing things like algorithm design and the ramifications of false-positives in classifiers. Sexy, huh? Nerds will be nerds, and I am a nerd.

While we were driving back, we happened upon what looked like a brushfire. Very striking.

 
After returning, there was more dancing to be done. This time, of the garba and dandiya varieties in celebration of Navratri, a Hindu festival in celebration of Durga (Wikipedia, kids). But it wasn't a super-religious celebration, but rather a giant dance party that I had the delight of attending with some (once again) stunningly sexy friends. 

Come to think of it, I really need to get that dress dry-cleaned. 

Photo cred on this one goes to John & G.

Shortly after, it was on to Tucson, Arizona for some fun with the bro and his girlfriend, Wesley.

My nephew-puppy, Simon, is getting far too large and far too cute. He still fancies himself a lapdog, and this time, we had no disagreements on whether my shoes constituted as an appropriate dietary option.

Best burger place EVER. More burger places need to put hot sauce on tater tots. Please. Just let me eat that sheer genius daily and be fat.

Beside the puppy and the chow, we went to the haunted house at Old Tucson studios - an old Western village set up with 3+ haunted houses and plenty of Halloween-themed entertainment. We walked a 5k for AIDS. We also went to Tucson Eat Yourself... er... Meet Yourself, a cultural festival that in theory featured performances from different music and dance groups, but in my mind it featured shaved ice and falafel. And my brother threw a party! I made friends with some of his friends. [If you're reading this, Hi Brad!!!]

We got into some other weirdness. 'Tis expected. My family are brilliant, but we're all a little out there.

Feeding the desire to check out new things, I figured it was time to check out some of the weirder offerings at my workplace, did some exploring of teh Googs with my friend Sandie and discovered the half-pipe:

Shortly after, I let free my inner graceful fairy...

But Sandie made it look cute. 

Additional adventures came and went, but soon it was Halloween! Continuing to feed my need to shake things up, I wore this:

Sure, the whole "girls in slutty costumes" thing is tired and overdone. But not for me. A majority of my previous costume decisions were rather modest.  I had fun, which was the point, and breaking out of my usual tee-shirt-and-jeans and showing off the fact that I work out up to 2 hours every day felt kinda good. I have since come to the conclusion that sometimes, wearing less clothing is good for your social life and good for your soul. I'm not about to break out this outfit in the workplace, and there's no way in hell I have the patience to regularly bother with that much makeup, but if, on an appropriate occasion, I ever feel the need to bust into "hot girl" mode, it's a valid choice, and it's all in good fun. On this occasion, a packed Heaven or Hell themed party at a nightclub was a valid place to wear something so revealing.

During this time, I had the delight of meeting some new friends from the Sydney, AUS office and in keeping with my lust for fun, they taught me something very important about life: any day worth having is worth ending with a drink in the hot tub (except they call it a "spa", which I can't quite get used to). We went up to Sonoma!

Luke makes that face a lot. 

And of course, I insisted on stopping in Sausalito for that killer view of the bay.All the buildings in the distance are San Francisco. From so far away, you can't see the homeless people.

 

They're back in the land down under, eating Vegemite and riding kangaroos to work or something like that. But no time to miss them... Steve came for a short visit!

At Rocket Fizz in Palo Alto. Seeing him made me seriously miss UR/City of Rochester chums. I'm so impressed that we've all slowly become real adults pursuing realistic dreams or careers. Those jam nights in Sue B. are feeling awfully far away, and I feel so far divorced from that part of my life. Sure, I ran away to the West coast, most of them stayed East/Beast coast, but as a whole, I think I'm a much different person that I was then. Of course, I can't really see it clearly, because I'm me. Nostalgia. Something existential. Fuck it. Wine. Anyway, the point is that Steve Eckenrode is a fantastic human being, and if you can convince him to visit your town, I highly recommend it.

Alina was also in  town to visit me, and I'm so glad that I got to spend quality time with this girl. We became friends waaaaaaayyyy back in high school in Solon when we were both members of the prestigious National Forensics League (SPEECH TEAM). Then, we ended up at the University of Rochester. She's family. It's been... like 7 years? We explored downtown San Francisco, and then she shoved me toward adulthood by getting me into an Ikea to buy the beautiful, beautiful couch I am currently seated upon. Alina - my ass applauds you!

But her travels led her to the capitol of our country, and after constructing all of my fancy new furniture, I shoved some time toward philanthropy and threw a quick fundraiser for MOVEMBER!!! Support me HERE (but you don't have to). Mostly, not being a selfish brat all the time occasionally feels good in the soul. Not as good as being nearly naked in public, but pleasure of a higher quality. I prepared assorted confections and sold them to folks in my department. Things went well!

I was reminded that I'm really good at chocolate. Even when swapping my old chocolate recipes for new vegan ingredients, I can still get a perfectly creamy consistency and lovely appearance. 

Next time I'm PMSing, I am going to stare at these pictures and drool and wish. 

They sold brilliantly in support of men's health. Ladies represent!! A lot of my coworkers are now growing a series of stunningly awkward Movember facial hair patterns. I'm having difficulty taking some of them seriously, and I keep bursting out laughing in meetings at inappropriate times because of it.

The weekend following this fundraiser came race day! I had assiduously prepared for it in exercise patterns, sleep patterns, and nutritional patterns. I went a full week without alcohol in preparation for this race, and enjoyed a delightful 10pm bedtime like an old fart (actually, not going to lie, getting that much sleep felt amazing).

Here's the elevation chart:

The 30K course has been nationally ranked as a fairly difficult course, so I knew what I was getting into. It was a cool morning on Stinson beach, sitting at the base of Mt. Tamalpais and Muir Woods.

 But here's a more precise breakdown:

Miles 1-3: "We're just getting started! I'm so excited!" The continuous uphill and stairs through the winding woods up the mountain still had some kitsch and shine. 

Miles 3-9: "Uphill climbs are getting old REAL fast. Ugh. Are we there yet?"

Mile 9-10: "THE GROUND IS FLAT. Ooh. Redwoods. Neat."

On these flatlands and downhills, I was quickly able to fall into a pace that reminded me that running is something I'm not bad at. I've trained for months. I might not be a fast runner, but I can run for a really long period of time.

Mile 10-12: "Downhills and flatlands and the few hills are small and doable! Maybe I can finish! If this is the worst I'm going to feel, I can make it. It's worth the bragging rights."

Mile 12-16: "Uphill. Steep uphill. I hate the world. Running is stupid. Why did I ever agree to this? What the fuck was I thinking? I could still be sleeping. Or eating breakfast. I'm dying. Why would I do this to myself? This IS MISERY."

During the miles of trudging and dragging my ass uphill I was reminded of something my Dad used to say to me when things were really shit: "You are made of tougher stuff". I don't know when my desire to prove that became an obsession, but I'm glad that it manifested itself in athletics instead of like... snake-charming or BDSM. I'm not sick, I'm not a victim, and I'm not powerless, and in every painful, misery-inducing step up that god-forsaken mountain, I fucking proved it.

Mile 16: "So this is it. This is the farthest I've ever run. Might as well finish. Otherwise it's just like bad sex."

Mile 16-18: "SPRINT DOWNHILL, WE'RE NEARLY DONE!!!"

Mile 18-18.7: "I CAN'T UNDERSTAND THESE MARKINGS, WHERE DOES THE RACE FINISH? SO CONFUSED!!! LET ME BE FINISHED!!"

 

18.7 miles:

I sprinted through the finish line and immediately needed to not be standing. 

But there was celebrating to do (photos courtesy of my awesome Aunt Margaret)

I asked around, but there was no beer with which to rehydrate. Settled on some sugary drink and have since spent the week chugging water and ORT (Oral re-hydration therapy) so that my body will go back to being a body and not a pained and creaky skeleton. For the night after the race and the whole next day, I swear, I was so sore that any number of insanely attractive athletes, actors, or musicians could have offered me sexual favors and I would have turned them down because bending over to remove my pants would have been far too taxing.

(The tee shirt and mug you get for finishing)

But there was one very important place I wanted to finish up my celebrating before I went home to die, fall asleep in the bathtub, and eat the world...

It was a really positive experience, and I am firmly convinced that if I can run 18.7 miles/30K up a mountain, 26.2 miles/40K/a marathon is going to be rather easy. So my athletic future is as follows: taking some time off of serious distance running to re-grow the skin on the bottoms of my feet and I'm going to explore some other endeavors. Will be substitute playing on a low-key soccer team. Might spend some time determining if I have any real talent for dancing, or if I just get really drunk and think I can shake it like Beyonce. I also plan on spending some time picking up heavy things and putting them down. And then next year, as time and budget allows, I'm planning on a marathon. Maybe more than one. Currently looking at races in Rochester, NYC, Cleveland, San Francisco, DC, and hell... I'd go international. If anyone reading this (I don't know why you'd bother, but hell if we got this far, I owe you one) wants me to come and run in your city, just let me know. All I require are bagels.

For now, that's all I got. I'm still sniffing the California air and smelling those same summery smells that leave me feeling restless, so I can promise that my next slew of adventures will come soon. I'd promise to write sooner, but it's hard to sit down and chronicle life when you're busy living. Oh god, that sounds so pretentious. I'm sorry. I'm not cool, I've never been cool, and I can't fake it.