When life gives you lemons, make sure they've been properly washed first

What could you accomplish if you really truly tried?

Lauren proposed this deceivingly simple question to me in October. September and October had been one big hot mess for me- a sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated, fluorescent-light-dwelling, red-wine-medicating blur. I felt like I was juggling multiple chainsaws at once and, although I was barely keeping them in the air, I was losing little chunks of skin and sometimes whole fingers in the process. I was meeting my responsibilities and obligations at work and in my personal life but it was amounting to little more than me keeping my head above water.

I'm not even completely sure what this guy is doing. Or how his outfit is appropriate for it. But this is how September and October felt.

So its little surprise that I jumped at this challenge. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to add some structure to what had become a whirlwind of a fall. Plus the notion was intriguing: what could happen if we set a goal, made a concrete, thought-out plan and then actually stuck to it and followed through??

The goal is simple: to train during November and December for a New Years trip to Rocktown, a phenomenal bouldering destination in Georgia. Always good at prioritizing, Lauren and I first came up with a catchy name for our challenge.

aka 

Once the important stuff was taken care of, we then devised a realistic plan that covered all the major bases: campus board and frenchies workouts, climbing gym sessions, running regiments, abs and yoga. In order to keep ourselves honest, we created rules and appropriate consequences for breaking the rules. Drown your sorrows during the week? You must buy the other person a beverage of their choice. Threaten to quit because you have "too much going on"? The other person gets to slap you. You know, appropriate and what not.

For those of you who are good with a calendar, you may have noticed that today is November 18. For those of you who are good at math, you may realize that this challenge has been going on for 18 days. How is it going, you might ask? And to that I say this: it depends who you ask.

Lauren is absolutely killing it. She is kicking November's ass. But I will leave that to her in another post. My experience so far as been pretty much the opposite. November has (almost) literally punched me in the face. Its almost as if the harder I try, the harder November strikes back. I sprained my ankle last week bouldering at the gym. Then last weekend I contracted food poisoning and spent the majority of my time in the fetal position, fairly certain I was becoming one of those zombies from The Walking Dead.

Yup. Pretty much sums up Sunday night.

And yet, for some reason this motivates me more. This is MY goal that I set for MYSELF and there's no way that November is going to take this from me. I may ruin all the bags of frozen vegetables in my freezer icing my ankle and I may have to avoid Indian food for a long time, but I am determined to turn the tables on November. November may have gotten some good punches in but I know from my rugby days that I can take a lot of punches to the head and this is far from over. Do you hear me, November? I'm coming for you!

Spon - tan - e - it - y

I wrote this one on the road.  So I'm going to do something here that I'd like to call post-posting.  A.k.a. just read it.

On the evening before our departure a friend said to me, as she so kindly assisted in the last minute packing of my things, “Sometimes I wish I could do things spontaneously, like you do.”  I was confused.  I asked her what she meant.  She added, “Like this trip.  Three weeks ago you weren’t sure if you were going at all, now you’re leaving tomorrow…for a month.”

Real friends tell friends to wear helmets while they pack you're car.

Ohhhh, that.  I guess that does look spontaneous to most.  If only they knew how it all panned out in my head.  The amount of time that I spent hashing and re-hashing out where to go, for how long, how, when, if…made it feel not so spontaneous at all.  But I’ve never been a planner.  So I guess committing to a month out west with only a couple weeks notice (and packing the night before) doesn't feel spontaneous to me.  

This should be no problem.  3 people, 2 dogs, 1 sedan...

A few weeks before, Meg and I had sat by Millers Pond with an atlas, a few beers and a snack or two.  "Wanna go there?"  one of us would ask.  The other would reply, "yea, how about here?" as we pointed at the map.  We invested a solid fifteen minutes in to this planning activity.  Then we went swimming.  Once Derek officially joined the road trip we consolidated our planning with an hour of coffee and our laptops before we headed to the gym.  Trip finalized.

Spontaneity.  I thought more about it on the road, and in my tent, and on cliffs, and by campfires.  Then the other day, about 200 feet away from a 14,000-foot summit, it made sense.

This is me.  This is things making sense.  Or...I'm on the moon.

I’ve always craved spontaneity, unpredictability, and just a touch of chaos in my life.  I know this, I’ve written about this, talked about it and accepted it.  A few more details became suddenly clear in the thin air of Torrey’s Peak.  (Besides the fact that I had to work on more creative excuses to stop and catch my breath other than, ‘Ooh, <wheeze> pretty <wheeze>’ while I pretended to take a picture with my phone.)

I have to..tie my...take a pic...stand here...Im breathing...

Here are the details that presented themselves in all my light-headedness.  I enjoy, and must say, am good at handling spontaneity and unpredictability because I openly accept the consequences.  I’ve learned over time that, with the excitement of going at things half-prepared, under-planned and with high energy, come the let-downs, frustrations and consequences. 

Like...rain at the crag.  Because you've arrived at half-past-when-everyone-else-is-leaving.  Because you drank PBR last night.  And sat on a roof.  Until way past a timely climbers bedtime.

I accept the consequences, that they exist, and that they are 100% heading my way at one point or another.  I know that living out of a car, a tent, and on the road, will undoubtedly lead me in to some inevitable pit-falls.  For instance, showing up to a campground on a Friday night, at 10:30, hungry and having driven 9 hours, to find there are no open spots.  Well, obviously.  It is a weekend, even during our vacation.  The atmosphere in the car was tense.  The hanger started to seep in to our decision-making process.  Before we knew it, we were cursing out established campers, one dog was out running behind the car and the other was in a protective hold. 

Hangry (or Hanger): A state of anger and irritability resulting from being hungry.

We finally found a “campsite”.  A pull-out, almost outside of the canyon, isolated from the rest of the sites.  We quickly fell out of the car, began making dinner and pouring the wine, while the dogs happily began to roam.  Soon enough, they were returning with bones.  Big bones.  Femurs.  Scapulas.  Clavicles.  We quietly collected them on top of the car.  Until the pile was big enough to no longer be ignored.  “What are these from?”  I blurted.  “This is not normal.”  The only response I got was the very hangry eyes of my fellow travelers. 

No

Yes

We survived the night, despite the very CSI-like start.  The morning brought a whole new challenge.  Flies.  SO many flies.  Hundreds, even thousands, of flies.  I woke to the sound of buzzing.  (And sticking with the CSI theme – what I consider to be the sound of death and week-old bodies).  I opened my eyes to the backlit canopy of fly bodies ALL over my tent.  “Ew” was the only thought in my head.  I rolled clumsily out of my tent to find Derek already standing outside.  “Lots of bugs out here”, he said calmly.  My blood pressure shot sky high.  I looked at Meghan.  We swatted, ran in small circles, Luka lost his mind trying to eat each and every one, and finally yelled, “We gotta get outta here!”  We broke down tents like our lives depended on it.  (And it crossed my mind at a certain point that we might be a good team for something like the Amazing Race).

I am confident we would be able to avoid this situation.

We threw pots, pans, sleeping bags, utensils, dogs, and each other in to the car.  We yelled at Derek (and not for the first time, bless his soul) to “JUST DRIVE!  Go!  HURRY!” as he (in his usual deliberate-Derek ways) calmly rolled down the windows, put it in reverse and then drove in to the canyon. 

This is just one example of a consequence due to lack of preparation and by-the-seat-of-your-pants travel.  But I, we, accept that as a part of it all.  We said out loud to each other, “THIS WILL BE FUNNY LATER.  Factor two fun!  Factor TWO fun!*”  The experience wouldn’t be the same without the challenges, the ups balanced by the downs, and those moments where you have to dig deep to find that patient and positive spin. 

There were other times.  Like when we drove too far on an un-planned route and succumbed to sleeping in a Wal-Mart parking lot. 

(no picture available due to lack of humor at the time)

Like when my bike rack got stolen.  Or when Maggie caught herself some Giardia and decimated carpets across Colorado.

Like when poor choices were made by one, the other, or all travelers upon returning to civilization.  Like partying late in to the night before hiking two 14,000-foot peaks and showing up an hour and half late at the trailhead.  Then attempting to dance at a Pretty Lights show in to the early morning hours that same evening. 

Or my favorite, when you find yourself living on the edge of society, out of your car, because you’ve made too many plans to visit too many people, and now you have a shit-storm of a puppy, and you don’t feel comfortable anywhere but outside.     

She tried to self-medicate with smoked almonds and plastic.  Poor choice, Maggs

The thin-air-thinking reaffirmed my love for the freewheeling, slightly chaotic, unpredictable style of living.  It’s why I continue to work with people and students that challenge me.  It’s why I continue to spend, what most would save, to travel across this beautiful country and back.  It’s why I love to push myself in climbing.  It’s why I seek out new challenges that dare me to try harder, go further, play harder.  And there is nothing more refreshing and inspiring than finding people that feel and live the same way. 

And dogs.  Dogs always understand.

*Factor Two Fun: n.  1) during the activity you are a) terrified, b) anxious, c) not enjoying yourself at all, but, upon the completion of the activity you decide it was fun.  2) An activity that is fun when it is over.  (i.e. grueling death march of a bike ride, or a tall, insecure lead climb) 3) Something you wish you weren’t doing, until you’re done, and then you want to do it again (but probably later).

Antonyms: Factor One Fun i.e. petting a puppy, eating ice cream.

(Thank you to Aaron Ferguson for contributing the Factor Two Fun definition, and of course, your overall presence to the Ten Sleep portion of this trip.)

Arms out, Core Tight and Go

My desk is a mess.  Minutes quickly fade to hours.  I’m hungry and I don’t want another peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the closet.  It’s getting dark- no, it’s been dark for a while now.  The rain won’t stop.  And yet, here I sit, staring at my computer screen filled with pumpkin clipart options.  Which one do I choose?  WHICH ONE?!  It is the most insignificant question I have faced all week and somehow 20 minutes has passed...and I’m staring.  This is it.  This is my brain turning to mush. 

  

This is not me.  I did not draw this.  But it speaks to me.

Being in my second year of teaching a self-contained special education classroom for students with behavioral needs – mush brain is quite familiar.  Symptoms of mush brain include blank stares, lost items, forgotten appointments, delirium, fatigue and a loosening grip on reality. 

September is always a circus act.  I am in high speed from the moment I stare the snooze button down until I come careening through my apartment door, second coffee in hand, numerous (probably unnecessarily filled) bags, shoes (??), recently purchased anonymous school supplies and an “I’m staaaarrrrrving!” at Derek who is already preparing to feed me.  I feel good, I’m caffeinated, I’m in motion, Maggie May greets me, Derek is home, I crack a beer or pour a glass of wine…and then it happens.  The relaxing quickly turns to the sleeping.  I’m done…eyes heavy, body sore and tired, and caffeine crash commenced, I mutter goodnight and head-heavy like an oversized toddler, I bounce off doorways and cabinets to bed. 

This is also not me.  Nor was it ever me.  But it is a head-heavy toddler. 

Sometimes I force the climbing gym upon my schedule and manage to peel off plastic jugs and groan my way up easy routes but I am not climber Lauren.  I am teacher Lauren. 

Once October rolls around I try to transition to a balancing act.  I start to find little ways to introduce the balance.  Dirtbag Diaries turns the 50-minute commute to and from work in to a deep breath.  I don’t hate the commute.  I enjoy my black coffee, banana and the words of all of the people who remind me that I am still connected – they are still out there, living and doing the things that I live and work for – and that allows me to relax in knowing that I will do the same again.  I enjoy the 50 minutes of listening, daydreaming, reliving and mentally planning climber Lauren's revival.

Then Miss Beaudoin walks in to Room 29 and switches ON, Full Volume, High Speed.  I don’t sit.  I stand, walk…or run.  I talk, I teach, I decide “yes”, “no”, “what?!”, I direct and redirect and redirect and redirect and…redirect, you get it.  If I had a soundtrack it would most likely be of the dance-aerobic genre. 

Again, not me.  And I am thankful.

But I’ve even found a way to sneak some balance in to the classroom.  We do yoga.  Go ahead…picture it.  Eight students, 3 girls, 5 boys, third and fourth grade, who can’t sit still or quiet for more than 1.3 minutes…in Warrior 2 pose.  They are breathing in and out and pressing their hands together to say “Sir Sensei”.  I taught them “Namaste”.  They hear what they want to hear (see above description of job).  Climber Lauren guides students through downward dog, plank and boat pose.

Then weekend-warrior-Lauren emerges, desperately trying to carve out time to tramp around the hills, cliffs and mountains of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Vermont, New York, Maine and Connecticut.  Then most Sunday nights look like the ugly transition they are; unpack car, dig half-clean work clothes out of bags, hampers and drawers, unpack draws and headlamps and Keenes, repack gym gear in high hopes for a weeknight or two.  I’m usually exhausted, going to bed dirty and very aware that I will wake up tired, disorganized and fumbling around my apartment for snacks that add up to a lunch, wrinkled clothes and coffee on the road.

Jordan, a fellow weekend warrior, crushing Romancing the Stone at Rumney

This year, I am fumbling for this balance with much more grace.  The month on the road this summer has fueled me with more passion, determination and positivity than ever before.  I feel the lingering health I acquired by living so simply, freely and passionately.  I feel like there is a damn carrot on a stick.  I will have to work hard and be patient before I get my hands on it, but it’s there, and that is pumping me full of drive and purpose that wasn’t there before. 

I want to teach my heart out.  I want to climb my heart out.  I want to live fully and aggressively and balance both of my passions.  I will need podcasts, loud music, puppy play, Derek-dates, wine nights, gym sessions, classroom yoga, family festivities, my fellow weekend warriors, and lots and lots of coffee to do it, but I am confident I will make it to June.  At least…to June…  

I leave you with this...