Dig Deep

"C'mon! Dig Deep! It's only three minutes of your day, you can do it!"

Those were the words to the class from our spin instructor yesterday morning. There we were, a small group of five, taking a spin class at six in the morning. Now we're being asked to "climb" hills at fifty percent resistance. For those who've never taken a spin class, this is akin to climbing a very steep hill and giving it your all.

But it was those two words, "dig deep", that got me thinking.

Dig deep. What does it mean? To challenge yourself, push yourself harder than you think is possible. Sure, sometimes. Where does one dig deeply into? One's inner reserve, a place which often goes untapped in many people, people who quit when things get tough. But really, how does one determine to dig deep? It's really a mental challenge, in my experience. I'm not just talking about an exercise class, either. There are days where I "dig deep" and I'm surprised by the reservoir of energy and determination I find to continue on with whatever challenge is in front of me. I can peddle harder and faster, hike uphill for miles and hours, make a scary move on the crux of a pitch, or stick out a work situation that is pretty hideous. But there are also the days where I'm a complete whining wuss. I can't peddle all-out for a minute; my body might be capable if pushed, but the brain declines to do the pushing. There are days where I'm wiped out to the point of being non-verbal. I've bailed from a climb by getting too sketched out on the crux: even if I could get my body to work through searing pain and make the move, my brain is telling my body, "You're not going anywhere".

I'm fascinated by the concept of pushing one's self. To summit or scrape over that mental hump that tells me "you can't do this". Intrigued by the ease one day and the impossibility the next. How does one build mental stamina? It's not like a muscle where enough repetitions will strengthen the mind. Or is it? If one reaches in and is repeatedly surprised by what can be accomplished with a little extra determination, does that lead to a greater ability to have the mental fortitude of tapping those reserves? Does one need to have a reserve to dig deep? Or can you dig, come up against nothing, and still have the energy to try again and again?

Does it boil down to a personality type? Is it about being stubborn?

Let's use bouldering as an example, shall we? I've watched people make a half-hearted effort on a problem, make a couple moves and fail, and then quit. Walk away. Done. Then I've observed other people work a problem until sore and fingers bleeding and still not have worked it out. They're determined to try again tomorrow. What's the difference? Is it desire? Determination? Inner resolve? Hard headedness? What? What is it? And furthermore, why can it be there one day, and not the next?

I don't have the answers. If anything, all I have is more questions. Currently, I find myself digging deep every morning I wake up. I'm working day after day without time off, trying to squeeze in the gym, sitting in two hours of traffic each day, and trying to keep it all together. These past few days, I've noticed it's becoming increasingly difficult, because my reserves are low. I'm tired, exhausted even. With what needs to happen in 24 hours, sleep is what gets whittled away. As such, my reserves are getting low, my body achy, my mind not as sharp, and my nerves a bit shot. And yet, this is how most Americans live. Why is that? Oh jeez, this is getting off on another tangent alltogether; maybe a topic for another time. But all I can say is when Courtenay asks us to dig deeper, if only for three minutes, if one isn't feeling centered or taking good care of one's self, it's a lot more challenging to dig. And even more frustrating to come up against zero.

Caught on Film....Finally!

The Elusive Justine
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

Why blog this?

Because this was a near miracle, getting this photo. I've been friends with Justine for years. She's one of my favorite people and closest friends. Until today, I think she's allowed me to take her picture once before without freaking out. Go figure, she's cute, so why wouldn't she let herself be captured on film? (She has no soul already, she works in advertising.) She finally relented to the camera.

People have often been surprised to hear we're close friends, apparently because we seem completely opposite, at least based on appearances. She may be pink-n-girlie but Justine is one rad chick, more so than she knows.

Happy Climber Jen

Gym Climb
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

Climbing makes me happy. There's few activities that give me the happy buzz climbing provides. Climbing works the body in ways that only climbing can. Asymmetrically. Reach-y. And at times, like a Gorilla.

I've started climbing regularly again. Okay, so it's indoors on plastic. I'm not in the Valley anymore, and it's winter, so I'll take what I can get. Indoor bouldering is completely unlike bouldering outdoors, but it's still fun! Ropin' up is fun when you climb with people you can actually learn stuff from.

Climbing has perked me up in a way pot of coffee can't. Just need to be careful with the shoulder injury and not be dumb. That's what sidelined my climbing in Yosemite; bouldering without rest days.

I'll rest today and climb tomorrow.

Crankypants Rant

Traffic on 80
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

Voila, above is the story of my life. I waste entirely too much of each day, of my life, sitting in traffic. The Bay Area simply has too many people; pretty soon I'm gonna give up my place to the next chump who wants to enjoy the views from their vehicle.

Seriously, I must spend an hour and a half of each day in traffic. Going to the gym can take nearly a half hour to go seven miles. Need to go to San Francisco? Better give yourself an hour, just in case. Sure, it's 16 miles door-to-door, but much hell can ensue in those sixteen miles of asphalt.

I love many things about the Bay Area. It's diverse, progressive, has great coffee, food, rad climbing gyms, and some of my favorite people. However, I've had enough. Enough sitting in traffic. Enough talking on the phone and listening to music in the car. Enough bother.

I was amazed that Highway 80 elsewhere isn't the snarled mess I have come to know through the Bay Area. It's gonna be that wide open stretch of 80 I take when I head on outta here and find myself a new place to call home, a place where "commute" isn't synonymous with "endlessly sitting in traffic".

Dude! It's Snow!

South of Jackson, WY
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

This photo was taken south of Jackson and north of Alpine in Wyoming. This was a gorgeous morning after the night of misery when the Stud Mobile's pump went wonky.

Wacky Woofers

wackywoofers
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

Wahoo! We all passed! Here's a group of new Woofers meeting up after the testing to refuel our brains before heading out of town.

Lessee, L to R is Arnold, Jay, Lauren, Chuck, Jackie, Jeff, me, Jake and Luke.

Missing Yosemite

Jen and Heather in BT
Originally uploaded by jenworth.

Sortin' through photos, I found this one DickBill took on my last night living in the Valley.

Homesick

I'm feeling really homesick for Yosemite.

Last night I went to Berkeley Ironworks, the local climbing gym. I got there early to boulder. I hadn't been climbing much at all, maybe three times since leaving the Valley. It felt really good to be climbing, even if it was just plastic. I was bouldering to kill time, the real reason I was there because there was going to be a slide show of climbing in the Valley by Chris Van Leuven. I knew Chris from my nightly 'patrols' through Boystown. He'd been working on the slideshow throughout the summer, and I'd seen bits and pieces here and there; I was looking forward to seeing the finished product.

Not only did Chris show his show, but Ammon showed his slideshow, too. It was from his summer in the Valley, but also had some cool stuff with his kid, Austin, in it, too. What a treat! Two totally different sets of images, of perspectives.

Seeing the rock, the falls, and familiar faces made me sigh with a reminder of how much I miss that place. It's got some grip on me. Not just the majestic park, but the simplicity of life there. The vitality of the people. I know I'm not done with Yosemite yet. I wonder what's in store next.

Note to self: get up there again, soon, dammit.

Purple Pisswater

Each dog gets walked twice a day. A mile each time. On a set route; the purpose of this seemingly boring routine is to know where the 'problems' might be, say, an aggressive dog that frequently gets loose, broken glass on the sidewalk, random shit that could spell trouble. Oh, and each dog gets walked individually. So for the walking human, that's about four miles a day and an hour of dog walking.

Why am I mentioning this?

Because last night I was walking Luna at dusk. It was the last walk of the day, and Milo had already been walked. I was spacing out and mulling stuff over in my head. I was thinking about how Milo's kidney infection has returned. It makes me sad, because I wish there was more I could do to help speed his recovery.

"I'd drink purple pisswater if I knew it would make Milo better".

Where the hell did THAT thought come from?!? No kidding, that popped into my head. I guess it's because I'm considering something that some would find equally wack.

I'm considering using an Animal Communicator and Healer to see what's up. Yeah, don't go calling the Funny Farm just yet.

My chiropractor, Margy, is an amazing person and healer. She's also an animal chiropractor. One day I'm on the table getting my shoulder put back into place, and she tells me how she's been working with an Animal Communicator. Being a dog trainer, an animal buff, and generally open-minded, I'm intrigued. Margy tells me more, about how this woman has communicated with a dog who had stomach staples which were causing pain; when The Communicator brough the dog to the vet, the vet said there was no way there were metal staples, that only sutures could have been used to close the surgical site. Upon opening the dog, sure enough, there were metal staples. Margy's not a wack job, and she was seriously impressed by this woman. I ponder how talking to a dog might help behavioral issues, and a client with Separation Anxiety comes to mind. Margy tells me more and I get The Communicator's number.

Yesterday before Luna's walk, I talked to the Animal Communicator. She's not some woo-woo-new-age-freak right off the bat, so we talk. We had a nice conversation, and she told me about some of her dogs and how they've lived extraordinarily long because she was able to talk with them and help them as health stuff came up. She also does medical chi gung on the animals, working to resolve imbalances. Okay, this sound a little much, but I'm still open minded. Some people don't believe Echinacea works. I do. Others believe that acupuncture is ineffective. I'm a big believer it works. Some believe you can communicate with animals. I'm not so sure.

Hey, I've thrown money away in more stupid ways than trying to get my dog well. I've done far, far stupider things. These dumb moves come readily to mind. I've already gone to an acupuncturist for my dog, Milo, and some might think that's just plain hogwash. So, really, is this so far out there? Possibly yes. But isn't it kind of exciting to know what one's dog might say? "Hey, lady, I want 300-thread-count sheets, not these cheap-o 200-count. It's tough work holding down this bed all day." Or, "Can you please take me backpacking?"

It's not like I have unlimited funds to cover all these pet medical bills. Money's super tight these days. But the idea that there could be information to be gleaned that could help his recovery is the lure. I'd do anything for my Little Guy. This just proves it. I'm seriously considering this. I'm not nuts, but I guess this would slot me as a truly fanatical dog mom. And at least it'd be better than drinking purple pisswater.

Bong Hits for Breakfast

That's what I wanted to call yesterday's post-I-never-made. It was apropos. Waking up to the grim news of four more years, there had to be some way to numb that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Four more years, sure, but something tells me the damage from those four years may reverberate for years to follow. I know I can kiss any hope of Social Security goodbye, what with a "war" that "needs" to be fought. I'll shut up. I'm sure nearly every blog going had a post yesterday about the election or the resulting disappointment. I guess I'll go slide into a comfortable state of apathy and make like an ostrich.

I'm baaaaackkk........

Yeah, I suck. I'm back from the road trip. I didn't post as regularly as I would've hoped, mostly because the course left little free time. I managed to feed myself and study each evening after class. Sometimes I even pulled off a shower.
I didn't exercise. Depending on where we camped, the satellite dish wouldn't work.

Yet the class was an awesome experience. We had super instructors. I met some cool people from all over. It was intense in that full-immersion kind of way. I'm now a "woofer", a Wilderness First Responder. I packed an amazing amount of info into my head, and wasn't sure at times if I could pull it off. Yet I did. Both Dharma-J and I aced the finals.

Whew! Guess I haven't killed all those brain cells after all.

I'll post more about it all, but suffice it to say, I'm back early. The road trip after the class didn't happen. The Stud Mobile turned out to be less studly than expected. Who knew you can't pump veggie oil in sub-freezing temps? After the class finished, we headed to Jackson, WY to score oil. Score we did, except it was the consistency of a tar pit. Shall I mention we tried to pump in the middle of a snow storm and that the electrical outlet for the pump had a freakout and short-circuited? As that expression which I so despise goes: "Good times!"

I flew out of Salt Lake City on Sunday night. Before leaving for the airport, I told Jay I needed extra time there because I was certain I'd be picked for additional screening, since I look like a threat to society. Self fulfilling prophecy? Perhaps. I was selected not once, but TWICE, for "random" screenings. I had my bags, which had been carefully packed and crammed full as only a backpacker can do, unpacked and the contents sifted through by grouchy old men and perky blondes. Upon being satisfied that I was merely a freak and not a terrorist, one of the screener dudes made a half-assed attempt at re-packing my bag. I looked at him skeptically and he said, "Would you rather do this?" I told him since he unpacked the bag, he could re-pack it. When it was clear my stuff would never fit with this guy doing the push and shove, I did it myself.

Good times.

(Don't even get me going about the election BS. I'm going to bed and hope to hide for the next four years. New Zealand, anyone?)