I Remember My First Beer

That first beer at a place like Novare Res in Portland is an experience. One in which one first feels like a kid in a candy shop, then quickly becomes a haughty beer connoisseur, and eventually becomes their normal beer-drinking self, but with a little more class than back when enjoying Natty Lights in a small Midwestern town at the age of 21 (ish).

I recently brought a father-figure-like-person (names withheld to protect the innocent) to this wonderful beergarden, exposing him to the hundreds of draughts and bottles on offer, a place any person who enjoys beer might just combust. And while I wouldn't say we lost him completely, he definitely experienced the classic "Wow-this-beer-is-so-delicious-and-so-high-in-alcohol-content" sensation so many of me and my Portland peers have already been privy to. The difference on this particular night? We then took him to Trader Joe's.

So, I am one who pretty much IS drunk when I'm in Trader Joe's, just on the options, the packaging, the exciting new things, and the general experience of a different grocery store (I have a problem with grocery stores, just meet my grandmother and you will understand). We went there, after just a couple beers (strong beers, yes) and WOW, let me tell you...

[Skipping into the store] "I'll carry the basket!"

[Looking at the frozen tiramisu box] "Grab one of those, throw it in the freezer!"

[Looking at the taquitos] [Speaking in Mexican English... use your imagination]

"Where's the COFFEE?!"

[Grabs chocolate bark and THROWS it into the basket] "I don't read the back! I'M NOT GOING TO LET HER [Mom] SEE!"

We get to the checkout, I find NON-DAIRY CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM?!!? Ok...

Trader Joe's is fun, but MAN just get a 50-something year old guy a couple of 12% beers and lettarip!! Now that's Tuesday Night Fun.

As You Were, Gentlemen

I'm not sure the marketing idea behind putting a bathroom sign that high up, and I am a very above-average-for-a-woman height, but maybe they are preparing me for the altitudes of Quito, Ecuador...

Anyway, while the State Theater's bathrooms' basins and inner features have been updated since the building was erected millions of years ago, the signs for the bathrooms have not. Here's what I mean...

I came out of the main theater room, in a rush to not miss the start of the awesome Teton Gravity Research ski film I had come to see, into the outer hallway to use the restroom. Right ahead of me I saw sinks, but no gender sign, so I walked in, assuming the bathroom might split after the sink area (Problem with this being that I never would have assumed such a modern feature anywhere if it hadn't been for weird artsy bars I've been to in cities. Silly me, I am in Portland, but then again the hipsters are always throwing new curve balls so what was I to do?!). I walked past the sinks, kept going in, realized I was following a guy, and then that he was in line behind another guy, and that if I turned back to look at my only exit I was being followed by ANOTHER guy in... This one happened to be bold enough to look at me quizzically... To which I asked, "Is this not...?" and he said, "Ummmm I think there's another one for you..." at which point I turned to all the men in the bathroom and said "WELL, carry on, gentlemen!" and marched out. 

There is indeed a sign above the door, and another over the "Ladies" room just down the hall. Mystery solved. 

Plus, in what world are men's bathrooms clean enough in appearance and odor to pass as a ladies room?! It was early in the night, that'll teach me to save my bathroom need as long as possible. 

Sometimes We Come Up Short

I've been told I'm funny, something I never really aspired to, but when the inspiration hits and people love you, what's a girl to do? I've also been told I'm intimidating (thank you, Oliver), which I assume generates from the humor and comedy I radiate. 

I've recently learned a great saying, one that is a good reminder that not all that comes out of my mouth can be funny or accepted by all groups. 

Again, straight from the mouth of my favorite 77-year-old volunteer: "That went over like a turd in a punchbowl."

I can't tell you how relevant that is to a strong percentage of what comes out of my mouth. We all wish we could be funny all the time, but inevitably things won't always be funny. And what's the worst that happens? It might be like a turd in a punchbowl, but apparently that's a legitimate thing, something that must happen regularly, or at least happened regularly when Al came of age in the 50s and 60s. 

Ohmygosh I Am a Generic 20-Something.

I never wanted this to happen. I always thought I was so unique and different, someone with so many quirks that I could never end up part of the pack. Sure I wear J.Crew and technical outerwear every day like all New Englanders, but I really have always thought I was a strange cookie in many ways, too. 

I'm not. I am just like everyone else. 

When we graduate from college, many of us with a background in college athletics at private institutions tend a certain direction. It is not unique, it is not different. It is formulaic and understandable and a large majority of us fall easily and happily right into it.

We start training for marathons and add country music to our interests. 

I get the marathon bit: college athletes worked the equivalent of an additional full-time job to keep up with our sports over four years. Between morning and afternoon practices, lifting weights, and competitions, we really were used to putting in well over 30 hours a week in athletic pursuits. Marathons easily fill a goal-setting void that we need to maintain sanity. I really run for the mental health side, knowing how gristly and unpleasant I can be without my run (take today, for example, watch out co-workers!). I run 5 days a week because I need something to do that makes my body hurt, scream, and hate me day after day. What's the point of life if your muscles and tendons don't want you dead on a regular basis?

The country music on the other hand... WHAT?! I hated country music, with a passion. That twangy, whiny tone just couldn't do it for me. I went to Nashville the summer after I graduated from college and had to stop listening to the world around me to avoid talents like Lady Antebellum. Now I radio seek through rural Vermont stations until I FIND a country station. I listen to country hits on Songza. I have even DOWNLOADED some of these songs. And I'm fine with that. I like it. I'd go to a concert for the right artist!

So, we all grow up, we all change, and apparently, those of us born in the late 1980s all end up the same. Breaking down our knees and getting country. I would say I'm not proud, but I guess really I'm not not proud...

Cultural Differences Are Real

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a long time, ever since living in Spain when on a daily basis I was reminded of the cultural differences between my life growing up in a small town, going to a small college, and then living in a city of 5 million people whose lives had taken considerably different routes and through a unique cultural context that separated us. The world is small, yes, but Spain really is different. As they say, Spain is Spain (“España es España”). Spain is so different that on a daily basis all I wanted was to shake the country, look them in the eyes and say “WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING!?” while underneath it all I just wanted to find a way to live there forever. Maybe that’s not a feeling many of you have ever had…

The superstitions and beliefs are the theme that has come about recently, thanks to a Facebook post in which I commented on being able to eat more than a single cookie for breakfast in America. Spaniards were none too happy about that one, and they really let me hear it. Problem is, I really believed that wasn’t acceptable. You give me a tube of cookies when I haven’t eaten in 10 or 12 hours, I’m not going to eat many fewer than 10 cookies. And I’ll have to stop myself at 10 cookies, really restrain myself from eating an entire tube. Spaniards don’t have that problem – somehow they can eat two cookies and have a little sandwich at 10:30 and then not eat until 2:30 when they go for the big lunch. Good for you, you are stronger than I. I am a fat American.

It is morning until lunch. If you haven’t grabbed a fork and knife and started in on your first plate of lunch, it is still morning. You wake up at 11:00, have a cookie, go out and about and don’t eat lunch until 17:00? Morning until 17:00. Food dictates the schedule, something I really fell into and supported easily. I wish we could take things a bit slower in the US in order to place more importance on people and mealtimes.

No eating alone in public. You just don’t do it. Have a granola in your bag that you want to eat on a park bench? Frowned upon. Think you can grab that sandwich on the go and eat it in the Metro? Bring on the glares. Really, I’ve seen a Latin American woman nearly get holes burned through her from the looks of the people in our train car.

Keep your hands on the table. Napkin stays on the table; hands don’t foray to your lap. Hands stay near your plate, in sight. Wipe your hands on the napkin while it’s on the table, keep your bread in a hand, do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t get those hands under the table. Not sure what happens if they don’t, but I’m nearly positive they put rabid possums under there to eat your fingers off.

No yawning or stretching in public. A Spanish friend told me you can do this, but in my experience she is terribly wrong. You’re tired in the morning and want a good stretch to shake out the nighttime aches and pains? Don’t do it in an English Department with your fellow teachers. Apparently rude, don’t ask me why.

There are many ways to avoid illness. 1. Do not go outside with wet hair. You will likely immediately contract a deathly bug and that’ll be the end of you. 2. Wear a scarf and stockings/socks ALWAYS, unless it’s 90+ degrees. This is also scientifically proven. I was GASPED at when not wearing stockings with ballet flats when it was 60 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s the fastest way to die, showing that neck to the cold monsters or those bare ankles to all the illnesses swirling through the cold air. Anyone in medical school might as well quit and go into preventative medicine now.

I love you Spain, I really do, but some of the things you do are just bonkers. 

Oh the Things You Can Learn...

When you work in golf as a non-golfer/beginner/newcomer to the scene you have opportunities every day for learning. Rules, tournament organization, how to count up a score faster in relation to par, and setting tees. I've learned all that before.

Coming into the current Vermont job I knew I'd learn some new things, but wasn't exactly sure what those enlightening bits would be. Course rating is something I'd like to learn. I've also never had much experience with website creation, so I'm getting that. But no, that's not where my best training has come at all...

I work with an incredible group of over-50-year-olds who have taken me under their wing, accepted the fact that I have no friends my age in the area, and brought me into their worlds. Yesterday at lunch my favorite director/volunteer was on a story typical of all great 77-year-olds I know, referring to a lovely town in New York and helped us visualize with "If you were gonna give the world an enema, that's right where you'd wanna stick the tube." There's a saying to cherish and re-use!

At the Vermont Open, an event with many more young players (pros and amateurs), my boss's wife introduced me to a young guy they knew from our town. After he walked away she said "I wouldn't kick him out." I look at her, puzzled, not recognizing the saying, to which she responded "for eating crackers in bed!" I definitely didn't know that one. Making a note.

The 77-year-old former engineer I mentioned above heard me use the "I wouldn't kick him out" phrase at another tournament and he said "He can put his shoes under my bed" - why are none of these used anymore?!

So let's go back, to a simpler, more respectful time of innocence, posterity, and upstanding citizenry. Back when boys were allowed to leave their shoes under your bed or even bring snacks to your bed and make a mess! Maybe I've been too harsh with guys...

And don't go to Newburgh, New York. Another thing to never forget.

Intense? Or Just Better? Stronger? Cooler?

I've just come off a wonderful winter, one I wouldn't trade for anything. Hesitant as I was at first, dragged kicking and screaming from one of the greatest places on Earth, and a place I also felt "home", it turned into a wonderful experience that I wish weren't over quite yet... Thank you, Sugarloaf, for being this awesome:
I actually know a lot of these people...

But now to the important stuff. I could tell you I learned a lot this winter, and while a lot of that was how to actually enjoy PBR (because it's not about the quality of beer, but the people who bought it for you and whose next round you'll be buying), how to waitress, and how to survive in two jobs with only three hours of sleep for A WEEK STRAIGHT, but I learned an invaluable amount about skiing and the racing world.

I was a swimmer, yes. But I was a competitor and I love competition. I want to be enveloped in a world of races and winners and the attitude of champions. And don't get me wrong, skiing is a great sport, a great industry, and one I hope I'm not completely moved on from yet. But I have a little story for y'all...

We were hosting a training week for 14- and 15-year old racers in the speed events (Super G and Downhill fall under that umbrella), with a representative from the national body organizing the event. The kiddos went out in the morning, around 8:00 or 9:00 in the morning, to do an inspection of the course before doing a true training run. So, they inspect, ride the lift back up, and do a run before meeting up at the top again with the coaches in their training groups. At this point a call comes over the radio... "Are we doing another run?" to which the sweet, authoritative voice of the national representative responds, "I think we're coming in, the kids look really tired so we're going to take a break and come back out later"...

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Are you KIDDING me?!?! A skier can only do a slow, sliding run down half a trail and then one "fast" one?! And that "fast" run was later reported to look sluggish and as if they were holding back. Who are these athletes?! I do believe they're strong. They have to be. But skiing for all of 10 minutes and GETTING A RIDE UP A CHAIRLIFT warrants a BREAK?! Give ME a break! I'm pretty sure my best days involved only 2 hours of practice, of which at least 1-1.5 hours were HARD sets that made me feel the blood and flesh of my lungs coming out through my trachea. Or on a good day when we did an hour of kick sets and had to be DRAGGED into the shower where we peed on ourselves and had to wait out the lactic acid flush before we could even be bothered to lift a hand to turn off the water.

I'm not saying swimmers are stronger, but I'd like to say, if this event is indicative of anything: swimmers are stronger. Sorry, world.

I can't make any statements on swimmers vs. nordic skiers, runners, soccer players, or anything like that, but alpine racers oughta step it up if you want any respect from my chiseled abs and lungs with the capacity of a harbor porpoise (or the human equivalent, you can give me that, right?).

Pressure's on, prove me wrong.

swimmer.

also swimmer.

Obviously swimmers aren't cooler, don't let that part of the header confuse you. Skiers win that for sure.

Thank You

I've recently survived a totaling of the family's SUV, rolling the car, landing 100% upside down and hanging from my seatbelt like a little bat settling in for a long day of sleep (but with more shaking and "Oh my gosh"-crying). Having made it to almost two weeks since the accident, I've been reflecting and thinking about how in the world I could have been so lucky. I placed the car perfectly between two bigger trees, landing on a baby pine tree and rotten tree that acted as pillows. I was 15 feet from a deeper, steeper ravine with no trees to catch me. I was lucky. I also was completely shook up, getting whiplash, but was spared from concussions, cuts, broken anything, or any soreness or pain lasting more than 3 days. How could I be so lucky??

I blame swimming. I blame those thousands of hours in the water, the strength training, the core work, and the aerobic ability to stress my body and walk away happily and looking forward to another day of challenges. I was pretty rattled in that car and ending completely upside-down is not something most people could quickly and easily get out of. I popped out of that car as quickly as a swimmer who has just heard the words "10-minute shower" in the middle of a tough practice. I don't know where I would be without that training, but I do know that I wouldn't trade those 12 years of body beating for anything even if the near-death experience of last week weren't in the picture. The emotional, social, and general life skill benefits won't even be mentioned here, but I have to thank swimming and all the coaches and teammates and parents who pushed me for making me a exceptional rolling ragdoll.

So please, everyone reading this, you are important to me. Wear your seatbelt always. Don't drive your car full of bottles and cans to be recycled and 50lbs of sand if you're planning on rolling it that day. Swim your tushy off, build that core strength, and be a beast. I speak from experience and highly recommend it.