Under Construction

I feel like my blog should have a great big flashing sign on its home page:

**WARNING! BLOG UNDER CONSTRUCTION! CREATIVE ROAD BUMPS AHEAD!**

Finding the right style - both aesthetic and literary - has been a bit of a challenge for me. What do I want to say? Is my blog content interesting? Humorous? Relevant and relatable to other people's lives and experiences? These are the questions I'm working on answering.

Trouble is, I'm finding that a good amount of my creative genius comes to me in the middle of the day (i.e., while my mind is wandering at work) and I'm having a hard time getting the really good content down fast enough. For example, yesterday I was standing at the copy machine with several documents in hand that needed to either be faxed, scanned or copied and sent to one of my 75 wedding clients (yes, I actually have 75 groups this year - not bad for a little hotel) and as my mind was circling aimlessly (when I should have been thinking about the other many and varied tasks on my plate) I began thinking about my failed Almond Roca bars from the night before, which got me to thinking that many of my cooking/baking experiments turn out poorly, which lead to - flash of genius! - a blog inspiration (soon to follow). Then, of course, it was difficult to focus the rest of the day, as my twitchy little fingers were just itching to blog away the afternoon in creative bliss. Alas, I finished the day with commendable work ethic (I don't think I can say the same for today) and went home, where I promptly lost all the great ideas I'd spent the afternoon concocting about my newest blog entry.

Sigh.

In any case, I'm feeling a little intimidated about my blogs now that I'm following some of my friends and being followed in return! This is exactly what I wanted, of course, but now that I know people are actually reading my stuff...well, I'm on a mission to produce my best work.

So bear with me as I test the literary waters with a timid toe. I know I ought to just dive right in, but if you know me at all...you know that's just not me.

Is There Anybody Alive Out There?

"I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues.

This is radio nowhere
is there anybody alive out there?"

-Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere

I've been thinking a lot lately about The Unanswerable Question: What are we doing here, anyway?

Nothing like starting a weeks-long blogging hiatus on a light-hearted note.

But I can't help myself. What, exactly, is it that I am doing here - on this earth, in this apartment, at my job, in my family, for my friends, for the "greater good" - on any given day? I've become brooding and moody lately because I don't have the answer to this question. There are days when I feel like all I am doing is going through the motions, wasting the earth's resources and depleting other people's time and energy with my very existence. I wonder what it is I produce every day, and then weigh that perceived "production" against its actual value and importance. I see my daily "production" on a bell curve, with human factors on one end and socio-economic factors on the other, meeting in the middle at the apex of the curve to provide the ultimate measure of my worth. For example: bringing in revenue for the hotel falls somewhere in the middle range of the socio-economic side of the curve, as it's both part of my job and provides, indirectly, additional revenue to our hospitality partners in Seattle, bringing positive growth to the city and (in theory) happiness to its inhabitants as it sustains jobs, etc.... Doing the Race for the Cure today is high on the human side of the curve, as it was an activity that provides emotional and financial support for those struggling with breast cancer, and keeps me connected to close friends and family that I love so much.

However, knowing what my bell curve looks like isn't the same thing as knowing what gets me to the apex and brings value to my existence. What's the magic level of commitment to career, hobbies, activities, causes, family and friends that makes us feel needed, important, powerful, successful, positive, truimphant? Nobody knows. Springsteen's lyrics, though, make me think that we're all in the same place, to some extent - searching for more in our lives ("I just want to hear some rhythm") and trying to achieve the life balance that brings us to the apex. I take a small measure of comfort in thinking that maybe some others are wondering the same thing: "Is there anybody alive out there?" Hm.

Am I?

B2B, A Procrastinator's Nightmare

Downtown San Francisco, before the race...and so it begins!

Okay, so I'm back from B2B, and have allowed myself just enough slacking/indulgence/down time/Twilight obsession to feel finally rested after the trip (including a luxurious sleep until 8:45AM today...ahhhh). I needed both a mental and physical break from the run, because the stress of preparing (when I knew full well I wasn't really going to be prepared) was so exhausting that I think I was more tired after the race from the mental release of the task than from the 7.5-mile run itself. This was my second Bay to Breakers, and for the second year in a row I let the perceived enormity of the run build and build and build and build...to the point where I couldn't bear the thought of training for it. Even one measly mile felt like it was going to be too difficult (what a wuss), because what good was one mile going to do me when I had to run seven? This kind of logical fallacy is exactly why I continue to procrastinate on even the smallest of tasks: because the perfectionist in me feels like it's not enough to do something halfway. As a result, I usually get so stressed about having to do something perfectly that I slack and put off training/wrapping/reporting/mailing/buying/calling/whatever it is for so long that I end up doing the task halfway anyway. It's a vicious cycle.

Unpreparedness aside (for the record, I did run before the race - just not as much as I should have), it was a still a GREAT day. My older bro and I got up early on Sunday morning and caught the ferry from Tiburon to the Embarcadero, where the madness and mayhem of the race was already in full swing (a purple-clad girl dressed as a bunch of grapes walked by us on the ferry, and my bro turned to me and said, "Bet the rest of the Fruit of the Loom crowd is wandering around here somewhere!") with costumes, stretching "serious" racers, raging drunkenness (a few people were being escorted out of the chutes before the race even began), nakedness and an amazing crowd filling the streets of downtown San Francisco literally as far as the eye could see. There's no real way to determine when the race actually begins, because the crowd is so thick...even as you cross the "start" line, it's all you can do to push your way through the crowd and actually begin running. Will led the way in a crazy game of duck-and-dodge, zig-zag racing for the first couple of miles - we sprinted around costumes (giving the naked racers a wide berth), strollers, street signs and garbage cans, weaving in and out of the crowd in order to get ahead where the running would be clearer.

"Salmon" swimming upstream - a B2B tradition.

Then, we hit Hayes St. hill.

The masses at Hayes St. hill.

I harbor a measure of resentment against Hayes, which kicked my ass last year. However, my procrastination (read above) left me unprepared to retaliate this year, and it kicked my ass once again. I would make a terrible superhero, if after my nemesis basically destroyed me once I went back for more without even the measliest of weapons to defend myself. In any case, while Will was dancing circles around me I was laboring up the hill, doing everything in my power to keep my legs running but so slowly that I was basically walking at one point. Finally I succumbed and trudged to the top. This was the point at which I realized that: a) I need to do more hill runs, and b) I can't let my 12-years-my-senior brother shame me this way in the future. In any case, Will ditched me at the top (same deal as last year) while I took a short rest...and then made myself keep going. And, as always happens with me, riiiiiiight at about 3.5 - 4 miles in, I really hit my stride, and jogged along easily for the rest of the race until I hit the 7-mile mark, where I picked up the pace and fully sprinted down the chute to the finish line.

After a quick beer at Footstock (easily the best part of the race!) we headed back to meet the fam for some pool time in Tiburon, splashing around with the kiddos and a couple delicious margaritas. Sundays really just don't get no better'n that.

All in all, a great weekend, because it's not about the race as much as the time with family. I had really quality time with all four nieces and nephews, as well as my sister (whom I could spend 2 hours on the phone with and it still wouldn't be enough), my brother- and sister-in-law, and of course my brother.

And now that the race is over, I actually feel more inclined to go to the gym, because there's no immediate pressure to work toward a goal. Funny how that works. But, I am going to keep working on a consistent regimen when it comes to the running, because I'll be back next year...in better shape than ever.

I Heart Yoga

Urban Yoga Spa, on the corner of 4th Ave & Stewart St. Note the faint blue sign in the back left of the photo...Hotel Andra, just 1 block away!

As with so many other activities, epiphanies and experiences in my life, I am a late comer to the yoga scene. I'm mostly okay with this, because while I don't believe in "fate" per se, I do believe that opportunities present themselves when the recipient is most open to receiving them, welcoming them and embracing them. In this case, yoga happens to have come into my life at a time when I am finally ready to take it on as the mind/body experience it is meant to be.

So last night I attempted hot Hatha yoga for the first time ever...an ambitious first step, as it was 90 minutes of varying poses (which proved challenging for a notoriously inflexible individual such as myself) in a studio set at a sweltering 107 degrees. (I do have to mention here that while I was pretty much DYING of the heat, I did have the thought in the middle of my warrior pose that I was grateful to be living in Seattle, where the weather would be a cool 60-something upon emerging from the studio, where as if I was still living in Arizona, the weather outside would probably be exactly the same as in the studio). The classes are held in this fantastic, very metropolitan loft-style building at the new Urban Yoga Spa in the heart of downtown - it's all so clean and white. It feels very New York to me (not that I would know) and lends an air of sophistication to the city's traditionally dark-paneled and woodsy Northwest decor. It's the kind of place I'd normally be a little intimidated by except the fact that the staff is so welcoming and committed to the practice - they seem to just want you to be there.

The uber urban lobby of the studio/spa.

Overall, it was an excellent experience - so excellent, as a matter of fact, that today I am signing up for their 30-day challenge, which is 30 days of yoga every day (and naturally, a chance to win a prize - year-long yoga, anyone?). It may seem a little hard core for a first-timer - and it is - but for me, I think diving in downward dog first may be just the way to go. During the course of the class, I felt more connected to my limbs than I think I've ever felt, and it was a nice awakening to truly appreciate the capabilities of my body rather than punishing it for not being Gisele Bundchen. So I'm ending the day and starting my yojourney with a restorative class...and looking forward to a month of flexing, reflecting, stretching, sweating and connecting with this body that has carried me so faithfully for 28 years.

Namaste.

Weekend on the Water

Relaxing after a "hard day's work," with a beautiful view out to the water.

The long haul back up from the beach. (Note two small heads at the top: Baylor & Bella, peering through the slats and impatiently waiting for me to return and throw their ball).

View toward Dakota Creek at low tide.

View toward California Creek at low tide. Semiahmoo is in the distance...

Ahhhhh...it's so refreshing to get out of the city. A drive - even on a busy, stop-and-go freeway - can do wonders for the soul, because the destination makes the journey soooo worth it. Particularly when there is a glass of wine waiting upon arrival at said destination.

Last weekend I ventured to Blaine, WA (about 10 miles south of the Canadian border) where my dad's once-designated retirement home has now become his full-time home, though he is far from being retired, both in his career and his goals. Case in point: this weekend, my brother and I were invited up to the house under the guise of spending time with my father and stepmother but as it turns out with the ulterior motive of my brother assisting my dad building an erosion barrier on the beach and moving 100-lb. chunks of concrete. Never wanting to be left out, I volunteered to assist on the beach - I mean, how often do I have the opportunity to get all mucky and muddy and actually be physically productive on the weekend?! However, upon grabbing the PHD (post hole digger - for lack of a more technical term) I immediately realized my mistake, as I took my first hard stab at what appeared to be soft ground and hit wet clay that resonated a vibrating thud through my whole body like a tuning fork. Determined not to let the beach get the best of me, I sweated my way through several holes before (fortunately) my younger bro woke up and took over the task (and somehow managed to make it look easy and effortless - damn him).

So my triceps are a little sore (yessssss - now I can justify my lack of time in the gym) and at the end of the day, the time out of the city spent both in physical labor and in the company of family was a nice treat and reprieve from urban life.

Validation

Sometimes I think I'm too cynical, and that I should subscribe to my mother's much more positive "everyone is basically good" theory.

And then I discover that Frenchi, the local Rite Aid Real Change agent, actually DID drink himself into homelessness (see "Here Are a Few of my Least Favorite Things" in older posts) so I feel wickedly vindicated in my cynicism, although sad for him that this is the direction his life has gone. This doesn't mean that I'm any less supportive of his apparent efforts to get back on track now, but...I guess I just feel that a little wariness in my daily life keeps me from being hurt, or duped. I'm sad that Frenchi's story confirms my earlier suspicions - I was so hoping it would give me a reason to see the world through slightly rosier glasses.

Sometimes Life is Just So Daily

Need I say more?