You don't know what you don't know

A year ago, I traveled to India for three months of yoga training.  In the weeks and months leading up to the trip, I fully committed myself to becoming the BEST YOGI EVER.  I was at the gym daily, hitting the spinning classes and getting super stretchy.  I got really into P90-X and loved the Yoga-X episode.  Hannah and I even dedicated ourselves to becoming B-girls; I figured that having a solid top rock and being able to do the worm wouldn't hurt at yoga school.  I had my Indian visa and Lonely Planet guide; I was 110% ready!


The program I'd signed up for was a 200 hour Ashtanga teacher training. If you don't know what Ashtanga is, don't worry-neither did I!  However, the website had said it was vigorous and popular for Westerners who liked being active.  Perfect.  Orrrrrr, not.  Almost immediately, I realized I was in way over my head.


First of all, how can Dwipada Sirsasana really be included in the primary series?

Seriously. Ouch.

 Also, and more importantly, imagine my surprise when I find out that yoga is, in fact,  not actually primarily meant to be exercise! After years of practicing yoga in Korea, where the instructor was a lot like Ben Stiller's character in Dodgeball, and the classes included lots of KPop music and strobe lights, somehow, it'd completely passed over my head that there was actually a spiritual basis to yoga.  Basically, I felt like the biggest idiot at yoga school.  You mean, there's a REASON we say 'OM'?  Huh.  How 'bout that.


After the initial shock wore off, I was elated- it was like a Pandora's box of yoga info had been opened!  There was so much to read and learn!  Hello Patanjali and yoga sutras.  So many new ways to think about things.  So much chanting, so many mantras!  And songs!  I loved it all.  (Except yoga nidra. I still get anxious thinking about it). But everything else, I loved, still love.    More than a year later, and I'm still processing the lessons I learned in India.  (HELLLLLLOOOO BHAKTIFEST!)  While I was initially embarrassed about my ignorance, I was able to see that it just meant that I had that much more potential for learning.  Potential is a good thing. 

"Jai Ganesha! Jai, jai Ganesha!!"  In the Bhav.

In a few weeks, Ben and I will be buying a sail boat and then spend the rest of the year cruising around the Florida Keys and the Bahamas.  In preparation for the trip, we've been using the summer to learn how to sail. Ben's already pretty much an expert on all things boat-y, but I've got lots to learn. (Lots of potential!)   In the last few weeks, I've come a long way.  I've been out on techs, sloops, J24's, and keelboats.  I've even tried my hand at windsurfing.  I've learned about jibs and jibes and tacks and sheets and stays.   I've researched hull materials and types of keels. I can tie a bowline,  a half hitch, a figure eight, and a pretty alright monkey fist.  I've decided to become the saltiest of sailors, and I'm right on track.  How couldn't I be- salt is my favorite! I've practiced my pirate-speak and even read several chapters from "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Sailing.  I'm absolutely, completely, 110% prepared to live on a sailboat!


I would describe my first attempt at a monkey fist as "almost adequate".

Then, earlier this week we were listening to a sailing podcast, and the woman started talking about provisioning her boat.  My first thought was that it reminded me of Oregon trail, and I felt nostalgic. Do you think we could paint the boat to make it appear pixelated?  My second thought was, "huh, provisioning, I wonder if we have to do that?"  Previously, anytime I envisioned our daily life on the boat, I assumed we'd be living off of coconuts and sunshine.  Even though my degree in nutrition and science tell me that this isn't possible, I still choose to believe that it is.   Just in case science is wrong though, I decided to do some research on 'provisioning a boat'.  And WOAH, what a rabbit hole I've gotten into. Who knew so much went into this?  Grocery lists and storage containers and galley set-ups.  Produce savers and gear hammocks and the almighty can opener.  As it turns out, a LOT more than I thought goes into preparing for cruising.  I'd been putting most of my time and energy into learning the 'sailing' aspect of 'living on a sailboat', as opposed to focusing on the 'living' aspect of 'living on a sailboat.'  Apparently, this is a very broad, and also very important topic. 


Whenever I talk about my teaching philosophy, I focus on the importance of being a life-long learner.  It's a good thing that this is a priority for me personally, because life keeps showing me I've got a lot to learn.  Bring it on!

Ahoy!

The End of an Era

I hate goodbyes. They are the absolute worst.

I do my best to avoid them at all times. Sneaking out of bars when no one's looking. Last minute exits where I'm already gone before anyone notices (my success rate at these is questionable...). However, with leaving Korea, I haven't been able to escape the goodbyes. In fact, I feel like it's all I've been doing the past weeks. Every event was a "last time", a finality. As D-day (Delhi-day) approached, the likelihood that I'd spontaneously burst into tears increased exponentially. Canceling my phone contract? Tears. (And not just because of the exorbitant broken contract fee). Closing my bank account? More tears. Turning my Alien card over to immigration. "Finish-y?" "Finish. Waaahhh!"

Then, of course, were all the REAL goodbyes. Spin instructor! Gym buddies! Co-teachers! Friends! Friends! Friends! I love you guys! And the kids. Ohhhh the kids. My heart breaks every time it think of them.

So here I am, a crying mess, 40000 feet in the air. After realizing I wasn't upset because of spicy curry, and that I may actually keep this up for the duration of our trip, the poor flight attendant is really stressing about my mental/emotional well being. He keeps a constant supply of tissues ready, and brought me extra water to combat the dehydration.

I know as soon as I step off this plane, I'll be swept up into the craziness of Delhi and India. The feelings of loss will be replaced with the excitement of a new adventure. But before that happens, I want to wallow in my despair.. Feel all the feels... There sure are a lot of them.


***UPDATE****
We had a stop in Hong Kong, at which point the flight attendant took the opportunity to chit chat with me for a bit. (Thankfully the crying had subsided, so I was able to carry on a conversation). He asked about my travel plans, and expressed extreme distaste for my itinerary, *unless* I can make some boyfriends to bring to the desert with me. He then gave me his phone number, "just in case", and I promised to call if I ever needed to be rescued by plane.

The Marathon that {ALMOST} Wasn't

Before I tell you how awesome my marathon was today, let's back up a bit and figure out how the heck I found myself in this mess.  Even to me, it seems strange that I'd be running this race.  Up until about a year ago, the only kind of running I liked was the dance move (singular) I'd throw down for 8-10 hours at a time at Pyramid Club (or any other skeevy, foggy dance club). When I came home from South America, I had a LOT of free time on my hands.  Trying to find my sanity, and help my parents keep theirs (I KNOW I'm hard to live with!), I tried getting out of the house with some jogging.  Plus, I came home from South America as a fat alcoholic, so there was that to contend with.

Anyways, I was running pretty consistently. So, my amazing older bro encouraged me to run the Haunted Hustle half marathon.  I did, and it was ...okay.  Kinda painful.  Definitely not something I'd ever (EVER) want to repeat! No siree! I wasn't even convinced that I liked running at all.  It still mostly seemed like something I was doing because I like eating and drinking.  Mostly drinking.  No, no.  Mostly eating.  Ehhh let's call it a tie.

Then I moved to Korea. Last winter, I ran a lot because I was bored and lonely.  I moved here knowing no one, and was finding it surprisingly difficult to meet friends.  So I ran, and I yoga-ed, and I ran to yoga.  That was it.  That, and work, work, work. And somewhere in there, as the running became habit, it became something that I liked, something that I-GASP-looked forward to!

I decided to make all this running have a point to it.  I signed up to run the DMZ half-marathon in Cheorwon.  At some point during my training for this race, I was chatting with my parents. "Great job with your training, honey.  Did ya hear that Jeff won the Tough Mudder?  Oh, and he's signed up for the Haunted Hustle full marathon?"  Dammit! I can't be the only one of us ('us' being myself and my brothers) without a marathon! That's it, enough with these pansy halves.  Time to do the real thing.  I think?

September rolled around and I ran the DMZ race.  It surpassed my expectations.  There were military people. There were tanks.  There was the possibility that I'd have to outrun bullets.
I LOVED IT!

I met a really nice guy named Kyle running the DMZ race.  He ended up being an awesome support, and great training buddy.  During my long weekend runs, he'd ride along on a bike, carrying all my sports drink and gels in the basket. Amazing friend! My running had been going really well, and I'd felt good during my long runs.  Up until about a week and a half ago, that is.  I'd started my taper, and cutting back on mileage turned me into a neurotic mess.  That, and I was feeling the beginnings of shin splints.  My inner dialogue was something like: "OHMYGOD!  What if my legs fall off?  Could they fall off during the race?  They totally could!  No.  They just hurt because you ate so much Halloween candy.  That's like ten extra pounds of chocolate in your stomach, of course you can't run! Ugh. They should totally be using this candy as fuel, what's WRONG with my muscles! ARRGGHH!"  Pair that with the emotional lows of Pap dying, and really missing my family, and I was driving myself (and probably everyone around me) crazy.   I needed to run to work out these feelings. I was really, really itching to get on with today's race.

Yesterday, to help calm my nerves, I went to the World Cup Stadium, where the Seoul Sports Marathon would begin and end.  There was no pre-race expo, but workers were out getting the tents and stage set up.  I wandered around a bit, really enjoying the gorgeous fall weather and foliage.

World Cup Stadium

Can you believe these colors??

Pre-race emotions bubble to the surface.

I was pumped for the race!  Nothing could stop me now!

Then.... comes race day...

I wake up. At 7:45!!!!  WHAT!?  Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck!!! Ohmygod! How did this happen?!  Stupid fucking Sharper Image alarm clock! ARGGH!  I run around my apartment helter skelter.  Turn on the coffee maker.  Turn off the coffee maker.  Start putting on my race clothes.  Check the clock again.  Check my computer just to make sure.  FUCK! The race starts at 9.  If I leave my apartment RIGHT THIS SECOND, maybe, MAYBE I can make it. DAMMIT!  I don't know what comes over me, but I start laughing hysterically.  Of course.  OF COURSE this happened!  Oversleep the alarm for your first marathon (by THREE hours!).  Typical. I realize that even if I DO manage to make it to the start line on time, I will be in no condition to begin running a marathon.

Soooo, now what?

Incidentally, I'd been reading some articles last week regarding just this situation.  Well, actually, not this situation.  The articles were about what to do if your marathon is cancelled (I was curious what all the New York marathon runners would do). Basically, you can postpone your marathon and have an extended taper (no, no, NO! (see above.)), or you could run an alternate race on the same day.  Looks like I'll still be running a marathon!

I took my time getting ready, drinking my coffee, checking my facebook, you know, the important things.  Whatever.  This is my race now, I can start it whenever I want.  As I head into Seoul, I decide not to run the official race route.  The idea of running 3 hours behind everyone else just seemed demoralizing. Plus, I didn't want to show my face at the Seoul Flyers tent.  I decided to start under the Hannam bridge, and head west.  That way, I'd be able to meet up with the marathon runners at their turn-around point, and at least run with some others for a bit.  I've got a plan, and I may stick to it.

The first thing I, um, noticed, was the horrible, horrible weather. The forecast had warned of a 60% chance of showers.  What we were getting was a 100% chance of complete downpour.  Just sheets and sheets of frigid rain coming down. And wind.  Lots of that too.  Have I ever mentioned how much I hate rain?  I hate rain more than I hate snow, and I REALLY hate snow.  As much as I try, I can't control the weather, so I just had to bear with it.

I got down to the park, decided on a light pole to be my 'Official Start/Finish Line' (although this would later need to be changed, because of poor math skills on the part of the race director), and got to running.

Had been feeling homesick, so went for the GreenBay manicure/Badger bracelet combo

The Official Start Line

Runners, take your marks! Or... take a picture!

I hit the official race turn-around after about 3 miles, just as the 4:20 pace group was coming through.  I ran with them for about 6 miles before they split to head back to the stadium.

After that point, I didn't see anyone on the trail for a long time.  It was very cold, and very wet.  I thought I'd be able to do a simple out-and-back, but around mile 11 things really started to get flooded.

Danger. Yes, indeed.

So I turned around and ran back through the race course.  This time, I got to see the ambulance sweeping through for any stragglers, and watched people breaking down the aid stations.  Really glad I didn't run the actual race route.  I keep running, it keeps raining.  Running. Raining. Raining. Running. But then around mile 19, the most amazing thing happened.

It stopped raining.

Cue angel's singing.

This only lasted about 20 minutes.  Then guess what? More rain.
To wrap things up, I finished the 26.2 miles. YAY!

And then, because of (previously mentioned) inferior math skills, I had to run an extra 1.3 miles to get to the 'Official Finish Line'.  

So there you have it.  My first official marathon was, well, everything but official.
No bib, no medal. But a marathon nonetheless.
And that's good enough for me.


P.S.  I came in first.

P.P.S.  I also came in last.

Let the Good Times Roll!

Sooo remember that time, ohhhhh, about 8 months ago where I was bitching and moaning about how (GASP!) BORED I was??  To quote myself (is that proper blog etiquette?): 

"I came to Korea expecting to be blown away with how different and strange and foreign it is.  I wanted to be able to feast on dog, and go to a Buddhist temple and get a new soul (according to that Mayan Shaman, I am in dire need of a replacement)....I guess I wasn't expecting to end up in such a... sterile environment.  But then I guess the source of my issues isn't necessarily this environment, but my expectations.  Maybe I'm too culturally insensitive and dense to perceive the subtle nuances that make this culture exciting and unique.  Perhaps the year in Central and South America dulled my senses.  Perhaps, unless I'm being hit by a neon-colored, reggaeton blaring chicken bus, I can't recognize culture." 

I was wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  I'll admit it.  It's not that I couldn't recognize culture (really, isn't everything that surrounds us technically part of culture?)  It's that I didn't think I'd have to work to find my happiness. (God, how lazy can I BE?) Anways, once I figured out that the fun times weren't going to magically appear on my front doorstep (this isn't South America after all!), I learned to be a lot more proactive in my quest for the goodtimes.

In the months that have passed since writing that post, I HAVE feasted on dog:

More beer, please!

It tastes exactly how it looks.  No, actually it tastes worse.

and visited several Buddhist temples:

and gotten a new Seoul:

Pretty sure this is what the Mayan Shaman had in mind...

And while I didn't get hit by a neon chicken bus, I did get hit by a black KIA last weekend (don't worry, I'm mostly okay). 

So, there. Check, check, check.  

In the months that have passed, things have shifted.  I'm no longer an outsider (ehhh, let's be honest though, I'll ALWAYS be an outsider).  But I no longer feel like a tourist wishing I'd picked a different vacation spot.  I've settled into Korean life, and I'm in love with it!

I still dislike the town that I live in (boring!)  but have learned to cope with that.  Namely, I leave it as often as possible.  In Korea, oftentimes the company men will go into Seoul and stay at 'Officetels' (hotels for office workers) for the week, and then go back home to their family for the weekend.  A friend was commenting to me the other day that I have adopted the opposite lifestyle. I only hang around home when I have to be at work, and then take off to go stay in Seoul or travel somewhere else around the country on the weekends. 

Because of my eagerness to get outta town, I've managed to see a LOT of this country. So here is a whirlwind tour of what I've been up to since April:

I've found friends...

...who I ADORE!

I got dressed up as a Korean tramp....

...and then mobbed by the Ajumma paparazzi...

I gambled at the Seoul Race Tracks....

...and then got a riding lesson.

I made more friends.  I hugged more friends.

I got a lesson on clam digging.

I did some island biking.

I went deep sea fishing.

I climbed this rock.

I took this picture to aggravate my mom.

I celebrated gay pride!

I joined an ultimate frisbee league! (I'm mostly the team drunk)

I partied!

I partied some more!

I watched some soccer.  We lost.

I got to see my parents!!! And hope we didn't all perish in the extreme heat!

I went bungee jumping!  Eek!

Someone let me drive an ATV... questionable judgement...

I went rafting on the world's most crowded river.

I went river trekking..

I tried to find where I was on a map (and gave up).

I explored a beach...

 

...and another beach....

...and another beach....

...and another beach...

...and yet another beach!

I partied at a music fest...

...and enjoyed a laser show.

In short, life has been happening.  In South America, I travelled with some really rad friends, and we used to have "all the fun, all the time".  

I finally feel like I'm getting to have all the fun, again.  It feels good.  Real, real goooooood.