Rock Canyon Half

Ran the Rock Canyon half marathon yesterday. For this, my first half marathon, my goals were lofty; I a) wanted to finish and b) wanted to finish in less than 2:30:00. I achieved both of my goals although, by the end, I felt like I was shuffling more than running. Results here.

I got home at 2pm, about two hours after I left Pueblo, and immediately fell asleep on the couch until 5:45p. Then I went dancing. I think the dancing was a good recovery activity; not taxing, but still actively moving that lactic acid out of my muscles. I am sore this morning, but not nearly as sore as I had anticipated.

Now that I have proven to myself I can run 13.1 miles, look for additional race results, including the Colfax Marathon in May!

Vox

Saw Vox Feminista this evening with mostly Planned Parenthood folks I met while volunteering (which I no longer do because I have a full-time job that's a handful for the moment).

It's the second of their shows I've seen and, as it was last year, seeing the show is exhausting, but also energizing and empowering.

With the tag line that reads, "To comfort the disturbed and to disturb the comfortable" this is definitely worth a look-see if you're in the Denver, Boulder or Fort Collins areas in the next week.

Passion (maybe a redux?)

I was recently asked about my experience in Nepal by a complete stranger. Specifically 'What was my experience like in Nepal?' I came up with a disjointed summary of some of the Nepal realizations I continue to mull over whilst participating in this American life...

In response to 'What was my experience like in Nepal?':

Amazing. Unsettling, in a good way. Refreshing.

Comfortable (I had never met so many people [Americans & foreigners doing mostly aid work] so passionate about their work before!) I don't like that so many people do (or have to do) jobs they don't feel passionate about. For some it's a choice (that I don't understand) for others it's necessity, which I do understand. But it was so comfortable and encouraging to hang out with crowds of folks who all *want* to be doing the work they're doing. The same can't be said for the locals, but the foreigners are a passionate bunch.

Also Nepal + meditation course = heightened self-awareness. I returned to the States feeling more independent and self-reliant than when I left. I think it was partially discovering that I was able to negotiate life in a completely foreign country by myself, but also that I don't *need* another person or any of the stuff I have accumulated.

I then purged 3/4 of the possessions that I paid to store for 4 months, packed the UHaul, and moved to Colorado. I still have stuff and I still like and want friends, but I feel more comfortable going my own way more often than not. Not 'needing' to stay up late because others are. Not 'needing' someone to accompany me in new experiences.

I was happier than I had been in a year, and happier than I have since been, while living in that developing country with dreadful water sanitation, blackouts for 17 hours per day, and no creature comforts.

A bit of a fanatic

I come from a short line of crossword puzzlers and, though it was not solely my grandparents who inspired my becoming a crossword fanatic, I'll give credit (or blame, depending upon how you view this hobby) where credit is due.

In addition to, or perhaps because of, the grand 'rent's influence, I enjoy word games - Scrabble, crossword puzzles, Apples to Apples, etc. But since Michael and I started getting together to do the Denver Posts' daily crossword puzzle offerings - NEA and New York Times - I have become a fanatic. But I do try to tread lightly on the reading material of others.

One of my first days at the county health department I had noticed the newspaper on the lunch room table, but didn't take the crossword puzzle page until 4:30pm, long after anyone cared about the paper. This led me to believe that, of those who read the paper, none were crossword puzzlers. And I've been snatching the crossword puzzle page(s) out of the paper at lunch ever since.

Perhaps this behavior doesn't smack of fanaticism, but when I tell you that I work the puzzle while sitting (in the driver's seat) at red lights on my commute home and then save the week's puzzles in order to work on them a bit before falling asleep, you might be more convinced of the appropriateness of the adjective I've assigned myself.

I tell this tale not only to share yet another aspect of my personality with you, but also to brag that today, November 2, 2009, I completed the New York Times Crossword ALL BY MYSELF (and only looked at the answers four times. Four times out of 136 clues! I only looked up 2.9% of the answers!) In the words of Julie, I'm darn tootin' proud of myself. And now to conquer Tuesday - Sunday.

Neighborhood

As I have moved from 'unemployed' to 'employed' and soon 'credit card debt free' I am looking towards the long-term future. A future filled with home ownership, a second cat, and a garden to call my own. But where?

Where I want to live and where I can afford to do so are turning out to be two very different parts of town. So I am working through what's most important - close to social life versus close to work, driving versus walking or biking, proximity to a grocery, proximity to friends. And it is the latter that is foremost on my mind currently. Specifically the friends I've made through my local coffee shop.

They are entertaining, caring folks, but how do they factor into my decision? And what else needs to factor into this decision (besides money)? Proximity to my hair dresser? A grocery? Distance from a fire station (I currently live 3 blocks from the busiest station in town; I need some distance from the sirens!) Distance from a busy street so Max can go outside? The school district for the children who aren't even a twinkle in my eye? Proximity to Julie? Michael? Chloe? Running folks?

I like the community with which I have surrounded myself in Capitol Hill. It is friendly. It is open minded. It is convenient. But it is expensive! Indeed, I want a room of my own, but I don't want to be a slave to the mortgage for it when I get to that point.

The Human Race 10K

It was sponsored by Nike, but I didn't fall for their ploys. I just ran their 10K; got a free tech t-shirt; ate the free bagels, bananas, and coffee; and didn't win the raffle. 6.21 miles in 58:19.

Shhhhhhh!

Don't tell my IT band, but it might be healed! I ran 6mi easy on Saturday and Sunday whilst scouting and then setting my Hash. Saturday my IT band bothered me and was miserable that evening. Sunday it gave little more than a moan and today it 'twas no trouble at all. So now I will register for the 10K and the half marathon I keep threatening to run before the year is out!

other's realities

So often I get caught up in my own world that I forget that there are other folks' versions of reality playing out every second of every day - 24/7/365. Today I experienced an almost surreal reminder of the existence of other's realities during the Hash.

I spent two hours throwing blue flour on the ground, aka 'setting trail', for my fellow Hashers to follow. I was not excited at the prospect of revisiting the trail for a third time in two days (having scouted the trail Saturday and set the trail Sunday) in order to run the trail. But I didn't have to. It wasn't my trail to run; it had been my trail to set.

So, while 16 people puzzled their way through my blue flour markings (some following the markings more accurately than others), I drove around in my car in order to arrive at designated points before them with the all-important beer.

They were cold; I was warm. They were on foot; I had my foot on the gas pedal. They didn't know where they were going; I had a pretty good map in my mind's eye of their trajectory (except for the ones that got 'lost'). We were occupying the same moments in time in completely different ways.

I particularly enjoy thinking about this concept of other's realities with a larger focus, as summarized by this quote:

The world in which you were born is just one model of reality.
Other cultures are not failed attempts at being you; they are unique manifestations of the human spirit.
- Wade Davis*, anthropologist

He has an interesting TED talk that can be found here.

Breaking out of the routine

I am a creature of habit, but I know this and that is a powerful tool against it. So, because I started anticipating the mental acrobatics that breaking out of my routine of unemployment would require, one would think that the transition would be going smoothly. And it is.

Wrapping my head around losing a big chunk of my 'free' time was top on the list. Indeed, I have a sense of loss of my 'free' time, but I think now that I have less of it I am better able to hone in on what I really want to be doing as opposed to doing everything because I had the time and boredom to do so.

Next was cranki- and sleepiness from getting up at 6:30am. Yep. I'm tired although not cranky (aiming for a good impression y'know).

Strangely unanticipated was the retooling of my eating schedule. Where I had the unemployed eating under control - every three hours nearly like clock-work - I'm hungry nearly constantly now. Hopefully this is due to my brain's needing additional fuel to process the policy and procedure manuals I've been reading; the computer system I've been mucking with; and the navigation skills I've had to learn in order to get from my cubicle to my exam room.

So, as excited as I was to break out of my unemployed routine, to start this job, grow my professional career, and get out of the house, I'm also looking forward to having a routine again so I can stop eating.

Just a *little* neglectful

I have no excuse for not writing an update; I just haven't. Here is a nitty-gritty update on life since 9/17 (the date of my last post):

1) NEW JOB!
Working for the Jefferson County (Jeff Co) Public Health Department in the reproductive health department performing "Adult Health, Cancer Screening, Family Planning & Reproductive Health, Birth Control, HIV Counseling & Testing, Sexually Transmitted Disease Testing & Treatment". Nearly my dream job. So excited. I start 10/5 and aim to have a long, professionally rewarding career there.

2) IT band syndrome
Increased my running mileage too quickly (I guess... that is one of the common causes of IT band syndrome) and aggravated my iliotibial band, which runs from the outside portion of the hip to the outside of the knee. This means much pain when I run 'too far', which my body presently considers 6mi. Went on a hike with Julie and her/our friend Jen in Rocky Mountain National Park today and the activity helped stretch the offending tendon. I'm hoping to run <6mi tomorrow without pain.

3) Humboldt Street gardening complete
After installing a recycled plastic/recycled wood composite edging on the sidewalk gardens in front of my apartment, I have decided my gardening on Humboldt Street is complete. It's too late in the season to plant more (despite the building manager's request) and, due to starting at Jeff Co on Monday, I shall have less time to devote to agricultural pursuits. Photos to follow. Note: I am well aware that this does not mean I am done being Julie's garden bitch.

4) New bicycle
Well, it's an old bicycle that's new to me. The cool cruiser I was riding was stolen from the tree in front of my apartment (no trees were harmed in the theft of the bicycle, but the lock will never be the same), which put the kabosh on my two-wheeled transportation.

I have purchased a new set of wheels: a 1970s 10-speed which has been tricked-out with fenders at JD's Cycle Shack and I am thrilled. Well, I would be if the crank shaft of the pedals hadn't lost a nut and then a bolt and become useless. I'll be thrilled once again when I reassemble the crank.

5) JENNIFER 1, PARASITE 0
Still trying to figure out why my belly isn't happy, but the problem is no longer a parasite.

Garden of the Gods

Had a job interview in Colorado Springs yesterday for an RN position (more on that later). Decided to take advantage of having made the 1.5 hour drive and went running in Garden of the Gods.

The woman at the visitor's center indicated that there is a gravel trail that follows the road 'round the park in addition to a winding network of marked and unmarked trails that meander through the park. I took a map from the visitor's center, which I left in the car.

Started out from the parking lot at 2:45pm. Despite the recent rain, the trail was fairly dry except for the puddles. As one might imagine in a park in the foothills of the Rockies, the trails are rolling with a mix of rocks and gravel scattered amongst the red dirt.

I suffered through the up hills in order to coast down the other side and was feeling pretty good until the new pain in my right hip returned. Pushed through that to get to the southern tip of the park at 3:30pm at which point, I thought, turned around to head north to the car.

Ended up climbing a hill and seeing a deer only to turn around at 4pm in order to head back to the car. Took a wrong turn and ended up at the outer limits of Manitou Springs, CO. Retraced my steps and headed back into the network of trails figuring that I still had time to get back to the parking lot in which I had left my car before the gate is locked at 5pm.

When I exited the park in a residential neighborhood at 5pm with no sense of direction (couldn't see the mountains) and no park map to be found, I knew I was in trouble. Panicked for a moment then flagged down a woman on her way home who explained to me that in the summer she shuttles lost hikers back to their cars frequently. She was very gracious about helping and felt fortunate that this particular lost hiker speaks enough English to coherently explain where her car is.

The parking lot was NOT locked. Relieved and annoyed about the panic the threat caused. Will consult with brownie before running in the Garden again.

Took this photo of myself when running 'round, up and down Green Mountain of the Green Mountain Open Space in Lakewood. This run reminded me that I need to add more hills to my running. Heck, need to add speed work as well, so maybe I'll get faster. Were I more motivated, I could find a plan and start on it whilst unemployed again...

I was asked to leave my job at the county jail about a month ago, so I am again unemployed and this time struggling with the feelings of inadequacy that come with being asked to leave a job at which one tries their hardest. Because of this, I should have doubled my efforts at securing employment, but am feeling very unmotivated. I've restarted volunteering at Planned Parenthood. Been running. Been dancing. Not much knitting, but it's supposed to be 50F in Denver tomorrow, so maybe curling up with some wool will feel comfortable.

What I learned on my summer vacation

At the suggestion of Brownie I went wandering about Dinosaur Ridge two weeks ago. I ended up run-walking the 5+ mile loop across Dinosaur Ridge, down into Matthews Winter's Park, past Red Rocks and then back up the Ridge. My lungs took a beating being even further above sea level than in Denver, but it felt good to be trail running at an altitude slightly higher than my norm because in just 3 weeks I'll be going to the InterAMs in Winter Park. The weekend will consist of running trails at a higher altitude than Denver and then drinking. But I digress...

My jaunt up and over Dinosaur Ridge brought me in close proximity to the local avian crowd (photo for Mark's benefit);





much further away by foot from my car without enough snackage than I strictly preferred;









and much closer to the local fault line than I ever though I could get. A fault line. In Colorado! Like _you_ had ever thought of fault lines in Colorado, eh?

Turns out, once upon a time, we also a coast line! There was a river that ran smack through the US during the Paleolithic Era(?) and right past Colorado (though the guide with whom I was talking did know if said river despoited the Sand Dunes in the southwestern corner of the state.). We also had dinosaurs roaming about, though I did not see fit to take photos of their foot prints or bits of skeleton for which Dinosaur Ridge is named.

My guide through this adventure and inspiration for the next, since I didn't make it to Green Mountain on this excursion, was Trailwalker's Guide to the Dinosaur Ridge, Red Rocks and Green Mountain Area by Harald Drewes and John Townrow.

Perhaps I need to start a lobby to my Congressional representatives to put warnings on plastic bags about their hazardousness to felines? Or maybe just my feline. This is the same creature that stood over a lit candle for longer than he ought to have (in my opinion).

Birthday Bash

Julie and I spent my birthday together camping and hiking. We passed the night of my birthday in fine style with wine, cupcakes and a gourmet meal cooked on my new MSR Pocketrocket camp stove in the White River National Forest. The following day we hiked to the Conundrum Hot Springs in order to soak our cares away in the hot springs at tree line (about, what? 8,000ft?). It was a great way to spend my 30th birthday. Photos are on Picasa.

Life Maintenance

I am struggling with living. No, no. Not the actual act of remaining alive; I’m not considering offing myself. I’m struggling with the concept of carrying on a well-lived life, of making the life I am currently living and intend to do so for another 70 years or so more meaningful.

I have previously bored y’all with a discussion of my schedule, but most recently I have been working three to four days in a row. As is my wont, I have a predictable when my workdays fall into this schedule: I work and then spend the next few days catching up on life maintenance.

Life maintenance is a catch-all term for the grocery shopping, dish washing, library going, apartment cleaning, and cat attention paying that must happen after four days of work induced neglect. However, in the past two days I have begun to question the meaningfulness of spending my days off addressing such mundane and menial matters. There isn’t much value in these tasks beyond my own life; does that make doing them unworthwhile?

The answer to that question is no, which I came to whilst run/hiking today. Said tasks are necessary for even the most altruistic of us; without their being accomplished there is no infrastructure from which to base other activities. The key, I discovered today, is to balance the mundane and menial with the exciting and altering to my personal world, if not the world at large.

There is a satisfaction in accomplishing life maintenance activities, but they’re not fulfilling. They need done again and again and again. But going to restorative yoga Friday night, as I did, contributes to positive worldwide karma and leaves me feeling peaceful. And run/hiking the five-mile loop over Dinosaur Ridge, through Matthew/Winter’s Park, and past Red Rocks contributes to my training for a half-marathon and maybe running a relay this fall.

And swimming Monday after work, going to yoga Wednesday night, and tending Julie’s garden in her absence will help to off-set the annoyance I feel at the five loads of laundry that should be able to wash themselves. I hope.

Pringles

Little did I know at the time, busy as I was preparing to go to New Jersey on a flight courtesy of Snowball, but I lost access to the internet connection which I was legitimately using (as opposed to the one I'm now pirating from the deli across the street).

See, I and a few other folks in my building were paying the building manager to maintain an internet connection through Comcast and a wireless network out of her apartment. Comcast came to fix something, but broke the wireless network in the process. Kathy couldn't figure out how to fix it and decided that she has neither the time nor the inclination to continue to maintain the wireless network for the rest of us.

I and another woman were going to go it alone, but she decided she could do without internet at home (the horror!).

I am left either getting a connection of my own (seems silly since there are at least ten network on which my computer picks up) or continuing to pirate the connection of the deli across the street. If I choose the latter, I need to invest in some sort of antennae, as my dear computer, which I just realized is nameless, has an antennae about as useful as... as something that's not useful hardly at all. Presently, I use myself as the antennae, but considering that I haven't decided if I want children in the future, having such radio waves or nuclear energy or whathaveyou coursing through my body is probably not a good idea.

Rob's answer to my dilemma is a Pringles antennae (actually it was a new computer, but I'll choose to ignore that suggestion). Such a device is easily assembled from directions off the interweb with parts that seem readily available... to a roadside bomber. Where does a white, middle class female get an N-connector, a drill, and the know-how to figure the 'back of the can to the drill-point' drill distance? Argh. Isn't there someway to do this with knitting needles, the cat, and a beer bottle?

Schedule

I, like many people, enjoy having a regular schedule. I sleep well; I eat predictably; I can plan social activities. But my schedule since starting work at the jail in March has been anything but regular given the way I was hired (by choice): I fill in when I'm needed.

What follows is my schedule for the past week, which is self-explanatory for my MIAness...
Wednesday - Tuesday OFF
Meant to go to California to see my seester, bro-in-law and nephews but just didn't get there; theoretically I was out and about in Denver though. What did I do? Had a great bike ride on the Platte River Trail where I took photos with my manual SLR. Note to self: need to get those photos developed. Talked to Greg's mortgage broker; we determined I need a permanent job in order to get a mortgage. Finished a painful, difficult knitting project. Started Julie's overdue birthday present. Napped with the cat.

Wednesday 1930 - 0530 (actually left at 0600)
Went ok although I was tired Thursday morning since it is not possible to get enough sleep the day before an overnight shift.

Thursday 1930 - 0530 (actually left at 0630)
Still tired in the morning, but a breakfast burrito keeps me awake during the 30 minute drive home. Beautiful sunrise.

Friday 1930 - 0530 (actually left at 0615)
Slept until 1630 and then futzed around on Facebook until I was almost late to work. Oops. But that's the most I've ever slept directly following an overnight; my body might just be getting the hang of this schedule.

Saturday 1930 - Sunday 0530 (actually left at 0545)
Again slept for 8 hours the following morning; not such a good thing this time since I need to go to bed at, oh, 2000 in order to get 'enough' sleep to get up at 0330 Monday morning to work the 0500 - 1500 shift. Did go hang out with Julie's friends by the pool in southeast Denver.

Monday 0500 - 1500 (actually left at 1630)
Got home and slept for 4 hours. Woke up at 2000 very disoriented, particularly since the days are so long right now (not complaining, just sayin'). Still awake at 2300, despite great tiredness, because I'm working...

Tuesday 1930 - Wednesday 0530
Tired goes without saying.

Wednesday 1930 - Thursday 0530
Must sleep when I get home, but not too long otherwise I won't be able to sleep Thursday night in anticipation for the chiropractor and then driving to the Sand Dunes Friday. Argh. Pretty much a waste of a day.

July's not looking much better, but I'm hoping to have a different gig entirely come August. Send employing thoughts my way, eh?

Medicinal traitor

Friday I went to a -- gasp! -- chiropractor. I gasp because I think it ironic that I have sought the advice of an nontraditional medicine practitioner given my profession. Why a chiropractor?

1) My friend K.A. had good things to say about hers (in fact, it was he I went to see Friday).
2) For at least one of my problems, the stomach issues, I had already seen two medical doctors about it before I left Boston and they had ruled out some causes of the troubles, but clearly did not solve the problem.
3) I wanted to try a different approach to my health care. And that's what I've gotten.

The doctor believes, based on my curling into fetal position when he poked at my belly, that I have a lingering parasite in my gut. So, I'm taking Candi-Bactin-BR (the herb berberine) and will add proboulardi (probiotics) on Friday when I return for a follow-up visit. So far I've not experienced many of the side effects about which I was warned, which I think is the best outcome in this situation. After all, I am killing a colony of creatures that took up residence in my gut about a year ago.

My other focus for this treatment is the pain I'm having in my right hip flexor. I was snap, crackle, and popped by the doctor on Friday and, while the pinching in my right shoulder has resolved, the hip flexor pain is the same; nearly normal for day-to-day function, but twinging by the end of my four nights of work. I'm chalking it up to a work in progress, although I may try a short run this week if I can get out of bed early enough before work.

If there is a negative side to all of this it is that I've been advised not to drink beer because 1) the parasites feed off of the sugars and 2) it's difficult to digest for a 100% health gut nevermind my traumatized system. As if the six-pack in my fridge weren't temptation enough, I'm going to a Hash campout at the Sand Dunes this weekend. I almost delayed treatment, but decided I'd had enough of my compromised GI tract. Besides, as Julie pointed out, the doctor only advised against beer; he didn't say anything about other types of liquor!

Once upon a sweater

Once upon a time, in a land 1500 miles from this one, Jennifer started knitting a tank top. The year was 2004 and it was Springtime. A time of exuberance for cotton knitwear. A time of enthusiasm for garments with holes made according to pattern. A time of duhn, duhn, duuuuuhn lace.

There were good times and there were bad times. There were times of success and times of ignoring the project hoping it would unravel itself. There were times of moving (to Colorado to Massachusetts to Pennsylvania to Massachusetts to Nepal to Massachusetts to Colorado), yet still no wearable garment sprung forth from our heroine's efforts. And then, one unseasonably cloudy day five years and 1500 miles from its inception...













emerged the tank top from our heroine's weary, blistered fingers. Success! And reinforcement of the need to boycott the creating of lace garments.

Better than TV

I have two channels on my LifeTV: the cat channel and the Colfax channel. Yesterday, on the Colfax channel, was the following image:









Yes, that is a squirrel sitting on the basket attachment of my bicycle. Heehee.

Maybe med school

The murder of Dr. Tiller on Sunday got me thinking about my career's trajectory. I set out in a career in nursing in 2004 in order to work against Bush Jr.'s restrictive policies on abortion; I decided to train in the very information and procedures he was aiming to restrict. I could be the safe "back alley" abortionist should it come to that.

Fast forward to June 5... I work in county jail as a registered nurse: the only job I could get in a state overrun with mid level providers with more experience than I. Said state also has laws that restrict the performance of medical and surgical abortions to physicians, which means that, were I to get a job as a nurse practitioner, it would not be in an abortion clinic as I had originally envisioned.

By becoming a physician, I would no longer have to fight for the career I want because physicians are licensed to do everything. They are also better trained for their jobs and their role is better understood in the health care world. Maybe it is time to stop trying to have the career I want the hard way and go study for the lifetime pass to the field about which I feel most passionate.

The Sisyphysian Life

We all know people for whom life seems out to get -- the paycheck doesn't get deposited, they start jobs that end before they can blink, the medication refill gets hung up in the pharmacy, they land in jail minutes before an important doctor's appointment. It is for these folks that I provide nursing at the county jail. And it's exhausting.

Warranted but harsh criticism

I am usually unsuccessful at tuning out ambient noise, other people's conversations and the like, which is how I've gotten myself into trouble several times, most recently at work.

I walked into the nurses' station and a conversation between two nurses, "What is the Twin RX?" "It's a treatment." "For what?" "Hepatitis." *TV 'wrong' noise here*

There is no treatment for hepatitis. The Twin Rx is a vaccine (preventative measure) against hepatitis A and B. It was with this information that I interjected into the conversation.

And the nurse handing out the wrong information says, "You know what the problem is here, the problem is that I wasn't talking to you. If I was talking to you, I could understand why you're confused, but I wasn't talking to you. B understands me, don't you? [B nods]. So that's the problem here."

Oh smack.

He was really harsh, which stung, but what bothered me more was the criticism; I hate being called out on my weaknesses. (Funny, who does?) In his defense, it must get old having someone correct you, as I have done so before. Then again, it gets old having to fix someone's errors from erroneous information, too.

30

This is my year 30th year on the planet as Jennifer. Well, it will be in a little over two months, but I'm getting a head start on my project for this, my Year of 30. The project is hiking by myself (someone go resuscitate my mother, please). Yes, hiking by myself.

This idea stemmed from a conversation with my friend David about his hiking alone. He does it all the time! But he's a boy.

Perhaps it's a function of being a girl or growing up in suburbia in the 80s. I dunno. But I was raised (splendidly, capably, but with a little bit of fear) to always have a buddy when leaving the house. Perhaps the 'always' is an exaggeration, but it certainly seems like that is the ideal. In light of not having a conjoined twin, I have interpreted 'always have a buddy' to 'have a buddy when one leaves the confines of civilization, such as when hiking, backpacking, snowshoeing, etc.'. But Year of 30 is the time to change that.

I shall tell someone where I'm going and shall bring my cell phone, but damnit, I'm going it alone. The following photos are from my solo adventures undertaken in early celebration of my Year of 30.

The view from one of many lookout spot along the Red Rocks Trail in Matthews Winters Park.







The Speer Blvd. bridge as seen looking west from Confluence Park. Though not outside civilization, it is my favorite city spot, which I visited this week, so it is included.






Top photo: A crystalis in Matthews Winters Park. I've gotta go back and see the end result!

Evening ride

Man (walking on sidewalk pushing shopping cart): I didn't know I was on a bike path! I didn't know I was on a f*cking bike path!

Me (riding bike on sidewalk): I didn't know I was in a grocery store.

Man: F*ck you! This is not a bike path!

Me: Not tonight, thanks.

Working Colfax

I had jokingly threatened to work my corner of Colfax if a nursing job didn't materialize 'soon enough' (whatever that means). Well, I've managed to fulfill both goals (or at least the verbal harassment portion of the latter).

For those not in the know, I am working as a registered nurse in a medium sized correctional facility in a town south of Denver. Thus far I have trained in the infirmary, where prisoners stay if they're detoxing from a substance or just can't live in general population, i.e. the person in a wheelchair, the man who is so sick he's turned a shade of gray, etc. And I have been trained to work in the pods.

A 'pod' is a living quarter of this facility's inmates. There are 6 pods each with 5-6 day rooms with 20-ish sleeping quarters off the day rooms. There is one day room for women, the remainder are for men. Most of the cells don't have doors, but the day rooms are kept closed and locked most of the time with a person in 'the tower' overseeing all of the inmate's activities within the pod.

Each pod has an exam room in which I check blood pressure, give insulin, check wounds and change dressings and give medications. Indeed, many of these skills I learned in nursing school; what requires instructing is the policies and procedures of the jail and what just takes time is getting familiar with the personalities of the inmates. Such as those of the men in 6A.

Six-A is 'the hole' of Pod 6. It consists of a day room off of which there are 7'x7' cells housing one man each that are kept locked 23 hours a day. The men on this unit are half a step away from the bottom of their housing options (the bottom being the behavioral control unit in the infirmary) so they have little to lose, which makes them, uh, perhaps more vocal than their counterparts in other day rooms.

Which translates into my getting catcalled, just like I might working Colfax. For several days running, this little ol' black guy would wait until after I medicated him to make his appreciation of my ass known to every man on the unit, "Look at her. She has a nice ass. And she KNOWS she has a nice ass. Yes, she certainly does know she has a nice ass. So-and-so said she has a nice ass and she knows it and I know it."

So, while being a nurse may be a better regarded and less illegal profession than walking the streets and working the corners, sometimes the atmosphere of the two jobs is the same.

Nearly Virgin Hare

Despite some controversy as to whether I was a 'virgin' (=new) hare or not, I laid a Hash trail today. The weather did not cooperate; it was overcast with variable amounts of rain. Because I laid trail with flour, I ended up sticky, pasty mess, of which I did not get a photo. Believe you me, it was messy! As with most experiences, I learned from this one.

A) 25lbs of flour is plenty to lay a ~5mi trail.
B) If the trail is well-marked, folks won't balk at its ~5mi length.
C) Try to avoid laying trail so as the hounds stay within site of the start of the Hash.
D) 11 cases of beer is plenty for seven Hashers with some leftover.
E) The public seems less antsy about powdery white substances randomly strewn about, but I think I'll color my flour next time just to be safe (but, no, I didn't see the haz-mat crew. Anyone else? Bueller?)
F) I didn't get snared because the fastest FRB (=front running bastard) wasn't present. In the future, I will prelay the end of my trail, as well as the beginning, as insurance for avoidance of pantsing.
G) I like haring; I'd do it again.

Coming soon to a state near you: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

I just watched a terrifying YouTube video about women who were forced to give birth to children in the way that their respective states saw fit, as opposed to how they (and in some cases, their doctors) saw fit because of 'fetal rights' laws, such as those that Personhood USA is trying to enact all over the US (and successfully did so in North Dakota). I shan't embed the video in this post, since that would muck with folks' ability to load the page, but I shall link to it.

Please, go watch, become outraged, and act on the next women's or fetal rights* campaign that comes to your attention.

*Chances are I would encourage you to act in favor of women's rights and against the fetal rights, but just ask and I'll give you the best answer I know.

Take action!

In his last days as president, Bush enacted a regulation curtailing patient's access to medical treatment if the provider or pharmacists or secretary of the medical practice disagrees with said medical procedure or medicine or device, etc.. The regulation was billed as a 'conscience clause' to protect providers against being forced to perform abortions -- but a regulation doing just that existed prior to Bush's administration.

As I observe below, the regulation is actually a thinly veiled attempt to limit women's access to contraception. Below is the letter I wrote to Obama, with the help of the website of the National Organization for Women, supporting his rescision of this regulation. Or if you prefer, Planned Parenthood has a page about it, too. No matter how -- go speak your mind!

Dear President Obama,
I strongly support efforts to rescind the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services "provider conscience" regulation (which is in the 'comments' portion of the regulatory process to rescind it, so we need to let Obama know how strongly we support his overturning this regulation).

As a nurse practitioner who closely follows news about reproductive health care access, the aforementioned regulation seems like a thinly veiled attempt to restrict women's access to contraception. This is appalling because, combined with comprehensive sex education, access to
contraception is the best way to reduce unwanted pregnancies, which is a goal no matter what side of the political aisle one sits on.

I urge that the HHS refusal rule be rescinded in its entirety promptly at the end of this comment period. Thank you for the opportunity to speak out.

Sincerely,
Jennifer, NP

Buddhicat

One of the tenets of Buddhism is non-attachment. To me, this means not relying on anyone or -thing to 'make' one happy; it's finding happiness within one's self while still appreciating the people and creatures in one's life.

Another tenet of Buddhism is reincarnation. This one is huge. The short version is that all sentient beings (roughly bugs to humans on the evolutionary scale) have wants and desires that cause us suffering when they're not met (which is a lot of the time). So, those who practice Buddhism meditate, do good deeds, treat others as we'd like to be treated, etc. so that, ideally, we reach enlightenment (freedom from suffering) in our current life. Given how little I've been meditating, my reaching enlightenment seems unlikely, but perhaps the attitude with which I regard the cat will help the process.

Some regard the relationship of cat to human to be that of pet to owner, but I find that set-up to imply attachment of the human to the animal. So I am turning the dynamic 'round. I am regarding Max the Cat as a sentient being who needs care during his current life as a cat until he can be reincarnated on his next spin through the cycle of rebirth.

Between the waking me up in the middle of the night and howling at everyone who walks by the apartment (we live at the front of the building, so that's pretty much everyone) he is pushing the limits of good karma, but I've still got my sights set on his becoming a human next time.

Character: a meta-analysis

In a book on how to do a myriad things well (the title of which I will remember the moment after this post goes live), there is a chapter on how to discern a person's character. The first step is to figure out what character means to you.

After thinking on it for a week, I decided that interweb research was in order. One of the definitions that helped me get thinking on the subject is: "The combination of qualities or features that distinguishes one person, group, or thing from another." Note 1: I've discovered that some define personality with the same terms hence this discussion will address both. Note 2: These qualities or features are addressed in dichotomy with the realization that very little is black and white. What follows is a list of qualities or features of character that come to mind quickly:

Honest/dishonest; ungracious/gracious; prompt/tardy; passionate/apathetic; engaged/distanced; altruistic/selfish; patient/impatient; laid-back/anxious; sympathetic/callous; logical/emotional; empathetic/self-centered; corrupt/honorable, pure; adventurous/cautious; liberal/conservative (although this dichotomy leaves room for many many incorrect conclusions as to someone's character); forthright/deceitful; forward/reticent; sexual/repressed...

But how do you discern a person's character? Perhaps I'm jaded, but it seems particularly easy with, for instance online dating, to misrepresent oneself. Have I found this to be true in reality? No. But the better question is, have I been paying attention?

A straight forward character trait to evaluate is "outdoorsy." It seems every man on Match who lives in Colorado says he loves the outdoors. I've found, with one clear exception, most of the men I've met are outdoorsy at least in the way that I am; they participate in weekend outdoor adventures year-round. But what about the less obvious characteristics -- qualities such as empathy, callousness, altruism, and deceitfulness? Beyond what is said in the profile, how does one get a sense of such things in a first, second, or even third meeting?

Perhaps evaluating a person's more obscure personality traits needs to be like doing online research. I start with the person as the topic and check the dating site for a basic idea about him, links to additional sources (rarely), and a jumping off point for formulating additional questions. Then exchanging emails helps to flush out some of the questions brought to mind by the profile. Finally, meeting in person can confirm or refute some opinions formed during the computer research phase. And, provides information about interpersonal chemistry that cannot be evaluated electronically. Now to figure out which characteristics are deal-breakers... *sigh* the quest for good relationships is never-ending.

"Character is like a tree and reputation like its shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing." - Abraham Lincoln

I. Am. Not. New.

I have been job hunting for a year and, as the process drags on, what I hear with more and more frequency is that I'm a 'new grad' and managers want to hire employees with experience. So I am writing this piece as an ode to all that is not new about me as an ego boost in otherwise ego deflating times.

I am not new at job hunting; I've been doing that for a year plus. Nor am I new at doing female annual exams; I did 250 of those in the five months I spent in prison filling in for the permanent employee. I am not new at nursing in odd situations; I've worked at a clinic in Nepal, state prison, as a traveling camp nurse in hotel rooms all along the eastern seaboard and given flu shots in most of the conference rooms in downtown Denver.

I am not new to compassion, which lies at the heart of nursing; I have it in droves. I cried when I put away my Cabbage Patch kids because I was afraid they'd suffocate in the plastic bag in the attic. I pity my cat for being stuck inside all day because he seems bored (although he'd seem dead were he to run around Colfax during rush hour). I nearly faint when I watch someone get local anesthesia because I know that the anesthesia shot is the worst part and I hate that s/he is suffering through it.

Finally, I am not new at identifying my strengths and weaknesses. I am not new to creating strengths from weaknesses. I am not new at accepting criticism, constructive and otherwise, about my weaknesses. I am not new at accepting praise for my strengths, although that doesn't translate into my doing so well.

I. Am. Not. New. Now hire me, please!

18 and counting

Since defecting to Colorado in August I have been on 18 first dates. I have had coffee and conversation with dancers and teachers, doctors and baristas, computer geeks and office assistants. This experience has led to a better understanding of what I am seeking in a partner; knowing that I am able to thrive outside of a relationship but also that there is a particular strength and energy to be had from within a romantic relationship; and the growing realization that finding someone that suits me is no small feat.

On the seven hour car ride to the Durango Snowdown Hash in Durango, CO, Cum Scout, a fellow Denver hasher, and I spent the early hours of the trip wrestling with the topic of interpersonal relationships. I told him the story of my 18 first dates. He told me a story about a roommate who still talks about a relationship that ended five years back. Cum Scout and I agree that five years is too long to dwell on a former relationship; we refrained from judging the 18 dates. What ultimately came out of this conversation is a theory of dating that we've decided is the only way to go.

From knowing that the population of the Earth is 6.5 million people, we surmised that there are 3.25 million men and 3.25 million women. Subtract approximately 65,000 exclusively homosexual people from the total (seems like a small number to me, but that's another post), and there are 3.24 million men chasing after 3.24 million women. And then subtract those who are married, celibate by choice, too young or too old, live on the wrong side of the world, aren't dating, etc. ...

The millions that are datable can be divided up by having the individuals take the Keirsey Temperament Sorter type. Everyone falls into predominantly one personality category; so by using straight-up division (as opposed to statistical analysis which would be more accurate but more difficult) we determined that there are 20,250,000 people of each type of personality roaming the Earth. Subtract from that number the aforementioned non-datable folks, figure out your personality type and the type of personality with whom you are most compatible, and voila! Your dating pool.

So, I just need to find all of the available, English-speaking, Denver-dwelling ESFJs and date 'em one by one until I find one that suits me well. Brilliant, eh? I thought so. Now I'm off to this site to put my money where my mouth is.

Love song to Mount Elbert

I can't remember the last time I felt ill (and exhilarated and cleansed by) physical exertion, but as of Saturday my memory has been refreshed. The adventure began Friday night when I met Truman, Paul and Kevin in Golden from whence we headed to Jeremy's place in Silverthorne: the jumping off point for our winter ascent of Mount Elbert.

After collectively sleeping poorly, we headed out at 5:19am through the 19F air. One of the guys commented that we were one minute past our departure time for every degree above zero on the thermometer. Truman lamented our not running 40 minutes late. Indeed.

We left the parking lot at 7am to hike to the trail head. Two miles and a few layers later, we strapped on snowshoes and hit the trail. All was well until Kevin, who was breaking trail, stopped in a grove of Aspen trees and suggested that we were no longer on trail. The four guys put their heads together as I, admitting my propensity for getting lost, remained silent until spoken to.

(It was a few hours later that Truman also admitted his propensity for getting lost. Whether in denial about following into the wilderness in the snow one who so easily goes astray [me] or understanding his propensity for modesty [Kevin, Jeremy and Paul?], the lot of us ignored Truman's declaration and the guys continued to include him in the route planning. Given that we lived through the experience, following the directions of the self-professed directionally challenged one wasn't a bad decision, but one might question doing so again.)

My favorite part of the trip, as gauged by how much I laughed, was the, as Truman phrased it, impromptu luge we created down the slope of the Ridge-to-the-north-of-Elbert-we-think. If only there had a been a video camera at the bottom... I haven't laughed so hard in ages. It felt really good.

Considering the tacitly agreed upon aim of the outing -- to summit the mountain -- one might consider it a failure. Fortunately we (I say 'we' because I've already read Truman's account of the experience) had subgoals that were met. I aimed to snowshoe (check), enjoy myself (check) and meet cute, available boys (notice the lack of 'check'). Two outta three, and surviving a trip that made me physically ill, ain't bad.

Photo: Aspen trees with what is probably not Mount Elbert in the background. Sadly, I did not follow through on my instinct to charge the camera battery before leaving Friday, thus you're looking at one of three photos I took on this trip. The other two are here. But here are Truman's photos which do an excellent job of capturing the 'je ne sais quoi' of the trip. Although he did (mercifully) leave this one off...

Buddhism vs. Hashing, Round 1

It started with the meditation, 'Worldly Concerns', led by Ani Karin on the CD of 'The Complete Lam Rim with The Foundation of All Good Qualities by Lama Tsong Khapa'. Wait. Actually, no. It started with my complaining to Julie about pain in my left foot, which she diagnosed as a stress fracture and prescribed rest (i.e. not running). Thus, I was searching for a way to manage the stress I typically release while running, which led me to the meditation practice I had all but abandoned upon leaving the Kopan Monastery in early May.

Despite my good intentions, the voice inside my head interrupted by a) taking on my mother's voice and warning me to be careful with lit candles (particularly with a cat around) b) pointing out that the living room of my apartment, which is 50 feet off of Colfax, is not an ideal place to get one's meditation groove on c) emphasizing that that I miss meditating with its sighs of relief and d) taunting me with my fear that Hashing and Buddhism are incompatible. And you, knowing little to nothing about both Hashing and meditation, say, "No kidding!' I coulda told you that!" But please, hold your comments until I've had a chance to explain myself.

First there's a schedule conflict; I often miss the Sunday evening meditation group at First Unitarian Denver because I'm at a post-Hash gathering. Yes, there is Hashing on Saturday. No, I don't attend because it's either in Fort Collins or Colorado Springs (=1+ hours' drive). Driving such distance in order to participate in an activity which I could start on my front stoop is, as much as I love running and Hashers, a poor use of gas in these economically and environmentally challenged times. So Hashing is geographically limited to metro Denver, which limits us to Sundays.

The next difficulty is a difference in philosophy. Hashing in metro Denver is first and foremost about drinking beer. Whereas the fifth precept of a Buddhist lay-person is to refrain from use of intoxicants which lead to loss of mindfulness (i.e. beer). You see the obvious conflict, yes?

Finally, and the kicker for me, Hash banter is typically much coarser than that in which I usually participate. Perhaps it's a safe, healthy outlet for frustration. Or perhaps I'm wracking up negative karma that's going to bite me in the butt in a future life. At this point, I am a two-faced Buddhist, but the alternative is to be a prissy Hasher. Or compromise by being mediocre at both. Where is my priority; to excel at being Buddhist or at Hashing? *gulp* Just by typing those words, I will be made to drink at the next Hash! And have violated Buddhism's 'middle way'. Gah! What to do?

Perhaps I'll start with some meditation...

Photos -- Top: The scenery on the snow shoe Hash in which I participated at the Durango Snowdown 1/20-2/1; notice the derth of snow. Middle: Snowshoe Hash on-out. Bottom: Snowshoe Hash beer check.

Love, how do I express thee?

My mom likes to tell me that some people talk about their love and others show their love. I agree with her and I believe it is more likely that a ‘show’ of love is more often forgotten than a ‘talk’ of love. So I thought to put together a photo and text representation of a lifetime of ‘show’ of love.

My dad’s parents are of the ilk that predominantly ‘do’ rather than ‘say’. For instance, I arrived in Montvale at 9:16pm -- fifteen minutes past my grandparents’ bedtime. Despite the late hour, Grandpa picked me up at the train station and Grandma greeted me in the kitchen by asking ‘are you hungry?’ and subsequently feeding me. In addition to the niceties extended to me, I was intimately involved with evidence that grandpa has been quietly 'showing' us his love for years.

The most obvious example is the bedroom in which I sleep while visiting; he, my mother reminded me, expanded his young family’s house to better accommodate his wife and three growing children. As the photos show, the addition included a laundry chute, built-in bookcases, special doorknob holder on-ers (actual purpose unknown), and, years later, a built-in air conditioner.

You'll have to take my word for it that he also made things a bit less crowded at a certain Bethlehem stable by extending the ground floor; keeps he and Gram’s myriad pill bottles organized in a wood box; and supports good oral health with a custom tooth brush shelf in the ground floor bath.

So, when I told my grandpa ‘I love you and Grandma’ when he and I parted at the train station at 4am in the morning, I was not surprised when he said ‘oh, that’s nice.’ But I know the truth; it surrounds me every time I cross their threshold.

Coloradoan in New York

I spent the week straddling Christmas in New Jersey visiting my extended family; I saw 'em all. Even with all that visiting, this trip was a little different; I took some time for myself and went into New York City (for all of the years I've been going to New Jersey, I've been to NYC four times, and three of those times had nothing to do with family!)

Despite the odds stacked against us, and with the help of mobile phone technology, my cousin Mark and I met outside the Borders 'round the corner from Penn Station. As I started discuss the day's itinerary, he whipped out a small map book and I thought, I'm all set, he knows what he's doing (foreshadowing, dear reader, foreshadowing). First stop: Rockefeller Center.

We decide to walk from Penn Station (near abouts 7th St.) to Rockefeller Center at 50-something street -- about 2.5 miles. What would normally take 'not so much time' took 'lots of time' thanks to the myriad people between us and our destination. If I was to reframe this experience (as Foster and Hicks suggest in their book, How we choose to be happy: the 9 choices of extremely happy people), the walk provided opportunity for extensive agility training with complementary personal defense instruction.

As is fitting when one is near it, we gawked at the Rockefeller Center tree; whispered our amazement inside St. Patrick's Cathedral; and attempted to peruse Macy's store windows, but gave up (masses of people + hungry Jen = no Macy's windows). For lunch, I decided we'd go to Greenwich Village since I'd never been. Easy, right? Just hop on the subway and head...

Uptown. Turns out my confidence in Mark's navigational ability was a bit overblown; he had correctly navigated us to the subway, but to the uptown instead of downtown platform. We managed the subway direction mix-up, and the subsequent walking direction mix-up, reasonably despite our hunger and got to Corner Bistro for great beer and l'inner (lunch + dinner).

From there, we wandered for an hour in search of a subway station. In our travels we found Central Park, squirrels, and a tourist taking pictures of squirrels. Of all the interesting things the city provides for photographic exercise! Squirrels! Ridiculous.

Arrived at the Mahayana Buddhist Temple in Chinatown just as the temple was closing, although the staff graciously allowed us to wander about the gift shop. Turns out this temple abuts the fly-by-night operation (it's actually a well-established company, but after one of the buses caught on fire on the interstate it lost esteem in my mind, which is reflected in my careful wording) of the Fung Wah bus company, which I had had the pleasure of riding from Boston to New York and back for one of the aforementioned non-familial excursions. Good memories.

From takeoff to landing and back again, the entire trip east was a personal public transportation navigation feat. I flew into JFK, which meant I had to take four trains operated by three different transportation authorities to get to my grandparent's abode (handicapped by leaving my detailed transportation information in Denver). Add to the list figuring out the Metropolitan Transit Authority subway system, and I'm darn impressive. Then again, navigating an underground train system run by one agency that publishes maps and schedules is considerably easier than navigating a piecemeal ground transportation system in a country where one neither speaks nor reads the language and there are no signs marking the bus stops. No wonder the MTA seemed easy this time where it was confounding prior to Nepal.