If at first you think it's gonna kill you, do it again (because it won't) and then go home and check your stats (because they'll tell you why it felt so hard). That's the take-away from today's ride through Red Rock Canyon.
Red Rock Canyon is on the outskirts of Las Vegas, and it's famous for its eponymous red rocks. I took my bike out there early this morning and rode twice around the 15ish mile scenic road. The first time I thought for sure I wasn't going to make it. Within seconds after starting off up the first hill I was sucking air like I hadn't ridden in years and crawling at a snail's pace (8 miles per hour! outrageous!). Not only that, but I was bundled up in jacket, legwarmers, and gloves in defense against what had been a super-cold morning. Needless to say, about the same time I started gasping for air I also started peeling off clothes and regretting not having more pockets. That sweaty, exhausting fun continued for quite a while (those first 5 miles took me 35 minutes, by far the worst time ever) -- but once I passed the crest and found myself on the downhill slope, things got lots more fun: I zipped down the hill at awesome (and slightly terrifying) speeds.
Once back at the starting point, I decided that the ascent hadn't been so bad, so I did it again. I wanted to see it it would be any easier, and I wasn't about to go home having ridden only 15 miles. Thankfully, the second time around was easier. I'd shed the extra clothes, so my body temperature was much better regulated, and I knew better how to manage my stamina on the hills. And of course I also let go more on the downhills (just 0.2mph shy of breaking 40mph -- I completed that 5-mile stretch in a little over 13 minutes, which was my best time ever).
It was a great time and I'm planning to go back every morning for the rest of the week (unless we're doing something else fun, like hunting for prehistorical fish that live in puddles in Death Valley).
Entering the park
Red rocks!
More red rocks!
The other side of the basin -- the road swings around and hugs the base of the hills
Moi
View of the basin from near the highest point in the scenic road
I found a random guy to take my photo in front of the mountain.
I can't believe he cut off my red legs.
The second time around, much happier with less clothing on.
I'm experimenting with destination cycling this week. Rather than spend all week in the balmy desert weather wishing I had my bike, I decided to just shop my bike out here and ride all week.
The first half of the adventure happened last weekend, when I had my local bike shop in Northern Virginia teach me how to disassemble and reassemble my bike. The rest of the adventure started this evening when UPS finally delivered the bike after an interminable day of waiting -- seriously, the delivery window was between 9:00am and 7:00pm, and natch it wasn't delivered until the very end, by which time I was bored out of my mind for for having waited in the living room all day listening got the doorbell.
Determined not to lose another minute, I set about reassembling the bike right away. It was pleasantly simple thanks to the lesson I'd had last week.
Now I'm off to bed before an early ride in the canyons tomorrow.
Welp, I made it. After a hectic Saturday morning (ballet class! packing! cleaning the apartment!) I settled into my seat for a flight to Las Vegas. The layover in Houston ended up being a few hours longer than expected due to a mechanical failure. The crowd was jolly, though, and I made friends with a middle-aged woman who had spent time in Guatemala and who was coming back from New York, where she'd spent an impromptu ten days after having missed her flight to Barcelona due to Hurricane Sandy. For a while it looked like we'd have to spend the night in Houston (the airline even trotted out refreshments for us, which you know if a bad sign), but then all of a sudden the problem was fixed and we were on our way. Whew.
This first day of vacation was very un-vacationlike. I got up early and went outside to work for a few hours on the patio . . .
This would be a perfect patio for a water feature with fish
and then went to church, where I am known as my parents' "bow tie son." During sacrament meeting we heard a substantively strong but presentationally weak talk about happiness, followed by a substantively weak but presentationally strong talk about the "tender mercies" of the Lord. Also, for the first time ever, I actually plugged my ears in the middle of sacrament meeting in an effort to block out the noise and chaos of unruly little children.
I ditched out of church after sacrament meeting to keep working -- the theory being that I might as well work while my parents are otherwise engaged and thereby free myself up later in the day when they'd be free. I worked quickly and got quite a bit done by the time they were home.
After that, it was time for dinner and Lady's birthday party. I put away the computer and enjoyed the celebrations and the Davis chocolate frosting. Mmm.
It has been a long week. It's technically over and I'm supposed to be on vacation -- I fly to Las Vegas tomorrow for a week with the padres and Thanksgiving -- but the partners I'm working for haven't batted an eye at my vacation plans and I'll probably spend much of the week working. Fortunately I have friends who sometimes need a "plus one" for fun events that can boost an otherwise gloomy Friday night.
Tonight I went with Jennifer to the opening reception for a new art show at the National Portrait Gallery. The show focuses on the work of six artists whose work, according to the brochure, "expand the narrow boundaries that once defined drawing and portraiture." I admit I went in with relatively low expectations -- drawing is an often underwhelming art form -- but I came away impressed. The work of Rob Matthews was particularly touching. He draws tiny, delicate portraits of friends and family holding things that are important to them. They're lovely and feel very personal. Also, he was at the reception -- so Jennifer and I ended up chatting with him for a long time at the end of the night. It was fun and made his work seem even more personal.
It's apparently becoming my go-to bow tie for art gallery receptions.
Remember how on Sunday I said I was about to move into Step 4 of my work/life (im)balance cycle? Well, I was right. Too right. Step 4 hit like a ton of bricks today at work -- such that it feels a lot closer to Step 5 than I would like. Superman is flying awfully close to cryptonite.
My plan is working, though. Not being involved in choirs or other activities with ongoing commitments to other people has made the transition from awesome to lame less stressful than it otherwise would have been. Instead of stressing about getting to rehearsal, I got to spend all afternoon canceling yoga classes and plans with friends. It's amazing how much work-time you can create when you cancel everything in your personal life. Also demoralizing.
"Jason, you're really good at weightlifting," said the Crossfit coach this morning in front of the whole class. "Anyone ever tell you that before?"
Nope. In fact, if I had to vote for the least likely combination of words in the English language, that would have been it. So let's just let that soak in for a minute.
[Feel that? That's what gold stars and "A"s feel like.]
Assuming he's being sincere (and who knows, he may just know that I'm a sucker for praise), all the credit goes to Robert, the trainer I've been working with for the past couple of years, who has always insisted on good technique. Not only has learning good technique prevented injury, it's also been the key for holding my interest in an activity that for years I would have said was the opposite of anything I'd willingly spend time and money to do. Heavy weights and huge muscles? Meh. Physical challenge with a specific set of instructions that I can execute perfectly? Love it.
Which makes me wonder: What other things are there in life that I think I don't like, or have never tried, simply because they haven't been pitched to me the right way?
I'm soul-crushingly busy at work. No time for socializing, sleep or food.
Work lightens up. I relax, catch up on sleep, see people.
Two or three days later, I'm bored out of my mind, so I join three choirs, start training for a marathon, plan dinner parties at my house, enroll in piano lessons, schedule dentist appointments, and start talking about finding an apartment downtown DC.
Then I take on more work and everything is perfect: I've got an awesome high-powered job, plus I'm doing everything else that I want to do. I feel like superman.
Somewhere between four and eight weeks later, things fall apart. Work is again soul-crushingly demanding; I fall behind in my rehearsals, socializing, training, household chores, sleep. I'm back to step 1.
Anyone who has known me with any degree of intimacy for more than, say, a year, knows that this is a recurring cycle in my life. I've done this to myself over and over! In the past few years, I finally started waking up in the middle of step 5 -- I'd realize what had happened, how I'd gotten myself into the bind I was in, and I'd resolve never to do it again. Only by the time I came back around to step 3 again, that self-awareness I'd had in step 5 would be long forgotten. That's because whenever I'm not in step 5, all I want is to get back to step 4. I love step 4; it's like a drug and I crave the rush. Going into step 4, I always think that I'll be able to make step 4 last forever.
Does this mean I'm insane? There's that adage that says "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again, hoping for different results", and I guess by that light I might be a little crazy sometimes.
But guess what? I may have broken (or at least tweaked) the cycle this time: After intensely busy months in August and September (step 1), work slowed down significantly after all the weddings in early of October (step 2). I relaxed for a minute, got bored, and started looking for choirs and other activities to join (step 3). But I didn't get any farther than scheduling an audition for a new men's choir in DC before two things happened. First, it occurred to me that if singing in a choir that rehearses across the street from my apartment is too demanding, then singing in a choir that would require significant travel would only be worse. Second, I got distracted with other fun opportunities; namely, two new gym memberships (one at the Sculpt yoga/cycling studio, and one at the nearby Crossfit) and a seven-week Intro to Ballet class on Saturday mornings. That's the direction I took -- in a fit of moderation, I signed up for all three.
So I'm still in step 3, but this time the mix of activities is different in important ways. Unlike musical groups, which require consistent, long-term commitment to a group of people and regular off-day practicing, and marathon training, which requires fairly strict adherence to a plan, these other activities are flexible, day-to-day commitments to myself (there's a social element, but the others aren't relying on me) that can be scaled up or down depending on other pressures. I'm hoping these differences will permit me to maintain step 4 for longer and avoid crashing in step 5.
The proof, of course, will be in the pudding. I've been staffed on a new M&A deal that will take off this week (because of course it will -- I'm trying to take next week off!), so I will officially be back in step 4 before I know it. Here's hoping I'm not insane!
Heather and I turned thirty-three today! It would have been fun to celebrate together, but since we're on opposite sides of the country, we made do with what we had. Here's how my day went down:
9:00am - Ballet class (the real beginner class this time)
6:30pm - Meet up with friends for art show openings at Hemphill Fine Arts and two other galleries whose names I've forgotten (they're all in the same building)
10:00pm - Meet up with other friends at Senarts Oyster & Chop House (a good friend from Kennedy Center days has her birthday tomorrow, so our celebrations often overlap)
Throughout all of these activities I received text messages, phone calls, emails and Facebook posts from friends and family wishing me happy birthday. I loved hearing from everyone; it made for a fun and special day. I think my favorite thing was hearing that Heather and the kids all went to lunch at Five Guys because it reminds them of me. Thanks, and love you all!
Now here are some photos:
Dark hot chocolate
Amy & moi, with waffle
Brynn, Shae, Jaron -- celebrating at Five Guys in Add caption
Tim & moi, with art
The art
Steak, vegetables and some giant pop-over thing that I hadn't expected
Tonight was the annual welcome reception for associates who joined the firm during the past year. All the new associates are flown in from our various offices around the world, and we throw a fancy party for them and a selected group of older lawyers -- mostly the senior "important" people and younger people with personality. Since apparently I fall into that latter category, I always get invited. Plus, I'm on the New Associate Integration Committee, so technically I was one of the hosts.
I finished up work around 6pm, took a nap on the floor of my office (so as to be refreshed for the party), threw on a bow-tie, and headed out to the party.
Because people want to meet people who wear hot pink bow-ties.
(I'm not kidding - they walk across the room and introduce themselves)
This year's party was held at the Freer Gallery (part of the Smithsonian Institution) with a significant collection of Asian (and Asian-themed) art. It's a small gallery that wraps around a lovely courtyard.
The jewel of the collection is the Peacock Room, which was designed by Whistler for some rich guy's dining room in England. The room was later bought by Mr. Freer, dismantled and brought to the US, and, ultimately, donated to the Smithsonian. We had a dedicated docent on hand tonight, so after a few minutes of small-talk, I made a bee-line for the Peacock Room for a private tutorial on the history of the room, the collection of pottery it houses, and the legal constraints on the gift that make it kind of an annoying collection from a curatorial point of view. It's a neat room.
After the Peacock Room, I rejoined the land of the eating. Sure, there were passed hors d'oeuvres, and a buffet with tasty meats and salads, but the best part was the chocolate tasting station at the end of the hall. They had five pots of hot chocolate -- each with a different degree of darkness -- which they served in tiny shot-glasses. Naturally, the darkest chocolate was my favorite.
72% cacao is always the way to go.
I had fun. I loved the art; it was great to see work friends in a quasi-nonwork environment; I enjoyed meeting new people; and I appreciated the feeling that they enjoyed meeting me. Like anyone, I have occasional ups and downs in terms of how I feel about myself and how my life is going. Earlier this week I had felt like I was headed into a "down" moment -- I felt tired and lonely and worried that I wasn't the sort of person that other people would actually want to be around. So this party, where I felt like I could let my personality shine a little (and, really, I'm very good at these sorts of parties) and connect in a positive way with other people around me, was a great pick-me-up at the start of my birthday weekend.
I may have found a cure (or at least a partial cure) for hating the cold and darkness of winter: It's called Sculpt, and it's a studio that offers yoga and spinning (i.e., indoor cycling) classes a couple of blocks from my office. It opened only a month or so ago, and one of my friends at the firm suggested that we give it a try. I purchased an introductory membership last week and have gone to as many classes as possible since then -- including a couple of spinning/yoga double-headers that completely torched my legs and abs. It's kind of awesome.
The yoga classes are intense (every day I sweat so much it looks like someone poured a bottle of water on my yoga mat) and challenging (I'm learning new things and getting better at the old things), and I feel like they're already making a difference in the "sculpting" department: My normal regimen of cycling and weightlifting doesn't work my core muscles as much as I would like -- but these yoga classes are pretty much nothing but core work. Who knows how these classes rank in the overall world of yoga (it's commercial enough that true yoga snobs might get sniffy), but they're the best yoga classes I've had since leaving New York.
The spinning classes have also been good, though I admit that my outdoor cycling this summer has somewhat spoiled me for indoor spinning. It helps that the classes I've been to don't try to replicate outdoor riding -- they incorporate weights and have crazy music and lights that make it feel like a dance club, which is fun. They'll also be offering a class that is purportedly designed for serious roadies, so I'm going to try that out next week -- I'm hoping it will be a plausible training alternative to riding outside during these cold and dark winter months.
I also like how the studio has basically nothing in common with a traditional gym. In fact, I'd describe the ambiance as more like the lobby of a W Hotel than a gym (but then, I also don't go to a fancy gym). Something tells me they've got their target demographic pretty well figured out...
Entrance is through a basic street-facing shop front;
everything else is downstairs.
No separate locker rooms, just a big landing area and
individual restrooms for changing.
Lounge area equipped with Wi-Fi and magazines.
The biggest downside so far is the schedule: For some reason they think that people should actually be available to work out at 5:30 or 6:30 in the afternoon. This means that only a small number of classes offered are, in fact, late enough for me to realistically attend. I've even taken the approach, on days when it has been possible, of going to a yoga class and then heading back to the office to keep working. I've already told the owner that she should schedule more classes later in the evening if she wants to get more of the law-firm folks as members. Assuming I can make the scheduling work, I'm planning to keep my membership after this trial period is over at the end of the month. Woot!
Election day today! After three-and-a-half hours standing in line outside in the cold (temps in the mid-30s), I'm happy to report that I have fulfilled my civic responsibility and participated in this democratic experiment. I missed a half-day of work, but with Virginia being a key battle-ground state, I think it was well worth it -- every vote here counts. Now we wait to see how it all shakes out.
View of the line after one hour of waiting
The blessing of voting at a public library: They entertain you with carts of books.
News coverage (I think she was reporting in Arabic)
At long last!
I would have had to wait for another 20 minutes or so for an electronic booth or a paper booth
with a privacy screen, but then the lady said I could just fill out a paper ballot against the wall without a
privacy screen. Praised be!
Today I pulled a Billy Elliot and went to ballet class.
I didn't go alone -- it was my friend Amy's idea. Amy and I have had a subscription to the modern dance season at the Kennedy Center for the past few years (remember Mark Morris, Alvin Ailey, and Keigwin + Company?), and we've also been watching a lot of dance-related television lately (think Dance Academy, Ballerina, and So You Think You Can Dance). When she discovered that the Joy of Motion Dance Center offered drop-in beginner classes for adults, she proposed an excursion. We checked our schedules and picked today's beginning ballet class.
We arrived a few minutes early to register, and as we got to the top of the stairs, we found ourselves in a sea of pink-tutued girls all under the age of 8. With some trepidation, Amy turned back and said, "We did sign up for an adult class, right?" Thankfully, yes -- our studio was full of grown women (and only women, I may have been the only dude in the building other than the dads who were picking up their daughters).
Now, keep in mind that, before today, I had never danced a day in my life. I felt extremely conspicuous and totally awkward, but I expected that some motherly dance teacher would come in, walk me through the different positions, and then let us run freely around in the middle of the room to let out extra energy -- I mean, that's how it worked when I watched my 3-yr-old neice's dance class! But no. This instructor (who was nice but not motherly) came in, rattled off an unintelligible string of instructions (lots of numbers and mispronounced French words), and then hit play on the music. !!! I had no clue what I was doing! Apparently most of the other gals did, because they started trucking right along as if nothing was the matter. I just stood there and looked around, wishing I'd gone to the 3-yr-olds' class instead.
Teacher: Umm, it means you should pencher. Like this. [demonstrates]
Student: Huh. Maybe "dive"? Are we DIVING forward? [She clearly knows what her vocabulary word means; she's less adept at observing how the teacher is not demonstrating a diving motion]
Teacher: No, it isn't diving, per se. Not sure how else to say it . . .
Me [muttering in the background, trying not to be the obnoxious new kid who's fluent in French and clueless about everything else]: Bend. That's the word you're looking for. Bend down. "Pencher" means "bend down." And "plonger" means dive, which clearly is not what we're doing.
The teacher and student didn't hear me, but a girl next to me did, and she looked at me with properly admiring eyes: "You speak French!" So that ended well.
The teacher was very nice afterwards, pretending to be surprised when we said it was our first time ever ("You have such great body awareness!"). She did, however, suggest taking a six-week "Intro to Ballet" class so that we could learn all the stuff that we should have known for Beginning Ballet. Naturally, Amy and I instantly signed up -- give us six weeks, and we'll be back to fumble through a barre routine with the best of them!
[Cue cheering from musical theatre geeks and anyone who just wants to hear Hugh Jackman sing “Bring Him Home.”]
As any self-respecting French-major would do, I’ve decided that I’m going to read the novel before the movie comes out.That means 1,800 pages of 19th-Century French prose.Plus end notes.
Look at those two volumes.
They've been waiting for this moment for ten years!
Can I do it?Probably not.It would be a tall order under the best of circumstances -- and this is Victor Hugo, so it’s anything but the best of circumstances.You see, this isn’t the first time Victor and I have tangled.I started reading his chef d’oeuvre ten years ago and made it about three-quarters of the way through before breaking it off.We’ve been in marriage counseling ever since.
“But what?!,” you may splutter.“This is VICTOR HUGO!It’s LES MIZ!So many IMPORTANT SOCIAL MESSAGES! Why do you hate poor people and overwrought emotional love triangles?”
[Sigh.]Okay.Fine.I get it.I’ll give the book another go.But first I want to point out three things that jumped out at me during the first five minutes after opening Brick Volume 1 on the metro this morning:
I.
The first two sentences of the first chapter of the entire novel introduce the Bishop of Digne.Here is the third sentence:
The basic gist of this sentence is this:“As I introduce the Bishop of Digne (who, btw, is only a secondary character) I’m going to tell you a bunch of details about his life that are completely irrelevant to this story -- because it might not be a waste of time to be exact about everything, including people who I just made up.” Victor then goes on for three pages to tell us those details and more (he just can’t keep himself from throwing in a few more extraneous sidebars, such as how the word for “paroles” in the “energetic tongue of the south” is “palabres,” which is pure pedantry).Honestly, Victor, if you have to convince us that “it might not be a waste of time” to talk about something, IT PROBABLY IS.Just get to the point.
II.
Then there’s this description of the Bishop’s spinster roommate:
Now here’s a gem.If you’re a virtuous old woman who has devoted your life to God but never had children, you may be respectable -- but since you failed in your fundamental duty of having babies, there’s no way you can be venerable.Nope.Gotta have kids for that.
Which basically says, “Oh, and she’s really, really skinny.Normally we’d find that unattractive, but since she’s old, we’re going to say it shows her spirituality.In fact, she’s more of a soul than a virgin -- she’s so skinny you can’t even tell she’s got a vagina there!”Gosh, Victor, you really hit that nail on the head with that one.What woman of faith doesn’t yearn to hear these words: You’re so ugly and righteous I can’t even tell you’re a woman!
III.
We’ll wrap up with this description of the Bishop’s and Mlle Baptistine’s maid:
Poor Mme Magloire.She’s little, old, fat and always out of breath (partly because she’s always bustling about, but also because she’s got asthma).Period.That’s all we learn about her; the obvious take-away point being that if you’re a diaphanous and aristocratic ugly old maid (Ã la Mlle Baptistina), you get to be “more of a soul than a virgin”; but if you’re a little old maidservant with curves, then we just focus on your weight and respiratory troubles without any inquiry into the state of your soul.Because, while 19th-Century misogynists might be interested in reading three pages of irrelevant details about a fictional aristocratic male bishop, and may forgive a description of some holy skeletal creature that may or may not be female (fingers crossed that she’s not), they don’t actually care about you, Mme Magloire.
***
One chapter down, a million to go. This is going to be a long haul, Victor. I hope you're worth it!
I'm not much of a dresser upper lately. This year's pre-Halloween costume parties were canceled due to the hurricane, and the law firm is way too Serious and Important for workplace costumes. But that doesn't mean I can't use the holiday as an excuse to wear awesome socks.
Okay, fine, I admit they aren't exclusively Halloween socks: I wear them whenever I want, but they're my best alternative to going as a ring-tailed lemur and/or Lawrence of Arabia.
As predicted, the storm is now on its way out. The strong winds are gone; rain continues, though significantly lighter than before. Public transit is scheduled to resume sometime this afternoon.
Thankfully, my area seems to have come through relatively unscathed -- I never lost power (though we had frequent flickers), nor did any of my friends that I've checked with, and I haven't heard of any significant flooding (certainly nothing like what happened in New York and New Jersey).
I'll be sticking close to home again today. I've got everything I need to work from my living room, so there's no need to brave the debris-strewn roads. I suspect I'll be a little stir-crazy by the end of the day, but until then let's see if I can't focus and get some work done!
