Boulder-ing, Colorado

I'm sitting here in the bright, almost blinding sun in downtown Boulder, it's a refreshing 48º outside, I'm drinking the most beautiful latte I've ever had (butter pecan, YUM), and listening to Korean pop through Itunes (yes, this is happening). Weekend recap: Friday night, I went indoor rock-climbing for the second time ever. The minute I walked in, I jerked my eyes up to the ridiculous heights of the ceiling and the numerous people spider-monkeying their way up the walls, climbing ropes dangling like Spanish moss. I gulped. This was so not my scene. Not that I'm not adventurous, but my upper body strength leaves something to be desired, and I could just imagine hanging haphazardly from one of the multi-colored handholds with my friend shouting at me, "Left foot, LEFT foot, no, your other left!" I don't know what it is about getting halfway up a climbing wall that makes me forget basic lateral directions. These are things I learned at two, for crying out loud. The index finger and thumb of the appropriate hand even form the first letter of one of them, just in case I do go blank, a hint that doesn't help when said fingers are curled in a tight grip.

That said, I didn't do too badly. I summited (spell check is telling me this isn't a word, but I beg to differ) two different challenges (novice of course) and was rewarded a triumphant slide down the yellow tube. During my ascent, there may or may not have been calls of "Move your right foot, right foot; You're bending your arms; Find a new place for your feet, hurry up or you're gonna get tired" but whatever, I did it. I fell off a few times, and in bouldering there is no climbing rope, so good thing I have sufficient experience falling off pointe shoes to know how not to snap my ankle. I just knew that would come in handy.

Cut to next morning. Holy mother. I peeled open my eyes and rolled over to which my body responded, "Why do you hate me?" I wasn't aware one used the forearm for much, but this turned out to be a gross misconception as it squealed in pain practically all day.  It is necessary for writing, slicing cheese, twisting caps off water bottles, lifting coffee mugs, and opening car doors to name a few. My legs and hindquarters were in similar disarray leaving me muttering ‘Ouch’ with every step down the stairs, so I soaked in the gym hot tub until my bones turned into noodles. Lesson learned? Jenn will not be scaling a rock face any time soon.

Eggboo

There's a restaurant here called Eggboo. The sign states that it is Thai and Sushi, and in that context, I suppose the name makes sense. However, I can't help but envision some woman in the Projects frying up breakfast and hollering out to her man, "Come get yo' egg, boo!" Not exactly what the owners of this particular establishment had in mind, I'm sure, but regardless of the clarification below the name and the accompanying Asian flare smiley face (The eyes look like this ><. No really, they do.), I'm still picturing Shanequa and her eggs. I guess it's a product of living on the edge of the DC ghetto for too long.

Jane Austen and the Rockies

I took a walk yesterday through the fields across from the neighborhood where I'm staying. I felt a bit like Elizabeth Bennett. They didn't really do much in those days, aside from read a lot of books, sit prettily around the house, and go for long walks through the English meadows. I've always been a bit jealous of being able to take a walk through all of that space and air, but while Boulder is much more brown than England in summer, the Bennetts never had the cornflower blue sky and the Rockies at which to look, and I was able to get in a similar walk after all. There was still a lot of time left over after walking the fields and breathing in the sunshine, but that's what I have tea for. Of which I have been drinking copious amounts.

Someone told me that it is sunny here 300 days out of the year. I could definitely get used to this. Even when it snows, she said. Sunny and blue skies. I need to get my tail out on those mountains soon. Every time I look at them, they seem to ask me to come play. I don't know if Lizzie Bennett would ever have gone running all over some mountains, but I like to think that if given the chance, she would. She never struck me as being very conventional.

Just. Breathe.

The immense blue of the sky reached down into my chest and expanded there, no matter that the size of my ribcage is akin to a grain of sand in comparison. The highway stretched on, up, and over the land as we traversed the length of it on our way from the airport. The mountains hung like a back drop in the distance, unreal in their flatness, sunlight cascading down through the clouds in beatific streams. From my first step into the airport, I felt like I could breathe easier. Everything is cleaner here, the atmosphere everywhere more crisp. I can almost reach out and touch the air, it is so present in front of me.

I chase the sunlight to the edge of the yard, soaking it up like a sponge, thankful for the darkness of my jeans warming up like a heating blanket. The grass is lush, shiny and cool on my bare feet; the water from the tap liquid silk in my throat. The hours given to me here are frightening at times in their multitude, but it is no easy feat to learn the art of being. I read somewhere recently that more can be learned in a moment of silence than all the noise in the world could ever teach.