LA Marathon

I ran the Honda LA Marathon presented by K-Swiss today. It was, beyond a sliver of doubt, the most difficult thing I have ever done, mentally and physically. Several runners collapsed during the race and had to be tended by ambulances. There is rumor of one death. For me, for everyone, marathons are serious.

After the marathon team banquet last night, I came home to get some shuteye before my 2:40 am alarm. By nine o'clock I was in bed; by eleven, I was finally asleep after four trips to the bathroom to relieve my bladder, overfilled by all the liquids I drank during the day, hoping to flush my system of a slight cold I picked up on the Oregon road trip. (Mine was a slight cold; Emma's was a full-fledged terminal illness. She had no voice yesterday, and we were really worried about the marathon and all. But more on that later.)

I woke up several times throughout the night. Consciously, I wasn't particularly nervous about the marathon, but I couldn't sleep. My pre-marathon impression of the race was...optimistic. I've been training with the USC Marathon team since October, and with them I completed a 22-mile run three weeks ago. It was hard. Very hard. But in my naivety, I assumed this was because we had limited resources. You can only carry so much food and drink on a run like that, and you need a lot in order to replenish your body. At the marathon, however, people are handing you drinks left and right, passing out oranges and snacks and all kinds of goodness. Accordingly, I assumed the marathon would be easier than the 22-miler. Have I ever made a bigger mistake? The marathon was orders of magnitude harder. Anyway, my body must have known otherwise because I hardly slept at all, climbing groggily out of bed at 2:40 to silence my alarm and make my way down to the carpool, which met at Denny's at 3:30 to take those of us USC runners on the 4:30 shuttle from Santa Monica, to Santa Monica, in time. (Since this marathon was a point-to-point race (I think that's what it's called) rather than a loop race, you need to park your car at the end and find a ride to the beginning. So we met at Denny's and drove to Santa Monica, parking and taking marathon shuttles back to the starting line. Mine left at 4:30. Hence the 2:40 wakeup.)

The car ride was fun. We were in high spirits, eager to run, feeding on the excitement of the event. In the shuttle, we mused on the fact that it required a 35-minute drive on the freeway to transport us to our starting location. It was ominous. We arrived at Dodger Stadium around 5 and got out to have a look around. They were letting runners onto the outfield, so my carful of runners went out there for awhile, talking and watching the promotional videos for the marathon broadcast on the big screen above us. They had all kinds of people promoting the event: Pete Carroll, Kobe Bryant, Pau Gasol, Lamar Odom, Elaine from Seinfeld, and Chef Gordon Ramsey, to name a few. They all named their favorite mile in the marathon and explained why. We were slightly skeptical, doubting that Chef Ramsey had ever really run a marathon. They then showed a sped-up view of the route we would be running, and it was terrifyingly long. So we decided to find a bathroom instead of watching the depressing video any more.

This is where the story gets interesting. And this is going to be a long story. Therefore, the ratio of interesting material to the dull pontification already expelled will be quite favorable. The first bathroom we found was crowded with people. There was a line, and it didn't look like a nice bathroom anyway, so we decided to wander through the stadium and see if we could find a better one. The further we walked away from the marathon corral, the less people were in line for the bathroom. Eventually we found one with no line at all. But at this point we were getting a little greedy, and from outside I had seen a bathroom sign on the second level which I insisted nobody would be using, so we found an escalator and decided to try our luck on the upper deck.

As soon as we got upstairs, it was apparent we were in a more private area. But I figured they could throw us out if they wanted, we were going to have a look around, and if possible, find a bathroom. We first decided to steer clear of the stadium suites on this level, preferring instead to search in the concrete hallway, but there were no bathrooms in the concrete hallway. We got to the end of the concrete hallway and were disappointed. No bathrooms. So we asked an official-looking person if there was a bathroom we could use, and he directed us into the stadium suites to a one-person bathroom, complete with toilet and urinal. I think it is fair to say that this adventure was a success. But wait, there's more. After we all used the bathroom, we were compelled to give the stadium suites a more thorough examination. We didn't make it very far down the hall before being confronted by a tall, athletic man in a white sweatshirt. He asked us if we knew where we were going. We stammered and stuttered and made the answer to that simple question empirically obvious. My spirits fell and I waited for him to direct us towards the exit with a kind word and a swift kick from his 200-dollar running shoes. But the most amazing thing happened! He told us we could hang out on the couches! And he was the president of the LA Marathon, Russ Pillar! The guy who's been sending me emails for the last three months telling me to get ready for the marathon! So, needless to say, we sat and basked in the glow of his reflected glory as he walked around preparing things for the marathon and ignoring us. Before too long, a familiar face was walking down the hall. It was Chef Ramsey! And he was in running clothes, causing us to immediately retract our skepticism at his marathon track record, so to speak. He and the president of the marathon took some pictures together, then Chef Ramsey said good morning to us. I know! It was awesome! We were sitting in some chairs in the hallway outside of the suites of these important people, it was still glaringly obvious that we didn't belong there, and yet we were allowed to stay, and it was awesome. I told Emma she should come up there, and apparently she led a group of about twenty USC runners to the escalator, where security guards had been installed. So they couldn't come hang out with us important people. I also met a guy up there who raced in a wheelchair. He was probably in his mid-forties. I told him it was my first marathon and he said I would either love it or hate it. I asked him how many marathons he had...done. He replied, "This will be my forty-fifth." My jaw literally dropped. It was similar to the time Emma found out an undergrad-looking girl on the marathon team was thirty years old. I was blown away.

We finally had to leave our isolated palace above Dodger Stadium and descend into the ranks of the lesser people. We found the rest of our team and spent the minutes up to the start of the marathon putting our belongings in bag check and waiting in a horrendous line for the porter-potties. (You have to pee a lot when you're a runner.) As we waited, we watched with disdain as runners, exasperated with the wait at the porter-potties, instead climbed the bushy hill behind the toilets to do their business. At first it was only a few people who partook, but by the time we were near the front of the line, there were tons of people climbing up there, both men and women, number one and number two. They had fashioned a real society up there, holding up blankets for each other while they did the deed, though some runners chose to bare all in front of the hundreds of people waiting patiently below. Eventually, the lines in front of the porter-potties had to be condensed, since the wheelchair people were about to start the race and the lines extended into the track. And this condensation proved to be our downfall. As people moved forward, they spread out and filled the gaps between the lines, so instead of orderly lines there was a mob of people yammering to use the bathroom. It was about this time that I saw the true genius behind the society on the hill, and I joined them with much haste.

And then it was time for the race to start. Emma, Laura and I weaved our way through the starting corral, but we still didn't get very close to the starting line, so when the marathon began, it took us a good seven minutes to cross the starting line. Luckily, with the technologically-advanced tag in our bib, our times did not actually start until we crossed the starting line, so we didn't suffer any loss of time. And we were off....We circled around Dodger Stadium, descended into downtown LA, ran past Chinatown, past the Disney Concert Hall, then pointed our shoes westward toward Santa Monica...and kept running.

As I ran, I realized the marathon would be difficult. Because it was continuous. It sounds silly, but I had conceived of the race in brief snippets. There's the first part, then, you know, a middle part, and then there's the end part. What I didn't realize is that there are tons of parts in between all these parts. Mile 5 is EXACTLY as long as mile 23, and you have to run every step of both of them, and every step of every other mile in the whole damn race. Even so, I felt pretty good at the beginning of the race. I was making good time; even now, I am amazed at how well my body has adapted to running. I will be the first to admit that I do not have a runner's body, but this doesn't mean I can't be a good runner. While training for the marathon, I ran 575 miles and lost about ten pounds (from 205 to 195). I was, I am, a good runner. The first thirteen miles of the race proved this. I would never have been able to start this race, much less finish it, if I had not joined the marathon team and trained with the other members of the team. I reaped the rewards of this training in the first half of the race.

The race was crowded, the whole way. There was never a time when I was running with nobody nearby. I suppose this makes sense: there were 26,000 runners, and even more spectators. It was very helpful to hear strangers cheer for me, expounding USC and its greatness, telling me to Fight On. There were a looooooot of people out and about today. I even saw some people I knew in the crowd! Professor Habinek, Eddie, Stephen Gordon. I'm glad I was a part of the event.

Which brings us to the second half of the race. It's a funny thing, mental strength, mental toughness. As I reached the 14-mile mark or so, I began my old tricks to keep myself running. I tried to think of other things than the pain growing in my legs, singing songs to myself, looking around at the other runners. Around mile 16 I decided to hold onto a paper cup and take a bite out of it whenever things got a little too tough, forcing myself to transplant the pain, giving it a physical release. The cup got about ten bites before it was tossed aside. And I just kept running.

I stopped for the first time around Mile 19. I had told myself back at mile 10 I would take a bathroom break, which was really just a subversive ploy to rest my legs a bit. I realized this, and so I didn't stop at mile 10, or at mile 15. I became hellbent on finishing the race without stopping. At mile 19, I broke this resolve. I ran into the bathroom and relieved myself quickly, so as to maintain the illusion that the stop was a necessary nuisance, that I would have rather kept running nonstop. But that's not the truth. I stopped because I was tired. I could have held my stomach together until the end of the race. I stopped because I couldn't do it anymore. And so I emerged from the bathroom with a false resolve not to stop again.

I began to walk on the route around mile 20. My legs....I don't have to explain the pain. Everyone knows about pain. The truth is that the battle was not physical, but mental, and around mile 20 I faltered, mentally, and so I walked. Emma caught up with me after a little bit. I tried to run with her, but ended up walking again after less than a quarter mile. She looked strong. She ran extremely well today, despite her cold. She ended up beating me by a few minutes.

Miles 21-23 were a hellish combination of running and walking. I had hit the wall. And not the wall that you think is the wall but actually is a barrier of pillows and marshmallows. No, this was the wall. Of brick. And mortar. And children's tears. People told me to Fight On, and I just looked at them. What else could I do? During this section I had goals for myself, nonetheless. I would tell myself that if I ran to the top of the next hill, I could walk for a little while. Or once I passed the mile marker, I could walk again, as much as I needed. My breathing came in shallow gasps. I consumed oranges and water and Gatorade, none of it made a difference. I was in pain, and worse, I was mentally broken. At each milepost, I would see the precious time ticking away. The worst part was that I had run a very good race until this point. My goal of four hours was still attainable. But brutally so. I would never make it. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care about the time.

In the middle of mile 23, a fellow Trojan caught up with me and encouraged me. I had never really spoken to her before. Our team trains together, but we don't really know each other. She told me to lengthen my stride, that it would lessen the pain and allow me to run better. I followed her advice, and it worked. It may have been adrenaline, or placebo effect, but my legs felt better, and I ran fast. I wanted to finish under four hours.

This is where I suffered a revelation about mental strength. You cannot distract yourself from the pain forever. Eventually you must accept it. You must realize that it hurts, hurts terribly, and run anyway. In this respect, I don't think my marathon experience was unique. I believe everyone arrives at this juncture. Marathons are hard. And that's exactly why people do it.

I ran fast for the last two and a half miles. It was exhilarating, and terrifying. My mind was on the verge of panic. I could easily have cried. But as I ran, I counted. I started at 60, and counted down, slowly. If I lost count, I would start again at 60. When I got closer to the finish, I started counting from 20. The finish was still far away when I reached zero, so I started over. These are the moments of which I am proud, because despite the weakness in my body, my mind was strong, and I ran, I compelled myself to run towards the orange banner in the distance. When this banner turned out to be the 26-mile marker instead of the finish line, meaning I still had two tenths of a mile to go, I could have collapsed with disappointment (and nearly did). But I regained my composure and finished strong.

HERE'S MY STATS!
10K 00:53:13 Pace 8:33 Predicted Finish: 3:44:32
20K 01:45:01 Pace 8:27 Predicted Finish: 3:41:33
30K 02:42:14 Pace 8:42 Predicted Finish: 3:48:11
40K 03:45:32 Pace 9:04 Predicted Finish: 3:57:54
Finish 03:55:27 Pace 8:58

(A marathon is over 40K. Isn't that crazy?)

I crossed the finish line and immediately had to sit down. My friend Scott was there, and he helped me walk over to the side of the finishing area and sit down. I was extremely dizzy. I tried to stand up multiple times, but found myself leaning on my knees for support, overwhelmed by dizziness. Walking was out of the question. Eventually I was brought to the attention of the medical staff at the end of the route and they came over to have a look. I suspect I was suffering the effects of runner's high, and to an extreme degree, because I was as cheerful as a bluebird. Maybe I was delirious, but I'm not sure I've ever been as socially adept as I was after the marathon today. I told them I wasn't dying, I was just dizzy because I had just run a marathon. I insisted they bring with us the snacks I had procured at the finish line. I was hoisted to my feet, and my arms were each slung over a beautiful volunteer lady. They took me over to get my medal, and I chatted with them about why anyone would ever run a marathon when it was so much easier to just jump off a building. They took me inside and deposited me into someone else's capable arms, which aided my descent onto a cot. I lay there and bantered with the workers for awhile. One of them asked if these mango things I was eating were any good. I told him I had just run a marathon and they didn't taste like heaven, so that should tell him something. They asked me to sit up. I was tickled pink because my sweat had seeped into the cot and imprinted the "Fight On" on the back of my t-shirt onto the cot. I pointed this out to anyone who would listen. They asked if I could stand and I replied, "We won't know until we try," and promptly failed to stand up.

I was in a very pitiful physical state. I am confident I have never felt as weak, as vulnerable, as close to death, as I did after I finished the marathon. It was very, very scary. I didn't realize how badly I hurt until I finished. My breath came in gasps, so when I talked it was with stomach clenched, the words forced and rigid. But that didn't stop me from back-talking. When I finally stood, they wanted me to walk. Naturally. After I had just stood so well, couldn't we be happy with that? They led me to an adjoining room where people in similar death-defying states of physical existence were slowly walking a circle around the room. I loudly complained that doing laps was about the last thing which would help me feel better after running 26.2 miles. But walk laps I did, my arm wrapped firmly around the shoulders of my chauffeur. Eventually I declared I could walk on my own, so she left me and I promptly sat down and wallowed in my pain. The others in there were friendly. I think we had a bond forged of mutual suffering. I also realized that if any one of them were to attack me at that moment, I had utterly no defense, so it was to my best advantage to get on their good sides. And so we talked and shuffled around the room, and when we couldn't shuffle anymore we sat until the medical people told us to shuffle some more. In this way I passed a good half hour in that room. I was incredibly dizzy. One of the medical people poked his head in and said, "You? You're still here?" with a mischievous smile on his face. I told him to go away, I was about to set a lap record on our makeshift racetrack.

Sadly, I had to leave that happy place eventually. It took me awhile, but I finally felt confident enough to venture out into the real world. I think everyone was sad to see me go. Fortunately, on account of my impaired condition, it took me so long to go that they were all, in turns, able to express their well wishes before I had even shuffled off their doorstep.

After leaving, life became a bit more grim. Now that I was rid of my staff of fun medical folk, nobody cared about my pain except for me. I couldn't even walk. I could not walk. I teetered back and forth on stiff legs because I could not bear to bend them. I would shuffle a few steps, then stop, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath and allow the pain in my legs to subside before continuing another few steps. Now, eight hours after finishing, I walk like House. Another runner was laughing at me and asked me how I was doing. "So bad," I replied, with conviction. He agreed.

By the time I had found the rest of the USC Marathon team, I was entrenched firmly in the depths of self-pity. I found Emma and hugged her and told her what a great job she did. She asked me how it was. "Bad," I said, and tears threatened to fall. It was bad.

I got my bag from the bag check and sat down with the rest of the team. My friend David came down to see us after the race, but I was so pitiful, so overwhelmed that I could hardly talk to him. I had begun to break again, mentally, after realizing how difficult was the simple task of walking. I knew if I spoke it would be to point out to all of them the degree of pain I had suffered, the pain I still felt, because this consumed my thoughts. And so I was silent.

Finally, we made our way home. There was a terrible traffic jam, so it took us an hour and a half to cover a half-hour's distance. I slept a little bit. I was quiet. I was thinking about what I would write in my blog, how I would recover from the marathon, mentally more than physically.

I do not, as I have already stated, think that my experience of the difficulty of the marathon was unique. I don't think my pain was any worse than anyone else's pain, or that my accomplishment is any greater. On the contrary, I feel beaten. The marathon beat me, as soundly as I have ever been beaten. I failed mentally, several times, before I failed physically. I feel as though today was a series of crushing defeats followed by a small victory. I have not gained a greater respect for my own strength as a person, but rather a more accurate appraisal of the depths of my weakness. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I worked harder than I have ever worked. I did it, and for that I am happy. But the marathon beat me.

The Saga of the Human Billboard and the Friendly Construction Workers

I'm in the midst of final exams. It's a time of the year I actually enjoy for its freedom of time management. For the most part, I can plan my day however I like. As long as my plan includes twelve hours of studying, that is. But it's nice anyway.

But I didn't start this blog to reminisce about the pleasantries of final exams, time to get down to business. There are two stories I would like to share with you today. The first consists of events which occurred two days ago while I walked back to my apartment from campus. I was approached by one of those advertisey people who hand you things you don't want. Mitch Hedberg says these people are implicitly saying to you, "Here, you throw this away." Sure enough, the guy who walked towards me, his face painted a menagerie of green and darker green, held out some coupons for a new kind of gum he was pushing. I was ready to keep walking, but he caught my attention by asking me if I wanted my face painted. I thought. Not particularly, I think is what I thought. But then he told me he would give me twenty dollars if he were allowed the pleasure of painting my face. I don't remember what happened after that, but I walked away with a face painted pink and a crisp twenty dollar bill in my hand. They also stuck a sticker on my forehead to complete my status as a human billboard. I went home and washed off the paint and put the sticker on my wall. I feel like I should have told them, I would have done a lot more for twenty dollars.

And now, on to the thrilling case of the friendly construction workers. So last night, I went to a running store and purchased a fancy new pair of running shoes so I can continue this battle between self-torture and rational thought I optimistically call determination. They had a foam roll in the corner. I was originally introduced to this training mechanism in London when I was part of the rugby team. You put the roll on the ground, then put a body part on it and roll back and forth. The theory is that you roll the knots out of your muscles or something like that, but I just know it feels really amazing. But the foam roll cost 25 dollars! Can you believe it? I decided not to buy one and instead search for a makeshift foam roller, like a piece of PVC pipe or something.

I went running this morning to test out my shoes and guess what I found? A big box of PVC pipes just laying on the sidewalk! They were with some other construction equipment, but I figured they were scraps. They were all slightly bent, but I thought I could at least find one which would roll well enough to work. I continued on my run, but stopped by the PVC cache on my way back to my apartment. There were some construction workers there this time, so I asked them if they were using the bent pieces of PVC pipe. They were, but they offered to cut me a straight piece of pipe from some longer sections nearby! It was a Christmas miracle! The guy who cut the piece for me asked me whether it was for a class project, and I told him it was for exercising. He said his doctor prescribed him the same thing to get rid of his "Planter fa-see-see." He also helpfully suggested they make good bongs. Just goes to show you, construction workers have a lot to offer the world.

No-Shave November

"Is that kid wearing a fur coat on his face?"
"Can he see out from behind that thing?"
"...Is there a bird living in there?" (Yes, there was.)
"He must have to blend all his food and suck it through a straw to get it into his mouth...."
"That man must be from OREGON."



These are just a few of the varied whispers which have followed me and my new beard around campus during the month of November. It has proven a noteworthy, if heavy, addition to my face and to the university as a whole.

The occasion for my brazen disregard towards facial tidiness is, of course, No-Shave November. In case you are unfamiliar with No-Shave November, it is a bi-annual celebration of all things beardly during which participants forgo shaving their facial hair for one month. And what a glorious, monumental, life-changing month it is. Believe me, I speak from a position of considerable expertise at the moment; a thick, healthy beard has the power to bring you up a few notches in the world. My first day with a beard, a local restaurant paid me to sit inside and eat their food all day (they posted record sales). On my fourth day with a beard, a woman stopped her car in the middle of a crowded intersection just to shake my hand. On my tenth day with a beard, the USC sorority houses had a bidding war over which group of ladies were to be permitted the honor of cleaning the lustrous locks on my countenance (it took fourteen bottles of shampoo). Nowadays, my face is so warm that I have to bring several water bottles to school in the morning just to replenish all the sweat emanating from my golden beard. But it's all worth it. My vivacious beard is the gift which keeps on giving. It saved a cat stuck in a tree last week, and I think the cat is still in there somewhere. Yesterday, I found twenty British pounds buried in it. Needless to say, I was a little confused: doesn't my beard know we're in America? But I think it's best not to ask questions. At this point, it accounts for about 40 percent of my total body mass, so I'd like to avoid any type of serious confrontation because, let's face it, it could get pretty hairy.

I think I've made it glaringly obvious by now that I don't have anything important to do tonight. I haven't written as often I would like to, but believe it or not, this nonsense takes time.

But life is good. Despite my pathetic attempt at facial hair, my days have been happy. School is going well. I'm looking forward to my big Thanksgiving trip, and can't wait for Christmas. Mom and Dad, I'll see you before you know it.

DA BEST BIRTHDAY EVAR!!!!!!!!!11!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!1

As indicated by the title, this post will be regarding my best birthday ever, namely the one which occurred yesterday at whatever time I was born 21 years ago. It will be difficult to write this post because my typical blog voice doesn't allow for any genuine emotion. I usually cast my experiences in such a way that I can deal with them from a standpoint of amused skepticism and flesh out the irony in my experiences. But since I really do think this was the best birthday ever, I am forced to alter my speaking voice for this post, so please don't be surprised if I write honestly and directly, instead of my typical style of circuitous cynicism.

This weekend, I went backpacking as a guide for my outdoor adventure group, SCOutfitters. We went to a mountain called San Gorgonio, the highest peak in Soutern California at 11-something. At least I think it's the highest. I guess it depends on what you consider Southern California. Anyway, it's not important. It was a mountain. Laurenne was planning to come visit, so on Friday night I drove to Union Station to pick her up. I called her and told her where I was, and as she walked over I got out of the car and gave her a big hug. We loaded her stuff into my trusty red truck and were about to leave when she pointed to a guy nearby wearing a hat, a big pair of sunglasses and a scarf pulled up over his face. I agreed he was a funny-looking guy, and got in the car, ready to go, as the guy walked slowly over towards me and stopped in front of me. I was apprehensive as I stared at him. In a moment I don't clearly remember, I reached up towards the scarf and pulled it down to see Nick's grizzled face smiling at me. I immediately jumped up and gave him a big hug, laughing and shaking my head as they explained that Nick decided to come down from the Bay Area for the weekend to come backpacking and help celebrate my birthday. I could not have been happier to see him, and will remember that happy, blurred moment of recognition for a long time.

I brought them back to my apartment and invited a few friends over for a small birthday gathering. It was a really spectacular night; I have a lot of very good friends here at USC. We splashed in the pool and played video games and had general good times. At one point I believe I climbed up on the roof. Near the end of the night, Jeff, Louie, Michael, Brian and I decided we needed some donuts from Spudnuts, a shop nearby. But I had a problem: Laurenne and Nick had already gone to bed in my room, and I didn't have any shoes. (It was a pretty weak argument. I'm pretty sure they weren't asleep. And my shoes might have been in the living room, I don't think I actually looked.) Nevertheless, no shoes. And so, in an act of fraternal love rarely seen outside of the Greek system, Jeff and the others offered to carry me the two blocks to Spudnuts on their backs. The trip there went pretty smoothly, though Jeff told me he has bruises on his body from carrying my heavy, pointy frame. We got to the donut shop, bought some donuts (pretty typical thing to do at a donut shop, actually) and continued on our way. Brian took a turn right off the bat, and I fed him some donut because I was very appreciative of his hard work, and then I was on Jeff's shoulders, and the details are a little bit blurry but I don't think it takes much of an imagination to figure out what happened next. That's right. A homeless man jumped out of the dumpster, grabbed my donut and ran off down the alley with an alacrity which, at the time, struck us as profoundly remarkable and rare to see from a dumpster-living man. No, that didn't happen, that's ridiculous. I fell off of Jeff's shoulders in the alley behind our apartment and scraped up my elbow. It's not fair to blame it on Jeff, I think I probably wanted to fall, or else I was too mentally weak to resist the obvious, captivating danger. Either way, I was bleeding on the ground in a filthy alley, laughing my head off and wielding a half-eaten donut, which miraculously endured the fall unscathed. Good night.

The backpacking trip was an experience. My good friends Louie and Emma signed up for the trip as participants. With them, Laurenne and Nick, the other two guides Simon and Warren, and Simon's girlfriend, I knew seven of the eleven other people on the trip. Obviously this contributed to my enjoyment of the trip, but I certainly don't think I was the only one who had a good time. Every person on the trip had a positive, upbeat attitude. It seems to me that people who like the outdoors tend to like each other. This has certainly been my experience with SCOutfitters thus far, and this trip was no exception. We had tentatively planned to summit the mountain, but for a few different reasons, this didn't happen. Instead we stayed up late playing Taboo and speaking truths in a very cramped tent late into the night, taking a nap in the morning after breakfast, and enjoying a leisurely hike down the mountain on Sunday. I don't think anyone had a problem with the situation, we were all just happy to be outdoors. Everyone got along really well and we were a tight-knit group. I'm proud to be part of the group which enables this to happen, and I hope to continue bringing this to USC in the future.

I forged new friendships with Ben, Hans, Chelsea and Christine, all of whom are very cool people I was glad to meet on the trip. I definitely strengthened my friendships with Louie and Emma during the night we spent together in a hot, steamy tent. Emma told us before we went to bed that she gets very cold and was willing to permit mild molestation in the night if it kept her warm. At one point Emma climbed in my sleeping bag and whispered "Happy Birthday," which holds a spot in my top five birthday presents, though I suspect she was more motivated by the cold than rampant sexual attraction. It must have been about two hours before dawn when we all realized none of us had slept more than twenty minutes the whole night, each staring at the roof of the tent thinking the others were asleep. It would have been funny if our neural receptors for humor weren't frosted over. We spooned for the rest of the night, periodically rotating to keep an even heat. And we promised nothing which happened that night would ever leave the tent (but I think there was a clause at the end about detailed blog entries being 'ok').

During this trip it once again became clear to me how special are my friendships with Nick and Laurenne. They are both astounding people; I feel lucky to know them. Their presence, their energy, was infectious for the whole group. I felt we were very attuned to each other, in our thoughts and in our actions. It is very rare to find such good friends. At times during their stay we were all involved in complex arguments about the nature of self and reality, and at other times we were throwing temper tantrums, or tackling each other. Their visit was unspeakably enjoyable, and relaxing, and just plain wonderful. Thanks, guys.

When I got back yesterday from the camping trip and reconnected with the world, I found I had an absurd amount of birthday greetings and I'm very lucky to have so many caring people in my life. I've gotten birthday cards in this godforsaken hellhole of a city (just kidding) from many members of my extended family, each of whom devoted time to making sure I had a good birthday and to let me know they were thinking of me. The quality and quantity of relationships in my life is truly astounding, and I am sincerely grateful to everyone who took some time out of their day to wish me happy birthday. I don't like to speak so honestly, so you better appreciate my thanks. I'm most thankful to my family, each of whom called me to check up and see how things were going. I had good conversations with all of them and am very lucky to have such a supportive family. My grandparents and Aunt Maxine all got in touch and let me know they were thinking of me. All in all, there was a lot of love thrown in my general direction, and I'm all covered in it now, and it feels nice.

Whew! That was quite a blog post. Very long. Very touchy-feely. Especially the part about Louie and Emma. Lots of touching and feeling. I need to do some work now. I'll try to write again soon.

The Inner Circle

My roommate Jeff works for the Daily Trojan, the on-campus newspaper. Over the past few weeks, he has shared with me glimpses of his access to the coveted inner circle of college football. As I mentioned earlier this year, I got to go to a football practice with him and hold the recorder in front of Matt Barkley while he talked about how relaxed and carefree he was about taking over the starting QB position. Yesterday, as I was climbing into bed around six pm, Jeff had a media conference call for an interview. I sat up as he punched in a secret password and was allowed access to the call, and listened in awe as he became quick friends with his interviewee Jahvid Best, the starting runningback for Cal. (The article from this interview ended up on the back cover of the Daily Trojan, with a picture. In color!) And today, he brought me the greatest gift of all: chicken wings from the football team's private catered dinner, served every Thursday before an away game.
Technically Jeff wasn't responsible for getting the leftovers. My other friend (yes, I have two) works as a manager for the football team, so he brought the food home and gave it to Jeff. Apparently each week a different senior gets to pick a pre-game meal for the team, and Taylor Mays chose chicken wings from Wing Stop. And now they're in my kitchen.
Hmmmm. When I say it like that, I feel a little bit creepy. I'm not trying to stalk the football team (though today I did see Pete Carroll parking his car. And I accidentally memorized his license plate number). But it just so happens I've had some cool connections with people and events which have made national news this year, and it's neat to be so close to the action and see things unfold. Especially when it's seen through that tiny grate above the racks for the shoulder pads in the football locker room. That's prime viewing area.

Respite

I made it! Four midterms later, I have the rest of the week ahead of me with no tests, no homework due, no responsibilities. No showers, no sleep, no laundry. No going to class! No brushing my teeth! NO LEARNING!

No, just kidding. It won't be all fun and games, but it is definitely a relief to be done with those tests. I celebrated by eating zucchini bread, peanut butter and an apple for dinner tonight. Every combination of those three foods was a winner.

As for my tests....Two of them went pretty well. One went kinda well. And the last one...let's not talk about the last one. But really, it was awful. I haven't gotten the score back yet, but I'm expecting the worst. But it's ok, I'll just study extra hard next time.

This weekend, I printed out a bunch of quotes and pictures and equations and random things, and taped them all around the apartment. It is my first (in my life, I think) concerted attempt at decoration. I've always kinda had the idea to tape quotes and things to my walls, but this idea was especially encouraged this year by my General Education course, in which we're discussing the significant impact your environment plays in the shaping of your personality, your character, your thoughts. Essentially, everything about you is shaped by the environment in which you live. And I don't just mean how much money you make or your geographical location, but every little thing with which you interact during the day, like a teacher or a television show you watch, or even a doorknob. It's important be be aware of what goes into your mind, otherwise you might not like what comes out. It was this idea which spurred the quote-taping. Some of my favorites:

"If you smile when no one else is around, you really mean it."
"When angry, count to four. When very angry, swear."
"love the world you find"
"Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary."
"The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not."
And I taped Coulomb's Law and Gauss's Law onto my door under a picture of each of these physicists in order to help me remember these concepts. And because they're damn good-looking men.

Down to Business

Three midterms! I have three midterms in one day! It's ridiculous!

This Thursday, I have a materials science midterm at 8 am, which will cover four chapters in the book, analyzing different crystal structures, defects, diffusion rates and a whole bunch of other stuff I haven't studied yet. Later, at two, I have a midterm in dynamics which will be over some hardcore kinematics and Newton's Second Law applications. Finally, at five, I will have a physics midterm covering electric fields and Gaussian surfaces and some other stuff I'm about to start studying.

College is very busy, but I'm enjoying myself. Time is passing very quickly. I'm sorry I don't have time to write as much as I would like. But I brought some pictures to show. They are of the banana bread we made the other day, and a meal I had a couple days ago which was really big, and the pool this morning at seven when I got up to go running. It was very foggy and eerie, so I took a picture.