the fear

Confession time: I haven't really run or worked out in anyway (well, I ran 3 times two weeks ago). Part of me has really enjoyed the squishy laziness of not exercising or watching what I'm eating. Then there's the other part of me, which is freaking the f*ck out. I am prone to bouts of doing very well, making progress, losing weight, which are often followed by bouts of general laziness and apathy. I know this about myself. And yet...at the moment I'm having trouble getting back to who I've been for the last 11 months. I started the last leg of this journey in December of last year, and I've really done well in 2009. I can't remember the last time I stuck with a healthy eating and exercise plan for this long. And maybe there's a part of me that feels like I'm done. Maybe it's just that I'm too close to what I really want and this is a fit of self-sabotage. Maybe it's fall, maybe it's vacation, maybe it's burnout.

Whatever it is, I need to snap out of it. I've gained a couple of pounds over the last 5-6 weeks of sloth, which part of me doesn't want to look at or deal with, and part of me is jumping up and down and screaming. But that part is being muffled rather well by the rest of it.

So that's where the fear comes from. I'm afraid of myself. I'm afraid that I'm stumbling at the finish line and I don't want that. I'd like to just finish this already. Fully and completely reach this goal.

In order to do that, I'm going to have to go back to the beginning and double down. I'm pulling out all the stops and all the tools in my toolbox. Pedometer, food log, exercise schedule, and maybe if I can swing it, personal trainer. I'm a pretty independent exerciser--I don't like classes or groups. The reason I haven't made it to a yoga class is just because of the class aspect. I get embarrassed, I feel awkward and I have that feeling I had in 5th grade when we moved and transferred from public to Catholic school. I just want to do the work and go home. But I'm thinking that if I can work one on one with a trainer to get a sense of what I should be doing in order to be working toward my goals. I think I just need to hit the reset button. I'm hoping a trainer can help with all of that. I don't want to put it off on someone else to get me where I want to be (like that ever works anyway), but I just feel like I need some guidance. Have you ever used a personal trainer? Did it help?

I'm realizing a few things about having fallen out of my routine. I'm really tired all the time. I never have a second cup of coffee in the morning, but lately I have had a second to try and wake me up. I'm going to bed too late, dragging myself to work in the morning (one morning I almost missed my stop because I was dozing on the bus). I eat worse (and a heck of a lot more often) when I'm not running. And I feel bad about myself. Like I'm not doing what I know I need to. I feel like a hypocrite for all the "you shoulds" I've relayed to other people. I don't feel like an inspiration or even a good example at the moment.

Even knowing all this doesn't make me want to lace up my running shoes. The weather is crappy. I don't have a direction. It's about to get to that point in the year where it's dark when I get to work and dark when I leave it. I work best with a carrot out in front and a whip cracking at my heels. When I was training for the half-marathon I had to run or I wouldn't be able to run it.

So that's where my head is at the moment. November brings us back to NaBloPoMo, and while I didn't do it last year, I'm going to make it part of my routine this November. If I had it to the things I have to do, and I complain about the same things long enough, it'll give me a boost back up onto the wagon. You are welcome along for the ride.

in my next life

I will live in Southern California, where many lovely people I've met along the way seem to have settled. I miss you all--even more now that I just saw you.

Also in my next life I won't be so restless. I'll want to be where I am, keep what I have, and settle myself in. Maybe.

But in this one, I've got a new blog layout. Check it out!

time

I've been working on the second post about our trip, but until the pictures are finished (ahem, Mr. Bump), I'm going to hold off on posting it. I love a blog entry with photos, don't you?

Anyway, in lieu of that post, I leave you with this one. I came across this poem today and it seems to say what I've been feeling lately, better than I can say it.

In the Middle
of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his great head between;
his tail is a metronome, 3/4 time. We'll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.

--Barbara Crooker

Part of this feeling is that this is my favorite time of year to be at home, in my house, at Bumpalot, and I feel like I'm missing it. I haven't had a moment to enjoy the smell of wet and mouldering leaves, to pull out last year's sweaters and scarves and gloves, or spend a cold and rainy night baking cookies, drinking tea, curling up on the couch with my wonderful husband and a good book. The trajectory of my next couple of weeks seems out of my control. My precious time with fall is out of my grasp. I was away for the beginning, and since we're in Southern California this weekend it seems like I might even to miss the end. Life is busy, crazy with work and coming down off a trip and gearing up for another one. Our house is a mess, the laundry is piled everywhere, the mail is in piles and things are rotting away in our vegetable drawer. And I know it's terrible to complain about any of it because it's all been the wonderful stuff, but there it is.

I'm hoping this weekend, as we spend some time with dear old friends celebrating at the wedding of one of the dearest, reconnecting with people from different times of my life, that we'll be able to take off our watches and just enjoy every minute of it.

the case of the curious ellie

This was on the last game drive at Mashatu in Botswana. You be the judge--was she just curious as to what we were, or was she feeling a bit threatened? There was some debate in the vehicle at the time, but I'll tell you that my heart was pounding. The tapping sound you hear toward the end is our guide tapping his fingers on the hood of the vehicle.

part 1 - i packed my bags pre-flight

I don't know how long this is going to take to get through, but you can ignore until I get to the part that interests you. My source material for these entries are my own wonky memory and Mr. Bump's meticulous journalling of the trip. Some of his entries lack my own flair for language, but they're spot on for recollecting the events. And I contributed to a lot of the content when he would ask "So after that we...?"

Before I get to the trip itself, a note about luggage. I wanted to include this because I found other people's lists of what to take/what they took to be very helpful. We had specific requirements for luggage, and what I have learned with every successive trip I have taken is that what is enough is less than you think.

We had to take soft sided luggage, and our total weight restriction on some of the smaller planes was 20 kg, or around 44 pounds. I took a soft-sided rolling duffel bag made by CalPak (can't find it any more), which met the criteria for carry-on (less than 45 linear inches), was filled with the following:

• 1 pair Merrell hiking shoes
• 1 pair flats from Patagonia
• 1 pair flip flops
  
• 1 bag assorted chargers and adapters for electronic devices (Mr. Bump had an outlet extender which was a godsend--allowed us to charge everything off one outlet, which was often all we had)
  
• 1 toiletry bag of non-liquids
• 3 books for Paris (french phrase book, Paris Top 10, and Clotide's Edible Adventures in Paris)
• 2 pairs pants
• 2 skirts
• 1 dress
• 3 tank tops
• 3 short sleeve t-shirts from Gap Body. These were great--thin enough to dry quickly, stretchy enough they didn't wrinkle.
  
• one long sleeve t-shirt also Gap Body (I actually took two, wore one on the plane and packed one)
  
• 2 long sleeved button up shirts
• underthings for 4 days
• pajamas
• 3 pairs socks
• first aid kit including antibiotics, pain relievers, bandaids, polysporin, motion sickness meds, bug repellent, benadryl, immodium, pepto. We used some of almost all of these except (thankfully) the antibiotics and the polysporin.
  
• 1 hat
• swimsuit (used this only once, should have left it home, probably)
• 1 bandana (not sure exactly what I thought I'd use this for, but I never did)
• several plastic bags, and two large compression bags which I packed almost all of my clothes in (these worked less well in the "compression" department as time went on, but they were still useful for quarantining dirty clothes, etc.)
• spare atm card and credit card, euros, copy of passport and important numbers in case anything was stolen
• Laundry sheets - I used a whole packet of these. They were really useful and very small to travel with (also not liquid), but you have to be careful and have dry hands or they all melt together in a big mess. Also they don't really suds up and it's hard to tell if you've used enough and/or if you've got them completely rinsed out. But I highly recommend.
  

I also took a backpack as my "personal item" which contained the following:

• laptop
• cell phone
• ipod touch
• bag of 3-1-1 toiletries
• pen and notebook
• auxiliary charger
• 1 book
• shawl/wrap
• jacket
• handiwipes and hand sanitizer (I'm crediting this for keeping us from catching anything on this trip)
• snacks (chocolates, granola bars, m&ms)
• sunglasses
• nalgene bottle (this is really useful because you can dump before security and refill after almost everywhere, and they never give you enough water on planes)
• 1 book crossword puzzles (never used this)
• travel documents
• camera, extra memory card and extra battery and charger for camera
• earplugs
• wallet 1 credit card and atm card
• LED flashlight

The only thing I wish I might have taken that I didn't was a rain jacket. It would have come in handy in Paris but we wouldn't have probably used it until then (maybe on Table Mountain), and I chucked it out of my bag at the last minute. But I'd say that's pretty good.
Whew. That's it, I think. Mr. Bump took a few of these things, but we didn't have much overlap. Part of our dilemma is we needed to dress for safari where we'd go from chilly at dawn to blazing hot in the middle of the day, then Cape Town where we'd be in spring but near the water, and then Paris in the fall, when it rains almost every day. We managed fine but I might take a warmer jacket next time. The one I took was a Nike zip up one, but it was a little thin.

Anyway, this was the content of my bags. It's the night before our trip. All this is packed up and waiting by the front door. The granola bars and apricot scones I made for breakfast the next morning are cooling on the counter. Ruby is already safely ensconced with my mother-in-law. All is ready. Who wants to place bets on whether or not I got any sleep?

home

After three new sets of passport stamps, approximately 20,000 miles flown, 3600 pictures, and 3 continents--we're home. We're fighting the expected post-travel depression, trying to adjust to snow on the ground, and enjoying the chance to cuddle with our little dog. After being up for 23 hours, and a couple of long, sad last legs of flight, I was glad to be home. That won't last forever, but for now it's a good thing. We've taken stock, hit the grocery, started some laundry. We've got about 3600 photos to go through and cull, and about 5 pounds to lose. We've got to start the long slow road to earning money and vacation time for our next big adventure. But it was an amazing, amazing trip. I've got stories for you, I do. Telling them over the next few months will hopefully allow me to cling to the memories of this trip, and make the transition back into real life a little less bumpy.

For now though, I'll leave you with this: I love Paris. I love the food, I love the architecture, the monuments, the art, the language, even the people. Especially the people. There's some great people watching in Paris. *Warning, the following story is not for those with a vivid imagination and an easy gag reflex*

The "but" is this: I have never been in a city that's streets were so smeared in dog shit, so filled with someone puking on this corner or peeing on that one (yes, the man peeing it was in Place Pigalle--where the Moulin Rouge is--but it was also at about 11:00 in the morning) We realized after an incident waiting to go into the towers of Notre Dame where a line full of people managed to smear dog shit to and fro in front of Notre Dame, that it was important to look down, even if you were in amazement over some feat of French architecture. On our last morning in Paris we get up and head down to the boulangerie for a farewell baguette breakfast. As we're going I hear someone across the street who appears to be in the death throes of tuberculosis. We cross the street, given the fact that we have plane travel in our near future. On the way back he's gone, so we pass by where he was. Apparently, he was not hacking up a lung but his last night's dinner. Just in time for us to step over it on our way to breakfast.

After packing everything up, we had a little time before we had to leave, so we decided to walk down along the quay on the Seine. It's lovely, the leaves are turning, it's quiet at 9:30 on a Sunday morning. We put our arms around each other, so happy to be together, to have had this wonderful trip. We hear (and then see) a couple of police boats charging up the Seine, some of whom appear to have dry suits on. They seem to be scanning the river from side to side. And then I realize that there's something strapped to a board, and wrapped up in plastic that looks like it can be nothing other than a body. I ask Mr. Bump if he sees it, and he does, and that's what it looks like to him too. The police have pulled a body out of the Seine, it seems. And given the number of corks stuck in the slats of the pedestrian bridge just above where we're standing, it is chilling but not surprising. We start to wander on, arms around each other and wide-eyed with big city shock, pulling the hayseeds from our teeth. I'm scanning the ground for yellow puddles and/or dog turds when I smell something, aside and behind a corner, that smells horrible. But not in a dog turd kind of way. Our romantic Parisian morning is buzzkilled not only by the body wrapped in plastic on a police boat on the river, but by the toilet someone made for themselves on the quay of the Seine.

Ah, Paris! You sure know how to make someone fall for you. Paris may be for lovers, but the lovers need to make sure they've got shoes they can hose off.