Homeward Bound

“I’m dreaming tonight of a place I love, even more than I usually do.” 

No one (and I mean no one) sings that song better than Karen Carpenter. Just the other night, I was fortunate enough to come across this song on the radio as I was speeding driving home from work along a dark highway, lined heavily with pine trees. 

Not only did I get to belt out one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs alone in my car, but I also somehow managed to make it all the way home without spilling a single drop of my soy hot cocoa which was in the clutches of my right hand, since my left one was obliged to hold the steering wheel. [For whatever reason, Ford explorers in 1993 (or maybe just mine) lacked the convenience of cup holders]. Consequently, since the ripe old age of fifteen (without sounding pompous of course) I’ve become incredibly skilled at driving while holding a beverage in one hand. It’s okay, no applause necessary. 

Back to the song, though. I’ll be flying home for Thanksgiving, and I think it’s pretty accurate to admit that we all become more nostalgic the older we get. “Emotion-with-age,” as I like to call it, seems to be hereditary in my family. Needless to say, lyrics and heart-tugging things don’t really make it easier! Just wait. I’m definitely far from being an uncontrollable ball-bag. But I can and will assure you people that there’ll be a day when I’ll need to have a tissue box in my purse or bag. 24/7. Well, maybe not 24/7. Maybe I’m being a little melodramatic.  

The weather here in Santa Cruz isn’t helping the fact that I’m missing home during this time of year. It’s raining off and on (and I will admit though, that it is SO fun running in the rain). But there are definitely days when I swear the temperatures are cold enough to leak into your soul and put a little damper on your day. I’m not sure I’ll end up settling down in a place with seasons, but I’m nowhere near the end of that road, so who knows. On a more ‘positive’ note, I can’t help but give shout-outs to those whom I’ve met up here so far, who’ve been great friends to me. Honestly, it’s only been a few months, and I feel like I’ve known some of you for years. 

So, with all this rambling of mine and only a few more days until I hop aboard a jet plane, I can honestly say I’m excited to visit home. I definitely went though a phase where all I wanted was to taste the real world and be “on my own,” and I can assure you that I’ve been living the “adult” life... even though I don’t think I’ll ever truly consider myself an adult. Ever! (#kidatheart). But I am beyond pumped to be reunited with some whom I haven’t see in months!  It’s going to be a very fun four days in Newport. Laughing, (maybe even some) crying, and who knows what else! Bring it on. I’m ready to be homeward bound. 

Speaking of “homeward bound,” if you haven’t heard this song... well, you should give it a listen!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6K8wfyzAJQ 

Barring Behind Bars III (a sneak peak!) . . .

"Downtown Transfer" 

Red scuffed-up bricks cover the front patio. Nine black wicker chairs, one random metal chair, and three round, grey, sticky, off-balance tables sit casually atop of the worn ground. A large kelly green cloth umbrella hovers over the left side while a handful of potted plants adorn the patio’s symmetrically square perimeter. Their leaves chronically flop over onto the ground purely out of dehydration—because who has time to water the plants when there’s a line of customers to the door, coffee needs to be re-brewed, and people are asking for things they could probably get themselves if they went to the convenience store and purchased some common sense. (Needless to say, it must be expensive these days). 

When the sun sinks down and the street lamps lining Pacific Avenue light up, one lone old antique-looking street lamp slouches over the patio and flickers on. It’s lambency provides nothing more than dim reading light for those enjoying what’s left of their day as they mindlessly mull over their one of a kind handcrafted beverages on the homely yet grunge-infested patio of the only Starbucks in Santa Cruz.

Our outside trash can which sits on the patio is a piece of work. It’s a grimy shade of black and a scrap of rubber is always hanging from the edge of its lid. Hardly anyone makes time to fix it, so it just hangs there without a care in the world. A little super glue, and it’d be good as new. Another thing about the outside trash can. It is constantly overflowing. Cold cups. Hot cups. Napkins of all shapes and sizes. Trash from other establishments. Plates and scraps of uneaten food get subsequently shoved into our trash receptacle for no apparent reason. The last thing I need is a half-eaten burrito from Taco Bell or a gaping pile of Coldstone ice cream cups and spoons stacked beyond the brim of the can, so that when I remove the lid to re-bag it, all of the ever-so-gracefully piled up trash falls to the ground. After all, it’s my job to bend over and gather up the mess. What’s new. 

That trash can rests alongside the black metal railing that leads directly to our two, and noticeably old, front doors. They are weathered and worn but their small square eye-level windows are reminiscent of something straight out of a fairy tale cottage home design catalog. Actually, the store itself completely resembles that of a cottage from the outside, and takes on a sort of quasi-fantasyland/storybook feel. One could easily imagine the Seven Dwarves entering and exiting the vicinity as if it were no big deal. Just from the outside though. On the inside however,... Let’s just go with the old saying that ‘one shouldn’t judge a book solely by its cover.’ Despite the fact that this store is not a book, it surely has a cover. And on the inside there is surely a story to tell. 

       

We’ve already run out of pumpkin spice syrup more times than I can count on two hands. Granted, it is October. But to be honest, telling customers that we’re out of pumpkin spice feels like committing a sin. Some have literally been brought to tears over the shortage of the orange seasonal syrup. The reactions of customers have been both ridiculous and limitless.

After Dark

By the time I was able to free myself of my black on black coffee-infested work clothes, it was pretty dark out. Nighttime had already arrived, and unfortunately, I still had to get my daily run in. Normally I’m quite good at getting out the front door early on in the day. Today was different though. Actually, the last five days have been different. I’m riding aboard the Bikram yoga train once again, and truly loving it. 

A while back, I wrote a blog about my very first Bikram yoga class where I ranted and raved about the mental journey which one experiences during the ninety minute and twenty-six pose session -- not to mention perspiring more than I had ever perspired in my life in one sitting. Today marked day five for me. Five days of Bikram in a row. Subsequently, I’m feeling just about the strongest I’ve ever felt, and my running is taking off by storm once again. Each and every day I partake in Bikram, I feel better and better while out on the roads, and I doubt that it’s a coincidence. My flexibility and mental awareness have been seriously heightened, and my strides are longer and flow with an incredible amount of grace and ease. My breathing is so controlled, it’s almost scary. 

That all being said, after this morning’s Bikram session followed by a hectic shift at work, I was doubting whether or not my evening run would be enjoyable. Little did I know, I was wrong. Between my newly-revived mental strength, and a little blood-boiling from a run-in with an old flame on the way to my car post-work, I had a GREAT run. Time time of day meant nothing. Exhaustion meant nothing. Once I hit “shuffle” on my iPod and headed off down my street in the dark, I was unstoppable. I made it to the bluffs overlooking the ocean in what seemed to be record time, and the residential streetlights along Westcliff drive guided me down the coast, by the wharf, and back up into my neighborhood.  Gladly, my day ended on a good note, and my eyes will be falling shut shortly.   

Before Sun-Up

A switch inside me has been turned. Amidst the last few days, a new and innate glimmer of motivation has rekindled it’s former flame within me and October has taken on a specific meaning. What is that meaning, you ask? It means the official starting point of marathon training. Notably upping my mileage and workouts. Getting enough sleep. Eating better. Paying more attention to pace, and not simply the ground under my feet.  

This morning was an early one to say the least. My alarm sounded at 5:49 and I was out the door by 6:15. Mind you, it was darker than a moonless night. But I was up and out on the road, no questions asked. I was also wearing tights! Yes that was an exclamation point you just saw. It was decently brisk out there this morning. But as I made my way to the bluffs overlooking the jet-black ocean, songs from my iPod echoed through my head and I was mentally preparing my mind to endure a tempo run, and was far too distracted to think about the temperature. Now, just for the record, a tempo run can be described in many ways. But I prefer the term “noticeably uncomfortable.” It’s a bearable race simulation in which the idea is to give your lungs a taste of what it feels like to push the pace. The goal is not to bust a nut and hit a race P.R. as you rage around your neighborhood. “Tempo” pace is not your race pace. Let's get that clear. It’s definitely faster than your 'normal' run pace, though.

By the time I finished my tempo run, the sun was just coming up. I was fortunate enough to have seen the local lighthouse overlooking famous surf spot ‘Steamer Lane’ all lit up before sunrise, as well as the other early-bird runners, dog-walkers, and surfers, all who were beginning their day purely doing what they love-- because that’s what it’s all about. Purely doing what you love. If you embody a passion for something, whether it be a hobby or whatnot, you owe it to yourself to make time and enjoy it every single day. 

        

It’s as simple as that. 

Road Trip!

This weekend presented me with several things. Great things. And add if I may, it is remarkably fun to visit and spend time with those whom you haven't seen in a little while. First off, my mom flew into San Jose on Friday, so I drove my beat-up Explorer up to the airport to pick her up. I then left my car in the overnight/daily lot, which was quite the walk away from baggage claim, as to (hopefully) be as cheap as humanly possible. Not like it mattered, though. I still got there in plenty of time to see my mom coming down the escalator with suitcase, and things in hand. Side-note: hugging your mom after not seeing her for a good while is wayyyy up there on the best things in life. Just saying. Anyways, after the embrace, we headed over to grab our rental car, and then jammed back to Santa Cruz so I could show off my new digs. Before we even went to my new house, we dropped in on my new Starbucks store so that she could meet a handful of my new, and ever-so-brilliant co-workers. Mission accomplished. Next, we cruised to the S.C. wharf and pier, where I just had to show her the noisy sea lions. After that excursion, we trekked back to my new place, where my mom got the pleasure of meeting my three lovely new roommates. And not long after that, we set out on our second annual "Road Trip to Clovis," to watch my youngest sister race the Clovis cross-country Invitational at good ol' Woodward Park--where California hosts the cross-country State meet every year. After driving for what felt like all day, we finally found our hotel and settled into the evening with a nice bottle of wine and some De-licious food from Maggiano's (plus a few malt balls and swedish fish... give or take).

Saturday morning. 6:25 A.M.
Yes. The alarm came quick this morning. And it was about to be quite the day. By 6:45, I was out the hotel door, down the stairs, through the lobby, and out on the road in order to steal an hour of daylight by getting a good (for the most part) run in. I ended up running to the cross-country course which we were going to head over to later that morning to watch my sister race. I ran a few loops through around the course to relive the glory days and then turned back around to get back to the hotel in order to shower and pack up my belongings before we headed back out to Woodward park for the race. 9:20 A.M. was race time. Or at least when the gun was set to go off for my sister's race. Nerves were a-flowin', and everyone seemed to be feeling anxious about the race but me. My mom was feeling the butterfly syndrome (but that's normal), but I think I was too excited to simply be at Woodward park again, let alone being able to see AND cheer on my little sis. Without knowing it, I got hit from behind with a backwards bear-hug attack from my Katelyn--my younger, yet taller, little sister. I couldn't be mad for being blindsided though. Rather, I found myself turning around and hugging her with an uncontrollable smile on my face.
Regardless of her race finishing time or place, Katelana (that's her nick-name, in case you were wondering) did great in my eyes. For having had cross-trained her face off for the past how many weeks in order to regain health from some chronic running injury, she did just fine... regardless of what anyone could've said.
After Katelyn's team walked back to their gathering spot and met up with the coaches, it was time for my mom and I to hop back on the road, and get to the San Jose airport so she could catch her flight back home that afternoon. After our goodbye hug, I once again had the pleasure of walking that long leisurely walk back to that lot I had parked my car.

1:10 P.M.
Hopped in my car and sped off onto the 880 South and eventually the 17 towards Santa Cruz. Made it home just under 2 P.M. and literally vegged out until I had to get suited up for my closing shift at work. Mind you, we close at 11 P.M. on Fridays and Saturdays. That being said, I'm certain it's time for me to lower my eyelids. Longest day I've had in quite some time. A nineteen-hour day, in fact. But it was totally worth the 630+ miles on the road to a) spend time with my mom and b) see my sister. I'd give them the world if I could. Well, only about a month until I fly home to see them for Thanksgiving. Well, them AND my other sister, Coleen. Now that's going to involve some serious shenanigans.

Until next time, toodles!




 

Heat Wave.

So everyone and their mother back home in Southern California has been complaining about surviving the brutal sauna-like heat as summer has made a progressive transition to fall. Up until a few days ago, the whimsical little town of Santa Cruz has been feeling like fall. Chilly mornings. Breezy days. Crisp evenings. You get the picture. But out of the depths of nowhere, Monday and Tuesday proved to rival the sweltering digits of SoCal. Santa Cruz topped out at an inevitable 100 degrees on Monday and a whopping 102 degrees on Tuesday. What I’d like to know, is where on earth those numbers came from. It’s beyond me, for certain. Everywhere I went, and every time I had to physically move to do something, the goal seemed to always simply be “not to sweat.” Stay as still as possible so as not to perspire. It didn’t work out well though. There were definitely moments in which it seemed as though just thinking prompted beads of sweat to form on my forehead and lower back. 

One thing’s for sure. Running in heat like that makes you feel SO. SLOW. Now, for the record, I didn’t really take the heat into consideration when I was planning out the schedule of my days early on in the week. I will typically allow for some sleep-in time if I’ve closed up shop at work the night before and am scheduled to close again the following night. That being said, by the time I’m crouched over and tying the laces of my running shoes, it’s generally around noon. Maybe a little later. So, you can imagine, on a day that tops out at 102 degrees, running at noon isn’t the wisest decision. But, when time is your primary factor, the run’s gotta get done! Out the front door I’d go. Monday’s run was just flat out uncomfortable and sluggish. I barely made it to 60 minutes, feeling as though I was melting through the concrete. Tuesday’s run, now thinking back on it, was just stupid. I knew I wanted to log a good 90 minute run that day. I headed left out of my front door, carrying a shirt in my right hand, and no music to jam to. I figured I could use the shirt to easily wipe away sweat from my brow before it dripped into and stung my little eyeballs. My plan was to run 45 minutes up into this super foresty trail up by UC Santa Cruz, and then run 45 minutes back the same way I came. 

Now, I must establish that the entire first half of this run I like to do is ALL uphill. It’s not the steepest climb I’ve ever traversed, but it’s all uphill nonetheless. But despite the first half of the run being an incline, it truly was the second half of the run that was the tough part. It was so hot out at one point, that my saliva seemed to have literally stopped working. That never happens, nor should it! Major cotton mouth experience. Not the most pleasurable thing, let me tell you. What I should have done was bring a small container of water or something to help keep me hydrated along the way. But clearly, I wasn’t thinking. Just as I hit 45 minutes, I told myself that I was going to stop at the next available water fountain, or anything of that nature. Bathroom. Park. Lutheran Church. Whatever. I was dying. And I was getting a little desperate. It got to the point where I realized that I wasn’t going to have access to water until I reached my house. Thus, I resorted to a little thing I learned during the good ole’ days of  high school cross-country. It’s called, “find-a-house-with-a-watering-hose-close-to-the-street-and-hope-that-no-one’s-home-or-notices-you’re-in-their-yard-shirtless-and-drinking-straight-from-the-spicket. Yep. That happened. It needed to. Lesson learned, though. I slept like a freaking baby that night. 

Santa Cruz Chronicles. 

Wolf Pack of Four

Well, today was the day. My house is now officially fully occupied by four girls, including myself. It’s funny to think back to the first two weeks I lived in the house, and was all by my lonesome. Then there were two, and eventually a third. The house now feels complete if I may say so. I’m sure there will be adventures to write about and things to document, but for now, it’s just peaceful being in a house with three other females—something I’d gotten quite used to back home. (You know who you are). 

* * * 

On a completely different note, I want to tell you of a run I went on last weekend. I headed out the door with the image and anticipation of the run I thought I was going to have (which, let me tell you, hardly ever comes true or turns into real life). However, this time, it was better. During the week prior, I found a new trail head and needless to say, I was in the mood to explore a little more. As I was making my way to the entrance to the trail—via this sweet bike path (which I’ll most likely find myself using, abusing, and leaving some sweat on)—I began to hear the faint echo of a cowbell and words of encouragement being screamed. All of a sudden, I recognized the atmosphere and the rush of adrenaline around me. All of a sudden, I found myself smack-dab in the running portion of the Big Kahuna Santa Cruz Triathlon. I ended up doing a little research on the race itself later that afternoon, and to my surprise, I had run roughly five or so miles with these (pardon my French) badasses during the 13.1 miles which the running leg was comprised of. Crazy sauce. The funny part, was how into it I got. At first, I tried to just keep to myself and my own workout. But when there’s those bright orange cones on the road and you start passing people (and keep passing them) and people begin to cheer you on because they think you’re in the race, it’s hard to contain your excitement. Needless to say, my run that day subconsciously turned into a semi-tempo run slash race simulation. 

There were even times in which I found myself doling out words of encouragement to those I passed. I even found myself receiving oodles of positive words as well. Something I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around, was how I couldn’t get myself to turn around and head home, while running on the course. I guess I didn’t want the people in the race to think I was cheating (even though I wasn’t in the race, wearing a bib number, or even a triathlon jersey). Plain and simple. It just didn’t seem like the thing to do. That being said, I ran in the race until the turnaround point, which was this really awesome Tiki statue at the end of the trail, and just ran back the way I came (still in the race). 

There was one point in the race which I still can’t come to forget. Since the run was an “out-and-back” course, it was only natural to forget the long downhill that we charged down on the way out. That being said, on the way back up the hill, there were a few triathletes who were stopping to walk up part of the hill. For whatever reason, my inner runner/coach/etc. kicked in, and as I cruised up the hill and crept by these people who were stopping, I wouldn’t pass by without saying something. Things like: “come on, don’t stop,” or “you’re almost there,” or (my personal favorite when cheering hillside) “come with me!” Regardless of what I said, the acknowledgement seemed to be taken with gratitude, as they often said something positive in return. Upon returning from my run that day, a slight rush of excitement stayed with me throughout the remainder of the day. It lifted my spirits. It got me thinking about racing, and more importantly, competing. But I think most importantly, was that I got to be a moving spectator for complete strangers and hopefully my words of encouragement made a difference. 

"Dear Self"

Santa Cruz Chronicles

Dear Self,

Good morning. I hope you got a good night’s sleep, because we have quite a bit to accomplish today. Well, today and everyday. Let’s establish a few things. Starting today, let’s promise to wake up at a decent time every morning, but sleep in when only truly necessary. Let’s determine each day’s priorities and stick to them with backbone. Let’s promise to make each day an adventure, but also stay true to our goals. Everyone has goals. But let’s make our goals PLANS. Let’s ignore the allure of the snooze button and jump into those running shoes which long to be filled. Let’s crank out that 5, or 7, or 14 mile run before work. That way we can feel satisfied, knowing that we have one less thing to do that day. However, setting aside time later in the day is perfectly fine too. Just so long as our legs get to enjoy a date with the road each day. Let’s also promise to nourish ourself justly so that we are energized and ready to take on each day with spunk and charisma. (And so that NO ONE passes us while running on West Cliff Ave./the Boardwalk/etc.)

Let’s allow each day to be a fresh start. Let’s not let yesterday’s lows affect today’s highs. Let’s not let words and images and material gain distract us from our daily and long-term goals. After all, they’re only words, and images, and things. Let’s promise to forget about what other people may say or think of us. Their opinions don’t matter. (The slanderous ones, that is). But let’s embrace both friends and foes with utmost respect, because everyone deserves to be greeted with a smile. Let’s also treat ourself with respect. We might as well since we only get one of us in this lifetime. Let’s promise to be the bigger person when the opportunity presents itself, and let’s never look for reward or something in return. Let’s live in the here and now, and never in the past. Let’s be the person whom we want to become, and not the person others think we should be. Let’s smile each morning we wake up simply because it’s a new day, and because we are loved.  

Sincerely, 

Me 

P.S. Let’s get a good night sleep tonight, because we have a lot to do tomorrow.   

Reflections

Santa Cruz Chronicles

I may be crazy. But so what. I’m simply fortunate enough to live in a country where I am free to do what I love every single day. 

Every year on this day for the last 11 years, my stomach churns. Something about today—no matter how many years go by—just makes me feel uneasy and perhaps a bit sick to my stomach. 

Thoughts of all sorts blaze through my mind. I think about waking up that morning 11 years ago, and thinking that someone was randomly watching an action movie on the 8-inch color t.v. screen in the master bedroom before school started. It makes the first day of 7th grade seem like yesterday. Especially for someone who’s out of college. Eleven years later and my stomach still churns. Maybe because it’s the fact that terrorism exists and it’s still out there. Maybe it churns because you and I are the lucky ones who didn’t lose their lives on that tragic day, when so many innocent people did. Maybe it’s because you and I both know that we often take our country and our freedom for granted, and we wish we could express our gratitude more frequently.

Today, I head out on my daily run with a different attitude and mindset than any other day. It’s hard to even put the exact feeling into words. Today I run with a thankful heart, a pensive mind, and a captivated soul. And while today will always be a day in which my stomach will churn, to be honest, I’m okay with it.       

Time of the Season

Santa Cruz Chronicles

Well folks, it’s finally September. “All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown) and the sky is grey (and the sky is grey),” Someone once said.  Despite our weird Californian transition into “fall” weather, other signs of fall loom in the air.  Kids are back in school. Pumpkin spice lattes are in season at my store. All my younger running cohorts are embarking on what hopefully will be an exciting and successful cross country season. It’s certainly going to be interesting for me to experience the season change in a new location this year. I’m actually fairly excited about it. I’m (oddly, yet honestly) looking forward to bundle up a bit for cold morning runs, but also for warm, caffeinated drinks that can accompany post run time.

Believe it or not, it gets a little old running in simply shorts and a sports bra.  It is quite rousing for me to imagine pulling on long tights and gloves, and perhaps a beanie to head out on a chilly morning or evening run. I have this epic Runner’s World 12-month calendar that displays people running in different places around the world in all different types of weather. It’s fun when the months roll by, and the runners’ attire clearly changes as well. 

*** 

In other news, I recently trekked up (on the back of a . . . motorcycle nonetheless) to San Fransisco! My boyfriend got us tickets to the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate park for my birthday, so we rode up the coast early on a foggy Friday morning and ended up spending the whole day exploring.  As the day progressed and the exhibits at the museum were coming to a close, we decided that it was necessary to hit up Pier 39 for some people watching and (of course) steaming clam chowder in none other than a sourdough bread bowl.  Such an adventure! More to come.                 

Raccoon?

Santa Cruz Chronicles

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I haven’t actually physically seen him yet, but (apparently) there is a behemoth of a raccoon that patrols the sides of our house at night, as well as the backyard.  It’s kind of like our Santa Cruz house’s Loch ness monster, if you will.  And since no one’s actually seen it, it’s hard to say how big it actually is, which is a little frightening.  So frightening, in fact, that the other night (when I got in my car to run to the store) I climbed in through my car’s passenger seat because I didn’t want to walk into the pitch black area by the driver’s side, and stumble into some abominable creature.  That all being said, the giant raccoon will remain a(n) (more realistic) urban myth until it’s identified.  It’ll happen someday.  I’m just not particularly looking forward to that day.  

***

In other news, I found a great parking lot in the sketchier side of downtown where I can park for FREE for three whole hours, until 8 p.m. to 6 a.m., when there's no time limit at all.  So last night, I kind of tested the waters with this parking lot.  My shift down at the coffeehouse started at 4:45, so I parked in the lot at 4:35 and jammed to work by foot down the street a few blocks.  In my mind, what harm would leaving my car there for an 25 minutes do?  Low and behold, after briskly walking in the night toward the parking lot, there sat my trusty old car.  Either I lucked out, or someone's lookin' out for me.  (Insert smiley face here).  

Speaking of working at the coffeehouse, I'm really beginning to grow accustomed to the way they run their store.  Each store has practically the same mantra, but all the same, they each have specific ways they like to go about doing certain things.  For example, last night I closed.  My shift supervisor had asked me to bring in the outside furniture (tables and umbrella) but to lock all the chairs up with this rusty chain link lock thing.  So, that being said, I followed instruction and brought in all the furniture, after locking the chairs together outside.  Don't worry, I was able to get everything through the front doors with the help of some local bums who propped the doors open for me.  (Not creepy at all).  Just when I thought I had done everything to a "T," my shift supervisor chuckled at the fact that I brought the ENTIRE umbrella (stand and all) into the store, when I was really only supposed to bring the top of it in.  No wonder it was so heavy/seemed so labor intensive.  

Santa Cruz Chronicles - Just your average Saturday

08/18/12

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So far I’ve been in Santa Cruz for almost two weeks.  I already feel like I kind of know my way around town, not to mention the quickest ways to reach my destinations by car, bike, and foot.  Also, I can almost say that I’ve established some basic running routes, which (like ones I have back home) I’ll forever know how long they’ll take me to complete.  So far, there’s “North Harbor,” where I run along the coast (via East Cliff drive), past the Walton Lighthouse, near the northern tip of Monterey Bay, and back to my house via local surface streets.  There’s “Natty Bridges” (aka Natural Bridges), where I basically run to the end of West Cliff drive, and continue on the trail/street that winds around Natural Bridges state beach until it runs directly into the UC Santa Cruz Marine science buildings.  Then there’s “Forrest,” which is basically just me running up Bay street, onto the UC Santa Cruz campus and into the intermittent forrest trails where the deers roam and green is the only color you see.  Lastly, there’s always the “Pier” or “Wharf” run, in which I run down the coast alongside the ocean, to the end of the pier and back.  That run in particular is the shortest of my runs, and is particularly relaxing when I’m in the mood for solid views and an ocean breeze.

***

Today was just your basic Saturday.  Except, the first of my housemates moved in, and we also had our washer & dryer installed.  Joy!  Washing my clothes in the comfort of our own home.  Who would’ve thought such a modern convenience could be so taken for granted!  Well, no more sketchy trips to the laundromat.  Although, it was getting to be quite the experience figuring out the minimal amount of quarters needed for one load to wash and one load to dry, and then having the town creepers asking if I needed any help.  Um, thank you, but (politely, of course) NO!  

***

I’ve noticed that on weekends, there’s massive youth beach volleyball tournaments down by the Pier.  I think the tournament may be affiliated with some volleyball club teams or whatnot.  Even though I’m far more into running than I ever was into volleyball (in my volley days), I’m still very much intrigued by the sport, and will sometimes stop to watch a few rallies while on my run.  Some of the young kids are quite talented to say the least.  Similarly, many people walking along the bluffs right by the coast will stop to gander at the surfers out there catching waves near the old lighthouse and surf museum.  The waves surge into the coast line at the most bizarre angle, too.  It almost looks as though they’re going to run right into the cliff overlooking the water, but if you get right up along the edge, it’s easy to see that the waves are angled in such a way as to scoop them up, away from the rocks, and more towards the shoreline.

Until next time... 

Santa Cruz Chronicles - day 8 

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Some days are just plain uneventful, while others will keep you jabbering into the next decade.  Just the same, not all days are going to be great ones, either.  Today was one of those days.  Just wanted to throw that out there.  It didn’t start out so horrible, though.  In fact, today started off with an impeccable “discovery run,” as I’m beginning to call them.  I had no idea where I was going to end up today, but I knew I wanted to log a solid 70 minutes of running.  I took off in the opposite direction alongside the coast in which I’ve been running, and ended up passing the Walton Lighthouse at the northern end of Monterey Bay, near the Santa Cruz Harbor, which was like a little slice of home.  I stumbled upon a pathway that enabled me to run in an adjacent fashion to the boats relaxing in the harbor and ran that pathway practically into the ground until it ended.  By then, it was time for me to turn around and head back.  I made it back home a little quicker than expected, so I made the executive decision to both tackle and conquer “Death hill” a block away from my house (more locally recognized as Miramar Drive).  I kid you not, it is THE steepest incline I’ve ever run up, and I hardly exaggerate when it comes to hills.  (I may or may not have been referred to as a mountain goat once or twice in my day).

By the time I got to work around 10:45 a.m. and stepped on the floor to start my shift, I could tell that something wasn’t quite right.  Unfortunately, once I realized I was experiencing a massive stomach ache, thanks to Mother Nature herself, I had to pound out the next 5 hours at work with raging abdominal cramps, trying not to be a wimp and complain about it.  Oddly enough, I felt loads better after catching up with my mom on a phone call during my lunch break, and by the time I was free for the day, the aches and pains had practically disappeared.  Thank goodness. 

From the Trails to the Newsroom

Santa Cruz Chronicles - day 7

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Every morning that I’ve been up in Santa Cruz thus far, I’ve woken up to my alarm so that I can get my run in before either going to work at the newspaper or Starbucks.  But just because I set an alarm, and am up and going before I’m even fully functioning, hardly has anything to do with whether or not I know where I’m going.  You see, I’m still in pedal-to-the-metal adventure mode.  Every run is an exploration, and I won’t lie... I kind of enjoy it.  Back home, I knew every run there was like every callous on my toes.  But up here, I’m definitely a newbie.  I may look like I know what I’m doing or where I’m going, but trust me.  You are very mistaken.  

I’m not sure what it is about them, but there is definitely something that draws me to trail-running.  I want to say that it’s their simple yet beautiful state of being that lures me in on a primal level.  But even that doesn’t sound quite right.  It’s almost too difficult for me to put into words.  What I can say, is that stumbling upon a new trail is like Christmas, or finding a hidden treasure.  Not knowing where it’ll take me, regardless of how long I may be out running, is what truly sparks my desire for trails.  Another thing.  When you’re running on the road, or pavement, or whatever you like to call it, you can see what’s coming in plain sight.  Trails, on the other hand, are a bit different.  Without your knowing, a trail may lead you up a mountainous incline, through an unexpected gaping ravine, or through patches of wildly majestic flowers.  The “not knowing” is what I think makes trails so enticing to me.  

All that being said, today I ventured out my front door.  It took me 8 minutes to get to the coastline, and then another 25 minutes to reach what they call “Natural Bridges.”  It’s a stretch of beach, where there exists these giant rock formations in the breaking surf, which have literally taken the shape of bridges over time.  Natural Bridges is a fairly well-known landmark up here in Santa Cruz.  Once I reached this hallowed ground (or sand, I should say), I noticed a small opening near the sand and some trees which looked like a trail entrance.  Low and behold, it was!  I was ecstatic. (Picture jumping babies in your shoes).  I spent the next 20 minutes of my run racing through these dirt trails like a wild animal.  Literally.  When there was a sharp blind turn, I got excited.  When there was quick uphill, I got excited.  When there was a downhill with obstacles on the way down,... yes you guessed it... I got excited.  Basically, I was simply in high spirits the entire run following my discovery of this one trail.  And the best part about finding a new trail, is that you can always go back to it and run it over and over again.  It almost sounds like a drug addict procuring a fix.  I suppose it’s entirely similar. 

*** 

Another highlight of today, was having the pleasure of interviewing a locally and well-renowned storyteller for an article I’m writing for the newspaper.  The interview went incredibly well, thank you for asking.  But what I would like to elaborate on, is the location at which we met, in order to host the interview.  The place was called “Hidden Peak Teahouse.”  It’s located just off of Cedar St. between Locust and Pacific Avenue, and let me tell you.  It certainly lives up to its name.  Let’s just say it took me a little while to find it.  It’s ambience was serene, and the the moment I entered the gates of this place, I was immediately greeted with more bamboo than I’ve seen in my lifetime.  I then began to hear waterfalls and the hushed tone of a carved-out bamboo flute.  It’s miraculous to think that just off the beaten path of a heavily pounded downtown sidewalk, a place like this can exist.  Now, I’m not too big into tea, but they have a fabulous deal on their “tea-of-the-day.”  For a mere 99 cents, you can soothe your inner yogi with a “big bowl” of a different tea that varies day by day.  Who knows, maybe tea will grow on me someday.  Either way, I’m sure I’ll be back to Hidden Peak at some point, if only to soak up some of its mystical and calm vibes when I’m in need of some soul searching or thought-collecting. 

Until next time...                       

City Girl?

Santa Cruz Chronicles - day 6 

***

I’m getting my walking legs back.  Just to clarify, walking legs are quite different than running legs.  One may be a speed-walker, or a speedy runner who logs many-a-mile.  But by no means, is one equivalent to the other.  I felt pretty sluggish on my run this morning.  But that was to be expected, considering that yesterday’s run was dangerously close to two hours.  Where is she even going with this, you may ask?  Well, since I now work in the bustle of the downtown area (both at the newspaper and at Starbucks), I’m finding that I’m doing a whole lot of walking and biking... “physical commuting,” as I like to call it.  

Now, for anyone who doesn’t exercise on a regular basis, the kind of walking and biking I’m talking about (basically commuting to and from work) would probably be a sufficient daily workout routine.  But I’m not that person.  Rather, I’m that person who gets up early to get that hour-plus-run in before work, to then have to physically “commute” to work.  Then, just add a teaspoon of dealing with whiny customers into the mix, and you have a near perfect example of a day-in-the-life of Melissa.  That being said, I’m just a tad more exhausted than normal.  Hopefully I’ll adjust to my new much busier lifestyle, but I’m not too worried about it.  Before long, I’ll be immune to it.  I just can’t let myself get to bed too late.  I think that’s going to be the trick. 

***

On a completely different note, I tried a totally different yogurt place tonight.  I wasn’t even planning on getting any tonight, but my sweet tooth was raging, therefore I had to oblige.  The place was called “Yogizmo” and it was only a few blocks from my house.  So far, I must admit, it’s the best I’ve had since trekking up to Santa Cruz!  Yes, there is a bit of excitement in that exclamation point that you see!  Despite the shop not having any kind of self-service, the yogurt itself was high quality, and the toppings were way up on the charts as well.  One thing that really struck my fancy... they had these things called “dark chocolate covered acai berries.”  I usually never stray from my usual yogurt toppings, but those little berry things were so intriguing, I couldn’t resist.  Also, to continue justifying the berries (as if I really have to), they’re apparently jam-packed with antioxidants.  Who really knows for sure but they tasted awesome as hell, so I’m not going to worry about it.          

Santa Cruz Chronicles - day 5 

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“The Endless Spoon; In Search of the Perfect Frozen Yogurt (in Santa Cruz)” 

I’d be willing to assume that the vast majority of my acquaintances are aware of my slight obsession with frozen yogurt.  That having been said, I have taken on the challenge of finding a frozen yogurt shop in Santa Cruz, California that matches my all-time favorite yogurt joint back home in Newport Beach, California... America’s Cup.  It’s been five whole days since I arrived into Santa Cruz, and so far, I’ve been getting my bearings, exploring numerous places to run, and just exploring the area in general.  Back home, the question of where to go to get frozen yogurt never arose.  If I was going out to grab some “fro-yo,” it was to one place and one place only.  It was a mere perk that I would get to use my yogurt punch card to eventually get two bucks off my 10th yogurt.  It was always a fun day when you reached the end of the punch card.  

So far, I’ve experimented with two different frozen yogurt shops up here.  The first one I tried was called “FroYo.”  Talk about original.  It was your typical yogurt place where the yogurt attendant filled your cup with yogurt, but then you were in charge of topping your cup with the condiments of your choice, and to your desired extent.  First things first.  People need to realize that there are VAST differences amongst yogurt shops.  The first noticeable quality in a yogurt shop is whether or not it is “self-serve.”  I, personally, tend to prefer self-serve shops, because it puts me in control of how I build my creation.  The second thing, would have to be whether or not the yogurt attendant puts the toppings on for you or not.  Again, maybe it’s just me, but I find great pleasure in being the complete artist when it comes to frozen yogurt, and thus clearly prefer an entirely self-serve atmosphere.  In my mind, the places that do everything for you are (I apologize for the bluntness) a joke.  There’s absolutely nothing fun about the yogurt experience when you can’t have some physical contribution to the creation of your frozen yogurt.  

I stumbled upon the first frozen yogurt place while walking around downtown in search of a dresser just the other day.  But I actually had to search out the second frozen yogurt shop.  It was less than a mile from my house, AND it was completely self-serve, so I had to give it a try.  The place was called “Top A Lot Yogurt,” and I do give it credit for living up to its name.  My personal topping choices don’t vary too greatly, but from what I could tell, their toppings were adequate.  Their yogurt on the other hand was a little too much like greek yogurt.  Even their dutch chocolate yogurt was a little too tart for my liking.  But who can I fool... I can’t bitch about it too harshly, because I still ate it.  On a positive note, something that I did very much appreciate, was how they provided an endless stack of sample cups near the yogurt dispensers, so customers need not be a bother and nag employees for a measly one ounce paper cup whenever they wanted to try a flavor.  As much as I wanted it to match America’s Cup standards, it didn’t even come close.  Oh well, I’ll keep trying new and different frozen yogurt joints, and will be sure to keep you updated. 

***

In other news, I got a long run in today.  Now, what’s considered “long,” you may ask?  Today I logged roughly 16 miles in an hour and 50 minutes.  You do the math.  In my opinion, the best way to get in a long run in a new location, is to purposefully get yourself lost, so that you must find your way back home.  Chances are, by the time you find your way back, the run will be considered “long enough.”  That was certainly the case today.  Except, today, I discovered where I was much sooner than expected.  I guess you could say that I’m quickly getting the lay of the land up here.                      

Until next time... 

Santa Cruz Chronicles - Day 4 

Highlights

***

Highlight number one - 

I woke up this morning.  Without an alarm.  At the exact time I was planning to wake from my slumber.  And yes, I know what you’re thinking.  But when is this ever not a highlight to one’s day?! 

The real highlight number one - 

I encountered a pair of deer on my run this morning.  Real, living, breathing deer.  Since arriving up in Santa Cruz, and up until today, I’d only taken runs along the coast’s edge.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous.  But I was already feeling the need to shake things up a bit because my intuition is at the top of its game, and I already know I’ll be running there an innumerable amount of times.  With that being said, I decided to venture through the UC Santa Cruz campus.  I literally spent the first half of my run climbing up the hill that is Bay street, to reach the base of campus.  Ironically (to some), the street that signifies the base of the UC campus is called “High Street.”         

To the best of my prior knowledge, I had heard that it’s basically a university inside a forrest, which is completely accurate, according to today’s run.  Also, by “forrest,” I mean dense, incapable-of-seeing-the-sun forrest.  The kind where you’re in awe by it’s natural mystery, but on your toes all the same because you’re not quite sure what you’ll run into.  On a secluded trail in the heart of campus, were two deer, simply grazing in the thick forrest brush.  When I first saw them, I just assumed that I was hallucinating.  But when I did a double-take, I quickly realized that I wasn’t seeing things, and that there were two very much alive deer in sight, and that in moments, I would be within feet of them when I run by.  It was breathtaking.  Nature usually is.  

***

Highlight number two - 

Today was my first day at my new Starbucks.  I’ll always be part of the team at 2700 West PCH at heart, but today embarked my first day as part of a new team.  It’s really very strange, and I don’t want to sound pompous, but people who work at Starbucks (whether it be at my old store, or the stores I’ve covered shifts at) are truly genuine, in their own ways of course.  But there’s something about the types of people whom Starbucks employs.  I’ve never not gotten along with another fellow SBUX partner.  One day I’ll dive into that topic a little more.  But for now, I’d just like to relish in how welcomed I felt today by everyone I met at my new store.  Amidst syrups flying, and espresso shots pulling, and milk steaming, my new co-workers were constantly making sure I knew where things were, and that I could ask them anything I needed to ask.  I’m slowly beginning to feel as though I fit right in.

***

Highlight number three -

I didn’t drive my car at all today.  Yay, for not contributing to the pollution of our environment! ... (and yay to saving gas and money!)  I rode my bike both to and from work today, and will certainly continue to do so, unless I have a closing shift and have to be at work past dark.  In that case, since I’m not a huge fan of riding my bike home alone, especially late at night, and especially in a foreign area, I’ll have to occasionally turn my car’s ignition.

Until next time...                

Santa Cruz Chronicles - Day 2 & 3 combo

08/09/12

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I had the innate pleasure of experiencing an “I’m not in Kansas anymore” feeling yesterday.  It was the day before my sister, Coleen bade me farewell in my new hometown of Santa Cruz.  We were in finding-a-cheap-yet-sturdy-dresser mode, and couldn’t help but acknowledge the heavenly sound that found it’s way into our ears while walking through town.  Apparently I had been too engrossed in admiring the atmosphere around us to realize that the sound we were hearing was coming from a real live harp player.  Yes, a big one.  On the sidewalk.  Being the spontaneous giver that she has forever been, Coleen backtracked to drop a dollar bill into the harpist’s collection bucket, and then we were back on the hunt for that dresser.  

Long story short, we found a deal on a dresser at a very thrifty thrift store in the heart of downtown Santa Cruz.  Day two came to a quick yet memorable close as Coleen and I enjoyed a bite to eat at a place on the wharf called “Fire Fish.”  They had an impressive menu, to say the least.  And we would know.  We closely examined every single menu as we passed by restaurants, since we were simultaneously determined to find both a restaurant to eat at and the perfect sweatshirt for my sister.  The very last store on the pier was where we struck luck with sweatshirts, and then made our way back to, and ended up at Fire Fish since it struck our fancy so much.  After dinner, and en route to the movie theater to see a film Coleen had already seen three times, I was in dire need of some frozen yogurt.  Shocker.  Needless to say, my frozen yogurt standards are fairly high.  Some would argue that I’m picky about my yogurt, but it’s only because no frozen yogurt place will ever amount to “America’s Cup,” my premiere hometown yogurt joint.

***

Day three.  Thursday.  Today I took Coleen to San Jose International Airport, and am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m officially on my own.  It’s a strange feeling, really, because even though I’m more financially on my own than I’ve ever been, I feel as though I have the support of more people than I’ve ever had.  I suppose it’s one of those give and take things.  After dropping Coleen off at the airport and running back around my car and into the driver’s seat after a long hug, I made the solo drive back to downtown Santa Cruz for a quick grocery store trip, and then to meet with my new bosses: my editor at the paper I’ll be interning at, and my new manager at my new Starbucks, both of whom seemed incredibly amiable and easy to talk to from the get-go.  

After spending practically the whole day running amok around the downtown area, it was time to get back to my new house to work on organizing slash decking out my room a bit more, and then eventually head out on a real run before the sun went down.  I was originally going to leave my old race bib numbers in a box at home when I left, but something within me urged me to take them with me and pin some up in my new room.  Maybe it seems a little nostalgic, but maybe I like nostalgia.  Sue me.  I like being reminded of things that I’ve accomplished.  And races are great indicators and prime examples of accomplishment.  That being said, I pinned up a few bib numbers and then laced up my trainers to hit the road.  

***

Without sounding like a complete over-exaggerator, there isn’t anything like running along the Santa Cruz coastline.  I mean, running in Newport Beach and the surrounding Orange County area is special in their own peculiar ways, but there’s something completely compelling about running down West Cliff Drive, and overlooking gaping cliffs and the majestic Santa Cruz pier and boardwalk.  So far, I’ve only been on two runs here since arriving in town, and both of them have included running alongside the ocean.  It’s mildly addicting, and I’m going to eventually going to have to branch out and discover new and different routes.  The air is so crisp, it’s not even fair.  And it’s scary how pedestrians and automobile operators are so incredibly biker and runner-friendly.  A run along the coast will never be out of the question, but since I’ve already run there two days in a row, I intend on soon exploring the area around the campus of UC Santa Cruz on future runs.  How can I not?  It’s gorgeous.  Not to mention, it encompasses the most acres of any UC campus in the state.  Can you say “more mileage”?  

As always, tomorrow is a new day.  Each one has great potential.  I can hardly wait to begin my day with an early jaunt around the UCSC campus, followed by my first day at my new Starbucks.  I look forward to fresh faces, new acquaintances, and interesting stories to tell.                                    

Santa Cruz Chronicles - Day 1

Call it what you will, but today was a milestone.  It’s one thing to move out of your parent’s house and into your own place whilst still in college, whether it be a dorm room or a house with classmates or teammates or something of that nature.  But it’s a-whole-nother enchilada when you’ve already graduated from college and you’re moving out of that nest to pursue your... life. (silently screams to self).

  

***

The day began at 6:34 a.m.  It should’ve started at 6:45 when my alarm was set to sound.  But no.  My inner organs decided it was necessary that I find myself briskly making my way from my painfully still and horizontal state in my flannel bed sheets, to kneeling before the porcelain throne of nausea.  My mom said nerves were to be expected, but vomiting?!  I settled on the idea that it was merely my body’s physical response to “change,” and left it at that.  The only logical thing to do at that moment in my mind, post-boke, was head out on a run.  Isn’t that what everyone does immediately following inner bodily depletion?  It actually turned out to be a mildly emotional workout for me.  With the exception of one year spent in New York, I’ve been galavanting around the town I’ve lived in on foot practically my entire life.  That being said, one could possibly imagine the emotions I was experiencing while running around my hometown, simultaneously trying to grasp the fact that it was my last run there for who knows how long.  Subconsciously, I answered a long-time question of mine.  It is very difficult to cry while running, but yes, it is entirely possible to cry while running.  

After cleaning up, I spent a good hour or so walking aimlessly through my house, trying to remember and grab every last remnant of my things.  And after I was tired of pacing around, I finished stuffing my car like a bell pepper and pulled it out into the driveway so my mom could get a departure photo to accompany the other pictures she took prior to the departure.  

*** 

Before long, we (my sister and I) were putting the rubber to the road.  We decided that it would be well worth a little extra drive time to take the coast up to our final destination.  But after driving through Long Beach, and Seal Beach, and Manhattan Beach, and Redondo Beach, and any other beaches you can come up with, we eventually hopped on the Freeway to speed things up a bit.  However, not (entirely) to our surprise, the 405 Freeway was jam-packed and we were in stop-and-go traffic for a solid hour.  

Things got fun once we drove past Malibu and Pepperdine, and got further up into what we Californians call “wine country.”  The camera came out of it’s case, and pictures of vineyard fields and rows of grapes were taken.  We lost our radio station, so we decided to let my iPod be our musical guide up the coast.  I’d just like to point out how incredible it is how you can go so long without hearing certain songs, and then BOOM, the song comes on over the speakers, and it’s as if you had never skipped a beat.  Lyrics and all.  Unbelievable, really.                    

*** 

With roughly 2 hours to go, all was going very smooth.  Almost too smooth.  We had filled up the car with gas (not diesel fuel), and were maintaining peppy spirits to arrive to my new place at a decent time and then unpack and grab a bite to eat.  With just those 2 hours to go, all of a sudden, it felt as if a giant rock had hit some part of my car.  But it wasn’t a rock.  Nor was it a car, or anything we had run over in the road.  Out of the corner of my eye, my surfboard (that had been strapped down to the roof of the car) came very loose, and was flailing around like a leaf in autumn as we were humming down the highway.  We immediately signaled, pulled over into the dusty gravel, and analyzed the situation, with no real desire to climb on the top of my car and attempt to re-strap my surfboard to the top again.  All the while, cars and semi-trucks were billowing past us, honking, whistling, you name it.  They probably thought we were idiots of some sort.  After a few scrutinizing moments of deep pondering, we lifted up the back hatch of my car’s trunk and thought it would be wise to attempt to shove my 9 foot 6 inch board into the car with all my worldly possessions.  Low and behold, and much to our surprise, it worked!  I spent the last hour and-a-half of the drive into Santa Cruz a bit hunched over in the passenger seat while my sister pounded out the last 85 miles into town.  

To end my travel-rant on an upbeat note, my new house is quite charming, and my room has great character.  I’ve already been told that it suits me.  Here’s to the first of many nights out on my own, and to all those who helped me get here! 

Until next time.