Success and Happiness

When we were on the Atlantic back in 2005, Kohl and I talked quite a bit about all aspects of life. Mostly we talked about trivial stuff that seemed very important at the time... like the first thing we were going to eat when we got back to land or how we really, really wanted it to snow, but we did, at times, delve a bit into philosophy and life. One of the most memorable conversations that we had out there revolved around success and failure. What defined success and failure, and what our biggest successes and failures up to that point had been. Being a very positive person, I hadn't ever thought of my "failures" up until then, but when I looked back, I realized that I had failed numerous times in many aspects of my life. For the most part, I had always learned from them, rose above them to become successful, and never gave them a second thought, but they had always been there whether I had acknowledged them or not. And then came the capsize. The big failure that I could not put past me or rise quickly above. Since January 16th, 2006, I have not been the same. Finally, I was presented with a failure that would test my character. A problem that, looking over the stern of the Stavros 20 feet above the vast Atlantic, I knew was going to haunt me until we finished our dream. The American Fire dream. For the past year and a half, I have been forced to think about success and failure and what they really mean to me. Knowing that we will be out on the ocean again in just over a month makes me so incredibly happy. After two years, we are being given the chance to succeed and rise above the failed first attempt, and in spite of all of the stress that goes into preparation, I could not be happier or more at peace, knowing that we will be rowing into the arms of our families in English Harbour in just a few short months.

The past week was a whirlwind. With less than a month left Stateside, I'm busting my butt in all aspects of life to ensure that I am not sacrificing one dream for another. Long days at the lab and TEM facility definitely showed on Tuesday night during my game against Angel's Taco Technique. My mind and body were exhausted, and we ended up losing a game we could have easily won in the right mindset. The hard work in the lab did pay off though in a successful lab meeting on Friday. Success and failure, hand in hand.

By the end of my presentation on Friday, I was in dire need of the weekend. Friday evening and Saturday were spent alternating between rest and preparations for finishing Unfinished Business. By Saturday evening, I was fully recovered from the long week, and went out with Suda and Dave and a whole bunch of rugby guys to watch ASU defeat Cal and bar hop around Mill Ave. in our kid-size Halloween costumes (I have definitely gotten my money's worth out of the Wonderwoman costume). We made quite a night of it, and squeezed as much fun in as we could until the bars closed.

Sunday is usually a happy day for me, and this past weekend was no exception. I slept until noon, which was the most beautiful thing. I will probably not get a chance to do that again for the next year or so (at least it seems that way sometimes). When I woke up, I made french toast and spiced apples, and just sat around reading Tony Dungy's book, Quiet Strength for a good hour while listening to some good tunes. My entire music collection is now on iTunes in preparation for the iPod, and it was a very relaxing and enjoyable way to start off the day. I then headed out to the Tempe Library to check out several audiobooks to load onto iTunes, and then finished off the afternoon with a long bike ride on the Greenbelt. Since I had never been to the end of it, I decided to bike all the way through Scottsdale on the gorgeous trail bordering parks and canals, and giving me an incredible view of the McDowell's and Four Peaks behind them. Even though it was a record 94 degrees out, it still felt like fall with the ash trees at least changing color and a cooler breeze coming off the small lakes along the trail. I rode hard for an hour and finally came to Shea Blvd, where the nice paved trail ended. I tried to continue riding, as it appeared that the city was in the process of continuing the trail past Shea, but after I rode through the dirt under a road (read, drainage area for the wash) and ended up in a cemetery, I figured that it was time to turn around. I took the return ride a bit easier, taking in the sights and sounds of the East Valley. It made me happy to watch young families biking along with toddlers in training wheels, older couples sitting on benches feeding the ducks, kids playing hide and seek among the mesquite, and people of all ages playing everything from soccer to disk golf. With the sun sinking low over Camelback, the light bounced off the clouds to form sun dog rainbows and bounced off of the fountains to create a beautiful backdrop to my ride home.

It's times like that when I really, truly feel happy. My life is going very well right now despite all of the hustle and bustle during the week. Plans are in place to finishing dreams and I have the support of my family and friends. At this point in my life, I couldn't really ask for much more. I'm a simple kid, and simple things like the peacefulness of an urban bike ride into the sunset really make me happy. No matter what happens in my life with big and small failures and successes, if I can enjoy simple days like Sunday, then it makes it all worth it.

And now, back to another busy week...

Nautical Mishaps

I'm a water baby, through and through. I was born in a Naval hospital where the San Luis Rey meets the Pacific Ocean and grew up splashing in my diapers in the shallows of the small river and paddling my kickboard along with the seals in the Pacific swells. I spend much of my life stepping into liquid, and as the statistics will have it, if you spend enough time doing something, there are bound to be mistakes. In middle school, I paddled a homemade raft across Deam's Lake and had a great time showing off my creative means of transport. The next summer, I tried to repeat the feat even though I lacked the ropes to tie the logs together. The rags with which I eventually pieced the raft together held long enough for me to get halfway across the lake. Then, right in the middle of the lake (sounds kind of familiar, huh?), the logs decided to take off in each of the four cardinal directions, leaving me to wrestle/paddle one of them into some pond scum in an attempt to make it across the rest of the lake. If you remember middle school at all, you probably remember that it was a bit of an awkward time. Imagine a 13 year old tomboy trying to keep her dignity while trying to navigate a log through thick, stinking algae and trying not to attract the attention of onshore fishermen, or worse, fellow 13 year olds. It wasn't my first nautical mishap, nor was it my last, but I certainly learned the importance of a good vessel and practice. Obviously, I'm still learning.

This weekend I helped reinforce these lessons with our fledgling adventure racing team, Team ODP, at the first installment of the Desert Rage series in Escondito, CA. The weekend began the second that my lab meeting ended on Friday afternoon and I raced across Tempe down to Chandler to meet Hannah and Angel. We loaded bikes, three sets of kayak paddles, life jackets, helmets, lots of fluids and energy foods, and a huge seemingly harmless mesh bag that contained an inflatable kayak. We drove out to San Diego, spent the night at one of Hannah's friend's house, and drove early the next morning out to Lake Hodges, less than 20 miles from where I learned to swim. Before we even pulled into the parking lot, I knew that something was terribly wrong. Fifteen foot kayaks were strapped to the roofs of just about every car. Some even had trailers for their boats. We had a mesh bag that suddenly didn't seem so big at all. We opened up the bag and let the monster out, pumping it up to all of the yellow glory that the thing could possess, about 8 feet in all. This inflatable monster was Team ODP's version of a racing kayak, and in the pre-race excitement, we still did not quite understand the error of our ways. All we knew was that we did not have to pay to rent a kayak, and we did not have to strap the thing to our roof. This all sounded great until about 8:02 a.m. on raceday. Once we got our transition area staked out and went through details during the pre-race meeting, where we were given our passport, instructions, and a map. The instructions detailed that the first checkpoint could be reached by 4 miles of running or 1.5 miles of paddling. 1.5 < 4 =easy

(ok, i tried to add a picture here, and ended up screwing up the entire post. great job Kessans... when I find the time, I'll repost about the race).

On top of the world

My life is never stagnant or boring, but at times, I do tend to overbook myself, and at times like that, I have to slow down for a moment and take a good look at my priorities. Work has taken up a great deal of my time lately, working 10+ hour days in order to get as much done on my projects as possible before my first committee meeting, a lab meeting presentation, and a presentation at a colloquium in the coming weeks. So, it's only fair that after working hard all week, that I put life in the balance by playing hard again. (Oh, and my ultimate team did win again in a hard fought game against Beef Jerky, another Thursday team, woohoo!)

I spent Friday night relaxing as much as I could before what I knew was going to be a full weekend. On Saturday morning, I dug out the old Wonderwoman costume and tweaked it a bit to make it look more like a 70s/80s era dancer. I'm not sure that I really succeeded, but the combo of the skirt, belt, armbands, an old shiny top, rugby socks, and bandanna were funny looking anyways, which was sort of the point. Then, much to the confusion of the elderly neighbors who were raking their yard, I biked into Tempe wearing the strange garb, where I was greeted by several of my friends who looked just as good. The original theme we were going with was "Solid Gold" dancers, but some of us didn't quite get the memo. Nonetheless, we made quite the scene for Tempe's Tour de Fat. New Belgium Brewery sponsors these tours around the U.S. to promote bicycle advocacy and tasty brew. Although we missed the bike parade, we made up our own. Up and down Mill Avenue, the dozen or so of us ultimate players decked out in our outrageous costumes sang and danced and rode along to Dixon's music that blared out of his self-proclaimed "tricked-out trike." There's always some kind of funny crowd around Mill, and it was uniquely satisfying to be one of them on Saturday. We got back to Tempe Beach Park as the parade ended and the beer started flowing. The atmosphere was infectious. I'm not that much of a hippy, but it was a great festival for the just cause of getting more cars off the streets and more people on bikes. We drank some good hoppy beer and hopped around to the live band, played a bit of frisbee and watched people try out the custom bicycles that New Belgium had brought along. My favorite was a bike that had tennis shoes on the ends of reinforced spokes as opposed to wheels. You had to see it to believe it. I left a bit early in order to get ready for the next installment of the weekend.



I rode home with less reservations than when I biked into town, changed, did some quick packing, and loaded up my camping and hiking gear into fellow Come from Behinder, Ted's, Ford Ranger to head out to Four Peaks. Not the Four Peaks on 8th Street. The real thing... not the brewery, the MOUNTAIN. The mountain that mocks me every morning and evening as I cross the bridge over Tempe Town Lake. The tallest point in Maricopa County and one of the most recognizable peaks east of the Valley. We drove an hour outside of the city and then turned off at a dirt road just past Bush Highway. For 18 dusty, bumpy miles, Ted and I sang along to the soundtrack of classic rock, windows down and eyes dividing their time between the twisting road and the beautiful peaks that beckoned us to their base. After we arrived at the shoulder of the mountain, we took stock of our surroundings - the ubiquitous scrub oak, some tall pines, a few boulders scattered around, and a perfect little camping spot near the truck. Ted set up the tent while I got a small fire crackling safely inside a large fire pit of rocks. After camp was set, we both took the time to enjoy the beauty of the sun setting behind the Estrellas on the far west side of the Valley, not quite a hundred miles away. We paid our respects to the mountain and cheered to a successful expedition with some 8th Street Ale and a fire-warmed can of ravioli. Although there was a chill in the air at the higher elevation, the fire and good stories that we shared kept us warm. Ted is a great guy, and we swapped tales of past adventures and reinforced the notion that life is not about "stuff." Life is about experiences and the people with which you share those stories. I love listening to and telling stories, and can imagine myself someday surrounded by grandchildren who won't go to bed because they want to hear just one more of grandma's crazy stories. But, that's a looooong time from now, and is kind of funny to think about, so for now, I'm very satisfied sharing them with Ted at the base of Four Peaks. The combination of a high desert full of stars and the mesmerizing effects of the flames had us sleepy before too long, and we were asleep by 10.



The next morning we were up with the sun for a few good pictures before gathering our gear, scarfing down a half-frozen candy bar (it was down in the mid-forties), and hitting the trail. The first mile or so got us well above the parking lot, and started to give us a commanding view of both the Valley to the west and Lake Roosevelt to the east depending on which way we were switchbacking. As we walked along, the ridge kaleidoscoped from dark green pines to burned areas filled with tall blackened remains, to gray scrub, to dwarfed white oak trees decked out in all their fall glory of orange and yellow. The sights and scents were a feast for my autumn starved senses. A few miles into the trek, the forest along the ridge opened up to the full sun that burned off the morning chill. We stopped for a bit at the saddle to savor my first close-up look at Brown's Peak, the first and tallest of the four. After a short break, we started the climb up the mountain proper. After a half mile of minor switchbacks and walking along small ledges, we arrived at the infamous (to us at least) scree shoot. The scree shoot is a narrow cleft in the mountain where rocks and boulders have fallen down over the years, creating a fairly easy route up the granite peak. Twenty minutes of scrambling later, we reached the end of the scree shoot and climbed over the last few boulders to the top, where we were rewarded with the best view of the Valley that I have ever seen. Everything from Lake Roosevelt to the east, Superstitions to the southeast, South Mountain and the Estrellas to the south, White Tanks to the west, McDowell's to the north, and Camelback and Squaw Peak thrown in there among the puzzle pieces of developed land. We rested at the top enough to share an 8th Street Ale and a Clif Bar, and then started down the south side. We fought our way through scratchy scrub oak and cacti for a bit until I got tired of tearing up my legs, after which I chose to take my chances climbing down the steep walls. Ted wasn't as gutsy, and decided to brave the scrub. Even though I took my time carefully choosing my route, I still got to the bottom of the peak 10 minutes before Ted and had time to take in my surroundings. We were only 50 miles from Tempe, yet we were a world away in the wilds of the Four Peaks Wilderness. Canyon wrens set the soundtrack while smells of dust and pine floated up on the breeze from the valley. Ted caught up, and we continued on to Peak #2. The next part of the hike took a fair bit of scouting, and Ted was happy to let me lead. It was exhilarating to pick a route up the walls, climb it, and then focus on the next part of the mountain. Several hundred feet later, we reached the false summit, and nimbly scrambled along the narrow ridgeline to the true summit. The second peak is almost as tall as the first, and has just as good of a view. We signed our names in the register at the top and also had a few sips of the Four Peaks IPA that Ted brought as well. After another short rest and a little celebration for making it that far (Ted has been to the mountain four times, and had not made the 2nd peak up until then), we scrambled to the southern side of the mountain top and attempted to scout out the route to the third peak. The distance between the 2nd and 3rd is by far the greatest among the four peaks, and the steepness of the route is also the greatest. We tried several routes that seemed to be promising, only to come to the edge of a cliff that could not be traversed without ropes and more advanced climbing skills than we had. We spent about an hour trying to find a route before we inevitably had to turn around due to time constraints at about 1 p.m. Even though we didn't make the "mother lode," we were satisfied with what we had done, and turned around without too much remorse.



The return trip was more relaxed but just as exciting as the first part of the climb. Since I had already found the routes, we both had more confidence with the climbing, and I spent a good deal of my time playing around on the boulders and scraggy walls. We stopped several times to enjoy the view and just talk about other adventures. We even got to act like Les Stroud (Survirorman) and ate manzanita berries (kinda dry, but sweet) and made a needle and thread with an agave leaf. Lots of fun. Before we knew it though, we had scaled the last wall back over Brown's Peak and were headed back through the scree shoot. We spent the last remaining part of the hike just taking in the scenery of the changing colors as we made our way back to the truck. It took us 9 hours (including the many breaks that we took) to hike to the 2nd peak and back, and by the time we broke down camp and started back on the long and winding dirt road, we were dead tired. We finally got back in Tempe around 6 in the evening, and I had just enough enough energy to shower, change into some sweats, grab a bite to eat, and pass out on the couch.

It's going to be a long month and a half ahead of me with lots of hard work in the many aspects of my life, but it was nice to spend a bit of time with a fellow adventurer on top of the world, or at least on top of our little world here in the Valley.

Risk

"To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out for another is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk rejection.

To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.

Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.

Only a person who takes risks is free. " -Author Unknown

In my short 24 years on this planet, I have certainly had my fair share of risk. Growing up, I was blessed to have parents that encouraged and nurtured my sense of independence and curiosity of the world around me. I don't think that they invisioned that the freedom that they allowed me and my sister would lead to their 12 year old daughter hiking alone for miles through the woods or taking off for a war torn Israel on her 18th birthday, but I would like to think that it at least prepared them for the risks that I would take later in life.

At least my family has had the pleasure/pain of watching me grow into the person I am today and at least have an idea of where I got my passions. My professors and coworkers have not, yet they know me all too well. Since the day that I got the call from Simon, to the numerous e-mails from potential teammates, to the realization that this thing might actually happen, I have had a pit in my stomach. Not because of the thought of wind or waves or salt water boils on my bum, but because of the risk that I could potentially take by telling my boss that I needed some time off. Although I have tried to put the race out of my mind, thinking about the hundreds of risks that I would be taking, each time I look up into the starry sky, each Deathcab for Cutie song that I hear, and every orange sunset reminds me that what I really want right now in this life of mine is to write the ending to a story that should have been finished two years ago. The plot hangs dangling off a cliff in my mind, waiting for the bridge that will take it to its happy conclusion. By Wednesday, I realized the risk of not trying was going to kill me more than any risk that I would face on the high seas. I walked into my boss's office with determined eyes that I hoped hid my fear. If he said no, then the choice that I had to make would have probably dropped me to my shaking knees. It turns out that I am not only blessed to have an incredible family, I am also incredibly thankful to have such an amazing professor. Like a concerned parent, he looked straight into my eyes, quoted Le Petit Prince, and said that although he wasn't thrilled about the time I needed away from my research, he understood my passions, and would work with me to make sure that I could fulfill the dream of the ocean with minimal disruption to my research and doctorate degree. We worked through a plan, and I left with the office with a smile on my face and a light heart. Ask, and it shall be given; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Without the knowledge that I would come back from the adventure to my other dreams, my solid job and exciting research, I could not have proceeded. With that paper tiger defeated, I can join in the excitement of completing "Unfinished Business" along with Tara, Jo, and Kohl. Might we fail to get the money to reach the starting line? Yes. Might we fail to finish our dream, again? Maybe. But how will we know if we never try? We have a very good chance of breaking some records with our experienced, determined, international team. More importantly though, we have the chance to inspire others to follow their own dreams, proving that no obstacles can stand in the way of a dream.

Two weeks after our capsize, we flew into Antigua to watch some of our fellow ocean rowers make their way into English Harbour. We arrived on a plane. Not in the American Fire. It was an emotional time for us to watch our friends as they rowed into the arms of their families and take a swig of their first cold drink in months. To see the light in their eyes at the successful end of one of life's most memorable adventures almost brought tears to our eyes. Fortunately for us, Tara and Jo were also standing on the quay beside us. Jo strained her back to the point where she could no longer row and was picked up by the crew of Aurora while the rest of her four continued on. Tara and her teammate, Iain, capsized the same Sunday, bloody Sunday as we did and were rescued from their liferaft with Jo's help. In the pub, we shared hundreds of our stories of life on the ocean. We each had different experiences, but they were all the same. Tales of watching flying fish, rowing through lightning storms, the unnerving sight of tanker lights at 2 a.m., the fire that spreads across the vast plane of water during a sunset, the wonderful crunch of Cheetos, the hilarity of your teammate making up another song, the joy of a cleansing rain, and millions of memories of a journey that ended 1500 miles too soon. Although it was not logical, we were jealous of those that were still battling the elements. Ocean rowing was in our blood, and there in the pub, we could see it pulsing though each other's veins. The next day, I kayaked to the far end of the harbour. Then - in my flop flops because I had no other shoes - I braved the cacti and cliffs of the eastern shore until I reached a vantage point where I could look back at all of the mighty Atlantic. I sat down on the point that I had seen in my mind for as long as I could remember. I had not reached it the way I wanted, but as the ocean breeze filled my senses, I knew that someday I would. And now, that someday might be 52 days away...

Work hard, Play hard

Last week was a busy, somewhat stressful week, but so long as I end it with some fun and adventure, then it's totally worth it. Work hard, play hard, and live life to the max.

The week itself was spent with hours upon hours in the dungeon of a subbasement that houses the microscopy lab. The stress of playing around with 1 mm x 2 mm x 70 micron sections of leaf material for hours on end takes it toll. After 10 hour workdays staring through dissecting scopes cutting, staining and handling copper grids that could easily fit on the head of a pin, my brain was fried. Fortunately I have sports as my favorite remedy. I went climbing indoors for the first time at the Phoenix Rock Gym on Wednesday with Emily and Hannah. Although I'm not great at it yet, I had a blast and gave my fingers and forearms an incredible workout. Thursday was spent on our crossover game for ultimate (our team usually plays on Tuesday). The girls on the opposing team were very athletic, and after a long day in the lab, I enjoyed chasing them around knocking their disks out of the air on defense, and cutting around them to catch disks in the end zone. We played very well as a team, and are now 2-2 and looking strong for the rest of the season.

Out of all of the sports that I have played, I think that ultimate players as a whole are the most fun by far. Not necessarily hippies, just easy-going people who enjoy having a good time and want to make sure that the people around them are enjoying life as well. And I love being part the crazy group of ultimate players known as VOTS (Valley of the Sun Ultimate). On Friday several of us went to the Way Out West Octoberfest in Tempe. We had a few good German beers and just went with the flow of the evening. We rode carnival rides, sang along to the live cover bands, and then danced to the polka bands until midnight. I had never danced to polka before, but it didn't matter. Much like ska or Irish jigging, if you just jump around to the beat, you'll pretty much fit in. Our group excelled at jumping around, and VOTS owned the dance floor... whether it was because of our incredible polka skills or just the fact that we lasted longer than most people with our big group is beside the point. After we wore ourselves out on the dance floor, we biked over to Casey Moore's for a few more drinks and lots of stories into the wee hours of the morning.

After about three hours of sleep, I woke up way too early and reluctantly headed out to South Mountain with Hannah and Angel for some adventure race training and an attempt at geocaching. Hannah had gotten a new GPS as a wedding gift, and we wanted to try it out. Angel and I lagged well behind Hannah on the 2 mile bike leg up to the National Trailhead, but I figured it would be good training for sleep deprivation and mental toughness. After locking up our bikes, we started up the foothills with Angel and I sweating out German beer. My head hurt and my legs were wobbly as we alternated between running and walking up the slope. My mental state was about as good as my physical one as I contemplated how bikes were supposed to navigate the gigantic rock formations that made up the majority of the trail. Once we cleared the top though, I started to feel a little bit better due to the incredible view of the entire Valley from the vantage point. We soon turned off of National and headed to Hidden Valley, where a "map cache" was supposedly tucked away among the unique rock formations. Unfortunately for us, we couldn't quite figure out how to switch Hannah's GPS from degrees, minutes and tenths of a minute to degrees, minutes, and seconds. We were lousy geocachers, but had a great time scrambling over the rocks in the cool autumn-like morning. We didn't find a single cache, but got a bit of a good workout in and sweat out any alcohol that we had in our systems. Afterwards, Angel and I caught a late breakfast before I headed in to the lab for a few hours to catch up on some projects that I've put on the back burner due to all of my microscopy work.

During the evening, I went over to Hannah and Tom's for some beer brauts and college football. It was awesome... Stanford beat USC and Florida almost beat LSU. Purdue played some team in red... I don't think it was Indiana or Wisconsin... it started with The... something about little nuts... anyways, I don't remember what happened, the first quarter was too painful and I blacked out for the rest of it. At least we can win where it counts in rowing.

On Sunday, Team ODP went up for a romp in the forests of Prescott. Since Angel and I had felt bad on the first part of the training session on Saturday, it was only fair that Hannah took her turn on Sunday. It was too bad for her, as the weather was perfect and 305 was just as amazing as it had been the first time. We stopped a few times along the ride, and it just felt right to be out there. Clear blue skies, fresh air, tall pines with fat squirrels scampering through them, and proud mullein plants clinging to the last yellow blossoms at the top of their tall, fuzzy stalks. It is times like that when you understand why people like Chris McCandless do what they do. (Sidebar to my family, no worries, I'm not going to just vanish into the wild, no matter what I said when I was a kid). Standing on top of a ridgeline and looking out across the hills and valleys and granite outcroppings, you understand life in the balance and how lucky we are to experience moments of peace like that in nature.

In addition to the beauty of our surroundings, the ride was incredible, especially now knowing where the dips and turns and hills were. We flew back down the trail (Hannah kind of literally on one section) as fast as we could go, just living in the moment, and enjoying the freedom of it all. Again, the seven miles back ended way too quickly, and we headed back to civilization for a bite to eat at Sonic, a quick stop at REI to look at gear, and then returned home after a full weekend.

Life is best lived to the max, and I have certainly been doing that the past couple of weeks. With the potential to get back out on the ocean in less than two months, my brain has been running a million miles a minute with a hundred different scenarios playing over and over in my mind. Although it is stressful at times, I work best under pressure. My passions bring out the best in me, and when I have a lot on my plate, I usually get more things done. It's exciting to be excited again. Work hard, play hard, and though there is no break on the horizon, it's the life I choose, and one that I truly love.

Into the Wild

On Friday, I went to go see Into the Wild. It was only playing at one theater in the Valley, which surprised me, as it seemed like one of the most interesting movies that is out right now. Never-the-less, the theater was right up the road in Scottsdale, so I didn't have to go too far to get there.

Angel was just talking about the story behind the movie a few weeks ago when we were camping up in Prescott, and it intrigued me then when I first heard about it. She had read the book, and had told me all about it before I had even heard about the movie, and when there was an article about the movie in Outside magazine, I knew that I had to see it. The movie (and book by Jon Krakauer before it) is based on a true story about a young man, Christopher McCandless, who grew up in an upper middleclass DC neighborhood, attended Emory University, and then decided that he had had enough of society and material things. So, he gave all of his money to charity and spent the next two years roaming the U.S. working odd jobs on farms, riding in boxcars, hiking trails, and living with hippies. After two years of adventures, he decided that it was time to go off on his own and live in the wilderness of Alaska. He survived 113 days off of a bag of rice, a rifle, and a book of wild edible plants. Unfortunately, the movie has an unhappy ending, but that's not my point here.

My point is I think that many of us have had the dream of going off and living in the wild. I used to think that I was the only one, but after talking to and interacting with fellow adventurers and friends, I have found that my dream is not one of a kind. It's the actual carrying out of that dream that makes people like Chris unique. So many of us get caught up in the rat race that is life that we never pause to focus on our dreams. With jobs, families, and other responsibilities that often take priority, we put off our other passions - giving excuses that time, or money, or some other obstacle stands in the way of our dreams. You have to have a lot of courage in order to step out of that comfort zone that we have been raised in and step into the wild to risk the unknown, to risk failure, maybe even death sometimes. We give a lot of credit to people like Chris who are able to live out their dreams without looking back because so many of us have the desire to do so, but don't have the cajones to do so. It has been said that you don't start growing old until your dreams turn into regrets. Everyone has responsibilities, and most people have dreams, but not everyone has the courage to live out those dreams. That is what makes adventurers a special breed.

Left: Kohl and I with Jo from Rowgirls. Right: Kohl and I with Tara and Iain of Sun Latte.

Ever since I got the call from Simon, the thought of rowing oceans has not left my mind. Dreams are very powerful things, and to be honest, rowing oceans has been on my mind since the day that I picked up Debra Veal's book on that fateful day in London. Yet, my mind has been in a constant struggle... I think about two months to the day until we would be setting off and all of the things that would have to be done in that time frame... renew passport, raise over $20,000, coordinate repainting and refitting of rails in the fours boat in England, coordinate shipping, order food, and not to mention... telling my PI that I'll be gone for a bit after Thanksgiving. Then, I think about being back in the Canaries, laughing in the pub with our fellow rowers, trying to buy supplies in the Spanish hardware stores, fitting the last of the equipment into the boat, finally getting started, the freedom of the ocean, phosphorescence, stars, laughing with your teammate at the eccentricities of life on the ocean, singing in the rain, watching the sun rise out of a gray horizon, and ultimately living your dream.

It's a lot to think about, but it's going to be a tough call no matter what happens. My problem isn't whether I'm following my dreams or not, it's which dream I am going to follow at this point in time. It's my age old paradox... if I'm on the ocean, I'll feel bad about taking so much time off of the PhD and worrying my family. If I'm in the lab, I'll kick myself for the next two years for not trying harder to finish what I started when I had the chance. Sometimes I wish it was just as easy as walking off into the wild, but then again, all of the challenges are just part of the adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way.