Safe in the Canaries, getting ready to go!

Just one last quick blog before I take off... a bit hurried, because internet is expensive and I don´t have much time. More blogs available on our website: www.rowformeningitis.com Hope you´ll follow us across!

It´s been a pretty stressful last couple of weeks, but things are finally looking really good for Unfinished Business to finally finish.

Two weeks ago, I waved goodbye as Emily headed off to the Canaries, and then rushed around like a chicken with my head cut off to finish up all of my presentations, exams, manuscripts, and experiments at work while trying to sort through finances for my personal life, American Fire, and the current race, as well as buying massive amounts of food and trying to get everything done to prepare to leave Phoenix and get on for the race. Ryan took me to the airport with my 100 pounds of stuff, and I managed to make it to Louisville with everything still intact. I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with my mom´s side of the family up on my Grandma´s farm complete with cousins, turkey, stuffing, and a massive bonfire. I then spent that Friday walking around Dad´s new gorgeous farm and then packing the rest of my things before saying goodbye to friends and having one last homemade meal of chicken enchiladas. Then it was off on Saturday to the airport with all of my bags that weighed much more than my own body weight. After one last rum and coke with Dad in the airport bar and a several hugs and promises that I´d row as fast as I could, I was off on my own, off on the adventure again. It was 20 hours of traveling from Louisville to Chicago to Dublin to London to Tenerife, and when I arrived, I was exhausted but overwhelmingly excited. I met the Spectra (watermaker) repairman while waiting for my bags, and we got so wrapped up in conversation, that I wasn´t too worried that my bags weren´t turning up. But when all the bags were out, and my 150 lbs of food were still not on the carousel, I started to get worried. I searched all over the tiny airport before admitting defeat and filing a claim. I headed over with Jim and took the ferry over to Gomera sans bags. My desparation was delayed though when I saw our boat, Jo, and Kohl in the boatyard. She´s a beautiful boat and it was amazing to finally be here. We spent the remainder of the evening in The Blue Marlin where I was welcomed as a friend by Manuel (owner of the pub) and all of the Woodvale staff and started meeting our competition. My bags did turn up, and were a blessing in disguise, as British Airways delivered them directly to the marina for free - I didn´t have to lug the things from Tenerife, and it saved me a lot of hassle in the end. The last few days have been spent fitting the last of the equipment, organizing food, having meetings with Woodvale and the fleet, and making sure that everything is ready to go. Tara got in Tuesday evening, bringing presents of logoed shirts and hats, and completing the Unfinishe Business team. The forecast is looking beautiful this year for a fast race, and the trades are blowing strong already, woohoo! We´re planning on getting the boat in the water this afternoon, and will be participating in the Gomera Cup on Friday before having a bit of time to relax and recheck equipment in preparation for Sunday´s race start.

Ok, I´ve gotta get outta here, but please follow our progress on www.rowformeningitis.com and see you when I return in mid-January!

Leavin' on a jet plane...

I will be leaving the desert in a few hours. In the year and a half that I have been out here, I have grown to love this hot, dry, sandy playground, and I know I will miss it while I am gone. Although I'll really only be gone for about two months (less, really, depending on how long I recover on the Antiguan beaches), it is going to be a pretty intense two months. It is the trip of a lifetime, and there are a lot of things to think about as I am packing up and leaving the life that I have come to know. Here are a few things that I am thinking about as I leave Phoenix, go home to spend some much deserved time with my family, and then set off again to row the Atlantic Ocean...

Things that I will miss while out on the ocean:

The Edge 103.9 - I'll miss rocking out with them in the Jeep, windows down and singing at the top of my lungs as I cruise through the desert, laughing at the hilarious antics of Chuck Powell and Corey James during The Morning Ritual, and sitting back and enjoying the acoustic chill of a Sunday Morning Service. The only consolation is that I have my iPod packed with thousands of songs and audiobooks - that small device will be my most prized possession onboard.

(Good) Green things - Things like trees, fresh vegetables, grass, and even cactus. Life on the ocean is mostly blue, white, and gray with reds and purples thrown in during sunsets. When there is green out there, it is usually something awful coming up after a meal, something equally smelly growing in the footwell, or a weird colored cloud signaling a bit of a scary low pressure system. The only good green things we will have onboard will be the occasional treat of freeze-dried green beans, and maybe a Christmas tree if we don't screw it up this year. I know that Antigua has a lot of green on it, and each day I'll be pulling to reach the oasis of color.

Mountains - Again, good mountains - not ones that move or come crashing over the gunwales, we don't need any of those this time. One of my favorite things about living in Phoenix is that I am surrounded by mountains in every direction. They stand there in their majestic beauty, bathed in the glow the Arizona sun, just beckoning to be climbed. There won't be any climbing out on the ocean, which brings me to the next thing I will miss.

Using my calve muscles - walking, running, climbing. I've just gotten back into sprinting/cutting shape from ultimate frisbee, and in two months, all that work will be gone. My body will search for protein from any available source, and my selfish quads and back muscles will eat my helpless calves who can't even defend themselves as I crawl like a monkey around the deck.

Life Science Tower #348 - I know I'm a super lucky kid because I really love my job. I love the research that I am doing, both for the basic science knowledge that I am helping to discover and for the prospects of someday helping those countries that are currently ravished by HIV. I also work with some amazing people. From my PI, who understands my dreams and has been supportive of them since the first day I stepped into the lab, to my labmates who share my love of dancing after positive Western blot results, dry ice fights, and having Sacks for lunch. LSE348 is a crazy lab, but we have a blast while doing some incredible work.

A big fat juicy burger and a cold drink - I almost feel blasphemous writing about this, because I know that as I write about it, it will stick with me in my head as I am chowing down on my 12th meal of macaroni and cheese, and I will want nothing more at that moment than a huge hunk of meat. Fantasies on the ocean have very little to do with anything sexual... most revolve around some form of food or drink, be it fresh bread, a crisp salad, or french fries and a chocolate shake. Ok, I've gotta stop writing about this one, cause I know it's gonna come back and haunt me.

My bed - There is nothing better than a long day of hard work and play, and then being able to curl up on my comfy bed with its egg crate padding, soft sheets, and my Purdue football fleece blanket that my gran made me. It's warm, safe, dry, it doesn't move, and I don't have to leave it every two hours.

Friends - A lot of people, when going off on a big adventure, say that they'll miss their friends and family as a sort of cliche, expected response, but for me, deep down, my friends and family are really the things that keep me going. I cannot do this alone. Without friends around me to support me, picking me up when I've had a stressful day and being there to celebrate a good day, then all of the ups and downs in life don't mean much. A month and a half flies by here on land and life for my friends will go on as normal with the exception of sending a text or checking our progress. But, on the ocean - devoid of all normal things - you really get a chance to think about what is important in life, and I know that without my friends, I would be nothing. I'll miss the random phone calls in the middle of the night from New Jersey (you can still text me!), I'll miss racing Ryan home from the lab (I told you biking was faster) to make some mouthwatering dinners, I'll miss all of the hikes and bikes with ODP (you guys are just OD, but try not to have too much fun without me), I'll miss my ultimate buddies and all of the crazy arse things that we manage to get ourselves into (who else would make up our own bike parade or run around with pumpkins on our heads?), I'll miss watching college sports (and now the Suns :)), nights at the bars, or simply just sitting around a campfire staring into the flames. But, I've got plenty of fun memories to keep me going through the rough patches, and the fact that I will be coming back all of you crazy kids when I return will fuel my desire to go that much faster.

Family - When I got the call from Simon Chalk on September 18th, the first thing that went through my head was my concern for my family. What they would think, and how they would react to the challenge a second time, knowing the risks that I was taking. I've put my family through a lot in my short 24 years... and I can't even fathom how they felt during those 16 hours. The fact that they still support me wholeheartedly is a testament to their love, devotion, trust, and belief in me and what I am doing. I cannot thank them enough for the support they have given me, and when tears are streaming down my face as we step ashore in Nelson's Dockyard, those tears are all for my family and how they have shaped me into the person I am today. Words cannot express how much my parents, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and everyone down the line mean to me. That said, I will be thinking of all of you every day out there. I'll be missing broomball on the frozen pond (at least I won't knock Dad over going for the score), I'll miss being the trash monster on Christmas (Em, you'll have to take over that again for me, kiddo), I'll miss making the most kickass fireworks show north of the Ohio River on New Year's (hopefully Grandpa won't burn down the house :)), I'll miss traipsing through the snow on the farm and coming in to a cosy fire afterwards, I'll miss all the good food that everyone in my family makes (jeez, can't get off this food thing), and I'll miss all the smiles and hugs and the warmth that the holidays offer. But, know that every stroke I take brings me closer to you, and that one of the biggest motivations for me out there is all of you guys. I pull that much harder knowing that you are all behind me, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

So, why, if I will miss all of these things, am I doing this? Wally Herbert (a polar explorer) said it best, "And what value was this journey? It is as well for those that ask such a question that there are others who feel the answer and never need to ask."

But that doesn't answer your question, does it? Why? Because I simply love it. Life is an adventure, and we can only grow by stepping outside of our comfort zones. You learn so much about yourself, your character, your values, and the world around you when you are continually out of that comfort zone for weeks at a time. It makes me appreciate all the things on that list 100x more, and I become more humble, more thankful, and more thoughtful as a result. It makes you realize that life is simple and inherently good, despite the storms and setbacks. There is sunshine after every storm, and there is no better way to learn that than by actually going through those storms. It is my dream, and has been for years, and the fulfillment of this dream will fill a hole in my life, and in the lives of my teammates, and will free me to pursue other dreams, like my PhD, and eventually a family and kids.

But, if you're still not convinced, here are a few REALLY good reasons for rowing across the Atlantic. The things that I will not miss:

Driving out to the East Greenhouse on Monday mornings - New speed cameras popping up everywhere, traffic abounding, and the unexpected, though ever present, drama that goes on between Biodesign labs and the greenhouse manager will not be missed. I am taking back those three hours a week and doing something productive with them... like sleeping.

Polluted air - Although the Valley is nice in the fact that I can see mountains all around, those same mountains prevent the smog from escaping. After awhile you just become numb to the dust and exhaust fumes and waste from factories, but once you hit that ocean air, you know that that is the way air is supposed to taste and smell and feel. Clean, fresh, and just a hint of salt, like a good margarita.

Politics - I'm generally fairly informed when it comes to the world around me and I even enjoy discussions on politics, but not for politics sake. When real issues, integrity, and leadership take a back seat to interest groups, backstabbing, and corruption, then it's not worth it to me. Again, the whole "keeping life simple" thing. I won't miss all of the attention that the media gives to the political garbage.

Flat tires - I seem to be a magnet for flat tires whether it's my bike or other people's cars. No flat tires on the ocean.

Boring lectures - yeah, that one speaks for itself as well. I get to miss two entire colloquiums and three whole lectures while I'm gone, woohoo!

Lab inspections - Wearing a lab coat and SHOES are not my idea of a good day, plus, the Health and Safety Officers don't appreciate my LB broth creatures or pipette tip sculptures quite as much as everyone else in the lab. I'll have at least 35 days of no shoes and no lab coat... and hardly any clothes at all for that matter.

All extraneous activities that don't pertain to simply living - life on the ocean is pretty basic, row, eat, sleep, and try not to dump the contents of the bucket on your teammates head (you'd think that last one would pretty easy, don't ya?). You realize how simple life can be, and how beautiful that simple life is.

To me, the ocean is a place of extremes... beauty, power, and freedom. Out there, with only your teammates, your boat, and your faith and determination to succeed, it can be overwhelming, but always awe inspiring. As I finish up packing to head home, I am nervous, excited, and confident of myself, my team, and my boat.

I'll probably post once more before I leave for the Canaries, but until then, I'll be with my family, enjoying some of the wonderful things that I will miss on the ocean.

The Real Thing

It's for real. On Friday morning, Kohl boarded a plane and headed over to the Canaries. Twenty-odd hours later, I got a call from the other side of the Atlantic, saying all is well and that she was waiting for the ferry to cross from Tenerife to the small sailing port of San Sebastian, on the island of La Gomera. From thousands of miles away, I could feel the renewed sense of purpose in her voice and could almost see the new glimmer in her eyes. I heard my teammate as I heard her two years ago: we are going.

On September 18th, exactly two months ago, I answered a call from England, and it changed my world as I formally knew it. I could have just as easily said no thanks, hung up, and let it go. It was just a whisper of potential success, without a team, or sponsors, or money, or a plan. It wasn't feasible or realistic to even try. But, the power of a dream is strong one, and the combined power of four of them can overcome all odds. In two months, the four of us have gotten a boat, equipment, funds, and a full ocean rowing campaign together. We have gone through all the trials and tribulations of our previous preparation... empty promises from what we thought were potential sponsors, equipment failures, logistical nightmares, stress of making sure that all our paperwork is in order, begging for donations from every possible source... all in two short months. Last time we had two years to prepare, and we have managed to put together a very promising campaign in the highly abridged version of what we were working with the last go around.

And now as a result of all of our hard work, Kohl and Jo are over in the Canaries, drinking Dorada beer with the ocean rowing crowd in The Blue Marlin and hiking the desert hills of the island to view the incredible vistas of the deep blue ocean fading into the sky to the west. I am jealous... and sooo excited. In one week, Tara and I will arrive and race Jo and Kohl up those same hills, meeting for the first time as Unfinished Business and formally starting our adventure. And, two weeks from this exact moment in time, I will be about 12 hours off the coast of Gomera watching the volcanic peak of El Tiede fade away in the moonlight and happily enjoying the freedom that only the ocean can offer.

Looking back at San Sebastian and the marina from one of the western hills of Gomera.

I have a lot to do in the meantime though. When Kohl first called me from Tenerife, I was in the heat (literally, Phoenix is still HOT) of battle with Beef Jerky during our last pool play game in VOTS Fall League finals. We played three amazing games in pool play, with intensity, teamwork, and a just a great sense of fun. Our third game was a tough match which ended on the wrong side of a universe point for Come From Behind. But, it was a good way to go out: a hard fought, low scoring, intense game with a respectable adversary who went on to the Finals. After our games ended, I stayed to watch the semis and finals and get my fair share of heckling in with the rest of the league. It was great fun with an incredible group of awesome people. Before I knew it, though, the sun had set and the last point was played, with our favored Beef Jerky just barely failing to win it all. And then I had to say goodbye... the first of many to come in the next few days... to my team, to the dozens of friends that I have made in the league, and to the game of ultimate for a few months. As I walked away from the field, a pit started to form in my stomach... I really am going to miss the people and the sport while I'm out on the ocean. I didn't have long to get pensive or melancholy, though. After a shower and dinner, I headed over to Suda's new condo for a joint housewarming and goodbye party. The wine and beer were flowing, and Guitar Hero, Dance Dance Revolution, and beer pong kept the festivities going strong well into the morning hours. More goodbyes were said, but the atmosphere was one of celebration, and I didn't even think about what I would be leaving behind.

Today I've had plenty of time for that though. My mind races in a circle, one moment eager to be off on the adventure, the next sad about leaving my friends, the next stressed about making the last shipping payments, and back again to being excited that our boat arrives tomorrow. Today was spent running a plethora of errands... getting the last of the food and equipment, and making sure that everything is ready to go. And then I had to go say goodbye to our faithful, third teammate of American Fire. She's not very happy about not going, and I'm not happy that she won't be carrying us to Antigua, but she's already been across twice before, and understands why we are doing what we are doing. I sat in her footwell for some time, consoling her and looking over the bow, imagining the blue horizon beyond. She is surprisingly taking things better than my bike, who was sitting sullenly in the corner of my room when I got home, his brake cables sagging and tears of chain oil dripping from his frame. He's a good bike, but he has his needs, too - ones that can't be satisfied chained up in my room for months. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to cheat on me with Hannah while I am gone, but I am hoping that one last ride on Tuesday morning in Papago will keep him loyal.

Other than that, I'll be busy the rest of the evening finishing off a manuscript for work and then organizing the hundreds of Snickers, granola bars, peanuts, Slim Jims, and other snacks into a manageable mess that will make it on the plane on Wednesday.

Haiku

midnight rain-
falling from moonlight
the desert wakes


(there ya go, finally a short one, but beware of upcoming posts :)).

At the Stars...

I have always been fascinated with the night sky. There is just something about the unfathomable limitless of space that just overwhelms and humbles me. From nights spent with my sister on the steep apex of our roof (unbeknowst to our parents), talking about our lives and gazing up at the cold, clear winter sky bordered by the bare trees of the woods that surrounded the house. To my first desert night in sands of Judea, playing the guitar to an audience of one and millions. To the top of the hills in Epping Forest, the horizon of stars fading into the glow of London to the south, Coldplay's Yellow playing fittingly on Asher's radio. To morning practices after winter training on the Wabash River, the moonlight reflecting off of the puddles of our first strokes in months. To 46 nights spent three feet above the surface of the Atlantic Ocean and no obstacles blocking the 360 degrees of our own private skyline. To nights of reflecting thoughts in Bequia just 11 days after our capsize, the anchor lights of the ships in harbour matching the twinkling of the stars so perfectly that you could not tell where the bay ended and the sky began. And now, lying back in the grass in North Scottsdale, looking up at those same stars. Faithful friends that remain constant companions through the years: Orion owning the winter sky with Sirius running along behind him, the twins of Gemini and the seven sisters of the Pleiades dancing playfully around Polaris. Life is ever changing, but no matter the changes here on this planet that we call home, they're always there, always to be trusted and counted upon to come up over the horizon. It doesn't matter if that horizon is a bare corn field or a forested hill or a desert landscape with saguaros silhouetted against the moonlight. I haven't had the opportunity yet to have good friends in the southern hemisphere, so that means that where ever I go north of the equator, my family and friends and I can always share the same night sky. It may seem like a small thing, but it is a huge comfort in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Even though you may be thousands of miles away from those you love, you can't help but feel a little bit closer when looking up at those same stars.

Nothing of great interest happened over the last week, at least not necessarily blog worthy things. Lots of work in the lab, lots of scrambling for additional funds, lots of confirmations with sponsors, a week of long nights staring up at my ceiling and not being able to sleep, only to get back at the computer and finish another task before falling back in bed. The weekend was a welcome respite, although I have to admit I spent the majority of it working both in the lab and on ocean rowing. At least Saturday afternoon and evening were enjoyable... with OSU losing to the Illini (sorry guys, it's a good thing to me), and then spending the rest of the night hopping around Scottsdale, I at least had a little time to relax and unwind. It sometimes gets away from me what I am working towards. Fortunately, both my friends here and those that have graced the night sky for eons help me to reinforce that the simple things are the ones that make us most happy. As I ended the night staring up at the stars, I had an overwhelming sense of peace despite the current craziness of my life. Simple, overwhelming beauty. Life is good.

Life in Perspective

For the past several weeks, I have spent the majority of my workweek staring through an eyepiece at a green fluorescent screen searching for 100 nanometer virus-like particles that are magnified 150,000 times their original size. For hours on end, I focus my entire attention on a grid of copper that is less than 1/10th the size of a dime. But, at the end of every day, I get to sprint up the five flights of stairs from the subbasement to the third floor where my regular lab resides, and there – with my heart rapidly pumping, I look over the library and past the palms that line the edge of campus to the peaks of South Mountain and the Estrellas. Beyond the mountains, a vast horizon is painted with the pinks, and oranges, and purples of an Arizona sunset. Beyond the illuminated backdrop lies an endless sky, fading out from the west to the east in a spectrum of blues and grays and the first twinkling stars of the twilight. From the tiniest particles of a cell to the infinite reaches of the night sky blanketing me on my ride home, I begin to get a feel for many perspectives on life.


My workday is not unlike our lives as a whole. We spend the majority of our lives focusing on one small aspect of our existence – our jobs, our appearance, our possessions, our bank accounts - without taking the time needed to sit back and just enjoy the immense pleasures of the things that are most important in our lives – our families, our friends, and our dreams. Fortunately, my family and friends allow me to put life in perspective. Over the past two months, my life has been turned around completely. I willingly traded in my stable, fairly stress-free life for a busy, stressed one filled with deadlines, tasks to be completed, money to be raised, and plans to be set in stone. My stress is self-induced – it is my choice. Others are not so lucky. With injuries, deaths in the family, and life-threatening illnesses, I know that some of the people in my life are facing hardships that they have not chosen. Even more than that, there are millions around the world who are facing hunger, war, HIV, poverty, and other adversities that are beyond their control. It really makes me rethink my own life. No matter the stress that I am facing at the moment, I know that there are others fighting much tougher battles than my own. The stories that I have been blessed to hear from so many incredible people have kept me inspired to continue fighting my own chosen fight. My own struggles seem tiny in perspective to the problems of others.

When I focus on the small details and deadlines, life can seem overwhelming, but looking at it from a broader perspective of making dreams come true and helping others makes it all worth it in the end. If, through our row, we can inspire others to keep going after their passions despite setbacks they might encounter, then the stress of raising money and publicity will be worth it. If, through my research, I can help defeat a disease that is destroying whole countries at a time, then the hundreds of failed experiments won’t matter.


The past week was full to the brim with everything from sponsorship to research fellowship applications, ordering freezedry for the trip to drying plants after infiltration, sweating in anticipation of the result of an analysis and sweating on the playing field at Diablo for an ultimate win (Come from Behind is third for Tuesday League... playoffs are next week, woohoo!) I have just over a week left here in Arizona before it's time to pack up, spend a few days with my family, and then head over to the Canary Islands for this epic adventure. Although it may seem near impossible at times, by never giving up and keeping things in perspective, I know that things will work out in the end.

That said... we are desperate for donations for our trip. For those of you reading this that don't know what I'm talking about, please read about us here and donate here. Thanks!