- You often find yourself at your desk making clove hitches and slipknots in your headphone cable
- You keep getting comments about white marks on your work clothes, especially on casual Fridays
- You’ve brought climbing shoes to work
- You’ve traversed, stemmed or laybacked the office I-Beams
- You’ve gone up or down office floors without use of the stairs OR elevator
- You constantly find rolled-up, discarded medical tape in your desk, car, etc.
Any of my climbing and/or skiing partners over the past two years will attest that I’ve fairly injury-prone. I’ve suffered from one ailment or another for the past 12 months with a broken bone a couple years ago.
However, it should be said that my lifestyle has changed completely since moving to Utah 2.5 years ago. Whereas in New York I’d be lucky to get outside to hike or something once every two months, some weeks I’m outside 3-4 times, with workouts every day in between. I’ve become somewhat of an exercise junkie: Pull-ups, push-ups, fingerboard workouts, front lever progressions, and most recently weighted ice tool dead-hangs. Pretty much every day I’m not actually climbing, I’m doing some other type of workout. Not to mention 20 miles of running a week back when I was training for the Steeplechase and The Other Half Marathon in Moab.
While the broken collarbone was due to general jackassery, the latest injuries have been from overuse. Not wanting to plateau in my performance, I’m constantly mixing things up and pushing myself. I’ve had three finger injuries in the past year (putting me out of commission for maybe 3-4 months total), all from crimpy gym boulder problems. A couple of years ago I had tendonitis in my ankle and leg from running too far, too fast. In early October I injured my Iliotibial Band three weeks into an 18-mile-a-week training schedule off the couch (ugh…stupid).
Thus, my main goal currently is recovery (well, second to climbing as much ice as possible). I’ve learned how to cope and am back to climbing in the gym twice a week with a much-improved finger. Gym bouldering is probably out of the picture for a long time, at least crimpy problems, as finger injuries are awful for a climber. I’m probably going to be suffering through the IT band injury for as long as there’s ice to climb this winter, but that’s ok. It’s all about priorities. Running is out of the picture for as long as necessary.
Looking back, I wouldn’t change anything. It’s a learning process. I’ve never really trained before. High school sports didn’t count — nor did the sporadic weightlifting in college. It’s a new era, and the dreams haven’t gone anywhere…
Well, it’s been exactly two months. I can’t say I’ve been too busy to post, but this is what’s been going on in the life of Alec…
Sept 26: Adopt-A-Crag Day: Ferguson Canyon
After two years of climbing all over the Wasatch, I decided to put in a Saturday to contribute back to the community.
Steve and I were in a group of 10-12 climbers tasked to do some trail work in the Cathedral area — mostly moving big boulders around and raking dirt and scree. Hopefully our work will prove fruitful in the Spring when the runoff is diverted away from the cliffs and the newly constructed trail. It was a fun if not exhausting day. Honestly, though, I was just itching to climb, so I returned the next day:
Oct. 09: Craggin’ Classic
The second annual American Alpine Club’s Craggin’ Classic event was held in Salt Lake this year, featuring slideshows by local badass Brian Smoot and renowned alpinist Steve House. I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at routes on Mountain Project, and have come across (and climbed) dozens of Brian’s, so I was excited to match a face to the name. The slideshow was superb, looking back at 60 years of climbing in the Wasatch, in every area, in every medium. Seems like the dude has done it all, and is still incredibly humble.
The main event though, of course, was the day of cragging in the canyons. I had signed up for a clinic with a friend, and we happened to fall under the guidance of Cedar Wright, a professional climber known for his crack-climbing expertise. Nancy Feagin, another local under-the-radar badass climber, tagged along. Both guides were exceptionally helpful and modest the whole time, leading by example. We went to the Dihedrals area of Little Cottonwood and played around on some 5.9s and .10s. There I met Erik, a correspondent for Alpinist magazine on his way to moving to Boulder, who later posted this article about the event. It was pretty fun — I even took my first lead fall on my own gear later in the afternoon, just to scamper back up and finish off the climb without further mishap.
Nov. 07: Castleton Tower
Ever since I started climbing, I had heard of the otherworldly sandstone towers of Southeast Utah: hundreds of feet tall, solid rock, and amazing scenery. At last, I made the trip down to Moab to climb to climb the most famous one, Castleton.
I must say I was quite intimidated at the parking lot. The tower looms in plain view, seemingly vertical and unclimbable. However, around the back side of the tower was a series of stepped dihedrals and chimneys that looked easier and less exposed. This is where the Kor-Ingalls (5.9+ III) route lies.
As expected, we ran into several parties on the route, as early November is peak season for desert sandstone. The climbing went pretty quickly, though, and Brian made sure to stick me with the crux third pitch. I needed a few minutes to compose myself before setting off on lead, shimmying up the first section before wedging myself in a chimney to get some gear in. A large section of the crux pitch is unprotected, and only a very low bolt and two small cams protected the upper part, which I chose to stem. The stemming was technical but not too strenuous and I ran it out to the top, heart pounding. Exhilarating! Soon afterwards we were on the summit, about as wide as my house.
Photos
Nov. 13-15: Red Rocks
After reading so many great things about Red Rock Conservation Area, near Las Vegas, NV, I decided I needed to see for myself. Luckily, Brian’s trip was postponed to a later weekend and I was able to tag along. Brenton unfortunately had to drop out so it was just the two of us. We took off early Friday morning and drove through a snowstorm for about four hours down to Cedar City. By the time we passed through Arizona it was sunny and warm again, and soon enough we were passing through the City of Sin. We secured a campground (barely) and made our way to Red Rocks.
I was (am) nursing an injury to my IT band so I was hoping to limit the uphill hiking to keep the pain to a minimum. Thus, we chose to climb in First Creek Canyon the first day. We started on Black Magic, an excellent 5.8 on the Lotta Balls buttress. Brian led the first and third pitches, by far the best of the climb, while I gladly followed. For some reason my lead head was not in shape for the whole weekend, a shame since I ended up on the sharp end for eight or nine pitches! I can only chalk it up to not being familiar with sandstone, especially the textured sandstone of Red Rock. Breaking off a pebble on my first lead of the trip probably didn’t help, either..
Mount Wilson and Cloud Tower. The rightmost tower in the center has a 1000′ crack system on the right containing Crimson Chrysalis
The second day we got up at five to beat the crowds to Crimson Chrysalis, a nine-pitch 5.8+ in Juniper Canyon. The approach was arduous, and I was feeling the pain in my knee about an hour into the hike. By 8:30 we were climbing, psyched to be the first party on the route. The climbing was steep, continuous, and surprisingly moderate. I again had to psych myself up for the lead, even though it was only 5.8, and terrifyingly made my up to the next anchors. About half of the belays were hanging, a rarity on a 5.8!
Brian and I swapped leads for the rest of the day, clipping bolts and face climbing. I didn’t need to do more than a dozen or so jams the entire route — gotta love Red Rock! Around 1-2 we topped out on a glorious summit with magnificent views of the valley and Rainbow Wall, towering over us to the west. I’d say it was the best route I’ve ever climbed, and we didn’t see a soul all day on it!
The rest of the trip was pretty anti-climatic, we returned to Lotta Balls buttress the next day for another classic four pitches before making the long drive back to Salt Lake. I’ll be back this Spring!
Photos
There aren’t many moments from my childhood I can still recall. One, however, remains illuminated fifteen years later. I was sitting in the back of a classroom with the rest of my 4th-grade classmates in a group discussion with my teacher, Mrs. Bingle. I forget the discussion, but I do remember the question: What’s your favorite season?
I was an exceedingly shy kid growing up (surprise surprise). Rarely would I raise my hand to answer a question or participate in a discussion. My quarterly report card would be immaculate save for a few demerits concerning “needs to participate more” or the like. This time was different, though.
“Winter!” I exclaimed without hesitation before anyone else.
We took a vote, tallied the results, and lo and behold — winter had twice that of any other season.
“I would’ve thought for sure it’d be summer!” Mrs. Bingle said after the tally. “You don’t even have to go to school then!”
Perhaps my rare enthusiasm influenced the vote. It doesn’t matter. As soon as those first flakes start flying, I’m as giddy as a fourth-grader. For the past few days, there has been snow in the forecast for the mountains, and today it came. I awoke to 40-degree temperatures and a cold misty rain over the valley. Sometime around mid-day the fog lifted enough to reveal a snowy blanket on the foothills. I looked out my third-floor window and smiled.
Lately I’ve been basing my ranking of the seasons based on the outdoor activities tied to each. Winter means ice climbing, skiing and mountaineering. How you can go wrong? So what if it’s dark by five? So what if you have to bundle under two extra layers just to go to work? There’s snow!
I’m getting ahead of myself, of course. The snow in the mountains will be gone in weeks, if not days, and the first real snowstorm likely won’t be til November. But these winter teases are all it takes to get me fired up. I’m sick of 85 degrees. It’s been too damn sunny. So bring on the cold and bring on the snow, I’m ready. The rest of Northern Utah sure as hell isn’t, but I sure am. Bring it!
Seven years ago I sat down at a Unix terminal in a dark, stuffy, tiny computer lab in the old Computer Science wing at RIT. Coming from a non-programming but computer-enthusiast background, the whole command-line environment was quite foreign. I was tasked with implementing a few Java methods as part of a weekly lab and, though looking back it seems trivial, was rather overwhelmed. How many lines should this algorithm require? Are there naming conventions I should be following? How should I format my code?
I’m a perfectionist. I got it from my Dad. For a while I thought it was a bad thing and that it was preventing me from getting stuff done. I don’t think that anymore; rather, I think that in order to be a competent programmer you must be a perfectionist.
This isn’t to say I’ve some sort of rock-star programmer. Far from it, actually. Writing code is hard. There are so many variables to consider when writing the simplest of functions it makes your head swim. What if the database server goes down? What if, after checking for a user’s existence, another thread creates that user right before you try and create it yourself? What if all the parameters are null?
Every day, I find myself making incremental improvements in my code. Realizing new error conditions. Documenting more thoroughly. But what am I still leaving out? A lot, undoubtedly. But only through constant re-analysis do I even come to these small realizations. Re-reading methods and comments. Refactoring constantly. Writing girl code. I can’t imagine what a less-obsessive developer is leaving out. Frankly, it’s scary. But, then again, programming is hard. It’s not going to get easier any time soon, and there’s no silver bullet. For now, I’ll just be my anal self, which, luckily, comes rather naturally. Some aren’t so lucky, and, arguably, perhaps shouldn’t be writing code.
Today I stumbled upon another fantastic blog post by the inimitable Kathy Sierra. It may contain the single best piece of advice for teachers of any kind: center the experience around the students, not yourself. Check it out.
But the concept doesn’t just apply to teaching. I often find myself, likely due to my personality, in situations where I’m thinking “are you really still talking about that? This conversation should’ve ended 15 minutes ago.” This is especially apparent in business settings, where underlying political agendas can so easily derail (or make interminable) the original topic of discussion. Does what so-and-so said really need to be repeated slightly paraphrased by half the meeting’s participants? What benefit is your contribution providing to your audience? Why should anyone care? Everybody’s busy. Perhaps the most effective means of paying respect is by respecting one’s time.
Why stop with teaching and conversing? The best writing employs the same techniques: conciseness and a central focus on a target audience. This blog is probably not the best example, since it was originally a way to let people know of my travels abroad. It’s since had to morph into something different, but I’ve been noticing recently an inverse relationship between a post’s popularity and how much it’s about me. Shouldn’t have really come as a surprise, but strangely, it did. Not that I’ll stop discussing my adventures, of course, but I’ll try to make each more relevant to my (miniscule) audience.
Paying close attention to your audience and their desires is essential. It’s not about you. It’s about them.
Really? Seriously? Give me a break.
I stumbled upon this article the other day. It’s a fairly in-depth definition of the “quarterlife crisis,” or to put it more bluntly, the “plight of the white middle-class well-educated twenty-something.”
Let’s take a step back and look at this from another perspective. It’s 2009. We have experienced six decades of exponential economic and cultural growth, reaching a level of wealth never before seen on this planet. We’re still mired in a fairly deep recession but the bottom has clearly been reached and we’ll soon be rallying back. Opportunities abound: you’re in your twenties, well-educated, and socially adept; not to mention a native speaker of the bona fide lingua franca of the world. You could live anywhere on the planet and prosper immediately. Travel is cheap and your currency is the world’s standard.
Quarterlife crisis? Get real. It’s another feel-good term for the mopey, spoiled, urban, white-collar twenty-something struggling with their own identity. Spend some time alone for once. Reconnect with yourself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, for God’s sake. You are blessed and lucky beyond all imagination. Your problems are dwarfed by those of the vast majority of the developing world. Your family and friends love you and will stand by your every decision, good or bad.
Cheer yourself up. Think positive. Stop absorbing whiny existential ramblings online, go outside, take a deep breath and soak in the sunshine. The world is your oyster. Go get it!
It’s been about a month since my last post, and, coincidentally, about the same time since we’ve seen the sun. Well, ok, it hasn’t been quite that bad, but the weather has been decidedly atrocious. We’ve had thunderstorms and/or rain pretty much every day for the past three weeks. It all began Memorial Day weekend, when Cam invited me to join him on a river trip down the Green River…
At eight PM or so, friday, May 29, nine of us arrived at Sand Wash, the put-in for a five-day trip floating the Green River in east-central Utah. Cam, his stepmom, and a collection of rather experienced river-runners and I all set up our tents and rendezvoused for beers and some pre-trip storytelling. It drizzled most of the night, an ominous sign for the days to come.
Day one: May 23
We didn’t shove off the next morning until eleven or so — nine of us on three rafts — a 14, 15, and 16-footer. It was drizzling and rather miserable, but we were in high spirits, cruising down the rather swollen, 5mph-flowing river for most of the day. Around six or so we found our first camp — a nice, shady flat area nestled in an inner curve of the river. Martinis and mexican food were consumed en masse and soon it turned dark. After some drunken conversing and guitar-playing another torrential downpour effectively scattered everyone to their respective tents for the evening.
Day two: May 24
The next morning was quite beautiful. The sun peeked out and illuminated the sandstone walls of Desolation Canyon just in time for breakfast:
As would become customary for the rest of the trip, we shoved off at around ten. It was also the day for the first decent-sized rapid of the trip. We pulled off to the side sometime around noon and scouted it from shore. Ominous clouds billowed downstream and we ran the rapids without incident. That is, if you don’t call my punching the front of the boat and getting absolutely drenched an incident. Right after that it started to get colder and rained a bit, and a couple miles downstream we pulled off for lunch.
I should comment that every single meal on the river was delicious — these aren’t meals you can put together on a backpacking trip — we feasted on Spaghetti, Sausages, and Burritos w/ everything, and that was just the beginning. French Toast and Eggs w/ Biscuits greeted the mornings, and lunch consisted of fantastic sandwiches w/ hummus, sprouts and the works; it was ridiculous. I’ve never been so spoiled in the backcountry.
Not having put enough warm clothes in my drybag, I was quite miserable for the rest of the day until we made our second camp at an aesthetic, open spot at a bend in the river. Soon after unloading, I set up my tent and took a gander at some of the boulders in the vicinity. They looked promising, so I retrieved my climbing shoes and climbed some fantastic problems on excellent sandstone, all around V0-V2 or so. Then a vicious storm rolled in, and most of us took shelter and napped to wait it out. Later we set up a system of tarps to protect the kitchen area so the day’s chefs could prepare dinner, and the evening was dry and quite fun.
Day three: May 25
I don’t remember much about this day except that it was finally sunny for most of it. We set up the best campsite of the trip on a beautiful sandy beach which rose up twenty feet or so from the river. Cam and I cooked up burritos w/ Chipotle-marinated pork which turned out to be a big hit, and we spent the rest of the evening drinking Margs and tossing around a frisbee. Not a bad life. The sunset on the sandstone walls was spectacular, and Cam and I stayed up late chatting until another rainstorm cut it short. It would be the last of the trip.
Day four: May 26
The morning dawned bright and cloudless — we were in for a spectacular day. Spirits were high and we hit the Tecate hard throughout the day — something like four beers before lunch. Right around mid-morning we pulled off to scout what was supposed to be the biggest rapid of the trip, a seven on the ten-point scale. It formed last summer during an especially violent flash flood out of a side canyon, scattering huge boulders everywhere and creating a nice, big, frothy rapid to navigate. Cam ran it like a pro. It turned out to be rather mild for us two twenty-somethings but provided some much-needed excitement for the group. Afterwards we went back to the beer, hitting it pretty hard until we set up the last camp of the trip. It was probably the least aesthetic of the campsites (no boulders to climb!) and it was a pretty subdued evening. The night was clear and stars infinite, and by this time I was in full-on river mode, enjoying the utter disconnect. It’s times like those that I live for…
Day five: May 27
The last morning was a bit bittersweet as we all knew it was all coming to the end. The group had meshed admirably and we were all getting along great. It’s amazing how big a difference the right personalities make on a long trip like this — there were no drill sergeants and no slackers, everybody pitched in and things just got done smoothly every time. I was proud to be part of such a cohesive group.
It was another cloudless, warm day; I went swimming off the boat and we had a few water fights. By three or so, though, we were coming to the last of the rapids and soon were taking out and unloading. It didn’t quite hit me until I turned on my cellphone (only Verizon customers got decent service) and made a few phone calls. I was connected again, back on the grid. Back to society, back to the grind.
Epilogue
Though most of you probably won’t read this, I’d like to thank everyone for such a great trip — Laurie, Kerry, Paul, Kelli, Ridge, Anita, Joelle, and especially Cam for the invite and putting up with my occasional surliness over those five days. It was fantastic — let’s make it a tradition!
Photos from the trip
As you all probably know, I recently bought a house here in Salt Lake. Home ownership has been a mixed bag thus far, but overall I’d say it trends toward the positive. One of the nice things was the $7500 tax credit from Uncle Sam for purchasing a house in 2008. Not quite the free $8k plus $6k from Utah, but it’s still a nice chunk of change. The caveat is that I have to pay it back in taxes over the next 15 years in $500 installments.
At first I was reluctant to take the money and accompanying debt, but in reality, you can’t go wrong with no-interest loans. It’s basically free money to play around with, so naturally, I decided to invest it. My father recommended Fidelity as an excellent source of quality mutual funds and other lower-risk investments, and I already have an online checking account through them, so I figured I’d give em a shot. After a bit of research and market analysis, I decided that it was a good time to start investing, and put $5k in two Fidelity mutual funds.
That was on April 15, and the markets have gained about 5% since. So far, it’s looking pretty good. It’s been pretty interesting following the spikes and troughs, and the more closely I follow the markets, the more I realized how emotional the whole thing is. Every single daily market report contains words like “leery,” “optimistic,” “fear,” and “enthusiasm.” So we’re all throwing trillions of dollars into this intractably complex system governed by….fears? Mood swings? Predicting the market seems impossible from such a perspective. How much of an impact does the media play on this system? Does the government time their labor reports to coincide with large market spikes? It seems like investors are the worried suburban mothers being barraged by hyped news of flus, predators, and everything else scary under the sun.
Thus I’m trying to break through the noise and only listen to longer-term market news and historical perspectives. My investments (minus the 401k of course) are short-term, and I can cash out whenever I want, so the goal is to play on market trends. If I can gain $500 a year, the money becomes mine. It’s only been a month and I’m almost there already, however, these are atypical times for investors. I’m just trying to ride the bull and keep the emotions at bay…
A little reminder for all you twenty-somethings out there.