death mountain

After much introspection and thought during the last several days, it has become apparent to my accelerated intellect that my legs hurt...really bad.

Now okay, I thought I was in relatively good shape. Not great, not fantastic...but good.

I was wrong.

Relatively can mean a lot of different things. Relative to who? To someone who runs a 5K? To someone who eats potato chips all day and never gets off the couch? Yeah, I'm in pretty good shape. How about compared to a marathon runner? A half-marathoner? A 10 kilometer-er? Yeah, I don't stand a chance.

What brought on all this insightful introspection, you may ask?

Well on Monday, a few friends and I hiked Camelback Mountain. For those of you who have never hiked it, I now fondly refer to it as Death Mountain. Um, hello! It's called switchbacks, people. Apparently the makers of this trail had never heard of them. Instead, they put up metal railings so you could pull yourself up the mountain.

Okay, okay...so it wasn't as bad as I'm making it sound (though all the things I've said are true...ahem). I actually got up and down just fine with only a couple of short stops along the way to catch my breath. I'm sure that if I hiked this trail every day, I would be in marvelous shape and never complain again. (Okay fine...probably not possible.)

So why am I complaining so much? Because my legs are complaining. Loudly. They're really rude. Especially my shins and my ankle that I mildly twisted on the way down.

Moral of the Story:

Yeah, you're right. There's really no moral to this story. I'm just complaining.

Other Moral of the Story:

If your legs speak to you, that's probably not a good thing.

Final Moral of the Story:

Get out there and exercise!

Nothing like a good motivational pep-blog to get you pumped.

the imagination that died

I want to write a book. Like, really bad.

I just have one problem. And the only problem with my problem is that it's kind of a big one.

What would I write a book about?

It turns out (after years of attempting to plan this book) that I can only think to write about experiences that I have already had or about ones that I hope to someday have. So much for imagination. Boring. And you thought this blog was boring. Just imagine a whole book of it.

I have started writing several novels...with started being the key word in that sentence. Somehow I just always lose inspiration after the first 10 pages or so.

But, my statement still stands: I want to write a book. Pretty badly. So somehow, someday...I am going to make it happen.

However, please, please, I beg of you...don't hold your breath waiting for this book to be published. You'd probably just faint after the first minute and a half anyway. And I just don't see how that would help at all.

I want to write a song. Like, really bad.

I just have one problem...

My imagination died.

You may find me in Never Never Land for the next week or so. I need to see a certain Peter Pan about a lost inner child that used to have an imagination.

Depending on how things go, I may never come back...

my big brother

Once again, I think I know what you're thinking. You may find that hard to believe, but it's true. Believe me. My major is psychology after all, which everybody knows is the art of mind-reading.

Okay, are you ready for it? I am about to read your mind again, just to be sure. You won't feel a thing. All right...just relax. And...I've got it. You are thinking: Doesn't she have another brother? Doesn't she like him as much as her younger brother? Why doesn't she write about him?

Well, you are in luck. The questions lurking in the deepest recesses of your brain are about to be answered.

As a matter of fact, I do have another brother, and I do love him as much as my younger brother. Feel better, Nosy? The reason I haven't written about Jeff yet (yes that is his name, thanks for asking) is because I haven't had the time or the resources (camping may have been involved).

This:

is my brother Jeff, also commonly known as Studmuffin. If you meet him, feel free to call him that. I do.

Here are just a few of the reasons why I love Jeff:

- Jeff is possibly one of the most brilliant people I have ever met. Like, I'm not kidding. Genius smart. How did he get me as a sister, you wonder? I'm not sure, but I sure feel bad for the kid.

- Not only is Jeff smart, but he's really humble about it, too. You know those people who feel the need to show off their intelligence to anybody and everybody in the room? Well, Jeff is definitely not one of those people.

- Jeff is a really patient teacher. He'd have to be to have me as a sister. Let's just say Jeff might have gotten me through math and chemistry in high school. Okay, fine. My college math class, too. If someone doesn't understand something, Jeff will patiently explain the concept until it makes sense. But he does it in a very kind, non-condescending way.

- Despite all his protests, Jeff is very perceptive when it comes to reading people. He understands a lot about human nature in general.

- Jeff picks the things that are most important to him and stands firmly by them. His faith, family, and politics come immediately to mind.

-Jeff and I have the best inside jokes. Some of them even date back to our elementary school days. ("On and on, and take a step!" or "Ten points for you!")

- He is a very willing helper. If you need help with anything, Jeff will be there, whether he knows how to help you or not. But he usually does. Let's be honest.

- Jeff loves history. Especially anything related to the Civil War or World War II or anything of that sort. He knows just about everything there is to know about the subjects he is interested in. And often even those subjects about which he has no interest.

- Okay, for this one, I need you to play in your mind the most beautiful piano piece you have ever heard. All right, now magnify it by 10. And again by 1,000. That is Jeff playing the piano. No, I am not exaggerating. Jeff can hear anything by ear and with very little practice, play it marvelously on the piano.

- Although singing in public is not really Jeff's thing, Jeff can sing. He has an awesome voice and makes up parts for songs as he goes along. Pretty cool, eh?

- Jeff loves jazz music. I like jazz music. Jeff loves jazz music. Like. Love. See the difference? Jeff spends hours on end listening to cool chords and rhythms from jazz musicians long, long ago.

- Jeff has a passion for learning which I can only hope to emulate in some small way. This zest for knowledge is going to take him a long way in life.

Yep, I know. Somehow I got the short end of the gene-pool stick. But far from being bitter, I am so proud of my big brother, Jeff. I think it's pretty obvious why, don't you?

Love ya, Jeff.

my "little" brother

This:

is my little brother. His name is Eric. Cute, right?

He is the best little brother a girl could have.

Now wait, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that your little brother is the best little brother someone could have. Well, I hate to break it to you, but you're wrong. Plain and simple. Mine already filled that spot long ago. I apologize for any offense taken. Here are a few reasons why Eric is the best:

- He didn't hate me after I would pour glasses of icy cold water on his head while he was in the shower as a small child. Okay, okay...maybe I did this even when he wasn't a small child.

- He still loves both Jeff and I after we used to squirt him in the face with a spray bottle every time he'd walk into a room as a little boy. He used to talk a lot. Like...a LOT. Jeff and I tried using that tactic to achieve silence. It might have had the opposite effect of what we were hoping. Mean, I know. I have since repented.

- He forgave me for threatening to bring the hose in through his window while he was sleeping and spray him to wake him up. Again, I know what you're thinking. Why all the water? ...No idea.

- When he was about three or four, I told him that his ravioli was monkey brains. He cried, but he still loves me today. I am fairly certain he even loved me then.

- He lets me give him hugs in front of his friends. Those of you with little brothers know this is a big deal. He even tells his friends that I'm cool sometimes. I know.

- He set up my computer on remote desktop so that he could fix my computer from his house when it breaks down, which happens to be a lot, I might add. I take no credit for this. Is it my fault if technology hates me?

- He is a technology genius. Seriously. You may have figured that out from the "remote desktop" thing. I didn't even know that existed until he told me he was going to set it up. Who knew.

- He is an incredible runner. He runs many-a-mile and barely breaks a sweat. When Eric goes running with me, I "run" and he walks nonchalantly beside me while I wheeze my lungs out. He is very encouraging the entire tme.

- Eric can fix things, let me tell you. If you need anything fixed, he is the one to call. No matter what it is. If you need anything broken, I am definitely the one to call. Again, I take no credit for this. In this case, I'll blame my parents for passing on their genes in a biased manner.

-He is an interesting mix between a skater and a redneck. Didn't know that combination was possible? Neither did I until about a year ago.

- Eric is incredibly musical. He plays guitar (which you probably figured out from the picture above) and trumpet and is pretty dang good at figuring things out on the piano for never having had a lesson. He also sings like a pro, in spite of denying it fiercely.

- He has the best heart of anyone I know. When I am talking to Eric, I always know he is being sincere.

- Eric is the best listener. When I need to vent or cry (or do both simultaneously), Eric is often my first choice, because he just listens and rubs my back, and it's obvious he really cares (again with the sincerity).

- In spite of the fact that there are four years between us in age, I can safely say that Eric is one of my best friends. Hands down.

Once again, I think I know what you're thinking. How did so many awesome traits end up in one kid? I'm honestly not sure. And I don't hold it against him either. He can't help being so awesome.

In case you couldn't tell:

I am so proud of my "little" brother.

Love you, Bud.

strange paranoia

Fact:

I have a very strange paranoia of walking into a men's restroom. Even if I have been to the same ladies' room a million times, I still check the sign outside the door every time...just to make sure. Hey, you never know when they'll decide to switch things up. I don't have any memory of ever having done this before; it's just something that worries me. Not like I sit at home at night and worry about it kind of worry. Just like I don't want it to happen in the near future. Or at any point in the future, for that matter.

Story:

Yesterday, I went to the restroom in the building where I TA. Been there a thousand times (give or take a hundred). I walked all the way in and realized I hadn't checked the sign outside the door, so I turned around, walked back out the door, checked the sign, glanced at the quizzical expression on the face of a studying student, and walked back in, satisfied that I hadn't just done something that I was going to regret.

Sometimes you just have to be sure, ya know?

instant replay

My brain does some very odd things.

We don't need to get into all of them today (I just don't have that much time), but let's talk about one of my favorite things that my brain does.

I call it...instant replay.

So you know how when someone tells a joke, everyone laughs, and then the moment is gone? Well, not for me. When someone tells me a joke, my brain replays it instantly and it's funny the first time,

the second time,

the third time,

the fourth time,

the fifth time,

(let's just say plus infinity) and I just laugh again and again and again.

It's really awkward, though, when the moment has passed for everyone else, and I'm still sitting there giggling to myself.

But to be honest, I don't worry about it too much because I'm just too busy laughing.

my saving grace

I am tired.

I wake up every day (after my alarm has gone off about six times), go to school (which is inevitably getting harder), sit in my office hours as a TA (do you even know how many students don't read the syllabus?), go to work (...well, at least they feed me. sometimes.), then come home and study for hours on end (depending on how many tests I happen to have that week) until I fall asleep.

Except that I left out my favorite part.

Running.

Running has become my saving grace (or at least...one of them). No matter how much tension I have built up in my neck or how badly I want to just cry (sometimes. not every day.), running always makes me feel better. At least until I start studying again. Ha.

I found early on in the semester that attempting to get up at 6:30am and go running didn't work very well. At least for me. No one's ever accused Katie Sparks of being a morning person.

So, a few weeks ago, I started running directly after I got home from work. And it was wonderful. The weather had finally cooled down to the point where I could do that and not die of heat exhaustion.

Then it started getting dark early. And I kept running. When Jason and Jerod found out that I was running while it was dark, they decided to make it their personal mission to make sure I didn't run by myself at night. I'm sure my dad will be eternally grateful to them. So now I have running buddies.

At first, I wasn't sure how I would like that, since trying to talk while I'm running has never been a strong suit of mine. But it's so fun. I love it. My favorite is when we've been running a while and one of them says something to make me laugh. It comes out as sort of a wheez-laugh-wheez-laugh while I'm half-running, half-falling over, which only makes me wheez-laugh-wheez-laugh harder because it's such a funny predicament. I can only imagine what people driving by are thinking as they see "that special girl" running down the block.

Moral of the Story:

I am inexpressibly grateful that Thanksgiving break is next week.

Moral of the Story #2:

Please don't throw rocks at me while I'm running.