Take a look around…..

Today’s blog takes place on a hill close to the ICI center. We just finished our conditioning and my teammates are slowly heading back to our locker room to take a shower. I decide to stay a little longer and lie down on my back. An airplane is taking off right above me and I am still having trouble to control my heavy breathing. Sweat keeps running down my body and its attempt to cool my skin seems to fail miserably. I feel completely and utterly exhausted.

When I finally regain control of my body, I sit up and look around. The Lehman building is ahead of me and I quickly look away because I don’t want to think about school right now. On my right I see the large construction site that has been there for quite a long time now. I take a closer look and see how much progress they have actually made. The softball field is almost completely done and they have planted grass around a newly-built street. It took them about 6 months to get this far and I am certain that they will have completed the entire project when I am coming back in a few years to visit the university.   I am surprised that the school has invested such a large amount of money in sports facilities because I never really had the feeling that the Embry Riddle community is too excited about sports. Nevertheless, the fact that students get the opportunity to play sports at a high level and get a great education at the same time is unique in the world and absolutely awesome.

My back starts itching and I see ants running around on my leg. I quickly get up and feel the soreness in my legs. Nevertheless, I feel satisfied and happy. Today I realized once again that even the hardest and most annoying things (like conditioning) can be fun if you are doing them for the right reasons.

Another fishing adventure

It seems like all that I write about in my blogs is fishing. Well the other day I was fishing at my buddy John’s house with my girlfriend after the NASCAR race. After catching three bass, I set my pole down and she stole it. About fifteen minutes later, she had a huge hit on the pole. A huge bass exploded out of the water. The water erupted around the bass as it leaped at least two feet out of the water, thrashing the entire way. As I helped her pull it to shore, I quickly could see that it was at least a good six pounds. Something unusual happened that day, I got beat at fishing by my girlfriend! After that, I just had to come back and try again a different day to try catch a bigger one.

Today that opportunity arose after school while she was working. My first cast landed a small bass, probably about half a pound. As it reached the shore, the bass lept out of the water and through the hook back onto the shore. It wasn’t looking like such a great day. As I threw my hands in the air in disbelief, I saw a huge bass about six feet away swimming along the surface. I adjusted the hook and landed the worm directly past the bass so I could drag the worm in front of her. I watched the giant bass swim right up to the worm and go right by it! My heart sank to my feet as the fish disappeared into the deep water. The next cast landed directly towards the back of the pond and I started to pull the worm in. Every fisherman knows the feeling of a fish that takes the bait,  does the slight tug, and then BAM! I yanked back to set the hook and the fight was on. There was a huge fish at the end of the line. As I worked the fish, the line started to shoot off the reel back into the water. After a bit more work, I could see the fish appear out of the deep. I pulled the bass closer and snagged it out of the water. There in my hands sat a beautiful six pound fish. My girlfriend’s was honestly bigger, but I’ll never admit it to her!

Twenty Three…

On this monday, April 25th 2011, I will be twenty three. I have been thinking about it a lot and so i decided to take a little trip down to the water’s edge to clear my mind. My travel has brought me to the end of Van Avenue where a small bench sits, over looking a beautiful spot of the river.

As I sit here, I look all around, and remember a bench, just like this one, I used to visit with my dad in New Smyrna Beach, where I grew up. I like thinking about that bench. It was at a bend in the dirt road, right down the street from the house I grew up in. My dad would take my sister and I there and we would throw rocks in the water, watch for fishies, and watch the sun set. Those were the days. When I was my parent’s responsibility and the only thing to worry about was, well, nothing. I used to revisit the bench my dad used to take us to but I have neglected going there for some time now. However, the bench I have found now is quiet similar and is giving me the same relaxed feelings I felt so long ago.

I watch the water, and the boats go by, and the sun starts to set. A beautiful gold color highlights the small chops of water smacking against each other. I see the cars going over the Dunlawton bridge and I am happy I am where I am and not in one of those cars. I start to think about how different things are now from one year ago. I have been on my own for awhile now, but the where I am, the people in my life, and how I feel about certain things has completely changed, for the better. As the sun starts to shoot sun rays into my eyes, I keep hearing my friend’s voices in my head saying “Ughh. I’m twenty three and so old.” Its funny to me because almost everyone of my friends have said something along those lines on their birthdays but I feel nothing like that. I tell them all “Twenty three is young! So are quiet a few ages after that! I’m going to celebrate like I never have before!”

Every birthday that comes, I try to top what I did the previous year. This year is no different. To me, a birthday is one of the most scared and special occasions. I always want to remember my birthdays so I try to have as much fun as possible and do something that I’ll never forget. Last year I went skydiving. That is very hard to top. This year I am having a huge party at my new house and going to the Salvador Dali museum with my boyfriend. My dad bought me tickets to go two Christmas’ ago and now I finally have the perfect opportunity to go. As the days wined down, I get more excited and more anxious. Coming to this bench and relaxing is exactly what I needed.

The sun is setting, the sky is a gorgeous display of multicolors, the water is warm enough to touch without shivering, and I couldn’t be happier. This Monday, April 25th 2011, will be my twenty third birthday and I cannot wait.

In Memory of Trees

I hate many things about Florida.  I prefer freshwater lakes to oceans.  I would rather hike through mountains than stroll along the beach.  I enjoy slowly changing seasons, when trees turn the beautiful colors of Autum before shedding their leaves to survive the cold winters.  I love winter and snuggling up in front of a cozy fireplace with a mug of cider.  Florida does not have these features.

I hate Florida’s plant life the most.  Northerners kill crab grass because it is a weed, but Floridians actually plant and cultivate this stuff!  Why?  It scratches my feet when I attempt to walk barefoot.  It is not comfy to lie on.  It is not even pretty to look at!  Unfortunately, Florida has sandy soil, excessive heat, and too little rain for real grass.

The worst natural offence in Florida is the palm tree.  I do not think I will ever learn to accept this ridiculous intruder to the plant world.  Trees serve several functions.  They produce shade, shelter, lumber, and food.  They convert carbon dioxide into oxygen.  Their roots prevent soil erosion.  Palm trees do none of these.  They are merely tall stalks that provide minimal shade.  Almost no animals seek refuge in palm trees other than termites and fire ants.  Who really wants them around anyways?  Palm trees are technically not a tree at all and their fibrous material cannot compare to even the softest of woods.  Nothing of nutritional value grows on a palm tree.  They have so little foliage that they produce negligible oxygen.  Lastly, their roots are ball-shaped and do nothing to help erosion like sprawling or deep roots do.

The reason I went into such a rant is that I woke up with the extreme urge to climb a tree this morning.  I am used to being able to find a perfect climbing tree with almost no effort.  Oaks, maples, chestnuts, cherries, and more are found in abundance at home.  Apple trees are great to climb in early fall because they come with a tasty snack.  (McIntosh apples are my favorites!)  I roamed around for what felt like forever before I found this guy, an American Elm that so far has survived the various fungi that have taken so many of his kin.

Sitting on a comfortable branch that cradles me nicely, I think of Herbie.  He was an American Elm who resided in Yarmouth, Maine from 1793 until 2010 when he finally lost his battle with Dutch Elm Disease.  He was one of the oldest (some have put him at THE oldest) and, standing 110 feet tall, largest of his kind in the United States.  Local carpenters are currently producing goods from his wood to auction and raise funds to help save others from his fate.

Tree musings

Few things can make a girl of 5’10″ feel small.  I approached the tree with an unexplained sort of caution and walked softly in my bare feet, subconsciously afraid to disturb the roots sleeping deep beneath the ground.  Putting my hands on the trunk, I tried to feel its energy and the sheer magnitude of its life force.  For hundreds of years it has stood here, strongly withstanding every element and always growing.  Its like the tree is a beating heart with its enormous limbs reaching out to touch the high branches of its surrounding counterparts.  A couple of its roots had grown out of the ground and created two new low, leaning trees.  All from just a tiny acorn.

I stepped back to take in the whole network.  Spanish moss dripped from every branch, making the scene look like a painting that had been left out in the rain, like something out of a strange dream.

Up-Close Encounters

Where can you, “Experience up-close encounters with amazing animals, take an unforgettable safari across the Serengeti Plains, and test your courage on pulse-pounding roller coasters”?

At Busch Gardens: http://buschgardens.com/Bgt/Gallery/Default.aspx?tag=View

For my birthday, my boyfriend bought us year passes for Busch Gardens. I had never been before, even after living in Florida for fifteen years. I heard it was like the zoo mixed in with exhilarating roller coasters. I had never been much of a thrill seeker but have always been an animal lover.

The first thing we saw when we got to the park, not more than a half hour after it opened, was the apes and gorillas. I have always had a fascination with monkeys ever since a middle school social science fair project on Jane Goodall and her encounters in Africa with these amazing creatures. I have seen them up close at the zoos but this experience at Busch Gardens gave me a fresh new look into their lives.

I kept thinking how much like us that they are. How I just kept picturing a person inside of a monkey suit because of how similar they did so many things like us. They interacted with each other just like us, hugged each other, ate like us, walked around like us and seemed to talk to each other and communicate in silence as well as we communicate vocally with each other.

After my boyfriend sat down with a row of statue monkeys and pretended to groom the one in front of him, I noticed how perfectly he would blend in with them and could be a part of their family. Writing this blog on Earth Day adds another significance to the whole adventure we experienced that day. We are all connected through the place that we are blessed to call home, we could all have been born another creature or born on another planet, but we are all lucky enough to be Earth-bound. By this bond that we all share, we should feel a certain connection with the creatures we share Earth with, no matter how different we might seem from each other.

Cigarette. Butts.

I just couldn't bring myself to take a picture of the nakedness.

I know almost every single blog I’ve done, I’ve been at the beach. But this time was different. Wayyyyy different.

In order to escape the mundane pattern of everyday life, a few friends and I sardined into a dusty PT Cruiser and road-tripped it to Miami. The way there was relatively uninteresting, mooning passersby and belting out Beyonce via her Pandora radio station. We stopped at a Dairy Queen/gas station combo and witness a novel sight: pornographic material right next to the sunglasses and shot glasses with first names engraved on them.

Four hours and two fast-food stomachaches later, we arrived in the county of Miami-Dade. The bridge to get to beachside overlooked quite a sight–gargantuan yachts with models suntanning, nestled atop cerulean waters. I smiled at the thought that I might have a great deal less money than they had, but I was just as happy, if not happier, hanging our with my friends.

We made a right hand turn onto Collins Boulevard, and shortly I was upon a part of the beach I had never seen. We zoomed past a sign that read “Haulover Beach.” I scrunched up my face in protest, but could say nothing; we were all meeting friends here. Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in South Beach anymore.

We found a parking space and jogged over to the sand, we were already an hour and a half late. Thick, tall shrubs hid the sight of the beach so I had no idea what I was walking into. Amazingly, it was a doppelganger of Daytona Beach: couples walking hand in hand, all kinds of beer bottle tops and cigarette butts in the sand. I took a deep breath of salty air…all of a sudden my mouth dropped in horror. What…the…hell?! A man, what looked like of Hispanic origin, was standing facing the water, hands on hips defiantly…completely effing naked. I really thought cigarettes were the only thing of the butt variety I would see. My friends giggled like two little schoolgirls. I was mortifed. “Damnit, you guys are embarrassing me! Stop it.” On the inside, I was doing the same; I had sunglasses on so my wide-eyed look of disbelief wasn’t too obvious. It was like a car crash; you wanted to look away, but you just COULDN’T.

After much adjusting, we met friends of friends and had an awesome day at the beach playing football until nightfall. We walked back to the car only to find that the park closed at sunset and we had a $23 ticket in addition to having the Cruiser imprisoned by a padlocked gate.

I hate Miami.

I was walking the dog

The day started off like any other normal day. I am awoken at 7:30 to a wet nose in my face letting me know it is time for him to go potty. My dog Buddy is a spunky 11 month old black lab. If we do not take him on a walk he terrorizes us the whole day with his non-stop energy. So I got his harness and leash on him and was prepared for our morning walk. I didn’t know why but I wanted to make this day different for some reason so I decided to let Buddy blindly lead the walk/jog.

At first it was frustrating because every time he saw a squirrel I was jerked off the sidewalk toward some bush. Then eventually he calmEd down. This is when he led me to a baseball field that I had never even known existed less than a mile away from my apartment. Having played softball for 15 years of my life the memories starting racing back into my head. The smell of the freshly cut grass on game day. The amazing feeling I had when I hit the ball. My mother whining about how she was never going to be able to get the grass stains out of our white game pants.

The thing that was different here though was that this field looked like it hadn’t been played on in ages. The benches were rotting away. The infield was covered in weeds. Still even as shabby as it looked it still was a place that brought back so many great memories.

There were also many bad memories that I began to remember. Like the time I let a ball bounce between my legs and lost the district game for my team. Or the time the best player in the league hit me so hard in the arm with a pitch my arm swelled up to the point where I had to take off my shirt.

Almost everyone I grew up with played some kind of sport when they were younger. It was our parents way of getting us outside and learning how to be coordinated. This is when I realized that throughout most of my life sports were the main reason I went outside. Now Buddy is the main reason I go outside everyday. As I thought this I looked down and Buddy was sitting patiently beside me. Guess it was time to go home now. His energy had been drained.

A Hog Roast

On Saturday my dad celebrated his 50^th birthday, and did so with a party of 150 friends and family in the house he built, I flew back to England from Florida as a surprise. From as far back as I can remember my dad has been a jack of all trades; over the years he has taught himself to be more than competent in all areas of the building trade. Building extensions, stables, bars and salons, he has wired, plumbed and roofed them all at our house, along with laying patios and erecting fences. Building is not his job; he does it all in his spare time as a hobby, albeit a hobby that is, at times, a mandatory hobby, depending on what my mum wants doing around the house.

Knowing this, it came as no surprise that my dad not only wanted a hog roast at his party but he wanted to do it himself, build the pit, engineer the spit, buy the pig and cook it himself.

The preparation for the hog began weeks ago, the motor to turn the spit was ordered online and the 50lb pig was ordered from the local butchers. The stainless steel bar to hold the beast was in the garage waiting.

On the day of the party we drove to the butchers and picked up the recently slaughtered pig, I’m not sure what onlookers must have thought as the butcher carried it out of his shop on his shoulders and laid it across the back seats of my mum’s SUV being sat in the passenger seat with a dead pig in the back was weird enough, It was taken home and the preparation began. The pig was skewered, scored and dressed with a foil mask and foil shoes, this stops the feet and head of the pig from burning, so the butcher said. The half drum had been heating up outside for an hour, it was filled with red hot charcoal, It took three people to lift it onto the spit and after a losing some vital cooking time on perfecting the counterweight the hog roast began. The internet says it takes eight hours to cook a hog of this size, it was 11.30am when the pig started to cook and the invitations state a 7.30pm arrival time, let’s hope there is no mishaps.

 

It didn’t take long before the slowly turning pig began to crackle and brown, the surrounding area smelt of fresh bacon, the smells where driving our pet dog wild, she had to be locked in the kitchen.

After a couple of hours the pig was really cooking, my dad, my sister’s boyfriend Rob and myself took turns to watch the rotations, if the motor stops it would be a disaster of one burnt side and one raw side. The smells and noises made each sentry more and more difficult; I was caught pulling the hot crackling off the swine’s back many times, “I’m just testing it, mum”.

 

Seven o’clock. The band was warming up, the bar was stocked, the party decorations were complete and the bread buns were buttered. At 7:30 the first few guests arrived, my dad decided to keep the pig cooking for a number of reasons, he wanted people to see the revolving feast but more importantly he didn’t want to risk serving undercooked pork. It remained on the spit for another hour and a half. At 9 o’clock all the guests had arrived and they were all in awe of the feast. The pig was then taken of the spit and carried into the marquee where it was to be carved.

The meat was tenderly cooked, the skin was crispy, everybody loved the taste. The smells, noises and visual provided a great centerpiece for the party.

 

Voices

Yesterday I went for a run, something I hate doing. I would argue that there isn’t many athletes who hate running as much as I do, sprinting short distances or any other form of cardio is fine but a boring, mundane, one paced jog I despise. Unfortunately as a soccer player I have to force myself to get out on the road and run every so often and I hate it. Yesterday was no different, spring break consisted of minimal exercise and my summer season is less than a month away so I have to get fit.

I finished class at 2:30pm and headed to the locker room, I got changed and put on my running shoes. I see and hear people who love the experience of running and sometimes I wish I did but I don’t, I never have and I’m certain I never will, it is simply a necessity.

I headed out of the ICI building and turned left down Clyde Morris, after a few hundred yards I made another left into the sand dunes, this is where the battle in my head begins. When I run there are two conflicting voices in my head. The first is in favor of running and getting fit, this voice argues for the motivated and enthusiastic side of me while the second sits in the corner of the disinclined and idle side, this voice does all it can to defeat its motivated nemesis, using any means necessary .

 As my feet hit the sand I ignore the unenthusiastic voice that says “this isn’t going to feel good on the way back”. Throughout the first 3 or 4 miles this voice is the predominant one with statements like “just turn round now”, “ok that’s enough” or “it’s too hot for this” I drown out these voices with the help of some upbeat songs on my iPod but after two miles of my feet sinking into the sand, sand spurs getting stuck in my socks and the blazing sun on my back these statements get louder and louder.

After the sand dunes the run is less taxing on my legs, I hit the road and I start to appreciate the surroundings, I remember running back in England on cold, wet, grey days. Here it is bright and sun-drenched, the road is freshly paved and there is friendly faces doing yard work. The positive voice begins to take a hold of the situation “this is easy” “this is nice”. I take a right then a left then another left and hit some shaded pavement. Now both voices quiet down, there is a lot going on to keep my mind off running, every  side road has something different going on, kids playing basketball, people walking dogs, an elderly couple having a drink on the porch, a yard sale. After around four miles it’s time to turn around and head back the way I came. The positive voice is now in full control and the idle voice is silenced. I head back towards the sand dunes, I hate the final penultimate mile. The idle voice chirps back up, this time with cunning and crafty tricks “have a walk now, you have worked hard” or “this last few  miles won’t matter”  this is when the positive voice in my head is most vulnerable, I quickly find a suitable song to get me though the sand. Back onto Clyde Morris and the end is in sight “easy from here” “finished now” the idle voice is silenced once more.