Crazy Love

He doesn't even take the stairs like a normal person

He doesn’t even take the stairs like a normal person

Having recently celebrated two years of marriage, I was feeling nostalgic. I flipped through an old journal and found this gem:

February 22nd, 2011, 5PM

Woke up at 4:14AM today to climb the biggest volcano in Guatemala. Realized at 4:35AM that my hiking shoes were missing, lost or stolen along the way. By 6:15AM, clad in running shoes and accompanied by nine Germans and two police officers, we began our ascent of the 13,000′ summit. I can say without a doubt, my previous suspicions of Logan’s insanity have been confirmed. And also, mountaineering is probably not my thing. Having admitted these facts I must also admit this climb has helped me see why Logan likes this type of challenge.

At various points along the way I could be almost sure I would be defeated by my own mind, repeatedly telling me I could not go a single step further. It’s a special kind of thrill when your body wins a contest against your mind. When the whole ordeal is finished you find a new awareness in yourself, you feel the blood coursing through your entire body from head to toe, you feel alive.

At the end I said a silent ‘thank you’ to my heart for not giving out, a ‘better luck next time’ to my brain with it’s endless supply of negativity, and a big out loud ‘I love you’ to Logan for carrying the 10 pounds of water we didn’t drink.

Seeing, Believing

Visualization: An idea I once thought so absurd I found it impossible to practice in a positive way. My mother was insistent; think positive, be positive. But there was something amiss in my teenage brain. Combined with the typical angst and my belief that my mother was consistently, tragically wrong in all things, I would envision a two and a half minute long program containing only the most horrifying falls in figure skating.

Still got it

Recently I made a vow to never fall off a chair lift. Ever. Again. I sympathize with the poor souls clinging to the chair, their widening eyes and dilating pupils the very definition of terror mixed with anticipated shame. Parents are some of the worst riders, their anxiety unfolds triplicate in their children. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve watched a parent anticipate the fall and then painfully drag their tiny offspring beneath the chair despite my shouted pleas to release them. These incidents only confirm my long standing theory that producing a child  results in the release of a small part of your sanity.

Today I return a little piece of mind to my mother. You were right (it’s finally in writing). I haven’t fallen off the chair lift since the day I decided to stop thinking I might. Is this what Michelle Kwan was up to all those years ago? Damn. A little late, by about 12 years, but thanks Mom, I finally get it.