I think I'm going to name my right crutch Chin Chin and my left crutch Pau-Pau.

You get a cookie if you know why.

limp/gimp/limp/gimp

It's technically day 5 of being a gimp and it's quite hilarious, really.

Upsides?

+Eating junk and not feeling badly about it (don't really know why, but it's an excuse...)
+Sitting in bed while studying, surfing the net, watching TV, and reading.
+People opening doors for me everywhere I go.
+Being pampered 24/7.

Downsides?

+Eating junk and not feeling badly about it psychologically...until I start to feel fat.
+Sitting in bed ALL DAY. Not leaving my house. AH.
+Feeling stupid because everyone stares as I hobble along with a set of crutches. And then I feel even more stupid because it's just a dumb sprain and the crutches are merely a precaution.
+Although I am now officially used to using crutches, it takes forever to get anywhere.

I sure hope I can start using both feet and ankles again soon and I am definitely grateful that this isn't permanent.

it's so easy...

Pageant pieces are so complicated, especially when you're a classical instrumentalist. The fact remains that a dancer and a singer will always connect to the audience much easier and, some would argue, much better than an instrumentalist, especially a pianist. It probably has to do with that whole staring-at-the-keys-the-whole-time thing... Because of this slight handicap, the piece chosen is always extremely important and the arrangement itself literally makes or breaks the presentation.

In the past I've flirted with great choices and I've had full-blown disasters.

It's easy when you're playing a concert. You pick your piece[s], practice, prepare, and perform. You don't stress over time limits, flash, and appealing to a classically ignorant audience (sorry, but for the most part it's true). It's about the art and it is truly wonderful. However, we don't get that choice. We have 2 minutes to show the best of our skill and we have to make it sound complete, a task that is truly daunting. Most classical pieces are well over 6-10 minutes long, and finding the right cut can be downright painful and frustrating.

What is harder is picking the right piece. Picking something that's going to appeal to the audience that doesn't understand why Beethoven sonatas are SO stinking hard and at the same time appeasing the classical enthusiasts that want to see more than just Bumblebee Boogey (one of my least favorites in this world, along with Pachelbel's Cannon) is such a tough balancing act.

In the past I've gone with pieces that maintain my integrity as a classical pianist. Some have worked (The Scherzo seems to be a favorite, but let's be honest, it's gettin' old...), and some really did not work at all (Rachmaninoff Prelude in B flat is by far one of the most difficult pieces ever played for a pageant [hello, the entire thing is PURE octaves in both hands], but it's just not good for a pageant audience). I've always wanted to keep my pieces strictly appropriate to the classical form.

Well, I'm still classical, but I'm having a little more fun this year. I'm taking a risk.

As Freddie Mercury would say, play the game...

gimpy mcgimpster.

My ankle became so swollen and turned such a lovely shade of purple last night--my brother freaked out at our Easter celebrations and the freak out meant I had to go to an insta-care to get x-rays.

Of course, I'm FINE. Just a bad sprain. Not even a ligament tear. I have to be off it for a few days, but she said I can even start cycling again starting Wednesday. No running until next week, and no dancing for another two weeks, but I might try and push that last one a little (I TA a dance class and have to dance with the students for their medals exams).

The positive point is my trip provided a free pair of brand new crutches, which means I'm not being called Roo (or Kanga, because I pointed out that Roo was her son) anymore!

Yes, I will be showing up to the workshop with crutches and only one heel!

Today C pointed out that my favorite snack of a large granny smith apple complete with chunky peanut butter is not exactly a healthy snack. Protein packed, surely, but good for the pageant/ballroom person? Nah. I hate that he's a nutritional science major. It's thoroughly obnoxious (and yet he eats gummy bears and doritos and chips and dip like there's no tomorrow and still loses weight) and drives me crazy.

"Do you have any idea how much FAT is in that peanut butter?"

To which I say, who cares?! I LIKE getting 50% of my daily fat content in one sitting with 4 tablespoons of chunky peanut butter!

Whoo--what a weekend. I didn't even dance, but spending your entire life in one massive dome is strangely exhausting. Sitting in the Marriott Center, you kind of forget that the world is moving on without you. Without natural light, looking at the clock and realizing that you've been sitting in the same position for the last 4 hours is pretty common. But who am I kidding, I love DanceSport.

It was so much fun that Erika was there because her adorable daughter Peyton competed in a few events (and did really well! She looks so great!). I just feel badly that I left her sitting alone at times! We talked about the idiosyncricies of ballroom: the hair, the makeup, the skin, the costumes, how much they really get away with at BYU.

It's fun to sit there and learn from some of the nation's best. At nationals they do what's called Battle of the Champions where they bring in the top 4 professionals in either latin or standard who compete in a showdance category and in 5-dance. It is such a treat to see Urs and Agnes up close...they are so incredible! In addition, we got to see this (SO WORTH WATCHING):

a bit absent.

It's been a few days since I've updated. There are good reasons for that, reasons I will soon document.

But for now, I am relishing in living life at the Marriott Center for the National Amateur Ballroom competition and believe me, it is worth the 12 hours spent there. Not dancing this year has made me realize that I need to stop saying, "I just don't have the time" and I need to start making the time for it.

If any of you are in Provo for any length of time tonight or tomorrow, you need to come on down and watch. There is nothing like it and it is simply beautiful.

see, now TODAY'S sunrise is extremely reviving.

headache.

oy vey, I think I need to get in to see a doctor. Stupid migraines. Hopefully I'll be able to finish studying as soon as my excedrine kicks in. That said, this is my one-stop-shop for my Europe trip. Fabulous.

.

I sure hope I'm not the only one nervous about this situation.

......

I know I shouldn't laugh...but...

run.

Do you have a special time, place, or groove that gets your heart moving and your mind racing? My dad once told me that some nights, he'll wake up around 2 or 3 and will instantly know the solution to a pressing problem in either work or personal life. If you know my mother, then you know that her mind NEVER stops moving, it's amazing that she even sleeps.

The past few weeks have been stressful, at best. School was overwhelming, pressing decisions were overwhelming, everything was just overwhelming, and to top it off I seemed to have a constant migraine and the insomnia was obnoxiously persistent. When life becomes too much to handle, at least you have sleep to help work off some of the frustration, but even that wasn't possible and I felt like I was losing my mind. Nothing is more frustrating than losing complete control of that which is so instinctual.

Enough was enough. After a really good cry spell from frustration, I needed a shot of perspective and I needed it fast. I laced up my shoes, grabbed my iPod, filled my water bottle with ice, and willed myself to the gym. It had been 3 weeks and I simply did not feel like doing anything active, but I knew that if anything, sweating my frustration out couldn't hurt. The first mile was pure, unadulterated torture. My muscles and tendons weren't having any of it, my breathing, or lack thereof, truly laughable. I pushed myself for another mile at a depressingly slow pace of the 10-minute mile and hated myself for losing the easy 4 mile workout I had had only a few weeks previously. But as I was doing my potentially embarrassing stretches (I confess, I adore the funny looks I get while doing the splits--sort of a, "HA, you only wish you could contort your body into such ridiculous positions for sheer pain's sake), I noticed that frustration turn to a bit of accomplishment. It had been days since I felt any sort of pride in myself...I had done something hard for my current state and it felt GOOD.

Over the next couple of weeks I gradually pushed myself back to acceptable shape (I also started sleeping again, are they related? Who knows) and a few days ago, I had an "a-ha" moment.

I was at the beginning of my daily run (p.s. Thank you Jill Stevens for turning me to glucosamine-my previously achy-to-the-point-of-not-being-able-to-run knees worship you), music blaring in my ears, and I felt this incredible surge of happiness. My long legs make me a naturally capable runner, but the first mile has always been tough for me. However, I was at .37 miles and already my pace had been established. My breathing easy and my stride extremely long, I took pride in the bounce and pause between each step. This wasn't painful, as running tends to be, but psychotically fun! Muse's latest, Black Holes and Revelations controlled my steps, the beat motivating each drop to the moving cable.

Some people hate the monotony of running. I crave the freedom from conscious thought. It cleanses the mind. For the next thirty minutes, my mind ran with my body. Thoughts and ideas popped up so rapidly, I was scared I would forget and lose them. Like I said, some people are at their most creative in the wee hours of the morning. Apparently I'm at my most creative while killing my knees. Platform ideas surged in, talent ideas surfaced, entire blogs wrote themselves in a matter of minutes, and problems found solutions. Finally, a level of understanding I've thirsted and desired for. And all because of a good run. That time on the treadmill is now some of my most precious and sacred. By tuning out the rest of the world, focusing on my breathing, and pushing my heart and mind I am able to find a level of zen that keeps me going. With each pounding step and leap, I can break apart negative energy.

Music choice is extremely important in my runs. Some days I need some anger to motivate me. Other days I need creativity. Most days I just need a rocking beat. Without fail I sprint the last half-mile, and if I'm feeling brave, the full mile. I turn up my sound to a dangerous level that will probably cause my pre-mature hearing loss, and I turn on a song with a powerful, driving, fast, and pounding beat. Two days ago it was Muse's Knight's of Cydonia, the day before it was Queen's Don't Stop Me Now. Yesterday was Incubus' Pardon Me. And then I RUN.

And in that last 30 seconds of gasping, choking, and pure pain, I reach unparalleled exhilaration. You've heard it described as a runner's high. I call it bliss. Knowing that I pushed myself to an unearthly place and then pushed even more past my limit gives me such hope. Even when I think I've reached the end and can't go on, I remember that there's still a bit of oxygen left, that if I reach into the depths of my soul, heart, and lungs, I can prove my own body wrong.

That is why I run.

the killer legs don't hurt :p

happy birthday!

Happy birthday to one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Maclaine has been an incredible influence and example for the past 3 years or so, and sadly we haven't seen too much of each other since we moved away from our freshmen housing. But I love this girl and think the world of her...she is truly amazing and extraordinary. I'm lucky to know a gal as awesome as she is.

this morning, there's a calm I can't explain.

Seasonal change is something I take great delight in. There is this immense beauty in fading from one kind of weather to the next, no matter how subtle. While the crisp air of fall remains my favorite, I've begun to enjoy the transitions more than the actual seasons themselves. With summer comes the feeling of freedom and the smell of barbecue. Summer to fall means a return to order, schedules, and hot apple cider donuts. Fall to winter is anticipation...the smells, the sounds, the snow, and the feelings associated with the holiday season are beautiful.

But February is UGLY.

Valentine's Day had to have been thrown in as a consolation prize for what an ugly, depressing, dark, dismal, and yucky month we have. I am always in a slightly depressed mood during the month of February. The snow is brown, the novelty of the cold has faded, and I would give my left pinky toe for some sunshine and warmish wind.

Yesterday I spent the majority of my day indoors, aware that the sun was shining, but unable to fully enjoy it. However, one can resist the scent of change for only so long...

Practically ripping my window open, I willed in all the sunshine and fresh air possible. The air inside was so stifled and stale, I couldn't help but sit half of my body onto the ledge for a few moments to drink it in. Suddenly I was revived, my worker instincts pushed my body into full gear. Windows open and music loud, I attacked the room that needed the most work: my bathroom. We all have the best intentions when it comes to cleaning our bathrooms--we know that a general clean up once a week is okay, but that good scrubbing should be done as often as possible. Like deep conditioning our hair, we intend to do it, but we never seem to have the time. Instead the traditional shampoo, rinse, and superficial condition happens. The flood gave me the perfect reason and means to finally clean and organize those areas of neglect.

Somehow, the dusting and organizing were therapeutic. The cleaning solutions mixed with the almost-spring air were invigorating. Even throwing myself into the baseboards felt cathartic. With each scrub of the dust and winter build up I felt as though I was scrubbing away at my soul, the dead and negative thoughts and feelings being exfoliated away.

An hour later, organization and order stared from what was previously chaos. The surfaces that had been dull were now shiny. The air wasn't a contrived lime verbana plug-in, but the indescribable smell of revival. Staring at the gleaming shower and catching my reflection in my faucet, I rejoiced in the rebirth and renewal.

I rejoiced in clarity.