Give Me Five

5 things I am missing most:

1) Hot sauce, spinach, broccoli, 100 percent whole wheat, almond and rice milk, unsalted nuts, oranges, strawberries, blueberries, and peanut butter.  This aside, the food here is still delicious and healthy.

2) Friends and family.

3) Not only a biweekly paycheck (although I haven’t even been here a month yet) but also the obligation of going to work and doing semi-important things every day.

4) My own personal space.

5) The Running Club at Ohio State!

5 things I am missing least:

1) Paying rent.

2) Football.  The truth is, I do miss this a little—but I associate full responsibility of this to my first bought of homesickness.

3) So much homework that I have to find my head and reattach it every morning before I begin my day at Ohio State.

4) Ohio State construction, even though there’s a lot of construction here on a main road near me.  This construction is to build a subway route, and somehow this seems exponentially more productive than whatever is going on at every single campus road and main highway route in Columbus.  Notably, none of the construction here is orange; the signs are lime green and by some miracle still more appealing than said Ohio State construction.

5) Judge me however you will for this one: foreigners everywhere around campus.  By natural and necessary irony, I am the foreigner here, speaking English, speaking English loudly, moving around in groups of people speaking English loudly, sounding like an idiot when I do speak Spanish, foreign-looking, easily excited by things which are new to me and everyday-blasé for Spaniards, obnoxiously touching everything in every store whether or not I have the intention to buy it, and cosas así.  Even still, the foreigners here in Granada are so ubiquitous that it’s part of the culture, which makes it a little easier to feel like I’m fitting in.

My plan is to update this list at least biweekly and have a record of the transformation!  

Gym Star

Hacer ejercicios… This could be its own category entirely.  The first day I ran around Granada, a day last week, my run turned into a series of sprints—the park was much smaller than I was prepared for and doing intervals was the only way to keep myself running.  The next day when I pulled off the trail to do some push-ups and sit-ups, with the strange looks I was getting you would have thought it was completely unreasonable to be exercising at the park.  Well, maybe it is and I just don’t know it yet. 

Today was the first day I tried out the gym down the street from my homestay.  First of all, the point needs to be made (as humbly and modestly as possible, mind you) that I have been complimented several times on my capacidad to speak and understand Spanish (thank you, Spanish teachers I’ve had for the past nine years, for drilling vocab and grammar into my head and thank you, studious Kate, wherever you are now, for once studying so much and miraculously remembering almost as much now). 

However, talking with local receptionists at the gym is an entirely new story.  I turn into someone who might as well be speaking Chinese. 

Today being my first day actually entering into the part of the gym with the class studios and weights, this aside, it’s mentionable that I have been in the gym three times before this day attempting to talk to the receptionist about how much it would cost to join, how much it would cost a student at the University of Granada to join, the different classes offered (they do spinning here, too, and it’s called “spinning”), and what’s included with a membership.  I wanted to ask for her personal opinion about how sorely I would stand out as an American in a tiny gym with lots of people waiting their turn to use mats and weights and machines, but since I didn’t know the most polite way to ask this, I refrained. 

So I finally made it inside.  It has been a long time since I felt as nervous as I did in that moment.  Lots of other people were standing around the desk watching me struggle (I managed to pick the busiest time of day to try to get in), and in my head they were all snickering at me and my American pronunciation and voice and gym clothes, and of course I forgot my lock for the locker that was so kindly provided, and of course I mistakenly used the towel they gave me at the front desk to mop up the water I spilled out of the sink when trying to refill my water bottle before finding, almost immediately after, a water fountain with a spicket precisely for refilling water bottles, and of course I later was the only one in the spinning class without a towel, and of course I was also the only one sweating as profusely as it is possible to sweat, and of course I could keep going but I’ll, once again, refrain. 

It could have been a comedy show.  Before the spinning class started, I took several minutes testing out the hand-held weights and medicine balls on the main floor.  What I failed to remember is the metric system… I went for my usual 10-pounders and very quickly realized that they were 10-kilogrammers.  *NOTE: According to Google, 1 pound = 2.20462 pounds* …the best thing I’ll get out of this is sore arms, something I’ve been waiting for since I arrived here. 

Going in for my spinning class I was slightly more confident since I’ve had years of multiple cycling classes a week to give me the experience I need to blow people’s doubts off the bike when they first look at the skinny white girl with running shoes instead of cycling shoes climbing onto a bike.  What I again failed to remember was that the entire class would be conducted in glorious español and therefore I’d need to stare incessantly at the people next to me to copy from them what we were actually doing.  Don’t do anything American, don’t speak unless spoken to, stop sweating so much, I am sweating so much, don’t do anything American… these were all thoughts running through my head—in Spanish, thankfully, because that might be enough to preserve a small spoonful of my pride after this hora y media at the gym. 

Inevitably, I am one hundred percent sure that the cycling teacher quickly saw through my quiet, don’t-make-eye-contact disguise.  Within 10 minutes he was counting down our sprints as “three, two, one, let’s go!” instead of “tres, dos, uno”… oops.  I’m pretty sure I also heard “la chica americana” at least once, not to mention he had to point right at me after one of the climbs and tell me to get in the ritmo of the music.

By the time I left, both looking and smelling like a wet dog—worse than the ones on the street without a leash—by the time I left I still had the same endorphin high I get from going to the gym in the States.  It’s hard to say how much of my racing heartbeat came from the adrenaline of being the new kid on the block playing hide and seek or from the intensity of the class.  Either way, I am proud to have understood and therefore learned new words for exercise motivation: Siéntete las piernas… están en fuego! –made me want to go faster to make my legs burn more; prepárate la carga, which made me feel like a bolt of lightning as I imagined readying to charge; and somos un equipo y buen trabajo, followed by a round of applause at the end all helped to bring my athleticism back to the control tower of my body, kicking my inhibition from lack of language skills to the back of the gymnasio.

Conclusion: success!

Decision: to join the gym or not to join, and if I don’t, which gym will be the next victim?  Or, better asked, will it be the gym or will it be me as the victim?  Or, more interestingly asked, which way will build more endurance for my throbbing, exercising heartbeat?

Views from my running trails

Run Rudolph Run

If the first thing you hear when you see that name are the chords of the electric guitar at the beginning of the Chuck Berry song, and the first thing you think of is the scene from Home Alone when Macauley Culkin’s family is sprinting through the airport, then you’ve got a pretty good image of my first plane ride out of the United States.  Yes, it almost didn’t even happen.

My flight from Columbus to New York was uneventful.  My first hour of layover was equally uneventful until I checked my flight information five minutes after my plane was supposed to begin boarding.  A flight attendant who barely spoke English told me I was in the wrong terminal and there was no way I would make it to the correct one in time to catch my flight… and she was right.  By some stroke of luck I immediately overheard someone who had made the same mistake, and I followed him to the correct terminal.  “Followed” is putting it gently… shuffling vociferously between people previously minding their own business, gasping vehemently at every stop on an escalator or shuttle, wobbling obnoxiously with 100 pounds of carry-on luggage, and cutting the 2-hour security line—which turned into an inadvertently theatrical ordeal since there was a whole group of us hurtling our backpacks onto the cart,  whipping our shoes off, and chugging water bottles that had just been refilled (that was me)—this description is more fitting.  Future lesson learned: pack lighter carry-on bags.  Oh, and make sure I’m in the right terminal.

Since then, things have gone as smoothly as possible.  I spent two nights with the other students in my program in Madrid, one night in Toledo, and I’ve been in Granada a week now, since Sunday.  Those 6 days have given me enough time to finally unpack my suitcases, get to know my host mom, figure out the fastest way to walk to school with my roommate (actually, I’m not sure yet that it’s the fastest), and find a few running trails!  I’m in the slow process of trying to feel like myself again in a new city… it’s a lot to get used to under the circumstances of knowing it is my home for the next 4 months.

I’m officially signed up for the Cologne Half Marathon in Germany on October 14!  My training has intensified on me before I’ve even found the best running routes around Granada, and since my Spanish skills are not up to par enough to make me sound more sophisticated than a 5-year-old when conversing with receptionists at local gyms, I know this race will creep up on me.  Still, getting to run regularly again has been the highlight of my week; hitting the ground running may be the only thing that keeps me grounded as I begin to explore the beautiful, friendly, and safe—I know some of you have been wondering— city of Granada and make plans to travel through Spain and along to several big cities in Europe… just no more airplane running workouts, please.

Livin' La Vida Loca

Sub-2 weeks to go until I’m on an airplane across the ocean!  It’s probably time to cool it on the episodes of Lost I’ve been watching with my roommate, not to mention that these are keeping me from my old Spanish notes that I’m sure would make me feel much more comfortable if I’d been reviewing them.  And it’s definitely too early for my style of packing.

It’s been kind of a crazy summer in, unfortunately for you all, an inexplicable way.  Roaming the steam tunnels under Ohio State, belting out my favorite boy band songs—as a weekly regular, might I add—at Karaoke Night, scaling rooftops, throwing myself around Columbus’s trampoline park, racing from the tips of roller coasters, making a first attempt at water skiing… these are just words for the blur the summer has been.  I’m hoping to conclude it with skydiving; it’s not enough just to write in my last post about my experience from freshman year!

If any of that says anything about my mindset this summer, here’s more: one of my best friends from Running Club was telling me about a study one of his psychology classes was looking at, about decision-making in different age groups.  The groups of people in the study who were the most spontaneous and least forward-thinking?  I could have guessed college students, or even senior college students since they/we are notorious risk-takers.   But the answer is more specific—those students who were about to leave the country to study abroad. 

“That sounds exactly right” is what my response to him was.  Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie after all.  Or maybe just a temporary one.  As this friend put it, I’m “essentially about to ditch all my friends back home”, so it does make sense that I’d need to prove I can have my own personal fun.

Yesterday I got my final “pre-departure checklist” from my program reminding me to be patient and flexible as I delve into a new culture, as well as careful and prepared as I groom second-language Spanish skills that have been dormant for several months.  Maybe that’s something else to explain why students about to embark on a study abroad adventure are incredibly impulsive/borderline reckless.  I’ve been mentally preparing for this patience, open-mindedness and caution since I submitted my study abroad application.  But as I rounded the corner before the final stretch at the beginning of the summer, my sprint to the finish line—or more appropriately, the start line—became my last run in comfortable shoes.  “Remember that you are the visitor and need to adapt to the local rhythm and customs, not vice versa.” 

So I had a whole summer to do what I wanted when I wanted to do it; in two weeks I hope I’m ready to conform to someone else’s values.

Nonetheless, the accuracy of this psychology finding does not credit the other people who were involved in making this summer the most fun of my college career.  Despite the fact that yes, I can survive on my own in a spontaneous world and yes, even after four months without my friends and family they will all still be here when I return, as I will be for them… despite all that, I owe a shout-out (and perhaps an apology since they’ve had to put up with my locura this summer) to all those I’ll miss more than anything these next four months.  Whether it’s “just four months” with a dismissing wave of the hand or “a whole four months” exasperated emphasis on the whole, I’ll see you when I get back.    

Study Abroad Adrenaline

I don’t consider myself an adrenaline junkie.  Despite the fact that even just the word “adrenaline” makes my heart beat a little faster, I’m not addicted to its effects.  While college life and the YOLO* phenomenon has made me a bit of a thrill-seeker, it’s for me more about new experiences, especially ones that take me out of my comfort zone.

*Note:  For the old[er] people out there reading this blog who don’t know what this is (ahem, Mom and Dad) YOLO stands for “You Only Live Once”.  Today’s hip hop culture raps about it while the young adult/high school and college-freshman aged facebook population uses it as an excuse for every kind of risky behavior you can think of.  Comforting, right?  Misuse aside, it is still a popular and respected quotation to live by—more sophisticatedly known as carpe diem, or maybe Abraham Lincoln’s “It’s the life in your years that count.”

Besides, that was the most common advice I heard right before I started college: get yourself out of your comfort zone.  In fact, most of us grow up hearing “try new things!” constantly.  Early on, it was code for “eat your broccoli and Brussels sprouts”; now, it’s more applicable to actual life experiences.  And now, it is the most common advice I give out myself… in whatever advice-giving authority I have.

Sometimes, I’d say I have a lot of this authority.  Studying abroad is the epitome of getting yourself out of your comfort zone in college.  July 3, 2012: I’ll swear on the books I’m not fluent in Spanish.  Nine years of study aside, I only know the classroom stuff, so naturally the thought of being completely immersed in the language and culture is intimidating—like being thrown into a tornado.  It is just as exciting as it is nerve-racking; I’m sure I’ve confused both of these emotions. 

Most of everyone I’ve talked to who has studied abroad elaborated on a similar emotional experience: the apprehension that builds up during prep for the trip is transformed almost immediately into what becomes the best experience of the student’s life.  Indeed, it sounds like a type of adrenaline addiction: a rush or high that rewards the body with “exquisite pleasure or pain relief” after such a huge build-up of nervousness as the body prepares to either “fight or flight” (http://www.pvc.maricopa.edu/puma/apr06/addiction.html). 

But it also sounds like the healthy kind of adrenaline addiction since it is one from which I’ll acquire a better understanding of worldwide culture, a proficiency in Spanish in an increasingly-multilingual world, a first-hand practice with independence, and a shot at fulfilling my role as a global citizen… all desired study abroad outcomes and accomplishments I talked about in my essays for scholarship applications. 

So if I’m addicted to the adrenaline to come, fine.

When I went skydiving at the end of my first year of college, I could barely speak I was so nervous during the plane ride up to about 13,000 feet of elevation.  As a tandem diver, I had an instructor attached to my back, and I will never forget the three seconds right before we jumped out of the plane.  We stood on the edge of the open door, on the threshold of indoor comfort and rushing atmosphere, of safety and the near lunacy it must take to front flip out of the side of an airplane, and the instructor began the countdown. 

At “ready”, he leaned us forward so the wind at that altitude roared past our faces, loudly enough that it’s the most prominent detail I remember.  At “set” he rocked us back over the edge of the plane, so that this time the comparative silence almost broke my eardrums.  Then I was scared. 

On “go” we were hurtling through the air, back through that atmosphere which I later read hits a skydiver with the mph of a hurricane. 

It was exhilarating.

But that climax of overwhelming anxiety right before the adrenaline is transformed into endorphins only had to last three seconds—ready, set, go.  Ideally, that would be all it had to last.  You can’t stand on the edge of an airplane for weeks rocking back and forth between the hesitation and the thrill; you just close your eyes and jump.  That’s what thrill-seeking is all about: you just do it. 

Yet hovering on the threshold for weeks and weeks is exactly what I’m forced to do as I count down the time until I leave for Spain and this new language and life experience which awaits me.  All I can say about my prep for the trip this summer is how nervous I am to throw myself into this other culture and leave with everything I currently know on hiatus for four months.  It’s easy to forget that I’ll be taking classes and studying, especially when I compare the experience to skydiving.

But I’ll take it, even with a ready, set, go that lasts three months instead of three seconds.  Bring it, adrenalina.