Once a Swimmer Always a Runner

Last night, I jumped into a heated pool in my newly purchased 80s-style exercise swimsuit, slipped a black swimcap over my knotted bun, adjusted a fresh pair of goggles over the bridge of my nose, dunked myself and pushed off the wall. I unfolded into my first underwater pullout, noticing the calm, gentle fingers of the water stroking my arms and legs as I smoothly passed through its welcoming embrace. The last time I swam was three years ago during a triathlon in a cold mountain reservoir in southern China. The experience was so alarmingly unnerving - the chill, the fear of bacteria, the darkness and unknown depth - that I barely noticed not stepping back into a pool for so many years.


I'm a runner, and like most runners, it is the only sport I have ever excelled at. I had a brief stint in field hockey where I was varsity first-string as a freshman. The only reason for this, though, was that during pre-season tryouts, I could outrun the rest of the girls (most of whom didn't train during the summer). I'd just run up and down the field nonstop, enjoying the smell of freshly cut grass, and enjoying my little kilt flapping in the breeze. I also had a moment of success in college when I rowed for the varsity women's lightweight rowing team. I even got a scholarship. Again, I'm sure that this all came about because the coach was flabbergasted when I could run circles around the rest of the team when doing stadiums and hill workouts. The only other sport I spent much time with was swimming, and in this particular physical activity, no amount of running was going to get me anywhere. I was a flopping, water-hating, utter failure.

I was the kid who was always cold in the pool. I hated getting water up my nose. Having to dive into the pool from a block during swim meets brought me as close to paranoid episodes as a ten year-old can get. So many terrible, embarrassing things could happen - losing goggles, swimcaps flying off, bathing suits suddenly folding over and revealing a breast, brushing the floor of the pool, diving too deep and needing to shoot upwards to the skin of the water to gasp for air. No wonder I tended toward the backstroke; we got to start the race in the pool.


Luckily swimteam ended every August, and during the next nine months, I had the opportunity to prove to my parents that I need not swim - I could excel at other sports. I tried basketball, softball, lacrosse, soccer, even ballet. Nothing quite panned out. Defeated, I'd begin swimteam every summer once again, counting the days until it ended.

Realizing I was a runner eventually released me from the pool's grasp. I stayed a runner forever after that. Regardless of whether I was training with a team, living in Shanghai, China or simply doing a few loops around my San Francisco neighborhood.

So it was with trepidation that when I moved to Jerusalem a few weeks ago, I joined a gym focused primarily on its pool. Running is wonderful pretty much anywhere where there isn't traffic or religious zealots nearby. Unfortunately, Jerusalem has both of these problems, and I wasn't interested in taking them on by foot and spandex.  Nervous about swimming again, I made a big deal about buying appropriate and comfortable gear for the experience. I dragged my husband with me to the discount sports store where I spent an hour trying on strange bathing suits and goggles.

And when the time finally came to join the swimmers at Ramat Rachel, it was as if it was something I had always done and will always do. I swam for a half hour straight, enjoying the weightlessness of my body, moving every single muscle and bone that I have, practicing the old flip turns, and controlling my breathing. It was wonderful. I guess all those years of pain in the cold pool at the Westwood Club had some purpose.

Word Cloud

Taken from this blog - I like this!

Fennel and the new smell of home

After hanging laundry on our third floor balcony, I slid open the glass door, and stepped onto the cool, beige marble floor inside. I noticed that our home smelled comfortingly of fennel - an ingredient in today's lunch of sauteed potatoes and vegetables. I made a cup of fresh lemon tea, and ensconced myself the overly-cushioned microfiber couch.

Here I am, finally sitting in one place and enjoying the static view. Facing the balcony, I can see past the valley below - a wadi studded with minarets to tan Jerusalem stone towns, and even further to the hills of Jordan and the Dead Sea. None of these sites are familiar to me, aside from a few trips I've taken to Israel over the past 20 years. Yet, I finally feel like this is home, or at least somewhere where we can pause for a bit.

Introduction to Israel

We went from California to Virginia to India, and ended up in Jerusalem, Israel. Looks like we'll be here for about a year. So far it's been a slogging two weeks of finding an apartment and visiting various government offices to get my residency in order. Sometimes it takes trying to live somewhere else to help you realize how much you liked being where you were.

The Eurovan

Not surprisingly, writing and working while driving cross country is almost impossible. This wouldn't have been the case if the entire country had 3G coverage. But, considering that I spent the last ten days in Mt. Hood, eastern Oregon, Idaho, and Wyoming, Edge networks were the norm. Whenever I had a fleeting hour of time at a cafe with Wifi, I furiously typed emails that had been long in queue. And just as soon as that hour seemed to have begun, it was over, and more driving along empty highways was imminent. So, back in the van and on the open road I'd go. A few emails left in the dust ... and no time at all for a blog post.

I hope the explanation suffices for my lack of posting during this trip. And I hope that you noticed I mentioned "van" in the last paragraph. While spending a week in Mt. Hood, it became apparent that the little VW Rabbit was just too small for our purposes of driving cross country with half our possessions in the backseat. Luckily, Oregonians use Craigslist, and we did a quick switch. Goodbye Rabbit and hello Eurovan!! Yes, we bought a Eurovan. I never thought I'd have an RV, and I never thought I'd like them. Well, I like to believe that this is the bunny rabbit of RVs so no big deal.  Yet, the roof pops open, two beds can be made inside, there's a stove, a refrigerator, a sink and enough space to do a whole ashtanga series in the backseat. Also, with those big captain seats up front and the most enormous window a van could ever have, we can view the USA in all its glory as we chug our way down the 80.

I started to love the van so much that, in a momentary lapse of sanity somewhere in mid-Idaho and 95 degree heat, I became a bit sentimental and realized that the Eurovan was my first home. My first wholly owned sink, refrigerator, cabinetry and ... a little more heat later, enough room to birth a child, and even a place for him or her to sleep (up in the bed by the pop-top). Luckily the air cooled down at night and I regained my composure. No worries, we're ditching the van once we get a house somewhere.

Portland Day 1 and 2

We've been on the road for a few days now, and have made it to Portland. The driving was pretty intense, mostly because it took us a bit longer to pack than we expected ... to be exact, eight hours longer than we expected. We also had about two times more stuff than we'd originally thought. This forced us to spend three hours buying and installing a roof rack and cargo box on top of my little VW Rabbit in the REI parking lot during our first day in Portland. Anyway, within a day and a half of hitting the road, we had made it to Ashland, Oregon, town of Renaissance Fairs, Shakespeare Festivals, and funky park yoga. It's almost the type of place we'd love to live in - beautiful homes studding a hill overlooking a valley and an earthy yet upscale downtown - but it's far away from everything, unfortunately.

By midnight on Thursday, we had found ourselves a hotel south of Portland by Lake Oswego. From a quick walk around and a momentary check-in to the farmer's market down the street, we realized it's  yuppy in this southern corner of Portland. This was confirmed later at a friend's housewarming party in NorthEast Portland where they consider their neighborhood to be up-and-coming. The NE may be a little too much on the early side of gentrification for us, but we definitely saw the potential.

The mix of people at the party was the perfect melange of Portlanders, or so they said. Everyone was brought up elsewhere - Tennessee, Mexico City, Massachusetts, Michigan. Everyone had made their pilgrimage to Oregon and stayed, citing the openness, the easy access to "nowhere," the perfect combination of the calm and the fun that the area provides. Everyone had at least one visible tattoo.

Noe Valley

How I'll miss you! My evening walks under the fog, the tiny gym that gives me such happiness, Noe Valley bakery muffins, coffee galore, cute boutiques, a Whole Foods at one end, and an amazing vegetable stand at the other, good neighbors and fun friends, the sun during the day, a view of Twin Peaks on the west and Bernal Hill on the East, brunch at Chloe's, the J train, proximity to the 280. I hope to see you soon.