Day 8: Never have I ever... actually watched the Superbowl

I was raised by a dad who's more farmer than football. He would never spend a perfectly good Sunday afternoon watching sports. Find him in the garden, in the basement, fixing something, or on a boat. But never watching sports. Never. 

As a result, it's not a surprise that I don't possess a great affinity for team sports. No that I'm anti-sports. I like basketball, and follow the Knicks on and off. I like hockey, it's quite an exciting game to watch. And I like baseball best of all--the nostalgia, the Americana, the hot dogs. But I have no love for football. No. Love. I find it tedious and boring, and I just don't get the crazy fan-dom that surrounds the NFL. Sundays are religion. The stadium is the church. I bleed blue! Just ask my ex-boyfriend.

But, since the entire nation was watching football tonight, I decided it was a perfect time to stop judging football fans and actually learn about the game. It's easy to dislike something one knows nothing about. Surely I could muster up some appreciation for the most popular sport in America.  And I was invited to a small Superbowl party by my friend Beth. So I spent 90 minutes on the internet actually learning about the game of football. Ohhhh, that's what a down is? Finally, I knew what the announcers meant when they say "3rd and 6". Ohhhh, they're not just saying random numbers! I learned about down and distance, scoring, team structure, and other basics. 

In the past, I have watched the Superbowl with my dad, if I watch it at all. But let's face it, we're both only watching it for the commercials. He usually feigns attention while I surf the internet or read. I look up only to see these most-anticipated commercials of the year, and our only dialogue occurs about whether we like them or not. We usually like the halftime show, too. And we nosh. That's our Superbowl. But this year I was going to go to a real, live Superbowl party, my first-ever! 

Madeleine the Mascot

I picked up a case of Modelo Especial and headed over to watch some Steel vs. Cheese. It was the perfect Brooklyn Superbowl party: Eight ladies, two hipsters, a gay guy, and a French bulldog named Madeleine. At the core of this unlikely crew was our hostess, a native Pittsburger. She was adorably hopeful for her hometown, full of contagious enthusiasm. When the Steelers scored, or did other good football-y things, she politely said "Excuse me" and then whirled her Terrible Towel above her head while shouting "Woooooooooooooo!!!" I sat next to her, and truly paid attention to a football game for the first time in my life. It was hard to differentiate with all of those yellow thunder thighs on the field. It was an exciting game, as sports games go, thanks to the almost-comeback by the Steelers that almost resulted in the largest comeback in Superbowl history. But, as my dad always says: Almost only counts in horsehoes and hand grenades.

Sad Steeler

Results: Steelers lost to the Packers, vindicating the good luck charm selection off all those idiots wearing rubber cheese wedges on their heads. I definitely enjoyed football much more with a basic understanding of what the heck is going on with all those lines and numbers. But I'm sorry to say, I still think football is bo-ring. My favorite parts were the commercials, the train-wreck of a Halftime show, and the Very Special Glee episode. But I do I think that next year when my current roomie wants to put the Jets game on, I won't groan quite as much. 

Status: Success! 

Day 7: Never have I ever... driven draft horses

Ithaca is home to the multi-talented, all-around awesome husband and wife team Kirk and Jen, two of my most unique friends. Kirk, a farrier who hails from South Dakota, and Jen, a doctor of veterinary medicine and fabulous chef, live together with two dogs, four horses, and a cat and on 100 acres of their own beautiful Arcadia. 

I was thrilled that a visit to the their compound would coincide with this blog project; a weekend with Kirk and Jen is a welcome departure from our urban (or suburban) norms. Their home is heated entirely from one wood-burning stove. The wood is felled from their own land. Jen bakes bread from scratch. Kirk taps his maple trees, and makes homemade syrup. They raise pigs in the spring, and enjoy bacon all winter. During this particular visit, we enjoyed a delicious White Chicken Chili....except the dish wasn't made with chicken. Try wild pheasant. And Jen shot it herself on a recent hunting trip. 

Saturday morning meant fresh coffee and some of their delicious homemade bacon, followed by an outing to 'the barn', the newest addition to their dominion. This barn is another unbelievable feat: made from wood that was felled and milled by Kirk himself. He built the whole barn, too. Every nail. 
I know. Being around them does make me feel utterly useless, too. I was proud of assembling an Ikea dresser?!

Bob, Pete, the Barn, and the Rig

Kirk harnessed up two of their four horses, Pete and Bob, a Clydesdale and Percheron. He hitched the wagon, and we all piled on top of the hay bale seats. We were off. A few minutes into the ride, he passed me the reins, and I guided the horses from my position. I held the reins with both hands, trying to steady. Whoa Nelly,  this was tough. 

Within moments, Pete was out in front of Bob. The horses had detected my inexperienced hands and lapsed out of sync, like devilish children with a babysitter. I tried to correct this imperceptible problem, but it only got worse. Kirk told me to stop the horses. I pulled gently on the reins and said "Whoa". They came back into alignment.
"Let's start them going again," he said. Turning forward, he called "Waalllk", as I gave a gentle jolt on the reins. They started going forward.  
"Did my rein motion get them started?" I asked Kirk. 
"Nope, not really."

I did not have the talent or experience for this task. I asked Kirk how I was doing. "Well you're driving them," he said, "...but not well." Gotta love Kirk. Man of few words. 

I began to get a little freaked out as the open path started to disappear into a tiny trail. The wagon's weight is huge and burdensome on the horses, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle navigating the tightly wooded section up ahead. I didn't trust myself, and I think the horses sensed that. Since "never have I ever been in a wagon accident" is not at the top of my to-do-for-blog list, I decided to relinquish the reins back to Kirk and enjoy the ride. 

Holding the reins

Kirk guided us through the snowy woods with effortless ease. The horses respected him entirely. He used the occasional "Gee" or "Haw" to maneuver Bob and Pete left or right, over some treacherous terrain that left us clutching on to each other, giggling. I paid close attention to his voice commands and hand motions, because I would love to try my hand with these beautiful horses again sometime. Next time without four of my heckling friends watching. (see photo right of heckler #3) 

Results: The wagon ride was thoroughly enjoyable... as a passenger. I felt like a smiling pixelated bot from Oregon Trail as we traversed Kirk and Jen's beautiful land. No one suffered Dysentary. And I think everyone in the wagon felt more secure with the Horse Whisperer holding the reins. But yes, I did technically drive two draft horses and a wagon. Briefly. 

Status: FAIL. 

Day 2: Never have I ever... Bouldered.

I've heard Boulder is a lovely city. Legend has it that it's the jewel of the Rockies: a postcard-worthy town against snow-capped mountains, packed with shaggy-haired folks who bathe infrequently.... an irresistible trifecta! Luckily for likeminded New Yorkers, there is a headquarters for this type within city limits. Brooklyn Boulders, abbreviated BKB for those in the know. (I'm not in the know.) 

I've wanted to try out BKB since it opened last year, and I even had a $5 off coupon sitting in my desk. But it wasn't until my friend Ethan provided me with the impetus to go that I finally made it through the door. And by impetus, I should say awkward self-invitation. You see, we were at his birthday party discussing a good date to meet up with some friends. The interaction went something like this:
Me: So, are you free this Monday, the 31st? 
Ethan: Ah, I can't, I'm going rock-climbing with my friend Chris on Monday. (points to Chris a few feet away) 
Me: Ooooh! Rock climbing!! Where are you guys going?! In the city?? 
Ethan: (calling to Chris) We're going to Brooklyn, right? 
Chris: Yep. 
Me: Ooooh! Brooklyn Boulders!? I've heard that place is great!  I've been meaning to check it out! 
Ethan: Yeah, well, Chris goes a lot, I think he likes it. 
Me: Really?! That's so cool! Um, could I maybe come with you guys? I mean, would that be OK? I mean, if you guys want to just hang out just the guys, I totally understand, but if I'm not crashing the party then maybe I could come and, yeah, I really like rock climbing, it would be fun, um...
I don't need to keep going, do I? You get the idea. Ethan graciously encouraged me to come, despite my clumsy breach of social protocol. He didn't even make me feel like an overexcited asshole about it. Which I kinda was.

So that's the story of how I ended up at Brooklyn Boulders at 8:30pm on a Monday night.

BKB is the mecca for cool, urban hippie-types. Overlooking the fact that the entire, gi-normous establishment is seasoned with eau de B.O., the vibe of the place is laid-back and non-judgmental. The staff was familiar and competent, and the place was PACKED. Mind you, it was freezing cold Monday night in late January. I can only imagine how crowded it must be on weekends...

I have climbed many times before in my past, so climbing in itself isn't a new experience for me. In college, we had a free climbing gym on campus, and my high school was even lucky enough to have a climbing wall right in our gymnasium. But that was all top-rope climbing. With a harness and taut rope attached to one's pelvis, you have security. Actually, falling is fun. You swing back and forth suspended in air. It's like the circus!

But this bouldering business was new to me. Bouldering, for those who don't know, is a style of climbing without a rope and on lower walls over a crash pad. If you fall, you fall. The walls are only about 15' high, so falling wouldn't kill you, even if you were landing on hard ground. But would you want to jump out of a second story window?

On my first attempt (on a V0, the lowest level), I slipped reaching for the second set of holds. Lame. To add insult to more insult, all of the cool, urban-hippie-types scrambled up the much-tougher nearby walls like it was no big thang. I sheepishly looked back to Ethan and Chris and asked if we could start on a wall that didn't have an inverted angle.

From our newly-selected wall spot, I began to hit a stride. Chris pointed out some good routes for me. I silently instructed myself to chill out and ignore the fear of falling. A few half-successes up the wall later, I felt my beginner skills coming back to me. My moves were by no means pretty, but hey, I was climbing.

Finally, I made it to the top! It was then that I realized how friggin' high this "short" wall was. I looked down, clung to the wall, and hollered "So, guys...what now? I just have to jump?" I was freaked out. Chris told me I could jump, or climb down a bit. I chose the latter, and then jumped to safety on the marshmallowy crash pad below.

Yep, there it was. That same feeling I used to love: the jello-jigglers legs sensation. Like your knees have started yodeling. I'm not sure how else to explain it... but if you know what I mean, you know exactly what I mean.

We played around on the boulders for about two hours. I succeeded on two or three routes, and made valiant attempts at many others, including a "fun one" (as labeled by Chris) where you start clinging to the wall, almost horizontally, and then climb up to a vertical position. I failed miserably. Moments later, the friendly staff member who gave me a free climbing shoe rental came along and Spiderwomaned it.

Ethan and Chris* both did much better than me, but they are muscly boys and I'm just a tiny little woman. I asked the very nimble Chris how long he had been climbing, expecting his response to be in years. Turns out he's only been bouldering twice a week since November. (NOVEMBER?!?) Evidence that regular practice and dedication brings great reward, sometimes even speedily.

Results: A lot of laughs with two fun people, a reinvigorated interest in climbing, and one very sore body today. (My quads and arms are aching!)

Status: Success-ish

*Huge thanks to both for letting me tag along, coaching me up, and pretending that I didn't completely suck at it.

Day 1: Never have I ever.... Gone snowshoeing!

I love the fluffy white stuff. It's so purty. I usually appreciate the snow in one of two ways: 1) zooming down a groomer, or 2) watching it fall gently through the window as I sip cocoa next to the fire. See, I don't really like to be cold. I hate it, in fact. So it's safe to say you won't find me as winter outdoorsman without a Thermos full of whine.

But yesterday I strapped on some stainless steel 26" snowshoes and traversed 2.5 miles of the deep, snowy trails of Caleb Smith State Park Preserve on Long Island. I embarked on this expedition with D.Coops and his parents (who benevolently provided us with all our 'shoeing gear, and then whizzed ahead like agile gazelles on X-country skis). It was an easy skill to master, though getting the "right" stride took some experimentation. Due to our most recent blizzy, the blanket was 3' high, which really added to the cool-factor. It wasn't quite the graceful picture I'd imagined (us gliding across the top of a great expanse of the snow like Jesus on the Sea of Galilee,) the shoes and poles sunk in about 3-4 inches and we plodded along slowly and clumsily in our enjoyment.

Terribly unflattering photo of too-large snow clothes.
Dave eating a yellow snowball. 

Result: A stunningly beautiful winterscape and a surprisingly good workout! We wove our way around a winding creek, snow-covered trees, and pristine white meadows, and appreciated a glimpse of winter wildlife (fine, some ducks). Overall, it was a great new way to enjoy the outdoors in winter.  Being cooped up all season isn't good for our bods, and my lungs appreciated a few hours of crisp, fresh air. I'm not kidding about the good workout part, either. 90 minutes of this strange, new motion was exhausting! About 1.5 miles in, I tried to bitch out by taking the short route, but my snowbuddy kept me motivated and we did the full loop. I'm so glad we did.

Status: Success!