The Accidental Olympian

SNOW DAY

It started snowing yesterday, small little flakes that for hours instantly melted upon contact.

By mid afternoon I spotted little clumps of snow sticking, on a rooftop, on a branch, on Oly's sad toy in the middle of the yard.

This morning Olympia is covered in a blanket of snow, and big fat flakes are continuing to float to the ground recovering the tracks made as we all tromped into work this morning.

When it snows I find myself thinking back to all my fondest memories involving snow.

The family vacation when I must have been 10, 11, 12? We stopped in the parking lot near the ski resort and my father and my best friend's father built the worlds most insane sled ramp. We'd huff our way to the top, clutch our tiny saucers, and scream our heads off as we catapulted down the shoot. Hitting the ramp and flying into the snowbank and erupting in laughter. Our fathers immensely proud their daughters were such dare devils.

 

Thanksgiving in Big Bear. A tiny cabin and the four of us watching Shania Twain's Christmas special on the little tv next to the wood fire. The next day spending all afternoon with friends and family on the longest snow hill I'd ever seen. Crashing in giggling piles at the bottom. After dinner a wild game of cards with the whole troop, snuggled on pillows, chair arms, laps, and on the floor. Laughing and whooping it up while snow fell outside. So thankful to be together.

Christmas Eve in Santa Fe. Walking down the art gallery alley on Christmas Eve night. Luminarias everywhere you looked. Christmas lights strung from every eve, tree, and building. Holding my mother's hand as we strolled in the chilly air. Stopping to gather with strangers to warm our hands next to fires formed in the middle of the street on stacks of bricks. A stranger handing me hot cocoa with a "Merry Christmas," my father bursting into spontaneous song on the walk between galleries, strangers around us suddenly joining in, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening, a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland."

Freshman year in college, the first day back from Christmas Break. Waking to see Seattle covered in snow. Walking to class and smiling from ear to ear as I marvel at how quiet and peaceful our bustling campus became with a few inches of powder on the ground. Being late to class because I can't stop snapping pictures. With classes canceled running back to the dorms to make snow angels in the field and using cafeteria trays to sled down the dorm parking lot hill. Thinking to myself, "I made the right choice in coming here."

Snowboarding trip to Whistler. Too many bodies crammed in the car, squealing when someone farted. Our first real adult vacation, being blown away by Whistler Village and our oh-so-adult condo. Proving our adult like status by mooning the people across the way. Waking up bright and early and hitting the mountain before the village had even begun to stir. Winding down a random ski path and suddenly smelling waffles. Turning the corner and spotting a tiny cabin who's only two items on the menu are gourmet waffles loaded with everything your heart desires, and hot cocoa. Eating ourselves silly while looking down on the entire Whistler Village. Bliss.

 

December 2008, Seattle snow storm. Work closed, schools closed, roads closed. With no place to be and unable to use our cars, bundling up and heading to the streets. Walking through our little neighborhood in Madison Park and seeing neighbors helping other neighbors dig out cars, build snowmen, all marveling at the transformed neighborhood. Adam and I stopping every 5 minutes to throw a snowball or snap a photo. Standing outside his house and helping to physically push cars back around down the hill to safety instead of upwards to their slippery doom. Meeting friends in 'downtown Madison' for drinks and all tromping together in the snow since our cars hadn't moved from their parking spots in days. Never wanting to live anywhere else but here, surrounded by all the people I love in our perfect little community, hidden from the rest of Seattle.

2009 Crater Lake blizzard snowshoe trip. Senior year snowboarding trip where we stopped on the way home at a Christmas Tree farm to see a baby zebra. The one and only time it ever snowed in the Santa Ynez Valley, getting out of school not because roads were unmanageable, but because it was so rare to have snow in southern California period. June Lake, our tiny A frame cabin, so close to the mountain we could ski to the back door. Grandpa's cabin, Presidents Weekend after Presidents Weekend learning to ski and snowboard at tiny Bear Valley. Spring Break at Mount Bachelor. That big house filled with friends, laughter, aching bones and war stories of jumps gone terribly wrong. Sitting in my living room watching snow fall out my window, snuggled up with my puppy with nowhere to go.

 

I could go on and on.

This southern Californian loves snow.

Loves loves loves.

So happy snow day to you my friends. 

And if it isn't snowing where you are, grab a snow cone and hold it really close to your face.

That will have to do for now.

SOLO TRIP

I have been feeling the urge to take a solo vacation pretty strongly lately.

A few years ago some friends and I headed to a little Bavarian town in WA called Leavenworth (the entire town is German themed fyi. My people!) to partake in the wildness and debauchery that is Oktoberfest.

It was a blast.

Lately I've been thinking about Leavenworth.

But not because I want to carry around a stein, eat sausage and dance the polka.

I mean, I do, but that isn't what is drawing me to Leavenworth at this moment.

While we vacationed for our short weekend we stayed in a campground outside of the city and rented ourselves a little trailer. While we waited for our Oktober-crazy to begin we took a walk that Saturday morning around the campground. The leaves were changing, the weather was sunny but crisp, we stumbled upon the most picturesque field and stopped to marvel at the landscape and take group shots.






Everyone was excited about our upcoming night of Oktoberfest fantasticness, but in that moment on our little walk it was about the beauty of nature and fall.

As we drove out of town on Sunday I was mesmerised by the drive. The leaves were bright yellows and reds, leaves tumbled slowly from the branches and gave the allusion that it was snowing brightly colored foliage.

I loved every second of the drive, even through my headache and Adam's stench of one too many sausage from the night before.





I literally ache for a trip back.

One where I am in the woods, surrounded by these beautiful trees.

I envision a house with windows that enable me to sip my morning coffee and stare off into the forest.

Maybe a hot tub on the deck where I can enjoy a glass of wine and the mountains.

I want to take long rambling walks in the fall air with Oly.

Silent walks, without company, without worrying about a drop in conversation. Just my thoughts.

Read for hours on end without wondering what we should be doing next.

I want to make dinner in a kitchen that isn't my own.

Enjoy a bedtime movie in a living room I wont have to vacuum later.

Snuggle with my puppy in a bed I don't need to make later.




And yet, something is keeping me from pulling the trigger.

You'll get bored.

It wont be as fun as you think it will.

What a waste of money.

Wouldn't it be better with friends?

If you stay home you'll save a CRAP TON more money.

Wont staying in a house alone in the woods simply play up on all your fears?




So I ask you.

Have any of you taken a solo trip?

How long did you go?

What did you do?

How much did you love it?

FALL, FALLING, FALLEN

Fall used to inspire and excite me.

Fall was the start of something new.

A new school year.

New shoes.

Crisp new paper, an unscuffed binder, unused pens by the fist fulls.

A new jacket.

New classmates.

Interesting and unknown teachers.

Exciting challenges.

A new routine.

At 18 I became a resident of Seattle, and immediately proclaimed that fall was my favorite season. Ever. As the years progressed, fall was the return to normalcy. A chance to downgrade to part time employment and forget the hells of 40+ hour summer work weeks, to see friends absent all summer, to walk along the university grounds and marvel as the leaves turned a blinding red and abnormally colored rain boots adorned the feet of the students around me.

Fall was college football in the student section.

Pizza after a game. A beer or 12 with friends.

Nowhere to be except back in our books, and that could wait.



Now, the only thing that changes is the weather.

Crystal clear days marked by a crispness to the air still excite me, intrigue and inspire the Southern Californian who knew only summer, summer, summer, and two weeks of rain.

But it's not the same.



What if every fall you changed your life?

Moved.

Changed careers.

Started all new hobbies.

Redecorated.

Would it come close to bringing back the feeling of magic I once felt every fall? Instead of feeling these crippling, hostage taking winter blues creeping in, would I instead be filled with hope?
 


I guess in the meantime I'll just snap more pictures of the changing leaves and pretend something new is just around the bend.

Who knows. Maybe there is.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

CAPITALIZING ON LIFE

This past weekend Adam and I went white water rafting in Central OR. I'd jumped on a 50% off Groupon (if you don't already receive Groupon emails, then you need to sign up for that ASAP!) for a full day of white water rafting earlier in the summer, and last weekend was finally our chance to cash in our tickets.

The weekend was everything it was supposed to be. Camping, nights by the fire, a chance to meet up with an old friend, exhilarating white water rafting, cocktails in late afternoon sunlight sitting along the Deschutes, suntans, laughter, terrifying shrieks as the boat plunged into another rapid, waking to the sound of a babbling river, perfection.

Even more enjoyable though than the weekend itself was the realization Adam and I had while sitting next to the Deschutes, cocktail in hand, reflecting on our day on the water.



Our boat consisted of a guide, Adam and I, and five strangers. Three of which were entirely unmemorable, and two that will probably continue to stick with Adam and I for quite some time.

In our boat was a couple, I'm guessing in their late 60's, early 70's. When I first spotted them, I assumed they were the parents of the 20 something couple also in our boat. And I wont lie to you, I thought to myself, Great. A bunch of stodgy old people who are going to be all weird about getting wet.

The first go round of 8 miles the older couple sat in the very back. The dry spot in the raft and I couldn't help but think to myself, TYPICAL. Yes, I was falling back on good o'l ageism and being an asshole.

But then on our second go round, after we'd been loaded up in a school bus and our nearly toothless driver Dave dropped us off at our second put in in the river, the older couple said they wanted to sit in the front. The place Adam and I had just been sitting in that most closely resembles the Sea World splash zone. Freezing cold, most likely to be thrown out of the boat, thrill zone.

Adam and I exchanged glances.

Throughout the next five miles of river I was absolutely blown away. After each rapid, after each instance of being hit with a wall of FREEZING cold water, of being nearly thrown out of the boat on multiple occasions, both the woman and the man would look back at the rest of the boat, smiling from ear to ear, screaming, high fiving, and literally out of their minds loving every moment of the splash zone.

They were completely and totally alive.

Everything I had thought about them was a lie.

For the remainder of the trip they hooted and hollered, they whooped and screamed as our boat slammed into waves sideways and nearly filled our boat to the top with frigged water. They grabbed each others hands in celebration and paddled their hearts out. These people who I assumed would be more at home at a wine tasting, who came off as so out of their element in the first half were suddenly transformed.

They weren't with their younger adventurous kids. They weren't placating a crazy family member, they weren't trying something crazy and finding out they hated it. They were all in.




As Adam and I sat in our chairs looking at the river that night, sunburnt, tired, and still giddy with the day we kept going back to the couple. How happy they were, how exhilarated, how unusual and spontaneous, and how badly we wanted to be those people.

We made a pact to do more of these things. To spend less time worrying about the bills, and the house repairs, to be responsible, but to make more time for life. To remember that always saying, "next time, next summer, next weekend, next paycheck," means most times opportunities simply slip away.

This weekend was expensive. There's no denying it. But the memories we made, camping, rafting, relaxing was worth the fact that this week we're eating hot dogs for dinner and spending the weekend at home.
 

We could have sat at home last weekend. Spent very little money, watched tv, cleaned the house, walked the dog. But we would have missed out on this.




And we never would have met the couple who opened our eyes and reminded us to take advantage of every single moment we have.

I will never forget the look of that woman's face. Recently hit with a wave of water that nearly knocked her out of the boat. Her husband has grabbed her arm at the last second, dragging her tiny little body back into the raft and she's landed in the bottom of the boat in a wet heap. She's literally drenched beyond an inch of her life and she's laughing so intoxicatingly loud. She looks back at the rest of the boat, overflowing with giggles with the worlds most brilliant smile, wide open, and before we know it we're all screaming and laughing with her.

I've never seen someone so completely and utterly energized in my entire life.




As someone who is a natural introvert, someone who sometimes feels completely captive by my anxiety and fear of change, it takes meeting someone like her to remind me how easily I am able to hinder my own life if I'm not careful. How in a moment I can allow my anxiety to literally steal experiences such as these away from me.

I wish more than anything in this world that I could tell her how much she's inspired me.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

LAKE HOUSE

No no, this isn't going to be some horrid tirade about Keanu Reeves and the movie The Lake House. I have much more important things to share with the world you see.

My lovely parental units have been lounging at a lake house in Coeur d'Alene, ID since last Saturday. Since last weekend they have been living here.

And every morning they stand on the back deck and look out at this.

Every day I talked to them early last week they would tell me about how they woke up and had breakfast on the deck, or caught at 15" bass last night, or how they spent a few hours that afternoon swimming in the lake, or discovered a new cove, or SHUT UP I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR VACATION WHILE I AM AT WORK. 

But you see, I don't have to be jealous anymore and openly hate my family, because right now, in this very moment, I am at the lake house too. Hell, I've been here since Wednesday night. Who knows, as you read this I just might be lounging on the deck, or swimming in the lake, hell, I might be drinking a cocktail, in the lake, while catching a fish, ALL AT THE SAME TIME for all you know! The possibilities are endless.

It's ok if you want to hate me now.

Hell, I'd been openly hating my own family all last week.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian