The Best Day of my Life

The 13 February began like most of my days. My alarm went off and I turned over in my bed and did my best to ignore it. I succeeded for about twenty minutes before I grabbed my laptop and began my morning internet routine. Facebook, LinkedIn, Gmail, student email, news stories. I got an odd surge of energy after checking my LinkedIn profile. I had updated it in the attempt to begin some hard core networking and I found that I was appearing in more searches and had added at least twenty contacts over the past week. It felt like a small success; the next step in finding a job or starting a PhD or whatever that next step was going to be. I decided right then and there that 13 February 2014 was going to be a great day.

I met Sophie and we walked down to the Science Site for our 10:00 lecture. As we rounded the Geography Building a giant yellow form met our gaze. It was a duck. A large, inflatable, yellow duck. We both began to pull our phones out to capture the absurdity of the moment when a girl dressed in a duck onesie approached us.

“Do you want your picture with the duck?” she asked cheerfully.

“Yes!” I replied.

She went on to explain that she was representing the Durham University Charity Kommittee (DUCK) and that it was DUCK week. They were running a bunch of events trying to raise money for local charities. A tall, dark haired student with a camera came over and handed us a whiteboard.

“You have to name the duck,” he said.

Sophie and I looked at each other.

“Caesar?” I suggested.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good,” Sophie said.

I wrote Caesar in big blue letters. (Okay, what I actually wrote was Ceasar. A friend pointed this out to me after I posted the picture on Facebook. I’m a great advertisement for Durham University, aren’t I?)

Anyway, Sophie and I each took a corner of the sign and grinned.

Observe the power of Photoshop to change history. (Thanks Jeremy)

It was starting out to be a pretty great day.

After our lecture I headed back to my room. I had been plagued by an essay for two weeks and I was determined to crank out another section that afternoon before heading to CrossFit. I sighed heavily as I opened the document. To be honest, half the battle is opening the document. I was unhappy with this assignment. It felt like an undergraduate essay. Identify and evaluate three contemporary issues affecting a museum type of your choice. I had chosen science museums since I have an oft spoken love of science. My problem wasn’t necessarily with the assignment but with the scope. I would much rather have focused on one issue, really sinking my teeth into it, and coming up with solutions and alternatives. With such a meagrely word count, it was difficult to go into any kind of true depth about any of the topics. Despite this, I forged ahead and by 3:00 I had written the next section and called it a job well done.

Both Sam and Claire couldn’t make it to CrossFit that night. I had ordered a taxi to take me to Belmont (an expensive luxury but I was in no way feeling a long walk in the freezing rain). The cab met me in front of Fisher and in fifteen minutes I was entering the box. It was a big day. It was the last day of my on ramp. Once I finished this session, I would be able to go to any box in the world and take a class. We were going to review all the movements we had done over the past two weeks and then complete our benchmark work out to see how much we had improved.

I’ll be honest, I was dreading the benchmark. It had been a really hard work out and I had struggled the entire time. Three rounds of a 200m run, 10 air squats, 10 sit ups, 10 press-ups, and then finish with another 200m run. It totalled out to 800m of running and 30 squats, sit ups, and press-ups. It was the press-ups more than anything. I’ve never had much upper body strength and the last few had been near impossible. I was worried I would be the only one who didn’t improve her time. As we finished up with our review, we headed over to the door to begin the benchmark. Well, it was now or never.

The first run went well. The cold, February night air stung my lungs but I wasn’t too far behind the others when I got back in the box and started my air squats. I felt a bit confused. They seemed so much easier this time. I was done with ten in no time and felt almost no soreness. The sit ups were okay but the entire time I was thinking of those press-ups. I rolled over onto my stomach and pushed the floor away from me. It was hard. Inside my head I began to feel the creep of disappointment. Here is where I will lose time, I thought. I struggled to push myself up for the tenth time and then I was out the door.

That’s one round, two more to go and then one more run. You’ve got this, I told myself. The second run was more difficult, but I was back in the box and cranking out air squats again. I realised then that the squats were my resting time. They still felt like nothing at all. I must be doing these wrong, I thought. I heard the coach’s voice from behind me calling over the music.

“Good squats, Jen!”

Okay, I must be doing them right. Why are they feeling so easy? Back on the floor for sit ups. They were feeling a bit more difficult now. Once again I dreaded rolling over for the press-ups. I finally got through them and ran out the door again.

Two rounds down. You only have one more to go! Though the longer the workout went on, the more tired and more difficult things seemed to get, I felt like I was doing it much faster than two weeks ago. I wasn’t so far behind the others in the group. Last time I was miles behind.

Back in the box for my last round of air squats. As I finished and began the sit ups, my hamstring tightened. Oh no! I thought. I tried to flex my foot to stretch the muscle as I continued through the work out. The press-ups were complete agony this time. I struggled out of the door. This was the last run. My hamstring was like a string on a violin that had been stretched too tightly. I decided to ignore it and push on to the end. As I headed back for my last 100m, I felt a burst of speed from my legs. I was through the door and panting like a dog in August.

I didn’t collapse on the floor. I walked over to grab my water and downed the whole bottle. I picked up everyone’s sit up mats and returned them against the wall and then we all headed over to the whiteboard. The coach all gave us high fives (it’s a CrossFit thing). Then came the reveal. I thought I did it faster than last time, but I had no idea by how much.

He put all of our old times up first. There I was “Jen 11.15.” Inside I groaned. I had taken the longest out of all of the on rampers and it had been a source of mild embarrassment for me. He put up the others’ new times first. Both had cut theirs by about 50 seconds which was awesome.

“Okay, Jen,” he said. I now knew how guests on Top Gear felt. I leaned forward a bit and waited for him to write my time on the board. “You did it in…” (seriously, it was like he was channelling Clarkson).

Then he wrote 8.27 on the board.

I stared.

There I am. 11.15 and two weeks later 8.27.

I hadn’t just beaten my benchmark. I had obliterated it. I had the most improved time of all the on rampers. I grinned from ear to ear. If I hadn’t been sold on CrossFit before then, I was now.

“I really thought you must have missed a round, but then when I counted back, I realised you had just smashed your time,” the coach said. I smiled and got another high five. I was flying higher than a kite in that moment.

I got a certificate for completing my on ramp and was so ready for classes to begin on Monday.

Back at Howlands, I grabbed a hot shower and settled in for a bit before I headed off to the pub quiz. I was in the midst of writing a quiz for the 27 February with my friend Jeremy and we had decided to attend all the quizzes beforehand to make sure no questions over lapped. I was still feeling amazing after my CrossFit triumph when I began my walk to the pub.

It was a team of four that night, Emily, Jeremy, his flatmate Sophie (not to be confused with Cornish Sophie), and me. If you’ve ever done a pub quiz you’ll realise that it’s better to have more on your team if possible and it’s better to have a variety of skills. As it turned out we had three archaeologists and an English lit student. The theme that night was Valentine’s Day/Anti-Valentine’s Day. As always it started off with a picture round. That night, all the people pictured were those who had been married and divorced multiple times, Liz Taylor, Cleopatra, Henry VIII, Britney Spears, you get the idea. Then the questions started. We were doing relatively well. I remembered in the news round that a Danish zoo had murdered a giraffe, Jeremy cleaned up on the sports round. We all struggled through the music round and soon it was halftime.

The beer round was an opportunity for us all to stretch our cynicism. We had to suggest ways that Valentine’s Day could be improved. We all contributed fantastic ideas such as only anatomically correct hearts should be used, cupids should cover themselves, and candy hearts should provide facts such as the second law of thermodynamics instead of insufferable love messages. Despite our brilliance, victory was not ours and another team was awarded a round of drinks.

At the halfway mark we were astonished to find ourselves in the lead. Then the pressure was on. We all stopped drinking and began to really concentrate. The history and literature rounds went to Jeremy and Sophie. We were stuck on one question. “Which British officer’s autobiography was entitled The Seven Pillars of Wisdom?” Finally I suggested Lawrence of Arabia. I knew he had written an autobiography. I had it back home and had never had a chance to read it, but I was sure it had a different title. Desperate, we put it down. The science and geography round didn’t give us too much trouble and then came the blow: a second music round. We all groaned.

“Here’s where we lose the lead,” I said.

“No, no, it could be alright,” Sophie said.

We all struggled, but thanks to Sophie we got some correct answers down. Finally it was time for the theme round. We scribbled answers and handed in the sheet and then waited for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally the correct answers were read out. We realised that we had nailed the first two rounds in the second half. I had triumphed with my suggestion of T.E. Lawrence and I felt like I had earned my keep on the team. Then the standings. We weren’t in last. We weren’t in third. We weren’t in second. WE HAD WON!

My winnings

Emily poured the coins onto our table and began to mete out our portions. Six pounds each. As I walked back to my flat with Jeremy and Sophie I realised that it had turned out to be an amazing day.

“This has been the best day of my life,” I joked, “I named a duck, smashed my CrossFit time, and we won the pub quiz.”

I Need YOU to Help Make an Epic Blog Post Happen!

Hi Faithful Readers,

I'm looking for some help in raising money for a very good cause. Durham University Charity Kommittee (DUCK) is hosting a Cathedral Sleepout at the end of February. It will be an epic 11.5 hours of fun, hilarity, and blog worthy happenings. I need your help to make this all happen. Please consider visiting my JustGiving page and donating a few pounds to a worthy cause and help make an epic blog post happen!

JustGiving - Sponsor me now!

Thank you as always for reading and let's see if we can raise beyond the 30 quid for some local charities. 

Best wishes,

Jen

Burpees and Box Jumps and Kettlebells, Oh My!

Sam and I had been meeting regularly for lunch on Thursdays since the start of the second term. It became something I really looked forward to during the week. We would try out a new café and relax over a cup of tea. It was during one of these leisurely lunches that she somehow managed to convince me to give CrossFit a try.

So there I was, early on a Monday morning taking the bus up to my old digs to meet her. It had been so long since I had been up there that I quite forgot which bus to take. Soon enough she was driving along the motorway and we arrived at the box. It had just opened and there were free taster sessions all week. I climbed out of her Jeep and nervously made my way into the converted warehouse.

It was cold. I didn’t remove my coat until right before we started. I looked around and saw weights, rings, a pile of boxes in the corner, and colourful blobs against the far wall. I hadn’t stepped foot in a gym since I was probably in high school. A flood of awful memories came back. I had been one of those geeky types that was always picked last.

How had I let Sam talk me into this? I wondered to myself.

Two rather fit men approached us. Both were coaches at the box and introduced themselves as Chris and Lee. They were very nice and enthusiastic, but I was still completely nervous. They gave us forms to fill out most of which was standard, name, date of birth, injuries, are you exercising now?

“Does walking to and from lectures count as exercise?” I asked Sam hopefully.

“Nope,” she responded with a laugh that signified nice try.

Once we had handed in our forms we met Chris over by the whiteboard. What followed was an explanation of CrossFit and then we got started. There was a short run, rowing, some stretching, box jumps (that’s what those boxes in the corner were for), burpees (oh how I hate burpees), and then kettlebell swings. The first time Chris demonstrated them I was convinced I would never be able to do those. Sure enough, by the end of the session I was kettlebell swinging like a pro.

I felt really good afterwards. I’ve never been one to completely buy into the notion of exercise as a mood booster, but everyone had been so nice and I was proud of myself for giving it a go. I found I actually really enjoyed it and Sam and I made plans to come back on Wednesday.

Wednesday arrived and Sam had brought along her friend, Claire. I felt better having someone else there that was completely new to CrossFit like I was. I was still sore from Monday and had had trouble walking up and down stairs from all of the squatting. We parked outside the box and headed in. I was now feeling much more comfortable and had already learned the routine. Put your things in the cubbies, gather around the whiteboard, check out the WOD (work out of the day), and get started. One of my favourite things about CrossFit is that you work as a group. You start together and you always wait for the last person to finish. That last person is usually me, by the way, but it never feels like it matters. Each day I went I improved and I began to notice a difference after only three sessions. (I’ve got little biceps now.)

Claire and I decided to sign up for the free on ramp sessions being held over the next two weeks. After those, we would know all of the movements and be well on our way to becoming serious CrossFitters. We started on Monday and it was an hour of squats, air squats, overhead squats, and shoulder squats. The WOD that day nearly killed me. Running, press ups, sit ups, repeat until death. I finished in a little over 11 minutes. I’m not looking forward to repeating that one on Thursday, but I’m hoping my time will be cut by at least two minutes.

Now I know what you are all thinking. This blog is about to take a turn into the realms of fitness. Well, yes, sort of. At least so far as I may mention CrossFit or may it may factor into some of my stories. One such story actually has just come to mind.

(Insert hazy flashback fade out here.)

Claire and I were ready to attend our second day of on ramp Wednesday evening. We had decided to try to make the 5:00-6:00pm session. Usually Sam drove us, but today she was feeling under the weather and so we decided to hop on the PR2 to Belmont, thinking it would take us where we needed to be.

That’s when things began to get complicated. It turns out that the Belmont Park and Ride is a forty minute walk from the box. We began our trek and hoped to make the number 20 bus which would drop us a little bit closer. As we approached the stop the purple bus came streaking passed us and off it went into the distance. Had we gotten there just a minute sooner…

We continued walking. And walking. And walking. It began to get dark and we realised there was no way we were going to make the 5:00 session. There was one directly after it so we pressed on, hoping to get there in time.

We made it to the entrance of the industrial park just as it began to rain. This was now becoming the most cliché of sob stories. We took the wrong bus, had to walk two miles in the dark through the rain. When we finally reached the box, the class was half over and Claire and I went and sulked in the corner.

“You watch, the next session will be filled with experts and burly guys,” I joked.

Why do we jinx ourselves?

Sure enough as people began showing up for the next session they all matched my dreaded description. The funny this is, that with CrossFit it doesn’t really matter. Sure you are all working out at the same time, but you always work to your own ability. So the guy next to you might be lifting a 16kg kettlebell but you can be lifting 8kg. You’re still doing the same movements, but you compete against yourself.

Claire and I managed to get a lift into town after our session and we were more than ready to do it all again the next day. 

The Peculiarities of the English

I’ve now been in England for a little over four months and the initial disorientation of living in another country has worn away to a happy familiarity. Durham no longer seems like a confused array of medieval streets squeezed around the River Wear. Well it is a confused array of medieval streets but I have come to know where many of them lead. I have learned the subtle nuances of the language and can now wear fringe while drinking Earl Grey and eating Jaffa Cakes. Despite all this, on occasion I am still amazed by some of the differences between here and the States. I’ve chosen a few of my favourites to highlight in this, my first post of February.

The English hate interior W’s.

The easiest way to peg yourself as a foreigner is by mispronouncing place names. If you ever come to England you must be prepared to ignore interior w’s at all costs. For example, while I was in London I visited Southwark Cathedral. In the US we would pronounce this as it is written, South-wark. Across the Atlantic, however, it is pronounced Suth-ark with the emphasis on the first syllable. There are other examples of this peculiarity of English pronunciation. There is a stately home near Durham called Alnwick Castle. Now, have a go at pronouncing it as the English would. Nope. It’s pronounced An-nuk again with the emphasis on the first syllable.

So here are some other place names you may want to practice before boarding a plane bound for England (Ing-lund). Not all are odd for the interior w rule, but it’s best to be prepared.

Norwich (Nor-ich)

Leicester (Les-ter)

Peterborough (Pe-ter-bro)

 Edinburgh (Ed-in-bruh)

The traffic lights are very clever.

How often have you been stuck at what seems an interminable red light with no way of know when you will be allowed to continue on your way? You may get lucky and be able to spy the light for the cross traffic for a clue, or perhaps the stream of traffic provides a tell by slowing down. Sometimes though, it really comes as a surprise.

In England, they have solved this problem with the clever use of an extra amber light. Allow me to explain. In the US the rhythm of the traffic light is red to green to amber to red. In England the rhythm is red to red/amber to green to amber to red. That extra amber gives you a chance to get in gear and get your foot off the break and ease the clutch. It is quite clever really.

Red....Red/Amber....Green....Amber. Never wonder when the light is going to change to green again!

The chocolate is to die for.

After extensive research in the form of verbal surveys of a cross section of my acquaintances (it was all very scientific, trust me) and personal taste testing (this was quite an important part of the research and was repeated several times to ensure adequate controls were in place) I have come to the conclusion that the chocolate in England is far superior to the chocolate in the US. This is not just the case with gourmet chocolate but also with Kit Kat bars and Cadbury Cream Eggs.

All you have to do is compare the ingredients of a Kit Kat bar from the US and Europe to see there is a difference. In the UK they are made from 66% milk chocolate (sugar, cocoa butter, cocoa mass, dried whole milk, lactose and proteins from whey, whey powder, sunflower lecithin, butterfat, wheat flour, vegetable fat, yeast, sodium bicarbonate, salt, soya lecithin. In the US they use sugar, wheat flour, cocoa butter, nonfat milk, chocolate, refined palm kernel oil, lactose, milk fat, 2% or less of soy lecithin, PGPR (whatever that is), yeast, artificial flavour, salt, and sodium bicarbonate. So they aren’t terribly different but where they divulge deliciousness ensues.

The result is that English chocolate is creamier and smoother. It tastes fresher, sweeter, and it melts in your mouth. If you don’t believe me, I urge you to conduct your own experiment. Then this little conclusion of mine can be said to be peer reviewed.

Mmmmmm....creamy. (by Wilson180)

No one is perfect over here.

You all must be tired of hearing about the English grading system, but I have come to look on it as a model for how grading should be done. Remember that 50 and over is a pass, 60 to 70 is a second, and a 70 and over is a first. Few receive marks over 80 and no one receives a perfect score.

This may seem harsh, like attaining perfection is impossible, but that is precisely why it is brilliant. Let’s be honest no one is perfect (this is a difficult thing for me to accept as a self-admitted perfectionist). The English system acknowledges that there is always room for improvement and growth. There is no stagnation, only the continued drive to improve. In the US I frequently received 100s and while that was lovely, I never felt the need to push beyond what I thought were my limits. Now that I am receiving marks in the high 60s and low 70s I have somewhere to go. I have a destination in mind and as a result I work harder and have exceeded my own expectations of myself.  

They really do take tea breaks.

Since I began working at one of the university’s museums on Fridays I have been indoctrinated into the ritual of elevenses and afternoon tea. I’m not sure if you are familiar with the episode of Animaniacs where Brain decides to try to take over the world by stopping Big Ben at 4:00pm thereby creating infinite tea time. If not you should check it out.

It really is like clockwork (no pun intended). The staff of the museum meets in the staffroom at 11:00am to enjoy a cuppa, some biscuits, and conversation. Then at 4:00pm the process is repeated. I cannot tell you how nicely it breaks up the working day. From 9:00am – 11:00am you begin your work and get set up for the day. From 11:00am – 11:15am you enjoy a break with colleagues. Then from 11:15am – 1:00pm you get stuck in on your projects. An hour for lunch brings you to 2:00pm – 4:00pm where you hopefully get even further with what you’re doing. From 4:00pm – 4:15pm another break with colleagues and caffeine and then only 45 minutes before you head home. It is all rather civilised and you get to know the people you work with and have much needed laugh on tough days.    

Is it time for elvenses? (Photo by dragonflysky)

 There are probably more things I could mention, driving on the other side of the road, the plethora of accents, the unusual words (see my dictionary if you want examples), the weather, the healthcare system, the television license, but to be honest I am more amazed at how often I feel like I’m back home. Sometimes things here seem and look just like they do in the US and I find myself getting a bit disoriented, as though I can’t remember which side of the ocean I’m on. Just the other day I was in an area that so strongly reminded me of a city in my home state that I actually thought that’s where I was. So really, there are many differences and the differences make both countries special, but we are more similar than not, and I am glad for that.