Training for the big day

I flop on the bed in an unwield pile of exhaustion.

Over the past two days, Jeet and I began our biker training program in earnest. Similar to how in high school I used to cram for my exams in the last two days, Jeet and I have only now decided to raise the notch on our biking training.

The bike tour is in two weeks, and we were feeling somewhat unprepared - which is unsurprising, given that we hadn't really done much biking in the last couple of months. So over the past two days, we decided to wipe the dust off our bikes and really test our mettle. Yesterday it was on the bike path around the island, all the way up to 125th street and then back down the west side to the tip and up the east side till we got home. Today it was a loop of Central Park before we hit the bike path.

Which brings me to where I am now. A definite sense of accomplishment. A weary elatedness. But most of all, an unwieldy pile of exhaustion.

Volunteering together

One of my colleagues sent out a note about New York Cares Day and suggested we start an Avanade team.
Totally, I'm going to sign up! I thought to myself, and forwarded the email to the others at home. "Guys, interested in taking part in this?" I asked.
"Count me in!" Delta was quick to reply.
"Me too!" said Ilajna. Me too, Me too said Doobs and Bobbis in quick succession.

And soon, there we were. A team of New York Cares volunteers, all set to paint schools on October 20th. And then, out of curiosity, I started researching more into the organisation (http://www.nycares.org/).

"Look, babe!" I pointed out to Delta. "There's all this other stuff we could be volunteering for too." We pored over the list of opportunities excitedly. There were food kitchens for the homeless. There was tutoring for young children. Animal care in petcare centers. And most importantly, times and dates and locations to suit everyone. And then one of particular interest caught my eye.
Play bingo with residents in this nursing home, it said. Bingo with old people?! I could not believe my eyes. Hell I'd do that just for fun, any day! I was excited. This could very much become my calling in life, I thought, envisioning already a future of bingo halls and heartwarming old folks' tales.

So we all signed up for the volunteer mandatory orientation. And next week, I can't wait to get started with the real thing.

Who needs a mama when...

What with my usual lunch buddy (Metrohom) amiss this week, I've been a bit out of sorts at lunch time. Today, I decided to head down to the Chinese deli just below the building.

"Korean deli," Metrohom would have corrected me, if he saw me writing this.
But the truth is, when you have a deli which sells Chinese food, is owned by a Mexican, and employs Korean staff, doesn't that give you the right to refer to it however you want?

So I wandered in to the deli and served myself some grub from the hot food buffet. Headed over to the counter, and the lady there subjected my food to a thorough inspection, while I squirmed awkwardly and awaited judgement.
"Where your green?" she asked.
Huh?
"Where your green?! No is healthy all tofu no green."
"Oh no, I got greens," I told her brightly. I shook the box gently to displace the tofu and reveal the steamed green leafy something-or-others below.
"Okay you got green is healthy is good."
"Thanks," I grinned.

I waited for her to ring me up. Nothing.

Another moment or two. Cleared my throat.

"Where your fruit? Is no good no fruit."
"Oh ok I'll get an apple. See? Here you go, I have apples and greens."
"Okay is very healthy now is very good you see what I mean when you old."
"Thanks!" I beamed as I paid for my lunch and headed out.

"You come here everyday and I make you nice and healthy and very strong and tall!" she shouted after me as I headed out.

Hmm, I think I have my lunch place figure out for this week.

A Peep into their Life

The weekend after camping once again found us heading to Connecticut for the second time. Twice in two weeks - that's actually more than our total for the rest of the year to date.

And this time we had even bigger and grander plans - a weekend chez Mr. and Mrs. Pooks. I couldn't believe I hadn't even been to see their house once since they bought it in February. I was mortified by my own slackerdom. And then I started thinking of slackers, and realised that Doobs still hadn't filled the photo frames in her room (now coming on a year since we moved into our apartment, and yes she still has a collage of empty frames on her wall), and I realised that I was hardly the slacker of the house. It's funny how all you need to do is point to someone else's misery, and that has a remarkably cheering effect.

Anyways, back to Mr. and Mrs. Pooks. So Doobs and I wanted to take them something, and being as there isn't that much choice in Grand Central station, we settled on a bunch of sunflowers and an assortment of baked goodies. Climbed on to the train and I started to read (what is it about trains that always makes me want to read?!), but Doobs swatted my book away with a pointed look. Nope, she had a list of topics she wanted to yak about, so by the time we'd got through all the gossip, and given each other minute-to-minute updates on everything happening in our lives, and finished hypothesising about what might happens to ourselves and everyone around us, it was already time to get off.

Mrs. Pooks was waiting for us at the station. We handed her the flowers and baked assortment excitedly, but only to have her push them back at us. "I have no time for this right now, I have to pee!" she yelped. Oh phew, to be with someone just like me.

When we finally got back to the house, I just stood by the doorway in stunned silence. Partly because I was being driven comatose by the instant pandemonium that ensued, accosted by yowling cat, and headbutted by yelping dog. But mostly because I was in awe of the home they had made for themselves. The shiny hardwood floors, laid by Mr. Pooks (diagonally, he pointed out). The skirting boards around the guest room wall (to enhance the beach effect! Mrs. Pooks exclaimed ecxitedly). The rolls of blue and white towels (procured, ahem, from a hotel in Omaha?).

And it wasn't just about the house either, it was simply the perfection with which the entire weekend had been planned. The barbecue lunch on the back deck, the walk down to the beach, the slide show of their trip to the Galapagos, the tour through their wedding albums, the candlelit dinner, and the beers on the porch. Every little detail planned to perfection. As Doobs and I pored through their photo albums, they interjected with explanatory anecdotes.
Mr. Pooks would start, "and that was the time when - "
" - Wait a minute that's my story! Let me tell it!" Mrs. Pooks would interrupt.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
Doobs and I exchanged amused glances. It was endearingly obvious how they had actually built their memories and stories together.

And there it was, a peep into the entirely new life that Mr. and Mrs. Pooks had created for themselves. With dog and cat and boat and house, they had built their new home, and it warmed our cockles to finally see a sliver of it.

Our weekend in nature

The comedy started way before we even got there. Before we gasped about having to go to the toilet a la nature. Before we had to spend an hour trying to decipher how to erect Metrohom's designer tent. Even before we realised that deserted islands have no pier - that we would have to swim from boat to land.

In fact, the comedy started right at the onset, when Delta, Doobs and I boarded the crowded rush hour MetroNorth train. There was them - a cabinful of businessmen, in their designer suits and rush hour demeanour. And then there was us - a motley crew of three flustered individuals, two tents, three sleeping bags, three clothes bags, and one bag full of pillows. Tripping over each other in our haste to get the luggage stowed safely away. Panicking at each station that we were about to miss our stop. Yakking excitedly in anticipation of the weekend about to come.

"Boats, Trains and Automobiles," Delta mused, as we finally reached Norwalk and rushed to meet Doug at the dock. And there it was, their new boat. A little wonder bobbing before us on the water. The wonder which would whisk us off to the island (but not before hitting a sandbank on the way). We rushed to give Doug a warm hug.

"Come on, let's hurry up and get all the luggage on the boat," he said gruffly, all Sea Captain and all business.

It was my first time in a private boat, and I savoured every moment of the ride - the wind blowing through my hair, the fresh smell of sea air, the bobbing and lurching over the waves. Just as we approached the island, Doug cut the engine, and asked Delta to lower the anchor.

"But Doug, we're still some 50 yards from the island," I pointed out.

"Yeah, the boat doesn't go any closer," he responded, not even glancing at me.

I was puzzled. "So how are we going to get there?!"

"Jump in and swim!"

Ha,ha I laughed. I actually thought it was a joke. I mean, wouldn't you? When you looked around at the black ocean of Long Island Sound (for now the sun had long set)? When you could hear the waves gently whispering on the beach, but you couldn't really tell how far it was? When you looked down at the inky blackness of the water around the boat, and couldn't tell how deep it was?

So that's why I laughed. Ha,ha I said.

And then Doug swung his feet over the boat and jumped into the water. "Pass me some of the luggage," he said, holding the tent over his head and wading through the waist deep water towards the shore.

Oh.

And so I learnt the nature of camping on deserted islands.

And wasn't it worth it, too! I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

Not the black coffee in the morning (with melted marshmellows to act like sugar and creamer). Not the heavy downpour that first night (Delta and I huddled in our tent, listening to the rain drumming on the roof, watching it trickle down the windows).

Not even that big ember which suddenly burst out of the fire and flew into my sock ("@#$#$!, $&*%&!!, @#$&!" I said involuntarily from the sudden stinging shock. And the group had all stared at me in stunned silence. I don't think anyone had heard such a string of expletives escape my mouth before, not even myself.)

Nope, I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

Man vs. nature

The other day we were all sitting having a picnic lunch in Madison Square Park, under the shade of a tree. All of a sudden we noticed a shower of little tree-stuff falling on us - you know, berries, twigs, leaves, etc. We looked up, and noticed there was a squirrel parked in a branch directly over our heads, merrily munching its way through whatever squirrels munch on, blissfully unaware of the bunch of disgruntled picnickers it was leaving in its wake.

I waved my arms at it, in an ineffectual attempt to shoo it away. But high as it was, I doubt it even noticed our distant scramblings.
"Go away, Squirrel!" Bobbis shouted. Erm, ahem. Unsurprisingly, that had little effect either (other than eliciting weird glances from the picnickers nearby).
"Make it go away!" Mals shouted, as another berry fell on her head.
Now, I find squirrels just as cute as the next person. But surely this one was just being obstreperous. The naughty kid of the family. The messy eater of the family.

So in a valiant effort to rescue Mals, I balled up my paper napkin, and aimed it at the squirrel. The idea being, of course, to startle it enough that it would run to another part of the branch, and continue eating there in peace (possibly bringing grief to other picnickers?). The squirrel was some twenty feet or so over our heads, so throwing the paper ball that high would require a feat of human fortitude. Concentrating all my strength into my pitcher's arm, I heaved the ball upwards, towards the unsuspecting squirrel.

Eeks. The ball went a bit faster than expected. I guess I'm a bit stronger than expected, huh. It rocketed through the air, torpedoing towards the squirrel, as we all watched in anticipatory horror.

It hit a bunch of leaves right by the squirrel (no, it didn't hit the squirrel and knock it off the tree, silly!). There was a sudden squeak, a flurry of branches, the sound of pattering feet, and suddenly the squirrel was gone. Silence. Peace. Man had won the Battle of Squirrels.

And then suddenly a shriek from Mals. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeekkkkk!!!!!"

She was looking down at her arm. "What happened?!" we asked.
"The squirrel got so scared I think it peed on me!"
And there it was, an unmistakable puddle of wetness on her arm.
The squirrel had gotten scared and peed on Mals.

That's the thing with nature, it sure knows how to get us back, where we least expect it.

This weekend, a bunch of us are going camping on an island off the coast of Connecticut. Cut off from the mainland, it'll just be the ten of us on an island, fending for ourselves in the wild, just like our original forefathers (what, you mean cavemen didn't barbecue their burgers on a George Foreman?).

A true feat of man and nature, living together the original way, as life had intended. I just wish there were toilets, that's all.

Ramping up for the big day

"I want to know what biking thirty miles really feels like," I told Delta, as we planned our route on Sunday morning.

When we'd registered to participate in the MS Bike Run scheduled for this October, it had all sounded a bit easier viewed through the rose-tinted glasses of distant future. But with the day now fast approaching, we realised we really ought to get all trained up.

First, Jeet bought herself a new bike (looks similar to mine, named 'Jet Blue' as opposed to my 'Blue Lightning'. Yes, the name is half the battle.) So Delta, Jeet and I hit the road this past weekend. On to the bike path on the East side, all the way down to the bottom of the island, up the bike path along the west side, all the way up to 125th street, and then back. Close to the 30 mile mark, I reckon.

I have to concede, I wasn't in good shape when we got back. Thumping heart ricocheting around in my chest. Legs gone, and in their absence were two pillars of jelly. Hair plastered to a classic Helmet Head. Smile replaced by a semi-pout.

"I.. I think it's a bit tougher than I'd anticipated," I conceded, as I sank onto a bench, and we both laughed at the mess I was in.

But at least I knew I'd done it. There. Now I knew I could pull it off and survive it. And it certainly helped to be doing this in support of a cause.

My sincere thanks to those of you who contributed, by the way.

Who woulda thunk

You may remember, a couple of months ago I gave up my office chair, opting instead to sit instead on an exercise ball. I know it doesn't seem very professional, but sometimes, in a technology firm, it feels like one can get away with murder. The way I thought of it, if I could just sit on a ball all day at work, I didn't need to go to a gym. Ever. And I didn't need to feel guilty about it. I mean, doesn't even chocolate have less calories when eaten on a ball?

"What's that you got there?" Richie Rich had eyed me dubiously when I first brought it into the office.
"Huh, what? Oh, the ball?" I'd asked innocently, "You don't mind, do you?"

Sigh. "No, I suppose not," he'd paused. "Besides, somebody's got to be on the ball in this office anyway," he had grinned, thrilled by his own witticism. In this way Richie Rich and I are alike, each of us tickled pink by our own humour.

And so started the 'On-the-ball' phase of my life. A couple of miscalculated spills (but no permanent bodily damage), a couple of snickering colleagues (but nothing particularly new there anyway), a couple of back pains (but no sign of hardening abs) and I had successfully transitioned my world from office to playhouse.

Then one day, without my realising, the ball mysteriously developed a tiny leak. Day by day, it kept losing a little air, so gradually in fact that it was almost imperceptible. At any cost, I have to confess I didn't notice it - and nor did anyone else, actually, while each day the ball surreptitiously sagged by a further inch.

Then one evening, a couple of days ago, Richie Rich was striding past my office door when he suddenly stopped short.

"You're sitting on a bean bag!" he observed. I looked down in surprise. And so, apparently, unknowingly, I was.

"It's got a leak in it!" I realised in dismay. But how do you identify a microscopic leak in a bean-bag-sized ball? I picked it up and put my ear against it, listening for a hiss of escaping air. Nothing. I squeezed the ball, trying to force the air out. Still nothing. My mouth turned downwards in utter disappointment.

"Here, gimme that," said Richie Rich impatiently, reaching out for the ball. Engineer by breeding, he wasn't about to be beaten by this simple conundrum in physics. He shook it, he squeezed it, he examined it visually, he tried to bounce it, but all in vain - we just could not discern the leak. But his failure only made him more determined (a trait which, in the right circumstances, is a primary reason for his success. In the right circumstances.)

"I know what we'll do!" his eyes lit up. "Let's go out and buy a can of purple air, like those sprays you get for parties and stuff, then we'll pump this into the ball, and then when the air starts escaping we'll be ablet o see where from!!!"

He'd got it. Sheer genius.

"Erm, then your office will be full of purple air," I pointed out.

He deliberated my point, decidedly unimpressed with this possibility, and especially unimpressed with my having popped a hole in his bubble (no pun intended). But he conceded my astuteness and drops the idea. And so it comes to be, that the leaking-ball mystery was never resolved. So it comes to be, that I now have a bean bag in my office.