first maz surfing video

Huge thanks to FH for teaching me how to surf!!! He's the best instructor ever!!!

This is my last run I did yesterday while he was out in the water coaching me.

I'll be posting more videos shortly. I have some great wipe outs. And thanks again to my mom for the gopro!!!!

some pics from maz, since my video doesn't seem to want to load

Apparently I've overloaded the "internets" in Mex. Here are some pics from surfing today.

Is it beer 30 yet?

Making a fashion statement on the beach with my Ugg slippers, for which I've caught endless shit from the surfer boys. And I have the requisite coke and e-cig (breakfast of champions - kidding kids, don't fake smoke).

Took the brown board out today because the waves were pretty small and this thing is like a canoe. You don't even have to stand on the string, apparently, to surf. It weighs as much as I do. Glad it didn't hit me in the head.

"Now that I've gotten my ass kicked, time to go in"

Still shot, wipe out, from the gopro. You can't even see the board.

maz redux

I've been in Mazatlan since Sunday and we just got internet access today. Hooray!

Will be posting some funny surfing vids in a day or so I took courtesy of the gopro my mom bought me.

lack of communication makes for a "shitty" situation

On new year's day FH and I headed home from Steamboat, but first we stopped for breakfast at Nora's, and FH had three cups of coffee. As we were traveling down highway 40, a desolate stretch of road, FH had to poop. There was no place to stop though, so he suffered along until Kremmling. I was suffering too because he was farting up a storm.

We got to Kremmling and then decided to continue on to Frisco because FH was hoping for a nice Starbucks bathroom. But there wasn't a starbucks directly off the highway so we ended up finally stopping at Georgetown. Luckily it was warm outside and I was able to crack the car window, otherwise I might have died from the farts. Regarding that gas station just off I-70, I personally wouldn't go into the men's room for at least another month (assuming it doesn't get razed to the ground in the mean time because the stench won't go away).

FH got back into the car and I turned on the heat to warm up my feet. I smelled farts again so I was like "why are you still farting???" and FH was like "I'm NOT farting!" I thought maybe his clothes had been fart infused so as soon as we got home he changed his clothes and then we headed to an irish bar for a new year's drink (the idea being to hit the bars before everyone else showed up so we wouldn't have to deal with a crowd).

I was sitting on a bar stool when suddenly FH said "I smell the farts again and it's coming from you!" I was like "dude, I am NOT farting". We puzzled over the situation, wondering if somehow my clothes also had gotten fart infused (I didn't change because I didn't have any other clothes to wear). I also worried that maybe our sense of smell had been destroyed after over an hour trapped in a car filled with noxious gas.

Then FH said "let me see your shoe". Turns out, I had dog poop on my shoe and that's what the smell was. He said "you must have stepped on that dog turd behind the car when we were packing at the motel". I was like "what dog turd?" FH had noticed it the day before but didn't tell me. I didn't see it when we were packing the car up because it had snowed.

We both started laughing like 5 year olds. I eventually got the poop off my shoe. And FH said from now on he will tell me if a dog poops behind my car.

happy new year!

rabbit ears

Staying at the Rabbit Ears motel up in Steamboat. It's kind of like a noisy, shitty hotel combined with weird satanic neon and a logo that would not be out of place at a strip joint.

if bugs bunny did acid

But it's centrally located, and I like to walk, so I shouldn't complain.

FH did a back country ski but I wasn't allowed to because of my blisters (will spare you the pic of the blister on my left ankle, which isn't as big as the one on my right ankle, but still gross). Then we went to find a pair of shoes I could wear that don't have a back on them because I was getting tired of walking around town in my slippers.

one more person ask if I'm wearing slippers....yes I am FUCKING WEARING SLIPPERS

Embarrassingly, I bought two new pairs of shoes. But one pair was on sale.

ugg slippers that are meant to be worn outside - perfect for post skiing, climbing, etc.

I will be so happy if I wake up a few days from now and my blisters don't look like red dwarfs.

saddles and saddle sore

Yesterday I made a mistake. Well, two mistakes. The first involves a hike. My right ankle was so swollen from my now somehow infected blister (even though I put nu skin on it) I couldn't ski. So I decided to hike a trail at Cache Creek while FH and his sister skied it. The last 2 miles, heading towards the car, I was feeling pretty good (well, it was fucking cold outside and to be honest I couldn't feel my feet since I was hiking in my summer trail shoes - bad packing on my part - I didn't expect to be walking anywhere, only skiing) so I decided to run back to the car. Which was awesome until I got to the car and realized, as my feet were heating up, that my right shoe was full of a bunch of soupy shit from the blister.

At which point I probably should have told FH that I didn't think I could skate. But I wanted to practice more hockey stuff...so...I went skating.

By evening I could barely walk. So we went to the million dollar cowboy bar for some pain killer. FH insisted I sit on one of the saddle seats. For the record, I only sat side saddle.

drinking million dollar cowboy beer on a saddle - for real

By the end of the evening I was in excruciating pain (from a blister - give me a fucking break). Didn't get much sleep last night.

who's the dumb ass who decided running 2 miles in the snow on a blister was a good idea...um, me

Just got a text from my dad (sent him the above picture asking for advice). He said "just saw the pic (of my blister) - definitely gross!!!" Hahaha! Blood usually makes him throw up.

Had a painful ride from Jackson to Steamboat, where I was supposed to do a back country ski tomorrow (we'll see what the heal looks like tomorrow). FH found the tv remote funny (we were watching the broncos game - blood bath).

Fisher Price - my first TV remote

rest day

Due to my jacked up blisters we decided to have a rest day yesterday. We went for a walk on the aquaduct.

cold, but beautiful

hooray for winter!

Then we went to the free skating rink. FH found some hockey sticks and we had an impromptu hockey game (my first). I scored 3 goals. Of course, there was no one on the other team.

menace on the ice

When we got home FH did surgery on my ski boots for my foot warmers so the cable wouldn't rub against my blisters.

don't worry, I'm going to put duct tape on it when we get home

skiing Jackson

Yesterday we skied Taggart Lake. It was my first experience with swix wax. I did really good skinning up but on the way down I took my skins off and FH put on the swix. Unfortunately, he didn't realize my ski has a greater camber than his so it didn't work as well on my skis.

Swix looks like snot, but it's for skis

 It was really scenic and the snow was in good shape even though it hasn't snowed here since Monday night.

I actually look like I know what I'm doing.

Here I seem confused by my poles.

Ski through the trees - and I made it down a similar narrow trail without hitting a tree.

Heading down to the car was going great until I hit a two foot steep section. I tried to walk up it but I didn't have enough swix on my skis so I kept sliding backwards. Then I decided to walk up the hill sideways but forgot my heels were not locked in. I got half way up the hill and suddenly pitched forward, doing a face plant right between my skis. As if that weren't bad enough, I tried to push myself to a standing position with my poles and the skis took off from under me. I ended up in a pool of water (it was 5 degrees outside).

I flailed around in the water for a few seconds and tried to lock my heels into my skis, but I couldn't see the bindings. I wallowed around like a beached whale and then realized there were two people coming. I managed to get out of the pool, get my bindings locked, and get over the hill before they saw me acting like an idiot.

Today we skied Phelps Lake.

The ski was fun except that I had gotten a blister on my left foot from skiing in wet socks yesterday (and I NEVER get blisters because I walk around barefoot all the time). The blister got a lot worse, and then I ended up getting another blister on my right foot. By the time we got back to the car I was in so much pain I couldn't get my boots off (they were stuck with blood on the sides of the boot linings). FH and his sister finally managed to yank my boots off but it ripped the skin off my feet.

Ech. Ouch.

So tomorrow we may take the day off from skiing to go ice skating or do something else that doesn't involve me ripping the skin off my feet.

jackson hole christmas

FH and I drove up to Jackson Hole for some back country skiing. The trip was pretty epic. Jake sustained an injury to his passenger side headlight.

Why is it always the shit that's hard to fix that breaks? Think this was caused by a piece of ice that flew off a truck traveling in the opposite direction.

The trip started out with blue skies and no traffic. Then we hit the snowy range on I-80.

Visibility was so low we didn't think it could get any worse.

Then it got a lot worse.

...so we stopped to get some alcohol. Wind River Brewing Company beer is awesome!

Today we're going skiing as soon as the temperature gets above -5 degrees.

a christmas carol that I could sing

FH loves christmas carols (frankly, I could do without them) and he sent me a link to Brenda Lee singing Rockin Around the Christmas Tree. Then he said "it's my favorite christmas carol, especially when she sings "then we'll eat some fucking pie".

I was like, um, what, a christmas carol with the f-word in it????

He played it for me, and in the second verse, I did hear something that at first sounded like "fucking pie". Then I realized she was singing "pumpkin pie" but pronouncing it "punkin pie".

FH says I'm wrong and that she's saying "fucking pie". Listen for yourself...

berthoud pass

Yesterday FH and I went skiing at Berthoud Pass. We got a late start which ended up being good because there was no traffic and hardly any people out.

Skins on the bottom of my skis. I actually managed to get them on by myself, in a snow storm, without getting them stuck to everything.

 As we approached the first run (1.5 mile hike up, 1.5 mile ski down) a guy with an inflatable orange stick figure stopped us. He said he was working with a company called Team Spinhead and he thought we looked "colorful and fun". He asked if it was okay to take a picture of us to use on the company Christmas card. I said "is it okay if I'm jewish?" He looked a little nervous and said "well, we aren't going to put any religious stuff on the card". Then I was like "kidding!" but he might have been too busy falling into a snow hole to have heard me.

He had FH and I ski toward him and the inflatable stick figure. Then he had us ski away (I was told not to ski too close to FH because I was screwing up the spacing). At some point a husky ran up and joined us (we never did find out who the owner was but the dog followed us on our run up and down the mountain). The guy was like "fantastic! this is great! perfect!" Supposedly he's going to email us a copy of the picture.

FH took this pic at the top of the first run we did. This shows my ski with the binding loose in case you found my earlier explanation confusing.

I haven't gotten fat. It was really fucking cold out. The red arrow shows where the binding is loose (it gets fixed to the ski for down hill skiing). You can also see the skin on my ski. It peels off like a sticker for down hill skiing.

Then we crossed the road and did another 3 mile run. That run was harder and it was obvious that avalanche conditions were bad. There were air pockets in the snow around trees and when I fell into a hole taking my skis off I could see the layers of sublimated snow. But, the run was okay and we made it back to the truck without injury.

Taking my boots off in the snow storm. Best. Boots. Ever. They're Black Diamond and even an idiot like me can get them on and off with no problems.

my first back country skiing experience

Thought I posted this last week, guess with everything going on I forgot...

Last Saturday FH and I went back country skiing with his friend Greg. We went to an area near Winter Park that had low avalanche danger (I've done avi training but don't have a beacon yet). It didn't occur to me until we got there that "skiing in the trees" (where there's low avalanche danger) meant "you really need to be able to control your skis because you could hit a tree". And me without my helmet...

We parked the car and put our skins on, a bit of a challenge since they were cold. Normally you put them on when the skins are warm so you can easily separate them from the backing. Skins look like a flat stuffed animal that you stick to the bottom of your skis so you don't slide backwards (as much) when you are ascending a slope.

Heading up - all smiles and a funny hat

We finally got the skins off and took off on the trail. The very first part is flat, which is nice because you can warm up a little before climbing. I fell for the first time when I tried to unfasten the back of my boot from my ski (BC skis allow you to lift your heel so you can "ski skate" up a hill - mine also have a thing that's like a high heel that makes it easier when you are ascending a steep slope - instead of setting your foot all the way back on the ski you can step on the high heel - makes for less burn on the calves).

Other than having difficulty unfastening my ski boot I found skiing uphill easy (and easier than skiing downhill). Finally all those years of hiking helped me in a sport. I was perfectly happy to keep going up forever, but we got to the tree line, where the avalanche danger was high, and turned around. That's when I realize "fuck me, I have to ski down a narrow trail?"

Do I LOOK coordinated enough to ski through trees? I can't even keep my poles straight. And yes, that is a guy peeing behind me. Photo half bomb.

I got a little psyched out (especially because I forgot my helmet and goggles) and fell twice on the first stretch. I've never really skied trees before and I'm used to having enough room to stop by turning. I finally decided to just let my skis run (and they're fast because they're new) and steer as best as I could. Shockingly, once I started going fast I was fine and made it the rest of the way down without falling.

Fucking hand warmers

 By the time I got back to the car my hands were completely frozen even though I had two hand warmers in both gloves. I was trying to take my boots off but could barely manage because I had screaming barfies so bad (it was around 0 degrees Fahrenheit outside) it hurt to move my fingers and all I could successfully accomplish was stomping around the parking lot yelling "are you fist fucking me??? fuck that hurts!!!!". So, to add to the boot warmers my dad bought me for helping him move I decided to add some battery powered gloves. I will be interested to see how well they keep my hands warm this weekend.

skates!

FH bought me a pair of ice skates for christmas!

Another way to injure myself!

We went skating with his brother on Sunday in Evergreen. I didn't fall or sustain any injuries.

Surprisingly, I'm upright

On Saturday FH and I are going to a place called Hell's Half Acre to do some back country skiing. I'm a little worried because the email he sent with the link to HHA map had the subject line: Saturday - time to graduate!

Hopefully I will survive my second foray into back country skiing. My mom got me a gopro and we are going to try to take some movies with it. Should be...entertaining.

book saga update

I sent the issues my uncle had to the publisher and she responded that she would be willing to review the changes he is advising. So that door hasn't slammed shut. Yet.

And my dad sent this regarding HarperCollins comments:

Think she makes a good point that the different chapters should reinforce an integrating theme and not just be  perceived as a collection of individual vignettes. Since you are not a well known person, readers will want to learn more about you as a person. Over the holidays I will read your draft cover-to-cover and make some suggestions.

My dad, the literary critic :)

So in the next few days I need to think of an overarching theme for my book that's maybe more obvious than me against my zombie knee. Some ideas I had are something about struggle or maybe how because I'm a middle child and full of angst and a disproportionate sense of responsibility I do crazy things to celebrate having dead people body parts in my leg because I don't want anyone to think I'm wasting the dead body parts sitting on the sofa eating chips.

Kidding.

Or maybe not.

my writing is like me - thin

At last year's pitchfest in March an editor from HarpersCollins asked to read the first 60 pages of my book. I was told that if she was interested she would respond within a year, otherwise to not expect to hear anything. I was shocked she wanted to read my book because she publishes women's literary fiction.

Anyway, I got an email from her today:

Dear Franki,

First my apologies for taking such an inordinate amount of time to review your material; second, let me say that you are my hero.  Your sense of adventure and perseverance are monumental.  However, I think what you have here reads more like a magazine article (albeit a long one) than a book.  Your narrative style lacks a certain depth that I think would engross readers, so I worry that an audience that might be curious, won’t be hooked by the story.  It just feels a little thin to me in the telling.

Your experiences are amazing, but so much of successful memoir is in the telling, and I worry that this lacks richness.

It was a pleasure to meet you, though, and I do wish you the best of luck.

Oh rejection. You make life so much fun.

In other news, my uncle reviewed the contract from the publisher who was interested in my book. I'll post it here in case it helps a fellow writer:

As to her Agreement:

1. PAR 1 I would not transfer your copyrights to anyone. You're just opening yourself up to litigation.

Have you filed for copyright protection? If not see http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl109.html

2.par 5 Even if she breaches the agreement she wants to be held harmless. BIG NO NO

3. PAR 7 DOES NOT CLEARLY SPELL OUT ALL COSTS AND DOES NOT GIVE YOU PREAPPROVAL ON COSTS

4. PAR 12. NO right to audit

5. par 16 SETTLE ON JURISDICTION  

 BOTTOM Line I would not do deal as written she controls all aspects of the book, you could lose your rights to your book, where she can be served with a suit is left vague and even if you win you will not be able to collect.

 He also suggested I talk to other authors about their experience working with her, very good advice.

 Bottom line, I may have to bite the bullet and get an MFA to get my fucking book published... 

holiday festivities can commence

Besides the decoration I put up last year for the holidays I've added another decoration, also from my Aunt Mary:

If you think it's strange to group mistletoe and turkish goat bells I feel sorry for your imagination

I think I'm going to leave it up permanently.

And she sent me these cookies that I love (even though I don't eat many sweets anymore). When I was a kid we used to call them "poop balls". So. Good.

Not sure what the real name of this cookie is. It's chocolate with walnuts.

even when I was young, I wore sunglasses

While at my parents' house a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving I went through some photo albums looking for a picture that I wanted to send to FH. I found a few others that were pretty funny:

"I can read my own book grandma. Don't like that? Talk to the slippers."

Why let a social engagement keep you from that riveting book?

For halloween, of course I wore my ballet costume because I was obsesses with it. It was probably not intended to be worn with a turtleneck.

The next year I was too big for my ballet costume so I went as a witch. Worst. Costume. Ever.

Here I'm wearing my ballet costume for no reason. I used to put it on as soon as I got home from school. And, um, no, I wasn't taking ballet classes anymore.

Everyone complains I don't take pictures without my sunglasses. I started that at an early age. I'm in the forefront striking a pose. I'm guessing someone must have given us the sunglasses since we're all wearing them.

I even wore my sunglasses in the house.

And I also get the complaint I'm always wearing a hat in pictures. Better than a bucket...

I always wrecked the family photos by doing something stupid. Like wearing black knee high socks with white shoes and refusing to stand with everyone else.

This pic was taken in White Sands, NM, after we escaped flooding in Colorado. Everything we owned got wet so we put it out in the parking lot to dry. My dad was trying to take a picture of us on this sand dune when I decided to slide down the dune to make it more of an "action" shot.

Here I am in my dad's lab (wearing my favorite plaid pants). No idea who that other kid is, probably some other dad dragged him into work to feed punch cards into the computer like me.

The type writer on which I wrote my first story, at the age of 5. It was about a loaf of bread that could talk and fly. Guessing my mom was making bread at the time.

I sent this to FH and he said my brother Bob may have been in the first ever planking picture.

maybe a step closer to publishing

After so many rejections I had more or less given up hope, at least for a few months, of my memoir My Other Nine Lives ever getting published. But since I took Friday off, and was at my parents' house without the normal distractions of my house, I sat down and sent out a few more book proposals.

A publisher responded within two hours to my query letter and asked me to send my MS. I did, and a few hours after that she said my book looked interesting and that she wanted to publish it. She sent me a contract which my Uncle Joe is reviewing. I also did a ton of research on the publisher this time in writer forums and a web site for writers that identifies scams.

Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst...

This is the outline for my memoir:

Salt, Seaweed, Sewage: Sharkfest 2001

Even though I didn’t really know how to swim, I signed up for a 1.5-mile open-water race from Alcatraz Island to San Francisco. I taught myself to swim by watching videos on the Internet, which turned out to be (barely) adequate preparation. Getting lost mid-bay and initially missing the finish line added to the excitement of swimming in three-foot waves under which lurked sea lions, sharks, and raw sewage dumped by boats.

After realizing that I was a horrible swimmer, my partner offered to take pictures of me so I could compare them to my Internet photos. Hands flailing, neck awkwardly bent, I appeared to be either doing an imitation of a blender or simulating a shark attack.

Screaming Barfies

In 2002 after reading Jon Krakauer’s Eiger Dreams, I decided to ice-climb, even though I hate the cold and have a fear of heights. I arrived in the Adirondacks in February to subzero temperatures and with horribly inadequate winter gear, and soon found my rain shell and thin gloves to be poor protection against the frigid wind. Meanwhile, five other women on the trip vying for the attention of our very cute guide made for intense social dynamics.

Then I realized I couldn’t dislodge either ice ax. I tried yanking them backward and forward, first working my left ax and then my right. They were firmly entrenched in the ice. Frigid air blew over my face. Suddenly, I found myself sympathetic to mice in those little glue traps.

The Conquering Quarks

Returning to the ‘Daks for a more advanced ice-climbing trip in 2003, I completed my first multi-pitch ice route. It was a fear-provoking experience as I had neglected to take a class to learn rope work skills. Challenging a group of guy climbers to a game of Bloody Knuckles at the dinner table one night proved a mistake, as was staying in a motel that advertised its “disposable washcloths.”

“Don’t you even have a belay jacket? Didn’t Warren just give you one?” Ian, my guide, asked.

“Uh, he did give me a belay jacket, but I left it at home because it makes me look like a stack of tires,” I replied.

Blood, Bait, and Boys on the Boat

In 2003, I took a trip to Isla Guadalupe, off Baja, Mexico, to cage-dive with great white sharks. During our seven days on the water, a great white bit through our anchor line, I discovered why you aren’t supposed to put body parts outside the shark cage, and I learned that I’m damned good at making chum.

I heard a commotion behind me in the shark cage. Ram Bam had come up under the shadow of the boat, circled around, and was headed toward me. He was close and quickly getting closer. I instinctively pulled backward, but the sides of my Neptune II mask had caught against the outside of the bars. I couldn’t get my head back in the cage.

They Like To Run

A Christmas 2003 trip to learn to dogsled was almost ruined when I became lost driving through upstate New York. Later, I faced a sled dog that wanted to kill me, discovered that my climbing skills would save me from having to pick up dog poop, and locked my keys in my car in the middle of a frozen field forty miles from civilization.

I envisioned what remained of the tendons in my knee separating like rotted rope strands if I tried to stop a sled with my foot. “You can also throw this anchor,” said the guide. It looked like a cross between a shovel head and a gladiator weapon. I tried to picture throwing it into the snow…without first accidentally impaling myself. Not going to use the anchor, I decided.

Buford

Partnering up with the alpine ace Will Mayo during my second season of ice climbing, in March 2004, led to my first experience climbing rock with ice tools. That Sunday afternoon at Chapel Pond, in the Adirondacks, I realized that you can climb a tree while wearing crampons, that ice climbs can have entire sections with no ice, and that blood on the ice triggers cravings for pizza.

I was about to declare victory over the ice route “Buford” when my foot placement burst like a rotted tooth mid-root canal. Fighting to get back in balance, I hooked my left ice ax behind a curtain of icicles as structurally sound as peppermint sticks.

Skydiving with a SEAL

Having signed up in 2005 for a skydiving experience with a friend, I found myself strapped to a retired Navy SEAL wearing a lilac jumpsuit. He skipped the important information about the jump and focused on other, more mundane details…like what would happen to my skull if I walked into a moving propeller.

The jump was starting to remind me more and more of a really bad date, except that I wasn’t on a date with this retired SEAL, Paul; I was instead strapped so closely to him I could feel his appendectomy scar.

Plan B

In 2008 my partner and I went to Zion to do a big wall climb called Plan B solely because I wanted to sleep in a portaledge. Life 400 feet off the ground wasn’t simple. Bathroom breaks had to be timed around the tourist bus that drove by every 15 minutes taking pictures, big wall food was unpalatable, and wind can derail a good night’s sleep.

The portaledge was lufting like an unsecured main sail in a storm. I thought the little metal poles would grind down to nothing. They made an ominous noise as the wind pushed them against the rock. Clang, clang, scrape. An ice cream truck driven by the grim reaper would make such a noise.

Pikes Peak Epic

On a hiking trip with my father in 2006, two kamikaze mountain bikers careering down the trail caused me to twist my zombie knee. I punctuated the excruciating six-mile hike back down to the car with torrents of expletives and bouts of vomiting, while my dad attempted to convince me that chewing a five-year-old piece of gum would lessen the pain. I knew I would survive when my dad spotted a sign of civilization and reminded me that no mountaineer has ever died within eyeshot of a tennis court.

My father seemed surprised. "You aren't even drunk and you threw up,” he said. Now he was worried. I admitted my knee was hurting. A lot.