a proper lowcountry birthday

An owl hooted in the distance, a slight almost undetectable breeze blew through the trees, a blue heron took off down the winding river hoping to escape our boat as it glided through the water.  There was a calm and quiet peace that came from knowing that we were probably the only two people out on the creek for miles.  I imagined for a minute what it would have been like to float the waters during the time of colonial settlers.  The scene was part of my birthday celebration, which I playfully (but in all seriousness) stretch out for at least a week or two flanking the actual day I was born.  Yesterday was the actual birthday, when I turned 27.  I really love birthdays; it provides a perfect opportunity to plan something special, out of the ordinary and truly fantastic which I am lucky enough to say was the case on my birthday this year.

My very wonderful husband planned quite the dichotomy of adventures to celebrate my special day.  The first part was an overnight kayak trip where we paddled down a 7 mile stretch of a creek in the Congaree National Park which fed out into the Congaree River where we camped on a sandbar.  We set off on Saturday afternoon in our new 14 foot camo colored boat stocked with an 8 pound tent, one sleeping bag, two coolers full of water and beer, one Lunchable snack, trail mix, two peanut butter sandwiches, lots of bug spray and our dog, Gunner.  The creek was flanked by dense forrest which thankfully provided tree covered shade throughout our journey.  The water was calm and inviting and our boat glided through it like a knife slicing softened butter.  In many parts around our boat, we could spot garfish swimming through the water, some of them at least three feet long.  The unwelcome animal spotting came when we ducked below a fallen tree, only to notice mid-duck that a snake was lying just inches from our heads...

Unfortunately, we have had some very severe storms in the Columbia area recently, which we did not take into consideration when we planned the trip.  The storms had caused many trees to fall across the creek, oftentimes blocking our path and making it frustrating and difficult to maneuver.  One such time we had no choice but to get out of the boat and walk it around the obstruction.  I swung one foot over the side and hopped out where I promptly sunk up to my thigh in mud.  You can probably imagine I was not too pleased by the encounter with the thick, slimy, brown substance.  The unexpected sinking caused me to lean forward where I all but planted my face in the gooey grossness.  At first I yelled out, then had no choice but to laugh through the ensuing battle with the mud.  I finally made it the twenty feet around the fallen tree, but not after sinking both arms and legs and flailing less than gracefully through the fight, all the while my dog prancing beside me, too light to sink down in the mud... it's good to be a dog sometimes.  When I made it back to the boat, I took one look at my better half and we both lost it in laughter.

It took us four and a half hours to reach the river, at which point we were quite exhausted and ready to set up camp before the sun started to set.  We found a beautiful sandbar and set up our tent beneath the shelter of the tree-line.  Gunner lost no time exploring the small beach, darting in and out of the water which thankfully was clear with a hard sandy bottom.  It was the perfect place to spend our overnight adventure, we sat on that beach with no one in sight and it seemed as if we might be the only two people (and dog) that had ever been to that place.  The peaceful and beautiful night reflected the perfect start to a great birthday weekend.

Part two of the southern birthday extravaganza came Sunday after we had paddled down the river to where our car dutifully was awaiting our return.  The highlight of the river portion was spotting wild boar on the shoreline at two different points.  The first time was a mama boar with her three babies munching away at the grass on the shoreline.  For at least five minutes they were blissfully unaware of our presence; when mama boar did notice us, the babies ran off, she turned towards us and grunted and snarled before running into the safety of the woods.  I was very happy that thirty feet of water was between us and the protective pig.

Once we had carted our gear home, given Gunner a much needed bath and cleaned up ourselves, we headed to Charleston for a night in the charming city.  Charleston is a beautiful town, and this was my third visit.  It's almost like stepping back into Antebellum; the homes have beatufiul wrap-around porches and gorgeous trees that line the streets, many of which are cobblestone or brick.  Upon arrival, we strolled along the bayfront and wound through the streets, admiring the different homes and breathing in the salty ocean air.  Summer has definitely arrived here in the South, the temperature reached 100 degrees both days we were there, so a stroll in the sunshine has taken on a whole knew meaning.

Dinner was a delicious array of seafood (my favorite) at a restaurant established back in the 1800s.  As we sat enjoying the food prepared for us, I thought about how earlier that day I was floating down a riverbank.  Truly two very different lowcountry experiences.  The next day (my bday), we again strolled the quaint streets of Charleston and stopped for lunch at Poogan's Porch where there is a statue of the scruffy canine Poogan with a plaque below it, RIP 1970-1979.  It was a charming old house turned restaurant and we sat on the porch beneath the fans in the 100 degree heat.  It was all worth it the minute they brought out fresh biscuits with sweet butter, followed by our order of fried chicken salad and an oyster po'boy.  Gunner sat panting beneath my chair but I'm certain he felt it was worth it when I tossed him a piece of the buttery biscuit.  Birthdays are great.

The three of us were quite spent from the heat and all the birthday excitement so it was time to depart Charleston and travel back to Columbia.  I loved the contrasting events of the weekend, the time spent on the creek and the river and even in the mud as well as the time spent strolling through the streets of Charleston and eating the delicious lowcountry food.  It was a very memorable birthday filled with sights, sounds, smells and tastes that will be imprinted on my mind for years to come.  

13.1

I rounded the bend and looked up at the white sign with the large black number 8 displayed across it.  Below the sign there were people cheering words of encouragement and praise to the perfect strangers running by.  There were several thoughts going through my head as I listened amongst the noise to my slightly labored breathing.  I was a bit surprised it wasn't a harsher and deeper heaving at this point, but the fact that it wasn't produced some confidence that I could do this, that I was going to finish and complete my goal.  My arms swung by my side in tandem with my feet as they hit the pavement in calculated and even movements.  I looked up from beneath the shade of the visor I was wearing, to my horror, there was another hill ahead.  With a deep breath, I murmured some words of encouragement to myself, pursed my lips together, narrowed my eyes, and resolved to just keep running. I had 5.1 miles to go.

Running a half marathon has always been a goal of mine.  It was one of the things on my "list".  You know, the list you have full of things you want to accomplish in life.  Things that are out of the ordinary and that provide sheer joy when you know you can put a check next to the item - the feeling of wow, I actually did that.  The half marathon was one of those things for me.  I've never really been a strong runner, I would consider myself more of a recreational runner.  I took up jogging in college mostly because our gym at school was usually too crowded and I figured if I lived on the beach I would be doing a disservice not to figure out how to exercise and enjoy the beautiful outdoors.  Three to five mile runs became my sweet spot, it was a perfect stress reliever and way to clear my mind, no equipment needed.  I could lace up my shoes and head out the front door and run for as long or short as I wanted.  A half marathon is 13.1 miles, about three to four times as far as I typically run.  Completing one would no doubt be a challenge for me, which is why I wanted to do it so bad.

When my best friend informed me there was a half marathon in Nashville, Tennessee, and that it was a Country Music half marathon, we both knew that it was our calling to sign up for the race.  My mom and husband signed up as well and in the months before the race we offered each other encouragement to keep training and kept a buzz of excitement that we would be traveling to Nashville to run with 30,000 people in a marathon/half marathon race.  I started training on longer distance runs about three months before the race, but to be honest, was quite terrified for the impending event.

On race day we all woke up excited and a bit nervous.  At least I know that had nerves welling up inside of me... my biggest enemy in training was myself.  I tend to talk myself out of the ability to run long distances, complaining that the weather is too hot, I'm overheated; some days it was my shoes which were cramping my toes, producing blisters that made the run that much more difficult.  Other days it was just flat out me convincing myself that nine miles (or whatever distance we were running) was way too far for me to humanly run (I can be quite dramatic...).  When race day came, the most miles I had run at one time in training was 10.  I had to add 3.1 to that to finish the race.  As we entered the coral together, waiting for the announcer to signal our official start, I gave myself a silent pep talk.  You can do this, I thought in my head.  No excuses, this is your chance to just do it.  The Nike slogan took on a new, more important meaning.

The four of us stretched together and jumped up and down to warm our blood as we waited to begin.  Finally it was our turn to, crossing the start line was invigorating, exciting and a bit daunting.  Only 13.1 miles to go! The four of us quickly split up from each other as we each ran different paces.  So it was me left with my thoughts to run the long and hilly course.  The only races I have run in the past are a few 5k races and one 10k race.  This one was entirely different.  Being a music half marathon, there were bands positioned throughout the course playing pump up music to motivate us to just keep running.  I absolutely loved the camaraderie of running a race like the one we did.  Amongst 30,000 people there is a sort of team spirit, that we were all running together towards the same finish line (well I was running towards the 1/2 marathon finish, those poor marathon runners had a much longer road).  I was delighted at how many people were on the sidelines throughout the course.  Granted many were there to cheer on a loved one as they trotted by, but those people would also cheer for perfect strangers.  It was motivating and wonderful to have people encouraging and supporting one another.

As I ran I had fleeting moments of serenity (in between the sheer pain of running up hill after hill), there is something quite therapeutic at taking in the moments when you are experiencing something new, something challenging and something that has pushed you further as a person.  When a guy dressed up in a full spider man costume ran by me, I couldn't help but laugh.  Here I was, fretting nervously about whether I was going to be able to finish the race or not, when some people chose to take the situation more lightly.  As the group of racers I was running alongside rounded mile twelve, an eerie quiet ensued.  All I could hear was the sound of rubber soles on the pavement and the breathing in and out of runners.  The last mile was perhaps the toughest, not only because at least half of it was uphill, but because at that point it took whatever energy I had left to push through to the end.  When I saw the finish line, I picked up my feet and ran as fast as my body would let me to the finish.

I felt exuberant, energized, and proud.  I had finished running 13.1 miles, I had forced myself not to stop and had completed my goal.  The experience made me really think about setting goals, and working towards something you want.  Ironically, when I got home from the trip, the official rejection letter from grad school was waiting for me in the mail.  I didn't feel frustrated or sad this time, instead, I just felt a weight lifted off.   I had just set a goal that was entirely up to me and completed it; to me the letter coming right after completing my challenge was "you win some, you lose some" played out in real life.  I initially thought the half marathon would be my first and last; but after such a gratifying experience, I might re-think that notion after all.

The Masters: A non-golfer's experience

The Masters: it's synonymous with the great names in golf, perfectly groomed and maintained grass, the Masters green color, Augusta Georgia.  A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend one of the practice rounds.  I wasn't sure what to expect before going.  For one, I am not a golfer; in fact, I've never golfed before or even been to a driving range.  There are a lot of people who would probably cringe and scoff that I had the audacity to attend part of the Masters and didn't instead relinquish my ticket to a more worthy tournament goer.  No way! I wanted to see what all the hooplah was about.

I attended with my my husband, my dad and my father-in-law.  All three of them are golfers, so there I was, the uneducated rookie with a miniscule amount of knowledge in golf terminology.  There were only a select few golf words that I dared utter.  "Why did he put his tee there?" (yes I knew what that white peg in the ground was).  "Hmmm, they don't yell FORE! when then drive the ball down the green? (good thing I whispered this one, I don't think the pros ever use that term...)  While at the tournament I learned that the few words I knew are only the tip of the iceberg in golf lingo.  Words like fade are used meaning the ball goes to the right down the green and draw when the ball curves to the left.  There's a whole slew of other terms specific to the game to describe what's happening.  I'm not sure I understand why golf has to have a language all of its own.  Seems to me it would be easier to simply say the ball went left or right.  Maybe I just feel that way since I'm not a golfer...

I have to say, walking the Augusta National course was an experience to remember.  The weather was sunny and beautiful, perfectly highlighting the bright pink azalea bushes that kissed the edges of each perfectly manicured green.  The trees seemed as if they were plucked from perfection and planted in exact spots where they would provide the right contrast between the blue of the sky and the green of the course.  The course itself was something to marvel at, it seemed the perfect grass was an exact hue; I'm sure there are specialists whose only job it is to make sure it is always pristine.

The phenomenal natural setting was not the only thing to notice at the Masters, the people in attendance provided entertainment as well.  They came in all shapes and sizes wearing all types of outfits and getups.  When a man walked by with the most outrageous shorts on I couldn't hold my laughter in and definitely lost it when I noticed he was alongside a woman with matching ensemble.  I wondered, did he set that ensemble aside to specifically wear to this event? I would have to assume most definitely, he did.  The Masters was a circus of people, all there to show face and experience one of the greatest tournaments in golf.

On the other side of the white rope were the pro golfers on stage.  As we were at the practice rounds, it was a more relaxed and laid back atmosphere.  Many of the pros would engage with the crowd, take multiple shots on a green and even play around with the game, performing trick shots only further highlighting their talent to place that tiny ball wherever they wanted.

There's one more thing I can't avoid mentioning about the Masters.  At a tournament where the first place prize is a cool $1.4 million dollars and even 15th place gets a prize of $128,000, you can buy a beer in a souvenir cup for $3 and a sandwich for $1.50.  Now here's one sporting event that has it right.  There isn't any professional sporting event I can think of that keep their prices so modest and reasonable for the fans.  Last time I was at Yankee Stadium in New York I'm pretty sure I spent $9 for a bottle of Bud Light and $7 for a mediocre hot dog.  At the Masters, I happily sipped my ice cold beer and munched on my pimiento cheese sandwich for a total of $4.50.

For those that don't know what pimento cheese is, I would urge you to seek it out and try it.  Here in the South it's served as an appetizer that you dip chips in, on sandwiches as a spread and even atop burgers.  It's a blend of cheddar cheese, pimentos, mayonnaise, salt and pepper and sometimes other ingredients depending on who is making it - in short, it's a really bad for you delicious treat.  That's enough of my food digression, the point is, the Masters didn't make me think about the hole burning in my pocket, but instead allowed me to indulge and happily spectate the pros on the course with a full belly.

I loved my first Masters experience; but in all honesty, I will probably relinquish my ticket next time so a true golf fan can enjoy the fantastic event.  In the meantime, maybe I'll head out to the driving range and take a crack at swinging that shiny stick at that tiny white ball.