Last week, New York suddenly sparked light. Some wise organizers at the NYRR had decided to cancel the Moore Marathon due to the temperature approaching a dangerous 90 plus degree. Too excited for the sun and not as wise, I dash out in haste for the 7-mile stretch along the Hudson River, which very soon resulted in two scorching red shoulders that still ache under my shirt no matter how much aloe vera was applied. Apparently I've taken the majority of advices from the Suncreen song to heart, but ignore the foremost and most famous of them all:

"If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Stretch.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

But trust me on the sunscreen."

The sun gotta be my most favorite thing in the word. Well, the most non-Muggy related favorite thing to be correct, because he has the same effect on me as the sun does: they both manage to make my cheeks pinker, my shoulders loose,  the tightness in my calves relaxed, and my mood high all day long.

I have recently found my fix for red-eyed days at work, and a very cheesy one at that - the Wedding and Celebration section of the New York Times. It started innocently. I was browsing the 'Bates Alumni in the News' bulletin one day, and tumbled on an article of a Batesie girl who proclaimed herself a free spirit, left her college love to explore the world, came back years later and eventually got married to the high school sweetheart. Finding myself surprisingly happy at her tale, I frequented the section a few days later to read about an oldies couple who got married for the second time after they had divorced over growing apart. From then on, I make a point to visit the Happy Page once a week. Marriages of all types, between all sorts of people, were reported. Many have met online. Many have broken up multiple times. Many have been threatened with break-ups and succumbed. Those stories never fail to delight me with their sweet endings. It is a comfort, after all, to know that romance is alive, out there, achievable to normal people of all sizes and shapes.

Albeit short, the 4-mile loop from Stuy-Town to midtown east is my favorite route. Past the UN, there is a small steep hill to climb, followed by a rewarding downhill stretch. I love that the route is easily adjusted, using the rule of thumb that about 18 New York streets make up 1 mile, and an avenue length-wise is about 3 streets. The real kick of the run, however, is the midway stop I always make at Mugg's to grab a gulf of water, drop off a sweaty layer, or most of the time solely and happily just to steal a kiss.


View Larger Map

As we dreaded, the morning rush before the client meeting at 2pm was chaos. Luckily, Asian Charm and I had spent considerable time in the office last weekend to reorganize our files and line up our macro, so this morning we cranked out numbers as smoothly as a pasta machine. As true proteges of industrialism, we exemplified the conveyor belt concept in damages calculation: each inflation series was born from Alex's SAS program, then looped into the fancy equity cushion model handled by Steve B (justly labeled the most efficient man in the office), before it was plugged twice into the monster that is our damages models, which Asian Charm and I ran parallel to check each other. Each number was then touched up prettily with footnotes, heading, colorful graphs and placed in a clean-and-clear (conceptually) exhibit, before being sent off to the VPs.

From there, the chaos began. D.H., despite her pleasantness to work with personally, was a tough VP to please. Nothing escaped her mind. Amid the hundreds of analysis and files we produced, she could always be counted on to remember a remote, barely related point from a light year ago that contradicted some assumptions we had made. Each exhibit that went through her hand came back beaten, naked, shivering, weak, begging to be strengthened. We would furiously snatch up the weakling, remodeling and reproducing while our Seamless orders turned cold, until all little loopholes were sealed, each comma pored over. Only then off the exhibits went to counsel.

Today, at 1:30pm, burried in piles of print-outs, I could not help laughing when I saw Alex sprinting down the hallway, a stack of binders spilling over his arms. We hurriedly shuffled the exhibits in order, snapped them into each binder, attached a good few inches of backups and stuffed them into Asian Charm's brief case. As he and Esther rushed out to client's office (luckily quite close by in Times Square), Alex and I sunk back into our chair and heave a relaxing breath. It was finally my favorite time of the day. The morning rush was over and calmness had returned to my cube.

I wonder if I will miss this when I leave the world of consulting - the endless excel sheets, tell-tale price series, damages calculation that makes and breaks corporations, and the people like us behind the scene, our eyes and our backs getting worse from staring and hunching in front of the computer. Not that going to law school and becoming an attorney would improve my eyes and back, but I stubbornly hang on to the faith that the law will have an answer to the mystery of this system. Mugg has insisted that the green bills will make the world go round, evil or good. I guess the competition is on.

Before the calmness could settle, D.H's emails peppered up my inbox - more emergency damages calculation needed! More hours billed, paychecks deposited, people going to work. Indeed, the world goes round.

The crisp New York morning was bitingly cold. 28 degree - said the temperature billboard at one brownstone corner in Midtown East. Random patches of sunshine scattered on Fifth Avenue, polished shinny store banners perching on top of the impeccable glass windows of Abercrombie, Gucci, Apple, Tiffany. Few passerbys wandered happily along the cobblestones surrounding Central Park, alongside tourists in decorative carriages, whose eyes opened wide with excitement like those of children. Unlike the passengers whom they carried, the horses decked up with bright red pompom meekly clucked their steel shoes at the driver's nudge, their heads hanging low, their jaws sluggishly grinding some leftover straws. It was a normal lazy New York sunday.

Sáng thứ bảy, một tia nắng lẻ loi đâm xuyên qua tấm rèm nặng trĩu trên cửa sổ nhà anh, hạ cánh nhẹ nhàng xuống những thời báo kinh tế của anh, những quyển sách luyện thi của tôi, nằm ngổn ngang trên sàn nhà gỗ. Tôi tỉ mẩn đếm những vết rạn trên trần nhà, đợi chuông báo thức rung để nhanh tay tắt máy trước khi anh kịp giật mình tỉnh dậy. Gỡ tay mình ra khỏi tay anh, tôi nhón chân chầm chậm đi qua sàn nhà cọt kẹt, luồn vào chiếc váy thoải mái nhất, vừa chải tóc vừa sao lãng quét mascara lên mi mắt. Tóc tôi đã dài đủ để kẹp lên gọn gàng sau gáy, những dải tóc nhuộm đỏ ngày xưa đã phết đi gần hết, chỉ còn đuôi tóc đâu đây hơi hoe vàng. Trong guơng, một gương mặt nghiêm trang nhìn tôi chăm chú, vạt nâu dưới mắt, hướng mày xếch, khoé môi cong. Rất lạ lẫm, không giống gì con bé tóc ngắn, toe toét, luôn bồn chồn thời đại học.

Như thể từ trong một màn sương loãng dần, trên đầu tôi bỗng hiện ra đôi mắt nheo ngái ngủ của anh, nửa lo lắng nửa trìu mến, "Trang, sao em chưa đi? Em sắp muộn rồi!"

Tôi nhìn sững anh, như thể vừa chợt nhớ ra điều gì. Chợt nhớ rằng tôi không còn là con bé thời đại học cần sải chân đi khắp thế giới để tìm hạnh phúc nữa. Đơn giản bởi vì hạnh phúc... là đây.

I feel like I'm having an anxiety attack... One more week till the LSAT and my head feels like it's exploding. A sure sign that it's time to put down the book and go dancing. Or drinking.

Three more weeks till the LSAT! I've increased my practicing dose to four sections a night, twice as many as recommended by McKnight's wife. The result has been encouraging, at least on the reading front where I averaged 2-3 missed questions. Yet logical reasoning is still a giant headache. While my mean and median wrong question have lowered to 4 instead of the usual 6, it's still not good enough to break the PR of 172. And that's assuming I made no mistake in Games - where I'm most confident yet most subject to the tiniest panic. Good news is, as demonstrated by recent LSAT tests, two questions are offered as freebies - test-takers can usually miss two and still score a perfect 180.

Last week, when Mugg committed his first step in studying for the GMAT by buying a load of books, we came to the somewhat sad realization that we won't be doing much as a couple for the next half a year, possibly more. 2009 is devoted for graduate school applications, CFA level II and marathons. Luckily, that we can do all of those things better together is a real comfort.

When today is not your perfect day - like, you are sick, you face is stuffy, your LSAT score is on the decline, you forget the cell at your bf's so no goodnight kissy, your homework is due tomorrow - yeah, I mean a totally sucky day, what's left to do but envision a perfect day?

Let me start off by saying I love Fatima to death. We met on my first day at NERA, at 5pm on the dot. "Hi mamma," she said in crisp Spanish accent, pushed the giant green tub by my cube to dump in my trash and recycling bins. "You new?" She nodded at me with a mischievous and patronizing air of a senior to a freshman. "Yes," I timidly replied. "No worry, I take care of you," she patted me on my back.

In a fit of aspiration, I signed up for the Feb 2009 LSATs and went on a spending spree for Powerscore bibles and official LSAT tests. As a true NERoid, I drew up multi-tab spreadsheets to track my performance, saved all missed questions and reviewed them with Muggy at the end of each week. To my great annoyance (and beaming pride), Mugg proved much better than I on logical reasoning sections - unsurprisingly, as he often rambled on the beauty and linear regression of logic. I, on the other hand, was invariably left with a giant headache and no less giant frustration.

Based on the numerous law school admission predictions available (my favorite is chiashu.com), I would have a chance at the top 20 schools if I score at least a 172 on the LSAT. To have a decent chance, however, I'd need something around 175 - which usually gives room for missing max 5 questions out of 100, or an average of 1 question per section. Not impossible, but very hard to achieve within 35 minutes.

There are less than 2 months left, and a lot of work to do.

The dreaded winter has made its way back to New York, and cast a depressing drizzle onto the pitch black marble wall of 1166 Avenue of the Americas. Esther walked by my cube everyday, peered out at the gray sky, and sadly declared that the next time we saw a sunny day would be next April - half a year from now!

To echo the weather, I was in a gray lousy mood. With the election closing in, Mary and I have actively talked for Barack: we have been making calls to swing states, hoping to sway voters. We convened on Monday in an empty conference room during lunch hour to call Pennsylvania. People on my calling list were, as a statement of fact, old. I talked to more than a dozen of 80 something crowd, who were exceptionally grumpy - due to the freezing rain or maybe because I had interrupted their afternoon nap? Usually I love older people and love how they remind me of a long future ahead, but the oldies in Penn state sucessfully lauched me a very very grumpy early-20's crisis. Ack.

To the least of my expectations, waking up early has put such a strain on me and Mugg. We have always been night-owls, staying up till 3am on a workday to blast guitar hero then crawling in to work at 10 (that's a particular thing I love about NERA). Our schedule, however, grew apart as I now woke up at 6am and went running, effectively waking Mugg up with my shuffling on his old squeaky wooden floor. He still went to bed at 3am, meaning that I would get no sleep from my new bedtime of midnight till 3 due to his loud baseball games and shuffling. As a result we were both haggard, cranky, and complaining that we didn't get enough attention from each other the next day.

Ack ack.

I'm glad that October is soon over, so soon I can cross off exciting activities that nonetheless have crowded out the more important things on my priority list. With winter blasting in, chances are I won't ever mutter enough motivation to run outside at the break of dawn, so that should solve our early rise vs. night owl problem.

As for Mugg, he promised to go running with me once a week at night, in exchange for a late late night of guitar hero and cuddling in the next morning. There are still much conflict of interest we have to work on, but I'm glad there's a compromise to be made.

I can't wait for November.

Another thing I love about the Wonderland Trail, how the road is long but definite. I only have to put one step at a time after the next, and after days and nights we will eventually reach the finish line (assuming maps are good and bears are full). The road of life, in the past 22 years, has been similar - long but definite: by high school I know I will go to college, by college I know I need internships and jobs. But now, supposedly well-equipped ex-post 22 times 365 times 24 times 3600 times infinite moments of wisdom, the road suddenly erupts into, in my mind, a convergence of land, water and sky. Or, in boring words, a convergence of possibilities. I could do pretty much anything now, unconstraint, free spirited (that was always the goal anyway, no?) Few thoughts that have entered my mind include (a) law school - that's a big yes yes but "a good time" for it is still ambiguous; (b) development studies program in Sweden - now that's enticing; (c) joining a dance troop and samba my way through rio - hmm nope, just a dream, I detest those carnival outfits.

By default of course I could stay at NERA, move up along the ladder and work the system. Funny enough, in the much warned cold corporate world, I've found warmth and love tugged in backup books, court briefs and the very impersonal, un-private white cubicles. And I'd like to think that my presence has made work a bit more tolerable for Mugg, Boss Charming, Esther, Craig, Jay, big Trang, as they have completely colored my world. So there is hope after all, of human interaction rising above silly quabble of stock frauds and messy hedge fund transactions. Like the dementor, I live for that, hunting restlessly for leftover hope in gloomy New York.

One sunny day in September, as we were visiting Berkeley, Mugg gasped at the revelation that I could not do a cartwheel. He promptly took off his shoes, dragged me to a stretch of green grass in front of Bloat Hall (the law school!) and tried desperately to flip my hips over my head. It turned out, I had no balance whatsoever, and could not sustain my body inversion for as little as a split second in the air. We had a grand time nonetheless, and I'd never felt more free spirited despite the fact that I was doing nothing more than hurting my butt.

So I guess the next step is exactly what it is, a tiny little inch, some time unrecognizable.

It was the most exhilarating feeling I've felt in a long time. The last mile of the 100-mile Wonderland Trail, as we had been warned, proved the longest. We were practically running, pressing our blistered feet and tired knees up and down hill, dusty and sweaty backpacks bouncing. It was September 12, 2008. We finally made it back to civilization after 10 days in the wild. It was, by far, the most physically arduous thing I've done in life. We hiked through snow, forest, mud, dessert, meadows; drank the freshest ice-cold water from rivers; slept under the stars; swam in lakes. Life was simple: we went to bed when sun set, wake up at sunrise. Biggest worry of the day included a nice spot to filter water, a flat ground to pitch tent, a bear pole to hang up our food. The first day proved the hardest for me physically, while mentally I was freaked out the last day - Mugg had a fever and almost didn't make it out. Thanks goodness he gathered enough will power to finish the trail. We hugged each other tight at the finish line. The trail has made us true companions.

The best spill-over effect of all, the hike has launched my body into a thirst of activities. Once getting used to hiking an average of 10 miles a day with a 45-lb load, my muscles screamed and itched in New York for something more rigorous than samba dancing classes. Before I knew it, I signed up for a half marathon and started running 4 times a week at 6am. At Mugg's dismay, I soon became a morning person and even sooner discovered my addiction to running. The half marathon is tomorrow in Staten Island, so I really should be going to sleep right about now.

I'm incredibly grateful for this twist of attitude, that I've somehow managed to become athletic which I always aspired but feared to be. I hope to complete the half marathon in 2 hours injury-free (much thanks of course to Yuko my running buddy).

2 more things to note:

1. My samba class is marching in the New York Halloween Parade, accompanied by the live band Samba Manhattan (www.manhattansamba.org). So come check us out on Halloween if you are in New York! The parade will start at 7pm-ish on Spring Street and 6th Avenue. We'll be having weekly rehearsal Thurs night out on the Westside Highway around 8pm - just follow the beat of drums and come join us on some hot samba steps!

2. I'm contemplating signing for a full marathon in Jan or Feb 2009 - leaving 3-4 months for training. Possibly the ING Miami Marathon in late Jan. My dream: to run a marathon on the Great Wall in China one day (http://www.great-wall-marathon.com/) - maybe this May?

I'd like to dedicate this first long run to the Alchemist and what it has taught me:

"If you want something bad enough, the universe conspires to help you";

"You must understand that love never keep a man from pursuing his destiny. If he does, it's because it wasn't true love."

The big trip is almost here... only one more week! I am so incredibly excited and nervous just the same. In the past month, Mugg and I's weekends have been jam-packed with nothing but hiking, breaking into boots, loading backpacks. Slowly we eventually collected most if not all gears needed for the Wonderland Trail. Today I bought my final, but probably most important, piece of equipment - the Gregory Maven 50L backpack. I have had 2 other lined up from coworkers, but this little backpack is so comfortable and beautifully made that I couldn't resist. An internal frame, the pack has a sleeping bag compartment, 3-entry into the main load, a solid and sturdy hip belt that fits snugly around my waist. I was lucky to find a perfect fit - it was the last x-small backpack left at Tent and Trails. My only concern is that it's not big enough, though the sales man insisted that I should only carry 25 pounds, a quarter of my body weight. "Just make your boyfriend carry more!" he said seriously. We loaded the bag with 25-30 lbs and I walked around the store, amazed at how well the weight sat on my hip bones. Mugg will be carry considerably more with his 70L backpack - I grimaced at how he surely would laugh once he saw my tiny internal frame. Once Mary bring me her sleeping bag, I definitely need to load the backpack and see if it can hold 2-week worth of living.

The bulky items will be the sleeping bag, the tent (5 lbs splitting between Mugg and I), insulating pads, 5-day worth of food to keep us going till the next cache. Amazingly 5-day worth of food translates into about 10 lbs per person, meaning we each will consume about 2 lbs of food per day! I never thought I eat that much. Water too will be heavy - we each will carry about 3L, or 6 lbs a day. Most likely we will filter enough water supply for the group in the morning, then might do it again at night if someone runs out. We will need to be scanty with water, especially Mugg who drinks a lot, since there might be a stretch when there's no lake or river near us.

Unlike Mugg who is a light sleeper and is bothered frequently by blisters, my biggest worry lies with the fact that a shower might not be feasible till the few final days of the trip, when we hit a more-equipped check point. The prospect of not being able to wash my hair for 10 plus days sends me squirmish - luckily tickets had been bought at that time the thought finally dawn on me so there wasn't a possibility to back out. Baby wipes and dry shampoo are considered, though both are inconvenient. We will have to pack all trash with us, so I'm hesitant to bring anything that's non-biodegradable. And dry shampoo... apparently there's no need for water, just shampoo and towel dry - the concept of which is skeptical to me. More research has to be done on this.

It all started 3 months ago, when Ian, a phD candidate in Oceanography at UCSD and Mugg's buddy from Berkeley, sent out a rally call for a backpacking trip of 100 miles on the Wonderland Trail that runs around Mount Rainier, a snow-covered active volcano southeast of Seattle. To my surprise, Mugg enthusiastically signed us up. "I never know you are so into backpacking," I had asked skeptically. "It's a one-of-a-lifetime opportunity," he answered solemnly. He was right - it definitely is not a light matter to plan a long backpacking trip on which we will have to live with bare survival. The Wonderland Trail is open only for a month or two a year, since the rest of the time it's covered in snow. We were lucky that Ian took care of most the logistics, like planning out the route, acquiring permits, sending ahead food cache. There will be six of us to split the food and common gears: Mugg and I, Ian and his triathlon girlfriend, 2 more guys from UCSD. Daily menu includes mostly dry food - lots of trail mix, energy bars, beef jerky etc, with the more fancy freeze-dry food packs spared for dinner. I am most excited for the warm milk tea in the morning (thank goodness we are bringing a stove!)

As inexperienced in backpacking as it gets, Mugg and I had to buy/borrow most of the start-up gears. In fact, I haven't shopped for anything but hiking stuffs in the last quarter. After this trip, I might have to make hiking a life-long habit to worth all the investments made (not a bad motivation at all, mind you lol).

The packing list, so far, stands as followed:

- Gregory backpacks - 70L for Mugg, 50L for me
- Sturdy Goretex hiking boots - Merrill for Mugg and Vasque Sundowner for me
- 20 degree sleeping bags - borrowed from Craig and Mary the wonderful nature-loving coworkers at NERA
- Thermarest 4-season self-inflated insulating pads - rented
- Kelty 2-person 3-season tent - amazing piece at 5 lbs
- Hiking shirts and shorts - 2 each per person
- Rain jacket and rain pants - 1 each per person
- Long thermal tops and bottoms - 2 and 1 each per person
- Thick wool socks - 3 pairs each
- Silk sock liners - 4 or 5 pairs each
- Fleece jacket and fleece pants - 1 each per person
- Lots of hand sanitizer
- Sun screen, bug repellent, iodine pills to purify water, personal aid kits, moleskin for blister, duct tape, small towel, journal, camera

All of this (plus food and water) will add up to 30 - 40 lbs loads each of us will lug along the, so I heard, breathtaking trails of Mount Rainier.

I can hardly wait.

The last few days before vacation are long. Way too long. As Mugg has been kept in the office everyday past midnight for the last two weeks, I was appointed Chief of Packing and Investigator of Missing Items. The progress was good - yesterday I felt particularly productive between listening to Michelle Obama and packing up my sweet little Maven. To my dismay, the backpack is indeed too small, and definitely won't fit the giant synthetic sleeping bag a coworker had kindly dropped off at my cube. I will need to go back to Tent and Trails to exchange for a bigger size or return it. Good thing I still have Alex's backpack as a backup. But man, how I'm gonna miss those hip belts. Michelle Obama, on the other hand, was fantastic.

Mugg is justly the Chief if Misplacing Items. As if affected by a spell, two things can never match up in his apartment: socks always get their partners confused, and gloves strive in vain to find their better half. Well, I had to admit I played an active role in the chaos. In the last few weeks, I was often distracted by superb jumps and twist of gymnastics and other Olympics events while folding laundry, thus giving my share in mixing up socks. Next thing on our Sherlock Holmes list is a right hand winter glove, a must item for the chilly nights of Mount Rainier.

Jay called few nights ago and asked if I want to volunteer for the Talk For Obama campaign. A coworker at NERA and law school candidate, Jay took 3 months off to campaign for Obama in North Dakota. As he was outgoing and an avid bar hopper, I was curious to see how Jay coped with the god-forsaken midwest town. Apparently the campaign has worked him breathless. While there isn't many bars around, Jay has been well-entertained with tall blond girls in this German-Swedish settlement region. lol Good for him. About Talk for Obama, I enthusiastically agreed. After vacation, Jay will pass along to me a list of potential voters in North Dakota to whom I need to call and persuade them to vote for Barack. In preparation, Yuko promptly lend me her "Dream from My Father" so I could marginally be familiar with the man. Exciting stuffs!

Three more days till the big trip!