Today I turn 24. And I’m stoked, because I really like the number 24. So to celebrate, here are 24 things* I’ve learned in my little life:

1. (Sober) dancing solves most things.

2. Sushi solves everything else.

3. Birthdays are overrated. 

4. You’re never too old to nap. (Ignore the masks.)

5. Life….it gets better. But you have to make it better yourself.

6. Never forget to play hard to get.

7. Don’t walk through a swamp in birkenstocks, then put them in a plastic bag and forget about them. They will mold.

8. When in doubt, eat (and finish) pie. 

9. Politics suck. But they’re also important. So follow along.

10. Whiskey shouldn’t be ruined with pickle juice.

11. Your mother and your mother’s mother are just older versions of yourself. Wait for it (…)

12. Long Island may suck, but it’s pretty.

13. Skiing hungover is one of the most nauseating experiences ever created by alcohol and humankind.

14. Alpacas are the cutest animals in the world. 

15. Everyone can run a mile.

16. Ghana is a magical place. And so are a thousand other countries. It’s your experience that makes it that way.

17. Playing an instrument is one of life’s secret treasures. (Yep, I just used the phrase “life’s secret treasures”…)

18. Ginger ale may be better than water.

19. Weekday happy hours are better than (most) Saturday nights. 

20. Pool tables should be in every bar.

21. Pitching a tent is very gratifying. 

22. Eat well mostly because it’s delicious, then because it’s healthy.

23. $5 Beer + shot is why I like Brooklyn. 

24. When you need something pretty in your life, just look up. Skies are always beautiful.

*Hopefully by next year, I can learn one more thing.

If someone were to combine all of my absolute favorite activities into one event, I’m preeety sure the Hood to Coast Relay would be it. A 199 mile relay race? Trecking from Mt Hood (<3 mountains) to the beautiful Pacific coast? (OMG). Running night legs, and  “roughin’ it” in a sweaty van and sleeping bags with other amazing people the rest of the way? Yes. Please. So when I found out Nuun was opening up the opportunity for more relay teams for this year’s event, I knew I had to apply.

But first, do you know what Nuun is? You should! Think of it like better-for-you Gatorade; they’re electrolyte tablets that easily dissolve into water, have NO sugar, less than 8 cals, and are a great way to hydrate before and recover after a workout. It’s pretty much genius, and I use em quite often. (Even when not working out…)

I’m not video saavy, so decided to create a pimped out powerpoint for my application. In it, I wrote a poem (another one of my “hobbies”) that sort of tells an abridged story of my life, and how running helped take me to where I am today. It’s kind of personal/sentimental, so hooppppe you enjoy!

My mind is just buzzing thinking about the opportunity…so fingers crossed until the teams are announced. Good luck to all who are applying! 

…you have nothing on Long Island. Yeah, I said it.

This weekend I went home for easter — doesn’t this photo screammmm spring? And while I mostly rested/caught up on sleep/hard chilled/got my brother his bday gift (from trader joes….), ate sushi, and received birkenstocks (thanks mom!), I also thought it would be smart to try running again after being sick. So of course I headed over to my ol’ stomping grounds: sunken meadow.

I went for a relaxed 5-miles, and stopped along the way to take some photos. I just wanted to enjoy my surroundings. Now do you understand why it was hard to convert to being a city-runner?

And here I was, from a map’s perspective. Far, far far from the city. 

More/Fitness Half in less than a week! Whooooo’s running? Who’s excited?!

Yesterday, I half-died with the rest of the Greatist team, thanks to a mysterious stomach bug. (We may or may not spend almost all our time together.) And while I was wondering if my organs would give up on me or if I could make it to the bodega two blocks away  (read: nope), I also had an extra, odd urge to be active. Blame it on being a prisoner to my own bed. (Anyone remember “The Yellow Wallpaper“?! Kinda like that, minus the baby and losing my mind.)

But rather than wanting to lace up my sneakers or head to my favorite yoga studio down the block, all I could think about was what will always, always be my favorite form of exercise: hiking.

I grew up vacationing in the Adirondacks, so was introduced to dirt trails and slick rock way before over-crowded beaches, stubborn tourists, and all-you-can-eat buffets. The first mountain I climbed was Rocky Mountain in Inlet, New York, and I even managed to do it in a cute purple skirt:

So at a very young age, I created a bond with the beautiful outdoors, and if I could choose only one type of exercise for the rest of my life, it would without a doubt be hitting the trails. Here’s my reasoning:

It’s like walking a marathon. 

Don’t feel like running 26.2 miles? Don’t blame you. Luckily, walking 26.2 miles is way more feasible, and doesn’t take months of training.

You get to climb up things. 

The best part about hiking is the climbing. Not only do you feel badass when you’re scrambling up rocks, you’re probably doin’ those functionals movements from time to time. And in certain cases, if the terrain is real tough, bike helmets are included.

You can stop halfway through.

 Think of it like doing savasana right after holding a warrior 2 for waay too long, or cooling down between sets of pushups  — while other workouts don’t always allow stopping, hiking encourages it. The views are good anywhere.

No sweaty gym required. 

I know, the gym is great for however many reasons…but sometimes you need to get out of the sweaty confinements of the fitness floor and breathe in some fresh air. Plus, there are no creepy guys lurking…just a dad every now and then.

You can eat at the same time. 

My two favorite activities in one! Besides eating some GU during a long run (does anyone actually think that stuff tastes good?) eating while working out doesn’t happen. And trail mix? C’mon. Best thing ever.

Get to wear fancy footwear.

Who needs closed-toed, expensive Aasics or bball kicks when you can “work out” while your feet breathe freeeee…

There’s always a view.

No matter where you are, the view is always wonderful. (No yoga studio can match this.)

You can do it all around the world, and meet friends along the way.

There’s literally a path, hill, mountain, or canyon wherever you are, along with amazing people who want to experience similar sights. And there’s something to say about reaching the summit with others…

Places left to hike:

Mt Kilmanjaro, Appalachian Trail, West Coast Trail (British Columbia), Tongariro Northern Circuit (New Zealand), anything in Zion, Annapurna Circuit (Nepal), Inca trail, Tour de Mont Blanc (France..), anything Smoky Mountains.

What’s on your hiking bucket list? Or…if you could only do one exercise for the rest of your life, what would it be?!?!

Sometimes, all it takes to run 20 miles is a few beers.

Saturday night, I met up with Laura, Jocelyn, and Theodora at Eataly. After I circled around the ground floor three times (partially looking for the elevator, mostly looking for free samples), I headed up to the 15th floor to sip some fine drinks at the roof-top bar. So far, all I had in me was a (very) strong bourbon drink that i nabbed for $6 at the tail-end of a happy hour in Brooklyn. So I was, ya know, ready to rage.

After chatting for awhile, I ordered the “Strong Ale.” Jocelyn mentioned she had 20 miles on her training plan for tomorrow. I smiled. Then I ordered another drink — this time, Jocelyn told me I should run with her. I laughed. Beer number three? “Laura, you’ve run 11 miles, it’s only nine more…..”

Damn you, beer number three. I woke up to my alarm and was veeery close to shutting it off, turning over, and going back to sleep. But I got up for a second to stretch, and that’s when I noticed I was stillll a little drunk. (Way to go, Laura. Four drinks. You’re a champ.) So as I’m a little woozy, I feel both my feet on the ground. And at that moment, something in me really really wanted to run. So I made some coffee, changed into my running stuff, texted Jocelyn she was crazy but I was a bit crazier — and zoomed up to Central Park.

The plan? Run a 15K race in Central Park (9.3 miles) and then leave the park and head down and back up the West Side Highway for the remaining 11. At that moment, I thought of it as going on two runs, both at a reasonable distance. It’s all a mental game, you see.

The first half was great. We ran with Meggie, who’s an awesome runner and has been dealing with IT band injuries since well before the NYC marathon. This was her longest run since the race, and she killed it! We spent the race chatting while keeping a steady 9:15 pace (despite the hills), and before we knew it, we were done. After the race, we said goodbye to Meggie, I quickly ate a banana and downed some gatorade, and then it was time to continue. In less than 2 miles, I’d be running into uncharted territory, and yet I felt fine. With hindsight, this is probably because I’m stupid and run my long runs at roughly the same pace as my shorter onces (7:45-8:15). Boy… 9-min miles feel goood.

So we meandered our way out of the park and down the highway. Still feeling aiight, Jocelyn and I exchanged past gentlemen histories (because what else do girls do with 9 miles left under their feet?) and kept heading south. Then mile 14 happened. We were passing Chelsea Piers and decided to quickly grab a Powerade at the vending machines, and take a gu. But once we stopped, we were reminded that our legs were TIRED.

Here we are….just when things started to get rough (even if we don’t look the part).

As we headed to mile 15, I was beginning to hurt. Yet at the same time, I was unbelievably excited. I had no intention of running 20 miles, I’m not training for anything, and yet here I was, just going. I was tired, yeah, but I also felt strong. Still, I think it was at about mile 16 that I felt delirious. Probably dehydrated and hungry, things just felt a little off. At this point I felt weak, and wasn’t particularly thrilled to be, well, moving.

At around mile 17, we ended up running next to a boy on his tricycle, who also was biking at around a 9 minute pace (copy cat). He kept swerving left to right slightly infront of us, and if we tried to pass him, he’d speed up. I was about to yell mean things at the little boy, because every swerve meant I had to do my own little foot dance, and I was so afraid that my legs would give out under me. Luckily, we were able to pass lil’ Lance, and continued back north. Less than 2 miles left.

For the last two miles, I realized my legs weren’t tired, and despite having asthma, my breathing felt fine. Instead, I was just in…pain. My feet hurt, as if I was running barefoot. And it felt like little knives were stabbing my quads. Normal? Still, Jocelyn and I ended strong, and it felt good to finally stop running after 3 hours. For a sec.

The worst was actually after it was over. It was harder to climb up the stairs, out of the park, and to Laura’s (to then go to brunch w/ unlimited cocktails, duh), then it was to run that last mile. My legs did not want to move. They were throbbing. They were really, really pissed at me.

Still, a day later and I surprisingly don’t feel sore at all. Maybe DOMS will hit me tomorrow, so I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Until then, a lot of people are asking me when I’m signing up for a marathon. 20 miles is usually the longest training run for a 26.2, and yet I’m still hesitant. I would really like my first marathon to be somewhere AWESOME, but I would also want my family/friends to be nearby to cheer. And I’m still slightly mortified to run the whole thing — I think I was able to get up and run the 20 because I’m not on a training plan, I don’t have a schedule, or a goal. There’s absolutely no pressure. I didn’t have to run that long, which is maybe why I was able to take my free-will (and slightly intoxicated state) and just roll with it.

Still, I’m proud that I ran 20 miles, and despite the fact I had only run 11 miles in total prior, I credit my strength training and yoga for carrying me through the run. Fo serious. Next up? We shall see…

Warning: This story is about laundry. Sort of.

The first time I went to my laundromat was a Sunday, where I did my wash myself. It took roughly 25 minutes to figure out how many quarters I needed, and another 10 to lock the door properly. I ended up putting softener (not detergent) in the batch, and when I came back, the lady that worked there said she had put soap in for me, and sort of laughed.

Since then, I’ve dropped my clothes off. Sure, it costs some extra dollars, but one of the “luxuries” I provide myself is to not worry about doing laundry on the weekends, and just drop it off instead. I’ll take it.

So I started dropping my laundry off back in October, and every time the lady who works there fills out my slip, she says “Your name, again?” The “again” is nice, for it shows she remembers my face (I mean, I’m the girl who put a cup of laundry softener in the machines without any soap and spent 10 minutes trying to bang the door closed), but she never remembered my name. After a few months, I wondered if she’d ever remember. But she didn’t.

So I tried something. A few weeks ago, when I dropped off my clothes, she filled out my slip and said, “your name, again?” This time, I said, “Laura. And your name?”

Stacey’s smile was enormous. I thanked Stacey by her first name again as I left, and was amazed at how a little thing made my, and maybe even her day.

And so yesterday morning, as I’m fumbling into the laundromat again with my half-broken bag of mostly sweaty running clothes and a dozen mis-matched socks, I plopped them on the scale and went over to Stacey.

She got out the slip: “Laura, right?”

My smile may have been bigger than Stacey’s the week prior. And I think it’s safe to say were pals, now. 

Next up? The man who sells me copious amounts of seltzer and ginger-ale. I bet he has a name. 

This week.

It’s a good week, for I’m reminded how thankful I am on numerous levels. So I thought I’d share them. I am thankful for,

My family. (Picture taken last year)

My friends. (And drunk brunch) 

Books. (To learn and escape all at once)

My job. (With a world-changing vision)

A bear that loves ginger ale as much as me. (You think I’m kidding) 

My running pals. (Who understand the importance of “healthy” alcoholic beverages)

…My health. (Which let’s me run 10 miles the morning after drinking many said alcoholic beverages)

And my roommate. (Because she is my best friend and has a heart of gold)

It has been way too nice in New York recently. Not that I hate it. I busted out flip flops and shorts once the temps rose above 60 degrees. And yet, I have one qualm with the sunny skies, balmy air, and absolutely no need for even a light coat (sup, March?)— I absolutely do not want to step foot in a gym.

Since I have the best job in the world, I’m able to step out in the afternoons to take a train up to Central Park and get in a quick 5-7 miles. (Side note: there are way too many attractive runners in CP, although I wonder why they’re there at 4pm. I know why I am, but sir, please tell me you are also employed.) Regardless, all this beautiful weather just makes me want to run far and long and forever, without entering another hot and sweaty gym.

This used to never be a problem, because all I really knew as far as exercise went was running sneakers, running watch, and running trails. But now I also dabble with cable machines, dumbbells, bosu balls, and boxing bags, and unfortunately, Central Park didn’t get the memo.

Which is why I came up with a genius idea: an outdoor gym. It wouldn’t be like those stupid poles that look like aliens at parks. It’d be better. The layout would be the same as any other fitness facility, except over green, green grass. I’d first put in two tracks — one flat, the other with rolling hills (how COOL). Then weight machines, squat racks, dumbbells, cardio stuff, the like. And of course I’d get one of those water-censored roofs that would cover the whole thing incase it rains (and hopefully be just as fast as the umbrella sellers who make it out to nyc streets at first drizzle.) There would also be a huge ball pit, because those are so hard to get out of and must be some sort of upper-body/ab exercise. Other musts: some REAL rocks for rock climbing, outdoor showers, a barbecue/smoothie area, and a nice secluded spot (maybe under a waterfall?) for naked yoga.

So if anyone is interesting in doing this with me and has an exorbitant amount of money and a large plot of land in a convenient  and populated location, I have about one day per week to do it to it. Just let me know. In the mean time, if anyone else has tricks for keeping the strength training going as the weather ONLY gets nicer and my legs ONLY want to run farther, please fill me in.

This one time, I wrote a post about my favorite quotes.  And then I wanted to do it again.

I am glad to the brink of fear– Ralph Waldo Emerson

I was re-introduced to this quote when I saw it tattooed on a friend’s back, and quickly was reminded how awesome it is. From Emerson’s “Nature,” the quote describes his walk through the Boston Commons (and my friend, fittingly, lived in Boston for awhile.) But that’s how I want to live: being so happy that I’m almost afraid of losing it — of being in perpetual awe when seized by experience, both the good and not so good.

I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus you are easily bored-Bill Bryson

Bill Bryson is my writing hero. And if he wasn’t overweight, married, and sixty years old, I’d try to go for it. But either way, this quote is all sorts of awesome, and the second half deeeefinitely applies to me (and luckily I think the first part is what’s “worse”)

When you’re creating your own shit, man, even the sky ain’t the limit – Miles Davis

Miles is at it again. As if his tunes weren’t enough, this Prince of Darkness also kills it in the word department. And he’s right, isn’t he? Who says we should be creating any limits? Didn’t Kanye say we could touch the sky anyway?

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none – William Shakespeare

I try to do this, though I may trust people a little toooo much (but then can I wrong them?) But I do love everyone. I love you! I really do.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results -Albert Einstein

Einstein was pretty smart, I gueeess. This quote can be applied to like..everything in life, and I love it. I’ve thought about this a lot lately with my running; in the last 6 months I’ve been running less and lifting more, and I’ve become able to run significantly faster and farther. Guess he got more than e=mc2 right!

None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm- David Henry Thoreau

Truth. I will never outlive enthusiasm. Ever.

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work― Thomas Edison

I really like this quote, since it makes you re-evaluate what failing really means. Maybe we never really do fail, we just don’t get it right the first (or second, or eighth) time.

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent – Victor Hugo

I’ve always felt that music is this bottled up emotion that has just been waaaaiting to be released. And of course you can’t really say outloud what its expressing, but you feel it, and maybe can only say it to yourself in your head.

A day without sunshine is like, you know, night- Steve Martin

lol Steve Martin.

I love coffee.

I’m definitely not a coffee snob, but I enjoy a good whole bean I can grind up and press to perfection in my little apartment.

So when Kate and I headed over to Craft Coffee to taste some of their finest fruits (the coffee bean is, in fact, a fruit pit), I was excited. Craft Coffee is a monthly subscription box that includes samples of some of the best coffee from around the world. I had been spending my mornings mostly with Trader Joe’s dark roast, so was ready to introduce my palate to some finer sipping.

But seriously. These guys are sent coffee from various roasters constantly, yet 90% don’t make it to the box (and are donated instead). Their picking process is intense; after smelling its aroma (both the dry bean, right after it’s brewed, and after its “crust” is broken), each coffee is tasted (or rather violently slurped back with a spoon to splash all those taste buds) and scored based on acidity, flavor, body, after-taste, balance, and over-all goodness. It the bean passes all those tests, it moves on to the next round, which includes more sniffing and slurping. As you can see, we slurped quite a few brews. I thought they all were more or less amazing.

Apparently, they all were pretty bad. None made it to the next round, and I began to question my ability to taste the finer things in life (or I guess just coffee). “This one tastes like gasoline,” said Sam, who is the premier judge of which coffee beans make it into their monthly box. I guess I had missed something.

But beyond the coffee, their story is what inspired me to write this post. Because more so than the taste or the fact that it (almost always) keeps me from falling asleep on the subway, I love the act of drinking coffee: from waking up and stumbling out of bed, putting on the hot water before I barely open my eyes, to taking that first sip. My mornings are just me and my mug, and I wouldn’t change it for a thing. And when talking with Patti from the biz, she explained that Craft Coffee’s mission is to transform the way people experience coffee — to have people take the time to slow down and sip on something simply wonderful.

“Hundreds of hands are needed to produce that small bag of beans,” explained Sam, “and then we bring them to you. You can literally sit down and experience the best cup of coffee in the world.”

And with that, me and my Craft Coffee will take a few extra moments to think about this — sipping extra slowly before getting on with life.