The thought crystalized as clearly as the ice sculptures I’d seen the day before in the Crystal Garden of Confederation Park: I couldn’t feel my feet. Standing on frozen Dow’s Lake, in the early morning before the Winterlude Triathlon, this January, I had done my best to bundle against the cold. My three layers, plus …

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It was dark and raining lightly in Salta, Argentina, when Marielle and I got off the bus, legs stiff from a full day’s journey across the border from Chile. We had met another American named Lia traveling around South America during the endless wait at customs and we had planned to spend the next day …

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I began surfing this year. My husband and I drove from the United States to our current location in Uruguay; we have been traveling Central and South America for over a year. Prior to this journey, there were a few years when I dabbled in surfing. On average, I probably went in the water for …

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Everyone seems to be saving the world. Meanwhile, here I am, a social worker in a mountain town, living paycheck-to-paycheck, wandering through the desert on a Saturday morning and worried about the gas money that it’s going to take to get me back home.

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Everyone I knew who had gone to culinary school told me not to go. Yes, yes; I knew working in kitchens was stressful, physically demanding, and exhausting. I’d done a bit of it, I could deal with those things.
I moved to Paris. My five month intensive cuisine program passed quickly and painlessly enough.

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