The Beauty of Reframing.

Early morning miles.

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”

— Tagore

Coconut Flour Pumpkin Gingerbread Muffins (Grain-free, Nut-free, Vegan).

Hello. My name is Julianne and I am a coconut-aholic.

That's right. I recently ditched my body lotion and now slather organic extra virgin coconut oil all over my body. My Aussie deep 3-minute miracle conditioner smells like coconut, along with my Alba Botanics Leave-in conditioner. I swap coconut oil in baking recipes when they call for butter. And the smell of black coconut oil makes me swoon. So it's natural that I incorporate more coconut flour into my recipes, right? Right.

Coconut flour is a different beast in the kitchen. Typically, recipes using coconut flour call for a lot of eggs in order to balance out the consistency and increase the moisture. I used chia eggs instead (1 Tbsp chia seeds + 3 Tbsp water = 1 egg), in order to make these muffins completely plant-based. These muffins are high in protein and fiber, and are perfect for individuals who need a delicious grain-free, nut-free, vegan muffin without sacrificing taste.

INGREDIENTS:

• 3/4 c. coconut flour
• 1/2 c. pumpkin puree
• 1/2 c. pure maple syrup
• 1/4 c. organic blackstrap molasses
• 1 tsp. apple cider vinegar
• 6 chia eggs (mix 1 Tbsp chia seeds + 3 Tbsp water = 1 egg)
• 1 Tbsp. pumpkin pie spice

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Line a standard muffin tin with liners.
2. Mix all the ingredients together.
3. Divide the batter evenly into the 12 muffin tins. The batter does not rise, so shape accordingly.
4. Bake at 350F for 25-30 minutes or until the edges are crispy and golden.
5. Cool for 5-10 minutes in the pan, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
6. Sprinkle with powdered sugar (optional).
7. ENJOY!

Movement and Love.

Sunset at Gray Whale Cove Beach. 

“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.

It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”

— Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

North Peak Trail, McNee Ranch State Park

Coast ride from Santa Cruz to Half Moon Bay and back...

This weekend has been filled to the brim with all of my favorite things- sunshine, heart-pumping activity, solid good company, with the common denominator being the ocean.  After running up Montara Mountain, my friend and I crossed over Highway 1 and galloped down the wooden stairs to Grey Whale Cove Beach. I'm always fascinated by the outdoors, but the scene we were greeted with in the cove was pure poetry in motion. Thunderous waves clapped fiercely against the rocks. Silhouettes of seagulls were illuminated by the vibrant colors of the sunset. Frothy white waves passionately crashed into the shoreline and then dissolved into the sand.

I watched while a woman toed the foamy bubbles at the edge of the shoreline while looking out into the distant horizon. We are all dancing on the edge between the safety of the sandy beach and the fierce mystery and vibrancy and adventure that the ocean holds. 

“The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the globe . . . The sea is only a receptacle for all the prodigious, supernatural things that exist inside it. It is only movement and love; it is the living infinite.”

— Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

There is so much beauty in this world, and also in words. I'm halfway through Anthony Doerr's novel "All the Light We Cannot See." He paints the most beautiful pictures with his lyrical and poetic writing style. Pick up a copy for yourself, spread out a blanket on a hidden beach, and inhale all of the life around you and on the page.

Persimmon 'n Pumpkin Gingerbread Muffins

Last week, I enjoyed the most amazing dessert at Millennium Restaurant- it was a decadent combination of a walnut date pudding topped with a scoop of ginger ice cream and garnished with a candied dried hachiya persimmon. It was delightful, to say the least. This recipe was inspired by that delectable combination of persimmon, ginger, and walnuts... 

INGREDIENTS:

For the wet ingredients:

• 1 Tablespoon chia seeds
• 3 Tablespoons water
• 1 cup organic pumpkin puree
• 1/4 c. blackstrap molasses
• 1/3 c. melted coconut oil 
• 3 Tablespoons pure maple syrup
• 1/2 c. packed coconut sugar (or brown sugar)
• 1 fuyu persimmon, finely chopped and diced

For the dry ingredients:

• 1 2/3 c. whole wheat flour
• 1 Tablespoon pumpkin pie spice
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon sea salt
• 1/2 c. chopped walnuts

Garnishing ingredients:

• Dried persimmon (I finely sliced a fuyu persimmon and using the 'dehydrator' function on my toaster oven, dried these over 90 minutes)
• chopped walnuts

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin tins with paper liners.
2. In a small cup, whisk together the chia seeds and water to make a 'chia egg.' Let it sit for a few minutes to thicken.
3. Mix together all the wet ingredients in one bowl.
4. Mix together all the dry ingredients in a larger bowl.
5. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until just combined. Do not overmix.
6. Divide the batter evenly over the 12 muffins. Add chopped walnuts and dried persimmon on top for garnish.
7. Bake for 20-24 minutes until a toothpick comes out clean.
8. Cool the muffins in the pan for 5-10 minutes, and then gently transfer onto a cooling rack until completely cool. Enjoy!!

These are now my favorite muffins. It's like an explosion of all the fall flavors combined into one moist muffin. Moist, heart-healthy, plant-based and delightful. Totally dietitian-approved!

Secondhand Rediscovery.

Logging some beautiful sunrise miles up to Redwood Peak.                                                       (Photo: J.Torralba)

“One of my favorite feelings is something I call ‘secondhand rediscovery.’ It’s that feeling you get when you show someone the places you love, but for them it’s the first time. You may have seen the place a million times, yet with them, you see it through their eyes, and discover it for yourself all over again...you almost discover it better, because you see it again with the heart knowledge that the place is already beloved. And in the sparking eyes of a friend, you love both the astonishment of something new and the intimacy of something known, all at once.”

— Jedidiah Jenkins

Sunrise at Redwood Peak.

At one time, I was that friend, being shown a sacred spot for the first time, marveling in the beauty and electricity of such a unique experience in nature. I love how that moment is forever etched in my heart and memory, just like how those initials carved in the large stones of Redwood Peak will remain there for years to come, as hikers and runners and lovers and loners sit upon those same rocks.

I love the outdoors because places which become common to you can become magical all over again with secondhand rediscovery. It is both a unique miracle and gift to be able to see things again for the first time, with expert eyes.

Break Away.

“I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news.”

— John Muir

Today's sunrise- Coastal Trail, Marin Headlands

I am always astonished that the beauty of a sunrise feels new every single time. I definitely needed to break away from the news this week, to head into nature where there is no phone reception. No racist-infused Facebook posts. No text messages. No emails. 

Just dirt trails, coyotes, bunnies, snakes, and miles of ocean. Although I love to solo-trek most of the time, I know that remote trails like these are not only safer with a running partner, but they're also enjoyed exponentially more with someone who shares your joy and love for the outdoors.  Not sure where to start? Here's my simple criteria...

How to choose a running partner:

"Should we try this new trail? I'm not exactly sure where it leads to."

"Should we start at sunrise?"

"Should we grab coffee after this?"

If they always answer yes, choose them.

I'm lucky I found mine. Enjoying the descent back down after climbing up from Muir Beach...

Deeper Still.

After today's swim, my friend John inquired, "Why do you like the deep end?" He had witnessed me gradually shift lanes from the shallower side of the pool until I was finally settled in the deepest lane possible. 

I thought about it for awhile. I don't like my feet touching the bottom of the pool- something about being so close to the center black line makes me feel claustrophobic. I've spent half of my life in the shallow end (literally and metaphorically-speaking), that now I crave deeper things. Things that really matter. I cringe at how much time I've wasted having shallow conversations, reading shallow Facebook updates, maintaining superficial and shallow friendships. So much of life is already lacking depth. My pool lane should not be one of them.

 The quote that first came to mind was from Henry David Thoreau- "I love a wide margin to my life." I realized, like Thoreau, that space and silence are essential for contemplation, for evaluation, for self-actualization. The deep water feels more vast. I love how I can flutter kick and dolphin dive and my feet never reach the bottom of the pool. 

I love all things deep-

Deep conversations.

Deep breaths.

Deep questions.

I love the mystery and the adventure and the truth that has yet to be explored. And just when you think you've arrived, you realize there is still more to discover. Here's to swimming in the vastness and depth of the human experience, one stroke at a time. Here's to a lifetime where our feet never ever touch the bottom.

Lessons from Molly

A simple walk is exponentially more interesting with a puppy. They are incessantly curious about the world, about every crack and crevice in the cement that we mindlessly walk over as we stare at our phones. They allow random strangers to touch them and coo and love on them. And they openly receive it, without being pretentious or feeling underserving. They abandon themselves in curiosity and sensation.

They are what we wish we were, without the burdens of responsibility and reason.

Molly's first sunset and visit to the beach...                                                                           (Photo: J. Torralba)

“Love words. Agonize over sentences. And pay attention to the world.”

— Susan Sontag

Molly is teaching me how to see the world again for the first time. How to attune my senses to the different smells- the maple syrupy waffle cones wafting out of the ice cream parlor on Main Street, the stuffy old used bookstore with dusty shelves of coffee-stained pages and underlines sentences, the refreshing salty ocean breeze.

Poplar Beach, Half Moon Bay                                                                                                (Photo: J. Torralba)

She is teaching me to find wonder again in the mundane. This is what we strive for, not only as writers, but as human beings. 

Puppy Love.

“Dogs are the closest we come to knowing the divine love of God on this side of eternity.”

— Anne Lammott

Meet Molly. #labradoodlelove #proudauntie                                                                      (Photo: J. Torralba)

Team Betty 2016

The best belated birthday present came through an email today. I am so humbled and honored to have been chosen to represent Betty Designs for 2016 and join this amazing team of inspiring female athletes! Since 2012 when I first caught wind of Kristin Mayer's bold and edgy designs within women's triathlon apparel, I was hooked. It was a welcome change from the boring monochromatic triathlon tops and black shorts (snooze) that I had hesitantly accepted as the norm. The moment I first put on a pair of Betty Designs spandex shorts and zipped up the jersey covered with skulls and butterflies, I immediately felt more badass. More confident. More sexy. More divinely feminine. I've been a huge fan of Betty Designs both on and off the race course...and now I am officially a 'Betty!'

2016 is indeed shaping up to be an amazing year...

Writing at the Edge

Lifeboat Station at Point Reyes. Where most of the good stuff took place...

As an 'outgoing introvert' I have long struggled with the push-pull tension between desiring that human experience of connection versus wishing only to escape into the solitude/silence/space that allows for deep and meaningful artistic creation.

Sunrise from Chimney Rock trail

Being one with nature and welcoming the morning together...

On Sunday, I returned from a 3-day writing retreat located on the breath-taking coast of Point Reyes, aptly themed "Writing at the Edge." It's easy to romanticize this as the most ideal setting to write- a Henry David Thoreau's 'Walden' of sorts- filled with open sky and salty ocean breezes and pelicans diving for lunch and no phone reception. But for me, it was a wake-up call that sans life distractions, the blank page suddenly started to feel very uncomfortable. And when given the writing prompt- Write about the thoughts you have that you wish you didn't have- well, it's like the ground drops out from underneath you and you're left with your pen and your maniacal thoughts to dig you out. Scary, scary stuff. There were many times that I wish I could just check my Facebook or upload a picture on Instagram or text my friends instead of write. The edge suddenly was the last place that I wanted to be. It felt too risky, too dangerous, too vulnerable.

I recently read Courtney Martin's article "Life in Lady Writer Heaven" and found parts of it to be so fitting and true-

“It can be the most romantic time of year to be a writer. A few of the luckiest among us head off to cabins in the back country corners of America to finish our novels, memoirs, and manifestos at much-coveted writing residencies. Book dreams that we incubated all of that busy winter are finally going to hatch in the light of a hazy summer day with a picnic on our doorsteps and all the time in the world to be indulgent about our words.

While in residence here, each woman gets a “cottage-of-one’s-own” that would make even Virginia Woolf giddy. Each little wooden house has a wood burning stove, a big generous desk, a cozy loft bed, a French press for coffee—everything necessary for a dedicated writer. A resident’s days are her own, too. The only requirement is that she show up for a communal dinner at 5:30 pm, prepared by a round robin of local chefs who know just how to make a pie crust that does the just-plucked raspberries justice. Then you are ordered to leave without clearing your plate. They call it “radical hospitality.” At home, most residents call it “lazy teenagers.” Either way it feels outrageously luxurious.

The funny thing about this freedom—all day, every day, for weeks to oneself—is that it is both blissful and sobering, about writing and not about writing at all. You face the blank page and all the outlandish expectations you had for what you would get done in your time here, but you also face something even more vast and unconquerable: your internal life.

All those pesky heartbreaks and jealousies, regrets and disappointments, long drowned out by the fever pitch pace of modern life, are suddenly audible. The man you once loved, the friend you once trusted, the woman you once were—all return to take residence at your residency, where you were supposed to be all alone and writing the next Joy Luck Club or Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions.

Suddenly it’s like you’re entertaining a crowd of ghosts in your little cottage—each one with its own unresolved issue to discuss. You study the hand-drawn map of the grounds as if there will be a test later. You start playing Fiona Apple and dancing like a banshee. You almost wish you had a sink of dirty dishes or a strategic planning meeting.

It turns out that the outside world and all its demands aren’t just distractions from writing, as most writers tend to think, they are also buffers for our bruised psyches. They pull us away from our muse, to be sure, but they also protect us from our own demons. When there are phone companies to fight with, deadlines to meet, aging mothers to be nursed, eyebrows to wax—who has time to schedule in soul searching?

I dreamt of past lovers, old mentors, college friends. I realized that it wasn’t such a mysterious thing at all: I missed people that I loved that were now lost. I still had some grief hiding in the less-traveled corners of my heart. I felt sad. I didn’t solve it; I just noticed it. And then I realized I wanted to write again. Suddenly my fingers were dancing across the keyboard, tapping out a deeper story than I would have been able to write before.

When the residents gather for our daily meal together, we sometimes discuss writing, but more often we discuss people: our eye-rolling children, our partners back home, picking up the slack, our long lost relatives. We divulge things to each other we haven’t shared with our own family members. Because yes, we’ve been writing books all day, but we’ve also been reading the forgotten narratives of our own lives.”

During the first morning writing session, our instructor Sarah Rabkin said something that touched me in a profound way- "Maybe this isn't a writing retreat. Maybe it should be called an advance."

I know now that I am ready to advance, to move forward with faith. On Sunday afternoon, there were 15 writers who were sick of staring at the edge with our binoculars. Instead, we buckled on our own words and prose as lifejackets, helped each other into individual boats and pushed off the safe land together with a new energy, creativity and freedom.

Hungry for exploration and adventure.

With our pens and our hearts as our paddles.