30 August 2009

Making a Difference


I was writing in my journal this morning that I wanted a way to do something for the world at large. As it turns out, there is something I can do and am doing! I'm going to be running the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in NYC on September 13, 2009. My fundraising goal is $100. If you're interested, go to the link below. I would love your support!

http://www.komennyc.org/site/TR/Race/race2009-wide?px=2102996&pg=personal&fr_id=1170&s_tafId=44560

Born to Run by Christopher McDougall book review


As I went into the bookstore to ask for the book Born to Run, I was asked if it was about Bruce Springsteen. And despite living in New Jersey for 2 years (ah!) now, no, I was looking for the book by Christopher McDougall.

I watch The Daily Show with John Stewart on my computer (I can’t afford fancy channels like Comedy Central, though shortly I may not be able to afford the basic channels but more on that later), and a few weeks ago his guest was was Christopher McDougall, the author of Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen.

I sat down and read nearly the entire book in one evening. This says as more about the quality of the writing as my lack of a social schedule (generally, I watch The Office reruns when bored...). I was stunned and riveted by turns with the book. I learned that I was evolutionarily designed to be a distance runner. Well, I shouldn’t be so selfish, we are all designed to be distance runners. Who knew? Apparently our ancestors survived to procreate and develop the human race as it is today because they were runners. McDougall references a number of scientific and experiential studies to prove his point.

From this, McDougall also sets up to spit in the faces of all those (many doctors included) who say that the human body wasn’t designed for running, and that’s why so many people get running-related injuries. In fact, according to McDougall, it is the overly designed and overly cushioned sneakers that we wear while running that cause most of the problems. We are never trained to run properly; therefore, it is inevitable that we will hurt ourselves.

One of the most incredible anecdotes was the story of a tribe in Africa who literally ran down their prey. By tracking them and relentlessly pursuing one specific gazelle (deer, kudu, zebra, I don’t remember) throughout a day, they simply ran it to death. This would involve running for hours. From the perspective of someone who suffers through 30 minutes on the treadmill, this was beyond incredible. And beyond beautiful. It shows an intense living in the moment existence as well as incredible strength and stamina. If you need food, you don’t waddle 20 feet to your car, drive to the supermarket, toss plastic covered and highly processed food into a cart, pay a surly underage cashier, waddle back to your car and drive home. It requires skill, companionship, and effort.

The main event, literally, to the book is a 50-mile race in the midst of Mexican drug cartel country. The trail through Copper Canyon was run by elite ultrarunners from America along with members of the legendary Tarahumara Indian tribe. McDougall gives us play by play of the race action from a variety of perspectives while not dwelling overly much on his own experience of the race.

Above all, McDougall emphasizes that as a creature who has evolved as a distance runner, we should celebrate running as something positive, not a punishment after indulging in too many cupcakes. And so while I may not be running any 50 mile races soon (and while my gait continues to be heavier and bouncier (thereby more prone to injury) then the smooth sailing Tarahumara), I have started a new mantra as I run: “I like this; running is fun.” And surprisingly, the more I say it, the more it seems to be true.

29 August 2009

Our story is the story of two guys who start at the bottom, and with a lot of hard work continue along the bottom, and finally end up at the bottom

Thank you Flight of the Conchords for being endlessly hilarious and providing me for the title of this post.

I had been so excited at the beginning of this week for the start of the semester. I had my whole schedule lined up and sorted out. I had cleaned out my desk. I was tinkering with the idea of beginning lesson planning (I lecture my students to not procrastinate, and yet...the week before classes seems the appropriate time to open the book I’ll be teaching from doesn’t it?) I attended the mandatory orientation for my class, only to discover there was a very strong possibility that the class would get cancelled. I expressed my dismay, considering it’s not as though I teach these classes for fun or because I have nothing to do with my time but because I like to pay rent and eat! I was assured by several members of staff that even on the chance that my class would get cancelled, I would get a replacement class. All would be sorted out by the end of the week. OK. Fine.

Friday morning arrives and I receive a text from a friend of mine who had been on the wait list at the same university to teach the basic freshman class. We went to grad school together, and I’m genuinely (for the most part) glad that he got work. I sent a quick email to the scheduling director after this. I figured if someone with my exact level of education and no experience at this university, actually make that no teaching experience at all, got a job, that must mean that my job was safe. Because I figured surely you wouldn’t give a job to a wait-listed staff member when you were going to cancel the class of a staff member who’d worked there for 2 years.

Apparently, I was quite misinformed. My class was cancelled; “sometimes things just work out that way.” Really. That’s what you say to me when you tell me that I won’t be able to pay rent for 4 months without having to ask my parents for a loan? I don’t see that as helpful.

So my excitement on Monday quickly made it’s way to trepidation and stress with a dash of hope and that quickly turned into frustration, annoyance and terror at not being able to pay bills. All of this anxiety for a job that I’m not quite sure that I want...yet I know for sure that I want a place to live and food to eat.

20 August 2009

Flight

I returned from my visit to family and it took two connecting flights. I noticed that compared to previous flights I am now more anxious and nervous when I fly. As my brother put it, as I'm getting older, I'm losing the feelings of invincibility. I think he might be right!

Here are some etsy finds using the search word "plane".




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03 August 2009

Dear John...continued...

Hollis Gillespie, a great writer, blogger and woman, wrote that memoirs/essays should be written without self-pity/bitterness. I think I'm at the in-between stage with this entry/this subject matter. Someday it will be written with more humor and less "poor me", but today isn't quite that day.

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I just realized that I have given you the name John. Of the infamous “Dear John” letters, this one is going in reverse. It’s slightly distressing to discover that online there are a huge variety of resources to help people write their own breakup letters. Or examples of letters, including those received by Mormon missionaries. That seems particularly harsh somehow. They’re off saving the unsaved, and the mrs. is at home hooking up.

Many tips include not saying you want to be friends, because that doesn’t work. I suppose in our case, since you (who dated nearly anyone) were so adamant about not being my boyfriend, why would we not still be friends? There are even forms to fill out to get an instant Dear John letter without any effort. Though I feel it’s more of an effort to read the letter then it is to write it.

Ours was a “Dear John” (or “Dear Jane”) phone call, on a layover in one of the New York airports. I was on my way to a job interview and was so happy that I’d be somewhere that I could finally get good phone reception to talk to you along the way. That happiness ended with me slumped next to an abandoned ticket desk. There was a wide berth given to me and my tears. Travelers with their own problems, concerns and issues (will I catch the flight, will my luggage make it through, where is the bathroom) all more pressing, more immediate and much safer than mine.

It’s selfish to think that I was the saddest person in that airport, probably not even the saddest one in that terminal. Though it’s never helpful to put things in perspective at the time.

Recently, I was speaking to my brother on the phone and complaining about the apartment I was renting. The apartment, an example of the worst kind of run-down, uncared for housing foisted upon recent grads (not students technically, but still no money!). The peeling paint, a door that didn’t always lock properly, a sink that wouldn’t hold water, a toilet that wouldn’t let it go, a set of back stairs that shook precariously with every cautious movement up and down it’s rickety wooden frame. And a basement that was filled with mold, leaky pipes and a ridiculous amount of past renter’s stuff. It’s the principle, if you’re moving, you take everything with you. You don’t leave things.

I was running through my complaints about the apartment, and my brother’s response? “There are worse things in the world.” If I could have reached out and slapped him across the phone lines, I would have. Yes, I realize that there are people at war, that are starving, that have lost their families, their health, their jobs. That many people would find my house a veritable palace. But while misery may love company, it loves a commensurate amount of misery.

02 August 2009

Visitors

I got a call this afternoon from a friend from graduate school. He and his girlfriend are considering moving to the area soon. A few weeks ago, he'd asked if he and his girlfriend could stay in my studio while they looked at apartments and went to some interviews. I am going to be gone for two weeks visiting family, and since my little studio is so small, having them stay while I was gone was the best option. Though even then I was at first hesitant because I didn't them sleeping in my bed. But then I reasoned that I could just leave the inflatable mattress out for them and assume they'd get the hint.

Then the call today where I was informed that they'd be arriving tomorrow. I was not asked if they could stay. I was informed that they were arriving. While it isn't a huge issue (it's not world hunger, nuclear weapons or the swine flu), I'm going to be fairly consumed with getting ready to leave - cleaning, last minute packing, etc. And above all, I'm a little peeved at how the situation was handled on their end. You ask someone if you can stay; you don't tell them when you'll be arriving.

So on a happier "visitor" related note, here are some items found on Etsy using the search term "visitor".



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