Bloggin' in a bloggin' wonderland.

Like nobody's watching

2012-01-24T18:27:00.005-06:00

One of my former bright little students, who is now at LSU, is taking her first writing workshop class. She sent me her short short story for comments because she was nervous about going first in the class. Since it was so short, I ended up doing a nitpicky line edit and giving a lot of overall comments, partly because I have an obsessive drive to edit once I'm looking at a kid's document and partly because it was nice to think about fiction again. I also gave her some advice about not taking the critique too seriously or letting it make her feel bad about her writing even though a lot of it might piss her off. She wrote "Ms. W, you have NO idea how grateful I am for this!" and I said "Yes I do!"

Of course it made me to think about my first writing workshop and how much pressure I put on myself to write something that the other people in the class were going to think was good--since I'd written so little, I figured if I wrote one thing that a lot of people thought was bad, then I was probably a lousy artist. I also remember enjoying the hell out of it and looking forward to it--it was just plain fun to have a class solely devoted to yakking about writing techniques and stories. I had known, going into college, that creative writing was one of my favorite things to study, but I thought I wasn't supposed to major in it because I couldn't get a job after that. I remember how right it felt to switch from Journalism to English that year, in the face of that fear. I have vivid memories of the four other workshops I took at LSU after that, and the two in Prague, and the later ones in Aspen and Portland. And the creative nonfiction that comprised three fourths of my master's thesis. This is my sixth year teaching high school English, and I might be teaching a section or two of creative writing next year. It feels like such a long time ago that I was knee-deep in fiction for the first time, staring at Microsoft Word on our shitty old family desktop from 1996. I can't wait to delve back into the study of it. I mean, I'll have to if I'm teaching it.

***

A choreographer from New York set a piece on us this past weekend. He is this beautiful gay guy from Slovakia whose music tastes and personal style remind me of Reid. Instead of teaching class, he had us do awareness exercises like throwing and catching tennis balls with each other (continually) while simultaneously running around the room in a random pattern. We'd have one going and then he'd add another until we were throwing five or six. We also did a lot of contact improv (which I normally hate) that was more meditative than theatrical. There was one moment where I was standing near him and he used me to demonstrate the excercize. The music was all crackly and droning, and suddenly he and I were improving this pas de deux. I felt a little awkward with the whole company watching, but I was able to let go enough to get to a place where I was just responding to him without thinking. I don't know what it looked like (we were in a studio where you can pull curtains over the mirrors, which he did) but it felt like some pretty cool movement was coming out of it--well of course all of HIS movement is cool, but I felt like some was flowing out of me, too. All I remember is that we were standing, then going to the floor, then I was leaning on him, then the weight would shift, then I was on one leg at one point, then I was backward, and I couldn't hear anything but his breath and the music...hoo. It was really fun. Over the course of the weekend, I had a lot of other good moments of spontaneous choreography with my friends in the company, too (among them, the time I held eye contact with Alex for what felt like five minutes and then had to run through a big group of people while maintaining it). I can't remember the last time I quit worrying about looking silly or awkward, what others were thinking, or just about producing something that didn't suck (when I try to choreograph, write, or improvise anything). (That was something he said a lot, in his Slavic accent, while we were doing movement exercises: Don't feel like you have to produce.)

The piece is okay, I think, but what I enjoyed most about the experience is that it was pure play. As someone in the company described, this guy creates a safe environment for creativity and experimentation. I actually went home and found myself improvising on the piano. I think the last time I did that was eleven years ago in my parents' living room. I don't know why I don't try it more often, but I think it's because even when I'm alone, I can't deal with the pressure to produce. Or maybe I can't stand the idea of producing something dull or terrible, even though I know, logically, that you usually have to produce a bunch of shit before you produce anything good. My ego just wants to be perfect and super-interesting or to not try at all. And the fear that I might reveal to myself the fact that I am really super-boring at my core is what keeps me from experimenting to my fullest expression. I'm also afraid that I have the yearning to create things without the capacity or talent to actually do it, and that I am kind of doomed to experience the discomfort of being artistically stuck for life (just typing this makes me want to giggle at the ridiculousness of this "problem," but if I'm being honest, it's really true!). Intellectually, I know that the concept of being boring or interesting in your soul doesn't make a lot of sense and is certainly less important than, say, being kind or enjoying the present moment. Basically, I inhibit myself in a lot of silly ways that prevent me from feeling free (like a lot of people), like taking myself too seriously and viewing aspects of my experience as permanent. What I really want is to allow myself to feel more freedom and enjoyment through taking more creative risks. And to quit being embarrassed about everything all the time.

Mostly, I just don't make enough space in my life for stillness, which means I don't make enough space for play. Not the kind of play that I already do, like fart around on the internet, watch TV, tease the kitties, drink with friends, or spend time with Leif. The kind of play where--I don't how else to put it--shit flows out of you. And you get that feeling of where the hell did that come from? I've only glimpsed that feeling, and I feel like it comes from that same state of being that I'm in at the end of yoga class, or right when I wake up in the morning, where it feels like strange ideas and sensations are passing through. This could be another reason why I have been having trouble even approaching writing lately--I haven't written from that place in I don't know how long. Maybe I'll experiment with it sometime soon. It takes practice. The thought of practicing something else in my life right now just makes me tired.

Speaking of experimenting, I think I'll be choreographing for our spring show. I haven't set a piece since college. In fact, I think that's the only full dance piece I've ever created. I ended up liking the process and the result, but I don't remember feeling like I was really experimenting or taking any artistic risks. Mostly I remember having a fucking blast and hanging out with people I really liked. I guess I feel that way about my current company, too.

I might be meeting with my director this week to discuss what I'll be doing for the show. This will be a good opportunity to schedule ("force a deadline on") some creative time in my life.

In other news, I can't bring myself to grade papers at home. I'm excruciatingly behind and accepting that for now.

Half-Assed Musings on a Half-Year

2011-12-26T13:02:00.004-06:00

I'm trying not to feel gulity, ashamed, saddened, or annoyed about the fact that I haven't felt inspired to post (or to write anything) for months upon months now. Part of the reason behind the hiatus is because I feel ambivalent about the point of updating the happenings of my life here and part of it is because I've been mentally dog-tired and burnt out since October (which I've come to find is a natural part of my teaching year--it's a tough grind time for the kids and for me). And I write so little these days that I feel rusty and grouchy about the clunkiness of my sentence structure and word choice, but I'm too burnt out and lazy to go back and edit a post that is supposed to be casual and enjoyable to write.

At any rate, the general goings-on of my semester were steady and mostly good. Food is a big reason for this. Since Ang's diagnosis (she just finished her chemo! Holla!) and my perusals of Crazy Sexy Diet, crazysexylife.com, Forks Over Knives, Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead, snippets of The China Study, and some other documentary I can't remember the name of, I've been avoiding casein and animal protein by cooking plant-based meals for dinner (although really I started being interested in vegetarian dinner recipes around the same time I started being interested in cooking). This carries over into leftovers for lunch most days. I'd say I eat veggies/grains/legumes-based, dairy-free meals about three fourths of the time, and this has been consistent since about June or July. I sometimes forget how much my diet has changed in the past year and a half--it feels like it's been a really slow and natural evolution that started from getting excited about a few recipes. Sometimes I don't enjoy talking about how excited I get about vegan recipes because I don't want people to think I'm telling them what to eat, and I usually end up halfway apologizing or qualifying what I mean by "plant based" in response to their defensiveness. This is mostly in conversation with either people one generation older than me who have raised kids on processed food through the '80s and '90s or my students. Some of my extended family members come to mind. A recent interaction went like this:

"You look so skinny. What are you doing with yourself?"

"Oh, just trying to stay healthy."

"No really...what are you doing? What are you eating?"

"Do you really want to know? I don't think you do."

"Yeah, what kind of diet are you on?"

"I don't really eat meat or dairy."

Then they made a face like I just farted on them and said "Well...then what do you EAT?"

Then I waffle a bit and mention that I still eat seafood and eggs, but they were still smelling that fart. It was okay, though, because it was a loud holiday party, and we all went right back to drinking wine and eating chocolate-covered everything and sausage balls.

Though I may act like food is a big deal, most people couldn't give less of a shit about what I eat and I know a lot of people who like to nerd out about food as much as I do, so I canusually say whatever and not cause the conversation to nose-dive into oblivion. For my own sake, I don't want to mentally identify myself as "a vegan" and get caught up in the labeling of that, which for me would involve making rules for myself about what I can and can't eat and judging other people for what they eat. The difference between "being vegan" and "cooking vegan meals most of the time" is an important distinction for me in terms of focusing too hard on food or obsessing over it, which I'm prone to doing. As far as other people labeling me or viewing me as a cliche, well, who could ever control that. At least my parents don't give us a hard time because Whit hasn't eaten meat for like seven years. Actually, they've made a lot of dietary changes in response to Whit and the documentaries and books they read and sit through just to be nice to us.

Anyway, I like talking and reading about food lifestyles, and most people's eating habits are complicated and contradictory but still form some kind of pattern. There are a few things about mine that make it difficult to describe briefly. I eat an egg and geitost with either butter or Earth Balance fake butter on bread almost every single morning, most of which cannot be categorized as vegan, but I drink only soy creamer in my coffee and use only almond milk for my other milk needs. I eat seafood (especially sushi) from time to time when I go out to eat or when we bake fish at home (which we are thinking of doing more often. Especially now that Leif found a cool app about which fish is best to by in your local area according to nutrition and over-fishing). I eat chocolate and other sweets during holidays (and during the weeks leading up to them and following them) and PMS emergencies. I like animals and would never kill one directly (except for maybe fishing, but even then I'd feel bad seeing that thing writhe on the hook and I wouldn't know how to gut it). However, in the freezer, I've got 24 Norwegian pork meatballs and gravy that Leif and I learned how to make from his mom last week. I also make green juice and eat fresh greens on most days.

There are a lot of contradictions to my eating style, but I'm pretty happy with it overall, and I feel like I've struck a balance worth maintaining long-term. I feel much more light and energetic than I have in years, my skin looks better, and I don't experience post-meal indigestion. In the near future, I feel excited and inspired about delving into some recipes in two of my Christmas presents, Veganomicon and The Vegan Slow Cooker. In fact, I've got carrot and turnip soup simmering in the slow cooker right now, but it's got homemade beef broth in it that was leftover from the Norwegian Christmas gravy. So there's another food contradiction that I would feel bad about if I were a real vegan.

The other areas of my life that would have been nice to update in the past few months are dance and writing, but there are only two notable events to mention. The first is a satisfying recent opportunity to perform a trio to this song choreographed by one of my fellow dancers, Courtney (as opposed to my director). Courtney's movement feels natural, expressive, and wonderful as opposed to stiff, shaped, and unforgiving (which most of our ballet-based modern movement feels like in my inflexible, long-torsoed body). My dance director finally told me I looked good doing something and she said it was my best performance to date. (Yes, I'm having ego issues with wanting approval from her. I even had a dream last night involving performing a dance I kept screwing up and worrying that she was watching. One of my goals is to practice being fully present in class and during performance and not caught up in my head.) Besides the boost that my ego liked and is still apparently clinging to, it was deeply satisfying to perform something that made me feel moved by the music into an altered state of consciousness. I used to get that feeling during dances I really liked at my old studio, and it's been a while. I'm not really looking forward to our next show, but at least I get to be in a group piece by Courtney. I also emailed my director last week about possibly choreographing something for the spring show, and she hasn't responded yet, so I remember that every once in awhile and feel embarrassed and slightly worried.

In writing news, I've written absolutely nothing but this post in recent memory, but I might be teaching a section of creative writing next year. I'll know whether this is a certainty in the next few months, but our school has never offered it before, so I'll have complete creative control over the content and structure of the course. My department chair encouraged me to bother our principal about this when we were in Monroe for AP training. Our principal has moments of awesomeness and actually asked me to write up a course description after I got a bunch of students to sign up for this hypothetical course. We shall see. If it happens, I'll get to happily delve back into the world of short story craft, style guides, and writing exercises. I may even type up all my notes from the Tin House conference. Shit, maybe I'll even do the writing exercises alongside the kids. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the numbers of sections in the English department lines up nicely enough so that I can teach that and not another section of Engish II regular (which I got to avoid this year!).

Happy new year, little readership! May we all inch a little closer to some glorious combination of health, peace, and joy in 2012.

The End is Nigh

2011-07-31T10:10:00.005-05:00

I adopted kitties two (or was it three?) weeks ago and have been staying home to hang out with them. Their names are Stella and Martha, and they follow us from room to room, attack each other, sleep, eat their kibble, poo/pee, and let me hold them when they're tired. We're in love with them, but one of us is of course more vocal about it. (But I catch the other one airplaning a kitty around the house or sitting at the computer with a kitty sleeping in his lap.)

I joke that we are retired, because Leif is between jobs and I am off school. It's almost the end of my break, though (this is my last week off), and I'm allowing myself to sit around a whole lot as long as I slowly work through the to-do list I wrote on our fridge marker board at the beginning of the summer (dance stuff is on a slight hiatus because I'm not participating in the next mini-gig. Our last one was Flamenco at Art Melt, which turned out quite well). For instance, yesterday I ironed my work shirts (the button-up types that have been hanging out in the other closet for months--maybe even half a year--waiting to be ironed). I think it took two hours, and I have no idea if the shirts look any smoother (have I mentioned how much I hate ironing and how incompetent it makes me feel?). At least I got to half-watch the Masterpiece Theatre Anna Karenina on Netflix through my parents' Wii that they lent us. (Usually I use it for 30 Rock, but sometimes I like to mix it up with a movie or Wii Golf, even though I cannot beat Leif.)

Let me explain my strange and boring movie choice: "classic" literature is free on Kindle, so I downloaded a bunch that I thought would be half-interesting. I finally finished Jane Eyre and watched the BBC one on Netflix a while back, so I thought it'd be fun to so the same with Anna Kareneninina.

Boy, was I wrong. I'm sorry, but this novel sucks. I am perplexed as to why anyone in history has called it the greatest novel ever (William Fucking Faulkner said this!). I agree with what Russian critics of its day said about it on Wikipedia: it's "(a) trifling (romance of high life)." I dragged myself through half of it, motivated by a slight curiosity about what would happen to some of the characters and a vague hope for some interesting sex scenes (of which there were ZERO--not even any non-gritty innuendos. The only proof that any of these characters had sex were that characters would pop up pregnant in the next chapter). Overall, I appreciated that Tolstoy (whose short stories I like!) wanted to write about what happens after characters fall in love with each other, but 1) he just did it in such a haughty, Christian, moralistic way--the "pure and innocent" (read: socially awkward and religious) couple have everything work out for them, and the couple that are having an extra-marital affair end up ruined, and 2) his writing is straight-up boring (and not in a dense, rich, tedious-with-a-payoff kind of way). I know it's a translation and he wrote it in magazine installments, but sheesh. It takes four chapters for an insignificant brother character to die, for instance, and it has no bearing on the main plot.

I've started to have nervous school dreams again (the ones where I have to teach but I am also a student, and I have to get to class on time and I have a bad schedule). The good news is that unless my principal made a scheduling error, I am teaching all honors classes this year! The greatest part about this is that I can focus on planning only one course and I have to make just one set of midterms and final exams. I feel, also, that it will allow me some extra planning time to think of ways to push those smarties further in terms of assignments. And I can incorporate stuff I learned at the AP seminar. I have to confess, too, that teaching grammar to the regular classes is the hardest task I've ever experienced in my career, and I never quite got my curriculum the way I wanted. Sometimes I'd have them take notes and work out of the textbook, sometimes I'd run off a million copies of a workbook page, sometimes I'd make them do a little project or presentation. In the end, I'm not sure how well I connected it with their writing, and all I can hope is that I gave them a foundation that they can apply in future papers. So I feel relieved. I like the holistic honors grammar stuff a lot more.

Leif was kind enough to come to my classroom with me last week to help me put it back together, post-floor-waxing. He discovered that my computer is broken. But at least we moved everything back into its place and I made a neat poster-collage out of some of our old college and high schools posters that we were going to throw out. I'm going to put some bullshit title over it about brainstorming or imagination to make sense of it, but mostly it just looks cool--there are art and sci-fi scenes, and I cut the band names off some old Sparklehorse and Flaming Lips posters. I feel like it's going to be a good year. The only thing I can really complain about is that I have a first hour class now, so waking up at 5:30 sharp will be a non-negotiable. And they probably won't have good discussions. I hate.

While I am not ready to return to grading papers, I am ready to break up this whole sitting-around-the-house routine (even though I haven't felt bored at all). It makes me feel incapable of accomplishing even the smallest task. The only reason I don't feel ill is that I've been making green juice and eating almost exclusively plant-based food at home (except when out, anything goes--I had pork ribs at Leif's parents' last night, for instance). I ran twice last week (but you have to go around 8 pm to minimize the chance of dying) and went to a hard yoga class. The week before that I taught dance for three days, took one ballet/hodge podge class that me and a couple of other dancers put together on the spot, and went to a medium-light yoga class. My muscles haven't quite reached atrophy and I haven't gotten a bed sore yet (or even a couch one). I plan to make myself go to yoga at 5:30 today. Things are going pretty well on the health front. I think I have been obsessing about it less. A lot of this has to do with feeling inspired after reading Kris Carr. I've been at home cooking instead of going out and celebrating summer with blow-out dinners and drinking (that dies down after June anyway). Also, I feel that I have discovered a secret weapon now that we have a juicer (and discovering vegan black bean tamales didn't hurt either). The areas that I still plan to improve on are night snacking and too much wine. (I would say less chocolate, but I'm back off the chocolate train now that I've consumed the entire bag of "Twist" that Leif's mom always brings me from Norway. I did find two delicious candy-alternatives at Whole Foods: vegan chocolate pudding and raw chocolate coconut macaroons.) Anyway, the school schedule will help with health habits--who has time to night-snack or to squeeze in three glasses of wine before 9:30?

I feel slightly disappointed with myself for not devoting part of my summer to fiction (or even creative nonfiction) writing. I still miss it and would love nothing more than to be in the middle of writing a story that I'm excited about, but I don't have any ideas, and I don't feel into it right now, for whatever reason. I have been playing and singing a lot of new songs on the piano to soothe the part of me that wants to create stuff. Until that part has writing ideas, this will have to do. I keep saying I'm going to send off a story to a journal, but I haven't done that either.

In other news, I saw the final Harry Potter film and enjoyed it thoroughly. It's the end of an era. I'm sure my students are having a hard time with it because some of them have been reading the books and watching the movies since they were six years old. They've literally grown up with Harry as he grew up. Yes, it annoyed me that the Hallows were nowhere to be seen in this movie and that they left out the entire Dumbledore and Voldemort back-stories, and that they changed the ending and botched the Harry-Ginny interactions. I still enjoyed it, though. It almost makes me want to re-read the series. Almost.

In other other news, my brother moved to Atlanta for the year to go to recording-studio school. They left yesterday. I am excited for him.

summertime, and the livin's crazy

2011-06-23T11:37:00.004-05:00

Around our house lately, things are shifting in a major way. We bought a new vacuum, I taught a week of dance classes (for the first time ever), I went without coffee or milk this morning (yawn), I've opened the facebook floodgates and allowed students to friend me (though I put them all on the limited profile list), I've been eating vegetarian while cutting back on dairy and alcohol for two days now (yum) while Leif researches juicers, and I found out that one of my oldest and dearest friends has cancer.

That happened two weeks ago, actually. She came over one day "just to talk," so I paced the dining room until her car showed up. I popped out of the back door to meet her and blurted something like "how are you? What's wrong?" and hugged her hello. She said not good, cried a little, and explained that she found a lump in her neck that was going to be biopsied (actually, a full lymph node was going to be surgically removed) and that the doctor was talking like it was probably some kind of lymphoma. We went for a walk and she explained everything she knew, what she was afraid of, what had been going on, and what possible medical procedures lie ahead. I managed not to sob until she left. The worst was the waiting--she had to wait until Monday to get a call about whether or not it was cancer.

They called and said it was Hodgkin's lymphoma. Then she had to get a PET scan (I went with her for that. We found out that she had to get injected with radioactive liquid and sit still without talking for one hour before the scan. It caused mysterious muscle cramping. Thank god for Tina Fey on Kindle.) Then she had to wait for news about "how far it had spread," which is the part that had me the most on edge. Turns out it's stage two, so that's relatively great news, and the prognosis is great. Then came the doctor shopping, the meetings about the next surgery (insertion of the chemo port), the insurance forms, the meetings with a fertility doc (chemo can kill eggs), and the home research.

I remembered seeing, long ago, this badass chick in her late twenties on Oprah who'd been diagnosed with a rare and untreatable (with Western meds) stage four cancer of the liver and lungs. This woman, Kris Carr, filmed a documentary about her quest for healing, and a lot of what she learned related to diet, lifestyle, and spiritual/mental health. At home, on my own, I googled her to try to find stories about her death. I thought aw, that was a long time ago and she was so full of hope. It's such a shame that she's probably dead by now.

Well, I couldn't find anything about her death because she's fucking healthier than ever. Her tumors have been stable for eight years. She's written three books and she's living her (plant-fueled, sugarless, active) life with her husband, who she met because he was the main editor and cameraman of her film. It could just be that she is really photogenic, but she's one of those people who looks like they're on fire for life, glowing in every shot. I went to a wellness website she started called crazysexylife.com and came across her video blogs. I watched and read as many videos and articles by her as I could find, and I netflixed her movie.

I slipped her name and some links to my recently-diagnosed buddy in that way that you let slip the name of an album you really love to a friend with cooler, hipper, more obscure tastes than you have: carefully and without too much enthusiasm and bossiness. She ended up liking her and gobbling up her stuff the way I had been doing.

Not to sound like a self-centered asshole, but when your friend gets diagnosed with a serious and adult condition, you tend to wake up a bit and see your own shit through a different lens--one that has arrived suddenly. Moping around the house and complaining of boredom or mind depression, for me, for at least the past few weeks, no longer holds much appeal (especially when there's not actually anything, relatively, wrong in my life). Beating myself up about shit I haven't gotten done? Kind of useless. Who cares. Trying to be perfect? Silly. Feeling like I'm constantly supposed to be doing something other than what I am currently doing? Insanity. Trying to be healthy and (sustainably, enjoyably) alive? Whoa. Top priority.

Wellness has not always been on my list of priorities. I remember having a bit of a lightbulb moment a few Christmases ago when I was lying on the couch watching free episodes of Everybody Love Raymond on a Chinese website and eating homemade goody after homemade goody. If you can even imagine this, I thought: this feels like shit. I'm eating dessert more than once a day out of pure addictive habit. I've always been a big snacker, but at some point (probably when I ran out of baked Christmas goodies), I quit buying chocolate or any kind of dessert at the store (Leif could have cared less either way, which was lucky). It was also around that time when I started spiking my walks with bursts of jogging. We moved to the Garden District. I spent a summer training for a mini-triathlon. I was then able to go for runs in my neighborhood without vomiting or passing out. I started saying yes to as many dance rehearsals as possible. I starting taking an occasional yoga/meditation class. I inched closer to vegetarianism and sought out dinner recipes that I later realized were vegan. I lost weight. I've been gaining "quality of life" steadily over the past two years.

The new info that has recently changed the way I look at food is about the importance of a healthy pH in the body. The body works hard to maintain a pH of about 7.36. Basically, most foods has drinks have either an alkalizing (basic) effect or an acidic effect on the body ("acidic" doesn't mean the foods contain acid, like lemons. It means foods that are harder for the body to break down, which cause the organs to flood the body with acids and enzymes in attempt to metabolize them). Diseases, allergies, cell abnormalities, etc. struggle in an alkaline or oxygen-rich environment. Anyway, the goal of eating alkalizing foods is to reduce inflammation in the body, and many doctors and scientists consider inflammation to be the root of just about every ailment. The rough news is that dairy, meat, alcohol, coffee, sugar, and processed chemicals create an acidic pH (so they need to be either minimized and balanced with a lot of alkalizing foods or eliminated). The Standard American Diet sucks. I knew that, I guess, but it's still overwhelming to wrap my head around.

Another thing I've been maybe figuring out is that wellness happens in the present moment. Moments of wellness can become days, weeks, and years. Lately, the things that feel really important are loving and cuddling boyfriend, friends, family and animals, dancing, yoga classes, running and walking, reading and writing, and cutting back on meat, dairy, sugar, coffee, and alcohol while adding more produce to my meals. I once thought I had a thyroid problem (bloodwork said no) because I was so lethargic all the time. In retrospect, the culprits were probably processed carbs, sugar, and lack of cardio. And large volumes of red wine and/or beer.

Basically, I usually have a lot of thinking and reading time on my hands over the summer, so lately, as a result of the things I've been feeling and reading about, I've been in the mood to experiment with food to see how good I can possibly feel. Leif is on board, bless his heart, so groceries are not a problem, and he is currently on the internet hunt for The Best Juicer. (Yes, I'm dying to start making those freaky green drinks.) My entire family might disown me for quitting coffee, even temporarily. My sister has been a vegetarian for like four years, so she's taken all the "you're being too extreme" heat already. I'm just a follower at this point. (But she still drinks coffee, so she's not labeled a total freak.)

The questions "Is this going to make me feel well?" and "Does my body want this?" have just shown up in my brain like boxes on a doorstep. I have no idea how long this presence of mind will last, but I intend on riding the wave while it's here. And mixing my metaphors whenever I feel like it. Shut up.

Now all I need to do is get off the couch, close the lappy, and shower. And one day--one day--I will write fiction again.

Post-Vacay

2011-06-06T12:13:00.004-05:00

Went to Texas on a family vacation last week. I'd been looking forward to it while I was dragging myself through that last class set of research papers and putting the final touches on my exams questions.

I achieved a state of 100% relaxation and maintained it for pretty much the entire week. It was great to spend time with my family doing the things we've always loved to do, like "rafting" over low rapids that are basically just piles of rocks, racing each other down the double slide at the waterpark that has the smallest line (so you can run up the stairs and do it again), playing scrabble before bed, and day-drinking. Bickering was present but minimal.

Diet-wise, I ate whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, including Hershey candies and cookies, and I only remember feeling uncomfortably stuffed on two occasions: the time after tubing when I went to town on a hefty bag of cocoa-encrusted almonds, and the margaritas, tortilla chips and fish tacos at a restaurant after we went boating. Though there was a sassy band playing and I danced hard enough that some of the fullness wore off or shifted downward or something. I can't tell how much weight I've gained because I don't own a scale. My underwear feel tight, though. Which brings me to my next thought:

I'm glad to say that I watched hardly any TV and spent a lot of time reading. I read parts of Jane Eyre (mostly because I watched a good ole BBC miniseries version from the '80s recently) and Portia di Rossi's Unbearable Lightness. I started reading that one because my mom had just finished it and it looked addictive (which it was), but I've been thinking about it days after finishing.

One of the things it got me thinking about was that spending time thinking repetitive thoughts about food and exercise is a disordered way of eating and being, even if you are not restricting your food intake or binging and purging. Ordered eating, at its best, would mean choosing a nutritious and tasty food, enjoying the food, stopping when you're full, and not thinking any more about it until you are hungry again. I'm interested in experimenting with this concept--eating basically anything I want (including chocolate) until the point of semi fullness, not trying to "clean my plate" or restrict my intake, and then not thinking about it afterward. A novel concept indeed. As evidenced by my blog posts, I usually think a lot about whether I'm on a path to weight gain or weight loss depending on my patterns of eating lately, such as whether I've been using food as a distraction to boredom or as an event to look forward to, or whether I've overeaten because I felt out of control with the portion in front of me, if it tasted particularly good. I've never made myself throw up and I've never gone on a diet or restricted my calorie intake, but I do tend to think a lot about what I've eaten, and I do tend to regret a lot of the things I eat or the ways I've eaten them. I do look in the mirror and want my arms, flanks, thighs and butt to be smaller and more fit. I do feel pleased (and physically well) when I've made good food choices, such as cooking and eating a natural meal with all four food groups and a glass of wine. And having one hearty serving instead of two or three.

Since it's summer, my usual schedule doesn't exist, and that opens up a lot of space for me to "play" in terms of celebratory eating. It also opens space and time for me to think for long hours, and I don't want to waste that time obsessing about whether I'm gaining the usual summer weight or not. I thought about buying a scale the other day, but now I think I might not, just to keep myself from focusing on the number. As long as I am cooking most of the things I eat and not boozing it up too hard, I should be able to maintain or at least not gain too much.

I also just got a text about company dance classes starting up again, and with no school, I should be able to attend all four this week. That'll take care of this week's exercise schedule. I've also got a run scheduled with Reid this evening. I'm still trying to put my finger on what it is exactly that makes me feel like I need to go back for more when I'm not really hungry.

I had a little moment of clarity two Saturdays ago.

I went to a "literary salon" (i.e., a long chat about writing) at a girl's house whom I hadn't met before then. Her house was in a neighborhood near mine, and I had eaten lunch that day with Leif and his brother, who was in town for his class reunion, at the Chimes. I'd had a beer with lunch, which made me tired a cranky that afternoon. About an hour before it was time to go to her house, I started digging in my heels. I walked around the house forgetting why I was in a certain room and trying to figure out what I was going to wear, announcing to Leif at different intervals that I didn't want to go, and maybe I would skip it, and should I bring wine or beer, and which story should I bring with me. I ended up buying a big bottle of Sauvignon Blanc at Calandro's and showing up almost half-an-hour late, which makes me feel selfish and a little ashamed to admit, but I'd told myself that it was probably a loose event with a lot of people who were probably flighty writers who show up late to things.

When E., the host, opened the door, I saw that she was calm and kind and a little shy. She had no makeup, short hair, a mint-colored vintage dress with polka dotted bra straps just barely showing, and she offered me a little round wine glass that looked like it was from the '60s. In fact, her kitchen a living room looked like it came out of the '60s, and I told her I liked her house and she said everything in it was pretty much from the place she worked, which is a little vintage/antique store called Honeymoon Bungalow. But I didn't get any elitist indie vibes from her. Rather, I instantly liked her because she seemed like one of those rare egoless people that don't try really hard to be funny or cool or the-smartest-person-in-the-room, so all of my own ego issues didn't flare up around her and I felt welcome to share a little of my writing. It ended up that one other man (R., a coworker of hers who seemed to be somewhere in his fifties) was there and it was going to be just the three of us. He stayed seated and shook my hand firmly. He had white stubble, a round belly, and a Hawaiian shirt. I asked him what he writes, and he said "mostly dirty stories." I guess I made a face and an awkward chuckle, because he qualified that with "You don't have to have much talent to keep people interested." He ended up being the anchor of the conversation because of the three of us, he seemed the most comfortable talking about himself and his current novel. At first I thought "Oh great. This creepy windbag is going to dork out about every detail in his novel all night," but it turned out that he was decent at listening and giving feedback to other people, and it appeared that he and E. had been writing buddies for a while and she seemed like a smart, nice person was good judgment. Also he was married and he told a few anecdotes about how old cat ladies use their store as a place to put their kittens temporarily. He puts the kittens in a cage with an open top and lets customers play with them and carry them around while they shop and then the kittens turn out cool because they were manhandled in the perfect window between six and eight weeks (or something like that). I figured only a decent person would go to such trouble for a litter of stray cats, even if it's good for business.

E. said R. was really into reading aloud, if I was okay with that, and she read her story to us with his encouragement. It was based on a story her grandmother had told her about herself, and I thought it was really good. Besides the fact that it was well-written, E.'s culture was interesting to me because she's from central LA and grew up Pentacostal. It made a little more sense as to why she and her living room had an anachronistic, outside-of-pop-culture energy. Her living room felt more like a gallery with its wood floors, bookshelves, mantel, two couches facing each other and miniature TV in the corner. I was also comfortable because I was drinking white wine and her lazy cat was bathing my hand. We gave general comments on her story and then another girl came in and used E.'s computer to print a two page beginning of her story, which she distributed and read aloud. It was conceptual, sloppy, and vague, which made it hard to follow and discuss. Then it was R.'s turn, and to my relief, he only read one scene and it was strong and interesting. It was nice to see that his long-winded confidence had some backbone to it and that he was the strongest and most experienced writer in the room after years of work (and not just somebody who dabbles and carries the delusion that they're the shit, as I thought might be the case). I went last and read a scene from my Tin House story (well, orginially Aspen--I guess the first version is three or four years old) which is my most recent piece but at the same time, my most revised, altered, and least "whole" piece. It felt great to read my stuff again and to realize that I had material to work with. They liked what I read and E. said she'd like to read the whole thing. R. said it was interesting and that I need to remove most of the he said she saids, which was helpful. I told E., upon leaving, that I'm at the point where I'd like feedback on which scenes are boring and which ones she'd like to read more of, if any.

Today during breakfast, I was making a small to-do list and I put "write" on there. This is the second time I've put that on a list since being out of school. My next step, I think, will be to lay the pages out of the floor and highlight the sections that I enjoy reading and would like to keep. Then I will let go of the rest and flesh out the story with other scenes that create a sense of place, fill out the character, and intensify the tension in the plot. The process itself will probably not be so clinical, because I'll be dreaming up scenes and generating new stuff, but I feel better when I have an approach. I will probably not start that process today, because I am feeling lazy, evasive, and filled with self doubt as to whether or not anything I write will ever really work. But something in me has shifted since the "salon"--some hope and inspiration were ignited, which is what I was wishing would happen as a result of connecting with some writers again. Which brings me to my little moment of clarity.

When I went home that night, Leif was making my favorite swiss chard pizza, and I remember feeling acutely hungry. Maybe it was because I was hyped up from being vulnerable about my writing, or just from discussing writing in general, but I only ate two pieces (when I normally have four--we're talking thin crust here) and I had one of those rare moments where I saw food as food and nothing more. I figured out that on some level, eating is connected to writing for me.

Producing writing and meeting new people make me feel whole. I've been missing them. Even though I am feeling incompetent and unsure as a writer right now, I know at least that I need it in my life, and so that alone can be my motivation for starting the tinkering process again. I may also (finally) complete my old cover letter and send out my old undergrad short story to that journal like I meant to five years ago. Last week in the middle of a particularly foul mood, when I was looking through old writing for the ostensible purpose of finding something to read at the salon (and for the actual purpose of proving to myself that I don't have, and never had, any talent or follow-through), I came across the impetus for that goal--a critique from my senior workshop teacher in my journal folder on my computer with his suggestion at the end that I should send that story to a journal. I don't believe in signs, but I could sure use that as a catalyst to do myself a favor and finally send the thing. It would feel satisfying just to cast out a line.

MIFGAE: Post two

2011-05-20T14:59:00.004-05:00

In food news:

A recent favorite has come into the rotation. I call it "greek chicken salad with cannelini beans." Basically, I roast chicken breast (bone in, skin on) in the oven and cut it up over either spinach or spring mix. I add feta, tomatoes, cucumber, kalamata olives, cannelini beans, and sometimes basil. I top with my recent favorite salad dressing: lemon juice and olive oil with salt and pepper.

I've been kind of off-the-wagon lately with my eating. Or at least dangling my legs off the side of the wagon and scuffing my shoes on the pavement every few hours. For the first time (maybe ever), I'm doing a weird oscillation between a healthy food/exercise routine and a junkfest. This week, for instance, I cooked a healthy dinner four times and I went for two bouts of running: one four mile walk/run and one two mile run run.

But it's Friday afternoon, and I want to eat JUNK. I'm not planning on caving, but let's just say I've got Junior Nachos on my mind (they are not in any way Junior). That damn Zippy's queso. Today has been okay so far, portion-wise, but not completely nutrient-rich. I had my usual coffee and egg on toast with Ski Queen. Then instead of the lunch I packed, I saw from my classroom window that one of the math teachers was hosting a barbeque out behind the gym. Of course I had to go check that out. He let me have a bratwurst on a hotdog bun. It was nice: I got to chill in a lawn chair and shoot the shit with him, another math teacher, and a coach. Then I had to go back to second hour. While sixth hour took their final, I ate a banana. During seventh hour, a kid brought me an Oreo ball.

Last night was junkfest. I ate crap again at yet another celebratory eating extravaganza (I sense a pattern). We had an OMC "meeting" at Parrain's. Over the course of about three hours I had a margarita and a beer, a few chargrilled oysters, a few boudin balls, a few pieces of fried alligator, a cup of tomato and crab bisque (with a bigass white breadstick), and half a fried oyster Caesar salad (but all of the oysters, of course). I told myself I wasn't going to do that. It's not the worst series of things I've ever eaten, but it bugs me that I consciously chose to eat or order all of it even though I didn't want to. Well, I guess a part of me didn't want to and another part of me said screw it, you want to eat it, so eat it. Then there's that stupid denial dance where I order soup and salad as a way to tell myself I can eat as much as I want of it because it's healthy (heavy whipping cream, seafood, white bread, fried shit, Caesar dressing). And some lame whitish lettuce. At least I'd gone for a run before all that mess.

I'm not suggesting that I should never eat good ole Cajun crap food. I think if I could do last night over again, I'd order less food and a different main course. With me, the whole issue with going out to eat is that it's hard for me to be okay with having less than I think I want. I think I'm missing out on something, I guess. But I just end up with a stomachache when I order and eat the food that I think will maximize my enjoyment.

I guess at home I'm more likely to eat for the purpose of nourishment, and in a restaurant, I'm eating for entertainment.

Speaking of margaritas, I made a pretty decent almost-all-natural frozen one Tuesday. (This recipe counts as a MIFGAE because it makes me feel good). Here's what I did:

juice of two limes (and a few bits of lime zest)
two shots of clear tequila (I used Sauza Hornitos this time)
one shot of triple sec
crushed ice
one teaspoon of simple syrup (though really I think I just made watery sugar because I put one tsp. turbinado sugar and 1 tsp. of water together in the microwave)

Blend with a hand blender (what are they called? A soup wand?). It made very smooth ice. Mm. I think I'll try this one out again tonight.

MIFGAE: Post One

2011-05-15T10:57:00.003-05:00

I got the idea, while eating the other night, to write about Meals I Feel Good About Eating. I'm in an indulgent phase right now where "celebratory eating" opportunities keep coming up (and I keep taking them). I've continued to exercise about every other day, and I cook most days, but oh, the weekends.

Anyway, I'd like to keep shifting my focus back to the good stuff, the way you yank a dog's leash to get them to face the road. There are few things as satisfying as a meal that 1) tastes great and hits a variety of flavors and textures, and 2) doesn't make you nauseated when you're done. These types of meals also affect the rate at which I eat them: I tend not to inhale them the way I do, say, nachos (which I ate Friday. And I ate chips and queso at Superior Grill last night. Days this weekend that I did not consume margaritas and Mexican junk food: zero). I've been cooking on a regular bases for years now, and when I find a good recipe or make something up that hits both criteria, Leif will catalog it on http://theleif.org/recipes/. (You can't stop the man from storing data.) These meals make me want to slow down and respect the ingredients since they are the types of food that "give back" nutrition to me.

This first one is the only meal to make it into the weekly rotation on a permanent basis. It is the pop song that has been in the top ten for months now. I call it "Tofu and Broccoli," and Tuesdays became known as Tofu Tuesdays because this is the meal I feel like eating after ballet class. The thing about Tuesdays is that they're tiring: it's the only day besides Friday that I don't have the 12-1:25 planning period, so I teach from 8:10 to 2:25 with a 30 minute lunch/pee break. It's also the only day I like to go to ballet because Miss Susan, my favorite teacher, only teaches then. I leave the house around 5:30 pm to drive out to the studio, and I don't get home until around 7:45 or 8. So it's a long day, and I come home sweaty, sore, thirsty, and hungry for something that isn't greasy.

The idea for "Tofu and Broccoli" was inspired by cravings for my favorite meal at PF Chang, "Ma Po Tofu," which is basically a spicy pile of steamed broccoli and fried silken tofu over brown rice. I know it sounds plain, but something about it is totally delicious.

So I'd been cooking some pan-Asian recipes out of Cooking Light, and most of them call for green onions, soy sauce, minced ginger, toasted sesame oil, and sriracha/chili garlic paste. I applied this to some tofu and broccoli, and it didn't taste like PF Chang, but it came out good.

Here's what I do:

Cook some brown rice. We buy brown jasmine, which to me, tastes good with no butter or salt. It takes 45 minutes.
Cut extra firm silken tofu into cubes (I use two packs of Mori-Nu these days). I've always been told that you have to drain or press tofu, and in the past, all I've ended up with was a wet Encyclopedia Britannica, a wad of paper towels, and tofu that is still wet but now crumbled. I cut that step and do the Cooking Light method: arrange sopping wet cubes of tofu on a greased cookie sheet and broil the shit out of them for about 10 minutes, flip them, and repeat.
Meanwhile, chop green onions and fresh broccoli (I buy about three "crowns." It looks like a shitload, but don't worry: it shrinks). Combine in a wok or large pan with some canola oil. Minced garlic tastes good in there, too, but it's fine without it.
The fun part: add a tablespoon of minced ginger from a jar (or fresh), a generous splash of soy sauce, some toasted sesame oil, and a big squirt of sriracha. Mix it around and let it sit until the broccoli is pokeable. Sometimes I add a splash of white wine vinegar, but it's fine without.
When tofu is done, dump the cubes over the broccoli and stir. Serve it over the rice.

I like it with a dry white boxed wine.

Sprang Break

2011-04-28T10:00:00.005-05:00

I went on a shopping trip with my mom and sister that lasted almost two days. It was good to spend time with them, but a lot of it was me trying on every pair of pants in the whole store and grunting in frustration. I also noticed that in all those in-between moments spent waiting in the checkout line, walking to the car, driving to the next store, we were venting our self-loathing mental noise about needing to lose x pounds, feeling like our bodies are not the right shape for this or that, or in my mom's case, feeling too old to wear this or that. Basically we spent a lot of energy thinking and talking about our perceptions of our bodies and the way we categorize ourselves and impose rules accordingly. For instance, mom "can't" wear any shirt fitted to her waist, and I "can't" wear short shorts or skirts. Or most pants. And we weren't talking about this in an analytical way, either. These are things we believe about ourselves without question. At the end of the day, we all felt not-good-enough and what we perceive to be our physical flaws were on our minds. But at least we went to a yoga class together on Monday. That seemed to help clear a lot of the mental noise. By the end of Tuesday, I ended up finding pants, so the good news is that I don't need to go shopping again for a while.

***

I never knew that carpe diem was part of a longer phrase: Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the Day, putting as little trust as possible in the future." I was reading this just now.

I often mention to my students, when they're freaking out about being successful, that the future doesn't actually exist. All they hear about from adults is that they needs to be thinking about their futures and "one day when you're in college, you're going to need to know this." I'm guilty of telling them this, too, because I try set my class on a college preparatory track. It always seems like a good, scary motivation, too: if you don't learn this right this second, you'll never be ready for college! You're gonna FAIL. I'll do anything to get their attention.

Though I truly believe that there is no future and that living with a specific one in mind is often crippling (such as imagining, when you're a kid, that you'll get married in a big white dress and that's what being an adult is), I'm guilty of having tons of anxiety about the idea of even the most immediate future. Lately I've been letting my research paper workload get to me. I've been slowly and steadily working through it: I have 50 papers left out of 160. I've been working on them for over a month. But I let the anxiety of what if I don't finish get to me to the point where I do the old song and dance of procrastinating for days, then doing a few, then feeling like it's not enough, then procrastinating some more because it makes me uncomfortable to face how many there are.

I thought yesterday: what if I just quit doing that? I went to yoga class twice this week, and I haven't been in at least six months. Maybe a year. Besides the fact that it makes my ass really sore, I now see what a mental impact yoga has on me. Yesterday in class, I was working on don't think; just do. I was thinking about what "spirituality" really means, and I think that's a big part of it. I don't believe in "the supernatural," like god or ghosts or astrology or fortune telling or ESP. But I believe that there is a mental experience of being, a physical experience of being, and then something else. There are so many parts of our bodies besides our conscious thinking patterns--there are ways to be aware of being alive or acting on sensory input that are not purely mental thought processes, I'd argue. Such as "feeling" that something is working out or not. Something closer to intuition, I guess.

In those Myers Briggs tests, I always score as a "thinker" instead of a "feeler" and a "sensor" instead of "one who intuits." People I know tend to make the comment that I am an extremely concrete interpreter as opposed to someone who thinks in abstract concepts. Sometimes this is a good thing--I'm pretty decent at looking at an emotional "problem" and coming up with concrete solutions. Or when I write a story, my style is plain and straightforward. The bad part is that I tend to think my way out of doing uncomfortable things. I can rationalize or just plain excuse myself from life. A small example is that in yoga, when we are about to do a pose, I'll think I can't do that and excuse myself from it instead of blindly going for it and finding out whether I can do it or not. Or I can only hold it for x seconds instead of holding it for however long she says to and noticing the degree of discomfort my body feels instead of avoiding it. If I try to just do it without thinking, I end up pushing much further. Running is a similar experience. Now that I consciously know that I can run two miles without stopping, I can use my concrete thinking to hold myself to that. Before, when I was working up to that, I had no idea how far I could go, and on the days that I would just run without thinking too hard about it, I was able to hit a kind of autopilot flow that enabled me to sustain the run. It's been a while since I've employed that state of mind, because I haven't tried to push myself past two miles.

I've pleased to say that according to the little exercise log I keep in google calendar, in the past 10 days I've run 5 times, walked once, and gone to two yoga classes.

I ended up contacting my old writing teacher and she hooked me up with this girl who does a semi-monthly "literary salon" at her house. She used to work at Honeymoon Bungalow. I contacted her and facebook friended her, and she was really sweet. So I'm going to that on May 28th. I'm going to use that date to throw some writing together. The other part of the plan is to get to meet some more people who want to nerd out about writing with me. I feel rusty, but better already about getting back into the groove of semi-regular writing.

Bloated: A Weekend Food Journal

2011-04-19T18:32:00.004-05:00

The difference between the weeks that I feel really good and the weeks that I feel like a dumpy teenager: going out to eat versus cooking at home. Not to toot my own horn too loudly, but I've gotten pretty proficient here lately at cooking healthy, fulfilling, well-portioned meals (I switched to using one of our short white bowls instead of one of our massive black plates for dinner).

I'm not about to complain, but I had an indulgent birthday weekend. I think the train started gathering steam Thursday night when I returned from a half-ass dance rehearsal (I had eaten a peanut noodle dish beforehand) and chowed down on gnocchi and wine. It wasn't an unhealthy dish, but it was one of those nights where I kicking back with Leif and I just didn't want to stop eating or drinking. For months now I've felt most conscious of my food choices and more able to stop eating--to let the meal go and let it be over. I've been slowly changing my portion habits for a very long time. But lately I've felt myself slipping back toward unconscious eating (at dinnertime, mostly). I guess my eating routine (portion habits in particular) was shaken up by that vacation over Mardi Gras. Occasions for celebratory food and drink keep popping up.

Friday, we went out to eat with Micaela and Dave, and I started out okay. I'd bought a brownie off a student earlier that day (yes, he was actually selling them to raise money for something). For dinner, I had some antipasto, a shrimp remoulade salad, a top shelf margarita, and an amber beer. Then we went to a fundraiser event for a radio station afterward and I had a free Budweiser. Because of the brownie I'd had earlier in the day, I gave in to buying some vegan cookies they were selling. (I don't normally buy sweets, but once I taste them, I want them again later the same day.) This sounds harmless enough, but the part that I find unhealthy is that I was extremely full from dinner. I didn't even really want another beer, and my body sure didn't, but it was there, so I had it.

We went to my cousin's wedding Saturday morning, and of course we ate wedding food (White Oak plantation: a bunch of delicious brown fried shit with white cream sauce, cupcakes, and candy). It was a dry wedding, though, so I didn't drink any calories.

But boy did I make up for it that night at a craft-brew pub crawl with mah buddies. I must have had around five beers by the end of the night, and I ate shrimp with fried green tomatoes at Chelsea's, a couple of chips with queso at Zippy's, and a chargrilled oyster or two at Parrain's. Another night of being disgustingly full. My stomach was wrecked the next day from all the beer.

Sunday night I cooked salmon with rice, leeks, and salad, so that was good. And I think I only had half a glass of white wine with it.

Monday was my bee day, so we went out to eat with Ben and Ang. We rode bikes to Pinetta's. I had a beer and a homemade white roll with a bunch of butter and part of Ben's polenta appetizer. Then I had a salad. They have the best eggplant Parmesan I've ever eaten, so of course I ordered that with a glass of pinot. The portion was huge and I ate way past the point of fullness because it tasted so good.

Then OMC was having a fundraiser at Byronz the next night, so of course I had to go eat there. I was planning on getting a salad, but everyone else was getting burgers and that sounded really good, so I got one. With sweet potato fries. And I ate the entire thing. And all the fries (granted, they started serving fewer fries). I don't know if it was because I rarely eat beef these days, but I felt truly ill. When I woke up the next morning, I was still so full that I drank coffee and just stared at my toast. (I never skip breakfast--the last time I skipped was before my surgery in 2004, probably.) I went to the bathroom like three times before I even left for school. I ate my yogurt during club meetings and my stomach felt off all day long.

Then on Thursday (my last day of school before Spring Break), Leif and I went to a Green Drinks presentation about recycling followed by a documentary at the Manship (called Bag It, which was actually really good). I had a rum and coke followed by an Abita Strawberry. (The rum and coke was nasty! They were out of Myer's, so she put spiced rum, and then I saw her put a splash of Rose's Lime corn syrup! What is the point of that shit?!) After the film, we were discussing whether to go upstairs and eat sushi or go home and cook something. We decided to have sushi mostly because it sounded good and we wanted to go on the roof, but in retrospect we should have gone home because we were tired and it would have saved a lot of money. So I went out to eat yet again. I did okay with ordering, though. I'd already had two drinks earlier so I just had water, about one and a half rolls, and half a seaweed salad. I wanted dessert, but I didn't order it. It's probably because I'd had a coke earlier and it made me want more sweets.

Last night Stosh came over to visit, so we made Swiss chard pizza with a little bacon and ricotta cheese (with the chard out of Leif's garden). Leif makes a really good cornmeal crust, too. So I had a beer and then a glass of wine with pizza. But I had too much pizza. Two pieces would have been the right portion for me. I had run that morning and we had gone to the zoo all afternoon and I was starving. I think I had four pieces. Sheesh, I hope it wasn't five. I didn't feel sick or anything afterward, but I always feel like I can eat pizza forever.

I ran my two mile shuffle on Tuesday and Friday this week. I feel great about that, at least. I felt strong yesterday.

I don't own a scale, but I'm going to Laffy today and I'm going to get on the one at my parents' to see what the damage is. I have a few ideas on how to counteract these recent dinner binges:

add some yoga practice or ballet on the days I don't run
add a third running session to the week (although it's starting to get uncomfortably hot outside)
go two weeks without going out to eat
severely limit my alcohol intake on weeknights (or go without) and have fewer on weekends
start to shift my mindset back to "eating little" instead of "eating big" by eating just enough to feel nourished, satisfied, and not bloated and gassy.

I'll see how it goes. I can say, with confidence, that I actually do not want to keep eating giant dinners. If I can stay conscious of that, even in the face of sensory pleasure, I should be able to get back to food habits I feel good about.

Post Performance

2011-04-11T17:48:00.004-05:00

This weekend was a whole lotta dance, makeup, love, and free Patron Silver. I'm ready for summer already.

I said it already, but I really love the ladies I have the privilege of dancing with. Maybe I just get surprised by really open and warm displays of affection because I don't tend to initiate them (except with Leif), but I love how many of them just come up and hug on me, or crack me up, or swat my butt. I guess it's like being on a football team--we spend so many hours working together as a physical unit. Except instead of smashing into each other (which only happens sometimes), we are helping each other pin bra straps under costumes, finding bandages for each other's feet, sharing lipstick, eyelash glue, hairspray, ponytail holders, and helping each other to feel more secure when we're all feeling exposed, nervous, or not-good-enough. I can't express enough how good it made me feel when one of my friends said "you look lovely" out of the blue when I had just been thinking that I didn't. That's only one small example of some of the kindness and attention I received this weekend.

Of course I'm glad the show is over, and I also don't feel totally satisfied with my performance. I know it sounds like I'm being a big Woody Allen, and I haven't seen the video, but I felt that I couldn't quite get to a point where I completely let go and performed to capacity. I can't explain why except to say that I know (or think I know) what performing that way feels like, and I haven't felt that since my jazz days. I explained my nagging feeling to Leif and my parents, and they actually didn't sugar coat their responses (well, Leif couldn't sugar-coat his way out of a paper bag, but I was surprised that my parents shot me straight). Leif said I wasn't really dancing like it was my last or only opportunity, which is to say that I wasn't performing with my face that much and that maybe I could've danced harder. My mom said my movement seemed a little conservative.

My dance goal has come into sharper focus: I want to reach a level of dancing where I feel like I've totally exposed myself. I'd like to practice taking more risks--I thought I was giving my performance everything I could, but I think I'm unconscious about the level of self-protection I employ (in dance and in life). I do a lot to avoid embarrassment and exposure.

I know this is true of me as a teacher. I reveal so little about my personal life that I once told an anecdote that started with "we were watching a movie the other day" and the kids started tittering wait, who's "we"? I said "my pseudo husband" which only confused them further. A few of the classes had directly asked me why I was going to be absent over Mardi Gras week and who I'd be going skiing with, so they know. "Boyfriend" isn't an accurate term at this point and "partner" only means gay around here, and I always feel weird letting slip that I live with him but we aren't married (even though some of my students aren't conservative and actually say things like "That's assuming I ever want to get married" and a handful of them wrote persuasive essays on the legalization of gay marriage). Anyway, that's a long way to say that I don't volunteer information unless directly accosted. I think it's a holdover from something Dr. Guillory said about being professional and focusing on the kids, or maybe it's because I don't want to be one of those teachers who is so easily flattered that the kids are able to manipulate her by asking her to tell stories about herself to procrastinate doing work. Mostly, it's because I'm afraid of being vulnerable, judged, or embarrassed by whatever some volatile kid lets fly out of his/her mouth.

I haven't thought much about how that defensiveness shows up in my dance. I've gotten the note that I need to quit looking down and open up my chest more. I've gotten the note that I'm not performing with my face. I've gotten the note that I could be sharper, bigger, kick and jump higher. There's a big subconscious part of me that is scared to look foolish or ugly, or to lose my balance, or to get a step wrong. It's almost like I troubleshoot instead of dance sometimes--I try to line myself up just right and measure up to all of the other good dancers around me. I feel frustrated with my body pretty often, as if it won't quite to what I want to make it do. I go about it in a controlling way instead of a surrendering way. My favorite dancers look like they're surrendering.

Okay, well, maybe what I can't do is go about this in a goal-oriented achiever sort of way, because that's exactly my issue. Maybe I will just start experimenting with opening up my dance style a bit during class. Taking more risks. I want to take some more classes. Yoga would surely help with my mindset, not to mention my balance and flexibility.

***

In other news, I'm still having anxiety about my writing hiatus/block. I saw this cartoon today and it made me want to laugh and throw up at the same time. After finishing up my annual unit on Fahrenheit 451, I feel like society is becoming more and more addicted to virtual entertainment and less and less connected to sensory, creative, productive, or natural experiences. I feel like I am watching internet TV instead of creating art. Today especially, I am avoiding that stack of research papers like the plague and feeling bad about myself because of it. I am also feeling sad that the energy that it takes to grade papers and plan lessons makes me too tired to read and write interesting things, and I don't know how to work around it.

A strange coincidence did happen recently. I picked up a copy of the Shambhala Sun magazine a Whole Foods because Pema Chodron was on the cover and I've been meaning to read something of hers ever since I saw her in O magazine. She seems like a badass female monk, but also a good writer. I never, ever make impulse buys at the grocery checkout because the set up of it feels like a trap or a scam, but I was in a mood and it looked like good reading, so I got it. It's been sitting around for months in my dining room--I read the Thich Nhat Han article and the Pema Chodron and left it open on the table. I was looking for something to read during breakfast the other morning, and the article I came across was written by Ronlyn, my first creative writing workshop teacher in college, who is also a LHS graduate. I went to her website to read about what she'd been up to and started reading a piece she wrote that was advising novice writers about how to get started, get published, find writing groups, etc. Reading it gave me a familiar overwhelmed feeling that makes me want to run in the other direction or just plain quit. A sense of dread and worry. I thought about contacting her as a kind of catalyst to asking about writing circles in BR and tapping back into that world, but of course I put it off. Then I just happened to see that she had commented on Ann's facebook page, so I took that opportunity to friend her and send her a message about how I coincidentally came across her piece and really enjoyed it. She responded with a really sweet message about how she doesn't buy magazines either but checked out that one and ended up sending them a piece she wrote. They responded in two days about publishing her! How can it be that easy? Maybe they knew she was the writer of a popular novel.

I didn't ask her about writing circles. Maybe I will later.

If I believed that the universe sends special messages to individuals, I'd say that it was telling me to reconnect with the fiction world again. If there even is one in BR. I still have no ideas for stories. But I did purchase one of Margaret Atwood's recent novels on my Kindle.

In other other news, surprise! I'm not going to my ten-year high school reunion! Ang sent me a link about it and told me I was on the MIA list. I poked around on the site and felt a wave of something--claustrophobia, maybe, or revulsion. Suffice it to say that I didn't want to talk to The Hormone Table (or the Future Republicans of America that fucked them) in 2001, and I sure as hell don't want to talk to them now.

But I am having a family reunion with my parents, sibs, and their significant others soon. Haven't seen everybody all together in what feels like months, and we are going to have drinks in the pool and decorate eggs. Spring break is just around the corner, y'all. It cannot come soon enough.

Not Until Now

2011-04-09T14:29:00.003-05:00

We had our first performance of the show last night. It's a strange one because the concept is that we have thirty-two "encounters" with pedestrians on stage. Last night was the first time we performed with all of the extras. One of the dances, for instance, involves me dancing and watching a woman making pottery. Live. While another woman stands on a bench singing an opera song and other dancers do a few movement phrases. We didn't practice and the potter's wheel didn't really get going until the opera singer was done, so the lights stayed on and I kept dancing around the wheel until she finished her vase (it took about a minute or maybe thirty seconds) until the blackout. It was a really weird dance experience and I hope it didn't look terribly awkward. I guess it was fun in a spontaneous kind of way.

The other dances went pretty well. I had eaten a ginseng pill and some veggies and ricotta over quinoa before warm-up, so I was feeling pretty good even though I had worked all day (and Fridays are hard because my only planning period is from 7:10 to 8:10 am). I squeezed in a nap which was supposed to be an hour, but I got up after twenty or thirty minutes because I was feeling jumpy about the show. It's been a hard week. I've been teaching until 2:25, getting home around 3:00, and going to the theater from 6:00-10:00 every night. Thursday night was more like 5:30 to 11:00. It always makes me ask myself why I'm trying to be in a company and teach full time. I don't feel that way today, though. Today I feel like I wouldn't have it any other way, except for the fact that I will have to catch up on grading research papers and lesson planning. For instance, I just decided to teach Julius Caesar to the regular class, and I've never really read it before.

At the end of the show, the owner of Chelsea's and two other dudes roll out a barbeque pit on stage and serve us food. I took a shot of Patron on stage and ate a white roll after bow. It was without a doubt the weirdest show I've ever done, and the most fun. Also, I asked one of the dancers if I had improved on the duet that she critiqued, and she said that I looked great and that I was very released. Maybe she was just being nice because I put her on the spot and it's about that time when we all say "great show, everybody's perfect" just because there are no rehearsals left. But I'll take the compliment in case she really meant it. I hope it's true.

I'm still fighting feelings of inadequacy--of looking at other dancers and wishing my body could do what theirs do and wondering if I still look like I'm hunched over and looking down when I perform (something I've noticed on videos of myself and something G has told me that I need to work on). I'm still noticing when other dancers get complimented after the show and I don't. I'm still watching solos side stage in awe and still yearning to be able to bust out and perform as well as they do. I wonder if I look that light and free when I dance.

But also, I had a lot of fun last night despite my insecurities. Besides the tequila shot, my favorite moment was the retro runway "piece" in which we wear clothing from a local vintage store and take turns being ridiculous on the runway to "You Better Work" by RuPaul. I think it's the first time I've done anything comedic or ham-like on stage, and I had a blast. I did a fast pirouette and my rib-cage popping dance that Reid has dubbed "the song ruin-er." I was wishing Sarah and Jeanne were in the audience.

Another odd thing that happened last night is that one of the company members got engaged. She's in a little piece in which she holds flowers and "makes out" with her boyfriend on a bench. We were in the elevator going up to Tsunami after the show, and when we got to the rooftop terrace, he had just proposed. She looked like she'd been crying. People were taking pictures and we all took turns checking out her ring and hugging her. She's a really cool girl, and we all like her boyfriend, too. Even though I'm not really a fan of rings and fairy tale imagery, I thought it was a nice cap on the evening. There's a lot of love in our company.

I was talking to one of the new dancers on the rooftop. She's a tall, radiant black woman with a theater background that just moved here from D.C. with her husband and toddler. We sat on a rail while she drank a glass of white tequila and smoked a cigarette and discussed how we felt about being in the company. She said that even though it is really disorganized and frustrating sometimes, she's never been in a company that accommodated her schedule so openly and welcomed the fact that she was a mother. I agreed that it was a good fit for my schedule as well, and that we usually get to do the loose style of modern dance that I like the most.

Now that I think about it, show weekends are the times that I really like living in Baton Rouge. When I'm shooting the shit side stage, or sharing a mirror in the dressing room, or drinking on the roof, or walking to or from my car downtown, or warming up before the house opens, or running up to Leif in the lobby, I feel like it's not so bad living here. I feel lucky to be a part of a team that makes art together, even if we do perform for a town that won't buy our tickets because they would rather go to a movie or a football game. Even if we might look unrehearsed or amateurish in some moments. Even though most of my students haven't heard of us and we're the only modern dance company in BR. It's still dance, and I'm doing it again tonight and tomorrow. For that, I am grateful.

Meaty Ogre

2011-04-04T16:01:00.001-05:00

I feel irreparably mediocre.

A few weeks ago, my dance director G gave me some feedback about the only section of the one dance in which I am on stage with one other dancer. We have a section that we dance together. The other dancer is tiny, agile, and very stylized. G told me (and I'm paraphrasing here, but it was basically this) that I look good, but I look like I'm "marking" (which means dancing half-ass just to get the movements memorized) because I'm so soft compared to the other dancer, who is more punchy. And she looks better. Thursday night I got the same critique from another dancer who was giving notes. She said she is more released in her upper body and that I basically need to dance more like her.

It's true that I tend to be super sensitive and to think that if I am not perceived to be perfect or at least very competent that I may as well quit whatever I'm doing. But I burst into tears trying to explain to Leif this morning (I have to leave for rehearsal in a few minutes) that I don't know if I can rise to the occasion and that I just feel so horribly mediocre at dance. I don't know why I made it into the company to begin with, because I haven't gotten any feedback from G that would indicate that she likes the way I dance. This is my third year. Maybe I think I'm more talented than I really am.

I know a big part of dance is blending in with other dancers to serve the overall look of a piece. I'm going to leave right now and go to rehearsal to try to do just that. I guess I'm scared to face the possibility that I might stick out--that I might look like the worst one. And it's just that nobody wants to say it to my face.

I guess I thought that this company would value something about my style and my artistry--about who I am as an individual dancer. But I'm not sure what they value about me. Why am I waiting to here the answer to that? Shouldn't I feel it in myself and radiate it or something? Why do I need to hear it from an authority figure or an outside source?

***

Rehearsal was fine except for when I was feeling really frustrated about wanting to dance more. It's not just that I want to be featured--it's that I want to physically move more. To learn more choreography and participate in more dances. I just want more. I guess I want to choreograph, too. But not being able to attend morning rehearsals has a lot to do with that issue. Also, the only week of the whole year that I went out of town was the week that the guest artist came in to set a piece.

I don't feel like bursting into tears anymore. I felt better after one of my friends talked to me about it and reasoned with me. I'm ready to enjoy the dances that I am in and to accept the show for what it is and to enjoy spending time with the other company members, because they are all really fun to be around. It's just hard not to get frustrated with how things are run sometimes. I can't control it. Either I accept it how it is or I quit. Ekhart Tolle says that ideally, a person can choose to leave in varying states of acceptance, enjoyment, or enthusiasm and to move always between the three. I could look at it as an ordeal to endure and accept it, or I could look at it as a process to mildly enjoy, or I could find moments in performance to feel energetic enthusiasm for the opportunity to do even one movement on a stage.

one more for the road

2011-03-15T21:28:00.000-05:00

Good habits.

the good stuff

2011-03-15T16:35:00.003-05:00

I never mentioned it, but I performed at the end of January. It went well--even the tap dance. Both sets of grandparents were able to come to the Sunday matinee. Most of the show involved upbeat classics. Lots of Louie Armstrong, Frank Sinatra, and Dean Martin. My family said I looked like I was in good shape, and my grandparents probably hadn't seen me perform since high school, so I felt almost like a kid again, and they were all happy to see that I'm still dancing. It made me feel seasoned, like my dance "career" or whatever is in its twilight stages. And at least one set of my grandparents are in their twilight stage and that particular performance had a certain sentiment that made my throat swell in the middle of dancing a few times. It was a good day and a fun show.

Let's see, what else is good? I read The Hunger Games series, a cheesy post-apocalyptic teen epic, on our new Kindle, and enjoyed reading again for the first time since this summer. It makes me feel a little sheepish to admit that, but it's true--I go through these long stretches with no pleasure reading and miss the hell out of it. Now I'm reading Anthropology of an American Girl and I pretty much hate it, but I feel mildly nosy about what happens with the relationships. The main character is so fucking awful--all she does is waif around and passively attract men in the first person (because apparently she's a self-proclaimed stunning enigma with hot legs) and then muse about EVERYTHING from a pair of pants to the meaning of love.

But the point is that I'm devoting some time to reading again (outside of the literature I teach at school). And skiing--Leif and I just did a lot of that in Oregon last week. I love skiing a lot. I feel like a badass when I have a really good run. I feel like I can do anything. I shout and woop when I hit a good series of hills. I also tasted a lot of very fine beers (to the point that if I had more more sampler, I might have exploded). I am not drinking any alcohol this week to de-bloat.

Portland made me think a lot. I figured it would happen. It was my first time really seeing it because last time I was there, I pretty much stayed at Reed College. I know it's a cliche hip town--it's "The Dream of the '90s" and all that, and everybody wants to live there. Still, the whole time I was there, I got the feeling that I would really actually like living there. I love the downtown atmosphere, I love the neighborhoods and the way they're planned, I liked seeing all the laid back people and the grungy clothing and the women that wear comfort shoes (but boy there sure are a lot of homeless and mentally disturbed people downtown), I love the water, I love the proximity to the ski resorts, I loved the bookstore and the restaurants (and so many Asian restaurants! Good god!) and the coffee shops and the emphases on wellness, literature, aesthetics, and humor that seem to reside there. Why don't I live there already? Am I actually going to move there? I could write a much longer post about this, but I don't have time right now.

Basically, going on vacation, especially to such a great city, always makes me think about the ways in which I've played it safe in my life. It's probably perfectly obvious to the people who already know me, but I've just begun to work through exactly why and brainstorm what to do about it. My parents have always taught me to be thankful for what I have, to always recognize that somebody has it better than me and somebody has it worse, to make "smart choices" and "wise decisions" (i.e., to be pragmatic), and to work hard for the things I want instead of brooding about what I don't like and what I don't have. I have a tendency to hear their voices and think that if I'm complaining, I'm just being negative or looking to nit pick or losing perspective.

These thoughts stem mostly from the fact that Leif started reading part of his book to me last night, I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was: How to Discover What You Really Want and How to Get It. It's written by two Barbaras. It's pretty awesome but pretty uncomfortable because it hits so close to home. It's making me think about what I grew up wanting for myself and my life and what parts of those expectations come from parents, coaches, teachers, and friends. I hope to write more on this later. There are exercises in the book. I want to do a mood board at some point (Chelsea would get a kick out of that).

Another good thing: I've been going to ballet once a week, completely unrelated to company classes. This time I'm even older and less worried about being a perfect bun-head, so that's been good. Mostly I love the teacher, and she gives a good class every time, so I focus on that and getting a workout. I need to get dressed and leave for that right now.

One last anecdote: a mystery is afoot! When I showed up yesterday after having taken off three days of school, everything in my classroom seemed to be in working order and the sub was apparently not useless, but there were two sticky notes, connected, on my desk. Scrawled in sharpie were the words "Ms. W_ likes black guys." I ignored it and threw it in the trash. I can't figure out what compelled a kid to write that. I asked Mr. D, the guy who "floats" in my room to teach Math first hour, if it might have been one of his kids, and he said he has found that taped to the whiteboard and so he put it on my desk for me to figure out. I'm not sure he knew I had a sub. Today after seventh hour, I asked one of my girls if she knew who wrote it, and she says she didn't see who (she didn't want to rat anyone out) but she knows it was posted during seventh hour. I can recognize pretty much anyone's handwriting, but it looked like it was intentionally messy, and I threw it away anyway, so I can't really check again. I have no idea what is up with this. It's not worth a witch hunt, and it's not exactly sexual harassment (or racism, necessarily, because the one black guy in seventh hour might have written it). I mean you should see some of the immature nerds I have in there. But it was a real WTF moment on a Monday morning.

Never Been Posted: Part Two

2011-02-06T12:14:00.004-06:00

This one's from February 6th.

I've been feeling like I need to post an update lately. I haven't been feeling like trying to compose anything interesting lately, so I considered doing a bullet point heres-whats-going-on-with-me-lately list. But what would be the point of that? To catch up whoever reads this with my latest goings-on? This got me thinking about the point of this blog. Lately I feel it's just been a combination of a type of litmus reading of my current state of mind (and maybe not even a wholly accurate one, since I'm self conscious about bitching and whining too much) and a laundry list of my hopes and dreams. Since charting my progress in my triathlon training, it's feeling redundant. But I guess if "redundant" (or maybe "routine") is what's accurate about my life right now, and if I mean this to be a journal, then that's what it is. Maybe writing anything at all is good practice. At the very least, my good buddies residing in Europe might enjoy a bit of a catch-up. Even if it's lazy and uncreative of me, I will go on with the bulleted list:

Let's start with the woes and beefs and end with the triumphs and pleasantries:

I realized the other day that I haven't written fiction in two years. I workshopped the one short story I wrote since graduating college at two different summer writing programs and it's still not in any state that I'm satisfied with. Really, I only took it to the second workshop because I had to have something in order to attend the class. I had an incredible, joyful, learning-filled experience there, but I didn't come out with anything worth publishing. I've temporarily given up on writing. For five years, I've been planning on sending one of my college stories to a journal in Florida and I've never done it. I had even started writing a cover letter at one point. I keep forgetting about it, remembering every one in a while, and then putting it off. I haven't had a real idea for a story in I don't know how long, and I haven't read a short story by someone else in probably two years. I was worried, years ago, that becoming a teacher would do this to me--derail me from my "true passions" to where I quit pursuing them altogether. It isn't true that I don't have time to write, though, and I also like being a teacher. It also isn't true that I believe I'm not good enough to pursue writing. I really just feel like I have no ideas right now and I haven't bothered to try to tap into the world of writing (which, to me, involves reading short stories and thinking about writing and practicing). I briefly thought, the other day, that maybe I could try my hand at essay writing (not like in English class, but like an article about a topic I'd been thinking about). But then I didn't do anything about it.

In other woes, I've been having a cold for what feels like months now and it's full blown right now. I didn't go for a run this week because of it. I'm tired of feeling run down. I take vitamins and I've been putting myself to bed earlier than usual and I hope that will help me come out of it. I would blame it on the cold weather, but I'm pretty sure that's an old wives tale.
I've been behind on grading for about a month and a half. At first it was because I assigned an in-class journal/essay thing on the first day back and then spent the rest of the week going to work from 7:10-2:25 and rehearsing at the theater from 4-9:30. Those 163 journals sat untouched, and if I know anything about grading, it's that it has to be done in small portions and you have to work on them frequently. I proceeded to procrastinate that one stack, since the sight of it, sitting there all tall and untouched and paper-clipped, made me feel overwhelmed. Our "snow day" Friday helped me catch up, though. I now only have one assignment left before I'm caught up: 163 persuasive letters.
I haven't played piano in a while. I've forgotten Moonlight Sonata for the fourth time.
I haven't been reading as much as I'd like to be. I watch shows instead, and I spend too much time on my laptop.

This one ends here. I must have exhausted myself before I got to the good stuff.

Never Been Posted: Part One

2011-01-05T09:04:00.004-06:00

This is from January 5th. I never posted it. Can't remember why--probably because I didn't think it was good enough or finished. Like I draft my posts or something. Who am I kidding?

It is disjointed, and there are some sentence fragments that I meant to go back and develop, but I'm leaving it.

Because all of my usual shows are on hiatus for the holidays (and what are the holidays without kicking back to watch a bunch of shit?), I went looking on Netflix instant to find something to watch. I came across this reality show called Ruby about a woman in Savannah who weighs 500 pounds and decides to let people film her weight loss journey. It started out slowly, as it's kind of one of those "day-in-the-life" shows like Little People, Big World. Plus, all the characters are really Southern and Christian, and I can only watch so much of that. But soon enough, I was completely riveted when the show revealed that Ruby doesn't remember her childhood under the age of thirteen, and it started focusing more heavily on her therapy sessions with psychologists. And the final episode features Ruby and a group of her friends (who also struggle with food addiction) on a six-day intensive retreat with a twelve-step program guru. I'm not necessarily a fan of all aspects of the twelve step program, but it was completely mesmerizing to watch the women start to get honest with themselves and start to pinpoint the psychological aspects of their addictions--specific childhood traumas and toxic relationships. Also, Ruby is so likable and easy to relate to.

But anyway, there was a part of the show when Ruby had scaled back her eating to such a point that she was no longer getting the numbing distractions that she usually gets from snacking. She started having night terrors. There was a kind of psychological opening that happened, and feelings and glimpses of memories started to creep in a bit.

It's kind of a hyperbolic comparison, but I couldn't help but think about how I use food, particularly snacks and alcohol, to avoid anxious thought patterns. I have anxiety in the evenings, most of the time. I'm still trying to figure out why. I've always been scared to go to bed--or at least nervous and uncomfortable about bedtime.

From watching the show, I learned:
- people with food addictions don't eat when they feel emotions; they eat to avoid feeling emotions. As a distraction from those emotions, or to keep them at bay.

- When you cease feeding your addiction, you create space and time for thoughts and emotions. There's an opening for something else--you could fill it with another addiction or with something that will challenge your spiritual growth. (I hesitate to use the word "spiritual" because it makes me think "supernatural," but I want to use it to mean a combination of psychological, physical, and emotional. The mysterious whole being, made up of mind, rest of body, and sensory antennae.)

- Working out stress and fear in dreams. (I don't remember what this was supposed to mean.)

- Being unable to see oneself in the mirror.

- I've never been what society would call fat. The only reason I've ever noticed that I'm not feeling ideally healthy is because I gained a bunch of weight at the end of high school and at the beginning of college compared to being the smallest kid in my class my whole life. And oh yeah, the dance world--those who have grown up in the dance world understand its intensity. It's a mix between athletic training and striving for artistic/aesthetic perfection. That "perfection" is whatever image your teacher/choreographer has in mind. I love dance in spite of this, but it does create a mindset that is always looking to shape the exterior body by initiating from somewhere outside it--train harder, get your leg up, make this shape with your lower spine, make this angle with your arms. As a kid and a teen, you don't really figure out that you have to initiate changes from within.

- I did have a fitness evaluation a couple of years ago that pointed out that I had too high of a body fat percentage and I basically flunked the cardio test. However, immediate health risks wasn't ever the reason I was wanting to lose some weight and get more fit--I want to feel what optimum wellness feels like. I didn't look very fat (although I am not capable of truly seeing myself in the mirror) but I felt sluggish and foggy. I have the tendency, still, to live almost like an invalid, watching TV all day long, get up only to get something to eat. I don't do this all the time anymore, but I fall into the pattern on long breaks from work. It's the main reason I don't read and write--I seek to comfort myself instead of challenging myself, and it's because I'm scared of being uncomfortable, to some extent. I guess I'm reluctant to do activities that (so acutely) remind me of my flaws. And my artistic and academic flaws! The two areas in which I feel almost desperate to be perfect. I'm uncomfortable at dance rehearsal for the same reason. I think I'm terrified that there will be a moment in which it will suddenly become clear that "she's just not cut out for this. She'll never be that great at it."

- Being truly mystified by the connection between my relationship to food/alcohol and my relationship to life. I actually have thought--a couple of times in the past few days--that I might have a tapeworm. I don't feel like I've been browbeating myself into weight loss, but somehow, it happened. I'm not trying to be dramatic about the amount of weight, because people who have long and intense weight loss journeys--well, that is just a completely different level of dedication that I don't want to minimize. But at the same time, emotional eating is emotional eating--avoidance and denial and body dysmorphia is all the same at its core. I don't feel like I've "figured it out" (hence the tapeworm thought). I kind of have no idea why I'm shedding inches now as opposed to last year and the year before that (I've been trying to figure out how to get to my natural, healthy weight and fitness level for years).

- I'm feeling a high level of anxiety today. I feel overwhelmed, nervous, self-doubting, fearful. Part of it is because I have a fear that I will not have enough time to get myself ready for back-to-school. I'm scared I won't be motivated and focused enough to get it together the way I would like to. I'm also nervous about the upcoming dance performance. This tap duet that we learned at the last minute is very technical, and I'm scared I'm going to embarrass myself by not performing it as well as I'd like to. I'm scared, in all areas, that things will get out of control. I'm worried that I'll procrastinate, run out of time, get tired, and let things get out of control.
I've been falling into this psychological habit for years and years. This is my fifth year teaching, and I've been doing a good job this whole time. I know that I will continue to do a good job, so there's no reason to be so afraid. Probably, I hang onto this fear because there's a part of me that thinks that it's the fear that motivates me to do well. That if I didn't work myself up and stress out, that I wouldn't have the innate desire and motivation to get work done. The truth is that the stress that I choose is what makes me want to procrastinate in the first place. I don't want to feel that stressful discomfort, so I avoid my work.

I know what the answer is. The answer is get clean, get dressed, keep house, move body, dip my toes into a little schoolwork, cook a healthy dinner, and read my book at the end of the day. I know that I can do it. I know that sitting on this couch is like steeping myself in my anxiety--it will not really make me feel better.

Year's End: A Christmas Post

2010-12-30T12:15:00.006-06:00

I've been pretty uninspired to write lately. Nonfictional blog posts, that is. If we're talking fiction, I haven't written anything in over a year. I have an occasional anxious pang about it--especially with all this holiday time on my hands. Maybe posting a blog entry will take a bit of the sting out of it.

First off, let me admit to something: I love New Year's and New Year's resolutions. I like that crazy glint everyone gets in their eyes when they talk (and mostly joke) about the diet and exercise regimes they're about to go on and the self-improvement prioritizing and the spiritual to-do lists. I love the feeling of change and renewal in the air, and the idea that eating big family meals followed by chocolate and wine and drinking beer with friends can actually get old. I love that people actually start to admit that they're sick of it and ready to streamline their routines again--that we start to think about health and maybe even start to miss, a little bit, our daily work grinds--that feeling of kicking ass and taking care of business. Really, I love the tacit understanding between people that it's okay to be boring again--it's okay to call it a night and get back to taking care of ourselves, to stay home, to quit making social plans. I am so much better at being boring than being the life of the holiday party.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, because New Year's Eve is tomorrow and I have social plans (!).

Anyway, I love indulging in the holidays as much as I love making New Year's resolutions. This year, we did a few new things: we bought a little tree down the street and walked it home. I discovered the "holiday jazz" station on Pandora (therefore expanding my Christmas favorites beyond the Charlie Brown soundtrack). Traditionally, holiday means long stretches of blank hours that I can fill with socializing, relaxing, sleeping late, reading a new book, drinking, eating, and watching shows on my laptop. Having no routine to speak of, I've been doing things I wouldn't normally do, like cook a new recipe (butternut squash and spinach with whole-wheat gnocchi last night), or walk two miles to the Chimes with Leif to drink an Abita beer sampler (the new select, a vanilla porter, is wonderful). I got to bike downtown with friends to go to the Louisiana history museum. I went shoe shopping with my sister (and actually bought shoes). I downsized from my giant orange purse-sack to a black zippered rectangle (something about a new purse makes me feel like a different person for a while). I painted my nails. I went for runs. I went to see Black Swan with my siblings. We invited people over to drink around our firebox in the backyard. I'm supposed to go eat oysters on Tuesday with some dancer buddies.

It brings to mind the usual question: why don't I squeeze these types of events into my usual schedule more often? Is there a way to do so? Is there more to do in BR than I usually think? (Probably not.) Do I let my job overwhelm me to the point that I get lazy about finding inspiration in my work and the other parts of my life? (Probably so.)

I just get lazy in general. The other day, we heard on the radio that Obama has a dude who brings him a buffet of the latest pop music--I guess to keep the presidential ipod up to date. I told Leif man, I'd love for somebody to do that for me and he said uh, have you heard of the Internet?

The holidays always remind me that all it takes is a couple of empty-scheduled days to nudge me into a state of complete ennui. I'm proud that I've kept up the running like I've decided I was going to do, but if I wasn't going back to my normal routine soon, I'd probably quit doing that. Today, for instance, I've been alternating between reading Kitchen Confidential and watching No Reservations on Netflix. I made myself a pumpkin pancake because Leif made a bunch of the mix the other day (and it's sitting in the fridge and we're out of eggs). I drank my coffee. I got in my yoga clothes in a moment of caffeine-induced inspiration and checked the online schedule of the studio down the street. There are no decent classes or times today. I'm toying with the idea of doing my video at home, but I needed to properly digest breakfast. Now I'm hungry for lunch and I'm thinking about at least having a glass of water and a vitamin before either scraping something together in the kitchen or going to the grocery store. That's been my day so far. I assume I'm gaining weight and losing muscle, and we've got a show in a few weeks.

I don't own a scale, so when I stepped onto the one in my parents' house on Christmas Day, I expected to see some weight gain (I've been back on the chocolate train). Instead, I saw that I'm about ten pounds lighter than I was at this time last year. I've taken another round of pants to the tailor this week to get the waistbands altered. One of my reactions to this information is fear--that it's just some leftover fitness from this summer's mini triathlon and I'll soon be on the road to weight gain again. Another thought that I have is gratitude--maybe there's a slow evolution of balance and self-love happening as a result of things I've read. Maybe it's an immediate result of that Greek-salad-with-chicken kick I was on that coincided with a lot of late-night dance rehearsals (when I have a night rehearsal, I don't eat a big dinner or drink wine or beer). Maybe running--even my little two-mile chug that only happens once or twice a week--is magical. Maybe the new after-school routine of a big mug of black tea with milk and a downsized snack is making a difference, or the vitamins I've been swallowing daily instead of bi-annually. Perhaps it was the day I took saltines and chocolate off the grocery list that started a steady climb to fitness.

Could it be possible that I've slowly shifted into a more satisfied state of mind, and my waistline is merely reflecting it? I still feel starving, most of the time, for more experiences, more artistic expression, more consumables (a new city, a new job, a new degree, a more stimulating environment). I still wonder, especially when I see old friends who've come home to visit from their new big-city residences, if I appear to be the sort of person who resigned herself to a pragmatic life of buying a house in town, working, settling. Too unsure of what my "dreams" are to reach for them. Or too unmotivated to dance harder, write more frequently, work on that new piano piece I've been saying I wanted to learn.

A friend recently asked me if I'd recommend becoming a teacher to someone who didn't necessarily view it as their "calling" but who wanted to earn a salary with an English degree for a few years. I found myself at a bit of a loss for words--at first I said not to do it if it's not something you're seriously interested in because it takes a lot of mental energy and commitment to do it well. And if you don't like working with people, especially young ones, then forget it. But then I qualified that statement, and qualified it some more. "Well, I'm not sure I feel it's my calling...I mean I feel like I'm competent at it and sometimes I'm really into it...I guess I thought I'd only do it for a few years...this is my fifth year...I mean if you know your content and you like working with people and you don't want a desk job, then go for it."

Sometimes I feel like my life is well-oiled and functioning smoothly, and at the same time, I have no idea where I'm headed, or if I'm headed anywhere but here. Here is not bad--here is a good life. I'm satisfied and I'm unsatisfied. Maybe I'll always be procrastinating and waiting for what I imagine to be my true life to start because it's only a projected image. Maybe five years from now I'll be deep in the middle of something lovely and asking myself why I didn't choose it sooner.

Christmas is a time where life seems to be reduced, concentrated, under watch. We're all in close quarters spending lots of time together, eating and drinking like it's our last days on earth, seeing people from the past, taking a long blurry look at each other. Things change, rapid-fire, like the year is aware of its approaching end. One of my friends is suddenly engaged. My estranged cousin's fiancé died of a heart attack on Christmas night, hours after I'd given him an obligatory family hello hug in my Grandma's yard. Mom told me on the phone and we worried together about my cousin, who'd just said she wanted to go back to school, who has a long history of being troubled, lost, and a fragile mess. Later, over beer, priveleged to have life and leisure, Leif and I admitted to being a bit freaked out. He said it was a reminder. He didn't say of what.

It reminds me that we are all unsure. It reminds me that I am lucky to be moving forward into the next year. It reminds me that I have little normal things in life to take care of, like buying groceries, and little weird things, like buying tap shoes for an upcoming performance, and that I can view tasks as chores or privleges or mind-numbing daily grinds or pleasurable experiences.

It reminds me that there's no real way to sum up the way I feel about this year or the next because it's all a blurry string of sensory moments and non-sequitors, passing through instead of culminating toward a climax.

2010-11-28T15:22:00.003-06:00

I have a craggy, treacherous mountain of Bend it Like Beckham essays to grade. After one more essay, I will have completed one class's worth--I'll be one quarter of the way through. Due date? I guess Christmas, although who wants to drag this out further than it has to be drug?

I've got nagging thoughts of wanting better bodily capabilities for dancing--actual leg extension and strength, an un-hunched neck, and a flexible upper back. Trying to figure out how to feel free when I dance instead of stunted and frustrated. Trying to feel vibrant instead of desperate.

More nagging, useless, energy-draining thoughts: all the books on my shelves that I'll probably never read. Wondering when I'll ever decide to reconnect with my literary life--my writing life, especially. At least I'm reading Wolf Hall. Missing Tin House and Portland.

Not looking forward to returning to school tomorrow--this always makes me question whether I'm in the right job. A big part of it is that I don't want to do work--plain and simple. I don't want expectations of me and requirements of my time. Fear of failure is surely at the heart of that. And fear of discomfort and inconvenience.

Watched a DVD of a bunch of super 8 conversions of Leif's home movies last night. It's weird when you realize that your parents are your age or younger in the movies and they've got kids. I think, intermittently, about how Leif is older, and what age would be right for him/us to start a family. He has no answer for this, really, and no clear urge. We have no clear answer for when we will relocate to a city that supports the kind of lifestyle we want. We don't know when we want to get married or what kind of wedding we would have. Time treads over our indecision.

Holidays, family gatherings, and home movies make me think of offspring--I don't desire or crave their presence, but the subject comes to mind. I don't even like planning the decor of my living room, so the thought of planning--well, you see where I'm going with this. I'm hoping to scrape together enough ambition, drive, and focus to one day move, perhaps go back to school, perhaps change my career path, if I decide I even want to do that. How do people do that and physically bear and raise children? I'm hoping not to have to make these decisions for the next few years. Of course, I know that I don't have to do anything--everything is up to me, which isn't actually comforting. (Maybe being decent at adulthood is about giving up the idea that you can be comfortable all the time.)

It's like in Jane Austin stories when a character says "I don't have the constitution" for such and such. Some days I'm surprised I get through a school day with my "constitution."

While running errands with Leif today, I thought of how we--humans--are all a bunch of little doers. We wake up and just run around doing until we die one day. On our deathbeds, if we have such a privilege, I bet we will think about how we didn't do enough. I'm already thinking about how I don't do enough, both in the sense of productivity and in the sense of experiences. I'm always wondering: what are the best things for a person to do? What does it feel like to live a life doing those things? Will I one day find out how to make this happen, and think: how come I didn't start doing this sooner?

Despite all of these Sunday insecurities and musings, I am looking forward to trying out a few resolutions for this week. I'm am looking forward to health and routine. No alcohol and no shows (until Friday afternoon). Lots of water, three kinds of greens in the crisper, ballet on Tuesday, running on Wednesday, perhaps yoga on Thursday. Rehearsal tonight and tomorrow night. Cooking dinner nightly, as per usual. Grading papers daily, as per not usual. Reading Wolf Hall for down time. Going outside to grade and read (weather permitting). Maybe an evening bonfire or two with Leif. Baths in the evening instead of the morning, Wolf Hall and Kava tea in bed. Teaching those kids with rigor and enthusiasm. Just for this week.

We shall see. I'd be happy with eighty-percent. Maybe even sixty.

Scattered Resolutions

2010-11-02T14:27:00.002-05:00

Last week was an improvement from the previous post. I decided that I was going to eat really well and go to more dance classes, and I did (chick peas are good on salad). I still haven't been writing or reading anything that would inspire writing, but I feel better.

Sunday I had rehearsal, Monday I had modern and rehearsal, Tuesday I went back to ballet for the first time in many months. It went better than I thought it would--it's just that I didn't drink enough water afterward and woke up in the morning with such an intense charlie horse in one calf that it made me yell. I'm still very frustrated with my lack of leg extension and my unflexible back--I feel like every shape I want to create with my body is physically impossible. I wonder if it's possible to improve in these areas or if I'm genetically stuck.

There's a part of me that wants to know the answer to that just so that if I found out that I were stuck, I could not try as hard or get my hopes up as much.

Wednesday I went to modern. Thursday through Saturday, I did nothing but plan for and enjoy Halloween festivities. We had a little dinner party/bonfire for a few of my dancer buddies and their significant others. I made a fancy pressed (Martha Stewart) sandwich and some tomato bisque, both of which came out really well. I drank wine and ate candy all weekend and I'm about to polish off some M and Ms. Ulgh--I feel ill. This is the end of it, because we actually had large groups of trick or treaters in the new neighborhood and we're out of candy. It's time to go back to a chocolate-less house. There are six Ms remaining.

Sunday I went for a run. I felt so good afterward. I'm still squeezing one in about once a week, but I'd like to increase the frequency. We'll see. At this time, I can happily report that I am still able to run two miles.

School is going well enough except for the fact that I don't have enough outfits that don't require ironing. It's that time of year when I realize I don't have very much time until finals and I have to tighten and edit my lesson plans to make sure I have enough time to cover everything in time for exams. I need at least three weeks to teach Things Fall Apart. I also need to finish punctuation with honors and phrases with regular. And I have essays on The Chosen to grade. It'll all work out, I know that. I've pretty much planned it all out, but I've still been feeling very scattered--the feeling when you know you're forgetting something but you don't know what, but you know it's going to bite you in the ass soon. I can't shake that feeling, for some reason. I don't feel on top of my game.

I've got big plans to go to ballet class number two of the season tonight. My calves are ready for another beating. Instead of fretting uselessly about falling behind in my dance abilities, I'm going to try to adopt the attitude that one of my friends has: she just tries to go to as many dance classes as possible, and going often has become a routine for her. I'm so impressed with people who just quietly work hard and go about their business without being half-committed and broadcasting their worries the way I do. Leif is like that. I guess that's something I can work toward, particularly in my dance company.

Therefore, I will go to ballet tonight to log another day of dance. I have to vote and shave my legs first, though. This weather makes me want to read an entertaining novel and drink tea.

to let the crazy show

2010-10-24T21:42:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if I should write in a real journal instead of posting my feelings on the internet.

Part of me is interested in sharing my thoughts, experiences, and insecurities with people who know me, because why hide it? To appear more put-together? And then if I write it down and let others read it, maybe I'll end up composing something interesting (because of the idea that there's an audience involved).

Another part of me wonders whether it's necessary to keep people "updated" by trumpeting my current psychological status or life happenings. If the point of journaling is self reflection, why post it for everyone to see?

What's the point of this thing? I don't think I've ever known, exactly. Today, it's a tool to keep from monologuing Leif to death. Or lying in bed and thinking. I guess I have to talk about myself at something and blogs feel like making thought deposits where journals feel like organized daydreaming.

***

Anyway, I've been having some pretty rough Sunday evenings lately. Yes, they're wonderful on paper, because I just cook, chill out, watch a few shows, chat with Leif, and rest myself before the weekly grind commences. But I've been feeling like a teenager--equal parts vanity and self-loathing. Pinching my squishy thighs, picking anything that resembles the beginnings of a zit, plucking facial hair and never quite getting it all, frowning at my frizzy hair, fantasizing about having a different nose, and thinking about where and how I could adjust the amount of food that I eat. (I go from really liking my eating schedule and habits to thinking I have no objectivity on the matter.) And now I can add the beginnings of wrinkles and grey hairs to the list.

When I was thirteen (or fourteen through seventeen), I thought that having a boyfriend would make these thoughts go away, because logically, how could anyone with a boyfriend think that they were ugly in any way--if there's someone who is willing to be with you, then that proves that all of those insecure thoughts are untrue by default. You can't be unattractive if someone is attracted to you. By definition!

I don't know what is going on with me right now--I mean it's not like I don't go about my daily life and generally like myself. This crap seems to have pretty much been at bay for some years now, and what seems to have started as a little spark of embarrassment, self-judgement, or distaste is gathering steam.

I'm probably just scared that I'm going to get fat now that the triathlon is over. It's true that I can't keep up that level of cardio in my regular life, although I could probably bump up my runs from two to four per week. The problem is that I also need to bump up the amount of dance classes I take from one to three classes per week if I want to feel competent on stage. Having rehearsals helps, but I need to start going to the other studio twice a week. I dislike that I've been saying I'm going to do this for months and months now, and I haven't done it. I go from telling myself "quit thinking that nothing is ever enough" to "start creating the life you say you want."

It's true that my ego is struggling--pretty much always--with the fact that I was a really strong dancer as a little kid (who was also the tiniest person in the class) and now I'm just a mediocre adult dancer. And recently our company has grown in size, and I am imagining myself getting pusher farther and farther into the back corner of the stage and watching more pieces from the wings than dancing in them.

In fact, I feel that way about writing and piano as well. It's like I'm getting worse at everything as I get older. How many years have I been planning to mail off that college story to a literary journal? My life is centered around teaching. Is it possible to cram my other interests into the time when I'm not at work? I feel like I try to do that and then I just do a half-ass job at each thing. I don't want to believe that being a teacher will make me a crappy artist.

***

When I was a teenager, I used to look at pre-pubescent pictures of myself and feel sad because I'd gotten weird looking when I used to be so cute. And then I'd hope that when I became a woman, all the awkwardness would go away and I'd look more like an older version of those baby pictures. It's an embarrassing cliche, but it's true.

And now that I am a woman, I see recent pictures of myself and cringe at most of them. I still stand in my underwear in front of the full length mirror and assess the ways in which I need to fix my body. I still feel like I have nothing good to wear to school or dancing. I'm smart enough to know better and smart enough to know that there are more important things to think about and focus on, but I keep returning to this mindset--this belief that looking better would make me like myself more. This rookie mistake of confusing body image and self image.

But it's not just about body image. It's about achieving in general. Who am I if I'm not achieving anything? If I have the capacity, shouldn't I be achieving? Focusing on the next thing, and the next, or else my life will settle into dust and mortgage payments?

Maybe it's just a typical pitfall of a sheltered kid who got a few trophies in her past. Or the expected coming of age pangs of a middle class American white woman. I'm Eat, Pray, Love without the novel, the travel, or the money.

I need some perspective. Maybe I'll go back to yoga class this week. I need to do something to shake this crazy nothing I do is quite good enough feeling. This victim mentality. People have breast cancer, people have children, people have dying parents, people are broke, people have real issues, and I am somehow simultaneously aware of this and whiny about my vanilla insecurities. But there they are--they're still there, no matter how dumb I think they are. And they just love to come out on a Sunday evening. Maybe I just need my guhs to say "Calm down, Lemon." Maybe that is why I write in this thing.

Hello, Fall

2010-10-02T10:13:00.003-05:00

Last Sunday I had a nice gchat with my friend Jeanne, who is living in France and teaching college English courses. We talked primarily about how she is in a temporary situation and she is starting to think about and look for jobs that would fall more under the category of "career path." In other words, a job that she feels passionate about and wants to pursue for more than two years.

This is a question that often bugs me (especially when I'm in stress mode)--the basic question of whether teaching high school is my "career" that I'm staying in or not. I was fretting over it for an evening and a day and then I realized that I was really just yearning to be back in touch with the literary world.

I've said it before, but I'm especially thinking about it lately: I am content with many aspects of my life right now, and I am also desiring being in the company of writers and being in that mode where I'm coming up with ideas and writing short stories. I was feeling a giant fear and anxiety that Sunday that my life was quickly passing me by and the older I get, the harder it will be for me to make a big job/education change, the harder it might be to justify that change, and when I'm ready to have kids, maybe it will be downright financially impossible to go back to school.

I've since calmed down. There are a few reasons why. Reason one is that I figured out that a lot of my anxiety stems from the fact that I have no focused plan--no step by step to-do list. I was freaking out about too many things at once (even over the fact that I haven't been reading good novels and short stories that will affect my inspiration levels to write). So Monday I made an extremely short-term to-do list in Microsoft Word that was only intended for that particular evening. It had things on it like "cook dinner," "run," "read a chapter of Of Mice and Men." Because I made a list, I did the things. Or most of them. For writing, I've decided that I'm going to finish The Great Typo Hunt because I borrowed it from my friend at school and I told her I was going to read it. After I finish that, I will make a list of things that I will do to nurture my writing life. Maybe it will include reading short stories and finally finishing those books about writing techniques and novel-writing. Maybe it will include doing exercises from a writing book. Maybe one day I will be able to hook up with writers from LSU in some way. Maybe there's a way for me to audit a class or pay for just one class. Who knows.

There are some other reasons that I've since calmed down: school is going awesome, and dance has been a blast lately. This week at school, I got asked to go get trained to start teaching AP courses. My department head said she was looking into moving (and retiring, at least from our school) sooner than she thought and that our principal may be paying me a visit that day to ask me to take over her AP classes. There aren't really any such thing as job promotions when you're a high school teacher, but this is about as close as it gets. Sure enough, the principal came to my classroom on her planning period to ask me about it. I said yes, of course. It's a pretty big honor--especially because my department head is kind of a legend at our school and following in her footsteps is a pretty big challenge. It made me feel like I got an A+ in my job. I rarely see the principal or my department head (and, therefore, rarely think about what they think about how I'm teaching these days), so it was a nice surprise.

As for dance, we've been working on a fund raiser for a few weeks that was described as a "5k Zombie run" ending in a street performance of Thriller. I saw last night that it coincided with the opening of the 13th Gate, BR's haunted house, so that was some smart planning on our board's part. Anyway, we've been holding Thriller classes for the general public and got a pretty good-sized group going of dancers and non-dancers--maybe about 40 people. So I met with my dance friends Steph and Micaela at Goodwill to buy some Zombie clothes--I found a light blue size 18 dress shirt with some ruffles in the front and a Victorian collar. I went home and put it on and Leif strategically cut it up (he's a much bigger Zombie fan than I am) and rolled it in a little molasses and dirt. I put on cutoffs, cut up some black knee high stockings, made a tall hairdo, smeared liquid eyeliner all over my face, and ran out the door.

There ended up being something like 400 runners! I hope we made lots of money. And when we performed Thriller in the street last night, it got an awesome response. I think it's fair to say that we killed. A couple of my former students were there, and they liked it. Leif said it looked awesome, and that there was actually some pretty intricate movement in there.

And THEN, later while we were hanging out in the L bar for the after party (right next to where we performed), the DJ was still going. A few of us were cuttin' a rug. And he kept playing good songs, so we kept dancing. Carrie's boyfriend bought us pizza from Pasttime (I'd never had any before! It was so greasy, but good). And then much later in the night, he got the DJ to play Thriller again, so Carrie, Steph, Micaela, and I "performed" it right in the bar (we were still in costume at that point, and it was pretty dark in there, so I'm sure the effect was great). Everyone there got really excited and people were filming us with their iPhones. I felt like I was in an '80s movie where it cuts to a dance scene and everyone just so happens to know the six minute dance sequence. Afterward, Carrie said something like "Well, I got to fulfill my lifelong dream of performing a dance in the middle of a club." When we were leaving, there was a beautiful dry fall breeze in the parking lot.

It was so freakin fun.

gentle productivity

2010-09-14T15:34:00.003-05:00

I did it yesterday! I came home and did not lie down. At least not until our Monday night Mad Men date. I wrote a poem, did my NY Ballet workout, graded some projects, and cooked green curry. It was a gentle enough workload that I did not get overwhelmed and dead tired, and then I felt really good when the evening was over. I fell asleep quickly and slept hard.

It wasn't intentional at first: I think I felt a subtle shift while watching some lame professional development videos at school (we have to get a certain about of online "hours" of professional development. It's a hot new technology thing.). The skeptic in me really hates to admit it, but as a newish teacher, I was truly inspired by a couple of clips I watched about classroom management. A lot of it was reinforcing some things I've been wondering about as I get more experience in the classroom--I've found myself more willing to be friendly (I know, what a concept) and extend myself to the kids at the risk of looking lame or corny. In fact--and I also hate to admit this--I think the fear of appearing lame to the kids has really held me back from connecting with them as a supportive coach-type figure. When I first started, I tried really hard to be stern and serious, and I mostly succeeded in making them take me seriously enough that they would turn their work in on time. But it took a super long time to feel a connection to the kids and I didn't have any fun with them at all. And I felt like some constipated version of myself, because I thought loosening up would mean losing control of the class and being that "cool, nice teacher" that everyone walks all over.

Anyway, I feel like now I understand a little better that if I smile and greet the kids as they walk in the room, 99.9% of the time they will smile and greet me back, and it's more pleasant for everyone involved. Also, mine is a class where the students are always discussing and presenting things, so it's important that they feel comfortable talking to me and the rest of the class. The more warm and welcoming I am, the more safe they feel, the more everyone talks and learns, the more they are willing to take risks and make mistakes. Also, the more positive energy I put out, the more beautifully they behave. My (regular) sixth hour has been angels compared to the first two weeks of school. They were so good in the library today! I told them that I was going to have individual AR conferences with them while they were checking out books, taking AR tests, etc., and one kid--the one that got punched by that girl in class the other day, actually--came up to me and said "I need a consultation." He wanted advice on whether to test on a short story and where he might find one. I don't know why, but that got to me. I guess it's because I thought they would dread having a consultation, but instead they relished the individual attention.

I think they are behaving because we're getting used to each other, but I've also made a really concerted effort to be more positive with them and fuss/nag less (but still push them academically without taking any crap behavior). I've found that the regular kids at my school tend to feel insecure and competitive because they feel sometimes that they are out of their league (surrounded by some really advanced kids). So I've been trying to tell them that they can do it and push them to do more than they thought they could and giving them more positive verbal feedback when they get things right (I'm just realizing that I don't do enough of that at all. I used to do barely at all and I don't even think I knew it.). Sometimes I'm just trying to keep them awake and focused, though (like today, when the AC broke).

In honors, they are presenting their "Where I'm From" poems and cultural collages. I got a wild hair to let them use the ELMO to project their poems and collages onto the big screen, and it looked awesome. I really do teach some interesting kids--I've got some whose families are from Bangladesh, Pakistan, Nigeria, Korea, Vietnam, China, Nepal, and Lebanon. I love hearing about their heritage and most of them wrote some great poems. I say to myself every year that I'm going to do a project and present at the end, but I never do. Except that yesterday (here's where I didn't lie down) I got home and cranked out a Where I'm From poem because my kids did such awesome jobs and I was feeling inspired. Also, teacher workshops are always telling you that it's a great idea to share your own stuff, but I've always been too chicken.

Anyway, my culture collage isn't done, but I did scan a bunch of old photos last night and I plan to share those on Thursday. Today, third hour finished their presentations, so I decided to at least read my poem to them. They were dead quiet and I have to say, I was more nervous than when I read my fiction in Portland and Prague! They clapped really loud at the end and they seemed really excited that I had shared something with them. I said to them, "I'm not going to lie, that is a little nerve-wracking." And they laughed because they were all really nervous to present theirs. I told them I have some embarrassing photos to show them Thursday, and they said yay.

I like my job this week.

Carry on, carry on

2010-09-12T10:25:00.004-05:00

I went through what I guess was a bit of depression this week. It wasn't related to hormones, as far as I could tell. I think I was trying to decide how I feel about being back at school, back in a lifestyle that is mostly centered around working, and asking myself again, "Is this something I want to dedicate such a huge chunk of my time to?"

While this is an important question to ask, I'm not sure it's the very best question for me to focus on right now. This new idea came after visiting with my mom on Thursday. She was in town for a funeral, and we went to get coffee with my brother after school. It was fun, but I was in a terrible mood. It was obvious to her that there was something wrong, but I couldn't really put my finger on it myself. I feel like such a teenager when this happens--just sullen for no reason and hanging onto some vague feeling of being "wronged" or failing at something. Not even sure if I'm mad at myself or my situation.

Anyway, we had a nice time in spite of my mood, and when she went to drop me off, we sat in the car and talking for a while. I asked her if she felt that way when she was my age, and she said she had lot of other problems, but no, she wasn't like this about work. She said she remembers having this summer job where she was just typing data onto some cards--I guess some non-computer version of secretarial data entry. She said she remembers racing herself to see if she could beat yesterday's time of the number of entries she did. She doesn't know why she didn't hate and resent that job, but she just didn't. She said maybe it's a generational thing--there was a different kind of work ethic then. While this is a big generalization, it also seems true. When you grow up working class, you maybe don't have the expectation that your job should be the most perfect fit to you--you don't feel that sense of entitlement. You maybe just feel awesome that you're supporting yourself. My mom put herself through college (financially), and she was the only person in her immediate family to graduate from undergrad, or to even make it through a whole year of college. And she made awesome grades, too. She must have pulled this motivation from deep inside herself, because it didn't come from her parents or her environment or peers. I'm not sure I've really thought about this fact before now, because she doesn't really talk about it.

I struggle with motivation--I've never experienced the kind that my mom must have had, because I've never really been in a sink or swim situation like that, where you know you either decide to do something and make it happen by yourself or it isn't going to happen at all. I know it's not financially possible for a person to put themselves through college the way you could in the seventies. I'm also not sad that I've always had such a solid family support system. I've never had to fight for anything, really. As a result, I think I have a tendency to waffle about what it is I really want in my life. I feel incredibly lucky to have ended up where I am, and I also have kind of no idea how I ended up here or if I consciously chose my path. Which leads me to constantly ask myself, "Was this what I really wanted? What if I just followed the obvious steps society lay out for me and never busted out to do the thing I really wanted to do?"

I said maybe it's also a personality difference between us; she's more energetic and driven by results, I'm pickier about the process and the experience of the work, and I tend to be skeptical of my results. (And lazy/tired/overwhelmed.) She said that's possible, too. We didn't arrive at any conclusions, but I felt lighter after our conversation. This may sound like I'm just trying to be okay with where I am and ignore my insecurities, but it really did occur to me that I have already decided to show up at school for another year. I already decided to do this. The relevant question right now is: "How can I do the best job I possibly can, and figure out a way to enjoy something about my job every day?" There is so much possibility and I have so much control and choice about what I want to do with the kids. This is not something that is happening to me. I chose it and I continue to choose it--maybe it's because there is a part of me that just fears change. But there's also a big part of me that wants to excel at it and knock it out of the park. Because there's a huge symbiotic benefit between the kids and me when I do happen to hit it out of the park. Mom did say, "well, maybe this isn't the right job for you long term." I guess the jury's still out on that one, because I don't know what any other job is like, really.

A big part of our conversation was about how tired I feel all the time--it's like I get home and I feel so tired, so I get on the couch with my laptop and go into a haze that just stretches on into the evening (unless I have somewhere to be, like dance or yoga). Then I get into a habit, so that every weekday becomes work and laptop, and I start getting mad that I'm not doing things I want to do in life, like read good books, hang out with friends, play piano, write stories, decorate our house, or even do my ironing! I was telling Mom about this, and she said my generation seems to have a bad habit of coming home and just getting on our laptops (which are addictive, so then we never get off our laptops). She said she does like to watch her soap opera when she gets home, so she understands needing that chill time, but she says she knows that if she starts doing that before she does other things like go for her walk or do some housework, then she'll just lose all energy to do those things. She also said getting mad at myself for being tired all the time is only making it worse (which is so true). She said it's okay to feel tired--I'm not going to die. I can still do the things I want to do even though I'm a little tired, as long as I'm not going crazy and overloading myself.

This idea is very helpful to me right now--it connects with something Sue Miller, my writing teacher in Aspen, said to a girl in our class. The girl said she can only write when she feels a wave of inspiration and motivation. Sue said something like, "Well, you'll never write as much as you want to or need to if you rely on your mood to dictate when you write." Something like, "You need to get to a point where you just do it anyway--where it's something you work on and practice." That must have been extremely relevant for me, because this was three or four years ago and it has stuck with me.

The lesson for me seems to be that it all comes down to work ethic, every time. Every endeavor is about how much work you want to put into it--even things you want to "play" with benefit from putting some practice and some work into them. I know this from school--when I do my lesson plans ahead of time, I have a better week. I hate doing them, but then when I do them, I know where I want to lead the students, and this results in me having more focus and enthusiasm and motivation for what we're doing in class. I didn't do lesson plans last week because I was depressed about going back after labor day and--quite frankly--feeling like a victim of my situation, and as a result, I think I felt like I had one foot in and one foot out of my job. I was showing up every day because I had to, but I didn't really feel a sense of direction. I didn't feel a strong reason for being there. I asked myself if I really wanted to be there everyday. I was just trying to make it to a Friday evening drink.

Maybe it's a chicken and an egg thing: not that a person has to be motivated in order to work hard at something, but that working hard creates a feeling of investment which can convert to feelings of motivation. Coincidentally, motivation was one of those danger words in the Holmes program, particularly with Dr. Guillory. She said we should not view students as motivated or not--that we should be trying to engage them, not motivate them. I guess that's because you can't really control another human being's work ethic, but you can engage them in a conversation (or lesson). It's true that I have no idea what to do with a kid that is "unmotivated" to do work of any kind; I have no idea what to do with myself when I am feeling unmotivated.

Maybe accepting the blase feeling and carrying on in spite of it is the only thing to do. Maybe I'll find inspiration while I'm moving forward. The other option is to lie down and let the feeling intimidate and cripple me, which is what I'm in the general habit of doing. I'll do this thing where I think, If I just carry on through this feeling, I'm a robot going through the motions. But at least I'd be moving!

I will do my lesson plans today. I hate them, and I will do them. (Who do I think I am, trying to teach without planning, anyway?)
We'll see if that makes a difference in how I feel about this week. And I'll go ahead and say that one of my goals for the week is to devote some time to reading a book. And that I'll at least try out my ballet-workout DVD.

Angry Saturdays

2010-09-05T10:17:00.004-05:00

I woke up yesterday to some great weather, but I was experiencing this phenomenon that my mom and I have coined "angry Saturdays." It has something to do with teaching, or working too hard during the week. Then Saturday comes and you finally have free time, but you don't really know what to do with yourself. You feel all tapped out of energy and creativity, but you also feel like your weekend is slipping away from you right before your eyes. You have chores to do that you've been neglecting. You've forgotten what it's like to be into a good book, because you feel like your eyes will explode if you read one more thing. You don't really have any social plans for the evening yet. You've got papers to grade. And you're just angry for all of these vague reasons. It's kind of stupid, but my mom knew exactly what I was talking about when I told her I felt angry and I didn't know why. So did two of my teacher friends at school when I asked them "Do you ever wake up on Saturdays and just feel angry?" and they were like "Yeah. Of course."

So I went for a run. This felt like a triumph because it's been a rough week. I had open house from 6-8 Tuesday night and then I started a particularly violent period on Wednesday afternoon (RIGHT after school. Some wicked cramps hit me while I was sitting on my stool seventh hour and I was afraid I was going to start in the middle of class.). I barely ever have bad cramps, but these laid me out for the rest of the evening. I still felt pretty bad the whole next day, too, and by Friday I felt fine but extremely tired and cloudy-headed. I'm starting to have the usual fears that my job is going to end up being the ruination of my life: I'll never be able to keep up an exercise routine or write or read good books again. I feel like I'm falling further and further out of shape when my original intention was that this summer would be only the beginning of my training.

Anyway, the run went great because the weather is excellent. Some kind of weird cool front came through. Dry weather makes a giant difference--I've been told this, but now I actually believe it. I didn't get overheated and feel dizzy at the end of it. I felt able to sustain a pace without my chest burning. It gives me real hope for this fall and winter. I wrote a little something before the run, too--something fiction-y. It wasn't any good, but there could be some nuggets of something in there.

One of my recent hang-ups with fiction writing is that I write out of that part of me that is dissatisfied with something about life. Then I look at what I wrote and feel a little disgusted because it's obvious how privileged my life is. I feel that someone will read it and think of it as characters whining about a non-problem. Maybe that can be my niche: privileged characters whining about non-problems. Enjoyed by rich whites and hipsters alike. Maybe I can throw in some identity crises for good measure. Or career confusion.

I got to see and talk to Ann recently about how she's embarking on an MFA in fiction (woot!), and it got me thinking about the writing world again and how much I miss it. I'd really like to join some kind of writing circle. I need a more pressing reason (besides my own yearning to write again) to complete a story. Also, I was reading Sandra Cisneros's introduction to the anniversary edition of The House on Mango St. on Friday--part of it was about her life as a writer in the seventies. The cliche description about her life at the time (how she lived in a little apartment and ate omelets with other writers in her program who edited each other's stories and put together a makeshift anthology) made me almost tear up.

I ordered the New York City Ballet workout DVD. I'm thinking of working on my ballet technique from home, since I keep waffling about whether to pay a bunch of money to drive really far for ballet once a week. I only took maybe two ballet classes this summer, and it's been probably a year since I went with any regularity. I know I need ballet, and my body feels great when I take a lot of ballet classes, and it builds technique, but I don't like it deep in my soul. And my booty and hips don't like it. I wish there were some good modern, jazz, and hip hop classes around. I wish I could take more class through my dance company.

Happy cool font, everybody.

Speed Hump Day

2010-08-25T15:18:00.003-05:00

This week is going way better than last week. Even with a few student-related road bumps, it is going better. I'm managing to run them over pretty smoothly (like the Speed Humps in University Gardens).

Monday was a bit of a ho hum drag, but I managed to pull the kids along and complete all of my items on the agenda. The honors kids got notes on the four levels of grammar and shared their poem analysis with the class. The plain ole English twos did exercises on nouns, pronouns, and adjectives (mostly compliantly, but I had to wake some of them up) and shared poem analysis. There is a stark difference in culture between honors and regular at my school--both are ethnically diverse, but the difference in prior knowledge, level of engagement, willingness to analyze, and maturity level never fails to shock me a little bit (especially at the beginning of the year). Most of those things came to a head today.

Though I was tired, I managed some cardio kickboxing in the living room on Monday (shout out to Sarah D.) and sweat my ass off for 20 minutes. This was from this free website called Exercise TV. Then I was in a pleasant mood for the rest of the evening--especially since I got to watch Mad Men with Leif.

Tuesday's schedule is different from Monday's, since we have "rolling block." Instead of an afternoon planning period, I get to teach regular English II. Tuesdays and Fridays are long days--my legs, feet, and voice were shot yesterday afternoon. I took a 20 minute nap (passed out cold) and woke up feeling like I'd been run over. I'd planned to go to yoga, so I waffled about that for another twenty minutes and talked to Leif about it (from the couch). He finally said "just go and don't think about," so I did. It ended up being a great class and a new instructor. I got to practice my forearm stand and headstand (which I still can't do without a wall).

This brings us to Wednesday: day two (in a week) of seeing the regular class. Now, I don't want to give the impression that I don't have some seemingly great kids in regular English II--some of the ones I have to wake up all the time are still greats kids to be around. And about a third of the class has that honors type of culture--eager to learn, willing to ask real questions, etc. Another third is relatively neutral--they'd rather be playing video games, but they'll mostly comply and ask questions if they are really confused about something. The final third are the ones who might be labeled as "acting out." I think of them as "the jerks." They want to learn and do well (I think all kids do) but they are consumed with getting reactions from their peers and trying to get some kind of power over their surroundings. Naturally, these are always the ones who want to talk during discussion, interrupt me during a mini lesson, and just generally manipulate the mood and flow of the entire class.

This third is what my friend Mark would call "a crew." I've got one very sassy boy who verbally reacts to anything and everything, such as fanning himself and loudly asking me "Can we turn the air back on yet?" Like a big spoiled baby. He also laughs loudly and derisively when anyone answers a question incorrectly (because of course he's insecure about appearing dumb). And he gets dramatic and defensive if I give him the slightest correction. I've got a girl who turned around and punched the boy behind her today. She said she was "just joking" because he flicked her with a rubber band. I've got a kid with a charming combo of ADHD, OCD, depression, and dysgraphia, but he's actually really articulate and well-read--he just never knows what page we're on and asks too many questions about how I want him to format his notes (there's not a format). He's also a lot smarter than some of his peers and doesn't hide his occasional surprise at their slowness to respond or lack of knowledge, which is of course not very well-received. I've got a few boys that look and act about 10.

Today's class started out with 10 minutes of silent AR reading. First, about 6 of them wanted to leave the room for various reasons--bathroom, left a book in another class, need water, need to blow nose, and then I had to stop AR time and give them a talk about how they need to take care of all of those things during lunch and how if I need to start taking off participation points for trying to leave the room all the time, I will. Then we had a good solid ten minutes when I checked up on those who didn't have books yet and everyone was focused. Then Big Baby was in the mood to be disruptive and chatty and get defensive at my corrections. Then girl punches boy during grammar. I'm at the board. I stop everything, give them a "No ma'am, bad dog" face, and say something like "I know I did not just see that. You guys are adults. You're here to learn. Stay after class." Then while everybody was doing an exercise on verbs, I took the three misbehavers out in the hall, one at a time.

I said to Boxer Girl, "You can't punch people in class. You know that, right?"
She said (earnestly) "well he flicked me with a rubberband."
I paused. "You can't punch people in class." Tried to let it sink in. "I could have you suspended for that."
"But it was just a joke!" (She talks like a loud Valley Girl. On purpose.)
"I can't let that go on in my classroom. There's a reason I don't teach middle school. We don't have time for that here." After that I told her that I thought she could do a lot in my class and she seemed like a good student, but I wanted her to focus and work harder. (I'm sure a lot of teachers would call me a big sap for even trying to reason with them, but I know that some kids respond to this and then don't cause any more problems, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it doesn't become a big showdown with flashy punishments.)
Then I called out Rubber Band Flicker, who seemed embarrassed and annoyed that I was talking to him at all, and he also claims he can't help falling asleep. He seems like kind of a dud.
Then Big Baby and I chatted--he was fairly receptive. It started with me asking him why he had a big ole attitude today and him denying it. I told him I'm never going to cop an attitude with him and that I expect him to reciprocate--also that when I correct him, it's not personal, because he seems like a good student (he actually does). Then he admitted that he has trouble keeping his mouth under control and that he would try to do better.

We actually had a decent, engaging discussion about the poem and no more behavior issues for the rest of grammar. I'm really hoping that those personal talks set some kind of precedent, but I know it could go a handful of ways--either they found it uncomfortable and will act out less, or they sense that I see them and give a crap (and they start giving about a fourth of a crap in response), or they appreciate that I was fair and quit making power struggles out of everything, or they are unfazed and apathetic, or they'll continue their behavior because I didn't write them up the first time. Or: they'll forget about the incidents by Friday. Either way, I guess it's time to start taking off participation points and giving real consequences.

The biggest challenge is that I have to figure out a way to stay positive and engaging with the two thirds of the class that are not misbehaving in any way so that their learning experience isn't ruined by the loudmouths-who-demand-attention.

In better classroom news, I did a new activity with seventh hour where I show them a bunch of cultural symbols and they record their personal associations with them. I showed print-outs of the Chinese welcome cat, a menorah, a cross with bread and a chalice, the ohm symbol, Shiva, Buddha, a woman in a hijab, a cartoon picture of a plantation house (which some identified as "the governor's mansion"), and the yin yang ("equilibrium," "ninja," "Kung Fu Panda"). It's supposed to demonstrate how your own cultural experience shapes your perception of other cultures, and I thought it might be a waste of time. But it wasn't at all. If anything, it was a practice in talking frankly about impressions we have of certain cultures.

In snack news, I put baby spinach in my fruit smoothie today and barely tasted it.

The Hamster's off the Wheel

2010-08-18T20:18:00.004-05:00

It's Wednesday of my first full week of school. I may have run a triathlon, but my teaching stamina is down, down, down. Maybe it's all the explaining and lecturing I have to do in the beginning, but when I got home this afternoon, I had that run-down cold-flu feeling, and I know I'm not sick.

I meant to take a 15-20 minutes perk-up nap yesterday so I could do things I like, like go to yoga, cook dinner, and maybe even grade a few papers (I already have two giant stacks). I don't want to hem and haw about the fact that I have 165 students, because I've done it before and I can handle it again, but that's hard to remember right now. Anyway, I keep "meaning" to do things this week.

I'm so tired that it's getting in the way of feeling inspired and excited about the things I'm teaching. I know I'm doing a good job during the day, but I'm so wiped out and useless when I get home. Well, Monday I actually went for a run (I could feel myself getting antsy and looking for things to worry about), and it was really intense. But I felt great and actually realized it when I was lying on the floor in the living room afterward. It was my first post-school-day run. I was feeling capable, since one of my fears is that I cannot actually sustain both this job and a fulfilling life outside this job.

Then Tuesday, the little perk-up nap became a two-hour pass-out. I ate a bowl of red beans and rice and set an alarm--I can't even really say how this happened. It was a dark and rainy afternoon. Did I really keep hitting snooze for two hours? Maybe I turned my phone off entirely. I don't even know. I felt like a train had run over me when I woke up, but I still managed to cook dinner and sit and eat it with Leif at the table, which really helps me slow down and not only enjoy his company, but also, my food.

Today, I didn't want a repeat pass-out performance. I made a whey protein smoothie with milk, banana, and frozen strawberries (my recent favorite snack) and settled down to watch an episode of Kathy Griffin My Life on the D-List. Then, I was imagining that I would go for a run or go to yoga after chilling out for one episode. Instead, the episode starting buffering, so I paused it to let it load. Then I fell asleep for two hours. When I sat up at 6, I couldn't believe the time--I can't even remember falling asleep, and I'm only guessing about falling asleep because I paused the episode.

Leif is at some lengthy meeting because all kinds of things are happening at his company right now. I'm somewhat thrown-off when he doesn't come home--maybe I'm used to the accountability of another pair of eyes seeing what I'm up to. At any rate, I was hungry when I woke up, so I did an early dinner: put a salmon cake and some brusselsprouts on the stove. Then I had to give up my hopes and dreams of running and yoga, since neither works out very well after a meal. And it's round two of not opening my bag of papers. It's not like I have grand illusions of grading for hours at home (ulgh) but I though it'd be nice to get a class or two finished. Hell, I'm only "grading" first-day surveys and formal journals.

It's going to take some time to get back on my teaching feet and to feel a sense of balance. Right now, all I can handle is working my tail off by day and watching episodes of the D-list by night. I'm about to finish the latest season, anyway, so I'll be forced to either watch something else or actually read something. I dislike that I feel too tired to read. I find it odd that I teach English and I feel so far away from being excited and inspired about literature (or creative writing, for that matter).

I need to not be thinking about my entire life and lifestyle when I'm this wiped-out. All it leads to is a flip flopping conversation in my head about whether or not I picked the "right" career. And imagining that everyone who knows me is thinking that I should be doing something else. I do know that I don't like the habit of naps, for me--I don't like when big chunks of time go missing, I don't like trudging around the house feeling sorry for myself, and I don't like missing out on things I'd rather be doing. Apparently my body needs it, so I'm letting it happen, but I hope this is just a first-week thing.

Come on little gamma ray

2010-08-07T19:17:00.003-05:00

I expected that it would be hard to maintain anything close to the amount of exercise I was getting in tri class, and it turns out that I was right. Sort of.

This week was the hottest week of the year. Or at least it felts that way--I didn't officially check the stats. Exercising outside is pretty much a no-go--even in the morning and at night. It just doesn't ever cool off out there. I suppose I could have gone running during Wednesday's storm.

I've also been dealing with a strange moving situation at school (I've been putting together a classroom out of less-than-suitable means). It's like the wild west at our new school site--everyone is isolated and working alone without much communication from the administration and a little help from a few choice allies. The kindly media teacher essentially helped me steal a teacher desk from the breezeway. The librarian gave me an extra computer "under the table." Nobody knows how we are going to put a school together before the kids come on Wednesday, and I haven't even come close to anything resembling a lesson plan, or even a daydream about what I might want to teach this coming week.

The mental strain of this uncertainty means that exercising was not at the top of my priority list this week. I did manage to do a kickboxing routine for 22 minutes in my living room on Wednesday. It maxed out my heart rate and left me sore for days (apparently the "bob and weave" move is like doing a lot of squats. My ass hurts.). And even though I knew it would, it surprised me how much it slashed my stress levels.

Thursday and Friday passed, along with my intentions to get a little exercise. But today, I ran. I did my two mile route at ten to 7 pm, and it was hotter than hell (but less hot than the lava core of the Earth, like it was this afternoon). I listened to music, and that helped again. I kept a consistent pace and didn't feel too awful by the end of it. I mean I felt a little awful, but nothing panic-inducing.

And I feel fabulous now that I'm back in the AC at resting heart rate. My mood evened out and my sense of dread (that I carried around all day today running errands to prepare for this coming week) subsided. Everything is going to be okay. This feels as good as a stiff drink. A few hours ago I was telling my mom that I feel hopeless and uninspired about the coming school year.

My hope is that running might become something I can lean on in times of stress. I feel that I may be on the verge of slowly learning to use it as a coping tool instead of another area in which to "achieve" or another item on my to-do list. It is also wonderful that I can step out my door and be done in about 22 minutes (seems to be my magic number). Maybe one day I'll be able to go farther and for longer.

Now I'm going to go make a margarita on the rocks, because summer's not quite over.

Today's running playlist (better than last time):

Kanye West, "Touch the Sky" (a good opener. Makes you feel like you're in a montage.)
The Dresden Dolls, "Girl Anachronism" (made me jog faster)
Beck, "Gamma Ray"
Beck, "Replica"
Mouse on Mars, "Yippie" (this one's funny and splatty. Reminds me of Reid.)
Caribou, "Sundialing" (steady and meditative)

Mm, tequila.

Sweet, sweet finish line

2010-08-01T18:52:00.003-05:00

I have to say, the feeling of victory and being finished didn't last that long. It does feel good that the race isn't still hanging over my head, though.

Now I have this weird feeling of wondering how I'm going to continue to work out with a full-on school and dance schedule (yes, I know dance is exercise, but it's not real cardio compared to what I've been doing). The quickest solution I can think of is to try to go to ballet class twice a week (Mon. and Wed.), yoga on Tues. (maybe with a 20 minute run thrown in for good cardio measure), company class Thurs., and then whatever I feel like doing Fri., Sat., Sun. Maybe I can run, or maybe Leif and I can join the Y to swim laps and lift weights. Ulgh, maybe just one ballet per week so I don't lose my technique.

Okay, here's the best play-by-play of the race that I can possibly remember:

I arrived late: 6:15ish instead of 6. Ungodly hour. I was chatting with my parents (who slept over so that they could come to the race) and drinking coffee and eating breakfast, and then I was like SHIT I have to leave.
I carried all my crap around (while wheeling my bike) to the front of the Natatorium. There were tons of people and a stage and music playing, like a damn festival. I bet people in the surrounding apartments were pissed.
I got written on with a permanent marker (my race number, 487). Back of the calf and top of the arm.
Stuck a number on my (borrowed) bike and wheeled it into the transition area to set up my "station" (i.e., a towel on the ground with my racebelt/number, water bottle, socks specially folded on top of unlaced shoes, and helmet with straps properly splayed. I perched my bike on the rack. Lots of accouterments for triathlons (wow, I've been spelling that wrong for a while).
I brought my bag o-shit to the table where the rest of my classmates and coach were. I put on an Exerfit tattoo to represent my "team" and my instructor has us huddle up. And then: she cried while giving us last minute instructions and reminders. I was shocked. She is, apparently, one of those great teachers who is cool and calm on the surface and is 100% into loving what she is doing on the inside. I was extremely touched and taken off guard by how proud of us she was, and I was already nervous and full of adrenaline, so I was trying really hard not to let a few tears turn into a full-on sob.
Then we listened to instructions through the speakers on the stage. The woman said there was a change in course: we no longer have to jog around the Indian mounds due to construction, so the running part is a little less than two miles. We are glad.
I pulled on my latex cap, grabbbed my goggles and ear plugs, got my time chip anklet at a table, and joined the herd moving into the Natatorium for the swim portion. Somewhere along the way I realized that I left my second towel (for drying off only) in my bag and the transition area is now closed. I would have to use the grassy towel that is acting as a carpet for my race accessories.
As we all crowd into the Natatorium, the hallway smells like farts. Everyone is nervous.
We try to line up according to what we think is our swim time. This girl Allison and I look for the 9 minutes even though I am a ten minutes person. I'd rather be passed up than have to pass somebody else--takes extra energy and expertise that I don't have.
I put my goggles on way early to see if they will fog up. We wait a very long time and chat nervously while other people swim. One girl jumps in about every five seconds.
My body got very nervous when it was almost my turn. I decided I would jump right in instead of doing the sit-and-scoot that some others were doing. I told myself that it's just a race, just for fun, doesn't matter what my "numbers" end up being. Over and over.
I hung on to my earplugs and goggles and jumped in. I had a great first lap, and then it was a challenge the second my cardiovascular endurance started flagging. The goal (that I made up when I was in line) was to do at least two lengths of freestyle before resorting to breaststroke. Each lap was 50 meters, total of 350 meters. Leif recorded my lap times on his phone and told me later (that fool loves him some data):

1:11 minutes
1:26
1:25
1:21
1:29
1:40
1:27

On the website it said my time was 10 min 30 seconds, I think. There was an awkward lap of getting stuck behind some yellow-capped woman, and a log jam at the final ladder, but overall, I swam about the best I could. My body was a complete noodle when I was helped onto the ladder and out of the water, and my mom was right there yelling "the worst is over!" I wanted to jog to the transition area but I was too out of breath. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" was playing on the loudspeaker, which is an obnoxious soundtrack to a bunch of women busting their asses, in my opinion.
Mom, Dad, and Leif followed me out to the transition area and told me how I did (over the fence) while I suited up for the bike ride. The were very excited for me, which made it more fun. Leif whipped out his cell phone and reported that I averaged about a minute and a half for each lap. That amused me. I definitely wanted to stay and chat instead of getting on the bike.
The bike ride went fine. My thighs were burning and I was breathing heavily most of the way, but I didn't rest or stop. I went at a fairly steady speed--definitely not my max. 12 miles ended up taking me 49 min and 36 sec. It feels like about ten minutes when I look back on it, but that is quite a long time to just ride a bike. Luckily, Ang and Ben let me borrow a super light road bike that glides easily, so I didn't work as hard as I would have with my mountain bike. I got back in and transitioned for the run. Leif and Dad said I was fast.
Then the dreaded run. It was past nine o' clock by the time I started, and the sun was beating down. The air was hot and thick. The previous (cloudy and windy) Saturday, I was able to bike 14 miles and run 2 without stopping, so I thought I'd at least be able to shuffle the two miles without slowing to a walk. Not so. I walked quite a bit of it and jogged off and on. I'd woken up that morning with some kind of a cold, so my chest felt really inflamed and tight with phlegm. It ended up taking 24 minutes 26 seconds to finish. Leif and Dad met me out by the tennis courts and kind of jogged alongside me, so it didn't really feel like a race at that point. I told them I felt beyond overheated and could no longer push myself too hard.
But I did run across the finish line. The announcer on the stage said my name and said that I "brought it." And then said "You are a Rocketchick! Congratulations!" I put my fists in the air. My mom filmed it. "Can't Touch This" was playing on the loudspeaker. The atmosphere of the whole event was really supportive and fun. I went and hugged/thanked my coach, and I told her my race time. Hugged my family. I think my mom was a little teary-eyed, which was surprising. I got a big ole coffee mug with the Rocketchix logo and "Finisher" on it. Then we watched the awards. The winners were all inspiring-looking with incredible times, and it was extra-awesome to see the winning ladies in the 55-60 and 65-and-up age categories. Dad said later that the people with the best times were in their thirties and forties, which is interesting because there's a 13-19 category, a 20-24, and a 25-29. I guess the race ended up being a bigger deal than I'd imagined it was going to be. It just sounded so dinky at first.

My total time ended up being 1 hour and 29 seconds. After looking at the ranking website, I quantify that as "not bad for a first timer." I was talking to my friend Sarah about it later, and I said I felt like "a jack of all trades and a master of none," and that it was totally okay. Actually, it was great. This is the hardest thing for me--to really try something 100% and not be that great at it. It's a big fear of mine. And it came true: I was not naturally fabulous at swimming, biking, or running, but I did all three to completion at my own pace, and that is what feels so satisfying. That and the fact that I got to participate--I didn't "miss out," and I didn't watch from the sidelines just because I was afraid I wasn't going to be perfect. There was an itchy feeling when I was in line to swim and watching other women in the pool: I wanted to get in there and feel what it was like. And I got to get in there and do it.

Oh yeah, one more thing: the Natatorium was closed post-race, but I was feeling crappy and overheated and I wanted to go take another dip in the pool. Luckily, some dude was coming outside, so I got him to let me in. I was all by myself except for this one woman who was working on something at the other end of the place. It was such a quiet contrast to the crowd noise and stupid music outside. I got in and slipped underwater. It was so cold and refreshing. And let's just say I didn't have to wait in line at the portalet.

I got my "medal" today when I went to the gynecologist. The nurse took my blood pressure and said, "awesome blood pressure, girl." 110/60. Now that is exciting.

Final laps

2010-07-30T09:42:00.003-05:00

Today was our last tri class. I would feel more relieved if I wasn't racing tomorrow.

We piddled around in the pool, and some people chose to swim timed trials. I practiced my freestyle. I can make 50 m pretty easily now, but I start getting pretty tired when I approach 100. My breathing gets very strained to where I have to roll onto my back and take a few breaths while kicking. But I can still make all 350 m without absolutely stopping, I think. I guess we'll see how it goes tomorrow. There's always breaststroke.

Tomorrow we will have to line up according to what we think our swim time is so that we can swim in that group (and ideally match paces so that there isn't too much passing going on). Mandy said it is a big waste of energy to try to pass people and that it is better to get in a faster swim group and have people passing you up than the other way around.

I don't like this idea, of course, but I'm still trying to focus on just doing my best and having fun. It's just swimming and it doesn't really matter enough (in life) for me to let it make me panic. I keep coming back and back to that idea.

When Mandy was calling out most people's times today, they were all around 8 minutes and I was over 10. I asked Mandy if I should go in the 10 group tomorrow and she said I should get toward the middle or end of the 9s. I think I've improved since the day I did that 10, but I didn't care enough to tire myself out with a timed trial today.

Also, I think I'm going to wear my padded bike shorts, even if they slow down my swim, so that I won't have to pull them on in the transition area. I'd rather wear a wet diaper and be comfortable on my bike than look sleek and think about how much my crotch hurts for 12 miles. Another plus about swimming in the shorts is that I won't have to worry about re-shaving my already red and bumpy bikini line.

Today's challenge will be trying to stay in the moment and not worrying about the race. The most comforting thought right now is that there isn't anything else I can do to prepare except for pick up my "race packet" this afternoon and get a good night's sleep tonight. I'm going to bed at 8 and waking up at 5. Mom and Dad are sleeping over, waking up with me, and coming to the race, along with Leif. That should help my nerves.

Also, I'm going to drink water all day today and tonight before bed, and I'm not going to have any alcohol or crap foods at the family party. Unless you count jambalaya (which I don't).

Musings I only have time for in summer

2010-07-28T15:15:00.003-05:00

The real difficulty with breaking a (pacifying) habit is the (false) belief that you can't live without the habit. I had this thought while making a snack and losing a battle to a roach on top of the microwave (I sprayed her with all-purpose cleaner but she got away). I'm having what I call "granola" (oats, molasses, brown sugar, butter, walnuts) which is really more of a meal. When I swim, I tend to want two small lunches. But anyway, I've been thinking about how my eating habits have been slowly changing for about six months now because of (I think) a shift in awareness of my body. Or maybe it's just that I'm ready to truly devote energy and focus to taking care of my body--and my chores and work--without any denial about what I'm really doing (I tend to be very good at self-delusion). For example, recently I've had to do a lot of work and run a lot of errands involving my car, and I pretty much took care of it in a timely manner without much stress. This behavior is pretty much unprecedented for me. That sounds kind of silly, but it's really true.

So my question to myself is, what is different about the way you see yourself now that allows you to take better care? (Not that I look in the mirror and talk to myself in the second person. That much.) Is it true that just because I'm in better physical shape, I'm automatically performing better in other areas? Is it like firing on all cylinders vs. firing on two?

Beliefs--not necessarily the religious or political kind, but the self-labeling kind--are, of course, powerful, but I'm only recently coming to realize how much so for me. As someone who considers myself pretty a-religious, a-superstition, a-supernatural, I haven't paid much attention to my "beliefs." It sounds ridiculous, but maybe I'm going around thinking I don't have any. "Opinions," sure, but "beliefs," nah.

Apparently, though, I go around most of the time with this deep belief that I can't handle anything. Back to that childhood memory of thumbsucking: I distinctly remember being scared and resistant to breaking that "habit" (I still think thumb when I hear the word habit) because I deeply believed that I could not fall asleep without my left thumb in my mouth and my silky ponytail in my right hand. (Have I mentioned that the two tasted/felt great together, like wine and cheese?) This was a truth that I accepted: I am not able to fall asleep unless I suck my thumb and hold my hair. Sure, I am aware of the risks: my friends will think I'm a baby, my teeth will buck out, my thumb will always have these calluses. But it feels good right now, and I can't imagine a life without it, so I'll quit later. (Like a smoker.)
I vaguely remember the night I decided to quit. I'd been wanting to for years, but I never gave it a real shot. I think I was nine, I'd gotten a crunchy perm and my mom and I had had a discussion about really quitting, and I woke up the next morning and there was no thumb in my mouth (because it had happened before that I went to bed with the best intentions to quit and awoke with the thumb). I told mom that I didn't even remember falling asleep. That was the end of the habit forever--my "truth" was no longer true because it was, in fact, possible to fall asleep without my thumb. My thumb was not the thing inducing sleep. Who knew?

I guess that's what's happening for me (again). A deep belief is showing itself to be untrue. I don't want to over-dramatize one triathalon class, but the belief that I never would or could do something like this was something I carried around as a truth. And now I've woken up on the other side and I can't remember how I got here (though it lasted two months) but I know that I broke some kind of habit by making some kind of decision. I believed (and still believe half the time) that I needed a certain level of comfort--a certain amount of pacification via food, drink, physical indulgence and idleness--to exist. Or to have the life that I want. And I guess I thought intense exercise would only lead to frustration and feelings of failure, and those are not comforting things that add to the joy of my life (even though I know that comfort and joy are not that closely related). But I don't actually want an idle life, so I can't keep sitting around saying I can't have what I want. A lot of my stress in the past few years has been with myself--I've wanted a different (and very specific, actually) kind of lifestyle but I didn't really think I was the kind of person who could make those changes.

I guess I am the kind of person who needs to see something to believe it, and now that I've seen what I can do, I can no longer label myself in the way that I used to (as someone who can't exert herself).

I'm not saying I'm going to quit eating carbs, drinking, and watching shows--those three things are way too pleasurable to even label as "bad." I've just quit believing the lie that those things will pacify and distract me from life--or, really, the lie that I needed to be distracted from life in the first place. Or the lie that there aren't more joyous and powerful ways to improve the quality of one's life. Or some other idea that hasn't quite surfaced yet.

Feel more, think less, repeat

2010-07-28T09:44:00.005-05:00

Today we had an "easy" class that put me quite out of breath. I guess what Mandy considers an easy swim is still above my level, but that's okay.

I asked her today if she would watch my swim to see if I'm doing anything wrong with my breathing, and her response was basically that this is not the week to be thinking of that. This is the week to just swim. She said I'd come a really long way in 8 weeks. I said okay, and that I'd just focus on "making it." She said I would definitely make it.

Yet another reminder than it doesn't help me to approach "doing" things with the analytical mind (especially not a few days before the race. This is the time to accept my current level, because this is the level at which I'll perform during the race). If I'm still thinking the whole time I'm swimming, then it's going to get in the way of my body's (and even other parts of my brain's) natural intelligence. If I relax and think nothing more than "one, two, three, breathe, one two three four, breathe" and truly pay attention to the way my arms and legs feel and what they are doing, I will of course be okay and swim a more fluid and enjoyable stroke than if I'm overthinking my technique. In fact, when I'm trying to do the stroke the "right" way, I sometimes forget to kick! Or I am doing such a tiny kick that my bottom half starts sinking. Not helpful--a waste of mental and physical energy.

Basically, the challenge for me right now is accepting that the level where I am is "good enough." It's good enough because I've worked hard, but it's also good enough because it's where I am, and it is the best I can do right now. My usual tendency is to judge myself again and again by analyzing (though I could also call it worrying and obsessing) whether what I am doing is good enough compared to what I think I should be doing. Wherever I thought I was going to be by this point is an irrelevant and imaginary idea. Especially since I didn't know anything about physical training at the time I imagined my fitness level at race time. It's in the past, so, poof. Irrelevant.

We did 100 m swim, then another 100, and then I can't remember, because I fell behind the rest of the class. I think it was 3 sets of 50 and I maybe did one or two. Then it was a 100 and a get out and bike, or something like that. I pulled on my maxi-pad bike shorts, socks, shoes, helmet, and rode a quick loop around the Advocate building. Parked bike, removed helmet, jogged around the pool and looped the Exerfit parking lot. Then repeated: 100 m swim, bike loop, jog loop. Heart pounding. But no feelings of vomit--maybe that's what having endurance means. Still feeling like you're about to die, but coming down from it a little faster and with fewer symptoms. Oh, and with the knowledge that you aren't actually going to die because you've done the drill before and managed not to die.

I could, right now, choose to focus on the fact that I swam only breaststroke the second round, or how I was so far behind everyone else during the entire drill, and though it would easy to fall back on that mental habit, that would be a silly decision on my part. I'm not 12 years old and I'm not in PE class. I'm not getting a grade, and my teacher is just a teacher and not an authority figure. I choose now to feel proud that I got a great workout today, and I'm looking forward to having a good time feeling free and healthy at the race and appreciating the fact that I trained for 8 weeks. It will soon be over, and I may never do it again. If I don't enjoy the thing I'm doing now, then I'm missing my chance, because the thing that's passing is my life. Here's to enjoyment (*Raises plastic squirt bottle*).

On a good day you can see the end from here

2010-07-27T10:15:00.002-05:00

It's feeling like the beginning of the end. Hallelujah.

I was late for tri class yesterday because I chose to sit and gchat with a friend instead of getting to class early or on time. But when I did get there, I still got to do a decent spin class (I bet it was at least 30 minutes long), run twice around the basketball courts barefooted, and then--get this--we did stretches and yoga for the last segment of class! Mandy is giving us an easy week because the race is on Saturday. The realization of this is glorious. We even got to lay in shavasana (corpse pose) and practice visualizing each step of the race. I had already started doing that with the swim, but I realized that I was having a hard time imagining the wall-touch push-off-under-the-lane-buoys-into-the-next-lane moves.

I almost went to a swim clinic for 20 bucks on Sunday but then I didn't. Turns out I would have gotten a private lesson from some hot guy (my friend Carrie went). More importantly, I still haven't figured out if there's something better I can do with my breathing before the race on Saturday. I think I'll ask Mandy to check me out on Wednesday. I will get sleep tonight and be sure to be early Wednesday so I can talk to her.

Also, on Wednesday I am going to try out an idea I had for my transitioning: I'm going to swim in just my swimsuit and sports bra and then pull on the padded bike shorts during transition. I think I'd rather lose a few seconds and be comfortable for 12 miles than swim in unpadded shorts just so I can transition more quickly but end up with a sore crotch. But this means shorts, socks and shoes, race belt, helmet. I still need to go buy a decent squirt bottle that fits in the bike, get the bike checked and cleared for the race, and buy the race belt.

I'm itching to finish this thing. I am starting to feel like it will be kind of fun, though. Obviously it is exciting, but maybe I can stay in the frame of mind where I will have fun and not give a shit about my time. Also, relaxing improves everything (especially swimming).

I thought about running two miles this evening. Maybe I will follow through. But one thing is certain: I will get at least 8 hours of sleep every night this week.

Get More Sleep

2010-07-21T09:42:00.002-05:00

We should all sleep more. Starting with me. I like the idea of going to bed early to read until I pass out. Maybe with a cup of Kava tea. I need to order a book I like, then. What I do instead is watch a show on the laptop and then fart around on the Internet until I realize it's pretty late. Or last night I was actually playing piano and figuring out Joanna Newsom chords when I realized it was 11.

I went to bed around 11 but couldn't fall asleep until around 12 and got out of bed around 6:20. That's not optimal for a workout that is on a higher level than I can keep up with. But I ate my egg on bread and drank my coffee and water and went anyway, even though I was in a foul mood.

Today I had about 3 25 m laps that felt almost comfortable (swimming freestyle). We "warmed up" with 100 m freestyle, 100 m backstroke, 100 m freestyle. I did 100 m, 50 back stroke, 100 freestyle. Then I did another 200 m freestyle when we were supposed to do 400 with some "catch-up" and "half-catch-up" drills thrown in there, but I just practiced my freestyle until it was time to jump out and put on shoes.

I jogged to the ramp, up the ramp, then walked the top. When I rounded the curve at the top of the ramp, I saw the majority of the class at the bottom receiving instructions from Mandy, who was perched on a bike. It turns out that we had to do lunges up the first third of the ramp, then a jog with our heels hitting our butts up the second third, then a sprint up the final third. We walked down and repeated that sequence three more times. Then she had us do a sideways gallop up the ramp and a top-third sprint. Walk down, repeat on other side. I skipped side two of the crab gallop. Then we sprinted up, walked, sprinted. Twice. Then we sprinted all the way to the other side of the ramp and jogged the long route back to the pool. She said we were supposed to do an "85% jog" between posts and a "50% jog" to rest between intervals. I just tried not to walk. I made it around the curve, through the gate, and past the Advocate building before I felt really overheated and sick and slowed to a walk the rest of the way. Mandy didn't yell or anything--I think she figured we were spent after all those ramp sprints. But she did tell me to run once I got to the pool parking lot, so I technically finished with a little run.

According to her, this is our last week to "train." Next week I guess we are just going to focus on racing. I actually have only made it two days per week for the past three or so weeks because of vacation, house guests, and one alarm goof. I did supplement with a few bike rides and runs, though. Whatever. I'll just try to keep moving until the day of the race and then keep trying after it's over. I wonder how I am going to keep running and also get back to training my ballet technique. I really haven't danced much this summer.

Water is not your friend, but it isn't trying to be your enemy.

2010-07-20T09:44:00.003-05:00

I didn't go to tri class yesterday because we were driving back from visiting Sarah in Chattanooga, which was a blast. We white water rafted while we were there, and the river was really high and rough. Rafting brings my thoughts into relief (much like running does), I discovered: when approaching a really big rapid that could potentially flip the boat (and will either cause your butt to fly off your perch or slam you in the face with water), I would get scared, clinch up, scream, and think the worst was going to happen. Oh, and lean back--leaning back doesn't help one's balance, ever, in any situation.

Sarah fell out of the boat on one of the pretty early rapids. I didn't think this actually ever happened, and it scared the shit out of me. I thought my friend was getting hurt and scared, and this idea to go rafting was a bad one, and it was my fault for dragging her out here. Then when Leif pulled her back into the boat, it didn't take her long to laugh about it, and she didn't cry or curse or anything. It turned out that the guide pretty much saw it coming and even probably thought it would be fun for her (since right before we hit the rapid, he said "you're going to want to hang on--especially you, Sarah."). The boat was, after all, completely sideways. This was like one of the other scary moments when we did a "double suck" where the boat get sucked under some water, then spit out, then sucked back under. We had to "get down" in the boat and put our paddles in the air while water rushed in and over. Sarah lost her paddle and then some other boat immediately picked it up and threw it to our guide (I'd briefly thought she was going to have to go the rest of the way with no paddle). I'd thought the "double suck" was just us fucking something up, but when I asked our guide Cole "Has anything we've done so far been a fuck up," he smiled and said no. In fact, he'd hit paddles with us to celebrate that fact that we'd just "surfed" and "done a pretty wicked double suck." Reid and Leif told me later (they were in the back of the boat closer to the guide) that Cole did that double suck shit on purpose. Because he thought it would be more fun for all of us (and him). This was an alternate reality compared to the one I'd thought was going on (i.e., we have less control than we think we have and something could go very wrong at any second and we didn't sign a waiver for nothing).

I tried, for the latter half of the course, to appreciate the "wee" factor. It was, of course, more enjoyable and more effective to lean right into each rapid as it came and just paddle through, enjoying the feeling that you're on a wild bull. Plus, the scary rapids are the fun ones--if none of them had the capacity to make me at least a little nervous, the whole excursion would be less fun. "Think less, feel and enjoy more" seems like an appropriate lesson for me right now (or at least one that keeps rearing a persistent head).

Chattanooga was a lot of fun, and besides enjoying the company, urban and rural landscapes, and local food and drink (microbrews, breakfast, tapas, sushi, pizza), I had the usual feeling of wanting to pick up and move out of LA. I still feel a continual conflict between the feeling that I'm not done here and the feeling that I want to dive into something completely different (aside from all the pragmatic particulars that I tend to prioritize over vague dreams). And I'm still wondering how I can get fiction writing back into my life--perhaps there's a writer's circle in the area. That would do for now.

Now for news in fitness:

Friday we went in the big scary indoor pool. 50m lap lanes instead of 25, which means you only get half as many opportunities to push off the wall and glide, which means you are relying on your little sputtery kicking and arm pulls to do the job. It was hard, scary, tiring, and I got a lot of water in my nose and throat, but I finished the 350 m time trial in 10 minutes and 13 seconds. The fact that I finished without stopping is the real triumph, but 10 minutes sounded a lot shorter when Mandy said it than I was expecting, and she was encouraging and said it was "awesome" in her cool accent. I breaststroked a lot of the way, and I was dead last partly because we went in five second intervals (in a big train) and partly because I am a slow swimmer, but I made it.

Then we did a grueling exercise of kickboarding. Then we were doing some kind of interval training where we swim to the middle of the pool and stand up, then sprint back or only take three breaths or something. First of all, I am the only one who wears earplugs, and I can't hear a lot of what Mandy tells us to do. Second of all, I was the only one at one end of the pool for most of the exercise. I'd look up and the whole class was at the other end. I wanted to quit--everything past 350 m feels like driving on empty. Instead, I did my own version of whatever she said to do and focused on not stopping for too long. At the end of class, when the rest of the class sprinted from the middle of the pool to the front, I swam one more 50 m lap from the front to the back and figured out that I can kick on my side with one arm extended and take a really long breath when I get tired during freestyle. Then I'll have just enough gas to flip over and do three or four decent arm strokes.

I swam for almost a whole hour with only a few breaks, so I felt really tired and awesome at the end. I'm still worried about what the actual race will feel like and how tired it's going to make me, but I'm starting to believe that I'll make it okay and not be in too much pain. And I know for a fact now that I can swim 350 m, even in a pool with 50 m lap lanes.

Today I did my two-mile neighborhood run, this time with music (good advice from Jeanne). Last week I created a playlist on my Zen for running (it was surprisingly hard to find songs with an appropriate tempo). Music definitely helped me to think less and feel more. It was still really hard because I finished at 9:30 and got uncomfortably overheated. I know my body can make it because I did it, but it was still extremely hard to finish without walking. When I came in, Leif looked worried and asked me if I was sure I was okay while I paced and panted around the living room trying to "cool down."

Here's today's playlist. I finished somewhere in the middle of Kanye.

"Burning"--The Whitest Boy Alive
"Declare Independence" --Bjork
"The Distance"--Cake (hehe, I felt cheesy running to this, but the tempo is perfect.)
"Change Clothes"--Danger Mouse's remix of Jay Z and "Piggies" by The Beatles
"Disposable Parts"--Enon
"Ok"--Talvin Singh
"Touch the Sky"--Kanye West

If you're willing and able

2010-07-14T12:58:00.003-05:00

It's hot outside, y'all.
Today as I was riding to tri class, NPR ran a story about people in Haiti post-earthquake. It made me feel pretty silly, because I was worrying and whining in my head before I started paying attention to the radio. I have a head cold. I couldn't sleep. I'm not seeing any improvements in my swimming. Or running. I would rather do anything else with my morning besides get in that pool or run up that concrete ramp.

One way that I can choose to look at this scary race is that it's a big fat privilege. The training is a privilege, too.

No, this is probably not the end of my expressions of anxiety, but I cannot tell the lie that anyone or anything is making me practice and show up at the race against my will. I actually do want to do this because my body can (or is getting to the point where it maybe can) do this, and I want to live a high quality existence at the top of (or at least in the upper echelon of) my game.

Therefore, I say hooray for the follow things:

I am not physically handicapped by injury or condition, so I am able to push my body.
I swam almost consistently for 25-30 minutes today. We did freestyle/breaststroke, then buoy pull, then 100 m more freestyle before hopping out to put our wet feet into socks and shoes. Besides running out of time before I did a full 500 m pull, I swam every lap she asked of us.
I sustained a post-swim (slow) jog for a full 30 minutes. I slowed to a walk twice to catch my breath, but not for a significant distance.
My jog was in the sun, yet I managed to not pass out or vomit.
I could have used the excuse that I have a cold to sit out of tri class and the Gyrontonics class that followed, but I did not.
I feel physically better for the whole day after I exercise. I tend to forget this fact, but it remains true.
My endurance is slowly improving. I believe it will continue to do so (despite worries to the contrary) because there isn't anything physically wrong with me.

Now I get to rest. I do love a well-earned rest.

The Piece We Don't Have

2010-07-12T12:08:00.000-05:00

"Most of the time, we are so busy wanting the next thing, the piece that we don't have, that we don't allow ourselves to enjoy the one that's in our mouth. When we are busy focusing on what we don't have, we don't pay attention to what we do have.

Wanting is different from having. Wanting is in the future. It is based on an idea of what might make you happy in five minutes, tomorrow, next week. But having is here, now. Most of us don't let ourselves have what's in front of us, so we're always wanting more. When you don't let yourself have what you already have, you are always hungry, always searching, always restless."

Geneen Roth wrote this (about eating, and not about eating). I like it.

I started this morning out by realizing that I'd slept through tri class because I'd set my alarm for 7 for my Saturday bike ride (I rode 13.6 miles on Ang and Ben's roadbike!). The feeling of failure spiraled into feeling like I couldn't handle anything--to the point that making breakfast seemed tiresome. Or running an errand. I had the terrible feeling of things sliding downward and out of my control. I thought about my new classroom that I haven't dealt with--the boxes and the piles of furniture that only exist in my imagination because I haven't actually gone to see what's what over there. The feeling that it is too late for anything--that I have already slipped and it's too late. Written out, this sounds incredibly dramatic--it's a very subtle feeling I'm trying to describe here, but it's one that is pervasive in my life. It's a habit or an inclination. Disappointment in myself and fear that life will turn out to be one disappointment after the next.

Of course I'm scared that I won't be ready for the race. I do have plans today to do an evening bike ride and jog with Reid.

I'm also scared that I will be unhappy when summer is over and that I will let the stress of work take over my life (again). That there is a future of "no pleasure" waiting for me.

I signed up for this race because I wanted to do something out of my usual routine--to change the way my body feels and looks. I'd say it's working--I know I'm stronger than when I started. But I'm also hitting a mental rut--a loss of inspiration and confidence in myself. I need to just stop. Just stop and relax. The whole point of this is to feel good and have fun. Or to at least get in shape so that I can have more energy in life (and therefore more fun). Stop over-thinking, stop story-izing, stop worrying, and just do. Just do and be. And enjoy some part of doing and being. Enjoy what I already have, because it's the last time I get to be 27; it's the last time I get to live this day. There's no sense in crapping on it like it isn't worth anything. I know this to be true. I want to find the bravery in myself to make choices that are not motivated by the fear of disappointment.

Right now, I feel capable of drinking a glass of water, cleaning myself up, and making a grocery list. I'm going to focus on only those things and see how I feel after that.

Intermission

2010-07-06T13:40:00.004-05:00

Ran two miles avec Jeanne today. It was really hard (again). My Achilles's tendons and lower calves are aching. I actually didn't get side cramps, but I felt a dizzying pressure in my head. Oxygen deficit, I guess. But I made it. I know that I can do it.

Because I had houseguests this weekend (my friend Sarah and her friend Joy), I prioritized that over Tri class. I skipped Friday morning's session, since my guests came in late Thursday evening, and I skipped whatever giant bike session was going on Saturday morning. Jeanne came over, too. Since Joy had never been to LA before, we sampled a lot of restaurants, went on walks around campus and the garden district, went to the Bluebonnet swamp, and went to more restaurants. I didn't really think about training while they were here--I thought, this is actual life. Being with people. But I also thought of how I actually had the energy to do everything we did because I've been working out so much. Sarah said I looked like I had more energy than last time she saw me--like I was almost hyper. Since I imagine myself to be pretty sloth-like, I think that's pretty interesting (and hopeful).

Though Jeanne stayed Sunday night, I had every intention to go back to Tri class Monday morning (since I'd be back before she woke up). I tossed and turned all night and woke up at 8:20 instead of 6:10. Turns out my alarm was set for 8:30. I can remember neither doing this nor the reason I would need to set it for that time. So there went skipped class number two.

I haven't been too sedentary in the interim--there have been lots of 2 and 3 mile walks, and today there was a run. However, in the present moment, I do not feel very interested in doing a triathalon. I prefer to bike for pleasure (and for a car alternative) and I'm not even interested in continuing the swimming, but I'm ready for the race itself to be over so that I can just focus on running at my own pace and increasing the length of time that I am able to sustain a run.

I guess I'll see how I feel tomorrow after class. Maybe I just have a bad attitude today because the weather is ugly and my house is dark.

Two Laps Around Swaggartland (almost)

2010-06-30T10:57:00.003-05:00

Swim/run today. I continue to feel inept at swimming. My lungs don't really feel like they're improving and I have to take more breaks between laps than almost everyone else. Even if I breaststroke it the whole way, I lose enough oxygen to make me gasp for breath and accidentally swallow water. Oh well. I know I can at least make it without quitting.

Mandy told me (during one of my side breaks) that I wasn't keeping my arm by my ear while taking breaths (in freestyle). I did another few laps keeping that in mind. There were small moments of feeling relaxed and at one with the water and a lot of longer moments of feeling like a sinking horse struggling to stay afloat enough to roll over and breathe. There's some kind of cardio hump I have yet to get over. Maybe it'll happen in the next few weeks. I have yet to try the swim clinics (because they're at 5:30 in the morning).

I jogged almost the whole 1.5 miles (plus ramp and stairs). I walked the top of the ramp both times and walked a little bit after the stairs the first round. But my running is improving for sure. Mandy (from her post atop the stairs) told me on round one that my swim was looking A LOT better since day one. I must have looked frustrated today. I told her thank you (while jogging up the stairs). On round two she asked if I'd jogged the whole thing and I said "almost," and she said "Where was the walk?" and I said "just at the top of the ramp" and she said "good job" in an enthusiastic tone. She's such an attentive teacher.

G is going to show me her 12 mile bike route and then when she gets back from vacation, we're going to run the LSU course together. It feels like it's getting closer. I need, like, four more months.

Breakthrough

2010-06-28T12:09:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I went for a run with Jeanne after the rainstorm. I love the weather right after the rain, even if it is 1000% humid, because the temp drops to like 72, and the plants are green and dripping. We set out at a faster clip than I usually run, and Jeanne said she wasn't going to let me stop. I was feeling pretty good and doing that thing where I stretch my stride a little longer to jog lower and more level (not so jiggly).

About a mile in, I was feeling the burn in both my sides and my lower calves. Plus my Achilles. I told this to Jeanne and she said, "Well, maybe try not to pay so much attention to it." I said okay and it pretty much worked. My legs would go through waves of adjusting and then flaring up again, but they weren't injuring themselves (as far as I can tell).

I reached utter exhaustion, but with Jeanne talking to me about other shit, I made it all two miles with no walking. We finished with a short loop around Rittner. And of course I felt fantastic when it was over.

This confirms the hunch that I had that I am capable of more than I think. My mind is a crappy judge of what the rest of my body can do.

With that knowledge, I kept up real well in spin class today (even cranking up the resistance on the bike to the amount Mandy called for). I pushed myself in a calm, accepting kind of way and trusted her instructions, and I found that I could do everything she asked us to do and not throw up, cramp up, or pass out. I guess my endurance is starting to improve. My understanding of what I CAN endure is improving, at any rate. We did a teensy bit of preliminary jogging and post-spin "sprinting" (I just did a fast jog) and I did okay with that, too.

Now I just have one decision to make: when I sign up for the race, do I choose "road bike" and use Ben's Raleigh (that he kindly lent me) and keep up with the fast guys, or do I choose "fat tire" and ride my bike with the fat (but now slick) tires and have a possible edge over the real fatties?

Mini-mini

2010-06-25T09:51:00.002-05:00

Today we did a mini version of the race. Well, the swimming was the whole 350 m. Guess who choked on water and did breaststroke most of the way? I think I was the third to last person out of the pool. It sucked to watch half the class jump out while I knew I had a few laps left.

Then we jumped out and ran into the gym where our towels, helmets, and shoes were and where our bikes were set up. Got on bikes, walked them outside, rode around a little bit, worked on our "turnarounds" (Mandy made us practice really sharp turns on our bikes where we had to pass between her helmet and a piles of sticks. Mandy yelled for me to slow down on my turns.

Then we went to put the bikes back inside and jogged around the pool, down the service road, then back to the gym. I figured out that if I jog in a less springy way with my knees bent a little more and a longer stride (like I'm stuck in some mud) I feel like I can go a little further. Maybe. I didn't have to walk during the jog today, so that means we must have gone about .1 miles.

I think I'm going to buy some kind of Luna or Power bar today and a squirty-top water bottle for the thirty mile bike ride tomorrow morning at 6:15 sharp. On a Saturday morning. I can't believe I'm doing it. Mom's bringing me some kind of field trip fanny pack today when they pick us up to go to a wedding.

So that's one thing to look forward to.

Hump Day

2010-06-23T12:24:00.003-05:00

No revelations today: just more difficult swimming and running. We did free swim for 200 m, then another one, then another one, and I didn't complete any but one and I lost count of the total. Freestyle the whole way except for the "pulls" exercise, which is still half freestyle. I'm okay on those but still totally running out of breath after 50 m. I need the space and time to practice swimming the 350 m by myself. But I'd have to be there by 5:30 in the morning on Tuesdays or Thursdays if I want to use the pool.

A new thing we did was swimming "sprints." Mandy had us hang on to the side of the pool and kick as hard as we can for 30 seconds or something. Then bam, we had to turn around, push off, and kick super hard/fast while swimming freestyle. It was exhausting but my stroke was better when I did that. She had to yell "Come on Rikki" a couple of times to keep me from dropping out. I made it, though.

Then a small run: .75 miles. But with a traffic ramp and stairs. That fucking traffic ramp.

We did a hard swim, dragged ourselves out of the pool, ripped off cap and goggles (and for me, earplugs), pulled on shorts, and tried to get on shoes and socks while Mandy is counting down from 60 backward. She wants us to transition in less than a minute.

Let me just state the obvious: it sucks to start running when you're empty on oxygen.

I jogged the first part (around the pool, through the parking lot, down the service road, past The Advocate, past the tennis courts and yes, all the way up the damn concrete ramp). I started walking at the top of the ramp--cars were zooming down Bluebonnet beneath me. I walked down, too, because Mandy was no where in hearing range (yet). I let my body weight accelerate me to a sad trot and kept it up for a bit longer. Mandy was up ahead at the top of the stairs (to the walking bridge over Bluebonnet). I started jogging when I was in her range of vision. I know I won't get "in trouble" or anything, and she knows that WE know that she does what she does to encourage us. So I jogged up the stairs and she pep-talked me all the way up. I started walking when I got to the top. I walked a while and then finished with a jog after some encouragement from Carrie, who is also training for the first time ever and hating the running.

At the end, I bent over on a bench at the gym entrance to hang out in the AC for a minute and catch my breath. V came by to say Hi and ask if I was ready for Friday. "What's on Friday, biking?" I asked. "Oh, it's a mini-triathalon Friday," she said. "We're doing swimming, biking, then running."

The answer is no.

On wanting to force a breakthrough

2010-06-22T14:27:00.003-05:00

After a languid morning of watching episodes from the last season of Sex in the City and eating berries and light whipped cream (no, I wasn't wearing a pink fuzzy robe but I might as well have been), I found that my PMS brain was running over its usual worry: "there's not enough time." There are many versions of this. Today's was alternating between worrying that my whole summer will go by without me doing anything more than watching a mindless TV series (and that maybe some of those characters will rub off on me and I'll start whining about my vain non-problems to anyone who'll listen and nitpicking my boyfriend) and beating myself up about the fact that I haven't dealt with the laundry I promised to deal with two days ago. The weather was starting to look cloudy and breezy. I opened a new window on Firefox to watch another episode, and then some merciful instinct urged me to hit pause, run upstairs to throw on a sportsbra, wrench the house key off its ring, and go for a two-mile run. I thought about taking my Zen with me to listen to NPR, but then I remembered I hadn't uploaded the latest shows yet. Sometimes laziness is the thing that actually gets me out the door.

Alone with my breathing and my achy lower leg bones, it didn't take my mind long before it started jumping ahead to dangle a carrot: if you can make it without walking, you can say you've run two miles without stopping. Then I'd go back to not-thinking and feeling the rhythm of my feet and breathing, then I'd jump ahead to imagining posting on Facebook, calling Leif, calling my mom and saying "I ran two miles without stopping once! For the first time!"

I'm in love (or should I say my ego is in love) with the idea of having done something. I just want to be done. Skip the burning legs, side cramps, sweat, and discomfort and cut to the big finish. The idea that there will be a race in six weeks is freaking my ego out (It wants to NOT be the caboose. It wants to accomplish the goal I imagined and, therefore, not fail.). After those thoughts comes the inevitable I can't do it. Fuck it. That's enough. Why did I bother in the first place? Followed by disappointment. I want that magic breakthrough--I want to know that at exactly week 4 day 2 (or at whatever point), something will kick in and everything will start to get easier. Because I don't think I can keep going through the same discomfort again and again, which is of course false. I've been doing it for three weeks and I come out alive every time. But I'm throwing a big story on top of what's actually happening.

This is why I haven't run very far before. It's so uncomfortable that it causes me to really come up hard against what I think about myself. This is why I know that it's worth experimenting with and it's worth coming back to again and again.

I ended up running 1.5 miles without stopping (I figured it out on Google maps) and feeling very disgruntled that I couldn't just stick it out for .5 more. During those 1.5 miles, I noticed that running can, in fact, obliterate thinking, which makes it 1) not boring and 2) a therapeutic tool. I noticed that at the point when I think my legs and lungs will give out, they don't--they just keep being uncomfortable. I noticed that it feels better, while running, to say: "I'm on Belmont. I'm on Arlington" than "I'm almost to Belmont. I'm almost to Arlington." You can't sustain a run without being in the moment--it's as if there isn't room for both the intense experience your body is trying to cope with and the thoughts about how hard it is and how you want it to stop and when can I lay down in the AC? You have to pick one or the other.

I know I'm not where I wanted to be at this point. I also know that this thought doesn't offer any insight into where I actually am.

I forgot about shin splints

2010-06-21T10:25:00.003-05:00

Week 4, Day 1. Today we did a spin class followed by an outdoor jog. I didn't know I could sweat out of my face that much.

I had moments of maybe feeling some increased endurance during the jog today, but I still had to walk a lot of the way. It was only a mile and a half total, I think, (a 2-lap route), and there was a traffic ramp and 2 flights of stairs involved. I can at least say that I jogged up both of those things both times. Mandy was stationed at the top of the traffic ramp and Anna was on the stairs. Mandy yelled to me and this girl Val, while we were humping it up the ramp, "Did you run the whole way without stopping?" I shook my head no and said "I'm trying" and Val said "No, but I'm working on it" in a much cheerier tone than mine. "Aw, come on, ladies!" said Mandy.

When we finished, we got back into the gym, which at least has an excellent air conditioning system. I cheers-ed Val with my water bottle and said "We made it." She said "yeah, and we're gonna get ripped into!" But we didn't. Instead, Mandy came in and led us in hip-flexer exercises and ab work (which she hadn't told us was coming!).

All of the muscles around my shins and ankles are hurting right now (a new soreness). I suppose it's from uphill jogging.

One scary thing is that Mandy said she was taking us on a bike ride this weekend and that it was going to last 30 miles. She said we were supposed to have been training with Tom doing 20 miles for the past two weekends. I did 9 when I went with him.

Sheesh. At least I have slick tires on my bike now, even if they are fat. I think I'll treat myself to a yoga class today since 1) my body needs some quiet time and nurturing and 2) my 3 class pass is about to expire.

Synchronized Swim

2010-06-18T10:18:00.002-05:00

Today's hour long swim was better than the last two. We got three detailed stroke tips from Mandy herself, who was suited up and in the pool with us. Wednesday, when I was standing in the doorway of the gym to hang out in the AC so I wouldn't pass out, I read the profiles on the bulletin board. Turns out she's from South Africa (not Australia), she was on the LSU swim team, and she was a semi-finalist and finalist for the Olympics. This means she looks like a gazelle in the water (if gazelles were bipedal swimmers). Or maybe a swan is a better simile, although they are shaped like boats. But it was inspiring.

First we did a "catch-up" drill. This is when you have to touch one hand to the other in front of you (when doing freestyle) before you do the next arm pull. It makes you have to kick a lot more but it also increases your glide. She made us focus on gliding and count our strokes. I hate counting and thinking about lane length and numbers and records, and I kept forgetting to count because I was trying not to drown, but the few times I did, I did around 21 strokes. My best was 17. I think the lanes are 25 m.

(Gliding! What a concept! I thought I had to fight my way to the other side.)

Second, we did a touch turn lesson. We lined up on the side of the pool with one arm on the wall and one straight out in the lane, superman style. She taught us how to bob underwater and turn sideways in a little ball then push off the wall and roll under our stomachs with our hands extended by our heads, one hand flat on top of the other one. Oh, and you have to keep your head down. Sounds easy, but it takes some coordination to get your arm over your head on the "up" part of the bob and not on the push off. I think my years of being trained to copy body movements in dance really helped me today.

Thirdly, we did a "zipper drill" (zippa drill in Mandy's accent). This is a weird one where you drag your thumbs along your ribs and point your elbow all the way up like a shark fin when you're doing your arm pulls during freestyle. I was lagging behind everyone because I took extra breaks and because I wanted some extra space, and when I came up, Mandy was telling everyone to watch how I was doing it. She also told me (during one of my extra breaks) that I was doing so much better than last week, so that was nice. Earplugs and foggy goggles limited me to one-word responses to her questions, but that's for the best.

At the end of class, I stayed behind with a few people to learn flip turns. I got the hang of it except that water got in my nose every time I pushed off the wall backwards. When I watched Mandy do it, she had a nice little air funnel around her nose and she was looking straight up at the surface. I couldn't quite make my own, but I'll keep working on it.

There's a bike ride tomorrow morning but I think I'll work on my jog instead, if I'm feeling up to it. I'd like to start practicing running a lot more often. We've got six weeks left (which also means the end of summer).

Pulls and Lulls

2010-06-16T13:03:00.003-05:00

Mandy wasn't there again today. For swim, I was trying not to have a fearful mindset--swimming can actually be pretty fun if you aren't racing (too bad I'm racing).

I realized when I pulled up to the pool today that I have a childhood fear of swimming lessons that I'd forgotten all about: when I was about three or four years old, I went to swimming lessons and I was terrified to go underwater. Some 16-year-old Gonzales girl was our teacher, and I was so vocal about not going underwater and just completely refusing. I really liked wearing floaties (or water-wings) on my arms and felt scared without them, but we had to go without in lessons and I couldn't touch the bottom of the pool with my feet even in the shallow end, which made me doubly uncomfortable. I remember clutching this metal bar thing attached to a kind of gutter where the water overflowed. My feet were dangling. The exercise was to hang on to these foam barbells and kick. The teacher was holding my barbells and I remember saying "Don't let go" over and over to her while I kicked (and I was probably crying and yelling). I didn't trust her and she was probably getting very frustrated with me because I was a very obstinate child. I could be remembering this wrong, but she said it was time to try to go underwater and I said no and she either dunked me or she let go of the barbell and I freaked out and slipped under and choked on a bunch of water. I think she was trying to show me that it wasn't really as bad as I thought it was going to be. She failed.

It was another two years before I chose to try it on my own (first dipping my face and then going all the way under in a safe, exploratory way).

Anyway, I did okay today except for the fact that I accidentally swallowed a bunch of nasty chlorine water again in the middle of a lap and I did much fewer laps than I was asked to. I did well on the "pulls" where you put a foam peanut between your legs and use only arms. I think my stroke is improving a little bit even though I was the caboose again (but part of that was due to the choking and fiddling with my ear plugs).

When we had to jump out of the pool and pull on our shorts and shoes for the run, I realized that it wasn't really going to happen for me today. My legs feel extremely sore and weak from sprints on Monday and got tired immediately from a light jog. I started walking soon after. My head felt light and I was nauseated from the combination of heat and my high heart rate (we swim and run outside). We jogged around the facility and then ran intervals up and down a traffic ramp. I managed to jog the ramp twice but then I just waited with another lady at the bottom until everyone else was done. Then I mostly walked back with a tiny bit of jogging when Anna told me to, but only then.

I definitely "took it easy" today in terms of what I probably could have done. But I still showed up and made it through class, so it's nothing to feel disappointed about. G also told me Monday that it is too early in the game to start worrying about whether I can hang tough in the race or not. I met a Brandy today as well, who was super nice. She did it last year and said the race was going to be easy after what we've been doing. That was a small comfort.

In other health news, I just started reading Women Food and God by Geneen Roth and it is well-written and brilliant. It's shifting the way I look at food and eating already. I tend to eat (and drink) too fast and too much (and too unconsciously) because I expect the food to distract me from life and give me lots of pleasure, and then I don't want the meal to end. Anything to help me be more conscious and awake while eating is a good thing, and this is certainly the best thing I've read on the subject so far. Her thesis is "The way you eat is inseparable from your core beliefs about being alive."

Okay maybe there is some crying in tri class

2010-06-14T11:44:00.003-05:00

Today, I hate that I'm training for a Triathalon (a "tin man" as my Dad called it). I know in the long run I may surprise myself, but today I just want to quit and have an easy, pleasant summer. I feel like a pedestrian training for the Olympics. On the equator.

I saw a piece of the iron man Triathalon on TV yesterday. Those people are like beautiful cheetahs. Like the blue guys on Avatar. I feel like I have a tiny glimpse of how much work it takes to actually get to that point, and I just don't see how it's possible.

While I was biking alongside Tom yesterday, he said, "You're gonna get hooked. You'll see." Today's forecast: doubtful with a 30% chance of tears or vomit. Watch for signs of quitting.

This morning I woke up feeling heavy, tired, and resistant. It's week three. The way my body felt and the thought of pounding it out on the track or the resistance bike made me want to sit down and cry. Of course I went anyway, and I wasn't even late (I haven't been late once, which is really something for me). Mandy had car trouble, so her assistant Anna trained us today. We did a circuit that went a little something like this:

1 minute on bike with high resistance in a standing-up position to pedal. We're not supposed to put any weight on our hands.
1 minute jogging around the basketball court.
1 minute holding a low squat.
1 minute holding plank position (the hardest part).
1 minute alternating lunges
1 minute to scramble back to the bikes and take a sip of water.

We repeated four times. This wasn't so bad compared to swimming or running. Well, or biking. I really hate the whole triumvirate today.

Then we did something that I didn't think would be that grueling: 6 sprints of one lap around the track with 2-minute breaks in between. The laps are about a sixth of a mile. The breaks seemed merciful in theory.

I can sprint pretty hard and fast for a couple of seconds, but then I feel like I'm going to throw up my coffee. I tried to pace myself. At the very beginning, it was almost fun to tear ass around the track. But it suddenly gets very hard and then it feels like I'm in deep mud before the end of one lap. I paced in a little circle during the "rest." I had a really good third lap (or was it fourth?) when I stayed fast in the front of the pack. After every single one, I tried to breathe through the side cramps, nausea, and mucus (I've discovered that running hurts the pressure in your head and blocks up your ears and throat). I felt like quitting every time and it got harder rather than easier. I was the caboose for the sixth lap--I don't think I was physically capable of "sprinting" by that point, but I managed a jog.

I forgot to mention this: on Saturday when I visited my parents, my mom timed my swimming. I don't remember how long a "lap" is, but it's a there-and-back in their pool. A 350 m swim is about 10 "laps" in their pool (I think). I did a lap in about 1 min. 30 seconds every time no matter what stroke. I took lots of breaks, and the whole thing took about 15 minutes (same length as the swim part of the real race). We discovered that breaststroke is my fastest, backstroke is my slowest, and freestyle/front crawl makes me choke on water halfway back on the first "lap."

I briefly talked with Anna and G after class about maybe doing breaststroke for the race instead of front crawl, and G said it's just not possible with all of the crowding of the lanes and people passing you up and stuff. Anna said once you get front crawl down pat, it's the most efficient. I said I'd just think of breaststroke as back up, and G said to aim for not doing it and then only do it at the race if you get desperate. This information gave me a sinking feeling (pun intended). We're swimming and running (or biking) back to back on Wednesday. Frown.

If getting freestyle really is hopeless for me, I'm just going to let those bitches pass me up and froggie kick the whole thing.

I felt physically ill after class--lightheaded, nauseous, headachy, stuffed up. Maybe a little mentally ill, too, with all my negative thoughts of resignation. I went home and lay on the sheep skin rug under the living room fan, chatted with Leif about the World Cup, and read a food article in O magazine. The sick feeling almost completely passed. I managed to stomach a granola bar and some water. Then I went to ballet class (which was pretty chill again today, thank god) because I want to maintain my technique and because it is a rare treat to get a free Miss Susan class. My legs were shot, but I made it through, dancing at about 70% of my capacity. Maybe 60. It wasn't as big of a deal to go to ballet as I thought it would be.

I think I'm going to treat myself to the veggie lunch at Zealand. I just sweat through a lukewarm splash bath and ate some mixed nuts. I'm just starting to feel really hungry. Maybe I'll get to have black eyed peas and greens! And I tell you hwhat: I could tear up some cornbread right about now.

The First Bike Ride

2010-06-13T08:45:00.004-05:00

Mandy announced every day this week that there would be a bike ride on Alligator Bayou Road at 7:30 am on Sunday. She said if we couldn't make this bike ride, we had to at least arrange to get on a bike once this weekend. Planning a route on which I would not get run over (or runneth over, as Leif says) takes an extra amount of time and energy, so I knew it'd be easier for me in the long run to just show up and let Mandy take me on the route.

Now, I don't want to give you the wrong impression here: it takes a lot of gear to go on a true, racey-type bike ride. I visited Mid-City Bikes on Friday. A stocky, spunky guy named David helped me buy a bike rack for my car and a helmet. Then we went out to the parking lot (in the heat-advisory weather) and attached the thing to my car. Since the shop is close to my house, he let me drive home, load my bike onto the rack, and do a test run back to the shop, where I would then get my bike "tuned up." It worked great, and by the time I, dripping sweat, showed back up at the shop, David was eating a carrot with peanut butter on a plate. He looked at my bike--Reid's old one that he got for free in Austin and then minimally fixed it up--and we realized that he wouldn't be able to tune it up before the Sunday ride. He said my tires were loose (or something) and that I probably shouldn't ride it more than one more time. We also noticed that I had two different kinds of tires, but they were both "fat." He offered for me to bring my bike Monday and he would put road bike tires on it. I asked what difference that would make and he said I wouldn't have to work half as hard when pedaling. After I paid for helmet and rack, he threw in a water bottle holder for free and I sat down on one of those huge wooden spools and drank water out of a plastic Mardi-Gras cup he scrounged up for me while he went hunting for two bolts with which to install the metal water bottle holder.

Later on Facebook, Ang left me a message that I really needed to get a better bike if I was going to race.

This morning, I woke up without having gotten enough sleep, ate my new revised breakfast (it's been reduced to one slice of Leif's bread with butter, one egg, and coffee--my bacon days are over after the one day I felt sick on the stationary bike), and wrote down the directions from the email in my "Fat Lil' Notebook." They weren't very specific, and it turns out I should have looked it up on Google Maps for a visual aid. Instead, I took a wrong turn with ten minutes 'til ride time and called Leif in a high-pitched panic. He set me straight and I made it on time.

It turns out that Mandy wasn't there at all. It was this guy Tom that runs a bike shop on Highland. And V was there too, of course, looking excited like a weebly little kid on a too-big bike. I didn't recognize anyone else, but I did notice that they all had road bikes. V and I were the only Charlie Browns on fat tires. While Tom gave some basic directions, I tried to figure out which way my helmet was supposed to go and ended up buckling it with twisted straps and leaving it. I jammed my aluminum water bottle into its holder and realized that there wasn't going to be an easy way to drink from it while biking because 1) it was in there so tight and 2) it has a cap that twists off instead of a flip-top or sporty squirter.

We set off on the ride and everyone immediately raced out of sight. Some of those ladies look like overweight moms, and they were right up there with all those serious bitches who'd obviously been training pretty hard (on their lightweight road bikes with their little fingerless gloves). Tom and V were right in front of me, and I was the caboose.

A word about the scenery: it was beautiful and it smelled like ass. As we rode uphill out of the gravel parking lot and onto the snaky, tree-covered road with rays of sunlight illuminating the misty air, I was hit in the face with what seemed to be a giant fart. As I rode a bit further, it softened into the scent of a rotten egg cracked over a cow turd. Luckily, it tapered off shortly after, but since the route was a "there and back" configuration, I got to re-experience the smells at the end.

So I'm riding along and my thighs (and as a bonus, my entire crotch area) are on fire. Tom lets V ride on and hangs back to chat with me. He is in a red and black spandex cyclist get-up with the special shoes and everything. He looks like Roger Sterling on Mad Men (if Roger was a tri-athlete and not a Vodka-swigging smoke stack). We introduced ourselves, riding side-by-side, and he kindly explained gear shifting and encouraged me to experiment with getting in the zone between thigh-death grinding and circus-clown hyper-pedaling. He had a slight coon-ass edge to his accent (which I always find familiar and comforting) and a grandfatherly disposition (despite being kind of a silver fox).

"So does it really make that much of a difference to have road bike tires instead of fat tires?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. His tone was so definite that I had to laugh. He explained that the tires are the main difference but that also the body positioning on a road bike is more aerodynamic and more advantageous in general because the legs are more powerful when you're crouched over.

Eventually it was time to turn around, so that made V the caboose with whom Tom would ride and I went ahead to ride alone. Soon I couldn't see anyone in the front or back. It was peaceful despite the discomfort and the fact that I was sweating buckets (from my face alone). I tried to relax my neck and focus on those rays of light coming through the trees. I had "Good Intentions Paving Company" by Joanna Newsom in my head, and that helped for a little while. I was switching between two gears, and the easier one was clicky and weird, so I had to stay in the harder one most of the time, which worked better for the straight and slightly downhill stretches. I was feeling like I needed water and no one was there to watch me struggle, so I yanked my bottle out of its holster and awkwardly unscrewed it with my left hand, which was still holding on to my bike. I swerved all over the place. Drinking was even harder, and I ended up dumping most of it onto my neck and shirt, but at least I managed a few gulps and got it back to the holster without crashing. (I will buy a six pack of sport top plastic water bottles before my next ride.)

When I got back to the parking lot, I was relived and proud--I thought maybe we'd gone more than the twelve miles that was planned. The bike part of the real race is ten miles. I drank the rest of my water while I stood around waiting to see when Tom and V would return. I saw my reflection in the window of an SUV--my faced was drenched and red and I felt a little bad-ass.

About three minutes later (or maybe thirty seconds), Tom and V rode up. I thanked Tom for riding with me and I asked how many miles we just did.

"Let's see, where we turned around--V probably did about ten, so that means you probably did about...nine." he said.
"Oh," I said.
"Good job!" V said to me.
"Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow...for more biking."

Swim Day: The Benediction

2010-06-11T10:23:00.003-05:00

One hour of swim class. I've been dreading it all week because our trainer wastes no time--there are no water breaks, no time to take a knee.

We started with a 350 meter swim today--the exact length of the swim part of the triathalon. I did some backstroke and breaststroke in there with the freestyle because I cannot physically swim more that a lap doing freestyle. I choked on water a couple of times. I made it, and the feeling of being at the absolute top of my heart's ability to get oxygen to my body PLUS putting my face back in the water is one of the most intense things I've ever felt. And I've been through surgical recovery. I've had teeth pulled. I've had a camera go up my urethra. Maybe that's too much information, but I'm just saying. Swimming's hard, y'all. I don't have claustrophobia, but I think I know what it feels like now.

So we started with 350 m, which was a zigzagging thing across each lane, then getting out of the pool to run around and do it again.

Then I lost count. We did "sprints" of freestyle, then "pulls," which is this exercise where you put a little foam peanut-looking thing between your thighs and swim freestyle with arms only. My arms are quite weak, but at least it's really easy to float when I've got that foam thing. It almost feel better than regular freestyle, because kicking my legs makes my heart tired, and then I lose my breath rhythm, and then I feel like I'm sinking and I start swallowing water. I'm sure I'm being dramatic, but it feels so foreign to me that it does feel like I'm lost in the water, even though my form is probably fine.

Anyway, we kept alternating those two exercises. At one point, I was the only one waiting by the wall on one side. Mandy yelled "What's going on? Why aren't you swimming?" And I just said I didn't know, through heavy breaths, because it was obvious I was at my max heart rate. But other people were, too, and they kept going. Mandy backed off a bit and said that at least I was working hard because apparently she had yelled at me to speed up and I did. I laughed and told her I never heard that because of my earplugs.
Today was hard for my ego--I know I'm not the worst swimmer in the class, but I'm one of the worst at cardio.

Which is fine--I know this logically. I can't look at this like I'm trying to win a race (Mom reminded me just now that I signed up for this just to get in shape). I'm just trying to exercise harder and do new and uncomfortable things without being scared or trying too hard to be perfect--I just want to learn to throw myself into something and struggle and be ugly but not get all bent out of shape about it like the world's going to end. No one's looking, anyway--not even my trainer half the time, because she's troubleshooting with the woman who is terrified and angry about swimming. I feel like this is all about not avoiding utter discomfort and finding that moment when you think you can't go any more and the world is going to end and then getting over yourself and going a little further, or at least resting until you get your breath and throwing yourself back into it and seeing that the world did not, in fact, end. You're just really fucking uncomfortable, and that passes. That is definitely a mindset that I am interested in learning to maintain in life.

At the end of class, I swam freestyle for three lengths and swallowed some more water, but I made it. Mandy told us that we had come far in a short time and that if we had swum all of the lengths she'd instructed us to, we'd done a whole mile. I didn't do all of the lengths, but I bet I came close to a mile. And I've never done that before, so that is an awesome thing.

I didn't feel like throwing up at the end of class. My new earplugs were a help--they are hot orange and they have little knobs on them that stick out like Frankenstein (which amused Carrie--I looked at my reflection in her goggles). My car bottomed out really hard in the parking lot and I can't really figure out why--an invisible slope or pothole of some kind--but I guess that's okay, too, because I made it home safely.

Now I need to go finish my book for book club at 3:00. I don't like it that much, so I've been procrastinating reading it.

There's no crying in tri class

2010-06-10T12:11:00.003-05:00

Wednesday, we got right into the pool, but before that, I quickly ran to the bathroom at the beginning of class to put on my sportsbra under my suit, as I was informed that we'd be jumping out of the pool to go for a run at the end of class. I thought it sounded doable--I was imagining being all refreshed from the swim and feeling the breeze on my wet skin while running, etc. It's a good thing I showed up with a positive mindset.

I put myself in the "slow group" lane for stroke lessons. One good thing happened: we were doing this exercise where you side stroke with your arm up by your ear and your head out of the water, then put your face underwater, then do one overarm stroke and flip to the other side and repeat. It was getting a lot of water in my ears, but I got the hang of it pretty well on my right side. Mandy asked me my name when I got to the other side. I was just getting vertical, gasping and spitting out water. "Rikki," I sputtered.
"Vicki!" she said. "Nice job there, that's what I'm looking for!"

The only problem with this is that this small weird woman, V, who does the strokes all wrong with her head up, kept kicking me. She wasn't watching where she was going at all. She seems like a nice quiet little Christian woman, but I was thinking angry, bitchy thoughts about her. Speaking of angry and bitchy, there is this girl from New York or New Jersey (guessing from her accent) that was actually--and I may be wrong because I was underwater for part of it--talking shit about how this girl J was basically getting private lessons because she is terrified of swimming (while J is bobbing up and down across the pool and being coached by Mandy on how to breathe). The atmosphere in our class is totally supportive and almost quiet and reverent, so I couldn't believe my ears. Apparently she's one of those childish people who is scared, herself, of swimming and so is loudly projecting her anger and fear to everyone else as if we care to hear. Between laps, as we were kicking across with kickboards (which is surprisingly exhausting), she exclaimed to me, like a petulant child, "I feel like I'm not GETTING anywhere!" and I pretended not to here her. Then she said it again when we got to the other side and I said "That's because you aren't." People will probably just ignore her, I hope. Everybody else is so nice.

Then came the real challenge. We had to swim there and back once (this pool is shorter than Olympic length for sure, and I think we have to swim 7 Olympic lengths for the real race! Yikes!) and then hop out and do a quick shoe-and-shorts transition for the run. I did okay with my "freestyle" on the first length, but it crapped out about halfway through on the way back. I was breathing so hard and losing my rhythm, so I tread water for a second and then finished. My arms were noodles when I raised myself out of the water. I wiped my legs and butt off with a towel and threw on some shorts. Mandy told us how to set up our socks because it's so hard to put socks on wet feet--you have to do like a half-fold thing, which I hadn't known. But I got my shoes on okay (without sitting) and started the run.

I realized immediately that it is insanely hot even at 8:10 in the morning. My heart was beating so hard that the beginning of my run felt like the end. I started out at a nice clip and passed a couple of people up--I find it's easier to lean forward a little and get some momentum. But it got hard FAST, especially as Mandy yelled for us to jog up a parking lot ramp. I jogged over a mile and a half without stopping the other day, so I figured at a slow enough pace I could do it that day (Mandy said our goal was to try to jog the entire time, no matter how slow we go). But I couldn't. I tried not to think the words "I can't, I can't" which immediately make you want to stop, so I pushed on, but the swim plus the heat got to me and I my head was feeling dizzy and sloshy. My mouth was parched and my stomach was nauseated. I walked for a good part of the second half, even though I wasn't dead last.

When we had about a quarter mile left, V flew past me and said "You can do it, Rikki!" Though she's a horrid swimmer, apparently she kicks ass at running and is as super-nice as she seems. I had a feeling I'd regret mentally growling at her in the pool. Then this other girl, M, came next to me and said she is terrified of running and that this is her first year doing the tri. We introduced ourselves (while walking) and then she said, "Wanna try jogging?" I felt like I was about to die, but I said sure and we jogged a bit more before I crapped out again at the end.

When we finished, I went and sat in the gym on the corner of the bleachers next to a young mom whose 2 year old was fetching a basketball. We talked briefly as I cooled down.

When I got home, I texted G to tell her I wouldn't be at gyrotonics class, but after I downed a couple of glasses of water, sat on the couch for 20 minutes, and ate a granola bar, I changed and went anyway. I wore my biking shorts and I felt stronger than last week. Irene, the gyro teacher, said my calf-raises across the floor looked better (last week she told me to use my hip and tummy instead of taking it all in the calf) and that it looked like I'd had some extra training in my "gloots." I was like oh, well now! Thanks! It was officially the first day that I felt like I was in the middle of some kind of serious training. This is the best kind of balance for the terror I feel every day at the idea that I will be in a race. That jog and swim yesterday was the scariest reality jolt I've had yet--I just can't possibly imagine how I'll get the strength and endurance to make it through that. I guess I will, but my brain does not believe it yet. My brain thinks I will throw up on the side of the road and take a knee for the remainder of the race.

My only goals right now are to get all my accoutrements straight (including much needed swim earplugs--double useful, so I won't have to listen to New Jersey whine) and to NOT MISS TRI CLASS.
At the end of the jog, Mandy yelled out: "This is what training's all about! Work hard now so the race can be fun! Can you imagine trying to do it without training?" Well, Mandy, I think that's what I've been imagining, so it's no wonder I'm nervous.

***
In other news, why can't I write fiction anymore? I haven't come up with any good ideas or felt inspired. When I heard the first thirty seconds of the new Joanna Newsom album, I started crying in my car. It was probably just because the melody was so good, but it also sounded so satisfying and full of energy. I miss making art.

like a struggling land mammal

2010-06-04T06:58:00.005-05:00

I ran 1.62 miles last night without stopping once (the little lake). I feel so proud of myself. The running part of the triathalon is only 2 miles, so by the end of training I know I'll be able to do it. It was really hard to run just 1.62, though, without having swum and biked beforehand. I need to just not think about the actual race and enjoy the classes.

Today is swim class. I bought a royal blue Nike one piece, a silicon cap, and some Speedo goggles. I can't get the nose part to fit, but we'll see. One hour of swimming today and I ate my breakfast kinda late. I hope I don't throw up.

***

Okay, I just finished swim class. I thought I would be better at it than that. I've always done breaststroke, but she taught us freestyle. We learned how to "roll" onto our sides to breathe and to keep our heads down and our necks straight under the water. I was trying so hard to get the form right that I couldn't establish a rhythm. Water leaked deep into my ears (my cap rode up) and came through my nose to scratch the back of my throat between breaths. I felt like I couldn't get enough oxygen. I stopped short every lap, thinking I was already at the end, and oh, woops, I'm only three quarters of the way there and standing up panting really hard. Then I'd fold my arms over the side to hear the next instructions and burp (I've got to eat earlier next time).

At the end of class, Mandy said if we wanted to, we could supplement our swim practice by coming to a class at 5:30 in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays taught by someone else (I couldn't hear her that well in the echo-y indoor lap pool area). She said she'd like us to try to come at least one of those days every week. I thought yeah right. I also thought well that's not a very athletic attitude. Maybe I'll try it next week. I do want to learn to do a non-spaz version of the freestyle.

On the bright side, my goggles didn't leak once.

Sound Off

2010-06-02T13:02:00.004-05:00

I started Triathalon training this week--not a moment too soon. I was starting to feel a heavy idleness that was only snoballing since school let out. It was getting harder and harder to motivate myself to move my body and harder and harder to limit myself on what I was eating and drinking. It's also getting hotter and hotter outside, which I hate.

Anyway, Monday at 7:30 am I hopped on a stationary bike. The trainer, Mandy, started us out on a spin class. She taught us how to adjust the bike so we didn't strain our knees. I realized two minutes into it that I'd forgotten my water bottle. I didn't know how to work the resistance knob very well, partly because it is a red knob with no indication of units of measurement anywhere. Mandy, by the way, seems awesome. She's tall and straight and athletic looking with a long ponytail and clear braces (which are always showing because she speaks with an Australian accent and for some reason that makes her show her teeth a lot). She's very no nonsense--she's positive and cheers us on but I can tell there's not going to be any coddling. It's piss or get off the pot. She clearly likes her job--she's into workouts but still has a sense of humor about it. She yells things like "Wednesday workout! " and "Nice form, ladies!" and "Let's do ya favorite: stand up and pedal! Let's see some turnover, ladies!" There are about ten other women in the class at a variety of ages (including my dance director and dancemate)--a lot of them look around my age, though.

So Monday was about a 45 minute spin class (my quads were blazing with pain) and then we hit the "brake" (that same red knob) and jogged up the stairs to the track, then jogged three laps without stopping. The beginning of the run was funny because we all had jellylegs after the biking and we had to jog through it. I had a cramp the size of my right rib cage while I jogged, I was the second-to-slowest, and I had total cottonmouth from having only one sip out of the water fountain during spinning.

But I felt fantastic when it was over. (Of course.) Intense cardio always makes me feel powerful, calm, and alert.

Then today we did circuit training:

Stage one: 2.5 minutes of standing-up pedaling on the bike, jog up the stairs and one run lap, get down on the mat and hold plank position(30 seconds), then on your back for crunches (30 seconds), then back to plank (30 seconds). Repeat once. I felt all right during this phase (I remembered my water bottle today).
Stage two: Hell. Hop on the rowing machine and pull with moderate strength for 15 seconds, then pull like your life depends on the wattage you're producing for 15 seconds, then moderate again. Repeat I don't know how many times. Then hop on the pull up machine and do pull ups, then hold yourself in a pull up position for 15 seconds then back to pull ups then rest. We did three rounds of these two machines. My arms...oh, they struggled.
Stage three: The second circle of Hell. 12 lb weights on mats. Lay on back and press the weights up 15 times. Then do fifteen (girly) pushups. Then another 15 reps, and so on. Then hold one weight up and get your legs up and hold a crunch and lower legs one at a time (15?).

Then suddenly we were done. Then I had a little break, went home, changed, ate a granola bar, and went to dance class (well, it was Gyrotonics (tm) class with a tiny bit of dance thrown in at the end. It was very stretchy, so it was probably good that I went. I feel okay but tired. I wonder if I overdid it--I'm dreading how sore I'm going to be tomorrow. Maybe I'll take an Ibuprofen before bed.

Friday is swim class--for the whole hour. I'm going to buy a Speedo (tm) swimsuit today with a cap and goggles. I hope she teaches us how to do "freestyle" without passing out--right now I only really know how to do breaststroke.

I feel like I'm at summer camp. Summer boot camp. This may be the time that I finally get in shape.

"I'll have a sex on the beach, minus the sex. HEY-Oh!"

2010-05-28T15:13:00.004-05:00

I like everything about summer except the weather and the weight gain. There's nothing I can do about the weather, but we'll see if my soon-to-be crazy exercise schedule can't prevent the latter.

I've done nothing new with the house though I've been out of school for a week now (if you don't count the three days I went to school just to pack for a few hours). I've done a lot socially that is out of my routine, as my usual routine doesn't have much social activity unless you count having a drink in the backyard with Leif and seeing a few friends for one night on a weekend if I'm lucky. One of my friends from dance lives across the street and I go over there some evenings to have a drink with her and sometimes Leif and other OMC dancers. That's been fun because there's something about being in close proximity to friends and crossing the street in flip flops with a glass of wine in my hand. It's like the dorm years I never had. It's also nice to be friends with the people in the company. They are such nice, good, people, and also witty (to boot).

Then I had a particularly fun and interesting time at our first book club meeting on the day before the last day of finals. I went to my Math teacher friend's house (we'll call her H) for the first time and drank wine with her and this other Math teacher (L). H is around 35 years old with an architecture professor husband and a 2 year old girl and L is 40 something with three kids and a husband. I actually taught her oldest son this year. H's house is in a regular older neighborhood and it has a sixties vibe with a wide living room with glass sliding doors and a kidney pool and a wall covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves stuffed with books. I sat on the carpet with my white wine on the coffee table. I couldn't tell you why I enjoyed that so much. I guess I just really like H.

It could also be that I felt like I was in a little club, (which is technically true--book club!). As a person who never had older sisters, I tend to look up to women who are older than me (especially when they're really smart and funny) and follow them around like a dog and hope they aren't thinking that I'm an annoying little girl who thinks she's mature. I did that to my older cousin our whole childhoods, and it pissed off the cousin who's my same age (and one of the only ones I'm still close to). But unless I'm deluding myself, it looks like the age of people I can be friends with is a lot more broad now that I'm in the upper 20s and have been in the same job for a while. Anyway, we had a good time and they are interested in having real book discussions and they are both much more well-read than me, so I'll get to read things I haven't heard of and wouldn't normally choose, which is exciting (although I'm not crazy about our current selection, but I suppose I'll talk about that at the next discussion). Also, H's husband has a sailboat on Lake Ponchetrain and has invited Leif and I to join them at some point this summer, so it'll be exciting to hang out with her some more.

Then I went to the Chimes with the two history teacher friends, the piano teacher friend, and the media studies guy (who has been at our school for probably half a century). The point here is that opportunities to day-drink keep arising. Also, I didn't think those history girls seemed very nice at first, and now they are inviting me to things a lot. It's nice to be friendly with co-workers you didn't think you'd ever be friendly with, even if you don't have very much in common. They don't seem to mind at all that I'm not as girly and traditional as they are, and they aren't as conservative as I thought they were, so that was a big misconception on my end.

Speaking of day-drinking, two other fun surprises that happened recently were that my friend Chelsea from Chicago came over for a few hours on Wednesday and another friend Stosh from New York came by yesterday. I showed them the house and went a few places with each of them. It's weird to be at an age when everybody has completely different occupations from each other and lives in places all over the country. (Shit, it's weird to be at an age when I'm working on owning a house.) It's always interesting to hear about what people do when they move away--especially to a big city. Chelsea writes plays that actually get performed in public venues, and Stosh worked at a publishing company.
Not that I'm sitting there relating it all back to me as I'm talking to them (or god I hope I'm not), but it does make me wonder if I'll ever have another career and what it will be like (not that I don't like teaching high school). Based on my own behavior, there's a big part of me that wants to stay right here with what I've got.
Of course I always wonder if people feel like that everywhere. Mostly it's nice to see old friends and still have a lot to say to each other and know that if we lived in the same place, we'd still hang out. It's also nice to see that they're still good people and they still like visiting here.

In fact, that reminds me that I saw another old dance buddy who now lives in Oregon. She wants to move back to Louisiana. She says she never knew how great this place was until she left. I can't imagine what's so great about it and I also can't imagine what it would be like to live anywhere else. I mean, I know it has a unique culture and there are lots of people I've met and befriended, but I don't feel a real connection to it (besides liking my friends and family)--I don't feel like a real Louisianian, even though I obviously am.

Speaking of the home front, there are a lot of errands I am supposed to run and shit I am supposed to get in order, and I have not so much as scheduled one appointment. I am in full lazy-summer mode already. It's scary how easily I slip into that. I will at least clean the kitchen, cook dinner, and put away my clothes today.

Oh, and I just started watching season one of Sex in the City online today because I turned on the TV during breakfast and saw part of The View in which all four actresses came on to promote the new movie. They all look fantastic. The movie looks horrible, though. I've had many conversations with many friends over the years trying to figure out what could possibly be any good about Sex in the City, and I've seen some episodes on TBS, but those are edited and censored. I've watched the first couple of episodes so far, and they kind of remind me of When Harry Met Sally the way people are being "interviewed" between scenes and the way the main character is always trying to analyze men and women, but it seems a lot more shallow than Harry and Sally. But the New York setting (however unrealistic) is totally catchy, I can see that, and something about the way the characters are always eating, drinking, smoking, carrying bags, and walking around is very involving. Whoever wrote it has mastered the art of making characters' lives look very fun-filled and social. Even the way the main character lounges around with her big cordless house phone looks fun. One of the social studies teachers wants me to go see the movie with them, but I doubt I'd appreciate it without having seen the first one (or seasons 1-7 of the actual show).

One of the blogs I follow had this to say about it: "Okay. I’ll admit it. I’ve seen every episode of Sex and the City several times. What can I say? That show came along and dominated the zeitgeist of my early twenties." And also, more recently: " It hasn’t been culturally relevant for a fucking decade. No disrespect to Sarah Jessica Parker, but a dead horse is a dead horse, no matter how hard the old queens who write this hacky shit insist on kicking its leathery corpse."

Hehe.

Oh, and I credit my friend Stosh for the title of this one and for the fit of laughter it caused me.

I hate titles

2010-05-15T10:36:00.002-05:00

I signed up for a mini-triathalon training class with my dance director and another girl in the company. I can't believe I paid $140 to arrive at 7:30 three days per week. I must be growing up. Or desperate. I'm having fantasies of rock solid muscles, though, and that's exciting.
I need a structured exercise routine that I can commit to that will involve lots of cardio. My pants are loose because of an increase in cardio from rehearsals and performance week, then skiing, then trying out jogging and keeping up walking. Now that I'm at the very end of the school year, the weather is getting disgusting (I'm less likely to walk), I'm distracted with too many things to do, I've been doing some pre-emptive celebrating (kids are bringing "party food" to school. Though I've controlled myself, I've still had bites of things--like Fritos and Rice Krispy treats--that I don't usually eat). Also, Marci bought me a margarita and nachos after school yesterday, which was totally awesome yet bad for my waistline. Then I proceeded to have 2 beers and an olive martini downtown at the "pub crawl" with Ang and Ben last night. Fun times, but junk for my poor body. Hey, I briefly thought of buying a boudin on a bun because Leif's tasted so good, but then I didn't, so that was one good choice.
Though I've been slacking on exercise this week (and it shows in my increased stress levels most of all--note to self), I still feel that sense of taste bud shift. The aversion to overly sweet things, the feeling of rich foods in my stomach (I had to eat two Tums after those nachos, which is unusual). My pants are still loose--I plan to take them to the tailor and just pay a bunch of money to adjust all of the waist bands. This means I'll have the intention of making a permanent commitment to being a smaller size. I need Mom to hem my old shorts so I can have something to wear this summer (I can't find anything I like in stores lately. Urban Outfitters is promoting the ulgliest wannabe early '90s Saved-By-The-Bell items I've ever seen. I'm lookin' at you, floral one-sie with skorts. And KEDS. What the hell is this world coming to? They must really think we'll buy anything.).

There is so much crap in our new house that I need to deal with. Boxes and clutter. I feel like a hoarder. And I need to grade ten research papers today. The "regular" ones. 90% of those kids can't write a decent paragraph. I thought I taught that already, but it must not have sunk in.

I don't know where to begin today. Leif said just now that picking up laundry is step one. My most dreaded chore (because my clothes don't fit in my crappy old dresser and I don't have enough nice hangers). I guess I'll start there anyway.

Ray Bradbury would say "I told you so"

2010-05-02T15:07:00.001-05:00

(typed up from last night)

I'm in my new house. I just had a moment of boredom--wait, actually it was more like a wave of cabin fever mixed with that feeling you get when you think there's nothing in the immediate future to look forward to. This is the kind of feeling that I typically respond to by babysitting myself with a TV show on my laptop.

I couldn't do that tonight since I assigned my kids a project for our Fahrenheit 451 unit: they have to go without entertainment technology and consumerism for a day (from the time they wake up until the time they go to sleep), keep a time log, and write a journal about it. Alex in seventh hour said

"Ms. W, when are you going to do your no-technology day?"
"I was waiting for someone to ask me that. I figured it'd be you."

I said I could probably do it Saturday. So here I am writing in a notebook instead of clicking around on the internet. Here's the time log part of the assignment:

about 9:40--got out of bed, made breakfast, talk to Leif. Watched the end of Emma (the Paltrow version. I fell asleep on it the night before after one-too-many grapefruit and vodkas). *This viewing was a breech of the project, I know, but I wanted to send it back to Netflix so that season 3 of Mad Men would come by Wednesday. Plus, I didn't get to see the kiss between Emma and Mr. Knightly at the end (it was disappointing, of course). All of this is exactly why I'm a good candidate for a no-TV day.
Leif and I went to the old house a few hours later to make our final clean sweep. I scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen while he swept all the rooms. The weather was like a sweaty man's armpit and the AC was off.
We got home, ate one of the two kinds of leftover Chinese. Went to Lowe's to do my least favorite kind of shopping (for items like blinds, weather stripping, broom and dust pan, and a plunger). I got really cranky, impatient, and hungry in the middle of it, but I did help Leif pick out the cheapest brand of blinds (the big kind). In the interest of trying to be more helpful and to resist my natural inclination toward being lazy and evasive of tasks I don't like in this whole home-making process, I loaded the trunk and corralled the cart.
When we got back, I ate the other kind of Chinese and helped Leif move two giant and unwanted desks into the garage (yes, we have a two-car garage which we can't yet use because it is full of old doors and windows and the remote control system is broken). I read a big chunk of Lies at the Altar by Dr. Robin Smith. I played my old repertoire on the piano and starting relearning Moonlight Sonata.
While Leif put up blinds, I sorted and put away the gigantic piles of our clothes I've been avoiding for a week and a half. I hate putting up clothes because I don't have enough space for them, even though I own a relatively small amount. I need a new dresser.
Then I showered and realized that I wasn't hungry and we probably weren't going out to eat anywhere. I thought about us walking somewhere to get a drink, but the weather was nasty and we had alcohol in the house already. This is when I started feeling anxious.

***
The outcome of the night was that I improvised a dinner that turned out really nice: Leif's homemade bread was a base for spinach pizza with a side salad. I also roasted a fennel bulb that was about to rot in the fridge (like I saw on Barefoot Contessa back when we had the free cable last week). We ate at the table with wine and candles and then we went across the street to hang out with some friends (and have more wine) and ended up talking until 3:30. It was fun and I didn't miss TV at all. I just wish, calorically speaking, that I'd had a little less red wine, but retroactively wishing things is pretty useless.

***
One of my friends at school got frustrated with the fact that she gained ten pounds and her allergies also started raging uncontrollably, so she went on a yoga cleanse diet that she once tried and liked on a retreat in Canada years ago. She's cutting out all sugars, caffeine, meat, soy, and dairy and eating what is essentially two kinds of meals for the next few weeks: whey protein shakes with either almond or coconut milk for breakfast and snacks and a mungbean-basmati rice mixture with turmeric and cilantro. (She let me have a bite at lunch Friday, which was day one for her. It tasted good, if a little mushy.) She says she usually drinks five cups of coffee per day, so Friday she was super groggy.

I admire the idea of cutting habits--personal security blankets--out of your life in order to see how you deal with it. I'm not planning on eating mungbeans for weeks on end, but I wonder what would happen if I quit watching shows for a period of time. The thought alone makes me uncomfortable, partially because I know that it's exactly what a part of me wants to do. I mean, I was watching Grey's Anatomy Friday and thinking I don't even like this show anymore. I probably wouldn't care if all the characters died at the same time. But I've been watching it for so many years that I enjoy the ritual of keeping up with the story, as dumb and lazy as the writing is.

I know that a part of me wants to read more and write more often. I know that if I replaced most of my TV time with these activities, it would change the quality of my lifestyle. There's a big part of me that's not ready for that.

It feels like when I was eight years old and still sucking my thumb and holding my ponytail. I'd go to a sleepover at my friend's house, and while she snored, I'd stare at the ceiling, wishing I could just put my thumb in my mouth, even more than I wished I wasn't a secret thumbsucker. My hair was really straight and silky back then, and I'd pet it and tell myself it was just as good, but it was so lame without the thumb--like food without wine, but much worse. I think the eventual solution was that I got an early 90s perm that made my hair feel like straw--in combination with the realization that I didn't need my thumb to fall asleep.

I wish I could remember what it felt like to be right on the precipice of breaking a habit.

Shapin' Shoes

2010-04-10T12:41:00.001-05:00

I'm thinking of getting some of these things as a birthday treat to myself:

I'm just trying to figure out which ones are the least ugly. I tried on the expensive MBT kind at The Walking Company and they felt great on my lower back and knees. I figure I'd wear them for walks for an extra ass workout, and it'd be a fun incentive to walk more often. I wonder how they are for jogging.

The girl at Walking Co. told me that some lady tried to sue them because she wore MBTs on Burbon Street and fell on her ass. She was like, "Duh, the point of them is that they put you off balance."

Apparently these won't be good drinkin' shoes.

Since I just came off a week of skiing and before that, a dance performance week (and I'm super busy now, so I'm postponing dance for a bit), I'm in that weird time of feeling like I'm almost-but-not-quite in shape. I'm thinking of ways to maintain my current fitness level so that I can push it to the next level when summer starts. I just went for a walk (on my usual 2 mile route) and ended up jogging without stopping for longer than I ever have before. I was aiming to steadily and slowly jog the entire route and I didn't make it, but I'm surprised at how far I went. My quads and calves were burning when I got home, which is kind of how it felt when I got home from skiing but times ten. It also worked my feet and ankles (also like skiing). I think I read somewhere (or maybe that first-day personal trainer at the Y a year ago said this) that since the quad is the biggest muscle in your body, working it out is a quick way to burn calories and build strength pretty rapidly.

That's almost like a short cut, right? More importantly, I'm in a better mood now than before I started, and exercise (or fitness, I guess) continues to be a metaphor for getting my responsibilities (and my life in general) under control. I'm psychologically passive or active depending on how much I'm getting. I hope I keep it up when the weather starts getting oppressive as shit.

Highland road on a spring evening

2010-04-06T18:13:00.005-05:00

There are too many things in April.

I had a tiring day back at school today. Tuesday means I talk all day--my only planning period is from 7:10-8:10, then I teach until 2:25 with a 30 minute lunch break that is really 20 minutes of sitting and eating after you factor in peeing and walking up and down three flights of stairs.

I felt like a crappy teacher today. We discussed Antigone analysis questions from the old early '90s textbook (whose questions are not dumbed down or stretching for associations). We were all tired from spring break sleep schedules. I kept forgetting what I was about to say. The kids failed to connect obvious ideas. It's a good play for a tenth grade philosophical discussion on pride and ego, but I feel like it's so short and I've taken so long to teach it. There are six weeks left and I don't know if there's enough time to do Fahrenheit 451 and Much Ado About Nothing. Research papers are coming not this Friday but the next and I'll only have one month to complete the grading process. I didn't feel hungry for breakfast or lunch. The students have a mere 2.5 weeks to complete the literary magazine (which I sponsor).

We bought a house. It needs some work before we move in, and Leif is taking care of the transactions. We won't be insured until we get someone to "skirt" it by Friday. Yesterday we took a walk and ate dinner together and we talked about it and I felt like a teenager pretending to be able to do adult things. I can only imagine how he must feel. We have to move in April. Weekend after next we are driving to Atlanta for my cousin's wedding. That leaves this weekend and next. I will be moving boxes on my birthday. We don't even really have any boxes yet. It doesn't feel like it's about to happen. I feel ineffective and a bit guilty. There is electrical work to be done and many little things that need fixing, like a broken garage door and screwed up floor boards, exterior paint, two rotten windows that need to become french doors. Our savings accounts are going to take big hits.

I'm looking at this all wrong, I know it. My students and I are comfortable with each other, and I've only got to teach them for six more weeks--if they learn anything more than they already have, that'll be great. Leif and I get to move in to a very nice house in the garden district. We were lucky to get it. We just went skiing--though it put us behind at home and all of our responsibilities are hitting us at once (oh shit, taxes), we got to enjoy ourselves for a week.

I fell asleep in yoga today (again). I was sprawled on my back with a folded wool blanket under my head. The last thing I remember is that the teacher said to "begin to bring your awareness back to your body, move your fingers, roll onto your right side" and I thought "No, just five more minutes." Then the final "ohms" woke me up--I opened my eyes and people were sitting up facing me.

On the drive home from yoga, I saw something happen that I've never seen before.

I had the windows down and I dialed my friend but got voicemail. I waited in a line of traffic that I assumed was the result of the public bus ahead of us. I watched a brown haired guy in a T-shirt and boat shoes walk out of a neighborhood. He was on his cell phone. I thought he might go to a private high school and maybe he sneaked out of his house and his friend was picking him up on this busy road. He looked to the right and started jogging. I liked the sound his feet made as he ran through the manicured ditch. Everything was bright green or pink and I was sleepy from the smell of pollen. I was on the verge of some hazy flashback of playing outside in the summertime, and I thought he might be in college because the back of his shirt said Kappa Kappa Kappa.

The line of cars rolled forward a bit and I watched the car in front of me swing wide to the left around a black lab with a red collar lying in the road. The brown haired guy stooped down and hefted the dog awkwardly into his arms. The dog was completely limp. He brought the dog over to the ditch and put it down. The body flopped down and blood poured out of its mouth. The guy wasn't facing my car, but he didn't seem to have much of an expression. He was putting two fingers against the dog's throat when I passed him. This made me think it probably wasn't his dog because he was trying to look useful. Also, he was standing over it instead of kneeling next to it. I passed a white jeep that had pulled off the road. The driver, a brown-haired girl, watched her rear view mirror with her fingers over her mouth, which was when I realized that mine were also over mine. I remember that she was wearing pearl earrings and a T-shirt, but now I wonder if I really had had time to notice that. As I passed her car, I felt only mildly annoyed with her for hitting the dog and wondered if she'd been on her cell phone when it happened. The next step would probably be for the guy to call the number on the dog's tag, and then what would she do? Sit and wait to meet its owners? Tell them she killed their pet? What if she was on her way home to finally relax after working all day? The inconvenience of the situation seemed almost unbearable.

Then I started crying. As the sobs passed through me, I thought a couple of things: the injustice of the fact that some animals aren't smart enough to dodge cars and cars are too powerful for what they're evolved to handle, for one. That humans have made the earth a fucked up, dangerous place. I wondered if I was the only person (out of all the people who saw the dog) that was crying, and whether this would be considered an odd personality quirk--to feel upset over a dog I'd never met--or if someone, seeing me, would classify me as unusually sensitive. This led to thinking about other people seeing me cry while I drive, which made me want to stop. But maybe it's just that once you start to observe the indulgence of your own sobs, you can't really keep them up much longer. Perhaps crying only works when you're not thinking.

My other thought was that it felt great to cry and that I was so glad no one was in the car with me so that I could sob and gasp instead of talking. This is because I wasn't only crying about the dog--I had been feeling sorry all day and I was crying for myself, nursing my own overwhelming feelings of ineptitude and fear. My revulsion to that thought immediately cut through the sobs and dissolved them.

Later in the evening, while grilling a chicken breast, I complained to Leif about my day. I listed a few reasons why it had been shitty and then said, "I watched a dog die."
"What?" he said.
"Well, I didn't watch it happen," I said, and recounted the story as briefly as possible. I didn't want him to get upset over it, and I didn't feel like telling anyone else about it. Probably, I was telling him just to make it part of official reality. I'm glad he hadn't been in the car with me, though.

I still haven't gathered any boxes. I'm still overwhelmed by the things I need to do and I'm still procrastinating. I didn't think of the black dog once today.

Magnolia

2010-03-06T10:41:00.002-06:00

I'm in Telluride right now. It's been a lot of fun so far, and I've surprised myself with what I can handle in terms of ski slopes. Mostly I'm happy about the fact that since I set foot in this town, I haven't thought about anything stressful (except the dreams I had last night about a kid in my sixth hour taking off his pants in the middle of class and running around, and then me stopping class and walking up to him in an intimidating way, and him backing off but saying "you're not an authority figure." And another dream about being at a really frustrating dance rehearsal where our whole company sat on the side and watching one couple rehearse. I woke up annoyed, but it wasn't anything a little bacon and eggs and coffee couldn't cure. And then I went skiing with Leif).

Psychologically, I'm in a place sort of like a precipice. I've lost a lil' bit of weight and I feel like I may be on the road to getting my health under control and feeling better (more active, less lethargic and sorry). I'm going to keep up the yoga, dance, walking, and cooking, and Leif may be able to get me a free membership to Bally fitness (they're a client) to play with this summer. The only things standing in my way are my couch, my laptop, and boxed Tempernillo. Well, the abuse of these three since I don't intend to stop the use.

I miss being a writer. I'm going to set a goal of writing a short story this summer. I have a few ideas to play with. I should at least write some disjointed scenes and see what happens. Since I always write in first person on this thing, I feel like it may be time to experiment with it in fiction even though I may just say things like "I feel like" at the beginning of every sentence. I'm reading Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld right now (found it on the shelf of our apartment) and I like its straightforward adolescent quality. It's nothing groundbreaking--shit, I expected something along the lines of Twilight when I picked it up--but it's certainly catchy and fun to read. Catchy, occasionally witty, and fun-to-read seem like the kind of goals I could work toward as a writer. If I end up with some depth, I should consider myself lucky.

Hell, if I can throw myself down a steep slope of snow (that is probably a cliff in the summertime) and whoop while I do it, I am certainly able to grade 160 research papers, write a final, get in shape, and write a short story.

Note to self: I must remember how I skied today. I must remember how I wasn't even wanting food or TV, or any other kind of comfort. I must remember what it is like to thrive.

rogue bloggin' (part two)

2010-02-25T15:49:00.003-06:00

There's a girl in my fourth hour (honors English II) that I also taught last year (she was in regular English I, back when I used to teach that course). One thing I enjoy about my job is that I can somtimes see the students growing up physically and mentally, and even sometimes morally. This girl--I'll call her O--came into my class looking like a huge behavior problem. She was loud, smart, in competition with me (she's also young and white), and out for both positive and negative attention from her peers (those are the hardest kids to get to cooperate with you). Another teacher warned me that she had taught her in middle school where O had performed a stunt in which she put diet pills in her water bottle (or something), creating a lot of drama and speculation about an eating disorder, and got herself suspended.

Anyway, as the year went on, O put me through a series of verbal tests (usually personal questions posed in front of the whole class) and I held her after class to tell her what was what a couple of times. She started trusting me (I don't know which test I passed) and behaving more calmly. She excelled in grammar and she began to have the most jovial demeanor in the class. She appeared to like me. She kicked ass in my class and I sent her to honors (essentially sending her to myself, since I am the only one who teaches that course ).

This year, she's been a pleasure to teach. She speaks because she's genuinely engaged in pretty much every topic we discuss and not because she's trying to attract attention to herself. She still asks me the occasional uncomfortable (and loud) question, such as "Miss W, did YOU cheat in high school?" when I was discussing with them about how I think cheating shows weak character (cheating is a HUGE problem in the honors and AP classes at my school). The long answer was that no, I never did, but I did remember cheating with my friends on a series of vocab quizzes in the seventh grade (i.e., taking it as if it were a group test). I don't know how the teacher didn't notice this, but anyway, I told O and the other kids that I did not remember the grade I made on that test or the class or the six weeks or even that year, but I do remember the fact that I cheated. I don't usually tell personal stories in class, and you could have heard a pin drop. It even made my heart speed up.

But I digress. This week, O has been surprising me with a comment each day while she walks out of my room. Tuesday she said "Miss W, I love you." (To which I awkwardly replied, "Thank you, O" because I can't bring myself to tell a student "I love you, too.") Today, we had one of those impromptu discussions about something that matters more than whatever activity we're doing--it was about what responsibilities corporations should have in society besides just making lots money. It got heated, and plenty of people said that there was nothing wrong with a company selling a terrible or harmful product as long as nobody's holding a gun to a consumer's head. One guy felt betrayed and angry that he's being lied to by every advertising company and heavily persuaded in his daily life, and another girl said that she has no clue why he would feel that way. I let them debate up until the bell, and I told them that it's hard for me to argue against what's "normal" to them because they don't want to face anything that's problematic about what they've already accepted as normal, but if they go along thinking that society is as good as it's ever going to be, then there will be no social improvement. This is, of course, not a very groundbreaking thing to say, but a lot of the students had not previously thought about it, so it was for them. That's the thing--I get to say things that resonate as groundbreaking, moving, and exciting because I'm talking to sixteen-year-olds! That fact is both fun and terrifying, because when you realize all of the things they have not ever thought about, you feel like you can't possibly expose them and inform them enough. And then you also realize that you're ignorant in a lot of the ways they are because you're both a product of the same society.

But anyway, on O's way out today, we had this exchange:

"Miss W, you're a beast, and I love you for that."
"I'm a beast?"
"Yeah, because you teach me things that my parents don't."

That's about the best thing you can hear when you spend a lot of time wondering if anything you're saying is being heard, or if any of your lessons are resonating with your kids at all.

More than anything, I spend time wondering and worrying how long I'll want to stay in my profession and in my current city, since I entered into it with the intention that it would be temporary. My overall passion in college was creative writing and not education, so I always feel a yearning for it. When I have good teaching moments like these, however, I feel that I'm in exactly the place I'm supposed to be. Sometimes I feel like I was made for this job--like I fit all the cliches to such a ridiculous extent that it's obviously the right job for me. I'm not sure if I am completely fulfilled by it, or if a job is even supposed to completely fulfill me, though.

This of course begs the question: why can't I just write fiction on the side of my job and try to get published and build a portfolio in case I want to go back to grad school one day like I said I was going to? That was one of my goals this year, but I haven't figured out how to include it in the day-to-day schedule of my life. I don't know where the energy and motivation is going to come from yet.

Since I've abandoned all structure here, I will now happily add that I have been on the road to becoming more healthy as of late. Something in me decided it was ready to eat more smartly (i.e., quit the unlimited snacking after school and after dinner and cut back on wine) and obtain more energy. I haven't lost any weight that I can tell, but all my pants are loose around the waist. I've been tweaking my eating habits and increasing my exercise since the last week in December and I was seeing no "results" and getting pretty frustrated until I noticed my pants sag last week.

My favorite new food discovery (besides the old Cooking Light magazines my grandma gave me) is a Smoothie King ripoff recipe I made up which sounds diet-y but is actually so delicious that it doesn't require additional sweetner:

1 banana (preferably bruised)
1 handful of strawberries (frozen or fresh)
1 sprinkling of blueberries
1 cup of milk
1 scoop of vanilla soy protein powder (I bought Whole Foods off brand)

If you leave out the blueberries, it tastes exactly like the Angel Food at Smoothie King. It makes about sixteen ounces, which I think is the size of a "small" at SK. Also, I highly recommend the Cuisinart hand blender thingy. That shit is efficient and easy to clean!

rogue bloggin' (part one)

2010-02-25T15:39:00.002-06:00

Bloggin' is about the last thing I'm supposed to be doing during my planning period at school--it's somewhere after "peeing" and "staring at the wall" on my priority list. (The top priorities on today's list are typing a recommendation, editing a summer program essay, and printing/making copies of all the handouts that prepare the kids for their research paper, the only thing I hate to teach.) But I read some good posts by my friends Ann and Sarah and I got a nostalgic feeling for writing (that's how long it's been), so here we are.

To say that a lot has been going on in my life lately would be an understatement. I shall organize my updates into areas of my life for everyone's pleasure and convenience.

house hunting: Leif and I have been looking to buy a house, and that has of course brought up all kinds of existential questions for us about our futures, our five year plans for our lives, our current level of career satisfaction--I could make a big pie chart about it. It's making me look at my life with even more extreme scrutiny than I normally practice, and it takes a lot of time to scour the internet and set up appointments with our realtor that last half a weekend.
dance: I had a conference with my dance director about wanting to be in more dances. Since I can't make it to the two morning rehearsals (because of my job and all), this has been a continuing problem. She seems to have heard me, so we'll see how that pans out. I generally have fun in the company, but I am dissatisfied about the experience more than I am fulfilled. I go down that slippery mental path of "Maybe she thinks I'm the weakest link" pretty often.
book club: I'm in one that was started by my friend the math teacher. It's a direct reaction to her previous "chick-lit" book club, so we are reading only literature that we consider to be high quality. I had Housekeeping by Marrilyn Robinson on my shelf, so we are reading that. I am only on page 45 and a bit bored with it. I also can't stop watching TV shows on sidereel.
friends: one of my close friend's dad passed away on Sunday. It was strange and sudden, and I'm going to the funeral on Saturday.
piano: I'm relearning "Martha My Dear"--or I sat down once to relearn it. My sightreading skills are rough.
writing: this is as much "creative writing" as I've done for a couple of months now. I never did send that story to the journal in Florida that the Tin House guy recommended to me in 2008. What is wrong with me?
school (job): I've been teaching grammar and The Justice Unit since the beginning of the semester. We covered Usage Rules in honors and phrases and part of clauses in regular. We've been reading articles and other nonfiction and such for Justice and we're moving into the research paper and Antigone. I was actually proud of this week and last week because I showed them various media and we analyzed persuasive techniques. We got to watch clips of Supersize Me and a photo essay and look at magazine ads. My job is 20,000 times easier and more fun when the kids are engaged. It'd be nice if I could do "enrichment" stuff all the time.

my talking head

2010-01-06T18:28:00.002-06:00

I don't like feeling insecure and powerless. (Duh.)

I just went back to school yesterday. I was prepared and it went great.

However, after school, I felt a wave of brain mush come on. The wave didn't leave all evening. Since I know the first day drill, I chalked it up to being "out of teaching shape." Something about teaching really drains your head--all the talking and focusing on text and keeping a timeline of the lesson in mind and organizing discussion. The vigilance. Sometimes I realize that my whole head feels like it's on fire while I'm in the classroom and my whole face is flushed and feverish like all the blood in my body has to go up into my head so that I can think and talk, watch and explain. Talk about the "mind/body split." No wonder I slouch like hell--I'm unaware of the rest of my body all day. I'm like a floating head.

Today was no better despite a decent night's sleep. I came home, ate a piece of chocolate, took a nap. I woke up, ate a piece of bread, started cooking. I'm mad at myself for not keeping up my daily walk that I started over the holiday. I'm mad at myself for not going to yoga, and I haven't even thought about trekking out to ballet.

I'm feeling extremely spacey and unmotivated. Maybe it's being indoors with the heat cranked up all day and night. Maybe I'm mourning the fact that I suddenly have no time for myself (or that the time I do have has been ruined by exhaustion). How in the world will I ever raise children?

The worst part of it is, today I feel like I'll never write fiction again.

oiling up and working on my poses

2009-12-28T14:10:00.005-06:00

Apparently all it takes is sunshine and cold weather to motivate me to exercise. I live in the wrong state.

The timing of the weather is a lucky thing, because boy have I eaten some junk this holiday season. Let's face it--the most exciting thing about holiday parties, besides the good company of course, is the sheer variety of food (unless carols and Mad Gab really do it for you). Oh, and the alcohol. That's where the wide-eyed grazing really starts for me. A few wines in and I'm a bottomless pit.

But thankfully, the big eating parties are over, and though there's still drinking to be had (New Year's, I mean it's inevitable), I can set my sights on getting back into cooking and exercising.

Now, anyone who's ever read this little bloggy knows that I struggle with consistency, in terms of getting in shape. Most people don't believe me when I say this because it seems that I'm always running off to dance rehearsals and yoga classes. From the outside, my life seems fairly active. But it works out to where I only very occasionally attend yoga (max is squeezing it in once a week during school weeks) and dance rehearsals are not always very strenuous (sometimes they consist of sitting around while other dancers rehearse other parts). I haven't been to a ballet class since October, which is like saying "I'm a body builder but I haven't touched a weight in three months. Oh, but yeah, I've been oiling up and working on my poses." Also, when I'm in dance or yoga classes, I'm always frustrated with my level of physical performance (i.e., I feel heavy, I tire easily, and I hurt.). It's no fun, either, to always be looking at my flabby areas in the mirror (dancer clothes hide nothing). Those areas may not ever go away completely, but if I felt more physically capable, I probably wouldn't worry over them as much.

Some of these are neurotic dancer-thoughts (example: my tall, thin professional dancer friend told me a few days ago that she wears blazers because she doesn't like to show her arms.), but mostly I'm just plain not-in-shape because I haven't been organized and consistent enough (because I always want to lay down and die after teaching). I believe I am easily capable of being organized and consistent enough, though, and the thought of feeling more energetic and capable gets me excited.

I usually don't take the New Year's Resolution tradition very seriously, but I plan to go back to my original goal of two ballet classes per week and adding a goal of daily mild cardio exercise. The rut I have fallen into is that in my mind, if I have a dance rehearsal, I can't also take a thirty minute walk outside. But the thing is, I can. Especially since a lot of my rehearsals are not true work-outs.

Since I haven't had any company classes or rehearsals over the holidays, it's been a perfect time to focus exclusively on walking and jogging. I did have the sobering thought that eating holiday junk and not going to work (which probably burns quite a few calories) was going to fairly cancel out any progress on the getting-in-shape front, but at least I'm working my muscles.

Leif bought me a pedometer, and I discovered that the big four mile lake is a bit more than 8000 steps for me. (Doctors recommend 10,000 steps a day for optimum health, so that's a pretty big chunk. Makes you think about how much healthier it is to live in a city where walking is a natural part of your day.) We tried the big lake out on Saturday--I don't usually attempt that one because I tend to get bored, overwhelmed, and tired (also when I start on that loop, I get this oh shit feeling like there's no turning back--especially once "turning back" means a further walk than finishing the loop).

In the past nine days, I've done seven--we'll call them cardio sessions. The first of these was a three mile jaunt with my parents in their hilly neighborhood. The next day, I started out my little 2-miler (around my neighborhood and part of the lake) with a jog and finished with a walk. I've since tested jogging two more times, each time adding some distance before I turn it into a walk. I've always wondered what it would feel like to build some endurance and be able to jog a set distance, like two or three miles. I added a few more bouts of jogging to my route today and felt a really nice high at the end of it. Even though both calves and achilles tendons start throbbing pretty instantly, I can keep going up until the point that my right side seizes with a cramp. When this doesn't happen immediately, and I'm able to cover some distance, I feel like a superhero.

I'm pretty sure I'm always going to be the kind of person that likes to have a drink and a treat of some kind at the end of the day--it might be homemade bread and butter, a handful of chocolates, or a chunk of nice cheese. Sometimes I like to sit outside and drink a beer after I exercise (thereby immediately refilling the calories I just burned). I don't think I want to go all Special K and cut these things out, so I guess we'll see if it's possible to get in shape and eat delicious food at the same time.

she called me a Grinch

2009-12-21T09:43:00.004-06:00

Hoo y'all, I haven't been here in a while.

So, last Thursday, day before the last day before Christmas break and the end of the first semester, one of my students says to me:

"Ms. W, you don't like to have fun, do you?"

She sits in the front in one of my honors classes. She's a short African American girl with flat ironed hair, hoop earrings, and boots over her jeans. She looks like she just stepped of The CW channel and she's got a sassy cool demeanor that comes from not being very aware of herself or other people--i.e., she says exactly what's on her mind without forethought, but also without ill intention. We'll call her "P."

"Why do you say that?" I say from my desk. I was reading the student newspaper. We are all sitting in "study hall" right before their exam.

"Well, you said you don't use text language and you said you weren't going to do Santa Claus with your kids."

"That's why I'm no fun?" Yes, I immediately got defensive. She'd found me out.

"Well, and you said that thing we did yesterday was supposed to be fun." She was referring to grammatically dissecting "The Jabberwocky" as review for the final. I admit now that it got a bit tedious.

"You just haven't met me outside of school," I said. Which is funny, because there's probably not a huge difference between the two, which she must have sensed in my tone--she gave me a look that said she was not convinced. But there ARE nuanced differences. In school, I

wear slacks and clogs
refrain from all curse words except "hell," "crap," and the rare "damn"
speak standard English as much as possible
am more serious and "on task"
call things "fun" that are "boring"
fuss

Outside school I

wear jeans and only shoes that are not clogs
curse
speak in silly voices and exaggerated slang
like to procrastinate and get "off task"
enjoy drinking with friends
fuss

"You don't even know me," I say to P.

Plus, I never explained that I WAS going to do the Santa thing with my future kids--I just don't plan on lying to them and telling them there was a man in the house last night and he's the one that left all these presents. As Sarah Dee pointed out, "Who would miss Santa? You get presents while eating for three days straight."

P was studying character notecards with her friend (for MY midterm, I might add) when I abruptly interrupted them. "I bet you'd be surprised to know that I do facebook," I said.

"Really?" she said.

"Really. But I don't friend students. And I dance," I added.

"What kind of dance? Contemporary modern?" Apparently this didn't count.

Another kid said, "Have you ever done hip hop?"

"Yes," I said, which was followed by incredulous laughter. "You know, my sister is a hip hop choreographer. She's very good."

Then I was talking to another girl about wanting to go see The Princess and the Frog and I said I'd heard a good interview about it on NPR.

"Well P, there's another strike against me being fun," I said, continuing the conversation unnecessarily. "I listen to NPR." My brother had called me "old" two days previously for listening to that instead of CDs in my car (which I used to do more often).

"This just doesn't sit right with you, does it?" said P.

I thought "No" and I said, "It's just a fun game at this point."

While they were taking their midterm, I remembered something. About two weeks previously, as I was walking the class back from the library, P walked next to me and asked if I ever straighten my hair.

"No." I said.

"Why not?" she said.

"It doesn't really look that great," I said. "And I just think hair should be natural." Which is a stupid thing to say to a girl who obviously doesn't want to wear an afro.

"I think you should do it one day. Just once," she said.

"Okay. Maybe one day," I said. I probably wont.

Then another day, she said to me, "You must really like those shoes."

I was wondering when a kid was going to say something. I wear these shoes everyday because 1) they are the only shoes that don't hurt to teach in and 2) it's one less decision to make in the morning.

I said, "They're like shoes for nurses. They're good for your back."

"Ohh," she said. She seemed relieved.

When she finished her midterm and came up to the front of the classroom to turn it in, I smirked at her from behind the podium.

"What are you about to say?" said P. "I can tell you want to say something."

I told her I remembered the comments about my hair and shoes, and now today with the "no fun" accusations. "I'm onto you," I said. "I think you're trying to give me a complex."

She just laughed, went back to her desk, and put in her ipod earbuds.

I've done a few things lately that I would consider "fun" and that I might typically say "no" to. One was that I danced in a "wearable art" fashion show. It was something extra to sign up for, and it was my first time doing improv in public. Next, I went shopping with some old friends and bought two dresses that are very short (and meant to be worn with leggings, I guess. That's how I'm going to wear them, at any rate). After changing into one of these in preparation for a family Christmas party yesterday, I painted my fingernails aqua to match the polka dots in the dress. I probably haven't painted my nails in at least five years, and they haven't been blue since I was eleven. Also, one of my friends went to Roller Derby practice with our other friend, and my first reaction when I heard it was "Oo, call me next time y'all go."

Are all of these things direct reactions to P? The wearable art show happened before P's comments, but everything else came after. Is it lame that a shallow teenager touched a nerve in me? Yes, it is. But it also couldn't hurt to experiment with things that I don't immediately deem "things I would normally do everyday." Because lord knows my job makes me feel prematurely--well, mature, and I got an idea somewhere along the way that "uptight, serious, smart, and strict" were the only ways to be if I was going to be an effective teacher. In other words, I subconsciously believed I should directly mimic the professor who taught me how to teach.

"You're just so--professional," said one girl, helping P plead her case. "We don't know anything about you."

And it's going to stay that way, missy, I thought. Then I thought about how I was about to be off school for two weeks and that I have friends who planned a camping trip and a trip to New Orleans and how lots of old friends are coming in from out of town. Thinking about this during exams made it super exciting. Except for the fact that I'm laying around in my PJs, I don't feel old at all right now.

Hooray for vacation!

ramblings of the sick and tired

2009-10-19T17:31:00.005-05:00

One weird thing that happened to me recently is that I got a cold three weeks ago that turned into something severe that I momentarily thought could be pneumonia. Then it subsided into a hoarse voice and a fluid-chested cough that still hasn't gone away.

Like a good American, the only day I took off work was the day I had a fever (and Leif took me to the doc for cortizone pills), then I went right back because I had tests to give the kids, and getting a sub for a week would put me behind in my plans for the entire rest of the semester. Which is worse than dragging myself to school with a cold virus. Though it got really pathetic by Friday, which is when the stuff moved into my bronchial tubes and I could no longer speak. One of the seventh hour students drew a stick figure me leaning over with eyes at half mast and arms dangling like noodles. It said "Ms. W_" under it and "sick" with an arrow pointing at me (it's on the fridge). It's a good thing I only had to "grade" poster presentations and administer tests during those three days. By Friday evening I was choke-coughing every few minutes and Leif called the doc again. I got antibiotics, and this seemed to help me feel normal, but I was still having frustrating coughing fits and not sleeping because of them (I spent a week and a half in the "guest room" bed). Then I had to perform at the Manship for a dance festival choreography showcase thing. I coughed side stage and managed to hold it in on stage.

I'm sort of wondering now why I'm typing a dramatic story of a sickness that everybody gets at some point--I think it's because it caused me to have this longing to have my normal life back. I realized I was kind of excited to start this new unit about family and culture at school and that I was starting to feel like I was on a roll in ballet class. I actually wanted to return to these things. These mammoth pursuits that often overwhelm me. The appointments to which I show up late because I'm dragging my heels in the face of challenge and discomfort.

Today I have PMS and I'm skipping ballet to sit on the couch (after debating the pros and cons of doing such). I still have this mentality that if I let myself slip out of the routine a little bit that the whole thing will be blown to shit--I'll realize that it was only a matter of time before I got tired, bored, or realized the hamster-wheel nature of goals, everyday life, and routines. For now I'm telling myself that I'll go to yoga or ballet tomorrow, ballet Wednesday, and I'll have my mandatory rehearsal Thursday night. Then maybe, with this lovely weather, I'll squeeze in a couple of walks this weekend, because we're STAYING HOME! (We flew to Jacksonville this past weekend for my cousin's wedding and today feels like there isn't enough time in the world.)

Also, I hate myself a tiny bit for the Amazon and Discount Dance return packages sitting on the floor of the living room...they've been there for weeks and I'm about to add to the pile because my "dance paws" didn't fit (I should have known to order the large). I'm still on the fence about my ballet shoes, which are pretty and Russian but maybe too tight. At least the trashbag shorts fit.

To complicate the situation, Leif's parents brought me back a three pound Toblerone from France, which is sitting on the ottoman by a shoebox of the aforementioned dance items.

***

Going to weddings--especially family ones--brings up a lot of conversation about when Leif and I are going to get married. Every time someone asks how long we've been dating and I say "close to six years," the next comment is something like "well are you hearing any wedding bells?" This comes from extended family members and co-workers or co-dancers, mostly, since most of my friends are not too traditional in that sense. But it's constant, and I feel very...wishy washy about all those big traditional life things right now. It's swampy territory filled with cliches, doubts, and blank stares.

On one hand, I like family, babies, pets, and the idea of a nice home (stable, even). I want these things, and Leif's the one I want to share them with for sure. No, we are not engaged, but yes, we might as well be. No, I will not be wearing a ring for this. No, I don't actually know how this is going to play out.

On the other hand, I feel like a big baby bumbling through a woman's (busy) life and I feel like hollering I'M NOT READY YET when the idea of a new responsibility takes form. I procrastinate everything and I'm not particularly talented at handling the Takin Care of Business adult stuff (see Amazon packages). I'm scared of booking airline tickets and new cell phone plans and I have a giant pile of shirts and slacks hanging on my closet door that I'm suppose to iron at some point this semester. Leif and I go to bed most nights taking turns saying things like, "I feel like I never got to do anything I wanted to do today" and "I guess I can do ___ tomorrow afternoon, or at least part of it." How could I decide to throw a baby or even so much as a cat into the mix and not feel like my life has been completely robbed from me?

On the third hand is the question of when we are going to buy a house (maybe in the spring/summer) and how long we are going to live there. If and when (and why) we are going to move to another state, when and where do I go back to school, and what do I want to be when I grow up (including the question of motherhood, assuming I am able to get pregnant one day). But mostly that I am a person who doesn't know how to conduct the process of getting a new cell phone plan, so I don't know the first thing about the process of house hunting (or baby raising). I mean really, how does anyone do anything?

I realize these things sound like a long string of worry about vague plans that stretch out into the distant future and, therefore, do not really exist. Maybe that's the truth of the matter. I'm feeling anxious and hoarding things to worry over. But it really does feel like time is always rushing at me like a conveyor belt and I'm running in place and then laying down to watch TV shows online and getting WAY behind because the belt is still moving. It's not that I'm trying to keep up with the Joneses--it's my own treadmill and my own freaking to-do list piling up. My own years marching by. The question of am I waiting around for the things that I want to drop in my lap?

The good news is that I just cleaned the kitchen, unpacked from the trip, and sorted and put away all of the piles of clothes in my room from last week. I've regained a tiny feeling of control from small tasks. Maybe that's all we really ever want. Well, I think peace is what we want, but we think control is the way to get that.

Now on to dinner with Leif. Most of all, I'm ravenous.

Things of Note

2009-09-07T11:06:00.002-05:00

Been meaning to write about stuff for a while. There's a list building up. These things happened over the last four weeks.

Ms. Dee came into town and there was a Sunday of dry, breezy, sunny weather. She, Ang, and I rode bikes around the lakes. Then we went to get drinks at Perks. I got an iced "tropical" green tea, sat and chatted with them for a little while, then crossed the street for dance rehearsal. I rode my bike home from rehearsal on some scary streets with cars whizzing by, but I had one of those moments where I felt like I had an active lifestyle--where I've gotten sun and exercise, and I'm enjoying being alone. I'd spent a lot of time outside that day. It makes me feel connected to my life. Maybe when the weather starts to cool off I will get to feel that more often.

***

I found a poem (or was it a rap?) that was pages and pages long on the floor of my classroom at the end of the day. It was kind of laterally scrunched, but not balled, and it had missed the trashcan. Curious, I flipped through the pages. It was pretty good for teen angst writing--it had a lot of imagery. It looked like it was written in a huge rush--the words were not quite inside the lines on the page and each line of text was double or triple spaced. It was very dark, with images of fear, loneliness, abuse, and shame. It could have been from one of my students, or it could have been from the freshman class that "floats" in my room first hour. I balled it up and put it in the trash.

There are so many reminders of how deeply painful it is for some of these people to be teenagers, but it's easy to forget how strong--even in an age of texting and TV--their urges are to turn to writing.

***

One Friday after I was done teaching, it started pouring outside and I hadn't brought an umbrella. I stood under the overhang next to the parking lot, half-thinking it might ease up, half-preparing myself to get drenched. The school buses were parked in a line and rumbling--the kids were in the auditorium for the spirit week pep rally, and the end-of-the-day bell was about twenty minutes away. One of the bus drivers (sitting in her bus waiting for the kids) called out to me. Her door was open.
"Huh?" I said.
"You need an umbrella?"
"Oh, no, I was just going to make a run for it."
"No, here, take it." She opened a plastic Rubbermaid bin at her feet and extended a tiny black umbrella toward me. "It'll probably fall apart. It was only a dollar."
"No, I can't take your umbrella. I'll be fine."
"No, really, me and Ms. __ get a whole bunch of them from the Dollar Tree. Some of our girls have a long walk home when it rains."

I said okay, took it, and told her how sweet of her I thought it was. I imagined how glad the girls must be to receive her little umbrellas on rainy days.

***

When I returned the kids' very first essays on "what kind of writer" they imagined themselves to be, I got an idea at the last minute to pick out a couple of kids that had particularly lovely introduction paragraphs. I asked those kids to take turns standing up by their seats and reading their introductions. I thought they were going to be mortified and refuse, but they were proud and their classmates oohed and ahhed with supportive comments.

In hindsight, I got the idea from Dorothy Allison, who made us stand up and use our voices as often as possible during her class. I miss creative writing, once again. I seem to have no good ideas for short stories. I've been trying to keep my antennae out.

***

One of my students Brent (from two years ago) brought me a bar of dark chocolate between first and second hour the other day. He said he'd been meaning to do it for a long time. This was the kid who came to talk to me a few times about being gay and dealing with his parents and friends. As a black baptist, he was taught it was a sinful choice. I gave him a hug and thanked him.

***

I did a forearm stand the other day in yoga right after thinking the teacher was crazy for trying to get us to do forearm stands. (This is where you put your palms and forearms flat on the ground--to where your arms are in a right-angle with your fingertips against a wall--and kick your feet up and over your head until your heels rest against the wall.) I felt like a proud, sweaty kindergartener.

***

I cooked an egg over-easy the other morning before school and flopped it out of the pan and onto my toast. The yolk busted perfectly on the edge of my plate so that every drop of it pooled out onto the counter. I took a spoon and scooped it all off of the counter and back onto the toast before it had time to solidify. I shook my head at myself.

with my mind on my money and my money on my mind

2009-08-14T06:35:00.002-05:00

Geez, I woke up fighting a crazy dream that my whole family was in the car and my mom rolled a giant j with 8x11 printer paper and passed it around to all of us (which would, by the way, never EVER happen). I finished it just in time for us to get pulled over by a very big asshole cop. I panicked, balled it up and stuffed it in the pouch behind the passenger seat (we were in the old Big Bertha van). The cop searched the whole thing, found it, I was the only one to get blamed, he was all riled up with how much trouble I was going to be in. I was crying to my family and no one could help me.

All I could keep thinking was: they're going to fire me from my job! My teaching career is over! And I was really panicked and upset by this.

Despite the fact that I had rehearsal until late last night and went to bed resenting the fact that I had to wake up early to teach, this dream actually made me wake up and say: "thank god I still have my job at my awesome school and I get to go to it today." I guess teaching and I are getting kind of attached.

Blake's got a new face

2009-08-08T11:47:00.003-05:00

I met my new students yesterday. There are too many of them, because the school overscheduled me (there's a new assistant principal who obviously doesn't know what she's doing). Thank god some were absent, because they would have been sitting on the floor. I really hope they're going to fix those schedules like they promised.

But overall, the students looked really cute and sweet. I felt relaxed and a little fuzzy-brained (not used to waking up at 5:30. I don't know if I'll ever get the hang of it). I had to cut out some activities I was going to do with them when I thought we were going to be hanging out for 90 minutes (it turns out we had a schedule of seeing them for 50 minutes each), but then I pretty much finished what I needed to finish (going over the syllabus, giving them parent signature forms, talking about AR).

Yesterday was different from my previous first days because I decided to let go of the idea that I need to look really serious like I mean business or else they're going to walk all over me. Students are nervous on the first day, so I figured I'd be myself and I'd say positive things so that they felt motivated and comfortable about my class instead of scared, defensive, and resistant. I think there's a difference between trying hard to be their best friend and just being disarming, so I let myself be encouraging and jokey.

Then I went over to Ang and Ben's house after school, since I pass it every day and I wanted to see how Ben's first day at his new school went. They served me delicious home brew followed by a visit to the Bulldog and Thai Kitchen. I ate way too much. I slept from 10 to 10.

After conversations with people from the dance company and one of my friends at school who looks really good after getting a personal trainer and slightly adjusted her diet (and discovering that my school pants are VERY tight in the waist), I think I'm going to start experimenting with some new healthy habits. I really like my diet overall, and I've been exercising pretty frequently between yoga class, dance workouts, and dance class, but I'm still carrying some extra fat around that I'd like to shed/tone.

The new experiment is going to involve cutting out my nightly red wine during the week. I don't believe it's super unhealthy or anything--it's just that I have a hard time having a small amount, and when I have it with food, I tend to eat way more because it tastes so good as a combination. I also use it as a sleep aid. I've read that alcohol can actually mess with your sleep because your body is burning up the sugars and can overheat--if that doesn't sound like me, I don't know what does.

I'm still going to have it on weekends if I want, of course. Oh, and I'm not going to have beer on weekdays to replace it or anything.

The other experiment is adding some cardio into my life--my idea is that I'm going to jog down to the BR beach and back (and maybe work on my pull-up strength on the bars while I'm there), which will equal about two miles total. I haven't tried this yet, but I've been doing some jogging as part of our Monday night workouts for dance, and I've been doing okay with that.

It's unbearably hot outside, though, so I'll have to pick a time of day that doesn't result in me fainting on the side of a busy street.

I may try these experiments one at a time.

reflections on my summer writing experience

2009-07-24T17:57:00.006-05:00

I've been waiting until I have enough distance from it to write about my trip to Portland and my experience at Tin House, but now's as good a time as any, I spose.

In summary, it was a transformative experience and a reminder that I love literary fiction and I feel a burning desire to create some stories of my own. I went to every lecture and took notes--something I definitely did not plan on doing when I imagined what the week was going to be like. I met some people that instantly made me laugh my ass off. We even developed a little spot where we all sat together during lectures and giggled at the people who asked annoying questions. I got involved in discussions during workshop and started to see how talented and experienced everyone else in my class was and how much I had to learn (I was the youngest person in the group and the only one from the South). But Dorothy (the teacher) and the rest of the class was so encouraging that I didn't feel disheartened. We did two in-class exercises at five minutes a piece and I stood up and read what I came up with. They were better, in some ways, than the story I brought for workshopping--they were more volatile. They had voice and emotion. One of my classmates said he was blown away by them and thought I had good instincts and that I seemed to have somewhat cut them off in the story I brought (though he said it with more compassion than that) and I think he was exactly right.

The last night, the whole program had a "dance party" and I danced my butt off with Erin and Art, two of my classmates that I ended up spending the most time with. I'm really going to miss hanging out with them--I felt such an instant ease and a sense of camaraderie. I guess when you read (and like) each others' stories, you share an intimacy and a vulnerability that speeds up the friendship process. Really, though, almost everyone in our group was smart, kind, and funny. We were lucky, because we heard rumors of people in other classes storming out of workshop.

It turns out that I'm going to put the story aside and come back to it much, much later because it needs an overhauling--something big is missing from it, and I'm not sure what that is yet. But I did learn that it's hard to write about a place that you're currently in; I'm going to focus on writing about places I've been, places packed with memory and sensation.

It's not that I plan on changing the things I write about, but I do intend to nurture my creativity more than I have been (which is not at all). I've started an experiment with my process which includes writing by hand (so I can't self-edit right away) and writing scenes from my memory that interest me without trying to shape them into a story. One of the things I learned from David Shields's lecture is the idea of resisting the urge to pour ideas into a pre-fab concrete structure and instead let the ideas take the shape that best serves them. It made me realize that I tend to strangle my stories with an anxiety over how they're going to come out. I'm so fixated on the product--the results and the possible reactions of readers. The final outcome. I feel so nervous over the final outcome that I don't even let myself brainstorm or freewrite. For all the things I've learned about the importance of the present moment and the quality of living, I never truly applied it to my writing process. I turned something that requires play and breath into another chore.

The final outcome of anything I write may be four or five drafts away. If I have some writing to work with, I can then shape it. These are the kinds of conversations I'm having with myself. I have to continue to have them, and to continue to play, dream, and not squish my ideas with judgment. One of the poetry lecturers had a quote she liked: "Don't reject yourself. That's their job." She explained that someone said this to one of her students. That our job is to write, and rewrite, and submit--not to reject ourselves, because someone else will certainly do that for us at some point. That's not easy, but it's deeply simple. It's a reminder to be patient and brave.

As the approach of the first day of school looms, I worry about when I'm going to get time to write (and more accurately, where I'm going to find the extra energy). I'm going to have to schedule some time for myself. I'm going to have to continue to see it as a gift to myself--a thing to play with and to nurture. Outcomes and praise may come later, but they'll never come at all if I can't first love the process and figure out what excites me, and where my point of view is, and how my work can evolve. I feel nothing but impatient to find all of these things out, but patience is exactly the thing I need if I'm really going to enter into a long stretch of experimentation and--dare I say--real work.

Idle

2009-07-07T17:58:00.002-05:00

Since coming back, I've had a lot of time to sit around and read--that's pretty much all I've been doing if I'm not at dance class or cooking. I've had a lot of time to be alone and think, and a lot of time at night to sleep ten hours or more and dream busy dreams.

Monday night, two fellow dancers and I did circuit training at the big studio. The stations were: plies, lunges, calf raises (releves), flat backs, roll down push ups, handing from uneven bars and doing leg lifts, assisted pull ups on the lower bar, plank position on the mat, tricep exercises, and jogging back and forth. We did one round with one minute in each station and two rounds with thirty seconds in each. Then we did these things where we used our legs to jump up to the bar into a pull-up position--basically a training exercise for people who can't do an actual pull-up. One of them could do a few pull-ups already and the other was very close. I had to jump really hard just to get into position and I could barely do more than three of those. Then we did some more jogging back and forth across the studio and then timed each other doing these little wind sprint things. We cheered each other on and finished with some stretching and ab work. It was a good and intense workout. This is in preparation for possible dancing (or doing tricks) on the silks in the Spring. Supposedly you have to be strong enough to do five pull ups from a "dead hang" (or so says one of the older, very intense dancers who can already do six and is built like a runner).

I'd like to set a goal of even being able to do one pull up (I've never been able to in my whole life) and training at the park down the street. I wonder if this is going to be like everything else where I crap out and never really get into the shape I'd like to be in because I was inconsistent or made too many excuses or didn't put forth the work to do it. I already don't make the effort to go to extra dance classes (ballet, which I'm supposed to be doing). I can feel myself starting to feel sorry for myself. I'm looking at myself and assuming that the rest of the company and the director just sees a short-legged doughy dancer with a big butt and barely any natural turnout. I know these are old insecurities, and I don't actually know what anyone else sees when they look at me. I know they're not really thinking about me and what I look like, and that like most dancers, they're probably just worried about how they're doing. I know it's a waste to spend lots of time thinking about what other people think about you. I know that self-pity is a useless habit.

I also know that dance is a part of me and I am compelled to move to music and learn more and more pieces of choreography. I know that I have a lot to learn, but also a lot to give--I've been dancing and learning technique for almost twenty years now, and artistically, I'm capable of a lot. I hope I get more opportunities to explore this. I hope someone else besides me sees my potential. I hope I can quit calling it "potential" one day.

What I'd like to do is quit analyzing my body and just work harder. Gradually work up to going to more classes. Go back to yoga and doing what feels good. Accomplish strength through nurturing.

***

I'm scared of so many things. I'm scared that I don't like my job enough to justify sticking to it. I'm scared that my job will suck up my youth and energy and I'll regret spending years stressing and grading papers. I'm scared of the thought of getting married, buying a house, and having kids. I'm scared that I'm missing out on something I don't know I'm missing out on. I'm scared that I'm not good at making friends. I'm scared that maybe I'm not doing the things that would make me the most happy, no matter how hard I try. I'm scared that I might feel stuck and then it'll be too hard or too late to change my life. I'm scared that my life will plateau and I'll become a boring homebody, or that I already am one. I'm scared I'll never write a novel. I'm scared that everyone I know will move to exciting places to do exciting things and leave me behind. I'm scared that other people will live my dreams.

If such a thing is possible, I also like many aspects of my life at the very same time that I am afraid of all of these things. I like that I'm in a dance company and that I'm doing well in my job. I like the relationships I have with my students. I like the relationships I have with my family and my boyfriend, and I like the relationships I have with my friends. Every once in a while, I even like the city I live in, even though it doesn't facilitate the kind of lifestyle I want to have (namely, good weather so that I could sit out on a back porch or terrace and have dinner without getting bitten by mosquitos, or go for a jog or bikeride or hike without feeling the urge to throw up).

I feel a little sad that my summer is almost over and very reluctant about entering another school year. It will be a freshman-free year, though, for the first time: I'm teaching two "regular" tenth grade courses and two honors ones. I think this will end up being a very good thing because tenth graders tend to be more mellow and aware of themselves. We'll see. I hope Springboard training is inspiring this year. I'm also considering adding The Chosen and Invisible Man to my curriculum even though I've never read them. I should probably do that before the beginning of the year.

I'm going to Portland next week for a writing workshop. I have no idea how it's going to be. I hope it will inspire me to continue writing--It looks rigorous and like I'll learn a lot. I keep reading novels and thinking damn, I wish I was in the middle of writing something like this, but I've got no ideas. I'm currently reading Bastard Out of Carolina and I can't believe I'm going to meet Dorothy Allison and that she's going to be my teacher. I wonder what she's like in person.

We shall see.

Not too jet-lagged yet

2009-07-01T17:29:00.003-05:00

Whew, it's good to be home! I am refreshingly excited to be back in my house, even though it is hot as shit in this city.

Our return trip's total travel time lasted over 24 consecutive hours and I didn't sleep. Between the airport in Toronto suddenly not being able to access our tickets at check-in and Leif's hour-long separation/interrogation about the green card he left at home (he's not a citizen) and a flat tire between Houston and Lafayette at one in the morning, I'd say I've had enough traveling for now.

Besides all that, the end of our trip rounded out nicely and I ending up losing that restless/anxious/not-being-able-to-enjoy-life feeling (which coincidentally coincided with PMS) and returning to a state of happy appreciation for the cities and towns and cultures we visited. And when we were stuck from the weather, gin and tonic and Rummy 500 ended up being good enough. (Jeanne, I need you to reteach me how to play Palace.) Plus, it's good to have my dad back. He really liked living in Sarajevo, though. I predict that he's going to miss it and his Bosnian co-workers a lot.

I had an enjoyable grocery trip just now--I can't remember the last time it felt so smooth and enjoyable to buy groceries. Part of it is that there was barely anyone there when I went, but I think another part of it is that now that I'm home from vacation, I get to have my life back. (I do realize I would not feel this way if I were immediately returning to work.) I get to do and make things and go back to dancing and exercise. I get to hang out with friends and be in my house again with Leif.

It's a nice feeling to remember to appreciate things I was forgetting to appreciate.

The next order of business is reading and editing twelve short stories before I leave for the workshop in Portland. I started one on the drive back here this morning. Let's just say I hope the rest aren't this...tedious. I wonder if it's offensive to use red ink on people's work if those people are not my students. Oh, well--I like my uniballs.

a letter to Ms. Dee about our trip

2009-06-19T08:03:00.003-05:00

I just realized there are tense shifts galore here, but I'm feeling too lazy to change them.
Additionally, Leif and I are considering buying roller blades.

We went white water rafting Sunday. Rode this Greyhound-style bus to a town (Konjic) an hour away. Boznia becomes "Herzegovina," which is (I've been told) a geological change--Boznia is trees and green, Herzegovina is rocks, mountains, cliffs. When we get there, a guy drives us in a van to the rafting place. (People here drive very aggresively but skillfully--everybody's got these tiny old cars that zoom around and screech on the pavement.) We sit at a picnic table and get fed breakfast--Bosnian coffee (strong and funky, but good once cream gets added--it's also described as Turkish), boiled eggs, hot dog weenies, french-style bread, and little Laughing Cow cheese wedges. With us is a girl from New York named Kasey who's here teaching English and a Bosnian guy who she's friends with that speaks perfect English. I think his name was something like Merzat, but it's a difficult accent/language to remember! Anyway, it was me, Reid, Whit, and Leif in a boat and then Mom, Dad, and those other two. The hilarious part of rafting was the difference between Aspen last summer (our guide was more like "don't French Fry when you should Pizza") and this (our guides quietly said "Okay, guys, peddle" ["paddle]) and every time we stopped to float around in lagoon-type areas, they took cigarette breaks). It was very picturesque over all, but the rapids were few and far between. The water was really low, too, so it was more about navigating around rocks then zooming through rapids. I'll show pictures later.

Monday we went to the Embassy to meet my dad's coworkers, then to lunch with Dad at a little funky place that kinda looks like Yvette Marie's cafe in Baton Rouge (I got veggie Risotto which was not so great, but Leif got veal wrapped in dough covered in cream and mushrooms and my dad got traditional "pot," which is a Bosnian beef stew in a little clay pot, which is what I should have ordered), then the fruit stand and the meat place (they ground it fresh!), then home, and that was it. Made dinner and chilled here. It was so effin hot, and a long walk.

Tuesday (the hottest day of the year, at 91 degrees) we rode the rickety tram 5 minutes outside of town to a place called Ilidzah (Eel-ee-jah) where there was a tree-lined walkway on which we rented a five-seater bicycle (think of the Flintstones' car) to this part where there are natural springs (and a couple of swans, to boot). It was very pretty. Then we ate pizza at a cafe after returning the "bike." The pizza is advertised to come with ketchup. It's not really ketchup, but there is a normal red sauce on the pizza and another salsa-type of thing in a gravy boat that comes on the side. Also there was corn on the vegetarian pizza. Italians would die.

Then Tuesday evening after dinner, we went back outside for an evening stroll on the town river (really just like a big "coolie"--concrete) because my dad says it's nice and there are little popcorn stands out there that he stops at when he walks home from work in the evenings. What we saw once we got out there was surprising--it turns out that the street out by the river is blocked off EVERY evening and people of all ages (families, teenagers, groups of guys, groups of girls, old ladies) go out there just to stroll around aimlessly. I couldn't get over it--it was packed like a festival on a Tuesday night with people on bikes, people roller blading, teenagers standing around or walking together, old ladies arm-in-arm, couples making out on benches, and families riding four-seater bikes. Just going nowhere! I guess people go out there instead of watching TV together. Or at least part of the time. It was awesome.

The most surprising thing about Boznia, I guess, is how not-a-third-world country it is. Or at least, not Sarajevo and the surrounding areas. It feels like I'm in California or Colorado, weather-and-landscape-wise, and a lot of the city areas feel like a smaller Prague. The people are ridiculously nice and very quiet. They seem to mumble to each other. The exotic aspects are that most of the buildings are all shot up with bullet holes, and there are little Muslim spires ("minarets") everywhere with speakers through which someone sends out the "call to prayer" five times a day. There are a lot of Muslims here, as well as plenty of white Europeans (men with capri pants and black socks, women with tight pants and heels and scrunchies). Oh, and everybody smokes and eats ice cream cones. But not at the same time. Also, there's a cafe every two feet. And I hear that everybody goes out to techno clubs. We haven't done any nightlife stuff, but I hate me some club music, so I don't know that I'm going to fight my exhaustion to go do that.

Today we are chilling here in the morning and then visiting the prosecutor's office and making our way to the Ottoman part of town again (old town) to shop and hang out at cafes and finish at what's called The Cave Club (on the edge of town, somebody made a bar out of a cave and a bridge, and there are bean bag chairs on the bridge that overlook the river).

deep thoughts by jack handy

2009-06-19T07:25:00.002-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to live. It's not that it's hard to be alive--it's just hard to live. Let me explain.

My mind does this obnoxious thing when it gets "bored." I notice it when I'm on vacation and not in fulfilling/avoiding-responsibility mode. I think: god, there's nothing to do. But I could do anything I want right now, technically. I could walk down the street of a foreign country and take in the sights (since I'm not at home right now). I could go buy a fizzy water. I could do some pilates on the carpet. I could read a book. I could write a short story. You get the point. But I am completely uninterested in doing anything, and simultaneously yearning for something to do (or for an escape).

I think what's going on is that my mind doesn't want to be in the present moment. It's that little voice that says: oh, I see that pretty building. Yep, there it is. Okay. BOR-ING. Will it DO anything for me?

Perhaps my body wants something to do--maybe it wants to dance or white water raft. But sometimes when I'm doing those things, I think "enh, is this it? I want to stop now." Or: "I wish this was more exciting. When can we do something exciting?"

It's the ugly, ungrateful child in me, or my ego. It finds the dullness in everything, and therefore makes me dull (the thing in me that, when I want to work on a short story or a dance, says: nah, those ideas are boring).

It's the reason I want to eat when I'm not hungry just so I can feel some sensory stimulation. Because then I "doing something" and therefore not doing nothing.

It's the reason I imagine my day (the past or future of my day, of course) and am relieved or frustrated by my perceived activity or lack of activity. My constant judgment and evaluation of everything. It's as silly as giving each passing thing in my life a score from 0 to 10.

I like reading about the mudane details of other people's lives (or watching characters on TV). I always think: huh, they're living. That's how they live. It doesn't sound boring at all. I like the descriptions of activities as simple as having a cup of tea. It's hard to explain: it's like when you're watching a movie or TV show, and the character is sitting on the couch filing their nails and talking to another character in the kitchen, and it's like, the thing they're doing right now (because it'd be a dull scene to show them only watching TV) and I think, oh, they look cozy. Sometimes I visit friends and think about their hobbies and how them seem to enjoy themselves doing these simple things, and it seems so nice. I think about how our whole lives are filled up with doing one simple thing after the next, or sleeping. It's not that's it's a depressing thought--it's just that I seem to spend a lot of time trying to distract myself from this thought.

It's just that sometimes it's hard for me to feel that cozy, pleased feeling when it's just me--when it's my life and my perception. Just to be awake and be happy for that. (Though sometimes it's quite easy, but I'm not sure of the variable that makes the difference yet.) The funny thing is that I know how (I believe we all do) to choose to think a different way. It's something in the brain that's attracted to the nervous energy--it's something that believes in it, or believes life is supposed to be a certain way.

I think my (fiction) writing suffers for this. I think sometimes it's too summarized--too aware of trying to get to the next thing, or to build a thing. If I could be more in the moment, then the reader would, too, and the reader would enjoy that. Perhaps this is something I can practice.

In My Stroke of Insight, Bolte-Taylor says that an emotion/reaction in the limbic system of the brain takes ninety seconds to flow through the body. Then you choose whether you want to "hook into" that feeling or not, based on your habits. I find that to be both interesting and true, whether or not it's related to what I'm talking about. Beh. Now I'm sick of writing.

some good news

2009-06-04T15:41:00.005-05:00

Today I went to my 6th yoga class in the past 3 weeks. During class, I was thinking that I was starting to feel stronger. I was able to hold some poses without feeling extreme fatigue or pain. My hip and thigh muscles seemed to be responsive and steady. My arms even held up okay.

I've been taking data on my Google calendar so I can see how frequently I exercise, since I tend to think, "Oh, I feel like I exercised a lot this week," but I can't really remember or regulate myself. I also tend to swing in the other direction of beating myself up over not exercising enough, and then lying on the couch watching shows to distract myself from that feeling, so plotting it on a visual thing helps me to see how I'm doing and lets me feel good about taking some breaks instead of constantly thinking oh my god I need to exercise every single day. (Even though that's the longterm lifestyle I want. Well, not the worryfreak part, but the every day part.) It also helps me to see how often I go a week or two without any kind of scheduled movement. And yeah, I realize it seems robotic to schedule out the times when I move my body, but I think that's the reality I'm dealing with while I live in a place where I get in the car to go anywhere besides the lakes, and where the restaurants are full of cream sauce, fried seafood, and beer (all of which I enjoy, but have managed to generally avoid since Leif and I started cooking every week night plus Sundays. I did have fried oysters the other day at the Chimes.). Ideally, I'd live in a place where I could walk everywhere and just go to dance classes, do yoga, hike, white water raft, ski, and go on bike rides for fun. Maybe one day I'll end up as one of those Chaco-wearing ladies with a dog on an expensive leash.

So the stats on May (which has been a startlingly good month for me in terms of movement, since I didn't have any major dance performances or rehearsals) are:

18 (total) instances of scheduled exercise (not counting the flights of stairs at school)
6 of those were a two-mile walk; 2 of those were a three-mile walk (with Mom, who walks up to six!)
3 instances involved weight-lifting with Leif
2 were dance classes (modern)
1 was a rough 19 minute yoga session with my DVD (hadn't done yoga in...a year?)
3 were 60+ minute yoga classes

In June (this week), I've gone to 3 more yoga classes.

It's been a very long time since I've been this consistent on my own with exercise and felt like I was building strength. In the fall and spring of this school year, the Martha Graham piece that I was in (I was in the jumping group of said piece) forced me to get into cardio and muscular shape, but I was only able to feel the effects for a few weeks--I finally got to a point of being able to get through the dance without my head and feet feeling tingly from lack of oxygen (while bent over, gasping for air, of course). And then the performance was over.

It's been a goal of mine for a very long time now to develop physical endurance and push my body a little harder to the point where I feel light and strong. But I view myself as "type B" and not very goal-oriented. I love to procrastinate. I also spend lots of time on the couch. I don't find myself feeling jittery or bored much at all--even now that I essentially have nothing to do all day. My body likes ten hours of sleep every night. Therefore, the feeling of being on the road to a more physically-active lifestyle is a novel one for me. An added perk to all of this is that I haven't felt the nagging need to snack all the time (when I'm not hungry). I still get it, but only once or twice during the day, and I've lately been able to let it pass, or to eat something of value. Which is good, because I'm not about to give up my two glasses of wine every night.

The thing I like most about this yoga habit I'm making is just that: I can feel it becoming a habit. I'm not making excuses in my mind to keep myself from going. I'm not trying to avoid the discomfort of it. I'm not inventing distractions or substitutions for it. I guess this means it's a good fit for me, as exercise goes. I also gravitate toward it more naturally than, say, a weight machine (not that there's anything wrong with those--I love the results those create, too) because of the spiritual element. The ideas behind yoga practice--the focus on the fact that I'm a living being, the practice of honoring and caring for my body, the act of letting my mind shut the hell up, the connection with peace--change the way the rest of my day goes and the little choices I make.

I also love lying on the floor like a complete blob at the end of class. Especially when the teacher comes around and puts a cool rag soaked in China Gel (this tingly muscle rub that smells like eucalyptus and lavendar) on my forehead.

I'm not saying this is the only kind of exercise I'm interested in doing ever again--I've got dance classes starting next week after all, and I do have a history of getting tired or bored with something and dropping it. But I hope that's not the case with this, because the effects have been so pleasant.

The dance company I'm in is having a meeting tonight at Parrain's. Maybe I'll get some fried fish. In a cream sauce.

End of School Blowout

2009-05-15T16:36:00.002-05:00

I can't believe school's almost over. Next week is final's week, and thank the frickin lord, because I am done teaching those babies. We are all done, done, done.

I had a blast today--I allowed three of my classes to have a "party" (i.e., I told them, "I guess it's okay if you bring food"). Those bitches went ALL out. Some of the highlights that they brought were: pasta salad, homemade chocolate cake, Indian chutney, an ice chest full of cokes, and--wait for it--CRAWFISH FRIED RICE that one of my students MADE HIMSELF.

Picture all of that shoved on the front two tables in my tiny classroom, complete with scavengers from other classes dropping by to "say hello." The joint was jumpin.

Besides being loud and hyper, my kids were getting all sentimental and sweet. They were telling me how much they liked the class, how we always had deep discussions, and how they appreciated that I taught them to organize an essay and use grammar and punctuation rules. Some even said flat out, "You're a good teacher." It was great to hear, and a little embarrassing, but I feel like today was mostly a reward for my efforts and a good example of why it's just as important for me to remember to enjoy the kids as people as it is for me to teach them how to write and analyze things. I'm going to write my usual end-of-the-year letter to each grade, and this year I might even prepare some funny "things I'll never forget" stories to tell them after they finish taking their final exams.

***

I was talking to Sarah Dee on the phone today, and she was telling me about how this guy she's "talking to" said the other day that he feels that Elvis Presley was the "King of Rock." She proceeded to make an astute point that--and I'm sure I'm revealing some ignorance here--he stole black people's music. He was a marketable (white) face and a talented voice singing black people's music. I thought yeah! I remember seeing a clip that was part of some kind of music history special on ABC of Big Mama Thorton singing Hound Dog and FINALLY understanding what that song was about--a no-good scrub HUSBAND! And that lady was mad and took her time telling him so. I mean, I looked it up, and I think two white guys actually wrote it to be performed by Big Mama, but still. It sounds good on her.

I've actually always hated Elvis's version. It also makes me think about how Ann once told a story about having a terrible fever in the middle of the night, and she couldn't get Hound Dog out of her head. Elvis's version is exactly that--a fever-dream song! Annoying and weird.

Here's Big Mama Thorton beltin' it out. She don't even NEED that lil' bitty microphone.

Happy Friday, er'body.

try to remember to do it tomorrow

2009-04-27T19:54:00.003-05:00

I dislike it when I say I'm going to do something and then I proceed to NOT do it over and over and over.

Here's what I either tell myself I will do or plan on doing in the near or distant future (I'll decide which later):

cook and eat dinner at a fairly early and healthy time (to prevent getting overly hungry and scarfing at 8 or 9 o'clock, which is really only a little over an hour before my bedtime). I just screwed up the timing on brown rice (early) and a salmon burger (late) because I didn't think about cooking the burgers until the rice was almost done. Then I went ahead and tried to preheat them for a good ten minutes before I thought to turn the knob to "bake".
grade those last few research papers
work on my short story (which is due in a month)
work on Claire de Lune (can bumble through the first page but I never sit down at the piano on a weekday)
not lay on the couch watching episode after consecutive episode of old Grey's Anatomy seasons (I started with S1--watching it like a big movie, which I love to do with TV series. This is all I seem to be capable of after work days).
drink enough water not to wake up with dry mouth
exercise, and find something that a)I can stick with and b)that will make me a better dancer
fix the side mirror on my car that I smashed against a trashcan on Carlotta St. (it's now a skeletal frame) and buy new wipers, tires (balding). Get squeaky brakes checked.
buy this torturous twisty spring thing and see if it removes all of my chin hair better than tweezers can
make that frickin' Much Ado test (giving it Thursday. That'll have to get done.).
return that Target shirt and get a haircut (I drove out to Target on my Spring Break just for that purpose, but I left the shirt at home).
go to bed before ten and wake up feeling rested so that I don't oversnooze and get to school in the middle of my much needed planning period
NOT drop the turkey-ham in the crevice between the fridge and the counter (one of the first things I did this morning, and then I had to wake up Leif, who, in a half-stupor, McGuyvered it out using only a measuring tape and a coat hanger. Why couldn't I think of or do that?).

Okay, I admit that I only regretted that last one after the fact.

Even though I hate to write it out: In conclusion, I do feel ineffective, deafeated, heavy, doughy, and useless today.

Martha Beck says we complain so that we may let off steam and continue on in our status quo. I think I'm doing that and waiting until my external schedule changes (end of school year). I've been going around acting like I might just die if the school year doesn't end soon, but nobody else gets two months off of their jobs for summer. Why have I not chosen to cope and enjoy what little time I have left with this particular group of kids? Why can't I be inventive and energetic, and just suck it up and do the last of my work before I have to start rushing it? Why can't I quit worrying that I won't get it together in time when that's never once happened?

Lately, and as usual, I've been looking for an activity/routine that will change my body and my lifestyle and the way I feel. I may start going to yoga regularly to supplement my dancing and to jazz up my physical activity schedule. I also need to try a lot harder to drive out to ballet at least once a week. I don't know how to get over the fatigue I feel after teaching, even though logically I understand that exercising more only increases your overall energy level. I'm a teacher, but I don't know, in all actuality, what motivation really is, and where it comes from. I understand choice but I don't always feel strong enough to choose wisely. Or maybe I just don't believe that I am.

The good news is that I have a lovely meal full of quality nutrients to eat (that I cooked). So I'm going to count that as one quantifiable thing that I accomplished, start to finish, today. In addition to that, I will drink some red wine, maybe even get to bed by ten, and hope that I feel more competent tomorrow. But don't hold me to that.

Margaritas and Cheese

2009-04-08T15:25:00.003-05:00

It's one day away from Spring Break, and boy am I behaving accordingly.

It all started when standardized testing ended last week. On the drive home, I decided I wanted a margarita to go (sometimes I like living in BR) and some chips and queso. The chips and queso were party sized, but I somehow worked my way through the whole thing.

When I'm at work, it doesn't help that I'm in the library a lot. I am there by force sometimes because Leah and her class "float" in my room on my main off period, but I also technically have "duty."

Today Ms. M gave me scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, and half a biscuit because they ordered a huge amount from a Chevron (it was only one order for $3.50 or something, but it fed four people). One of the math teachers on the first floor picked it up. She knows how to get good home cooked food from gas stations--I didn't know such a thing existed. There are all these little unnamed spots for barbeque, chicken, and breakfast.

I don't get a lot of work done in the library because it's sort of the bus station of the school--students and teachers flow in and out all day and I end up talking to half of them. Students check out books and use the computers constantly, which is different from other high schools I've seen. They sneak out on unsuspecting substitutes...to the library! If Ms. B and Ms. M close the doors, those fools knock on the glass (mostly because they need to print out their essays at the last minute and then leave their jump drives by accident). If they finish a test in my class, they beg me to go to the library. They cheer when I tell them we're having a library day (in which they go for about twenty minutes to check out books and take AR quizzes. Some of them just hang out and play, though, which is a big reason why they like it).

(When I was student teaching in Brusly, no one used the library except to play on the internet. The teachers shopped for shoes on their planning periods. The librarian herself said "these kids don't like books.")

I've been hanging out in the library a lot and not getting any planning and grading done (well, not as much as I'd like). I'm at the point in the year (I hope that's the reason) where I'm almost coasting--52/90 research papers done, reading Much Ado about Nothing with tenth grade and starting To Kill a Mockingbird with ninth. When we're working on a big piece of literature, it feels like coasting.

I...think I'm doing a good job. Everybody's awake and engaged. The ninth graders could tell me all about Romeo and Juliet by the time we finished it (even though they didn't do very well on their tests). The tenth graders are asking tons of questions and laughing during our readings, and I make them get up and act it out.

I've been giving multiple choice tests only. I'm all graded out. I wonder if we've done enough writing this year. One of my girls in seventh hour (after GEE testing) said, "Ms. W, your 3 reasons and thesis thing really works." I know I've done a lot of grammar and usage, at least--I didn't even teach usage my first two years.

Mostly I feel like I'm done--I feel like I've taught them, and now we're coasting. I'm enjoying them a lot lately because we're really comfortable by this point. I played Uno with seventh hour last week after testing--they were playing and I was supposed to be grading, but they invited me to join them. They are an especially hilarious, kind, and interesting group of kids--more so than my other periods, because they're silly and not afraid to look uncool. It's nice to see them at the end of every day, and we have a lot of class jokes--they make me laugh genuinely every time I see them.

For instance, I've got this boy in there, H--he's pretty special--who passed ME a note today asking me to explain certain lines in Act one. I was sitting in the back of the room on a soft chair, level with the kids--my room's really tiny so we're all squished in--and I'm in the middle of reviewing a scene with them, and this girl G hands me the note and whispers "This is from H." (Mind you, H is the same kid that wrote text on a scantron explaning a true/false answer.) I cracked up laughing and said, "Did you just pass a note to me?"

But there's this nagging voice--maybe it's Dr. G's tough love reminders ringing in my head--that keeps coming back. I have more to give them before they leave me--I need to push them in the ways that they look at their own lives and societies. Have I been copping out or avoiding talking about race? About groupthinking, and anti-intellectualism? What does Much Ado have to do with their own lives? Sure, it exposes them to Shakespeare's language before they get to college--sure, it's a fun story.

It sounds crazy, but I constantly wonder if I'm failing them in some way. I'm tired and I've done a lot with them. My department head said I just need to focus on making it to May and stop thinking I need to do more.

I'm afraid if I let that sink in too much that I'll be on autopilot and the kids won't learn anything, but maybe I just need to do an adequate job and leave and go home and be happy. Maybe being a decent teacher is good enough.

I need a vacation. And I need to finish grading those research papers.

Those Wheelers upset me

2009-03-15T14:27:00.003-05:00

I guess I didn't post about it at the time, but it was a weird transition to come back from skiing. It didn't help that I read Revolutionary Road on the plane--a book that is at least partially about the mundane routines of suburban life that people fall into that keep them away from living their best lives or being their best selves. Every time we go on vacation, especially to a place that has a climate and lifestyle that we both enjoy and feel refreshed by, we question whether we really do want to be in the town we're in and the professions we're in; we wonder what the "next step" in our lives will be, and we basically feel unhinged in good and bad ways.

We are reminded that anything is possible in our lives, which feels both freeing and terrifying--not because we're scared of having options, but we're concerned about whether we're "settling" (Leif hates this word) or whether we want to be where we are. We both want to live in another place one day--"where?" or "why?" are questions I can't answer yet, except to say that we're interested in a lifestyle that involves walking to places, biking, hiking, good access to natural foods, microbreweries, snow skiing, white water rafting, and other cliche whitepeople activities. And I'd like to get an MFA one day, and Leif doesn't know what yet but he'd like to try out a different job eventually, and then we want to buy a house and have kids (yipes!) and some dogs and cats, and this big list is an example of why I can't think about this stuff too often. I'm overwhlemed by things like folding and putting away laundry, so you can imagine about how I feel thinking about all of this, even though these images are happy ones--things I actually look forward to.

People love to ask us why we aren't married and when we'll be married, and my honest answer is that we don't feel like thinking about it.

But, I do feel much better now after getting back into the swing of things at school and dance. I'm not sure why. Vacation is fun, but you start to feel like a blob with no use or motivation because there isn't anything to do except for walk around and spend money on food or souvenirs (if you're into that sort of thing). Or ski, in our case, but even something that challenging and exciting gets routine--there are only so many runs to do. (Not that we didn't have fun, because we did. It was lovely.)

I remembered something while I was standing around (ironically, not having a good time at all) during dance rehearsal last weekend--when I was a preteen, I imagined that one day I'd like to teach English at a high school or be in a dance company, and I'm doing both of those things right now. So even though I bitch sometimes, I'm doing things I chose to do, and they happen to be things that have always interested me. I need to try to remember to feel grateful for that more often.

In other (good) news, I got into the Tin House summer writing program in Oregon, so I get to do that this summer, as well as go on a trip with Leif and my family to see my Dad in Sarajevo! So, I guess I'm done for now with being upset over Revolutionary Road and wondering if one day I'll end up like April, barefoot in a house with nothing to do but dishes and ironing when I could have been a great actress. I think maybe it was just good literature that did what it was supposed to do. (Plus, I'm pretty sure I won't marry a bullshitter.)

I guess my life will just continue to get busier, if anything, and I'll have to continue to adapt and get more competent in handling it all and remembering to enjoy it in the process.

In the spirit of competence, I hope I can fit grocery shopping, lesson planning, showering, dining (and wining), and X-file watching into the rest of my Sunday.

Letter to Fam from a trip that they are usually on.

2009-02-24T09:59:00.004-06:00

Dear Family,

We're going to Vail today! Seizing the weather while we can. Yesterday was SO snowy and WET in Breck (because it wasn't that cold). Leif literally wrung out his gloves at lunch. My hat was sloshy. We went straight up to Peak 7, which is now so much more populated! The lift is a six seater and there's a restaurant and parking lot at the base and another restaurant being built. I miss the ole 7, but the runs were still fantastic. Monte Cristo is so hilly--I whooped several times and left Leif in the dust. Although, Leif is becoming quite the seasoned skiier--he's a lot less scared and he can pretty much do anything I can (only slower). We did Angel's Rest, Pioneer to Swan City, and Monte Cristo twice, then Claimjumper, lunch, Four O'Clock to Sawmill and called it a day because my goggles kept fogging up, my butt was drenched, and our legs were gone after running around on 7. It was a really good day for so much snow. (The first day--Sunday--was so sunny that Leif only wore glove liners and we got mild sunburns.)

Tomorrow is our off day. We'll probably be dead after Vail anyway. The plan is (in no particular order): crepes (New York Schmear!), enter my six weeks grades, visit the dog park and possibly sled, possibly ice skate, possibly drive to Frisco to check out the Pizza/Brewery there.

(Saw Paula Deen on Food Network yesterday, btw.)

Miss y'all.

Love,
Me

And five, six, seven, eight

2009-02-08T08:36:00.003-06:00

Oh, performance weekend is fun and too much at the same time. Here are the pros and cons of the show I danced in last night and will dance in one more time at 2 pm today:

Pros:

Everyone in the company is nice and funny and fun to be around. Every single one. This may be my favorite part of joining so far.
The show is artistic and interesting in a playful way, and it's always nice to be a part of art.
There's a piano in one of the dressing rooms and I got to play for the girls.
The Manship is a beautiful theatre.
I'm feeling less like the new girl and more like I deserve to be there as much as everyone else (even though G says I don't stand up straight).
Mom, Whit, Reid and Paul came last night and liked it. I didn't think they would.
Although I don't like being the center of attention and I'm not in love with performing, I do like the stage and the total in-the-zone mode of being one with the music and the audience.
Leif said he thought my turns were good.
We went out to a wine bar that I'd never been to last night. I wore a dress and heels and felt like I wasn't myself (in a good way). Or that maybe I still don't know parts of myself.
Dancing and performing makes me feel like I lead an underground life, like some kind of really girly superhero. I crossed the street downtown and didn't feel like a teacher at all for a moment.

Cons:

My feet and ankles are killing me.
I'm only in two dances and one transition. I watch the best pieces from side stage.
There's a part of one of the dances that is so unrehearsed that we don't know the counts still, and I messed it up and went early last night.
I don't know what I'm teaching on Monday.

I guess those are the only cons. Next time I'm complaining about rehearsal schedules, I should remember how badly I need dance in my life.

Sometimes when I'm in it, though, I think: I can't wait for this performance to be over. Why is that? How can I love it and want it to be over? When I lay on the stage at the end of the last piece last night, I thought Thank god. It's over. And when I see stagehands in jeans watching from side stage, I get a little jealous. They don't have to dress up and put themselves out there. They get to stay comfortable. I guess that's what it's about. There's a big layer of discomfort in performance--you're all made up, and you're so watched. You're throwing your body into movement and you could fall or miss a step or look ridiculous or wrong or ugly at any moment. You're tired as hell and you want to take a nap or watch TV, but you have to run onstage at your cue and look like you have all the energy in the world. That almost the most exhausting part: feeling as if you have to look fantastic and vibrant when you really feel nervous, gassy, achy, and tired.

I guess that's the test of a performance. To push yourself to the point that you find a peace and a flow in doing this really uncomfortable, vulnerable thing. To where you can look into the audience at the tie and shirt of a guy you've never met and keep dancing despite the fact that he's sitting there all comfortable and invisible and you're bare-legged, sweating and working on stage. To say "Hey, here I am, this is me, or some rehearsed weird version of me, and I'm just going to keep doing my thing while you sit there, kay?"

I did hit a few points last night where I was completely calm on stage. Now I need to see if I can go do it again for the old people post-church crowd. I really want to just sit here and read Revolutionary Road.