Tag: running

Aches and Breaks

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I heard the boy before I saw him again.

We had started up the backside of Diamond Head at roughly the same time, though he had likely run more miles than me. Gleaming with sweat in the humid afternoon, he ran with his hands behind his back for reasons that still escape me (is he training for some kind of twisted “prison” inspired race? Is that a military thing?). He looked 22, like he could’ve been a former student, and wore a “don’t mess with me” look on his face.

I knew because I often wear the same look, but today it was for very different reasons. I was dripping sweat and snot, my body rebelling after too much travel and not enough sleep. After finally accepting that I had a nasty cold, I had decided that I wouldn’t run that day. Rest days are necessities for all runners, and this would be one of mine.

Still, sitting at Kapiolani park, knowing I had all my gear if I wanted, I couldn’t help it. I had spent all morning thinking and talking about my love if running, and I was too fired up. I decided I’d run Diamond Head– a few miles– just to sweat it out.

And, man, did I do that. I sweated. I sneezed and hacked up whatever is sitting in my lungs and had to execute more than one Farmer’s Blow (I know. I’m sorry). I stopped a lot on the way over, and once I had come to the other side, I tried to catch my breath and whined a little.

https://twitter.com/biblio_phile/status/624055174483460096

After a few minutes, I was faced with the thought most runners encounter at some point in a bad run. As much as you are so over this, you also know that the darn run isn’t going to finish itself, and you have to get home.

A bit more rejuvenated, I started back up the hill. That’s when I saw the boy. We paced together until he had to stop for water, but I saw him look up and give me an all-too-familiar glance. You’ll see me again.

I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t aggressive, it was something I think a lot of us do: you build a story while you run. You, silently, let out your inner competitor and you desperately want to “win.” I’ve done it often, and certainly don’t mind when others do the same. I kept climbing and crested the hill, just happy to have found my stride.

Five minutes later, I heard his steps behind me. I moved to the left so he could pass, until something kicked in my own head. Not today, kiddo. I snatched my self-pity, my resignation to a crappy run off the mat, and threw them out the window.

I picked up my stride and began to pump my arms a little more. Push push push. My back straightened immediately, and I heard a former coach’s voice in my ear, launch yourself to the next step! I bounced and hopped my way down Diamond Head, determined not to be passed. My breath caught in my throat, but I let out a quick, sharp growl and swallowed it back down.

Then, my hips clicked. Something happens when you’re body finally snaps into gear and matches what your brain is asking it to do. The muscles that were saying What the hell brain? We can’t do this! all of a sudden let go. For me, it’s in my hips. They spread wide along my back, and my body opens up in a way that propels me forward.

You. Shall. Not. Pass. my inner Gandalf screamed as I pushed forward. I pounded the pavement harder.

Suddenly, I am all fire. My lungs burning, my feat beating the ground like a fiery drum. I am molten fire streaming down beaches towards the ocean. I am streaks of gold off Apollo’s chariot. I am rage at student walk outs. I am fury outside city hall. I am my mother’s heart beat when she brought my into the world. I am my father’s arms as he holds us both. I am what you don’t see coming next.

I am all these things, welded into the fibers of my muscles, glowing in the sparks and charges that keep my body moving.

I get back to the grassy park, slow down, and look behind me. The boy is gone. I never looked to see if he was even really there.

If anything, the breaks we are forced to take make us much more grateful for the miles themselves. I didn’t run more than those few yesterday, but I am reminded that even when everything aches, and it feels like things are breaking apart, glimmers of golden, crackling joy are still there, deep inside us.

Rolling Thunder: Falling In Love With My Thighs

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NOTE: This piece originally ran 3 years ago for The SF Marathon, and was edited for clarification and grammar.

But, after trying to love myself today, post-half-marathon, it felt worth revisiting.

When I woke up last Tuesday, I knew I shouldn’t run. I had injured my leg at Surf City the week before, and it wasn’t feeling any better. It was tight and kind of painful and none of it felt right.

After a few years of running, I frankly should’ve known better. I should’ve known that, even with a marathon 5 weeks away, I should rest. No, the marathon wasn’t what got me out of bed and got me to put on my running shoes that morning, despite my better judgment. Confession time:

I woke up that morning feeling a little fat.

Now, that’s a big thing for me to admit. Firstly, admitting that you feel fat or even just not-great is not sexy or becoming in any way. I try to be a big believer in loving your body (and, generally, I do). As an advocate for positive mentality in running, I also am a big believer in being happy with who you are, as long as you’re healthy and you feel good.

Still, with all my positive attitude and happiness about running and the self and blah blah blah, I have to admit that, as a 24-year-old woman who lives in Los Angeles, sometimes I wake up feeling a little gross.

My struggle with weight isn’t really a traditional one. Sure, I grew up in Laguna Beach, California, home of the perennial beach bunny. As a chubby kid, I definitely didn’t fit that mold, but I was never really picked on for my weight.  My parents were very attune to what kids deal with, and always made it a point to tell me I was pretty and loved. I’ve even been lucky enough that I’ve dated generally good guys, and have yet to be with a guy who has ever said anything negative about my weight– a huge bonus for a curvy girl.

Still, even though I had a lot of support systems and luck, I’ve struggled with my weight since I was a kid. I always felt kind of chubby and like I was never going to be skinny enough to be like “other girls” (I don’t know who these other girls were).

I remember, in middle school, a girl in my class put her feet together and her thighs didn’t touch. This blew my mind.Are you kidding me!? I thought. How can her thighs not touch in the center?! My legs touch all the way from my calves up!

Cut to my senior year of college. I was chubby and unhealthy throughout most of college (I recall lots of cookies-for-dinner nights). That year, though, I began working out– nothing crazy, just a few hours every week. I noticed my body changing. I was way hyped. I started eating healthier too. I dropped a few more pounds.

Then, I got engrossed in the stress of my senior thesis. I was so stressed, and felt so out of control that I pretty much stopped eating. Looking back, I estimate that I ate under 800 calories a day. I pretty much subsided on 4 or 5 cups of green tea, and a handful of grapes or a few pieces of fruit every day. After a few months, I noticed that my clothes were a little loose. Without having really looked at myself in a while (since I was so caught up in my work), I jumped on a scale. I was far below my goal weight, the lowest I had ever been in my post-adolescent life. I finally looked at myself in the mirror, expecting to look glowing and thin.

The girl looking back at me was a little surprising.

I had dark circles under my eyes.  When I lifted my shirt up and raised my arms, I could see all my ribs– I could count them. My collar bone stuck out in a really weird way that I didn’t like.

Ironically, my thighs still touched.

When I started training for marathons, I began looking at my body in an entirely different way. My body had always been this thing I fought against. It was this thing that I hated and that didn’t do what I wanted it to do and didn’t look how I wished it would look.

As a runner though, it was hard to hate my body and be able to succeed. My mind and my body had to work in tandem.

My body was the vehicle, and when I mentally pushed myself to run 15 miles and my legs responded by actually doing it, I finally started feeling gratitude for what my body was giving me. When I had the mental elation of burning past another runner in the last half mile of a race, it was those muscular-always-touching calves that I had to be thankful for it.

I actually started to like some things about my body. I felt good about myself. No, I was never going to be a size 0, but, after training, I could run 26.2 miles. There are definitely some trends that these hips will never pull off, but they are able to get me through 5 hours of running straight.

I knew my body image had changed one morning, when I was running before going to work. I looked down my legs. Each time they hit the pavement, I saw my quads flex on impact, pushing me forward every step, every mile.

ThighsThen, I surprised myself. My thighs are definitively not lean, tiny, not-touching thighs. I looked down at my now muscular thighs, and the first thought that came to mind was:

Damn. That’s pretty hot.

I can’t stress enough how much running has changed the way I view myself, and I hope it’s a message that I (or you!) can pass along. I wasn’t the only middle-schooler that struggled with my weight. Recently, the National Heart and Lung association polled a group of girls. 40% of them said they had tried to diet.

They were between 9 and 10 years old.

It’s not easy on men either. The same organization polled a group of fifth grade boys, and 45% of them said that they had felt dissatisfied about the way their bodies looked.

These issues, this battle with what our bodies are and what they can mean to us starts young.

When you work out and take care of your body, it’s important to not only know your weaknesses and set goals, but to show a little love towards yourself too. After finishing my first marathon, I felt limitless. I was the kid who had cried to get out of the weekly mile, and now I had run father than I ever thought I could. I had my body to thank for that feeling.

So, as I take a little break from running (oh, yeah, that run I did last Tuesday? I pulled my calf. Learned my lesson, huh?), I’m using it as an excuse to fall back in love with my body. I sit in the jacuzzi and actually relax for the first time as I love my body by letting it heal. I look at myself in a new dress, and try not to feel guilty or boastful by thinking Huh. I look good. I do cheesy, clichéd things like yoga in the park while I enjoy a beautiful day.

Oh, and I maybe reward it with some frozen Cherry Garcia yogurt too.

Gone Quiet

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But yeah… running was romantic; and no, of course her friends didn’t get it because they’d never broken through. For them, running was a miserable two miles motivated solely by size 6 jeans: get on the scale, get depressed, get your headphones on, and get it over with.

But you can’t muscle through a five-hour run that way; you have to relax into it, like easing your body into a hot bath, until it no longer resists the shock and begins to enjoy it. Relax enough, and your body becomes so familiar with the cradle-rocking rhythm that you almost forget you’re moving. And once you break through to that soft, half-levitating flow, that’s when the moonlight and champagne show up : “You have to be in tune with your body, and know when you can push it and when to back off,” Ann would explain.

You have to listen closely to the sound of your own breathing; be aware of how much sweat is beading on your back; make sure to treat yourself to cool water and a salty snack and ask yourself, honestly and often, exactly how you feel. What could be more sensual than paying exquisite attention to your own body? Sensual counted as romantic, right?    –McDougall, Christopher, Born to Run.

Lately, I have been running silently.

I fully blame this quote. Before, music was an escape. Now, I push through and try and find the sweet, subtle place where my body finds peace, grace, the quiet calm at the center.

I never really thought I’d ever be able to run silently. Like most, running was an escape, and music only aided in that. I’d jam to songs that I would eventually come to know as well as the pattern of my footsteps. I would look forward to the stop lights that forced me to wait and eventually have a little solo-sidewalk-dance party. Running without headphones felt more like torture then the dance party music made it.

This past year, however, I’ve been running more and more for the love of it. Once I stopped timing myself last year, re-centered myself around my running goals, and became stronger for it, I also rediscovered how much I actually liked running. For so long, it had been a way to lose weight, then a way to bond with kids.

Now, though, after trying lots of other types of exercise, I’ve come to realize that I just love the act of it– the rhythmic, soothing, visceral connection. Running is so unique because it requires almost nothing: just the road and your own will. There’s no bike to set up and little gear to put on. It’s just the consistent conversation between the yammering of your brain, the thump of your heart, the swirl of your breath and aligning it all with the patter of your footfall.

Once I found that, I actually stopped wanting to use music. I would pause it while I followed my breath, or zoned out and worked on a problem while I ran. I realized that music was actually separating me from the run, and I didn’t like it.

So, now I guess I’ve gone quiet for a bit. I don’t plan on giving up sidewalk dance parties anytime soon, but I’m certainly loving this reconnection with my body.

Conversations with Me and My Monster

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This weekend, I had a panic attack.

Now, panic attacks aren’t new to me. I’ve had them in my life– while running, in the classroom, just in life in general. It happens. I remember once, when I was seven, a bout of panic and anxiety left me motionless and sad on the couch. My mom asked me what was wrong, and the only way I could describe it was, “I can’t stop thinking about all the sad things that I think about.” She sighed, and said it would pass. It did. It always does.

I guess, in some weird way, I am still susceptible to the “I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine” trap. It’s been many moons (months, maybe?) since my last panic attack. I credit this to a lot of self-care, being more upfront with people in my life, a job I love, and just generally being happier with my life. While, it’s true, panic and anxiety do not have a direct correlation, I know that I am generally less likely to have panic attacks if I manage my anxiety.

So, after months of finally feeling stable, the notion that an attack was brewing wasn’t even something I actively ignored, it was just an honest misunderstanding between my body and I. The post about being grumpy? That probably had something to do with it. I had felt moody and gross, but assumed it was hormones, or the winter doldrums or post holiday blues.

So, I tried to take care of it in all the ways I normally would. I ran, exercised, I napped. I did my best to take care of myself. I drank more wine than I may care to admit. Rationally, I was sailing smooth, and I was doing everything right.

green_baby_monster_by_misstemprament-d52z3lnThe problem with Panic, though, is that it’s not interested in what’s rational. Panic doesn’t care about all the days it’s been that you felt fine.

I often think of Panic as the angry monster that sits waiting in my brain. It’s frustrating and irrational and needy, like a big dumb bully. And what Panic wants is for you to explode. It wants to feast on all that delicious anxiety and flight-or-fight chemicals it knows your brain will produce, if only you let it. Panic doesn’t want you to sail smooth. Panic wants to enjoy your (perhaps inevitable) explosion. Sometimes, you beat Panic, and you get it to settle down. Sometimes… not so much. Continue reading →

Comments and Kindness: Loving My Body (And Yours)

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The problem with social media (that I knowingly accept) is that sometimes opinions from people you’d normally ignore get thrust right into your face.

the struggle was real.

the struggle was real.

So, I was looking at the photo (right) that my boyfriend posted of me last night. After some joking, wespontaneously splurged on a giant, ridiculous sundae to share while out to dinner (surprisingly well priced!) between the two of us. Obviously, we didn’t finish it, but it was pretty darn good and a rare indulgence that made us laugh. We looked at the series of the two photos next two each other and laughed even harder.

The next  morning, there was a comment that the sundae was loaded with “unwanted calories,” (my reaction) and that I should “try a kale salad instead” to feel better.

Oh.

Now, sure. Eating healthy is really important, and I don’t dispute the claim– eating healthy really will make you feel better over time. I eat pretty healthy. I love kale, I drink green smoothies (my 9th graders often comment on my “salad drink”), and if you know me at all you probably know that I like working out a lot.

Still, something about the message really annoyed me. While there’s always room for improvement, I think I’m in pretty good shape. Also, what’s wrong with indulging sometimes? Nearly any dietician or nutritionist will tell you that the occasional indulgence is part of a balanced life. While it’s important to be healthy, life is short, so I firmly believe that we should enjoy it. Sometimes that means going nuts on a giant sundae on a random Wednesday.

Why did this bother me so much? I don’t know this person. Their opinion doesn’t matter to me. I have every rational reason to ignore it.

Then, it hit me: despite all my reasoning, the comment still made me feel bad about myself. I felt guilty for eating the sundae. I took a little longer in the mirror this morning and asking if I looked okay. Like a lot of runners and (unfortunately) women, I can be a little neurotic about my weight and body. This post only made me think about that more. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the sundae. Maybe I should’ve said no.

And some of that is on me. Guilt is a choice we make. Disliking yourself is a choice. I know I can (and hopefully will) brush off these comments. I was mad at myself for not living up to my own standards of loving your body and, frankly, brushing off the negativity.

This is where I think empathy is such an essential thing– both for me towards this commenter and for whoever makes the comment. I don’t doubt they had decent intentions in saying this. Or maybe they don’t think it’s a big deal. So I want to let it go.

It points out something that I think we struggle with in the fitness community though. There’s a trainer I love at my gym  who prefaces much of his advice (when asked) with this (paraphrased): I don’t know everything and you can do whatever you want. When you get to be good at something, you want to start sharing that with other people. You get excited and hyped and when you see something that you feel you know about, you want to share that knowledge. I get it, and sometimes do it too. But unless I were someone’s specific doctor, nutritionist, coach, or they asked for advice, telling someone how to live should probably stay off-limits. We don’t know what that other person is dealing with, how much progress they’ve made so far, previous medical history or frankly what they need. I can give my best guess on, let’s say, running advice based on years of anecdotal evidence, but fitness and how to “be fit” is a relative benchmark and  topic that is still hotly debated, even amongst people who ARE experts.

Finally, it reminded me that we should be thoughtful about the things we say to other people, and it’s even harder to do online. It’s easy to quickly and breezily type and post a comment and not think how it will affect the other person– we don’t see their face or their immediate reaction to it. Even with good intentions, it’s hard to read what a person will be willing or is able to hear if you’re not in front of them. So, even if you meant it to be helpful, you may end up doing more harm than good.

So, all I will do is smile, and not beat myself too much about the sundae I had or the way I feel after. I spend much of my life thinking about calories, fitness, running, and body fat percentage, and appreciate the break to just enjoy an indulgent thing with someone I love. Instead, I’ll just focus on how much the evening made me laugh, and how blessed I am to have so much love in the world.

The Run: Stopping Time and Finding Joy Again

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I don’t know if I can do this.

Maybe it’s not a good day for me to go out, I think to myself. My left leg hurts. I’m hormonal and tired and getting back into the swing of things after the first week back to teaching has been hard. Yeah, maybe today is just a rest day, I think as my left quad throbs. 

I cross the street under the hot Honolulu sun. It’s January, but one of the benefits of living in Hawai‘i is usually that our weather is good enough that it’s always alright to run. Now, though, the heat in the late afternoon sun feels overwhelming. 

I come to a stop a few yards after the corner, and rub my hands over my face. I turn back to the hill up to my apartment. I look back forward towards my route, up a different hill. This is one of the many small decisions I’ll make today, but for some reason my will to move my feet has been weighing heavier on my mind recently.

A little over two years ago, I wasn’t sure if I was going to run again. After admitting to myself I was in pain for quite some time after getting hit with a car by running the year before, I finally saw a doctor who confirmed my worst and obvious fear: I am not invincible.

Yoga1

Tree Pose. PC: Stephen May

My doctor reminded me of something I should have realized but didn’t want to admit: sometimes when you deal with something a little physically traumatic like, say, getting hit by 3,500 pounds of steel, it will take some time to heal.

I was sad, and bummed, and upset. I didn’t know if I would ever run the same way again– my doctor said I would likely not. So, I did what a lot of folks would do: I picked myself up and adapted. I let myself fall in love again, this time with yoga, and ended up becoming teacher certified.

Still, some part of me knew that I could try everything in the world, but it wouldn’t change the fact that I love running. After some careful weaning, and a lot of cross-training, I started to try and run again. I finally got myself back into the right pair of shoes (Lady Issacs from my faves at Newton Running), and slowly– so slowly– I started to get back into running. I jumped into my first half marathon in May of 2013, more than a year after taking a break from Marathon running.

Now, that’s a lovely story, but it admittedly glosses over some tough bits. It glosses over the nights of painful foam rolling, crying on the floor of my apartment wondering if I’d ever run the same. It glosses over the weeks of stressing out before races, worrying if I’d feel great like I used to, or fall apart before reaching the finish line.

What I also fail to mention is that it’s not like I returned to running as fast as I used to be. In fact, my pace for even a casual run dropped by about 2 minutes. I hadn’t run miles that slowly in years, and when I would hear my watch beep and look at the time, I often felt disappointed. My run was that slow? I would think, aghast. The elation I had felt at even completing a mile would almost immediately be replaced with a ticker of negative thinking in my head. If you’re going to run that slowly, why get out of bed at all?

I hate that voice. I have done everything to fight that voice for other runners, especially new runners who reach out to me. I have often written and commented to others that any run is a good run, that any pace, is good. Any time you are strong enough to lace up your shoes, you should be proud.

So why couldn’t I show that love to myself? Why was it the moment my own running wasn’t up to some invisible bar I had created that I felt like giving up?

A pair of guys, seemingly University boys, saunter by me, taking up the entire sidewalk between the two of them– a pet peeve of mine. They are chatting, and I can’t hear them over my music and internal monologue about running, but I see one of them turn back and eye me up and down. While I have no idea what he is thinking– does he think I’m cute? Or gross? Or merely making sure I’m not going to steal his money?– I project the judgement I am putting on myself onto them. Unfair? Yes, I know, but I need the motivation, and I decide what they don’t know can’t hurt them.

Just another block, I tell myself. Just one more block up the hill to smoke them, and then I’ll stop. I swear I will.

It is April of 2013. During a particularly bad run, I am thinking about Batman. The new guy I have just started seeing loves Batman, and so we recently rewatched the movie Batman Begins. 

My left hip begins to throb, and I know I need to stop and stretch, but this just makes me really mad. How can I stop now? I’m just going to have to slow down. Maybe I should just stop altogether. Maybe I’m not going to run right ever again. I stop to stretch out my hip, grumbling at everything happening to me.

When I am at my lowest, a strange thing happens: Michael Caine’s voice pops into my head. I know, it’s not exactly the Angel Gabriel speaking to Mary, but I suddenly hear the oft-quoted Alfred line:

Why do we fall…? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up.

So… why was I running? Because I was being forced to by someone else? Was it going to hurt anyone but myself if I didn’t meet my old pace?

No. I ran because my heart demanded it. I ran because it gave me freedom. I ran because the mere action of moving quickly on foot brought me joy, no matter how fast I did it. I was running because pounding my feet into the pavement was the only way to hammer myself back together. I was running to pick myself back up.

If that was why I was running, then, any run was still a good run. It didn’t matter how fast I did it. It didn’t matter if it was perfect. What mattered was that I learned from it. What mattered was that I learned to pick myself back up.

I stretched my hip out and looked at my watch. It was slowly ticking seconds, each one telling me I was slower and slower, each one adding to the negative voice in my head trying to tell me I wasn’t worthy of the road.

So, I asked myself: Why am I running?

Runners–maybe athletes in general, but definitely runners– live by the watch. We agonize over split times, we think about how many seconds shaving off a pound of weight will achieve. We will scale back or up on the speed with which we are trying to fly, based on the time that a calculation has told us we should run by.

I don’t think that’s bad. I have done this to PR, this is often what motivated me to become better or beat goals, and usually exceed them more than I thought possible. In 2010, I trained for my 2nd marathon with the goal of breaking five hours. I trained hard, using that as my measuring stick. I ended up coming in at 4:25.

After that run in April of 2013 though, I did something a little bit radical: I shut off the watch. I decided I was no longer going to time myself to the second when I ran. Yes, I would still occasionally check my time and pace when I logged workouts. I would still do my best to pace myself when I ran.

I would also love myself enough to let go of something that does not serve or better me. During that time in my running career, all focusing on my time did was make me feel like a failure.

Failure, often, is a choice we make to look at ourselves and hold it up to some invisible measuring stick that often only we created to begin with. I didn’t want to approach running from this competitive aspect anymore, at least right then. I wanted to approach all my runs with a sense of joy and, ultimately, love. Love and compassion aren’t about the measuring stick– including towards ourselves. From one of the best TedxTalks from Father Greg Boyle:

You don’t hold the bar up and ask anyone to measure up; you just show up and you hold the mirror up and you tell people the truth. You say: you are exactly what God had in mind when he made you.

So, I chose to stop seeing myself as a failure. Instead, I decided I was worthy, no matter how fast I ran. I decided any run I do was exactly what I need, and all God is ever asking of me.

This method has generally served me well. I try my best to hold myself to the principle of ahimsa, which is generally described as “kindness towards others and yourself.” Before a run, I check in with my body. Before, if I didn’t want to run or I didn’t feel like running, I wouldn’t. I would do yoga. Or punch a bag really hard. Or dance.

Running for joy instead of time has eventually lead me to be a much strong runner mentally and physically than I was before my accident. Now, each run has a general sense of purpose, and it’s made running much less likely to feel like a chore and more like a reward. This means that I can normally approach race day with a sound mind to do better than I ever dreamed. While we can’t see the path we didn’t have (for me: what if I hadn’t been hit by that car?), I do know that I never thought I’d get as close to a sub-4 marathon as I did last month.

Now, though, that I am so close to new goals, it leaves me asking: is this enough? Does it still serve me to run without routine, only by feeling, and without some sort of internal drive? While it has made me a stronger runner, I‘d be lying if I said that I left each race (or even each run) feeling like I left it all on the course. I have been so focused on injury-prevention and just being happy to finish with a smile on my face that now I can’t help but wonder if I’m really pushing myself as hard as I could.

Yes, listening to your body is good, but at what point do you need the drive to push out of your comfort zone, maybe sink into the pain a little bit, and push yourself to do something you didn’t think you could? At what point do you let yourself fall and break again so that you can pick yourself back up and be even stronger?

I crest the hill and decide to go a few more blocks, then a few more. By the time I get to the edge of the beach, the throb in my leg has quieted down. After years of running, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still often am: I am surprised that my body can heal like this, that I can push past initial pain and find flight in myself again, find joy in the beating of my shoes and quiet the doubt in my own mind. 

I know I should probably turn around and let myself rest. Something in me says that I should be careful, I should stop if it doesn’t feel good.

But, right now, it does feel good. Knowing I can push past the pain feels good, and finding the high after overcoming this small wall feels great.

I smile, cross the street, and head towards the beach. Just a little bit more, I decide.

#2015Goals – New Years Resolutions

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I recently tweeted that my #2015Goals include being as fierce as Rosie Perez on SoulTrain.

While this is accurate (I mean, who doesn’t want to live like Rosie?), It’s not exactly what I’m thinking. I normally spend each year going back and back, reflecting on progress from the previous year. 

Last year, though, the only thing I wanted to do was seek joy. Some big life changes (going back to the classroom, writing more, marathon running again), have helped me really feel like I’m getting there.

So, sure, I have some race goals and teaching goals I want to make, but here’s some actual resolutions I am trying to put on paper:

1) I will be more of an explorer. When I first moved to the island almost three years ago, I didn’t know anyone outside of work, and would sometimes wake up at sunrise, hop in my car, and head to a beach. I marveled at Makapu‘u in the early morning, I grew to love the vistas of driving to the North Shore as the sun came up.

I tried everything when I moved here: body boarding (I was okay but not great), aerial yoga and performance (great, but expensive), MMA (that one kind of stuck!).

Now, three years later, I am much more settled: great job, great apartment across the street, loving boyfriend, amazing friends. Living in Hawai‘i has transitioned from being this fanciful pipe dream to a real life that I’m building.  

I love that, but I also want to make sure I never lose sight of the fact that I am so grateful to live in this beautiful place. I want to make sure I appreciate that more. So: more hikes, more spontaneous beach trips and walks, more island hopping and general willingness to not be a “townie” and head all over this beautiful land I get to call home.

2) I will love big, widen my circle, and deepen what I have. I just wrote about this, but yes.

I want to make sure to keep building and hopefully deepen some of the great connections I already have, like with NoW Hawaii, a group of twenty-something professional women. Still, I know there are all sorts of things to get involved in out here. Maybe a running club? Maybe a Triathlon training group? Who knows! Don’t worry, though. I also want to practice self-care and let me do me when I need to.

3) Laugh often. Seek Joy Always. I like this resolution. I think I will keep it for this year too. 🙂

So… there you have it! I also have some things I really WANT to do:

Teaching Goals

  • Teach the arts again, hopefully this summer! Drama perhaps, but also maybe writing? Who knows.
  • Improve my CFUs and formative assessment. Plan better so that there’s fun ways to make sure my kids and I are on the same page while we read, not just at the end.
  • Plan this summer to have next year’s kids start with a strong social media and web-savvy culture.

Running Goals

  • I JUST WANT A SUB-4 MARATHON OKAY. THAT’S IT. DAMMIT. *shakes angry fist at the sky*
    • (context: I got 4:04:49 at Honolulu this year. I never thought I’d get that close and NOW I WANT IT. I WANT IT SO BAD)
  • I want to get better about tracking my mileage. I stopped doing that and timing myself (I’ll write about why some day) over the past few years. I want to get better at being a smarter runner.
  • Speed work outs and trying to stop being such a conservative racer. Again, more on that another time.

Other life goals

  • Write more! (duh)
  • Maybe act more?!
  • Cook more!

Alright 2015. Let’s do this thing.

Over-Planning and Keeping the Adventure

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Hello again. It seems like I got a few followers from my last post. Cool! Hi! *wave*

Anyway,  I just set a 5 min timer. I’m going to try and write for at least as long as my students have to. That seems like a good start (though I’ll probably go over).

I had to ignore the alarm I set on my clock to write each week because I got caught up in lesson planning. I’m pretty behind of what I thought I’d get done over the break, which I finally realized today. Definitely my own fault– I forgot to bring the books my kids are reading, which is about the dumbest thing ever. I blame the sudden and complete overthrow of productive-brain for vacation-brain.

So I started jamming today, and realized a few things:

1) The online app for student discussion I had planned on using with my students doesn’t actually fit my needs. Through a series of tweets, a facebook post, and even a G+ post, I’m trying to crowdsource the best response. BTW if you stumble upon this post and know one, I’d love to hear from you.

2) I need to give my students more formative assessment over the course of a book. They asked for it! I allowed my students to give feedback, and most of them said they want to do MORE while we’re reading. So, time to get crafty and figure out some great projects for them to do.

and finally 3)

I’m worried about over-planning, however, and ruining the sense of adventure and spontaneity that I can gain with my students.

Some background: I’ve never been great at lesson-planning, or just planning in general. It’s always been a HUGE area of struggle for me in my practice. I have the skills to create a good project plan, but when it comes to the doing of something, I’m a big procrastinator. This is actually a reason I went back to the classroom– the jobs that I had had were all fuzzy and “project based,” which I appreciate, but realized is not an environment I do well in. I am trying to own the fact that, unless I’m REALLY COMPLETELY hyped about a project, or someone is going to hold me accountable to get something done (like, say, 28 children in a classroom looking at me saying, “What are we doing today, Ms. T?”), it’s going to be completed in the 5 minutes before I need it.

Now, this has been generally fine this year. I did make a point to unit plan my year, and the school I work at has a daily English curriculum that we follow each day. Beyond believing in it as a curriculum, it makes my life MUCH easier as a teacher. That said, I am worried about getting lazy and falling back on this too much, something I think I may have done at the end of this semester, and lose out on the opportunity to do some great projects.

SO, I’ve been trying to get better about planning. What I’m worried about, though, is that if I over-plan now, I won’t leave any wiggle room for some fun projects I come up with on the fly. For example: after hearing some of my students talk about Instagram, I got the idea to have them create Instagram accounts for characters in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (my example). I threw the activity together that morning, which was nuts but often where my best ideas come to light, and the kids and I had a blast. They also did a great write-up.

In general, I am trying to leave things more up to God to point in my direction (I think St. Ignatius called this “spiritual freedom” or “ambivalence”). This morning, for example, I had planned to do a 12-mile long run. I wasn’t feeling it almost as soon as I started, but I tried to keep moving and power through. As I was running, I realized that there was a national park open I’d never explored before. I decided to head over and check it out. Did it screw with my splits and mileage? Sure, but it was really pretty and certainly fun.

So how do you find balance between good planning and the freedom to play? How can I make sure I don’t get lazy and not push my kiddos and myself, but still let us take the time we need? In an education environment so test-heavy and over-focused on scores (which I am always worried my school will become), I want to make sure I enjoy the fact that my kids aren’t hindered by this and we can take the time to explore stuff.

Anyway, beyond that, life’s good. Planning, writing, running, napping. Ah vacation, you are great.

I also, by the way, have a 2015 Resolutions post coming. I decided to submit something to HuffPost Hawai‘i though, so we’ll see if it gets play there first.

Running On and On

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Oh hello world.

I haven’t written in a bit, and now here I am changing things up.

I spend quite a bit of time writing about race and education. I usually labor over those pieces: I don’t start writing unless I have a few hours (and a drink) set aside to write. I have to have a very specific reason to be writing. I have to know almost exactly where I’m going. Since I do write a bit about race, I make it a point to be very thoughtful about what I write. I stew in questions and angles to make sure I’ve considered everything I need to.

I like that about myself. I think it’s helped me produce some pieces I’m very proud of. Some pieces that I’ve been lucky enough to get a lot of good readership in my bubble. The issue is that I rarely write for pleasure anymore. I rarely write for the sake of just getting things down, flexing the writing muscles, and just documenting this crazy little life I’m living.

So I’ve decided to try something out. I’m setting aside every Monday evening (the night I normally try and set aside for myself) to just write. Document something. Maybe about running– I’m trying to sub-4 a marathon in 2015– or about teaching.

So here I am. 27, running on and on. I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.