There's this poem that I read to my students at the beginning of the year, you know, that time when we're all in the awkward getting-to-know-one-another phase. I hate ice-breakers, but writing - I like. Nothing but pure emotion scribbled in a spiral notebook, a safe-haven, where frustrations, triumphs and inadequate thoughts are hidden from the brutal confines of the "real world."
Trust yourself. Believe in your words - they have a purpose. My lecture becomes somewhat of a sermon, students looking bewildered, like "What the hell, Miss?" But then we read. We read passionately. And all the sudden, we unlock the doors to our hearts and let the feelings flow with our pens.
Today, a students whined, "When are we going to write stuff like we used to write?" For once, I was speechless. Almost. I blamed it on the strict curriculum. Teaching to the test. I placed blame on everything but myself. But I knew I was the one who had failed them.
"Get it, girl." A quote from a poem a student wrote back in September. I didn't get it anymore. Or perhaps I just forgot that I had it?
So I went for a run. Alone. And I thought about what I had "missed" with my students. I thought about the areas of my life where I "get it" all the time - is that possible? Does it happen?
I didn't come to a conclusion. But I'll get there. And in the meantime, I'll be content with the aspects of my life that, for the time being, I "get." Because life is too short to over-analyze - that I get.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Minimalist or Maximalist?
Most running stores these days are zealously advertising the benefits of minimalist shoes, such as the Vibram Fivefingers. Shoes as such are supposedly going to "make your foot healthier by allowing it to move naturally and freely." This idea of barefoot running largely gained popularity from McDougall's book, Born to Run. A fan of the book myself, I was definitely intrigued by the minimalist movement - the success stories from runners, the scientific research - in theory, it makes sense.
But there is always an exception.
Although I vaguely remember being in corrective shoes as a toddler, I'm living proof that the only thing those braces corrected was my curiousness. And I'm sure my parents felt at ease having a two-year-old who was unable to get herself into much mischief due to her inability to run around with normal baby legs.
Yes, somewhere along the way, a doctor noticed that my feet severely overpronated, a term I would not fully understand until twenty years later, when I found myself working at a speciality running store. You see, in order to run virtually pain-free (or with as little discomfort as possible), one's foot needs to land in a neutral position. For someone who overpronates, support is needed in order to achieve this.
Support can come in many forms. Some shoes have built-in support. This is indicated by the gray area, otherwise known as "medial posting," on the side of the shoe. The more gray, the more supportive the shoe is. People refer to this as a stability shoe.
While some suckers can get away with only needing the support of a shoe, others (such as myself) need to double-up. I'm talking about orthotics + a supportive shoe. When I get the combination of orthotic and shoe correct, I am able to run long distances without much pain. However, if my support is even slightly off, it gets ugly. My knees hurt from too much support. My hip hurts from not having enough support. High-heels are my shoe of choice because they give amazing arch support. Too bad I can't run in them...
So when it comes to minimalist shoes, I'm not jumping on the bandwagon. I am a maximalist, through and through, and no matter how much I try to "train" my feet by sauntering around the city in flip-flops during the summer, it always ends the same way - at my chiropractor's office. Therefore, I'll keep my orthotics and thank my parents for trying to "correct" me at a young age. Perhaps some things were never meant to be mended after all.
But there is always an exception.
Back in 1996, at my very first cross country practice, one might say I dabbled in minimalist running. I threw on a cheap pair of Nike shoes that had about as much support as a training bra. After four hellacious miles, my body felt as if it had been mangled by a combine (we had lots of those in the country, obvi). Thus began my journey on the road to figuring out the perfect combination of support for my Forrest Gump appendages.
 |
| Dear Mom and Dad: WTF?! |
Yes, somewhere along the way, a doctor noticed that my feet severely overpronated, a term I would not fully understand until twenty years later, when I found myself working at a speciality running store. You see, in order to run virtually pain-free (or with as little discomfort as possible), one's foot needs to land in a neutral position. For someone who overpronates, support is needed in order to achieve this.
 |
| Medial posting = support |
While some suckers can get away with only needing the support of a shoe, others (such as myself) need to double-up. I'm talking about orthotics + a supportive shoe. When I get the combination of orthotic and shoe correct, I am able to run long distances without much pain. However, if my support is even slightly off, it gets ugly. My knees hurt from too much support. My hip hurts from not having enough support. High-heels are my shoe of choice because they give amazing arch support. Too bad I can't run in them...
So when it comes to minimalist shoes, I'm not jumping on the bandwagon. I am a maximalist, through and through, and no matter how much I try to "train" my feet by sauntering around the city in flip-flops during the summer, it always ends the same way - at my chiropractor's office. Therefore, I'll keep my orthotics and thank my parents for trying to "correct" me at a young age. Perhaps some things were never meant to be mended after all.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Race Report - Leprechaun Run
Baby run, cut a path across the blue skies
Straight in a straight line
You can’t get here fast enough
Straight in a straight line
You can’t get here fast enough
-George Strait, "Run"
From time-to-time, I'll find myself perched at my computer, unable to refrain from purchasing 99 cent country songs. Sometimes while running, I'll repeatedly play these songs in my head. And on a particularly spring-like day in March, I did just that.
Perhaps being born and raised in America's "Heartland" taught me more than just how to navigate unmarked/unpaved roads in the middle of nowhere; it taught me how to cure my boredom with simple tasks. Like memorizing lyrics to songs. Only to randomly remember them some 15 years later.
 |
At the half-way turn-around I silently counted as the leading women passed me on the opposite side of the road. I was number fifteen. HOLY SHIT! At this point, I knew I could break into the top ten.
Although anxious, I continued to hold my pace. Instead of focusing on the negative (thoughts like: my entire body hurts or why does that guy next to me keep blowing snot rockets? Ew.), I thought of something calm. Something I could focus on for the remaining 2.5 miles of agony. And that something was George Strait.
Well, that's not entirely accurate. Strait's song, "Run," for some reason or another, crept into my head. And I passed one runner. Then another. Until, after a 7 minute and 14 second last mile, I crossed the finish line with a personal record of 36:52 and the twelfth woman overall.
As any competitive runner, I've had time to reflect on the race - what I need to improve/what I did well - and although self-satisfaction is sometimes hard accept, I do believe my days of navigating country roads somehow led me to the roads I face today. Some are bumpy and some are smooth, but instead of running from them, I'm running with them, occasionally taking a beating now and then. But every once in awhile, coming out on top, cutting my own clear path in the process.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Running line-up
Finding a good pair of running shoes is like watching bad reality television - you get hooked and right when you fall into a comfortable routine, almost to the point where you feel you can't live without it, the company snatches it away.
Thus has been my dilemma with finding a running shoe for almost a year. Ever since the kind people at Nike decided to do away with my beloved Zoom Elites, I've been struggling to find a replacement. And I'm sad to report, my luck has been grim.
Still heartbroken over parting with five years of awesome memories that my Elites and I shared, I did what any runner would do - I bought some rebound shoes. They were Asics. They were soft. I liked. But after one steamy ten-mile run, my knees felt like I had torn both ACL's. No pain/No gain?! Yeah, right. I threw those suckers into my closet forgot they ever existed.
Frustrated and exceptionally sore, I did the inevitable - I scoured online websites in hopes of finding some back-ally store that would magically have some of my old Elites in stock. Elated at the possibility, I went on a Google search frenzy, which ultimately left me with burnt thighs from my overheated laptop and nothing more.
Finally, I surrendered to the fact that finding the right shoe is going to be a trial-and-error ordeal. And it's going to cost me quite a bit of money. Hence, my lengthy collection of running shoes. At my worst, I think that I'm never going to find one that works. What would I do? Stop running? Spend thousands of dollars on new orthotics? Sigh.
In the meantime, I'll continue my search. And occasionally, sink my feet into an old pair of Elites for a short run, if only just to remember how amazing they feel. Because, truth be told, there are some relationships that we can never quite tear ourselves apart from.
Thus has been my dilemma with finding a running shoe for almost a year. Ever since the kind people at Nike decided to do away with my beloved Zoom Elites, I've been struggling to find a replacement. And I'm sad to report, my luck has been grim.
Still heartbroken over parting with five years of awesome memories that my Elites and I shared, I did what any runner would do - I bought some rebound shoes. They were Asics. They were soft. I liked. But after one steamy ten-mile run, my knees felt like I had torn both ACL's. No pain/No gain?! Yeah, right. I threw those suckers into my closet forgot they ever existed.
Frustrated and exceptionally sore, I did the inevitable - I scoured online websites in hopes of finding some back-ally store that would magically have some of my old Elites in stock. Elated at the possibility, I went on a Google search frenzy, which ultimately left me with burnt thighs from my overheated laptop and nothing more.
 |
| About $600 of my hard-earned money...worth it. |
In the meantime, I'll continue my search. And occasionally, sink my feet into an old pair of Elites for a short run, if only just to remember how amazing they feel. Because, truth be told, there are some relationships that we can never quite tear ourselves apart from.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Runnin' old school - a race report
Persevere. Ask any runner and he/she can probably give you an accurate definition of this word, along with several examples. And while this may have been an S.A.T. vocabulary word that teachers tried to get students to memorize with some monotonous flash cards, a runner most likely learned the meaning of persevere on the track. Or a muddy trail. Or during one of those hellish practices where the coach made the entire team engage in an indian run on a ninety-degree day.
Persevere. Despite my stellar vocabulary, compliments of Sadlier-Oxford and quality television shows such as "Jersey Shore", I didn't quite grasp the meaning of perseverance until I began running. Even then, I don't think I could have prepared myself for the obstacles I would endure in my future - running related or not. But looking back, running indeed made all the difference.
Persevere. If I think back to the first time I was insanely proud of myself for overcoming an obstacle, it would be the New Riegel cross-country meet in eleventh grade. Being from the country, the course was flat and boring, and of course, included running around a man-made track in the middle of a corn field. Aside from dodging piles of cow manure during the race, it was an egregiously hot day. I was not in the mood for a 3.1 mile ass-kicking, which is precisely what happened the year prior.
However, my dad had showed up for moral/parental support, as he generally did. Sensing my negative (and bitchy) teenage attitude, dear old dad proposed a challenge - that I run without my watch. The control-freak in me panicked; how will I know my mile splits? I can't possibly run a personal record without constantly peeping at my sweat-infused Timex! As I pondered whether or not I could part with relinquishing control, dad upped the ante and proposed a bet: If I raced without my watch and improved my time, twenty bucks would be my reward. To a broke teenager who worked at Hardees, this was all I needed to hear.
Persevere. As the race began, I remember looking at my wrist several times, only to see a farmer tan where my watch used to be. After a few panicked moments, I easily settled into a pace and, for the first time, felt a sense of calmness during a run. Instead of worrying about mile splits, I set my focus on passing as many people as possible. As I flew by numerous runners, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of me. In the end, I crossed the finish line two minutes faster and twenty dollars richer than I had the year before. Perseverance felt damn good.
Persevere: It comes in various forms and oftentimes, takes several attempts, as well as some blood, sweat and tears. But in the end, conquering a goal, in running or life, makes it all worthwhile.
Persevere.
Persevere. Despite my stellar vocabulary, compliments of Sadlier-Oxford and quality television shows such as "Jersey Shore", I didn't quite grasp the meaning of perseverance until I began running. Even then, I don't think I could have prepared myself for the obstacles I would endure in my future - running related or not. But looking back, running indeed made all the difference.
Persevere. If I think back to the first time I was insanely proud of myself for overcoming an obstacle, it would be the New Riegel cross-country meet in eleventh grade. Being from the country, the course was flat and boring, and of course, included running around a man-made track in the middle of a corn field. Aside from dodging piles of cow manure during the race, it was an egregiously hot day. I was not in the mood for a 3.1 mile ass-kicking, which is precisely what happened the year prior.
However, my dad had showed up for moral/parental support, as he generally did. Sensing my negative (and bitchy) teenage attitude, dear old dad proposed a challenge - that I run without my watch. The control-freak in me panicked; how will I know my mile splits? I can't possibly run a personal record without constantly peeping at my sweat-infused Timex! As I pondered whether or not I could part with relinquishing control, dad upped the ante and proposed a bet: If I raced without my watch and improved my time, twenty bucks would be my reward. To a broke teenager who worked at Hardees, this was all I needed to hear.
Persevere. As the race began, I remember looking at my wrist several times, only to see a farmer tan where my watch used to be. After a few panicked moments, I easily settled into a pace and, for the first time, felt a sense of calmness during a run. Instead of worrying about mile splits, I set my focus on passing as many people as possible. As I flew by numerous runners, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of me. In the end, I crossed the finish line two minutes faster and twenty dollars richer than I had the year before. Perseverance felt damn good.
Persevere: It comes in various forms and oftentimes, takes several attempts, as well as some blood, sweat and tears. But in the end, conquering a goal, in running or life, makes it all worthwhile.
Persevere.
Monday, February 28, 2011
"A" is for anemic
Anemia: A condition that develops when your blood lacks enough healthy red blood cells.
In other words, a lack of iron.
I found this out the hard way, during my freshmen year of college when my weekly cross-country mileage superseded my iron consumption. Of course, I was 100% at fault for declining to eat the mystery meat served up at the cafeteria. But seriously, how could I argue with an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord stocked with cocoa crispies and pickles?!
Although I'm not one to point fingers, I can guarantee you that growing up in the Midwest did nothing to teach my young self about proper eating habits. I grew up in a household where we had a separate freezer for meat. Like an entire cow's worth of meat. And there it sat, wrapped up in matte white paper, ink- stamped with phrases like "T-bone steak" and "ground chuck."
So that famous catch-phrase, "Beef: It's what's for dinner" was indeed my family's motto. Almost nightly, my mother would whip up some part of that deep-frozen cow. Beef and noodles with mashed potatoes? Hell yes. Spaghetti with meat sauce? Bring it. Minute steaks? Yeah, I got a minute for one of those bad boys. Pass the A-1 sauce, please. Add in a tall glass of two percent milk and I swore my hands were somehow transforming into hooves.
However, despite all of my meat consumption as a child, college brought on a new week night dinner special. Ramen noodles. They were easy, cheap and could be consumed in my hot-pot in the comfort of my tiny dorm room. It was awesome. Until one day, it wasn't.
High mileage and little consumption of iron-rich foods had me feeling like Hester Prynne, only the "A" I bore wasn't noticeable to anyone but myself. Iron supplements and some force-fed cafeteria "meat" finally cured me - or so I thought.
Since college, I have not once been tested again for anemia. But, I'm quite certain that b*tch is back. Don't get me wrong - I've tried to have blood work done. Problem is, my veins are too small to extract any blood. And the thought of going to the hospital to wait hours on end to be poked and prodded has not sounded appealing on any of my days off from work. So instead, I've been trying to eat iron-rich foods. And meat.
This poses a problem. One, cooking with meat scares me. I'm always unsure if it's "done." Plus, if I cook meat, I'm stuck eating it for days. And after all those days of eating meat, I'm sick of it. So then I take some time off and anemia continues to invade my cells.
With that being said, I'm really trying to make conscious choices when I eat. For example, I do, on occasion cook meat. And sometimes I even get super creative and make taco salad. Actually, I've only done this one time, so I took a picture as proof. Not only is the salad meaty, it's got lettuce (full of iron) and avocados, which I read somewhere are a "good source of fat." I'm not sure where I read that, but I'm sure it was a credible source, like a T.V. commercial or something of the like.
Yes, I need to get my iron levels checked, preferably before I start bustin' some ass training for Chicago. Food recommendations would be awesome. Making me food would be even more awesome. Just sayin'.
In other words, a lack of iron.
I found this out the hard way, during my freshmen year of college when my weekly cross-country mileage superseded my iron consumption. Of course, I was 100% at fault for declining to eat the mystery meat served up at the cafeteria. But seriously, how could I argue with an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord stocked with cocoa crispies and pickles?!
Although I'm not one to point fingers, I can guarantee you that growing up in the Midwest did nothing to teach my young self about proper eating habits. I grew up in a household where we had a separate freezer for meat. Like an entire cow's worth of meat. And there it sat, wrapped up in matte white paper, ink- stamped with phrases like "T-bone steak" and "ground chuck."
So that famous catch-phrase, "Beef: It's what's for dinner" was indeed my family's motto. Almost nightly, my mother would whip up some part of that deep-frozen cow. Beef and noodles with mashed potatoes? Hell yes. Spaghetti with meat sauce? Bring it. Minute steaks? Yeah, I got a minute for one of those bad boys. Pass the A-1 sauce, please. Add in a tall glass of two percent milk and I swore my hands were somehow transforming into hooves.
However, despite all of my meat consumption as a child, college brought on a new week night dinner special. Ramen noodles. They were easy, cheap and could be consumed in my hot-pot in the comfort of my tiny dorm room. It was awesome. Until one day, it wasn't.
High mileage and little consumption of iron-rich foods had me feeling like Hester Prynne, only the "A" I bore wasn't noticeable to anyone but myself. Iron supplements and some force-fed cafeteria "meat" finally cured me - or so I thought.
Since college, I have not once been tested again for anemia. But, I'm quite certain that b*tch is back. Don't get me wrong - I've tried to have blood work done. Problem is, my veins are too small to extract any blood. And the thought of going to the hospital to wait hours on end to be poked and prodded has not sounded appealing on any of my days off from work. So instead, I've been trying to eat iron-rich foods. And meat.
 |
| Taco Salad Success! |
With that being said, I'm really trying to make conscious choices when I eat. For example, I do, on occasion cook meat. And sometimes I even get super creative and make taco salad. Actually, I've only done this one time, so I took a picture as proof. Not only is the salad meaty, it's got lettuce (full of iron) and avocados, which I read somewhere are a "good source of fat." I'm not sure where I read that, but I'm sure it was a credible source, like a T.V. commercial or something of the like.
Yes, I need to get my iron levels checked, preferably before I start bustin' some ass training for Chicago. Food recommendations would be awesome. Making me food would be even more awesome. Just sayin'.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
86ing Minneapolis
A few months ago, with the help of a few beers, a friend and I decided to run the Minneapolis Marathon. Many of our friends have already qualified for Boston 2012, and while cheering on the sidelines is a rush in itself, it's not good enough for most runners - especially the crazy competitive type, such as myself.
Minneapolis in June sounded perfect, as did the training leading up to the race, which would be optimal in the usually awesome Philly spring weather. It was a flawless plan. Until Boston decided to get all elite on our asses.
I knew the day was coming when achieving a BQ would require me to run faster than 3:40. I just hoped I would qualify before that day. Now, with 3:35 as the *new* BQ for my age group, I am left feeling a little uneasy. Yes, it's only five minutes faster than the previous BQ time, which, in a marathon is like one less stop at the porta-potty.
But nothing in life is guaranteed. Even if I run a 3:35, a spot in the coveted Boston Marathon is not promised. Therefore, I'm shooting for a 3:30 in Chicago. Instead of cramming in a spring marathon, I've decided it would be better to focus on preparing my body for the brutal beating it will take come July, when marathon training for Chi-town begins.
How is this different from my current work-out regimen? I have no idea. That's a lie. I do have an idea - and it includes track workouts, long runs at marathon pace, consistent weight-training, and some solid stretching. Thinking about all that makes me cringe with excitement. I realize that there will be days when I curse marathon training, but just the same, there will be those times when I can't wait to lace-up my shoes and hop outside for an easy 8 mile run.
Can I really shave 20 minutes off my marathon time? I can. I have to. I will. Or I'll die trying.
Minneapolis in June sounded perfect, as did the training leading up to the race, which would be optimal in the usually awesome Philly spring weather. It was a flawless plan. Until Boston decided to get all elite on our asses.
I knew the day was coming when achieving a BQ would require me to run faster than 3:40. I just hoped I would qualify before that day. Now, with 3:35 as the *new* BQ for my age group, I am left feeling a little uneasy. Yes, it's only five minutes faster than the previous BQ time, which, in a marathon is like one less stop at the porta-potty.
But nothing in life is guaranteed. Even if I run a 3:35, a spot in the coveted Boston Marathon is not promised. Therefore, I'm shooting for a 3:30 in Chicago. Instead of cramming in a spring marathon, I've decided it would be better to focus on preparing my body for the brutal beating it will take come July, when marathon training for Chi-town begins.
How is this different from my current work-out regimen? I have no idea. That's a lie. I do have an idea - and it includes track workouts, long runs at marathon pace, consistent weight-training, and some solid stretching. Thinking about all that makes me cringe with excitement. I realize that there will be days when I curse marathon training, but just the same, there will be those times when I can't wait to lace-up my shoes and hop outside for an easy 8 mile run.
Can I really shave 20 minutes off my marathon time? I can. I have to. I will. Or I'll die trying.
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