A Better Take on 'Left Behind'

When I was in high school, I started reading the Left Behind series.  At some point my freshman year, I realized the books were crap--and much, much later, I found this awesome blog who took it upon himself to painstakingly read and comment on the series as a way of exposing the problems with a particular religious mindset.

Since then, I've encountered other takes on the theme: what would happen if the Rapture were to really happen?  A particularly excellent version was this graphic novel that postulated that if the Rapture happened, it would open to the door to all sorts of supernatural occurrences, such as avenging angels and talking animals.  So when I heard about Tom Perrotta's new novel, The Leftovers, I was intrigued.  Having previously read his excellent The Abstinence Teacher, I added the novel to my to-read list after I received it for Christmas.

Perrotta places what he calls The Sudden Departure in a prologue, and he focuses his novel not on the event itself, but on the repercussions of the random disappearance of millions on a few characters in the small town, Mapleton.  There's the Garvey family, who lost no one in their family, but whose four members react differently to the event, including Laurie (the mother) and Tom (the son), who both turn to fanatical religion as a way to make sense of the post-event world.  There's Nora, who lost her husband and children to the event and who struggles to reconnect with the world of family and relationships.  Because Perrotta writes the disappearances as having no reason, the vanished individuals sharing no common characteristic, the quest to understand why drives the characters to cope in often extreme (or not-so-extreme) ways.

The beauty of the novel is that it doesn't attempt to examine the effects of such an event on some large, global scale.  Instead, Perrotta focuses on the small ripples, the reactions of a few individuals to dig into their psyches.  Characters turn to religion, to other people, to themselves, to drugs in an attempt to comprehend the event, to forget it, or to deal with the gnawing hole in their hearts.  And Perrotta doesn't moralize or attempt to establish universals; he portrays the characters and their relationships to one another, their conversations and their thoughts, to demonstrate the trauma and sense of desperation these characters experience.

Overall, I thought the book was well conceived and well written.  It takes what used to be an eye-roll inducing theme and turns it into something intriguing.  While some characters are not as well developed as others, and some story lines are dropped or never reach a close, the novel is executed well.  It was one of those books that I find myself thinking about long after I read the final words and shut the cover.  If you're as intrigued as I am with authors who use small snapshots of everyday life to explore the depth of human emotions and motivations, you'll enjoy this book.

Experiencing Hunger

The hunger-satiating salad

It was long past my lunchtime, but a full docket at the writing center left no time to consume my lunch. I left work a little after 1pm, heading home to eat lunch there.  When I arrived, I was so hungry that I was verging on dizziness as I prepared my meal; however, my salad never tasted so good, the flavors strong and satisfying.

Why did I wait so long to eat? I am trying to listen to my hunger signals a little better, to pay attention to when I need to eat, and when I'm just eating because it's time to eat.  So I could have eaten early to avoid getting hungry, but I refused to.  I don't obviously advocate not eating until one is to the point of dizziness or passing out, but I'm learning to experience hunger.

Okay, I know that seems weird (and possibly disordered), so I'll explain: because I sometimes have issues with my blood sugar dipping (though not eating sugar/refined grains reduces it drastically), I have an aversion to being hungry for longer than a few minutes.  When I start to feel a few pangs, I usually eat something, which frequently leads me to eat when I'm probably not actually  hungry.  I eat from boredom and habit rather than because I need sustenance.

L's brother once said something offhandedly that has stuck with me: in response to a question about if he needed food before the next meal, he commented, "It's not bad to feel hungry."  (or something like that).  It has stuck with me because I always felt like it was a state to be constantly avoided.  But what if hunger isn't as bad as I feared?

I had a cat who didn't have constant access to food when she was a kitten. As a result, she was always concerned about the state of her food bowl: she would constantly come into the house simply to check to make sure her food was still there.  As someone who is lucky enough to always have access to food, I nevertheless picked up a strong fear of not having enough to eat.  Maybe it's from growing up in a big family (with hungry, growing boys) where if you didn't jump in, you might miss out on getting something.  It's also related to the bad experiences of being lightheaded from hunger before lunch in school or moments of hangry that wash over me if I don't eat.

These fears and the distrust of my own body are something I'm coming to terms with.  Hence, waiting to eat until I really am hungry, even if I accidentally push myself into a red line.  I'm learning to trust my body, that if I treat myself right, my body will tell me what it needs if I'm willing to pay attention to its physical signals.  It isn't bad to feel hungry, especially if it means waiting a little while to eat something delicious.

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Last night after dinner, I wanted a little dessert.  L's mom is staying with us for a few days, and she brought cake for us to enjoy.  I decided that I'd have a bite of cake with some fruit.  As I was eating my cake, I realized that I didn't really want it after all.  The first few bites were okay, but I really just wanted fruit and yogurt. So I stopped eating it and gave the rest to L.  Not only did I get a tiny portion to start with, but I recognized when my body had enough and I stopped.

I'm not certain how to convey how big this is for me, but believe me: it's big. Almost unheard of, in fact. I'm actually still a little shocked that I managed to do it.  I usually blow by those signals and keep on eating to the point of misery, so I'm starting to understand how trusting and listening to those physical signals can help me to eat in a way that is balanced and healthy.  And I have to say, I like it a lot.

A Week's Thoughts

(Every time I'd think of something to write, I'd forget to come over here and type it up. So instead of trying to string some of these thoughts over a couple of separate posts, I thought I'd just dump them all into one.)

1. Running

As I was driving away to run some errand, I noticed the little old man shuffle by me.  He wore running shorts, white tube socks that hit midway up his calf, and well-worn running sneakers.  It wasn't the first time that I'd noticed him, with his slow shuffle-jog.  He runs by my house frequently.  I don't know if he runs every day, but he seems pretty committed to running, even though he's not very fast and his limbs are a little too old to move with strength and agility.

As I watched him, I thought to myself: being a runner isn't about speed.  It isn't about ability, even.  To be a "real runner," requires a certain mindset.  The little old man was a runner, through and through.  This is why I encourage newer runners (or slower runners, even) to not compare themselves to anyone.  Run for the joy of running, for how it feels, for the strength and peace it brings.  If you do that, you're a real runner.

And I only hope that when I'm 90 years old, I'm still out running, even if it's barely faster than walking.

2. Eats

My meals these days have been (mostly) sugar-free and full of veggies.  And lovely to behold and to eat.

Sauteed shredded Brussels sprouts and carrot
 with tofu meatballs and beets

Shredded Brussels sprouts and carrots,
topped with scrambled egg, salsa, and avocado

Mixing bowl salad: beans, sweet potato,
avocado, salsa, cucumber

Caprese with freshly-picked basil/tomato
topped with homemade ricotta

 3. Sugar-Free

In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't been on 100%...but I've come to realize that it's okay.  The little diversions and "cheats" have helped me keep on track about 80-90% of the time.  And I've been very selective with how I cheat, turning down cake that wasn't homemade or distinctive but drinking a (single) beer with friends out.  And so on.  It's helped me not feel anxious for how I'm going to eat after the 21st day--because I've already figured out a way to balance it, though it's sure to still be an ongoing challenge.  Plus, I felt a bit more motivated after eating a bit of excluded foods, which made my stomach hurt and drained my energy.

4. Shopping

When you're on a limited budget, shopping is not something I can do at this point. This weekend, I dropped by a friend's yardsale and scored some great shoes and a few accessories for not much money, including a pair of red flats that I love, love, love.  On Tuesday, I headed to my favorite thrift store to look for some shorts (a post for another day).  Among other things, I found these little lovelies:

For a few bucks, I became the proud owner of (yet) another pair of flats--these were Nine West and in almost perfect shape.  I've noticed that I'm slowly acquiring more and more flats and getting rid of heels that are uncomfortable or not a good fit. Flats are nice because I can walk on campus with them, but they can still look dressy for teaching.  And I can wear them with jeans or skirts.  (I also got a great pair of Kenneth Cole Reaction heels--so I'm not entirely giving up heels).  After returning home, I cleared out several pairs of shoes that needed to go, more than balancing out the new acquisitions.

I try to keep my closet pruned, and I'm learning to not even purchase clothes or shoes used that are not quality brands--I'm constantly finding Forever21 stuff that is cute but is sure to fall apart after a few wears.  Not worth my time or effort, even if it is purchased used.

5. Handmade

When I saw the new Fabric-by-Fabric One-Yard Wonders book, I knew I had to get it because of the bike pannier pattern.  Panniers would be the perfect answer for how to transport myself and my load of stuff to campus, enabling me to bike more regularly and consistently.  So, finally, I made them on Sunday, staying up until 2am because I got fixated on getting them finished:

They turned out perfectly.  The bags are a good size to hold my stuff, and while I'm working on campus this summer, I don't have to bother with a backpack, saving my back from sweating disgustingly as I commute back and forth.  And I can detach and carry them easily into the building with little fuss.

I made it from a yard of oil cloth and some small supplies, so they were cheaper than buying my own--and I got to use this awesome vintage-patterned oil cloth.  I might even make a few more (with some adjustments to the design) for my friends who are interested in one. All-in-all, a good DIY experience.

And that's it...for now. :)

Swimming! (And Other Things)

The pool opened up last Friday, and (true to my word), I decided to pay for a summer pass so I can go to the pool ALL THE TIMES.  Thus far, I have been two for two--we went yesterday, and I went today.

I love the water, but it also freaks me out a little to be in the deep end (sometimes).  Today, though, I felt fine in the deep end, so maybe I just have to get used to it.

I tend to swim laps, even though they're hard, and I get really tired.  It's strange that I can run for hours and hours really fast (see 1:52 half marathon last weekend!), but I can only swim half a lap in the pool before I have to stop to breathe a bit.  I suspect part of it is not knowing how to breathe well; when you run, you can breathe all you want, but when you swim, you have to be okay with not breathing all the time.

I think by the end of the summer, I want to get up to swimming a full mile without stopping (with a 0-1650 yard plan!).  So this week's goal is to get to a full lap. I think I can do it now, I just need to not get freaked out by my inability to breath every stroke.

I also need to figure out strategies to keep my hair from drying out from the constant chlorine.

Maybe my next task will be to jump off the diving board...

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I've begun gathering my books for comps, which is both exhilarating and a little scary. Now I need to read and keep searching for things.  I'm supposed to have the list together soon, so that's what I'll be working on.

The sugar detox has been going reasonably well.  I feel better than I have in a while, I don't really worry tons about food, and I eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full, which is exactly what I want to be like.  My fellow sugar detoxer talked me into not completely starting over.  I have decided that while I'm not going to be 100% off sugar, it's going to be a rare occurrence (along with refined grains and other processed things). In other words, I'm going to be eating a bit differently from here on out.

As LS and I keep saying to each other sugar=devil. Also, the diabetes.

Athlete--That's Me?

I think I can officially add a new title to my list of descriptors: athlete.  I've probably already thought of it before, generally.  I mean, I did finish a marathon and all.  But after this weekend's big PR in the half marathon (by over 6 minutes!), I am feeling that athlete is an appropriate label to claim for myself.

Yesterday, I went out and played Ultimate Frisbee for the first time in two years, and I was amazed at how comfortable I felt.  I feel more capable in my running, I was quick and able to stay with my person (even with recovering legs), and I was able to throw and catch decently.  I also feel like I'm better understanding the logic of the game, of how to run and where to be, the strategies and the requirements to play well.  I'm by no means the weakest person on my team, and that made me feel good.

Better yet, my team is friendly and encouraging.  I didn't feel anxious about messing up, and I asked questions from the better players, and I had a great time.

Running is wonderful, but even in a group, it's a solo sport.  Only you (the runner) can affect what happens on the run.  While running with other people helps pass the time and improve running speed, at the end, you're in your own head and in charge of your body.  You have to run your own race at your own pace.  But even as much as I like the solitary aspect of running, I miss the camaraderie of being a part of a team, of contributing to a larger entity.  I enjoy team sports (especially when I feel like I'm actively contributing), so I'm really glad I got talked into signing up for summer league this year.

The confidence and the comfort I feel in my skin is one of the best results of owning my athleticism.  I'm looking forward to this summer as the time I continue to hone and develop my skills and see what my body is wonderfully and awesomely capable of.

A Busy/Full Weekend

It's the end of a long and busy weekend. Fun, productive, but tiring. :)

On Friday morning (early), we got up and I rode to Kansas City with my bro and sister-in-law and their darling child.  (They've been in town most of the week, so I've been spending lots of much-needed time with them!) It was fun because we talked and I played with C and got to know her--she likes me, even though I accidentally bit her finger.  Ooops!

CUPCAKES RULE!

We then headed to pick up our packets for the Hospital Hill half marathon, where my brother, B, found himself a GPS watch, and I found myself a sweet pair of bright orange running shorts.  I blame the lack of food and a bit of encouragement from my sister-in-law, A, for why they overrode my cautious spending.

We then went and picked up cupcake baking supplies.  We were in KC to get set up for C's 1st birthday party, and I offered (very insistently) to bake the cupcakes.  A picked out some recipes, and B begged for German chocolate. We (me and my baking minions) ended up baking red velvet cupcakes, marbled cupcakes, and German chocolate cupcakes, half in ice cream cones, half regular.

The next morning, we got up and headed to KC for the half marathon.  A and her friend were running the 5k, and my brother agreed to run alongside me for the half.  We couldn't have asked for a better day for running in early June: the temperature was 53 degrees when we began the run, and it was sunny and clear and only got into the 60s by the time we finished. Perfect weather to PR--and I did.  While I didn't remember that the run was all that hilly (it feels a lot hillier when you're running 8:30 miles for 13 miles), I felt great for most of it, coming in at 1:52:11.  My brother had to slow down a bit because of an injury, but he came in 2 minutes after me.  It was amazing--I love that every race I do, I learn more about how to run better, faster, and stronger.  I think I see a possible 1:45 in my future.

Running siblings--and my bright orange shorts!

Not only did I PR, but I got to run with my brother, something we enjoy doing together.  It was a great experience for all of us, and I was so happy that I could share running with my family in this way.  I think B and I will have to find other races to run together.

After the run, we headed back to A's parents' house, cleaned up, ate some food, baked a tiny cake for C's birthday, and then headed down to Fayetteville.  They went to an event, and I chilled at home, taking a much needed nap.  I was so tired, I skipped out on going with them to the bar to hang out and went to sleep instead...

Frosting the cupcakes with a minion

Then, at 4:40am, my alarm went off, and I got up and ready to leave by 5:30am to head BACK to KC.  Yep.  We got there around 9:30am this morning, and I got to work making frosting, and everyone else got to work decorating and prepping for the party.  I made coconut pecan frosting for the German chocolate cupcakes, cream cheese frosting for the red velvet, and chocolate and vanilla Swiss buttercream for the marbled cupcakes and C's tiny tiered cake.  My minions (yes, I had baking minions! it was great!) decorated as I stirred and beat and whipped and creamed.  They turned out beautifully--my favorite moment was when one of A's aunts bit into the cupcake, looked up in surprise, and commented, "That tasted a lot better than I thought it would! You can tell they were homemade."  She took another one home with her.

C's little birthday cake, ready to be SMASHED

C's party went off great--there was baby cake smashing and presents, and much fun had by the guests and the parents.  Food was eaten, games were played, and L showed himself to be an adept helper (as usual) as well as volleyball player.  We make a great team. :)

After much birthday partying was had, C took a nap, and we gathered ourselves to leave.  We finally departed around 6, and drove back home.

And here I am. Home. This next week will be filled with running and ultimate frisbee and working on my comps lists (summer break is over!)

[For those wondering how I did surrounded by such delicious cupcakes...well, I managed to stay sugar free for the most part (except for a few things here and there because of the run yesterday and tasting my recipes), but I did eat two cupcakes today.  But I don't feel bad about it because I enjoyed them a lot.  I will be back on the sugar-free wagon, though, and I'm going to begin again at Day 1.]

Anyway, great and busy weekend, but a joy and a delight as well.  I feel like I've packed in as much brother and sister and niece time as I can, and I hope it's a lot sooner when I see them next.

Day 3: Sugar Detox

Now, don't mistake my intentions here: I'm generally an anti-dieter and anti-anything that smacks of "fad".  But when a friend told me she was doing a sugar detox, I playfully commented that I should do it with her.  She then called my bluff by sending me the guidelines and asking me to keep her company.

I thought I could do it as I went to Philly, but given the unpredictablilities of travel and food options, I thought I'd try to ease back so I didn't go through the horrible sugar withdrawals. Like many travels, though, I ended up eating pretty terribly, so by the time I got home Monday, I was ready to hit the no sugar bandwagon.  It involves cutting out all refined grains and sugars along with other sugars (though I'm not following the no-fruit thing that closely).

Day 1: not too bad.  I cooked, I ate veggies, and I didn't feel too bad.  I had a slight headache for most of the afternoon, but it was okay.

Day 2: I went to run (and forgot to eat!) but since I ate so late, I didn't have any crazy reactions. I ate some Paleo Pancakes (using sweet potato instead of banana and coconut butter instead of almond butter), and felt pretty good.  Then I cleaned and went to work...and got really cranky.  I was super tired and low on energy.  I had to go get a cup of coffee and eat a snack before I rallied, and I continued to feel really lethargic.

Funny thing though: I went to bed and slept really hard and really well.

Day 3: This is the day I decided to torture myself, apparently.  I made three batches of cookies: no-bake (for my brother who is town), raspberry pinwheels, and chocolate cookies.  I offered to also bake cupcakes for my niece's first birthday party this weekend, so that should be amusing.  Also, a friend brought me chocolate as a thank-you for helping her.  Today was the day that all was conspiring against me--you know how hard it is to not to eat cookie batter? Especially no-bake cookies?  But I refrained.  Success! (And because I got to take a little nap and work out a bit, I felt pretty good).

All-in-all, I think in a few days, I'll start feeling more energetic as I clear all the nastiness out of my system. My goal is to use this time to hopefully work toward where I can eat a bit of sweet stuff without eating too much and feeling terrible.

And now, off to take a walk!

The airport

Later, some pics and comments on my conference experience. For now, some comments about the airport.

I gave myself plenty of time to get to the airport, and even though I was worried, there was no one in line, so I breezed on through. That is, until I was found with a partially filled water bottle. Oh noes! Water! So I was escorted back out, where I drank the water, rolled my eyes and breezed back through. Again. And then proceeded to sit and play on the internet for the nearly two hours I had to wait until the plane leaves.

At least there's free wifi. :)

A Confession

I'm about to get all confessional up in here.

I hesitated about blogging about some of my more "darker" issues regarding food, but at the urging of some friends who were interested (and in the interest of continuing to deal with these things more openly), I think that it might be a good idea.

It all starts a long time ago: When I was a kid, my mom used to allow us to get an ICEE occasionally.  Cold and sweet and delicious to our young taste buds, we were always excited.  I have a memory of riding around in the backseat of our Buick on a sunny California day, sipping and sipping on my ICEE.  Mom either commented (or I realized) that I didn't need to drink it all at once; it was better to savor it and sip it slowly.  I remember watching her as she would casually take a drink here and there, not drinking it all down at once.  I remember trying really hard to take just one little drink, then ignore it for a while, but my brain kept nudging me to drink again immediately, to keep drinking and drinking and drinking.  After that, it was a battle between a desire to gulp it all down (followed by sadness because it was all gone) and the sensible move to try to savor it slowly.

My friends, what I'm trying to get at is that sometimes I overeat.  That compulsive behavior is troubling and ugly to me, so I have hid it and hoped no one noticed--until now.

Monday, I came home from work.  It was dinner time, and I was ravenous, so I heated up some leftovers and some peas and toasted tortillas.  It normally would have been a satisfying meal, but I could feel the overwhelming desire to just shove food into my face, rapidly and without discernment.  So I made a quesadilla, and tried to force myself to drink water and think about the fact that I was physically full and didn't need to eat anymore.  For the rest of the night, I fought the compulsion to eat and was partially successful, though I still ate more than I needed.  I felt okay because it was a good step in the right direction, but I felt like a failure because I as trying to eat more lightly to balance out the events over the weekend where I ate a lot.

This is not a new feeling for me.  I feel out of control, pulled by my body's desire for MORE, wanting to stop, unable to control myself.  This is why I rarely have ice cream in the house, or large amounts of chocolate or sweets--I can't just eat one serving.  Sometimes I can, if I eat a bit and then go somewhere or do something, but if it's just me and a pint of ice cream in the house, all bets are off.

I'll dish out a little bit, put the container away, and savor my portion slowly.  But then my brain will nudge me--hey, there's ice cream!  I'll fight it.  Hey! Resist.  Then...fiiine, one bite.  Which turns into a few more, until finally there's only a little bit left on the bottom.  Now that L is around, he notices and will sometimes question (especially when he wants a little bit), but I'll try to play it cool or fib or act like it's no big deal.  Usually, he's not around or in the same room.  And he's really good about not making me feel like I was doing something wrong, but I always feel ashamed of my lack of control.

One a much more minor level, I also tend to overeat often to a point of discomfort when I'm at events with lots of food out, especially if there are sweets.  This also seems like a coping mechanism to deal with social anxiety.

I'm not always certain what triggers these compulsive eating sessions.  It might be related to restricting calories or it might have to do with feeling out of control.  Sometimes, I'm just sad or unhappy or upset and want to eat a lot of ice cream.  Whatever's at the root, though, is something I need to dig up and look at so I can figure out how to proceed.

I'm starting to realize that although this is not a daily event, I need to find better ways to cope.  One is to put myself in situations where food is abundant and everyone is eating, but that hardly seems plausible since I enjoy socializing with my friends and food is a natural part of that.  I think I'm taking a good first step here by sharing this in a public forum.  I realize now, perhaps when I get to that place, I should call a friend or go for a walk or let L help me.  I know, especially now, that I'm not alone in these struggles.

Food and cooking and eating well are things that I love and things I refuse to banish from my life.  I just hate that something that's the source of so much pleasure, something that can bring a lot of enjoyment and can be a healthy part of social interactions is also something that I struggle with.

Thanks for listening, y'all.

Sharing the Table

I love hosting people at our house.  Love it.  I think it's wonderful to make things, to open our house up to other people, to invite them in and treat them like family.  L and I both really enjoy it, and this weekend has been all about having people over.  I think this will be a theme we continue all summer, especially as we look for low-cost ways to entertain and socialize.

Friday night, we had B and I over for tofu "meatballs" with pasta and sauce, alongside chard and salad.  Afterwards, we made banana "ice cream," with a little added cocoa powder and a snickerdoodle.  We had gin (with lime, mint, mixed with sparkling water for a low-cal beverage) and wine, and after dinner, we played Rummikub, one of our favorite games.  It was a delightful evening.

We scurried to clean up and went to bed.  The next morning, I got up to run 12 miles with my running group, after which I invited any who wanted to stay in for breakfast, which L was sweet enough to orchestrate.  We got home and saw this:

L had created quite a spread: fruits, coffee, honey, and my favorite oatmeal pancakes ever.  Two of my running buddies stuck around, and L and I enjoyed breakfast with them.  It was wonderful, and the perfect meal after a long, hard run.

Tonight, we hosted potluck as well.  Potluck had been on a bit of a hiatus with the busyness of the semester, so it was nice to kick it off for the summer.  We grilled out and I made this pie:

This pie is lovely and special and decadent.  It's the kind of pie where a tiny slice is plenty to leave you satisfied. (I just read somewhere that M&Ms are designed specifically to NOT leave you satisfied, so I'm happy to find a dessert that I don't immediately want to eat all of it.)

I may have ate a bit more than I wanted to this weekend, but it was nice to host people and spend more time socializing, and I tried to balance out eating more lightly, which seemed to work decently. The next few days will be a flurry of work and writing before I go on my trip next week, so this was the breather before the work of the summer kicks off.

But this pie may make a reappearance in my life...

Chocolate Espresso Silk Pie
(Adapted slightly from Chocolate Covered Katie)

• One 12.3 oz pkg. firm silken tofu (Mori-Nu works great--don't use not silken!)
• 2 tbsp cocoa powder
• 2 tbsp milk (I used unsweetened vanilla almond milk)
• 2 tbsp maple syrup
• 1 tbsp instant espresso powder
• One 10 oz package chocolate chips (I used Ghirardelli 60% Chocolate Chips--you could use less for a less intense chocolate)
• pie shell or ramekins

Prepare your pie/tart shell (if using--you could technically plop the filling into ramekins and call it good)--blind bake until done.

Melt chocolate chips in the microwave (stirring frequently and watching--you can burn chocolate in the microwave, I promise!) or in a double-boiler/bowl set over simmering water.

In a food processor, puree other ingredients until smooth.  Pour in melted chocolate and blend until smooth and combined.  Pour into shell or ramekins and chill (or eat immediately--it's pretty good).

I cut the tart into 16 pieces and that's plenty for me, though the more voracious of a chocolate eater you are, you might want a bit more.  Enjoy the pie--it's super easy, reasonably healthy, satisfying for the chocolate-lover and sweet tooth, and infinitely adaptable.  A delight!

Book Review or, Why I'm Glad I Live Now

There's this really horrible infection called puerperal fever (also called childbed fever) that once plagued maternity wards all over Europe.  Women would give birth, then suddenly sicken and die and often so would their newborns.  When dissected, they had pockets of infection in their body, usually in the uterus but often in other places as well.

It turns out that these women would be infected by doctors and their students as a result of contact with another infected patient. Even worse, these doctors would go dissect cadavers in the morning and come to deliver babies in the afternoon, never taking the time to disinfect their hands.  We recoil at this now, but remember that before Louis Pasteur and microscopes, there was sense of microbes or bacteria as causing disease.  If your hands looked clean, why bother washing them?

Meanwhile, women giving birth in hospitals all over Europe were dying in mass numbers, and seemingly nothing could be done to stop it.

The discovery of how to prevent the transmission of childbed fever is explored in Sherwin B. Nuland's The Doctors' Plague (2003).  A fascinating read, I picked it up after hearing some writing instructors discussing it as a text for use in a science writing class. (Also, I have a not-so-secret love of science and nonfiction--my next read may be The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson).  Nuland interweaves the story of medical advances and the sad tale of Ignac Semmelweis, a Hungarian physician who, while working in Vienna, discovered how to stop epidemics of puerperal fever: have all nurses, doctors, and students wash their hands in a chloride solution (scrubbing under the nails to get rid of cadaver bits) before entering the ward.  (Clean sheets and tools were also essential).

Poor Semmelweis befriended no one with his tactics, unfortunately, and although his theory of the fever's transmission has some optimistic support among the younger physicians who were his friends and colleagues, it wasn't until Pasteur discovered microbes and Joseph Lister figured out what led to gangrene that his theory received widespread acceptance.

Nuland's book digs into how the older vanguard can hold back scientific (and medical) progress, how new discoveries are made, and the need for scientists to publish their ideas in an accessible and clear way.  Semmelweis published his theory at the very end of his life, but it was so convoluted, long, repetitive, and full of diatribes against the doctors who opposed him that it was virtually unreadable.  Had Semmelweis written earlier with the help of better speakers and had he been able to befriend those in the profession instead of alienate them, his theory might have been better received, and (eventually) accepted.

Nuland's exploration on the communication aspect is particularly fascinating to me, as a science writing teacher and someone interested in the rhetoric of science.  The book was a fast, easy read, and although it might scare off some of the more squeamish readers, it was interesting and informative.  (And it made me grateful that I wasn't a woman giving birth in the 1800s in a hospital where anyone in the teaching ward could just come and poke me with their dirty fingers.)  I recommend it if you're looking for an interesting read and you love science-based nonfiction.

Summer and Balance

During the school year, it's easy for me to forget that I should have balance.  I end up reading a lot, putting off tasks until the last minute then rushing through them, sleeping not enough, running too much or not enough, eating and drinking too much, doing too much, never stopping.

It is, quite frankly, exhausting.  And every year, at the end of the semester, I crash.

I would much rather have some sort of balance, where I don't feel so exhausted all the time that I just stumble home and plop in front of the TV, stuff whatever is within arm's reach into my face, eating until I'm so full I can hardly move, then either feeling miserable or running to make up for it. Or feeling so overworked that I go out to blow off some steam and end up drinking too much and feeling miserable the whole next day.

This lack of balance seems to be what I need to work on.  And the summer, when living is slower and I have fewer burdens, seems just right for that.

I went to yoga tonight for the first time in a long time, and it was wonderful.  It was familiar and hard and relaxing and challenging.  I haven't been to yoga so long, partly because I've been busy, partly because I claim I'm tired, though those are somewhat just excuses.  I think I sometimes avoid going to yoga because I'm afraid...afraid of feeling not like a yogi, of being not good enough, of failing, yet again, to do the poses with any sort of acumen or grace.  K, my awesome teacher and friend, always reminds me to let that stuff go, and I usually can in the class.  I leave, feeling calm and balanced, happy that I went.

But then I forget and don't go the next week, never quite solving the self-doubting cycle.

In yoga tonight, I was given a visualization of an expansive sky, which took me back to my favorite sky out west, in Montana.  That sky there is so blue and perfect, and it never seems to end.  Then I was asked to pull that expansiveness into myself...and when I did, I sat there, feeling a little stunned and emotional.  To envision the inside of myself as big as that wonderful sky...and as beautiful and amazing...was something that surprised me because I so often feel little. Less. To think of myself as something more was a shift in my perspective.

And so, I think in my quest for balance in my life, I'll keep on going to yoga.

I know I've been doing a lot of belly-button gazing lately, but this blog has become sorta therapeutic and has allowed me to engage in face-to-face conversations with friends who deal (or have dealt) with a lot of similar or related issues, allowing us to talk about things that we're often told to keep quiet about.  I'm starting to see how I have a supportive community around me to share myself with--not just my fun side, but all of me.  And that feels like an all-around Good Thing.

Breakfast Baskets!

The end of the semester usually signals a return to all things domestic, at least for a week or two: lots of cooking, lots of cleaning, not to mention all the organizing and other chores that go on.

This weekend, we went to L's parents' house, which meant I could not give in to my domestic urges.  Add in that I've been reading cooking memoirs (and thinking about them) for my RSA paper means that I wanted to cook and cook a lot.  I stumbled across this recipe for Spinach and Sweet Potato Egg Nests on a blog that my running buddy (and amazing lady!) has been sharing on her site, so I decided they would be breakfast.

I did not, however, want to make TWELVE of them (what if I didn't like them?? Plus, that's all my eggs!!), so I set about making two with some modifications.

They turned out fabulously, served with some fruits, coffee, and a corn tortilla from the tiny tortilleria in L's hometown.  I've decided that one part of balancing meals is actually one the French know well (and L's mother reminded me of): more than one dish, lots of color and variety, make it look pretty so that it's a feast for both the eyes and the stomach.  And only eat little bits of each dish, eating until satisfied but not overly full.

I think I succeeded on all counts.

Sweet Potato and Spinach Egg Baskets
adapted slightly from paleOMG

• 1/3 of a sweet potato, peeled and grated
• 1/2 jalapeno, seeded and diced
• 1/4 onion, diced
• oil or bacon fat (I had a bit lying around, and although I cannot eat bacon, I seem to be able to stomach a small amount of bacon fat)
• handfuls of baby spinach (or frozen, thawed and squozen)
• 2 eggs
• Salt/pepper/etc
• 2 Pyrex ramekins/tiny bowls

If you want, spray the ramekins with some non-stick spray--I didn't, and mine didn't really stick, so it's probably okay.

Preheat oven (toaster oven in our case!) to 375 degrees.  Grate sweet potato and divide evenly between ramekins, smooshing up the sides and making a well in the center.  Sprinkle with salt/pepper, if desired.  Put into oven to bake for 15 minutes or so to cook the sweet potato.

Meanwhile, heat oil in a pan and saute onion and jalapeno until soft. Toss in a couple of big handfuls of spinach (or some previously frozen) and cook until the spinach is wilted.  Salt lightly.

Once the sweet potato looks like it's getting softened, divide the spinach/onion/pepper mixture in half and plop into each cup, making a bit of a well again.  Crack an egg on top and place back into the oven until cooked to your eggy delight.  (My yolk was a bit runny, just the way I like it.)

Serve with a bit of sriracha or salsa, and enjoy!

A Quiet Life

Around noon on Saturday (after I'd sufficiently slept to feel a bit better), we departed for L's hometown to visit his parents.  L's hometown is a quiet, sleepy kinda place, and life there is slower.  And when I need a break from all the hectic, frenetic pace of school-job-social life-running, fueled by beer and caffeine, this is just the right place.

I didn't realize how much I just needed to take a break from the world, from the constant connectedness of being able to log in and check email and Facebook and all the other forms of communication I own.  Today I've returned to regularly checking everything, but Saturday and yesterday, I kept a reasonably low profile (at least compared to normal).

I woke up yesterday morning, wide awake and alert at 6:45.  I'd had enough sleep and I felt eager to be up and cooking and running.  I finished up my grading at a leisurely place, the stress of finishing evaporated as if I'd set it out in the late spring sunshine on the broad porch at L's parents' log house.  I ran 6 miles, then ran a few more later.  I read books in long draughts, savoring and enjoying.

Even better, I feel my body coming into balance.  While I don't eat scantily here, away from excessive amounts of beer or wine or gin, away from eating out, I eat enough.  We ate fish and grilled vegetables, muffins and fruit, venison and salad and L's recipe-less homemade bread, a light sandwich and popcorn.  I don't until I'm stuffed but merely satisfied, and I eat more slowly, at the table, taking my pace from L's mother who is a champion at slow eating.

We walk and we talk. We nap and we read.

Waiting around this afternoon and not wanting to read anymore, I slipped into my running shoes and out the door, no pressure to run but wanting to feel the pavement under my feet.  I fall into a good pace, a rhythm that doesn't anger my quad or ankle, and I run, watching the little rabbits and the goats and other animals observing me.  I encounter few cars that carefully drive around me.  I run without music, just the sound of my feet on the little country road, the sun high in the sky, and the world green all around me.  I run with joy and contentment, and when my watch beeps 2, I pause to stretch, then turn back.  I arrive hot and dripping, but happy.

I plan to pack a bit of this peacefulness, this slower pace, and bring it back home with me where I can keep practicing running for the love of it, eating for sustenance and enjoyment, and not forgetting the hidden pleasures of a quieter life.

'Cause I Got (Runner's) High

I just finished up with a 6 mile run in the early summer heat, and I was happy.  Not because my leg is acting better, my ankle is allowing me to do slightly longer runs, and because the semester is done...or the fact that  I got to spend the morning with myself, sipping coffee and reading MFK Fisher at my in-laws' peaceful house--no, it was the running itself.

L can kind of understand why I love running so much, though he detests it.  While I can get him to run about twice a year or so, he will only go short distances and gets really crabby at the very end.  I, on the other hand, will go long distances and be very, very happy at the end.  When I don't run, I sink into a bit of a mild funk, like cheese that's not quite right anymore.  My mood is subdued, my energy low, my patience easily tested. A few days of running, and I'm back to my old self.

It turns out that it's because I'm getting high on running.  NPR's Christopher Joyce reported on a new study out that argues we humans might be "wired to run"--the chemicals that make me all happy with life when I run regularly helped humans evolve into distance runners.  One runner (and doctor) Joyce interviewed commented about the runner's high:

But when I ask her about "runner's high," she lights up. "Oh, it's really like an empowerment. And zen at the same time. You feel strong and light, and you feel relaxed."

Morganti injured herself running two years ago and had to stop running. "And everything else fell apart," she admits. "My ability to cope with the stresses of life, my organizational skills juggling your job and motherhood, everything like that, wasn't as acute as it was when I was able to run and be fit.

"I'm actually a little bit tired," she says. "I have a hamstring injury; I'm starting to feel that a little bit now. But I'm feeling like, 'What a beautiful day. How nice to be out here,' and I don't care about that."

That's actually a problem — her not caring. Morganti treats runners for injuries, and she says they're the worst patients. "The treatment is to stop running," she says. "They won't. They don't want to. A lot of the behavior is not unlike the patients we have who are seeking drugs. It's really similar. It's an addiction."
 

It's really pretty amazing.  I don't always notice it right after running, but I do notice a huge difference between when I'm running regularly and when I'm not.  L does too, and occasionally will gently nudge me to go for a run, though with all my running buddies, I don't seem to need it too often anymore.

Why doesn't someone like L enjoy running, then? My theory is that he associates running with negative things from a younger age, where running for me was PURE JOY when I was a child and young adult.  I loved feeling like I was flying as I dashed around excitedly, and even the horrible PE tests where they made you run (I wasn't really in good shape back them) a mile didn't stick with me.  I was thrilled one year when I managed to do a sub-10 minute mile.  I should have known then that running was my thing, though it took me another 5 years to really own it.

Of course, I don't think everyone should run or anything--do what you like, if it's active.  Swimming, sports, walking, biking, yoga: all great activities to do.  But if you find yourself getting curious about why we runners do nutty things like get up at 4:45 on a random Wednesday morning to run 5 miles (or 6am on a Saturday to run 12 miles), remember that it's the brain chemicals and my desire to have mental stability at all times.

Facing the Fear

As I was finishing up my final paper for my ethnography of communication class (I studied my running group!) I wanted to track down an article Peter Sagal wrote for his Road Scholar column in Runner's World.  I stumbled across an older column instead, called "A Thin Line," which really struck home for me. Basically Sagal accounts how he bounced up and down, always obsessed with weight, which he remarks is "far, far more common than you might suppose among amateur athletes."  I could totally relate to his experience (though I usually bounce up and down 5-10 lbs, not 30 or more).

It was when I read the following, though, that I really stopped and thought:

It's not about being fat. I know people of all shapes whose sense of self is blessedly untethered from their weight. It's about the terror of what we might become if we allow ourselves to let go, to get weak, to slow down. I run now for a lot of reasons, for fitness and for times and for friendship and for the sheer pleasure of motion. But deep inside I know I'm also running because with every step, I'm leaving Plumpkin further behind. And I'm afraid if I ever stopped, he'd catch me, and consume me in his unending appetite, and I'd have to look back into the mirror from behind his frightened eyes.

The terror Sagal describes, I've also felt--what might I become if I stop running? Stop watching my weight? Stop going on a diet every so often, determined to "finally" get to my goal weight and size?  I go back and forth between not caring and deciding that drinking with my friends and eating delicious food is better than some imaginary goal number (as long as I'm a healthy weight, right?) to really, really wanting to be more fit and toned and feel good in my body.  I might have fun eating and drinking without thought of the consequences...but then I wake up the next morning and my body rejects my excesses and I feel terrible, my body unhappy with how I've treated it.

And I still fear the reemergence of that heavy girl, the one so shy and so insecure in herself that she constantly held herself back from living life, from talking to interesting people, from doing things in the world.  Seeing the "frightened eyes" in the mirror that Sagal describes.

I too run for more than just weight management.  I ran 4 miles today with relatively little pain, and I felt amazing.  I followed it up with a lovely, healthy meal, and I felt fantastic.  I'm working through all these little issues with the hopes that maybe one day, I can be "blessedly untethered" from my weight.  To give my body what it needs and to enjoy food without worrying about what others think, that I'm eating too much, that I'm going to put all the weight back on and have to, once again, swear that I'm going to eat better and run more.

I'm starting to realize that becoming healthier is not just about eating right and exercising--I can do that.  It's dealing with all this emotional baggage, my fears and worries, that is the hard part, the part I've refused to deal with more publicly until recently.  I know some of my readers might get tired of hearing about this stuff, but I hope you'll bear with me (and I plan to post lots of other interesting things) as I use this writing space to come to terms with it all...

And, on a happier note, it's almost summertime! :)

Vampires and Phonology

I hear Southerners complaining all the time about Southern accents on television; while I don’t have much of a Southern accent, I have been around it for long enough to have a good feel for what makes a good one and what makes a really, really bad one.  Southerners are constantly amused by television’s attempts to represent their dialect.  They either exaggerate or lump all the features together, or they characterize the person as a backwoods hick.

Then there are TV shows that are supposedly set in the South, but there’s nary a [pɪn] for [pɛn] to be found.

Welcome to Mystic Falls, Virginia, the fictional town setting of The Vampire Diaries.  For those of you who don’t watch trashy TV, the basic premise is your typical, century-old vampire from the Civil War Era falls in love with teenage mortal, who happens to look exactly like the vampire that he was in love with when he was human.  Thrilling stuff, I assure you, but I’ll keep the summaries to a minimum from here on out.

When I began watching the show, I noticed how the actors manipulate their language and accents to underscore shifts in time periods (as with all good shows, there are lots of flashbacks) and to convey the “oldness” of particular vampires.  Initially, it seemed simple, but after re-watching the episodes armed with my newfound understanding of phonology, I began to pick up on some interesting trends.

First of all, there is a distinct lack of Southern accents.  This seems unusual if you think about it: all of the characters are descended from old families who founded the town pre-Civil War; one main character (a vampire) fought for the Confederacy; it would appear on the surface that they should all identify themselves as Southerners who would have strong social motivations to have some markers of a Southern dialect.   Antebellum culture is a source of pride for many of the characters, with various town celebrations occurring in Civil War-era costume and celebrating events from that time period.  According to Rick Aschman’s dialect map, Virginia residents should have the pin/pen merger. Yet the actors and actresses use unmarked, “General American” English.

When the show begins providing back stories for some of the characters, including flashbacks to 1490, things start to get interesting, especially from a phonological perspective.  The earliest place we find Katarina (later Katherine) is in Bulgaria in 1490, so she speaks…Bulgarian.  This choice seems logical if you know that Nina Dobrev, the actress who plays both Katherine (the vampire) and Elena (Katherine’s teenaged human doppelganger and show’s heroine—see isn’t this show intriguing?) is Bulgarian and speaks French, English, and Bulgarian fluently.  Katherine’s family name is Petrova, and instead of using the Anglicized [pɛtɹo͡ʊvə], she says [pətɾɔvʌ]; all of the vowels are a little bit more back than in the Anglicized pronunciation, and the /ɹ/ is a flap (which sounds almost like a trill).  Whenever Elena (played by the same actress) says “Petrova,” she uses the Anglicized version.  This distinction would seem to indicate that the show consciously manipulates phonetics for certain effects, at least on fairly minor levels.

In the story line, Katarina leaves Bulgaria for England and “becomes English,” which (somewhat hilariously) means adopting a horrifically fake British accent.  And if there’s a British accent in a show for an American audience, it’s most likely to be an RP British accent, which is what all of the actors from these scenes use.  Historical linguistics may be amused and/or annoyed when this pops up because it is not the dialect in use in the late 15^th century, but it is the dialect perceived by American teenagers as “old” and “British.”  All of the actors employing RP pronunciation drop /ɹ/ between a vowel and a consonant and in word-final positions.  Nina Dobrev’s accent is so bad because this feature and the pronunciation of vowels is exaggerated a bit too much; it’s recognizable as British, but if you’re paying attention and listen to the other native-RP speakers in the same scene, you hear how affected it is.

Interestingly, there is a character, Elijah, who exists in the 1492 timeline and the present, and his language patterns shift depending on which time period he is in.  1492 Elijah speaks with a “stronger” RP accent (dropped /ɹ/, vowels); however, in the present, he speaks with a “weaker” British accent—/ɹ/ is used, and his pronunciation is closer to “General American,” though with some distinctions that give his speech a vaguely British feel.  (As it turns out, he’s from Canada, but lived in New Zealand for much of his young life.) For instance, he says, “I believe the term you’re searching for is OMG,” and he pronounces the /u/ a bit lower than an American might, and his /ɹ/ in “term” sounds a bit more deliberate.

The show also flashes back to the 1864, Civil-War era Mystic Falls, and the language patterns shift to match.  Initially, I struggled to pick out distinctive phonological features of this time period, but then I realized that there were none; the actors simply used archaic phrasings that we hear as “more proper.”  For example, the actors used the following phrases that stood out to me as archaic or formal: “I wish” or “For a short while,” “Until tomorrow,” “You must hurry,” “I shall go too,” and “It will get the best of you,” avoiding the contraction “I’ll.”  Otherwise, fairly standard “General American.”

Only one character had any phonological markers of a genteel Southerner; George Lockwood, member of one of the founding families, tended to drop /ɹ/ medially and in word final positions, such as [cɑnvɛsa͡iʃn] for “conversation” and [ji͡ə] for “year.”  His character existed in the 1864 timeline, however, and was subtle enough to not be overwhelming. (He’s also a werewolf[i], just so you know).

Finally, I was able to identify one character in the episodes I watched that had a few phonological features of the Southern dialect.  Two witches (yes, there are witches, and unfortunately, for some reason on this show all the witches are black) moved to Mystic Falls, supposedly from Louisiana: Luka and his father.  Luka displays a few subtle variations that are characteristic of a Southern dialect; for example, he says “here” not as [hiɹ] but as [hi͡ə], dropping the final /ɹ/.  He also has the characteristic pin/pen merger (saying [bɪnɛt] instead of [bɛnɛt]), though it doesn’t seem consistent.  His father, however, showed none of those features in his speech, so it seems likely that the actor who plays Luka has some of these features in his native dialect.

So while it seems that, in an attempt to appeal to a mainstream audience, the show’s producers avoid using Southern dialects for their supposedly Southern characters, they do seem to manipulate accents and language use.  These uses convey shifting timelines, reinforce the “oldness” of some of the vampire characters, and add an intriguing dimension to what might be dismissed as trashy TV.  Although some of the features I picked up on are unlikely to be consciously written into the show, the fact that the same actors/characters use different ways of speaking demonstrates that much of it is deliberate.  And perhaps we should be grateful they refrain from using the Southern dialect since so many shows fail miserably when they try.

---

[i] One character pronounced “werewolf” as [wɛɹwʊf], which piqued my interest, but he had nothing else too interesting going on.

Heavy Past

When I was young, I was a spindly girl along with my four brothers, all legs and arms: my mother likes to tell a story where someone saw the five of us all together, looked at her accusingly, and asked, "Do you feed those children?"  (She did, of course).  At some point before puberty, I got a little chubby, but as soon as I got a growth spurt, I was a normal, slender teenager.

I  honestly don't really remember this phase except that I was shy and wanted to hide my body and dressed in out-dated clothes.  I only know that there was a period of time in my teenaged life that I didn't really think about my size, and I didn't want anyone to notice me.  I wore huge, baggy t-shirts and oversized sweaters and avoided anything fitted, though a friend was able to talk me into wearing some trendy, tighter clothes a couple of times.

I must have started to put on weight before I worked at a fast food chain, but I don't really remember.  I do know that working there when I turned 16 was the start of my weight gain; by the time I graduated high school, I was a size 14.

Several memories have surfaced as I was thinking about my weight struggles: one, a memory where my dad, frustrated, called me lazy when I refused to do some chores, and I went and wrote angrily in my diary about how I was fat and how much life sucked (ah, teenage angst).  There are quite a few entries like that.

Two: I frequently went to the doctor when I was 16 until I graduated high school because I had horrible, recurring ear infections.  There was the WORST NURSE in the entire world who worked in that office who tried to tell me to use ear candles to get rid of the infection and was generally annoying and neither nice nor good at her job.  She was taking down my information (weight, BP, etc), looks up at me and says, "Don't you think you need to lose some weight, dear?" I felt the tears well up, and my mother was upset.  Weight was somewhat of a taboo subject in our house, so I never heard anything from my parents about being concerned about my weight--my mother had endured too many taunts as a teenager and could not bear that I would suffer the same injuries.  I knew I didn't look like the girls around me, but I didn't think a lot about it.

Three: I had saved up money my junior year and bought a beautiful dress (which, unfortunately as it turns out, was not well-suited to my pear shaped body).  I wore it several times, including for graduation.  Someone asked me what size I was, and when I told them, they commented, "Huh, I thought you were bigger than that, especially in that dress."  I was stung.

There are more memories about generally being unsatisfied, not feeling like I was pretty, and longing to be like the other, thinner girls I associated with.  For me, though, the turning point came my sophomore year of college, where (after putting on a freshman 20 or so), I went to the gym and got on the scale, and saw the number: 200.

I didn't really know what I was doing at the time, but I knew I had to do something--I could not continue to go up in weight.  At this point, I was a size 18.  I found a Denise Austin show on one of the TV channels we had in the dorm; I recorded it an did it a couple of times a week. I began to read more about health and nutrition.  I think I lost a bit of weight; mostly, it was a relief not to gain more.  The real breakthrough came that summer, however, when I traveled to Mexico for six weeks: I was sick for the first part, didn't eat a whole lot during meals, and walked all over the place.  I returned to the states around 10 pounds thinner and fitting into my abandoned size 14 jeans.  I was happy, and my mother and many others remarked at the difference in appearance.

The next school year, I managed to maintain this size and began dabbling with running (but had shin splints and other woes).  Toward the end of the year, one of my friends had lost quite a bit of weight with Weight Watchers, and she offered to share her materials with me and several other girls who were moving into the same house that summer.  I began following the plan...and was shocked by how many "points" I ate on an average day, mainly on snacking.

I followed the plan religiously, tracking my points daily in a little notebook, putting stickers on all my food with their points values.  I also began running with another couple of friends, one who was also trying to lose weight.  Watching him run a mile around the track one day, I was inspired--I wanted to run a full mile, without stopping.  It was hard, but I knew I wanted to do it, so my friend A and I kept running until we both could.  The day I ran a full mile without stopping was amazing--and I immediately wanted to run more.  A and I would continue to run 2 or so miles several times a week.

By the end of the summer, I was around 155 pounds and in a size 10.  I was running more and eating healthier, making good choices.  I walked around campus a lot.  I stopped following the plan precisely, but continued to lose weight.  People who hadn't seen me all summer were shocked; one brother exclaimed, "Where'd Jenn go?!?" I liked the attention.  Better yet, I liked that I could run--it made me feel as though I was capable and powerful.  When I ran, I felt free and graceful, so different from my normal existence.  I continued to run from then on, and started playing sports, including Ultimate Frisbee and intramural sports.  From that summer in 2003 on, I would never be the same Jenn, and she was someone I was happy to leave behind.

Reflecting on that past Jenn, though, I realize she wasn't so bad.  She was shy, held back by her own insecurity, but she was the path that led me to where I am today, and I wouldn't be myself without her, without the memories of that awkwardness and youth and hope and desire.  I hope by sharing this story, it can connect with others of you readers who have shed someone, left some version behind.  Or who perhaps hope to find some other version of themselves.  I know that I'm moving toward some future Jenn, who I hope (regardless of my size or physical fitness) is wiser, smarter, and continues to strive to be kind to herself and others.

Running and Eating (Too Much)

When I was training for the marathon, I could eat almost anything.  It was awesome.  I would eat and eat and eat and not gain a pound because I was running so much.

But then, I stopped running as much, yet I continued to eat the same or more.  Then the series of injuries caused me to reduce my running even more.  And now I'm seeing the effects.  I've put on about 10 pounds since the start of the year, and I don't like it.

So, I'm going to shift my attention to yoga+strength training and eating non-processed foods.  The last time I only ate non-processed stuff, I felt amazing--I had so much energy, I slept better, and I lost weight without really trying.  This time, I'll have to try a bit more.

I normally feel really awkward announcing to the world that I'm going on a diet, so I refuse to call it a diet.  I want to think of it as a shift in focus.  For now, I want to avoid (but not 100% eliminate) processed sugar, refined grains, and other foods that tend to be lower nutrients, and also the things I like to eat a bit too much of.  I'll try not to blog too much about it, but just concentrate on gaining a healthier, stronger me.

9 years ago, I was almost 200 pounds, out-of-shape, and didn't think I could run or do much.  I wasn't really unhappy because of my weight, but I think I used it to hide a bit, and I definitely always felt self-conscious.  As I began to drop the pounds and run more and more, I found that I liked my new body and the confidence I found, and I swore I'd never go back.  Getting on the scale this morning and seeing the number continue to creep up takes me back to that old girl from 9 years ago.

Instead of feeling unhappy or helpless, or feeling like I'm worth less somehow because of my higher weight, I'm doing something about it.  I refuse to go back to a place where my happiness rests on my appearance; at the same time, I know it's best for my health if I am more careful about what I eat and I exercise regularly.  Running makes me happy, and I want to keep running for as long as I'm able.  And talking about it with people helps me take control and deal with the issues in a better way, than stuffing it down and eating some more ice cream (which I tend to do).

Anyway, that's my plan. Eat less, move more, do more stuff.  Have fun with friends, but make it less about the food we eat and about the fun we have.  Enjoy the summer by swimming and biking and running and using the extra time I have to go to yoga and build my strength and try something new.

I'm running a half-marathon with my brother in a little over a month, so hopefully I'm over all these injuries soon so that I can start training--until then, light running, biking, and swimming (and yes, K, much more yoga).

Fridays Around Here

I have a real problem with working on Friday afternoons, especially sunny spring ones.  But I promised those kids that I would give them back their papers this afternoon, and I've already lied to them about having them finished by Thursday*.

So, I sat in my office at home and worked until 8pm.  Now I'm waiting for our dinner guests to arrive. L sweetly cleaned the whole house when I rejected his requests for help cleaning with an imperious wave and a "I must GRADE!"

BUT, I finished it.  I even got to get out a bit when a friend offered to replace the beer that L consumed that I really, really wanted.

Now to have a bit of fun and relax, until tomorrow anyway...

(PS: The wrist and ankle are recovering nicely, FYI.)

*There was burning and ankle twisting involved.

Baking Disasters

It all began when I twisted my ankle.

Twisted ankle meant a bit of pain and the need to RICE. Which meant I stayed home instead of going out to volunteer with Girls on the Run.  Which meant that I decided to bake something for the dinner tomorrow with my friends, since I could throw something in the oven really quickly and not worry about it tomorrow.

Okay, so it's not exactly fair to blame the TERRIBLE MISHAP upon a silly twisted ankle (which seems to be feeling better, but it might just be that the overriding pain of my wrist is...well, I'm getting ahead of myself).  Anyway, usually if one crazy thing happens to me, it probably means I should watch out.*

All right, I hear you: on with the story. So I decided to make a tart.  It was going to be delicious.  The crust would be gluten free and made of almonds and butter, the filling a luscious lemony goodness.  Thinly sliced lemons macerated in sugar on a bed of toasty almonds.  Delight!

Mishap #1: I was following a paleo recipe that called for nuts, butter, salt, and baking soda.  Not thinking about the filling, I put all that together and put it in the oven to bake a bit.  Then I dumped the lemon filling on it, with all the sugar and juices.  Now, what happens if you mix baking soda and lemon juice? If you guessed it, you'll now imagine foamy almond crust, some of it dripping onto the oven floor.

Well, it'll probably still taste good, Lance and I commented to each other.  I'll top it with tons of whipped cream and no one will notice how ugly it is, I added.

Mishap #2: time to take the tart out of the oven.  So I grab it without first setting out a cooling rack.

And here's with the TERRIBLEness happened:

Mishap #3: I shift the tart to one hand, meaning that the middle was on my hand and the ring was suddenly supported.  The searing pain in my wrist quickly alerted me to my major mistake, leading to

Mishap #4: In which the excruciating pain of metal and hot sugary liquid burning into my wrist causes me to throw down the tart, scream obscenity, and run away.  Lance makes me come back and put my wrist under cold, running waters, after I've removed my watch and flung it away.

We look back at the tart, which came through someone whole, though slightly mangled.  So we ate a bit of it.  It was actually not bad, despite how awful it looks and much pain it caused me.

*And today is 13+13, right? (the 26th?) Though it's not a Friday, so I'm not sure if that matters.

How it goes

You get up in the morning, find some breakfast, drink some coffee, go to work, come home and do it all again.  It sounds depressing, but basically, there's been so little exciting going on in my life that I haven't felt the urge to post.  Though, I did make some awesome cupcakes...

Anyway, it's nearing the end of the semester. I'm gearing up to start reading this summer to start COMPS. Oh my! (That's pretty exciting).  I picked my concentrations--Rhetoric of science, language, pedagogy--and two of my three advisory members.  So my education is moving along well.

This summer, it'll be time to get stuff out for publication. I have several things up my sleeve that I need to put out there. I find the whole publication thing a bit nerve-wracking, but I know I can do it.

On the running front, I did something to my quad (not sure what, but I figured out how to make it stop hurting), and then I twisted my ankle this morning on my first 3 mile run in a few weeks. Argh! Luckily, I think the ankle will be fine if I baby it for the rest of the day.

Well, back to the coffee, then to get ready for work...

I Ran How Far?

Us, Lance, and our GIANT MEDALS

26.2 miles.  TWENTY-SIX POINT TWO MILES.  The enormity of what I did, set out to do, accomplished still overwhelms me.  Even as I sit here, mostly recovered from my exhaustion and extreme pain, I still find it hard to believe that I ran TWENTY SIX* miles.

 I had emerged that morning from slumber before my alarm with the creeping anxiety that I had forgotten to set the alarm for the appropriate time, feeling the squeeze of nervous energy in my stomach.  I was in that period of wakefulness where you know you should get up and check the alarm (or get another blanket or pee or get a drink of water), yet just can't muster the ambition to get out of bed.

I finally sighed and stood up, realizing that it was just a few moments before my alarm, and that I had in fact set it properly, so I laid back down until it chimed.  I leapt up, grabbing my clothes and drinking water immediately--I knew I needed to hydrate my sleep thirsty body as quickly as I could.  I poked Lance, my driver and support crew, to wake him up to get ready.  My nerves calmed somewhat as I ate, packed up my gels, pinned on my racebib, and got into the car to head downtown to the Little Rock Rivermarket, where the race would begin.

It was a lovely March day, clear and chilly, a day where the sky is perfect cerulean without a cloud in sight.  I had on a long-sleeved shirt and L's brown fleece to warm my chilled body.  I searched for my friends that I had trained with all winter, finally abandoning L with his fleece to go find them.  I managed to fight through the crowd to stand next to them.  Suddenly, being beside the two women I had trained with, run the longest long runs, who had commiserated with me over injuries and weariness, I found myself calm and eager.  This was just like another training run, right?

Lance taking my photo while riding

We took off, and I felt good.  The plan was to hang back with the 4:10 pace group, then take off to hit the goal of 4 hours.  The runners were thick; weaving through the crowds was difficult for the first part.  We ran and chatted and looked out for L on his bike and other spectators that we knew.  My body grew warm as I ran, feeling strong and fast, and I ditched my long-sleeved shirt with a friend's family member.  As we continued for a few miles, I had to force myself to stay slow, but I finally couldn't take it anymore--as we neared the governor's mansion and waved hello to Governor Beebe, I took off, maintaining a good clip for the next twelve miles.

I felt amazing: the weather was beautiful, the spectators cheering me on and calling me out by name.  I had on fun socks (along with my fellow two runners), so I was recognizeable; one spectator saw me a second time and enthusiastically shouted out my name.  I soaked up the energy, the Gatorade, the energy gels, the slices of orange and chunks of banana, and I ran.

I ran.

And ran.

I ran beside an interesting woman named Kari from Tulsa who was running her fifth+ marathon for the joy of it--she had no goal in mind.  I had caught up with her after mile 15 when she snagged a beer from the Michelob guy.  We chatted for the next couple of miles, and she egged me on a bit, commenting about how well I was running for my very first.

L continued to catch up with me. I was cheerful and happy; I begged chapstick and sunscreen from him, and it was nice to break the monotony.  Honestly, though, I was so much in the zone that I barely registered the passing miles--it really wasn't until mile 20 that I started to feel the toll the mileage was taking on my body.  But even then, I ran strong, reducing my total average pace from 9:24 to 9:06 by that point.  Around mile 22, I spotted the ladies on the other side of the long out-and-back section, I screamed at them and they screamed at me, cheering me on, and I got an extra burst of energy.

When I hit mile 24, I was growing tired.  L was beside me for the most part, encouraging me.  I was tired and ready to be finished but still running strong.  Just before the finish, I had to tell him that I needed to be in my own head for the last quarter mile, but his presence was indispensable throughout the race.  He was sweet enough to be support crew to my two friends who were a bit behind me, biking back and forth to encourage them.

Finally, the finish line loomed.  I picked up my pace, finishing strong, punching my watch. It read 4:00--but was that my finishing time? I found myself suddenly unable to walk properly where I had just been running a moment before.  They handed me the massive finishers medal in all it's shiny, massive glory, but my mind was too fogged to fully appreciate it yet.

Shortly, however, it clicked.  I went and got my results--4:00:28! I had really hit my A goal! I could hardly believe it!  I found my friends and L and we relaxed, took photos, and drank chocolate milk and ate snacks and shared our experiences.  I was euphoric and eager to run another marathon.

I had heard that a marathon can be a life-changing experience, and for me, in that instant, it was.  I finished the project to completion.  I ran hard and fast and LOVED it.  I'm eager to run some shorter distances and not have to train so long and hard, but it was all worth it.  And now I can check that off the list.


But even today, I still find it a little surreal.  Did I really run that far?  And kick ass while doing it?  I certainly have the medal and sore muscles to prove it.

*All caps VERY necessary.

Knowing When to Stop

A couple of weeks ago, I ran out the door to take advantage of the lovely day and get a 5 mile run in.  Everything felt great...at first.  My Achilles tendons have been feeling a little sore, so I didn't think much about it when my leg started twinging a little.

But then it started aching a lot.  I kept stopping to stretch, which helped temporarily, but by the time I got to my 2.5 mile turnaround, it was hurting. I got home and tried to roll it, which was pretty agonizing. After a bit of research, I found that I may have strained/torn my calf muscle.

Despite being in the middle of marathon training, I decided to just rest until it felt better. This is wise; everything I read said that a little rehab is better than continuing to run on it. So I got an ace bandage, some compression socks, and when it felt better, did a few short runs.

And, all better.  Part of the delight of this training is that I'm learning to listen to my body more, to trust that it'll tell me when something is wrong or when it needs something.  And it needed a little break.

A little over a week until marathon-time--I'm excited and scared all at the same time.  We ran our 22 a few weeks ago, now it's been taper time.  I've been working on my nutrition (listening to my body again!), so I have a lot of energy and feel good.  Almost there!