Glowing the Distance

Ran a PB and finished 2^nd in a 5k on Saturday…just sayin’.

So, it was a fun run and not officially timed, it was actually only about 2.7 miles, and half of the participants were under 10 years old, but still. Second. Place. Overall. (First place for women, if you are keeping score). But seriously, and more importantly, I ran 11 minute miles. This is far and away my best time. And the course was hilly. And I got to wear glow sticks. All in all a pretty successful Saturday night. Did I mention I celebrated with some of my favorite people and some pumpkin beer? I sure did. 

Not Another Fitness Blog

Well…

I am not much of a blogger that is for sure. 2011, DeeDee, really? Oh well.

Some stuff has changed: I have decided I would sooner run naked through Time Square while shouting “Trump 2016” then teach in the public school system. So much for my foray into education. Instead, I found myself a nice, comfortable rut to work into: full time college bookstore maven. The hours are good, the work varies enough that I am not totally bored to tears, and there is a good deal of flexibility. It cost me $10,000 in student loans to get the job, but here I am.

Also, I started running. The start of the job and the start of the running happened about three years apart, but that pretty much sums up everything since my last post. Just kidding. But all that stuff will wait.

And yes, I can hear your groan…the collective, “shit, not another fitness blog.” But I don’t care. Because I do what I want. Also, because I like running and that is what I feel like talking about. Also also, because I have a tendency for petulance. Also also also, you get the idea.

So, running, am I right? No, I am not right. I am convinced I have completely lost my mind. I always played sports: soccer, basketball, softball, rugby, kayaking, and whatever else I could convince a few other people to play. But I always hated running. And then at some point—probably between turning 30 and getting married—I just kind of stopped sports and physical activity almost altogether. I got caught up in life. Having a fantastic time with my wife, constantly working on the house to keep it from falling down around our ears, and a million other things all became more important.

And there is nothing wrong with that. I feel no guilt that I would rather hang out with my wife than do just about anything else. In fact, I feel totally lucky, spoiled, blessed—however you view the world, whatever you want to call it—that I married the one person on Earth who I always want to be around. No, I do not want to spend an hour after work exercising…I would much rather go home.

Unfortunately, I have neither the self-restraint nor the metabolism to maintain a really sedentary lifestyle. Also, we went from sharing a car when I was taking classes (because I had a lot of free time and could walk everywhere) to having two cars (and my having a full-time job that requires me to sit in front of a computer for about 37 hours a week). Surprise, surprise, I gained a lot of weight. And huffed and puffed when I walked up stairs. And didn’t like the way my clothes fit. And and and. But this is not a blog about my years of struggling with weight and body image…at least not mostly.

Then in June something changed. Many things changed, or happened. The stars aligned; a friend who was also out of shape started running with a running group; I realized that by the end of the month I would be closer to 40 than I was to 30; the weather was especially good; I bought a pair of sneakers; I came across a couch to 5k running app… Like I said, many things. I started thinking about getting in shape. Maybe I would start walking or jogging just a little. My upcoming 36^th birthday was casting a long shadow. And I know that 35 is not old. That 36 is not old. I get that. But I also know that each year it was easier to gain weight and harder to walk up the stairs. I know that genetics are against me. I know that I married the love of my life and want to have a long life, indeed.

So I started. Slowly. So goddamn slowly. Just 60 seconds of jogging alternated with 90 seconds of walking. And it was hard. I played three sports in high school, two in college, won a state championship, got voted player of the  year, all of that, and I could not jog for 60 seconds. Seriously. Seriously? Being 35 and just more than a half sucked. I wasn’t bullet proof anymore, even though that is still how I saw myself. I was literally the “attractive running woman/derpy fleshy bassett hound running” meme.

But I kept going. And it hurt. It hurt so badly after two weeks that I couldn’t walk properly. So I had to stop. I cried—I finally had gotten the courage to start and I couldn’t keep on going…this was it, I was never going to get my nerve up again. But as soon as I felt better, I started again. Even slower than the last time. I started stretching. I took walks on my 10 minute breaks. I took walks on my lunch breaks. And, GASP, I even started to eat just a tiny bit better. A little less sugar. I would skip dessert once or twice a week. I tried not to have seconds of dinner. Tiny changes.

And tiny changes somehow combined and through the magic of synergy—or some other bullshit buzzword—became bigger changes. I lost a little weight, running got a little easier, and then I was just a little more motivated to eat better. I started running more, so I needed better nutrition, so I ate a little healthier still, and I lost some more weight.

I said that 35 and just more than a half sucked. But 35 and staring down the barrel of 36 (just over six weeks away if you are counting at home) is pretty f#@*ing great. I have lost 36 pounds (seems fitting, all of a sudden, as I write this), I run about 3 miles three to four times a week, I am participating in my second 5k this weekend, and I am already planning my winter training and my first 10k for the spring. I feel better than I have in ten years.

          I said I never liked running. And here is what sucked about it when I was younger: too much time alone with my thoughts. But that is another great thing about passing the halfway mark of your 30s…I don’t mind being alone inside my head anymore. I listen to podcasts and think about the stories they tell. And sometimes I drift off and think about small, mundane things like what I have to do that day. Other times I go outside at 6:00 in the morning and am so stunned by the beauty of the still-dark sky that I get thinking about the enormity of the universe—you know, big things.

          Anyway, it’s good. And maybe you should try it some time. And I know, I know, you hate running. But what I mean is, be good to yourself. Carve out an hour a few times a week to take good care of yourself. You might just be surprised how that starts to leak into the rest of your life.

Me and my first bib :)

 

 

4 MILES!!!

"The Escape Box" or "The Loot Hole"

            Beautiful Lady Friend (BLF): “No, we cannot have an escape box.”

           

Me: “Listen, It’s not that extreme…safety first, you always say. Just some cash, passports, and disguises. You know—the glasses with the fuzzy eyebrows and the noses attached? I think those will do.”

           

BLF: “I just don’t think humoring you is the right move in this situation.”

As I am wont to do, I have become a bit obsessed with an idea. You might call it preparation…or paranoia. After a recent trip to Ikea, my BLF and I were discussing the declining state of American politics, culture, whatever, when she jokingly (I presume) suggested that if things got any worse, we should have a contingency plan. Maybe we could move to Sweden—they are gay friendly and they make stylish, assemble-at-home furniture. Shockingly, I have decided this is the best idea ever, and I am now engaged in constantly assailing my BLF with a stream of suggestions for our possible escape.

            Me: “Okay, so maybe not the glasses, but I do think it’s prudent to have cash and passports available in case we need to make a quick getaway. We should have some of our assets liquid.”

            BLF: “I am not keeping a wad of cash under the mattress…or buried in the backyard, for that matter.”

Now, I am not saying that the U.S. will become a police state and that all manner of minorities will be terrorized from coast to coast. But I did see V for Vendetta, and it scared the hell out of me. No matter what you call it—the tipping point, a slippery slope, the domino effect, or a crossroads—I am convinced we are at a critical point in our cultural evolution and something is going to change. For better or for worse…both, I guess, depending on your perspective. This is the simple point I was trying to convey.

Me: “Seriously, you need to be prepared to sign over the deed to the house to your parents so they can sell it and send us the money when we are on the lam.”

BLF (simultaneously shaking her head, rolling her eyes, and sighing—it’s a wonder she didn’t pull something): “I have to go to work.”

            I digress. This isn’t about my opinions on the future of politics and cultural change; this is about having an exit strategy.

            I have started researching gay friendly countries that could serve as potential havens should the shit hit the fan in the good old U.S. of A. So Sweden, for the record, although relatively nice to us homos, has a wacky distribution of daylight. Did you know that in Stockholm (the capital) they only have six hours of daylight in December and a whopping 18 in June? I have a hard enough time slogging through December in Upstate New York (about nine hours of daylight at its shortest point), so this fact has disqualified Sweden. For your information—and in the interest of not completely bashing our Swedish friends—relative to its latitude, Sweden has a fairly temperate climate.

            Later that day, in my BLF’s office, while she attempts to get some work done…

            Me: “What do you think about Belgium or The Netherlands?”

            BLF: “Uh-huh.”

            Me: “I really think we should reconsider Canada. Toronto is fairly close, very gay friendly, and just generally seems pretty cool.”

            BLF: “Yup.”

           Me: “The Netherlands would be neat though…those relaxed attitudes toward drugs…I could think of worse places. Oh, and Belgium—think of the chocolate! What do you think?”

            BLF: “Right.”

            By this point it has become clear to me that BLF is not paying any attention to me at all. Being the kind of girl I am, this only encourages me.

            Me: “Blah, blah, blah…blah, blah-d-d-blah blah. Blah?”

            BLF: sigh

            Me: “Yack, yack-yack, yackity-yack…don’t talk back.”

            BLF: eye roll

            Me (asking a question I already know the answer to): “BLF!?! Are you even listening to me?”

            BLF: head shake

            Clearly not. But don’t worry, I am not one to be discouraged. I have collected dossiers of census, climate, language, immigration, and cultural information on a five countries that I have identified as possible candidates to which to defect. I have written an extensive plan for liquidating a certain percentage of our assets each month, dug a hole in the backyard, and drawn a treasure map for finding the “loot hole.”  And yes, I refer to it as a loot hole. It is not as funny as when I called the cooking pit at our friends’ annual bonfire a “meat hole,” but it will do. I have also set about creating false bottoms in drawers and making space in the freezer for some of our cash.

            I have also started researching security systems because I am afraid of being robbed with all of this cash around. I also brought home a Doberman the other day—much to BLF and the cat’s chagrin. He has a lovely spiked collar and thinks it’s great to growl and bare his teeth. I keep him chained to the front porch. Did I mention the “Beware of Dog” signs I put up as well?

            BLF has talked to me about some of these expenses and is particularly concerned with my revised recycled aluminum foil budget. Apparently 10 roils of foil a week seems excessive. She also seems worried that I have been playing our vinyl backwards and transcribing what I hear. I explained that it was important to stay informed, but she just shook her head and went into the other room.

            Okay, so remember when BLF said, “I just don’t think humoring you is the right move in this situation.”? She was right, and she did NOT humor me. So pretty much everything after that point is a lie…well, an imagining of an alternate ending had my BLF encouraged my kooky whims rather than rolling her eyes and laughing. So, I guess if you think about it, this is all about her—thanks babe, for keeping me from getting carried away.

           

That's a lot of cheddar, yo.

Forbes puts out an annual 400 richest Americans list. To get on the list, you have to be worth at least $1.4 billion. For 2010, the collective net worth of these 400 people was $1.54 trillion. Of these people, many are hedge fund managers, others have made their money with oil companies, technology, and commerce. People associated with Enron, Wal-Mart, and various casinos made the list, among others (check out this Forbes link for the full scoop: Forbes.com.) To give you an idea of just how much $1.54 trillion is, consider the following:

·         Roughly the amount of Canada, Russia, and India’s GDP

·         The GDP of the U.S. is roughly $14 trillion…

o   $1.54 trillion is 9% of the U.S. GDP

o   400 people account for .000001299% of the U.S. population

·         Roughly the same amount of the U.S. budget deficit

To add some additional perspective, check out this YouTube video or visit the website link. Keep in mind that these images represent $1 trillion…to picture $1.5 trillion, you need to increase it by 50%.

$1 Trillion Visualized 

Here is one last visual representation of $1 trillion in $1 bills:

$1 Trillion Slideshow

Now, let’s talk about Bush-era tax cuts. Essentially, these cuts provided some tax relief for families making a quarter of a million dollars or more annually. Their intention was to make the economy more business-friendly and spur the economic growth. This description, of course, is a gross oversimplification, but you get the point. Did these cuts actually spur the economy and will reversing these temporary cuts damage the economy? Those are the questions. Unfortunately, the rhetoric surrounding the repeal of these cuts is not really about the financial stability of the country, but rather the claimthat $250,000 a year is NOT a lot of money. So, let’s discuss what it means to make $250,000 a year. First, the federal poverty line (for a family of four) is $22,350. So, someone making a quarter of a million dollars is making more than 10 times the amount of a family living at the poverty line. $250,000 divides out to a staggering $120 an hour, while the poverty line equals about $10.75 an hour. The median household income is about $50,000—only 20% of the $250,000 paycheck. Even when compared to median incomes in high-earning states, $250,000 is still a lot of cheddar, yo. (DC-$83,200; San Francisco-$73,851; Boston-$68,142; New York City-$61,554).

You get the idea…in my humble opinion, $250,000 is a lot of damn money. Now it is true that I may not be able to own a fleet of Rolls-Royces, charter private jets, and hold catered parties with Dom Perignon and Almas caviar for 300 of my closest friends on that salary, but I think I would be okay. A home, a couple of cars, family vacations, and shopping would all be well within reason.

“So what’s your point?” you might ask.

“Are teachers overpaid?” I might respond.

My point is that in all of this rhetoric surrounding education—specifically that teachers are overpaid and underworked babysitters—I believe that teachers are paid barely adequately for what they do. I also believe that as politicians and pundits continue to muddy the waters with false, unsubstantiated, and hypocritical claims against educators we, as a country, will be drawn even farther from the heart of the debate: what is good for children?

Please take a few moments to watch the following:

Jon Stweart and the Angry Curds

If you are taking the time to read my blog, I will assume you are with me. Otherwise, I will be waiting for your angry comments :) The very important discourse of education, like so many discussions in our country, is being obfuscated by ridiculous and grotesque claims and arguments that totally miss the point. And to be very clear:

THE POINT IS WHAT IS BEST FOR OUR CHILDREN (i.e. the future).

Cutting arts programs, athletics, extracurricular activities, and teacher’s aids and increasing class sizes, testing, and teacher stress levels is not conducive to good learning. I could bore you with links to all sorts of academic articles to this effect, but I will refrain. If you are interested you can go to Google Scholar and search any of the above key terms and find multitudes of information supporting my claim.

I want our kids to be engaged, thoughtful, critical thinkers. I want them to understand complex concepts and care about learning. I want them to be creative and active human beings. I assume that many people out there share this view. So I am forced to ask, how do we get kids to this level? Does rote memorization, the pressure of constant standardized testing (which is racist and classist, by the way, but that’s another blog), and a complete lack of resources help our kids get there?

NO.

So when you are listening to the radio or watching a news broadcast, think about these things. Think about how you want your kids to turn out or other people’s kids to turn out. Think of the world you want to live in as you grow older and the world you want your kids to grow older in. Let these factors inform you understanding of educational policies--not the rhetoric of greed and politics.

If you are interested in more information and opinions on this topic, please click the link below. I assure you it will be far more stimulating and better written than my invective.

Our Public Schools Are Turning Out Drones For The Coporate State

The End. Kinda...

Since I have done so much ranting, I thought I would leave you with some good thoughts. Below are some pictures of our garden. Daffodils are blooming, the grass is greening up, and the sun is shining. Despite the frustrating and scary times we live in I am keeping a smile on my face.