On Thursday night, I went to the "meet and greet" for my mentor program with Open Books. It's probably not cool to mention the name of my student, so I won't. But the name of the high school affiliated with our VWrite program is probably public knowledge, so it can't hurt to mention it. It's Gage Park High School. The scene of two shootings in a two week time period. Some thoughts about my experience there:
1) I was a bit apprehensive about going into such a "danger zone." Then I realized that I was there for all of two hours, walking a scant distance between teacher parking lot and school door. The student that I'm mentoring walks 15 minutes in that same "danger zone" two times a day, to school and home. EVERY day. Wow.
2) My student is quite a fashionista. And I'm already proud of that.
3) My student is really, really into basketball. I know almost nothing about it. Gonna have to educate myself in this area to faciliate our communications and to try to form a bond. So who is really "mentoring" who?
4) When I was 16, I was primarily interested in walking the halls of Bishop Carroll, forever on the lookout for the boy (or male teacher) who was my crush for the week. College? Yeah, I had to go, but it seemed so, well, distant. My student has been devoting her free time to looking at college websites since her freshman year of high school. Wow again.
Overall, I'm filled with a sense of optimism and promise. And the realization that I stand to learn as much (or more) from my student than she will from me.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
my friends are really cool people
Sometimes when I can't sleep (often), I try to engage my mind with positive thoughts, rather than incessant clock-watching. Tonight I'm reviewing yesterday's interaction with some of my friends who make my life so rich and varied.
I love blogs and one of the most talented bloggers I know is my friend Aidan. I've known him for years; he's one of my knitting buddies. He's a master of complex lace shawl patterns that are the envy of all of us. Aidan's a foodie who can wax poetic about almost any cuisine and can cook just as many. Like a court jester, his dancing eyes and funny stories-- made even better by his flawless delivery-- make him a joy to be around. Being with Aidan is a laugh a second, guaranteed. He's also responsible for pointing me in the direction of one of the best books I've ever read-- A Prayer for Owen Meany. If Aidan suggests it, there's an excellent chance that I'll read it.
Nick shares my love of running. He's about a million feet tall with a gangling gait and a smile as wide as Lake Michigan. Although he's a gifted runner, he's never arrogant about it and is always ready with a word of encouragement and support for his less than talented co-athletes-- namely, me. Like Aidan, one of Nick's biggest gifts is his sense of humor and his boundless creativity. Lately he's been filming a multi-episode parody of Transformers 3 featuring a styrofoam robot and other office supply "weapons" he crafted in his office. It's just hilarious-- I watch it over and over. He also is a talented photographer, mostly of Chicago scenes he captures while out on his bike.
Veronica is a person that I can (and do) talk endlessly with. Our phone conversations can be measured in hours, not minutes. She shares my love of reading and I can always count on her to keep me updated on what's going on in the world of celebrity and reality television. I so admire her sense of adventure and her willingless to be open to new experiences. She's a genuine friend with a positive attitude and a flair for the dramatic. Wise beyond her years. I've leaned on her more times than I can count.
With that, I think I'll head back to bed and see if I can finally catch some sleep.
I love blogs and one of the most talented bloggers I know is my friend Aidan. I've known him for years; he's one of my knitting buddies. He's a master of complex lace shawl patterns that are the envy of all of us. Aidan's a foodie who can wax poetic about almost any cuisine and can cook just as many. Like a court jester, his dancing eyes and funny stories-- made even better by his flawless delivery-- make him a joy to be around. Being with Aidan is a laugh a second, guaranteed. He's also responsible for pointing me in the direction of one of the best books I've ever read-- A Prayer for Owen Meany. If Aidan suggests it, there's an excellent chance that I'll read it.
Nick shares my love of running. He's about a million feet tall with a gangling gait and a smile as wide as Lake Michigan. Although he's a gifted runner, he's never arrogant about it and is always ready with a word of encouragement and support for his less than talented co-athletes-- namely, me. Like Aidan, one of Nick's biggest gifts is his sense of humor and his boundless creativity. Lately he's been filming a multi-episode parody of Transformers 3 featuring a styrofoam robot and other office supply "weapons" he crafted in his office. It's just hilarious-- I watch it over and over. He also is a talented photographer, mostly of Chicago scenes he captures while out on his bike.
Veronica is a person that I can (and do) talk endlessly with. Our phone conversations can be measured in hours, not minutes. She shares my love of reading and I can always count on her to keep me updated on what's going on in the world of celebrity and reality television. I so admire her sense of adventure and her willingless to be open to new experiences. She's a genuine friend with a positive attitude and a flair for the dramatic. Wise beyond her years. I've leaned on her more times than I can count.
With that, I think I'll head back to bed and see if I can finally catch some sleep.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
what Wednesday afternoon looks like
I'm sprawled on the couch in the living room. Muted summer sunshine is dancing through the slats in the vertical blinds. There's an insectile hum coming from the backyard along with the distant sounds of the neighbors talking in Punjabi. Jessica sits on my lap, her furry cat-chin nuzzled against my bare thigh. Lunch was a bologna sandwich with muenster cheese, pickles and golden mustard. A sweating can of crisp diet pepsi sipped through a straw. I'm reading the last few pages of Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster-- I'm discussion leader at book club later this month and I want the story fresh in my mind.
I miss my job. I miss the rhythmic click-click of computer keys as I run a SQL query. I miss inane elevator conversation. I miss wearing perfume every day and losing my key card several times a week. I miss the security of a paycheck and the anticipatory buzz one gets from a trip to Nordstrom.
After I finish reading, I'm going to fold laundry while tuning into CNN for background noise. I'll gather up the beach towels and decide which bikini to wear to Great America tomorrow. After my food settles, I'll pound out a 5-mile run, using "10-10-10" as my mantra. I'll go downstairs and make some greeting cards while listening to cheesy 80's music. Later tonight, I'll watch the intellectually devoid yet oddly captivating offerings on Bravo-- Top Chef and Work of Art. I'll call my mom to see if her summer cold is better. I'll paint my toenails-- probably orange.
When you don't have the routine of a 9-5 job, you find other ways to compile a to-do list, and more importantly, to act upon it. The pressures of deadlines and impatient bosses are replaced by the persistence of your own thoughts. It's easy to feel irrelevant.
But when I look across the room and see the family pictures on the entertainment center, hear the cat purr while twitching her ears, feel the easy comfort of the pillow against my back, I realize that my days can be satisfying in their simplicity. Without new earrings. Without the phone ringing constantly. Without overpriced lunches in the Loop. Although seemingly elusive, hope and possibility are everywhere. Even in this room with me right now. Living in the moment on this Wednesday afternoon really isn't a terrible place to be.
I miss my job. I miss the rhythmic click-click of computer keys as I run a SQL query. I miss inane elevator conversation. I miss wearing perfume every day and losing my key card several times a week. I miss the security of a paycheck and the anticipatory buzz one gets from a trip to Nordstrom.
After I finish reading, I'm going to fold laundry while tuning into CNN for background noise. I'll gather up the beach towels and decide which bikini to wear to Great America tomorrow. After my food settles, I'll pound out a 5-mile run, using "10-10-10" as my mantra. I'll go downstairs and make some greeting cards while listening to cheesy 80's music. Later tonight, I'll watch the intellectually devoid yet oddly captivating offerings on Bravo-- Top Chef and Work of Art. I'll call my mom to see if her summer cold is better. I'll paint my toenails-- probably orange.
When you don't have the routine of a 9-5 job, you find other ways to compile a to-do list, and more importantly, to act upon it. The pressures of deadlines and impatient bosses are replaced by the persistence of your own thoughts. It's easy to feel irrelevant.
But when I look across the room and see the family pictures on the entertainment center, hear the cat purr while twitching her ears, feel the easy comfort of the pillow against my back, I realize that my days can be satisfying in their simplicity. Without new earrings. Without the phone ringing constantly. Without overpriced lunches in the Loop. Although seemingly elusive, hope and possibility are everywhere. Even in this room with me right now. Living in the moment on this Wednesday afternoon really isn't a terrible place to be.
Monday, August 2, 2010
fear
Why is it that negative experiences often have much more power than positive experiences over our thoughts and memory? I had a bad race yesterday and I'm having a hard time shaking it.
True, I have been having foot issues lately that have impacted my training. But I successfully completed my last long run and had a new PR in my last 5K. I had every reason to feel positive going into the Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon.
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. for the race and felt queasy. That's normal for me. I'm a worrier and I haven't run a half marathon in two years. I get sick to my stomach before every race, even 5Ks. Once I toe the line I'm okay. Not this time. Since it was a large race (over 25,000 runners, I believe), it was a wave start and I didn't cross the line for a long while. I dutifully hit the button on my Garmin to time myself. A new PR is always a goal and despite my bad feelings, I was going to try for it.
The first couple of miles were uneventful. But almost right away I noticed that the Garmin wasn't cooperating. I haven't used it in a while so I had forgotten that for some reason (I think a pace setting), it sometimes pauses . Plus, running through underground tunnels messes up the signal. Time matters-- keeping track of my pace gives me a sense of motivation and a barometer of my performance. Without an accurate gauge I was feeling lost.
The stomach discomfort was not going away. The humidity was building. I felt very off. I left my iPod at home because I wanted to take in the bands stationed along the course. But the music was too short-lived and the tunes in my head were dirges. I felt a little spark of energy around mile 4 when we passed Old St. Pat's and saw the Irish dancers. But by mile 5 my despair returned. John yelled to me from the crowd on Michigan Avenue by the lions at The Art Institute. I knew I did not look good. In addition to the nausea, fatigue, humidity and low morale, my left foot-- my good foot-- was starting to cramp up. At this time I slowed to almost a stop and seriously considered bailing on the race. Walking off the course. Quitting. I honestly don't know why I didn't.
I told myself "just make it to the halfway point"-- so I kept going. Miles 6-9 felt a little bit better. I was walking a lot, but when I ran, I felt like my pace was steady and true. I passed people who were seeded before me. My faulty Garmin told me that I was doing okay. I knew it was wrong, but I thought maybe-- just maybe-- my running intervals were fast enough and that I was "borrowing" time. Just shortly after mile 9, I overheard other runners complaining of nausea and I saw a gal passed out on the side of the course. That made my own feelings of illness once again bubble to the surface.
I walked even more, thinking I'd run the last mile. But by the time I got to the last mile, I was so miserable that I just didn't care. I half-heartedly jogged the last quarter of a mile or so. I felt no sense of accomplishment when I crossed the finish line, only relief that it was over. When I saw John and Teresa just past the finish line, I could tell by the look of horror on Teresa's face that she could readily see my distress. I grabbed my medal with an overwhelming thought of "I have to get out of here." I was starting to panic a bit. I was overheated, dizzy, weak. All I could think about was my ambulance trip for irregular heartbeat a few years ago and I was very fearful that history was repeating itself.
John and Teresa helped me to the car. I carry potassium with me just in case so I took it. I was getting better a little bit at a time so I swallowed my apprehension, walked slowly and we made it home. I tried to eat something knowing that my electrolytes were out of balance but I couldn't choke it down. So I went to bed and stayed there for the rest of the day. Disappointment, meet sickness.
Later in the afternoon I went online and looked up my time, expecting a bad result. I came in at 2:46:53. About 6 minutes slower than the PR I wanted so badly to break. Thirty seconds or so per mile. Considering how much I walked, it meant that my actual running speed was pretty decent. Small comfort though.
I called my mom and she said, "that's great-- I'm so very proud of you." Dear mom. Teresa has been incessant with her encouragement, concern and kindness. I rested and recuperated today. I need to get back out there tomorrow and run 5 miles. I admit that I'm afraid. But giving into that fear means giving up something I love to do. And that's even scarier.
True, I have been having foot issues lately that have impacted my training. But I successfully completed my last long run and had a new PR in my last 5K. I had every reason to feel positive going into the Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon.
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. for the race and felt queasy. That's normal for me. I'm a worrier and I haven't run a half marathon in two years. I get sick to my stomach before every race, even 5Ks. Once I toe the line I'm okay. Not this time. Since it was a large race (over 25,000 runners, I believe), it was a wave start and I didn't cross the line for a long while. I dutifully hit the button on my Garmin to time myself. A new PR is always a goal and despite my bad feelings, I was going to try for it.
The first couple of miles were uneventful. But almost right away I noticed that the Garmin wasn't cooperating. I haven't used it in a while so I had forgotten that for some reason (I think a pace setting), it sometimes pauses . Plus, running through underground tunnels messes up the signal. Time matters-- keeping track of my pace gives me a sense of motivation and a barometer of my performance. Without an accurate gauge I was feeling lost.
The stomach discomfort was not going away. The humidity was building. I felt very off. I left my iPod at home because I wanted to take in the bands stationed along the course. But the music was too short-lived and the tunes in my head were dirges. I felt a little spark of energy around mile 4 when we passed Old St. Pat's and saw the Irish dancers. But by mile 5 my despair returned. John yelled to me from the crowd on Michigan Avenue by the lions at The Art Institute. I knew I did not look good. In addition to the nausea, fatigue, humidity and low morale, my left foot-- my good foot-- was starting to cramp up. At this time I slowed to almost a stop and seriously considered bailing on the race. Walking off the course. Quitting. I honestly don't know why I didn't.
I told myself "just make it to the halfway point"-- so I kept going. Miles 6-9 felt a little bit better. I was walking a lot, but when I ran, I felt like my pace was steady and true. I passed people who were seeded before me. My faulty Garmin told me that I was doing okay. I knew it was wrong, but I thought maybe-- just maybe-- my running intervals were fast enough and that I was "borrowing" time. Just shortly after mile 9, I overheard other runners complaining of nausea and I saw a gal passed out on the side of the course. That made my own feelings of illness once again bubble to the surface.
I walked even more, thinking I'd run the last mile. But by the time I got to the last mile, I was so miserable that I just didn't care. I half-heartedly jogged the last quarter of a mile or so. I felt no sense of accomplishment when I crossed the finish line, only relief that it was over. When I saw John and Teresa just past the finish line, I could tell by the look of horror on Teresa's face that she could readily see my distress. I grabbed my medal with an overwhelming thought of "I have to get out of here." I was starting to panic a bit. I was overheated, dizzy, weak. All I could think about was my ambulance trip for irregular heartbeat a few years ago and I was very fearful that history was repeating itself.
John and Teresa helped me to the car. I carry potassium with me just in case so I took it. I was getting better a little bit at a time so I swallowed my apprehension, walked slowly and we made it home. I tried to eat something knowing that my electrolytes were out of balance but I couldn't choke it down. So I went to bed and stayed there for the rest of the day. Disappointment, meet sickness.
Later in the afternoon I went online and looked up my time, expecting a bad result. I came in at 2:46:53. About 6 minutes slower than the PR I wanted so badly to break. Thirty seconds or so per mile. Considering how much I walked, it meant that my actual running speed was pretty decent. Small comfort though.
I called my mom and she said, "that's great-- I'm so very proud of you." Dear mom. Teresa has been incessant with her encouragement, concern and kindness. I rested and recuperated today. I need to get back out there tomorrow and run 5 miles. I admit that I'm afraid. But giving into that fear means giving up something I love to do. And that's even scarier.
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