I've been back behind the wheel again for a few months. My life as a potter was put on hold during graduate school when time, money and creative energy were sapped dry. I missed many things about pottery during that period but I had forgot about one of my favorite: the tings of a newly fired pot.
Moving forward
I ran a half marathon today.
No. Really. I am saying that with a straight face. I ran 13.1 miles in the Nationwide Better Health Columbus Marathon. Ran the whole damn thing. A bit slower than I had planned and slower than I trained to do, but I did it. And, I can not pretend that I am not proud of myself.
I had initially planned on running the Columbus Distance Classic last May. However, late last autumn I ended up straining my soleus muscle which took me out of training and out of running for a solid 12 weeks. My injury last fall was due in part to overtraining. I was trying to increase speed and distance simultaneously ignoring the fact that I was still physiologically a novice runner.
My plan to avoid injury for this race was to join Marathoners in Training. I decided this would keep me on track for a gradual distance increase as well as provide me with motivation for the long group runs on the weekends. However, they did not hold a session for this race, so I was on my own. This was a scary prospect. I have very little self-discipline. Very little.
I managed pretty well. I spent 3 months staying in on Friday nights so I could do my long runs on Saturday mornings. The initial long runs of only 4 and 5 miles were actually the worst. This was largely due to me not getting out the door in time to avoid blazing sun and humidity. I had almost two weeks off mid-training while I was on vacation (minus the Loco Moose 5k in Concord, NH I coerced my husband into running on our anniversary) and returned in time to face "real" long runs. The first was supposed to be 7 miles, but I did 8.5 simply because I could. The next was 10 miles and it was almost easy. Both of these runs were actually almost enjoyable. But more importantly, I found the long runs gave me some previously unknown confidence in my ability.
You see, part of all of this half marathon business was a kind of personal confrontation with my body. All of my life, I have relied on my mental and emotional abilities. I can generally work out any problem and face any predicament with ease. I'm moderately intelligent, quick-witted, and relatively calm in temperament. But, physically strong and athletically inclined are words that have never been used to describe me. And, I have some hang ups.
The President's Physical Fitness tests in grade school gym permanently scarred me. I could do the flexibility tests and sit-ups just fine. Shuttle run? Forget it. Every year, I stood and looked at the stars next to the names of my classmates on the poster board hanging on the gymnasium wall. My name had no star. Needless to say, I was never picked first for any team. It does not help matters that I have absolutely zero competitive drive. I tried volleyball in junior high but quickly realized that I was not fit for team sports. First of all, there was running. Second, I simply did not care if we won or lost and I really didn't even enjoy playing the game. When our team lost the end of season tournament, I remember shedding tears just like the rest of my teammates. However, my tears were not for the loss of the match, but rather feelings of being an outcast.
And so, I have spent my adult life shunning organized sports and most athletic activities in general. Running, however, has become something of an unexpected thrill. I actually started crying the first time I ran more than 4 miles without stopping. It kind of came out of nowhere. My eyes just started welling up. I thought it was maybe just the runner's high I had heard about. But, it has happened a few times since. It doesn't necessarily hit me just because I hit a milestone like a faster 5k or a longer distance. In fact, most of the times it has happened has been on a standard kind of run but each time the same thought suddenly enters my head: "I'm a runner." This kind of pride does not happen when I see Ph.D. next to my name nor when I receive a thank you note from a former student who I had an impact on in some way. The latter things are nice, but for some reason, becoming a runner is some kind of personal achievement more fulfilling than I can explain.
I was actually feeling pretty confident about the race until Friday. I woke up with a slight tickle in my throat which I just chalked up as the remnants of a cold. But, by late afternoon my chest was burning and my lungs rattled with phlegm. Taking in a full breath was not easy. I started eating guaifenesin like mints. My chest was still tight on Saturday and I felt like I was at only 60% of myself. I started to worry that I simply would not be able to run. The months of training would be all for not. Nonetheless, I ate my pasta carbonara and drank my water and set out my running pants and shoes for the next morning. I decided around 10 p.m. to attempt sleep. At 11, I tried reading. At midnight, I tried watching TV. At 2:30 a.m., I went through the alphabet trying to come up with running related words: athlete, bib number, course map, d-chip, elevation, fartlek, garmin, Hal Higdon, etc. At 4 I realized I was not going to sleep.
I finally crawled out of bed at 5:45 to stretch and take in my planned pre-race breakfast of peanut butter toast and a banana. By this point, the lack of sleep and my nerves made swallowing nearly impossible. I choked down half of the banana and a few bites of the toast before I woke up Dano at 6:45 to take me downtown. I started to feel queasy and could not decide if it was nerves or the chest cold or both. At one point I told Dano I was going to puke. But, alas, I jumped out of the car and headed to face my fate.
Something shifted in me as soon as I started walking towards the crowd of people waiting to start. I still felt lousy, was exhausted, and unable to take in full breaths without coughing. But, suddenly I trusted that my body would perform. Maybe not to the same level that I had trained for, but I knew I could at least go the distance. My whole perspective lifted and I reminded myself how prepared I was. I had trained well. I could DO this. In fact, I WAS doing this. I turned on my iPod to deter any remaining remnants of doubt.
Did I mention it was 33 degrees? Being surrounded by 14,000+ people kept me moderately warm waiting for the race to start, but it was great to start moving. The first mile is largely a blur. I weaved through some slower runners and tried to find an open area to pace myself. I was really afraid of starting out too fast, especially since I knew I was tired, drained, and still fighting a cold. I finally settled into a comfortable pace and started paying attention to all that was going on around me...like the back of the t-shirt on the woman in front of me that read, "This seemed like a good idea 16 weeks ago" and the man who buzzed by me with a cancer survivor hat. And the people! Oh! My! God! I knew that the Columbus community did a great job rallying around the marathon, but WOW! Even in the first few miles when I did not really need support I wanted to hug everyone flanking the streets for standing outside in upper 30 degree weather. There were way more people than I had imagined which struck me as hilarious when I remembered that when I first started running only two years ago I would only run on side streets where I thought there would be fewer people seeing me flounder about. But now, there I was running in the middle of the road with hundreds of eyes on me...and it didn't bother me one bit.
About half way through mile 5 I realized just how exhausted my body really was. My last few long runs had been relatively easy. In fact, they became easier after mile 5 when my muscles had loosened and I had found my rhythm. But, today my muscles seemed to be wholly inelastic. I passed the 6 mile marker and checked my iPod seeing that I was a bit slower than I had hoped but not as slow as I felt. Around this time I also developed a pain in the bottom of my left foot which stayed through the next few miles.
As we approached mile 7 the race volunteers passed out Clif Shots. I've never dappled with any of these energy supplements, but I grabbed one today as a precautionary measure. I decided to just take a small taste and if that went well, I'd try another. It wasn't until I opened the package that I realized I had the vanilla flavor. Ugh! I love vanilla...but it was the last flavor I thought would be appealing during a run. I was so wrong. I took a small slurp (Clif Shots are gel, so it isn't really a bite or a sip) and held it in my mouth. It was like a comforting latte. I kicked in some positive thinking at this point reminding myself that I had trained my body to deal with exhaustion and realizing I was beyond the half way point.
Mile 8 was definitely tough as the pain in my foot and my tight muscles were distracting, but I kept talking myself through it. Throughout mile 9 I kept reminding myself that as soon as I hit the 10 mile marker I would be heading into familiar territory. I had run the final leg of the course route during three of my long runs so I knew what to expect. And, sure enough, as soon as I passed that 10 mile marker I felt an excited rush. Mile 11 seemed to pop up immediately and I took the last pull off of the Clif Shot. Two more miles. This was it. Two. More. Miles. Two years ago, I was happy to be able to run two miles without stopping and today I only needed to run two more miles to finish a half marathon.
I realized I was actually passing people even though my hip flexors and iliotibial bands were straining as the last two miles of the course are largely uphill. I started thinking about the number of people who were happy for me, proud of me, and shining positive energy my way. And then it hit me: I am fucking finishing a half marathon!!!!! There is no other way to phrase it (sorry mom). It was that forceful of a acknowledgment. Me. By myself. For no monetary gain for completing, nor risk of consequence for not. I was really doing it. I was going to get a little star next to my name on my own little internal poster board. I started laughing out loud. Seriously.
After that, I honestly don't remember too much. The final quarter of a mile was downhill and flanked with people cheering. As soon as I was able to see the finish line it was my only focus. I gladly accepted a foil blanket and thanked the volunteer who gave me my medal and then headed out of the gates to meet Dano.
Looking back, it really was not that difficult. As with just about everything, it was just a matter of getting out there and doing it. If anything, for me, it was getting over the idea that for some reason I would not be able to do it. Or, that how fast I did it was not good enough. I learned a lot while training and even more while running my first half and now I look forward to the next. I guess that's what happens. I'm a runner.
Take me out to the ballgame...
I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. I went for an awesome 4 mile run and then grabbed my camera to head out to my friends' softball game. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and I managed to get most of the lights green on the way to the softball fields at Whetstone.
Just as I got to the game, this guy wanted me to take his picture. 
Nobody knew who he was or where he came from, but he stood in front of me and pointed to my camera and then to himself and I got the hint. After snapping his photo, he took a peek at it on the viewfinder and wandered off apparently satisfied with my handiwork.
Then, things when downhill.
A fight broke out.
My friend's team lost.
And, THEN, I was clobbered in the back of the noggin by a softball. This resulted in a trip to ER, not being able to visit with friends, and an evening of discomfort and grouchiness.
I've had better Sundays.
Click "ignore"
This is hysterical. I kid you not. Stick with it. Around the 2 minute mark, you'll appreciate it.
The Facebook Song - Kate Miller-Heidke
And, while I am posting songs with profanity I may as well also link you to this hilarious but somewhat racy list of Five Cues Robert Plant is Ready to Have Sexual Intercourse With You.
Tales of a doting wife
As we know from the ever-wise and insightful Maggie, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch. But, let's take a look at my husband's lunch, shall we? Let's do, because I spent a silly amount of time creating the perfect roast beef sandwich on 12-grain wheat and fun fruit spears to offset the despicable Doritos he so loves. 
As I toothpicked the berries and bananas I realized that I do not have nearly enough to do and my husband is quite spoiled. 
You call it
I know it has been more than a month since I've posted. Shame on me. I've started a few posts...one on my recent stint on Phish tour, another about a trip to the gym in which I was treated like a gerbil, and the beginning of an open letter to visitors of my neighborhood. I was boring myself with my drivel so it's up to you now.
I'll write about anything you want, just leave me a comment and I'll provide commentary.
Your deadline: July 1.
More sprockets
I have a few more to scan. Will post with instructions soon.
From Phish Reunion at Hampton Coliseum.
I married the right man
A few months ago Dano and I went to a wedding in Chicago. It was a gorgeous wedding in a beautiful old Catholic church. The reception was fun, the food was good, and we had a chance to catch up with old friends. However, we shared many knowing glances during that evening and sighed comfortably knowing that neither one of us regretted our decision to forgo the pomp and circumstance.
And, although the big hooplah wedding thing is not for me...I do enjoy others' big wedding hooplahs. I especially enjoy them when they include jaw-dropping nuggets of holy cow like this.
It's about time someone tells cute animals what's what
This is precisely the type of thing that makes me grateful for the Internet. I can't wait for him to put Sugar Bush Squirrel in his place.
Got fetish?
Someone found my flickr site via a google search for "free hairy toe pics". I can not help but think that the photo they pulled up was rather disappointing.
More dangerous than a shotgun and a broken heart
I have said in the past that I wanted to my own reality show. Only I would not be actually IN the show, but my friends would be. The viewers would merely observe what I see and hear the conversations I have with my slapdash throng of cronies.
This made me this of that.
Texts from last night.
But, I still contend Sarah Brown's texts are more hilarious.
Things I haven't had time to write about in detail
Our trip to Chicago and the 40 lbs. of cheese consumed there.
Mac and cheeses for Jesus.
My open letter to visitors of the Short North.
My dog, his $2,000 in vet bills and a full write-up of his swallowing disorder.
How the elliptical and strength training have done nothing for my running (or metabolism for that matter).
My pottery class.
How teaching four classes is driving me to the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Skewed ideology
A young gentleman stood next to me at the bus stop this afternoon. He was wearing an American flag shirt and carrying a handwritten sign that read: Stop spending MY money on your socialism. I overheard his conversation with the woman on the other side of him and learned he was headed down to the Statehouse to protest the spending of his tax dollars by the government for programs that were "socialist by definition". The conversation continued on the bus where it was revealed he was a full time student, receiving grants from having served in the Army. I could not help but smirk at the irony of a grant-receiving, public transportation using, self-proclaimed "stringent republican" heading to protest "socialism".
I've pumped my fist in the air.
I attended my first Columbus Blue Jackets game during the fall of 2003. I liked it well enough. There was something pleasant about the sound of the puck hitting the sticks and vice versa. Fighting was permitted and encouraged. And, hockey had something of an exotic allure for this corn-fed Midwestern girl who grew up watching her uncles' high school football games and listening to the Cincinnati Reds on the radio with her dad. I never dreamed the day would come when I would be writing what I am about to write.
A few years after that first game I started hostessing at O'Shaughnessy's Public House across the street from the Blue Jackets' home Nationwide Arena. The pub would overflow with fans before the game and dwindle down during leaving me with little else to do but watch the games while standing at the door. I found myself looking up terms like "power play" and "icing" on wikipedia. The game had piqued my interest.
It was around this time that Dano and I started dating and Jackets games became a regular outing. As an Ohio State student I was able to get $15 tickets which made hitting up a game not much more than seeing a movie and much more exciting for both of us. Somewhere between then and now, I became a full-fledged Blue Jackets fan. There, I admit it.
I should mention here, in case you have never met my husband, he is kind of a sports fanatic. In fact, his fandom of Buckeyes football is so intense that I can only liken it to Rainman's obsession with People's Court. I have pulled up in front of our house able to hear his shouts of dispair directed at a televised Bengals game before I even stepped out of my car. Shouts so loud and so furious that if one did not know my mild-mannered, painfully shy husband he or she would no doubt turn to their closest companion and mutter, "Now, there's a man who beats his wife." I have been forced on multiple occasions to walk into the living room and use the voice I usually reserve for the dog when he refuses to drop something he should not have in his mouth, "Dan-o. Stop. It." It is not so much that his yelling bothers me, but I fear the neighbors will call the police certain we are having a domestic dispute. It is also not uncommon to watch my husband pace the room during a rather "high intensity" game. I used to find this behavior bizarre, but then...
Two seasons ago I started watching Blue Jackets games at home. Alone. Every so often, I would find myself grimacing or maybe growling at a missed shot or a lousy ref call. I am ashamed to admit that this season has managed to get the best of me. My shouting has become so fierce and at times profane the dog will no longer stay in the room with me. I am fairly certain that my neighbors have turned down their televisions in an attempt to see if my screams are cries for help in fighting off an attacker. I wake up in the morning and no longer first check my e-mail, but hit up nhl.com instead to see the updates in the standings. I listen to games on the car radio on my way home from pottery class. I have contemplated the purchasing of a jersey. Last weekend my friend Joe joined us for dinner and game viewing and I had to fight the urge to pace the room. Most embarrassing...I've pumped my fist in the air. Multiple times. While whooping.
Tonight, though, tonight made it all worth it. The clenched fists, the shrieks of foul language, and the racing heart tonight were vindicated because holy cow the JACKETS CLINCHED A PLAY-OFF SPOT! I'm so excited I can't sleep.
Who IS this person?
Call me anti-sentimental
I decided recently that I really don't like it when they show people watching home videos in movies. It's always done to evoke a certain melancholy and, quite frankly, its been over done. Ditto showing someone stare wistfully at some object and then showing a flashback of someone from their past interacting with said object.
Just thought I'd share.
Your narrative has become tiresome
...but your sprockets have not.
With the help of one of the tech gurus in my department (who also happens to be a photophile) I managed to get the 35mm film I shot with my Holga scanned WITH SPROCKETS. I had no idea when I got my Holga what a labor of love it would be to tinker with film. The Holga was designed for medium format 120 film, which requires me to send away if I want it processed and scanned. You can rig your Holga to shoot 35mm, but most labs can not print the shots with the sprockets...which is the whole point of shooting 35mm with the darned thing.
I promise to write-up a comprehensive How-To over my upcoming break b/c the amount of Google-ing I had to do to get answers for processes and procedures was a bit silly.
Without further ado:
25 things you do not need to know about me
I prefer to share my 25 things with all three of my readers rather than my hundred or so Facebook "friends". So, here you go.
1. I am an only child. That should pretty much explain answers #2-25.
2. I can wiggle my ears.
3. If I hear the theme song from M.A.S.H. or "At this moment" by Billy and the Beaters I plummet into a horrible depression that lasts for hours.
4. In general, I tend to overestimate the good in people. This has burned me several times.
5. Babies and small children scare me. I do not even know where to begin in terms of interacting with these miniature people. I can barely interact with full-sized ones.
6. I prefer a dentist visit over clothes shopping.
7. I am more comfortable in the company of men than women. Always have been. Groups of women make me feel incredibly self-conscious and like a lesser female. Probably because of #5 and 6.
8. I am painfully shy and socially awkward in almost all interpersonal situations. If you see me in public and I do not acknowledge you, it is not because I am a bitch...I am just too awkward to approach you. Really. And, I never know the right thing to say...which is why I act like such a buffoon.
9. I should probably seek treatment for the debilitating problem I have with making tedious decisions. Sometimes a simple trip to the grocery store will take me an hour because I have to pick up every bottle of salad dressing on the shelf to examine its contents or sniff every single scent of hand soap or weigh the pros and cons of chicken soup with rice versus noodles. Sadly, I am generally happy with everything I end up with so it makes no sense that I put so much effort into simple tasks.
10. My only true regret in life is that I did not study abroad when I was an undergrad.
11. I'm really creeped out by Mr. Peanut.
12. I am the first person in my family (on both sides) to earn a college degree, let alone three of them.
13. I made Dave Chappelle laugh out loud while he was crossing the street a block away from my house.
14. I became a better human after becoming a dog owner. In fact, I don't think I ever knew how passionately I could care about another living being until Schwartz. Dano should be grateful.
15. By using public transportation and my own two feet, I only put 5,000 miles on my car last year.
16. I am ashamed at how excited I am to see Phish again.
17. I suffered from really horrible anxiety attacks for about a year in my mid-20s. Vodka helped. The psychologist did not.
18. I'm an atheist.
19. I really love my husband's family.
20. If someone handed my a free ticket to space I would give it away. I have absolutely zero interest in going into space. There is nothing TO DO there. Many people I know, including my husband, believe this makes me crazy.
21. Picky-eaters make me nervous.
22. I really, really, really wish I could sing. I mean really belt it out old school Tina Turner-style.
23. In the 5th grade I took dance classes and won 1st prize at the Muskingum County Fair for my solo number to the tune Axel F.
24. Even though I detest cats, LOLcats really crack me up.
25. I almost always have my toenails painted red.
Promiscuous Teleology
What a great name for my autobiography. But, actually, an explanation behind why humans believe in creation.
I want THIS job
Chaos in the print shop. Clustarack video. Be sure to watch the behind the scenes footage.
Happy Birthday, Bob Weaver
See you soon!
To think I pay good money to see this ass-clown.
Oh, but it is so worth every dime.
Step into my laboratory...
This time last year I was just starting data collection for my dissertation. My study explored how individuals use humor during interpersonal interaction to achieve different goals. To examine this, I created a few scenarios in which my research subjects (undergraduates from a large, Midwestern university) were randomly assigned.
In one condition, I put a student into an office and prepared him or her for a mock interview they were about to have with another student who I would bring into the room shortly. For this interview, the interviewee would read aloud a set of questions about themselves (what kind of animal they would want to be, what they would do if they found $1000 on the street, etc.) and provide their answers to the interviewer. At the end of the interview, both students rated how much and what kinds of humor the interviewee used in their answers.
In the other condition, students were still put into an office and prepped for an interview. Only this time, they were told that their interview was going to be conducted via webcam. There was a computer and a camera with a red flashing light. And, I asked the students to place their feet on a line of duct tape I had placed on the floor in front of the desk and align themselves appropriately in front of the computer monitor. I would leave the room "to check with the other student" and come back to let the interviewee know they could begin reading the questions aloud and answering them.
In actuality, there was no interviewer at the other end. The interviewees were talking aloud to THEMSELVES. I can not tell you how many times I broke down laughing when I could hear students in the office chatting away about themselves to NO ONE...however, I started feeling guilty when students would come out of the office and ask if the other student thought they were funny. One student told me he thought he saw the other person on the computer monitor to which I thought, "Lay off the acid, yo." And, another student wanted to do the interview with another person because she "messed up" all of her answers. The answers she gave to questions about herself. Obviously, she was unaware this was an OPEN BOOK kind of interview.
What can you do?
At least I did not give acid to elephants.
Something I surprisingly have never done (yet)
That Sarah Brown? She's a clever one.
This entire post totally lifted the gloomy haze off of this lousy Wednesday.
Shitty movie drinking game
I'm just not that into most things I'm supposed to be
Even before Dano duped me into being his wife by waving shiny objects in my face, I had already subconsciously accepted I would be spending the rest of my life with the funny misanthrope. During the time when I was working on my comprehensive exams and dissertation I spent many nights riddled with insomnia. In an effort to stupid myself to sleep I would watching really horrible late night television. Many nights, I am ashamed to confess, this involved that godforsaken Sex and the City show. A show, might I add, that only enhanced my already heightened distaste for most media targeted at my demographic. A show whose very name is wholly misleading. The show is NOT about SEX and the city, but RELATIONSHIPS and the city and SHOPPING and the city. Nonetheless, I found myself watching it if only to feed my flagrantly anti-SATC fire.
The only redeeming outcome for the hours of my life I wasted on the show was a pleasant wave of emotion that would wash over me when I realized that I WOULD NEVER HAVE TO DATE AGAIN.
Oh, the bliss of familiarity vs. awkwardness.
Several nights after forcing myself to turn off the TV instead of throwing the remote directly at SJP's lousy face, I would roll over and curl up to a sleeping Dano.
I just saw a preview for the movie He's Just Not That Into You. Again, I was struck with a grateful blow that my dating days are gladly over.
Another SATC hater.
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