Sunday, June 14th 2010 dawned kinda cloudy. I know because I watched the whole thing happen from the darkness I woke up in. My alarm clock was set for 4:55am, but I was wide awake 55 minutes early and was too excited and wiggly to lay around in bed, thinking about my first triathlon. I got out of bed and repacked the stuff I packed up the night before, adding extra Clif Bloks and lip balm.
6:15am found 2T and I ripping down I-75 to Belle Isle, car packed full of gear and bikes mounted on the rack on the back. 2T is my step-sister, who has done amazing things like many marathons, and a half-Ironman. Yikes! Plus she's super fun, very bright and makes things happen. She has been encouraging me to follow my triathlon dreams for a long time. On New Year's Eve she gave me the encouragement (and $10 coupon) I needed to sign up for my first-ever triathlon. She came into town to do the triathlon with me, but she did the full distance. See? She's a bad ass.
We got there plenty early, all part of the master plan because I knew I would be freaking in (I tend to keep my freaking on the inside) and being late would send me over the edge. Before I was out of the car, I was running into people I knew from past 5k runs and classes. Nothing but words of encouragement form all of them, which I totally needed. 2T and I set up our transition areas (where you change from your swim gear to your bike gear and then from your bike gear to your running gear), picked up our timing chips and headed off to get our body marking. I was #644, which was perfect as I've had a thing with the number 4 my whole life.
I was calm, not too worried about the swim, concerned about the run and still questioning whether I'd even finish. The sound of the bullhorn beckoning us to the pre-race meeting changed all that and my calmness surrendered to hot waves of panic, shooting randomly through my limbs and my stomach. I was a good swimmer, had been on swim teams for years and quite comfortable with swim competitions, so a warm up wouldn't be necessary. Plus, I was so worried I'd run out of energy, I decided to conserve mine by not getting into the water before my heat raced. Now, by water, I mean the Detroit River, rumored to be filthy with industrial waste, hidden bodies and whatever tricks generations of hoodoo priestesses have thrown in. Fortunately, the current was fairly lax for the course, but as I looked out over the buoys, I was sure that the distance was twice what they promised I'd have to swim.
As the heats began, my freaking began to leak out. I stretched, warmed up on the beach, picked up random bits of broken glass and nervously chatted with strangers. My heat got corralled into the starting gate and I stayed in the back of the pack of ladies aged 35+. The gun cracked and I was off. Kind of. It was a weird beach start where we waded into the water about 100 feet, hooked a right and started swimming. The water was cold. I dove in to start swimming and my chest tightened. The water was pitch black with river muck that had been churned up from the five previous swim heats before me. I couldn't see the foot that kicked me in the face or the lower half of the woman I swam right over. 90 seconds into the swim, I was completely unnerved, I couldn't breathe and I was worried I would drown.
Too scared to put my face into the water, I invented a kind of breast stoke never to be seen in an Olympic competition. It kept me moving, allowed me to pant and keep my head above water. Rounding the first buoy, I was out of breath, out of energy and not sure I'd make it. I kept swimming and halfway through my 500 meters, I unzipped my wetsuit about 6 inches, allowing my chest a little more freedom to suck in more air. I focused on one stroke at a time, hearing my friend singing "just keep swimming, just keep swimming" in my head. Gloriously, I rounded the last buoy and headed for the beach. I was completely out of breath, dizzy from the adrenaline and wobbly, I found strength to run into the first transition pulling off my cap and goggles and wiggling out of the top half of my wet suit as I went. I saw my mom and husband, yelling and taking pictures (charming) and I had enough of my wits about me to high five them as I ran past.
I got into transition one, miraculously found my bike and stopped to calm down and breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. The swim had scared the hell out of me and rocked my confidence in a bad, bad way. I focused on getting out of my wetsuit, on with my bike gear. I sucked down a Clif Shot, packed up my swim gear into my bag and took off on my bike. Later I would learn my transition time and realize that better triathletes could have gotten a sandwich and a cup of coffee in the amount of time it took me to get in and out of that transition.
Taking note to carefully count my laps, I took off on my bike. Belle Isle is round and flat and no matter where the wind is coming from, it's a huge hindering headwind on one side of the island and a helpful prodding tailwind on the other side. The key is to not waste too much energy battling the headwind and to put the hammer down and haul ass with the tailwind. I got passed by what seemed like everyone, but I was having such a good time, I didn't even care. I was doing my first triathlon, it was a beautiful day and the scenery was stellar. At one point, an overly friendly spectator (also on a bike) decided to pedal along side me and start a bit of a chat with me about the race. Not wanting to be rude, I answered a few questions, but after about the fourth, I realized how distracting talking really was. I ended the interview and continued on. I finished my 20k bike averaging about 16 miles an hour, which is really good for me.
The second transition was much easier with a lot less clothes to change. Just hang up your bike, shed your helmet and bike shoes, suck down a few Clif Bloks, stamp into your running shoes and off you go. It was much shorter that my first transition, but it still took me way longer than it needed to. At least I didn't have to go to the bathroom during my transitions. Still, you're all loopy form the various hormones surging through your body, so it's more of an out-of-body experience.
Next I was off and running. Now, if I hadn't nerded out the way I'm prone to and hadn't read so many articles and books about triathlons, I would have quit in the first half mile of my run. There is something that happens when you transition from biking any distance to running. You simply feel like you're going to die, and you're pretty sure your legs are already in the grave. First, you are going so much slower running than biking, you tend to feel like you're going backwards. Second, the movement of cycling is so different from the movement of running, it takes a while to get your system crossed over and in a good groove. The first three-quarters of mile one were with my cement legs, but then my real legs remembered what they were doing and took over.
The course was awesome, partially on the nature trail on the island, so lots of trees and, according to some, lots of mosquitoes. Apparently, I ran around all of them as I didn't have one encounter. At mile 1.5 I hit an awesome stride, I was really comfortable and I was rockin' a perfect pace for me. I started humming tunes I don't remember and enjoying the shade of the trees. Around mile 2.5, my stomach threatened to give back the Clif Blok and Gu I sucked down at transition 2, but after some Gatorade and a lengthy raucous belch, all was well.
The last mile was a grind. I though I'd never find that damn finish line. I just kept following everyone else, thanking volunteers along the way and cheering on anyone who looked like they were suffering too. Finally I was in the chute and bolting toward the finish line. I ran as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast, but I finished strong. I looked around and as the woman pulled my time chip off I thought "how in the hell did I just do that?!". Then I promptly burst into tears and sobbed for about two minutes. Mom came running over to hug soggy, puffy me and cried with me. She was so proud. My husband gathered me up in a big hug and kiss and congratulated me. I just kept asking everyone "how did I do that?" as caught my breath and stuffed a few banana halves and cookies in my mouth.
I spent the rest of my time at the race yelling and screaming for everyone else, celebrating with my family and basking. I came home, ate a burrito the size of my forearm and crashed for a few hours. I got up and hobbled to the couch, turned on the TV and watched (much to my delight) a Half-Ironman triathlon in Miami. That night I slept long and deep, more satisfied than I have felt in a good, long while.
I worked so hard to get over that finish line. I trained my ass off and I was physically capable, but my head wasn't necessarily on board. I totally pulled it together, cleared my head, remembered who's side I'm on and kicked out the darkness. This was a huge day for me.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Flyby
The months have indeed flown by and here I am facing my first triathlon in a mere 3 days. Training has gone well. I have missed days, overtrained, gotten sick and hurt myself. Fortunately, this has not been the rule but the exception and I have been working hard. I have learned so much about my endurance levels and fitness, yet feel completely lost as to what to expect on race day. There will no doubt be a long entry in here about the race provided they aren't searching down the Detroit River for me.
Here are a few things I have learned about myself and my body. Some are standard, some are quirky and all are helpful to me and may very well be entertaining to you.
-Alcohol, even just one drink, makes me crabby and sneezy
-PB&J is a very poor choice of a pre-swim snack. blargh.
-Vanilla Clif Shots are a piss poor snack for any occasion. Fortunately, the chocolate is a decent choice.
-Not drinking enough water with any given carb-laden foodstuff (Clif Shots, Clif Blocks, etc.) results in excessive and painful amounts of gastrointestinal stress.
-I am, for the first time ever, capable of running 4 miles.
-Most people who find out I'm doing a triathlon, even people at the gym, think there's something wrong with me.
-I have gained 15 pounds and have had to buy new clothes. Bigger ones. While you can rest a coffee mug on my perky ass, my abdominal area has been refusing to relinquish adipose tissue as quickly as the rest of my parts. This is normal, yet irritating.
-Some of the things I have overheard the trainers at my gym tell clients are unhelpful and even downright dangerous, but there will be many forthcoming entries about that.
-My 1RM for the lying leg-press is 350 lbs. I may not be able to keep up with you if you're running, but I could kangaroo-kick you from here to Canton. Or rupture many of your internal organs in the attempt.
So, the quest continues. After the triathlon, I'm really excited about getting to the gym and getting back to heavier weight training and building some muscle. While my endurance has vastly improved over the last three months, my body is still the same shape, albeit a little thinner.
Will there be another triathlon after this one? I'll let you know after Sunday.
Here are a few things I have learned about myself and my body. Some are standard, some are quirky and all are helpful to me and may very well be entertaining to you.
-Alcohol, even just one drink, makes me crabby and sneezy
-PB&J is a very poor choice of a pre-swim snack. blargh.
-Vanilla Clif Shots are a piss poor snack for any occasion. Fortunately, the chocolate is a decent choice.
-Not drinking enough water with any given carb-laden foodstuff (Clif Shots, Clif Blocks, etc.) results in excessive and painful amounts of gastrointestinal stress.
-I am, for the first time ever, capable of running 4 miles.
-Most people who find out I'm doing a triathlon, even people at the gym, think there's something wrong with me.
-I have gained 15 pounds and have had to buy new clothes. Bigger ones. While you can rest a coffee mug on my perky ass, my abdominal area has been refusing to relinquish adipose tissue as quickly as the rest of my parts. This is normal, yet irritating.
-Some of the things I have overheard the trainers at my gym tell clients are unhelpful and even downright dangerous, but there will be many forthcoming entries about that.
-My 1RM for the lying leg-press is 350 lbs. I may not be able to keep up with you if you're running, but I could kangaroo-kick you from here to Canton. Or rupture many of your internal organs in the attempt.
So, the quest continues. After the triathlon, I'm really excited about getting to the gym and getting back to heavier weight training and building some muscle. While my endurance has vastly improved over the last three months, my body is still the same shape, albeit a little thinner.
Will there be another triathlon after this one? I'll let you know after Sunday.
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'll tri in 2010...
2010 is off to a roaring start. Actually, it's more of a terrifying start, but I kind of did that to myself on purpose.
Over the last bunch of years, I have watched my weight slowly go up and my level of activity decline. My transition from a waitressing job to a desk job and quitting smoking didn't help matters, they were very good ideas and moved me forward to better things, but weren't great news for my waistline. Although it was a slow process, I was startled to wake up one morning last year to a much doughier and less fit version of my person. In fact, I am perilously close to technically being obese.
My attempts to exercise it off and eat better can be best described as a stutter; nothing really consistent or routine and my food intake has suffered from my impulsive leanings. The mindless eating on the couch, standing and chatting while eating, and overly generous portions, made all my clothes too small.
Most of my childhood, through school and well into my adulthood was full of activity. I was on a swim team for years as a kid. Even as a smoker, I would exercise, take walks, go dancing 4 nights a week and spend a lot of time outside. Once I quit smoking, I started cycling to distract myself from the nicotine withdraws. I would ride for sometimes hours each day, commuting everywhere I wanted to go, mountain biking every chance I got and taking midnight rides alone through Seattle (Once I hit a cat while riding down a hill at 1:30am. It lived, but is still one of the most horrible experiences of my life). Even living in Chicago I commuted by bicycle, drivers gave way and there was grudging acceptance from both sides to live somewhat respectively, if not harmoniously with each other.
Landing back in Southeast Michigan was like landing on a comfy couch in front of the TV. My bike outings got shorter and happened less and less. Riding a bike in the Motor City is heresy and drivers tend to take it upon themselves to right the evil wrongs of cycledom by making it difficult and extremely dangerous to ride the streets. They aim for bikers and make no bones about it. There is little respite away from the concrete, save a few parks in the metro Detroit area overrun by throngs of macho weekend warriors getting their ya-yas out who will draw blood of you get in the way. My activity level plummeted, my intake of bad food and alcohol increased and I got fat.
I have always loved athletes. The Olympics are one of my favorite events in the world, especially the Winter Olympics. Athletes amaze and inspire me, how the body moves is magical to me. Watching people push the boundaries of their whole being to run a little faster or jump a little farther is an amazing thing to watch. The possibilities are consistently being pushed farther and farther. As a kid I would dream of being a professional athlete more often than I would fantasize a life as a famous singer or actor.
I am currently pursuing a degree in Exercise Science. I am lucky enough to have professors who nerd out about the human body more than I do, so learning the physiology of ATP production and the chemistry of the Krebs Cycle is a privilege and a delight. Their fascination of the human body and their experiences of the athletes they've worked with fuel my fire to learn. To go into Athletic Training and work training athletes is a dream I might just be able to accomplish. Pretty incredible.
I am working to relate all that I learn to my own body. A few years ago, I separated my body from my consciousness so I didn't have to think about how out of shape I had gotten. I am slowly reconnecting my head to my body and remembering that much of me exists below the neck. I have been wanting to get back to a good state of training so I can run a 10k or go mountain biking with my husband or challenge myself to run uphill for fun again. But I keep stalling out on my fitness plan and then I just spiral to a very bad place physically and mentally.
On New Year's Eve, I decided to flip my approach. Instead of getting in shape to do these things, I decided to set a large-yet-attainable goal and work to accomplish it. I know this sounds ridiculously basic, set a goal and get to it, but I have never been good as setting attainable goals, just the kind that sound good and are kind of vague like "I want to exercise more" or "I want to write". I decided to be specific, so I signed up for a mini triathlon this June. On June 13 2010, I will swim 500 meters, cycle 20 kilometers and run 5 kilometers, all in a row and all on the same day.
I have succeeded in scaring the shit out of myself and now I work out 5 - 6 days a week. The idea of skipping a day is almost unthinkable, I don't want to fail at this goal because I missed a few days of exercise. Maybe this isn't the best way to motivate, but I have to say that it's effective. I have changed my focus from what my body looks like to what my body can do that I couldn't do a few weeks ago. I feel excited and nervous but I already feel stronger and the idea of finishing the triathlon becomes more real. I actually feel like I'm becoming an athlete, which is really a dream come true.
Happy 2010. Go Me!
Over the last bunch of years, I have watched my weight slowly go up and my level of activity decline. My transition from a waitressing job to a desk job and quitting smoking didn't help matters, they were very good ideas and moved me forward to better things, but weren't great news for my waistline. Although it was a slow process, I was startled to wake up one morning last year to a much doughier and less fit version of my person. In fact, I am perilously close to technically being obese.
My attempts to exercise it off and eat better can be best described as a stutter; nothing really consistent or routine and my food intake has suffered from my impulsive leanings. The mindless eating on the couch, standing and chatting while eating, and overly generous portions, made all my clothes too small.
Most of my childhood, through school and well into my adulthood was full of activity. I was on a swim team for years as a kid. Even as a smoker, I would exercise, take walks, go dancing 4 nights a week and spend a lot of time outside. Once I quit smoking, I started cycling to distract myself from the nicotine withdraws. I would ride for sometimes hours each day, commuting everywhere I wanted to go, mountain biking every chance I got and taking midnight rides alone through Seattle (Once I hit a cat while riding down a hill at 1:30am. It lived, but is still one of the most horrible experiences of my life). Even living in Chicago I commuted by bicycle, drivers gave way and there was grudging acceptance from both sides to live somewhat respectively, if not harmoniously with each other.
Landing back in Southeast Michigan was like landing on a comfy couch in front of the TV. My bike outings got shorter and happened less and less. Riding a bike in the Motor City is heresy and drivers tend to take it upon themselves to right the evil wrongs of cycledom by making it difficult and extremely dangerous to ride the streets. They aim for bikers and make no bones about it. There is little respite away from the concrete, save a few parks in the metro Detroit area overrun by throngs of macho weekend warriors getting their ya-yas out who will draw blood of you get in the way. My activity level plummeted, my intake of bad food and alcohol increased and I got fat.
I have always loved athletes. The Olympics are one of my favorite events in the world, especially the Winter Olympics. Athletes amaze and inspire me, how the body moves is magical to me. Watching people push the boundaries of their whole being to run a little faster or jump a little farther is an amazing thing to watch. The possibilities are consistently being pushed farther and farther. As a kid I would dream of being a professional athlete more often than I would fantasize a life as a famous singer or actor.
I am currently pursuing a degree in Exercise Science. I am lucky enough to have professors who nerd out about the human body more than I do, so learning the physiology of ATP production and the chemistry of the Krebs Cycle is a privilege and a delight. Their fascination of the human body and their experiences of the athletes they've worked with fuel my fire to learn. To go into Athletic Training and work training athletes is a dream I might just be able to accomplish. Pretty incredible.
I am working to relate all that I learn to my own body. A few years ago, I separated my body from my consciousness so I didn't have to think about how out of shape I had gotten. I am slowly reconnecting my head to my body and remembering that much of me exists below the neck. I have been wanting to get back to a good state of training so I can run a 10k or go mountain biking with my husband or challenge myself to run uphill for fun again. But I keep stalling out on my fitness plan and then I just spiral to a very bad place physically and mentally.
On New Year's Eve, I decided to flip my approach. Instead of getting in shape to do these things, I decided to set a large-yet-attainable goal and work to accomplish it. I know this sounds ridiculously basic, set a goal and get to it, but I have never been good as setting attainable goals, just the kind that sound good and are kind of vague like "I want to exercise more" or "I want to write". I decided to be specific, so I signed up for a mini triathlon this June. On June 13 2010, I will swim 500 meters, cycle 20 kilometers and run 5 kilometers, all in a row and all on the same day.
I have succeeded in scaring the shit out of myself and now I work out 5 - 6 days a week. The idea of skipping a day is almost unthinkable, I don't want to fail at this goal because I missed a few days of exercise. Maybe this isn't the best way to motivate, but I have to say that it's effective. I have changed my focus from what my body looks like to what my body can do that I couldn't do a few weeks ago. I feel excited and nervous but I already feel stronger and the idea of finishing the triathlon becomes more real. I actually feel like I'm becoming an athlete, which is really a dream come true.
Happy 2010. Go Me!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Taking sides
Well it's come down to this: a comment about the overly hyped Twilight series, particularly New Moon, but I just have to say something. On my other blog, They often post "Writer's Block" questions where they inquire about certain things which people would tend to have strong feelings about. To help us writers unplug the drain and get some thoughts and our pens writing. This one was "Did you think that the new Twilight Movie was as good as the book?" or something like that. Since I have strong opinions about Twilight, and I like sharing my opinions, I thought it would be time to clear a few things up. Or just gripe.
I did read the Twilight series a year or so ago. I was in that tricky conundrum where you don't really like specific things about a series, but you have to finish it to see how it ends. One thing I do like about Stephanie Meyers is that she is pretty honest about not being a writer as much as she was a housewife with intense dreams that she was compelled to write down. I appreciate that. She's not trying to come off as a person who struggled to be a writer, hone their craft and find an idea that inspired her and an agent that got her paid. She was a stay-at-home mom who quit her job to raise her kids and had a dream about a girl in love with a vampire who wanted her blood. Vampires are like that.
I'm pretty sure that I'm a big feminist and snob but part of me really enjoyed the books. Unfortunately, one of my biggest problems with the book was one of the main characters. Edward. He sounds like the fantasy boyfriend of most 15 year olds. He is smokin' hot, he is strong to the point of almost invincibility, he is protective, he always knows what to do and he is a little moody but seems to shine when he's with you. Sounds pretty much like my high school fantasy. Hell, even into my early thirties, I was drawn to the handsome withdrawn brooders. Then I grew up. I realized that real relationships are made of two people who are friends and work together to conquer the universe. Edward is a know it all and seems to treat Bella like she's a stupid kid who doesn't know anything and makes moronic decisions. Gross. Every feminist fiber of my being was wanting to jump in to the book and smack Bella. Let her know that passion without foundation will fail. Every time. If it feels like you've known each other for lifetimes and there's an unspoken bond and chemistry between you two, it means nothing if he can't respect you enough to hear you out and take your thoughts into consideration. I know this from experience.
Then there's Jacob. He's a clumsy kid, but he actually treats Bella like a friend. Like she can have her own thoughts and abilities and not threaten him. Plus, she can go to the beach with him on a sunny day. Having a husband that is my friend and partner, I again speak from experience. I rooted for Jacob from the first paragraph of then talking on the beach when she first arrived in Forks.
My last issue, and it's totally political, is the fact that Bella falls for the rich white guy who seems pretty disrespectful, and eschews the poor American Indian guy who is a friend with a crush. It seems that in fantasies, love can't survive without money. Or white skin.
So that's my beef. Or beefs. Or boeuf de la moi.
I guess if I want this story to go differently, I'll have to write it myself.
I did read the Twilight series a year or so ago. I was in that tricky conundrum where you don't really like specific things about a series, but you have to finish it to see how it ends. One thing I do like about Stephanie Meyers is that she is pretty honest about not being a writer as much as she was a housewife with intense dreams that she was compelled to write down. I appreciate that. She's not trying to come off as a person who struggled to be a writer, hone their craft and find an idea that inspired her and an agent that got her paid. She was a stay-at-home mom who quit her job to raise her kids and had a dream about a girl in love with a vampire who wanted her blood. Vampires are like that.
I'm pretty sure that I'm a big feminist and snob but part of me really enjoyed the books. Unfortunately, one of my biggest problems with the book was one of the main characters. Edward. He sounds like the fantasy boyfriend of most 15 year olds. He is smokin' hot, he is strong to the point of almost invincibility, he is protective, he always knows what to do and he is a little moody but seems to shine when he's with you. Sounds pretty much like my high school fantasy. Hell, even into my early thirties, I was drawn to the handsome withdrawn brooders. Then I grew up. I realized that real relationships are made of two people who are friends and work together to conquer the universe. Edward is a know it all and seems to treat Bella like she's a stupid kid who doesn't know anything and makes moronic decisions. Gross. Every feminist fiber of my being was wanting to jump in to the book and smack Bella. Let her know that passion without foundation will fail. Every time. If it feels like you've known each other for lifetimes and there's an unspoken bond and chemistry between you two, it means nothing if he can't respect you enough to hear you out and take your thoughts into consideration. I know this from experience.
Then there's Jacob. He's a clumsy kid, but he actually treats Bella like a friend. Like she can have her own thoughts and abilities and not threaten him. Plus, she can go to the beach with him on a sunny day. Having a husband that is my friend and partner, I again speak from experience. I rooted for Jacob from the first paragraph of then talking on the beach when she first arrived in Forks.
My last issue, and it's totally political, is the fact that Bella falls for the rich white guy who seems pretty disrespectful, and eschews the poor American Indian guy who is a friend with a crush. It seems that in fantasies, love can't survive without money. Or white skin.
So that's my beef. Or beefs. Or boeuf de la moi.
I guess if I want this story to go differently, I'll have to write it myself.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I Take It Back
All yesterday morning, I heard about the Dems patting themselves on the back about passing sweeping health care reforms, with little commentary on the stranglehold the Stupak-Pitts amendment put on abortion rights. I don't believe in many things that I pay endless tax dollars to, but I accept that as part of being an American, I have to pony up for some things I think are morally wrong. But, this is not about rearranging the laws to fit my personal beliefs, that's not how it works in the this experiment called America. You take some, you give some. Unless, of course you are talking about abortion rights.
As always, the extreme right has managed to hijack the reproductive rights issue and turn it from an issue of an individuals private choice to screaming about killing babies. It's okay to spend billions to kill babies overseas in wars we start with people we don't have to look in the face, but if you start talking about federal funds to cover abortions, we get all conflicted. It's gotten to the point that shame has become synonymous with the word 'abortion' and it's become a quiet little secret in many peoples lives. The discussion has been warped, twisted away from women and giving them respect and privacy to condemnation. I hear it from both sides: the Duggars are overpopulating the earth and being irresponsible; women who have abortions are baby killers and should just have the baby and give it up for adoption; there must be something wrong with those married couples who don't want to have children, and on and on. We can't stop judging other people's lives and it all goes back to the same idea. Mind your own business. You have no idea what someone else is going through. Trust me, you don't know what's best for them.
I, for one, take this argument back and I'm giving to women to make choices for themselves with their family and their god. No one else can best make that decision for them. Continue screaming about baby killing and hell all you want, I'm going to make this about the women who need access to all their health care choices in order to pursue their life, liberty and happiness.
As always, the extreme right has managed to hijack the reproductive rights issue and turn it from an issue of an individuals private choice to screaming about killing babies. It's okay to spend billions to kill babies overseas in wars we start with people we don't have to look in the face, but if you start talking about federal funds to cover abortions, we get all conflicted. It's gotten to the point that shame has become synonymous with the word 'abortion' and it's become a quiet little secret in many peoples lives. The discussion has been warped, twisted away from women and giving them respect and privacy to condemnation. I hear it from both sides: the Duggars are overpopulating the earth and being irresponsible; women who have abortions are baby killers and should just have the baby and give it up for adoption; there must be something wrong with those married couples who don't want to have children, and on and on. We can't stop judging other people's lives and it all goes back to the same idea. Mind your own business. You have no idea what someone else is going through. Trust me, you don't know what's best for them.
I, for one, take this argument back and I'm giving to women to make choices for themselves with their family and their god. No one else can best make that decision for them. Continue screaming about baby killing and hell all you want, I'm going to make this about the women who need access to all their health care choices in order to pursue their life, liberty and happiness.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
One month shy of a year
Well, you'll be damned, look who's posted a new blog entry!
I'm back, leaner, more educated (technically) and married. I'm less obsessed with Facebook and have become accustomed to getting some intimate information on the personal lives of kind-of strangers. Still odd, but apparently the way of the future. Or the present at least.
Goat and I had a perfect wedding. One trip to the emergency room and one stolen car, we did pretty well. The food was great, we had a blast and reveled in having so many people we love in one place celebrating. The weather shaped up an hour and a half before the ceremony and the sun didn't stop shining after that. Now to figure out how to be married.
I expected a lot more panic about being in this committed of a relationship. Prior to meeting Goat, I would get itchy a few weeks or months into the dating process and find myself bored or miserable. This speaks less to the actual people that I dated and more to my poor choice of companion. Save for a few, most of them were perfectly nice people who I had nothing in common with or who were kind of afraid of me. I met Goat and none of that happened. We kept dating, kept having fun and dated some more. Now that we're married, I figured out that marital bliss is between two people and not striving to fulfill anyone else's idea of what marriage should be. So, not much panic and so far, lots of bliss.
At the moment, I'm sitting in the nook of the couch that has become so familiar to my butt over the year that I worked out of my house. I am still unemployed, yet now a student and the view is the same but the perspective is different. I hated that job. That job was almost the polar opposite of who I was as a person and some of the people I worked with were toxic. Yet, I couldn't walk away from that job. It had to kick me to the curb in order for me to shake someone else's life off of me and get back to my own. I'm in a much better world and have shed some bad feelings and people.
Can you tell I have a cold? My head rings with the crowded echo of the sniffles around congestion. Is is obvious that I haven't written in almost a year? It will probably take a little time before things come together on the page. But my blog is for practice, so I'm practicing.
Back to my chicken noodle soup and box of Kleenex.
I'm back, leaner, more educated (technically) and married. I'm less obsessed with Facebook and have become accustomed to getting some intimate information on the personal lives of kind-of strangers. Still odd, but apparently the way of the future. Or the present at least.
Goat and I had a perfect wedding. One trip to the emergency room and one stolen car, we did pretty well. The food was great, we had a blast and reveled in having so many people we love in one place celebrating. The weather shaped up an hour and a half before the ceremony and the sun didn't stop shining after that. Now to figure out how to be married.
I expected a lot more panic about being in this committed of a relationship. Prior to meeting Goat, I would get itchy a few weeks or months into the dating process and find myself bored or miserable. This speaks less to the actual people that I dated and more to my poor choice of companion. Save for a few, most of them were perfectly nice people who I had nothing in common with or who were kind of afraid of me. I met Goat and none of that happened. We kept dating, kept having fun and dated some more. Now that we're married, I figured out that marital bliss is between two people and not striving to fulfill anyone else's idea of what marriage should be. So, not much panic and so far, lots of bliss.
At the moment, I'm sitting in the nook of the couch that has become so familiar to my butt over the year that I worked out of my house. I am still unemployed, yet now a student and the view is the same but the perspective is different. I hated that job. That job was almost the polar opposite of who I was as a person and some of the people I worked with were toxic. Yet, I couldn't walk away from that job. It had to kick me to the curb in order for me to shake someone else's life off of me and get back to my own. I'm in a much better world and have shed some bad feelings and people.
Can you tell I have a cold? My head rings with the crowded echo of the sniffles around congestion. Is is obvious that I haven't written in almost a year? It will probably take a little time before things come together on the page. But my blog is for practice, so I'm practicing.
Back to my chicken noodle soup and box of Kleenex.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Things you face on Facebook
A few weeks ago, I joined the weird world of Facebook (which I usually mistype as "facebeek". What kind of site would that be?). Since I don't work at a computer all day anymore, I don't spend as much time looking for old friends and sending messages as I did when I started Myspace a few years back. It's pretty fun and, as I mentioned before, weird. Talk about a trip down memory lane. I have gotten back in touch with a few people from high school that I haven't talked to in almost two decades. Because you can check out peoples profiles once you are friends with them, it helps to avoid that awkwardness of conversation that can happen when you haven't talked to someone in 18 years or so. "So, how are you?" and "What have you been up to" are two inevitable questions that you tend to blurt out when first conversing with someone. If you haven't spoken with that someone in a long time, the questions seem kinda stupid as it would take a good long while to answer either one of them. Facebook helps fill in a few blanks before heading into some kind of regular communication.
I like going onto my home page when I first log in, so I can see what all of my 34 friends are doing without checking all of their individual profiles. I can see that my brother was laughing at old photos, or that my friend was surprised that she liked going to a Red Wings game or that my possible future sister-in-law wants to strangle her research advisers. Better yet, I get to comment on everything! Being prone to smart assery and two bittery, that is one of my favorite parts.
The downside is that you sometimes find out information that you don't know what to do with. One of my new Facebook friends is a woman I went to high school with and she is going through a devastating time with her newborn. It's a horrifying process to watch; she went from healthy and ready to deliver a week ago, to poor infant MRI results and very tough decision making. I have watched this process as she has been posting regular updates on her Facebook page. I'm embarrassed that I can't stop looking for updates, I'm totally drawn in. But I feel a little uneasy knowing intimate details about her life when I was more acquaintances with her in high school and it's been eons since we've even spoken. I feel like I shouldn't look, but how can I not? It's right there, she put it up on her profile right where all her friends can read it. It's also awkward that I get to see the outpouring of support too. It's heartwarming and wonderful, but still so personal.
It makes sense though. When you are going through a big life event like that, where things are changing many times a day, it seems logical to let everyone know in the simplest way possible. Updating on a site like Facebook seems smart from a time management standpoint. Still feels a little ooky to me. I don't know what to do. Do I comment? Do I just sit and watch? It's very peculiar and slightly upsetting.
Is this the future of our human relationships? Will we stop personal contact altogether and just send email and leave messages on social networking sites? I feel bad enough that I don't send letters anymore but I'll really miss talking on the phone and my all time favorite method of communication, rubber banding a note to a rock and throwing it through a window.
I like going onto my home page when I first log in, so I can see what all of my 34 friends are doing without checking all of their individual profiles. I can see that my brother was laughing at old photos, or that my friend was surprised that she liked going to a Red Wings game or that my possible future sister-in-law wants to strangle her research advisers. Better yet, I get to comment on everything! Being prone to smart assery and two bittery, that is one of my favorite parts.
The downside is that you sometimes find out information that you don't know what to do with. One of my new Facebook friends is a woman I went to high school with and she is going through a devastating time with her newborn. It's a horrifying process to watch; she went from healthy and ready to deliver a week ago, to poor infant MRI results and very tough decision making. I have watched this process as she has been posting regular updates on her Facebook page. I'm embarrassed that I can't stop looking for updates, I'm totally drawn in. But I feel a little uneasy knowing intimate details about her life when I was more acquaintances with her in high school and it's been eons since we've even spoken. I feel like I shouldn't look, but how can I not? It's right there, she put it up on her profile right where all her friends can read it. It's also awkward that I get to see the outpouring of support too. It's heartwarming and wonderful, but still so personal.
It makes sense though. When you are going through a big life event like that, where things are changing many times a day, it seems logical to let everyone know in the simplest way possible. Updating on a site like Facebook seems smart from a time management standpoint. Still feels a little ooky to me. I don't know what to do. Do I comment? Do I just sit and watch? It's very peculiar and slightly upsetting.
Is this the future of our human relationships? Will we stop personal contact altogether and just send email and leave messages on social networking sites? I feel bad enough that I don't send letters anymore but I'll really miss talking on the phone and my all time favorite method of communication, rubber banding a note to a rock and throwing it through a window.