While it is "the most wonderful time of the year," I sit in the library, on my birthday, procrastinating my final essays due throughout the next two weeks. I have 28 minutes until my next class. I really don't want to go. I am in need of a mental health day.
It isn't even so much that I haven't done anything all semester. I have. I feel like I have been working my tail off all year. And the thing that scares me? It may be for nothing. Although I will come out of all of this with a degree in English-Creative Writing, I will have no job. No income. Aren't we supposed to graduate college, land a great job, find your soulmate, start a family, and live happily ever after? That is the American Dream right?
I shouldn't be too scared I guess. I am totally ok with working a part-time job, or a just get by job in order to keep going. Ed Abbey put it right when he said, "Enjoy the leisure of the leisure class." Find what you love to do and get after it. Why do something you hate to do in order to make money? Why not find the one thing you love to do in life and just do it. Thank you, Nike.
I took the LSAT a year ago. I took it for various reasons. Because landing a job as a lawyer would be friggin' sweet. Making bank would be nice as well. But I did it mainly because I was told I couldn't. I would not make a good lawyer. Because I had values, morals, and strong, classic ideals about life and how it should be lived. Now, if you were to ask this person today why it is they said these things, they would deny it. To the core of their being. However, they did say it. My taking the test is a testament to it. But they would deny it, because I received a good score. Which means, they get to brag. Saying they "always knew I would be a lawyer." The person who would make a great lawyer? My brother. He would be kick-ass hard core litigant.
I just cannot see myself in a courtroom or behind a desk. Never. Notebooks filled (literally no white space what-so-ever) are only a hint as to what I would like to do. Although I don't think I am capable of it. It is scary and yet exciting to see what the upcoming months will hold. It scares the living bajeebers out of me. But I am excited nonetheless.
If you have any pennies... Pass them my way will ya? Those bad boys add up!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Listen
Did you hear me?
Sitting at the table
with the look of disgust barely hidden on your
smug face.
your mom's brownies sitting gooey and untouched.
Going uneaten. Being left behind.
My body aches from
remembering.
Every touch either slight or intentioned
now turning to bruises of memory
of the life we lived before
your words slapped me in the face.
If you say you didn't mean it that way,
it hurt.
You faked your way
through summer days of salty skin,
juicy barbeques and
late nights of smoky side talks and
endless hours of chasing.
And even now,
I sit here, quiet.
ready to fight
for the many miles and the many trials
we've put on our rubber-soled shoes.
The mud caked from years of laughter and tears.
All it takes to wash clean is an action.
The thought is there:
white shoes are always nicer,
but that's not the real runners way.
Tears splash upon the dark oak,
pooling, waiting to be swiped
away.
Looking up to the white walls
for some relief
our faces graffiti them with
the years of becoming deeply unnatural with
the passing dates
and the need to please and the want
to get the hell out.
So I do just that
scraping my chair across the floor,
backing away.
Obviously listening,
your mom runs down the stairs to say good-bye.
She knows what is really going on.
It'll be different now,
not the same,
not better either.
Footsteps echo
through your house
where so many laughs,
tears and good times once crowded the rooms.
Maybe only once more, for
the whole groups sake.
Because we have to.
Clasping the gold handle,
cold stings my already frozen hands,
I hear the choked sob from behind.
But I have no idea which throat it came from.
Hurting should be this hard, but we can't
help through.
We did it to each other
I'm walking away.
It's what you wanted.
The distance to my car seems forever.
I turn, out of habit,
Thinking I might catch a glimmer from your eyes
standing in the door,
but it is already shut,
hopes and dreams being cast away with it.
Only your mom standing in the window,
the glass casting a sparkle that
rolls down her face.
Raspy breaths and
heartbeats in my throat
scare me as I try to
gain control behind the wheel.
Your room looking down on the drive,
hoping to see your shadow
looking out into the darkness.
Don't change your mind now.
This is what you wanted.
Sitting at the table
with the look of disgust barely hidden on your
smug face.
your mom's brownies sitting gooey and untouched.
Going uneaten. Being left behind.
My body aches from
remembering.
Every touch either slight or intentioned
now turning to bruises of memory
of the life we lived before
your words slapped me in the face.
If you say you didn't mean it that way,
it hurt.
You faked your way
through summer days of salty skin,
juicy barbeques and
late nights of smoky side talks and
endless hours of chasing.
And even now,
I sit here, quiet.
ready to fight
for the many miles and the many trials
we've put on our rubber-soled shoes.
The mud caked from years of laughter and tears.
All it takes to wash clean is an action.
The thought is there:
white shoes are always nicer,
but that's not the real runners way.
Tears splash upon the dark oak,
pooling, waiting to be swiped
away.
Looking up to the white walls
for some relief
our faces graffiti them with
the years of becoming deeply unnatural with
the passing dates
and the need to please and the want
to get the hell out.
So I do just that
scraping my chair across the floor,
backing away.
Obviously listening,
your mom runs down the stairs to say good-bye.
She knows what is really going on.
It'll be different now,
not the same,
not better either.
Footsteps echo
through your house
where so many laughs,
tears and good times once crowded the rooms.
Maybe only once more, for
the whole groups sake.
Because we have to.
Clasping the gold handle,
cold stings my already frozen hands,
I hear the choked sob from behind.
But I have no idea which throat it came from.
Hurting should be this hard, but we can't
help through.
We did it to each other
I'm walking away.
It's what you wanted.
The distance to my car seems forever.
I turn, out of habit,
Thinking I might catch a glimmer from your eyes
standing in the door,
but it is already shut,
hopes and dreams being cast away with it.
Only your mom standing in the window,
the glass casting a sparkle that
rolls down her face.
Raspy breaths and
heartbeats in my throat
scare me as I try to
gain control behind the wheel.
Your room looking down on the drive,
hoping to see your shadow
looking out into the darkness.
Don't change your mind now.
This is what you wanted.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
i stumble... i'm still running
I love the feeling of accomplishment.
I love the feeling of a Runner's High.
I love the feeling of the ground being covered by my feet.
I believe that running is a real sport.
I love knowing that we don't have timeouts, water breaks, and half times.
I love wearing as little as possible.
I love the feeling of the breeze against my face.
I love bursting into that unearthly kick from 300 meters out when I know nobody else is thinking about kicking for another 100 meters.
I love getting no respect.
I love being the Underdog.
I love creating upsets.
I believe in the Prefontaines, the Frank Shorters, the Roger Bannisters, and the Gebersalassie's.
I love the fact that people of all ages can do this sport.
I love running 25 laps,
I love running 12.5 laps, even thought I haven't actually done it,
I love the feeling of knowing I want to.
I love the feeling of the crowd being behind you.
I love running for 15+ miles in the heat.
I love running 10 miles in shin deep snow.
I love running on the beach.
I love running up hills. I love the feeling of throwing up after a good workout.
I love holding on to teammates so that you can keep your balance after a race.
I love that we don't get rained out.
I love bursting that orb inside of me at the exact perfect moment.
I run because the demons inside me tell me to.
I love that our sport can be competed anywhere and at anytime.
I love the feeling of the joy and the woe.
I love looking like a zombie when I am running high mileage.
I love having a good reason to go to bed early.
I love the fact that skinny guys are sexy.
I love that guys in SHORT SHORTS are sexy.
I love the fact that you have to be CRAZY to do it.
I run because there is nothing to lose and nothing to gain.
I love to run because it is what makes me who I am and I will never let anyone tell me to change, because I am a runner, and I sure as hell love it.
I love running most of all because without it, I would lose my mind.
I love the feeling of a Runner's High.
I love the feeling of the ground being covered by my feet.
I believe that running is a real sport.
I love knowing that we don't have timeouts, water breaks, and half times.
I love wearing as little as possible.
I love the feeling of the breeze against my face.
I love bursting into that unearthly kick from 300 meters out when I know nobody else is thinking about kicking for another 100 meters.
I love getting no respect.
I love being the Underdog.
I love creating upsets.
I believe in the Prefontaines, the Frank Shorters, the Roger Bannisters, and the Gebersalassie's.
I love the fact that people of all ages can do this sport.
I love running 25 laps,
I love running 12.5 laps, even thought I haven't actually done it,
I love the feeling of knowing I want to.
I love the feeling of the crowd being behind you.
I love running for 15+ miles in the heat.
I love running 10 miles in shin deep snow.
I love running on the beach.
I love running up hills. I love the feeling of throwing up after a good workout.
I love holding on to teammates so that you can keep your balance after a race.
I love that we don't get rained out.
I love bursting that orb inside of me at the exact perfect moment.
I run because the demons inside me tell me to.
I love that our sport can be competed anywhere and at anytime.
I love the feeling of the joy and the woe.
I love looking like a zombie when I am running high mileage.
I love having a good reason to go to bed early.
I love the fact that skinny guys are sexy.
I love that guys in SHORT SHORTS are sexy.
I love the fact that you have to be CRAZY to do it.
I run because there is nothing to lose and nothing to gain.
I love to run because it is what makes me who I am and I will never let anyone tell me to change, because I am a runner, and I sure as hell love it.
I love running most of all because without it, I would lose my mind.
Friday, October 30, 2009
“The next one is optional."
Patty's voice had come out from behind the clouds of steam rising from the ten runners' bodies. It's always optional. Optional means do it. Once again I toe the line.
"And, go!"
The click of the watch and once more they head out into the woods. Minds set to one task; get through this workout, run fast.
The Monday workout was similar to many other Monday workouts. All had completed eight times 1000 meter intervals. The rest periods were determined by the athlete herself as we would be running one interval every five minutes and thirty seconds. Yes, the workout was like any other, but today would prove to be especially difficult. It was 40 degrees and pouring rain, making the trail almost a half-inch of rain and was entirely made of mud.
Though this was the condition of the course, the girls were not fazed. None wanted to fail or disappoint; none wanted to let the team down.
With each interval, legs and minds were realizing that they weren't failing. They would not be disappointed. How many other girls in the United States are doing this right now?
To succeed in a sport like cross country, one has to be willing to do all the little things, extras. Some would say they are crazy working towards a goal which is always just out of reach. The days they love the most are the cold and rainy ones. These are the days that they know; no one else is working as hard. Pushing the body to its full potential, knowing they are bettering themselves with every step.
Many do not always see the accolades that others may. But they don't do it for that. They do it for the itch in the legs at the end of a 16 miler. They do it for the light-headed-ness after a hard hill workout. Or the puke in lane one.
In the beginning I ran for my mom. I ran because she did, and she was pretty good. I mean, if you call qualifying for the trials good. Ok. She was great. I was hidden in her shadow and probably still am to an extent. I've heard all the comparisons; all the questions on why I am not as fast or as great as she was. Now, I know those answers, the real answers. I am not as good or as fast as my mom because I am not my mom. I was never close to her times because that was my focus. To be her. To beat her. That is not the point in running. Yes, the point of a race is to beat the other competitors, sure. But in running, it is about bettering you every time out. Even in a race, the person next to you may have run 2:04 in the 800, and sub-5 in the mile (girls). That's great! But, each time you toe the line, it is a clean slate. Everyone is even. Believe and anything is possible.
As they near the finish of the interval, their legs start to churn a little faster. This day these 10 girls have completed nine intervals. No one else is doing the optional. No one has done this workout. Not in these conditions. Others have already given in. Given up on the dream. Others don't know how to keep going. Others don't want it as bad as they do.
Patty's voice had come out from behind the clouds of steam rising from the ten runners' bodies. It's always optional. Optional means do it. Once again I toe the line.
"And, go!"
The click of the watch and once more they head out into the woods. Minds set to one task; get through this workout, run fast.
The Monday workout was similar to many other Monday workouts. All had completed eight times 1000 meter intervals. The rest periods were determined by the athlete herself as we would be running one interval every five minutes and thirty seconds. Yes, the workout was like any other, but today would prove to be especially difficult. It was 40 degrees and pouring rain, making the trail almost a half-inch of rain and was entirely made of mud.
Though this was the condition of the course, the girls were not fazed. None wanted to fail or disappoint; none wanted to let the team down.
With each interval, legs and minds were realizing that they weren't failing. They would not be disappointed. How many other girls in the United States are doing this right now?
To succeed in a sport like cross country, one has to be willing to do all the little things, extras. Some would say they are crazy working towards a goal which is always just out of reach. The days they love the most are the cold and rainy ones. These are the days that they know; no one else is working as hard. Pushing the body to its full potential, knowing they are bettering themselves with every step.
Many do not always see the accolades that others may. But they don't do it for that. They do it for the itch in the legs at the end of a 16 miler. They do it for the light-headed-ness after a hard hill workout. Or the puke in lane one.
In the beginning I ran for my mom. I ran because she did, and she was pretty good. I mean, if you call qualifying for the trials good. Ok. She was great. I was hidden in her shadow and probably still am to an extent. I've heard all the comparisons; all the questions on why I am not as fast or as great as she was. Now, I know those answers, the real answers. I am not as good or as fast as my mom because I am not my mom. I was never close to her times because that was my focus. To be her. To beat her. That is not the point in running. Yes, the point of a race is to beat the other competitors, sure. But in running, it is about bettering you every time out. Even in a race, the person next to you may have run 2:04 in the 800, and sub-5 in the mile (girls). That's great! But, each time you toe the line, it is a clean slate. Everyone is even. Believe and anything is possible.
As they near the finish of the interval, their legs start to churn a little faster. This day these 10 girls have completed nine intervals. No one else is doing the optional. No one has done this workout. Not in these conditions. Others have already given in. Given up on the dream. Others don't know how to keep going. Others don't want it as bad as they do.
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