Across the Finish Line

I did it!  I successfully ran a half-marathon yesterday.  I even beat my goal time.  I'm kinda still surprised.  I called my mom after I got home and she told me she was proud of me and that she still couldn't believe I had done it--never would she have imagined that I would become a runner.  I agreed with her--never did I imagine.  And yet, I love that we have that freedom: to perpetually remake ourselves, to know that our identities are never fully shaped with finality.  What a privilege that is.

Photo found on NYRR.org

This weekend the weather has been absolutely gorgeous.  It was in the high 50s and sunny yesterday for the run, with just a slight breeze.  Throngs of runners gathered well before 7am to take their places and work through pre-race jitters by stretching or talking.  Once the race finally started I wasn't nervous anymore, just happy to finally be running.  Before the race began I heard several men comment that if the need to pee arose during the race that you had to use the portable toilets provided, otherwise you risked being banned from all future NYRR races, including the NYC Marathon.  This, however, did not deter dozens of men from jumping off the route in the first mile to pee into a wooded fence area at the perimeter of the park.  It was such a bizarre sight, mostly because it seemed as if I were accidentally running by a bank of outdoor urinals.

I felt almost nothing for the first seven miles.  That is, I simply enjoyed the sea of runners, the people standing by to cheer, and the beauty of the day and didn't yet feel tired.  My favorite sign was black letters on a hot pink poster board that read: "Run like you just stole sumthin'!"  Cracked me up.  I'd run most portions of the race route over the past few weeks on my long runs, but it's completely different when the traffic is blocked off in every direction and you're no longer a solitary runner.  As we exited the park and made our way onto Ocean Avenue, the route took us down the freeway entrance ramp.  I've never run down a freeway entrance ramp before, and I found myself smiling and enjoying the moment as I looked down over the multitudes, smoothly making their way to the ocean, like a human river in search of its delta.

Around mile nine I wasn't smiling anymore.  Running was getting hard at that point.  My feet were sore, I was trying to maintain my pace, I was getting tired, and I still had four miles left to go.  But you know, you just keep running.  At mile eleven I noted that I had reached the "this is the farthest I've ever run" point again and asked myself whether I was ready for the last two miles.  And to myself, I responded that I was.

I know that sounds silly, but I think tests of endurance take a lot of actual talking to yourself.  These conversations I had with myself yesterday, they were different from thinking.  I didn't speak aloud necessarily, but they were deliberate conversations with real questions and concrete messages of encouragement.

So, on I ran, all the way to Coney Island's boardwalk.  One of my past students who I am close with came to cheer me on across the finish line.  Knowing she would be waiting there helped me keep running that last mile.  And then it was done.  Just like that.

Today I am somewhat fatigued, but the good sort that’s like a lingering echo of recent accomplishments.  And I'm happy not to have to run in the next few days, looking forward to a bit of rest.  Even as I type this, though, I'm listening to my race-day playlist and finding myself thinking, I could go for a run...

Saturday Commute

The half-marathon is six days away.  I'm excited, and nervous, and ready.  It starts at 7am, but it's suggested that runners arrive by 6am in order to negotiate the other 15,000 person sea of chaos that will be the start of the race.  That sounds early, even to me.  I don't anticipate sleeping soundly the night before.  I'm guessing it will be more like the night before catching a 4am flight or the first day of a new school year.  But, the nerves and adrenaline are all part of the experience, not to be disparaged, since they help propel you to the finish line.

Yesterday marked the last long run of my training.  Greg and I ran 10 miles together from our apartment in Brooklyn all the way to where he works on West 57th Street in Manhattan.  He ran this same route as a portion of a longer run last weekend, and later quipped that it would be considerably faster for him to run to work than to take the train.  Not really a thing either of us would want to do every day before work, though.

As always, I enjoyed the tourist-as-runner experience of the new route.  It's so pleasant to pass from one neighborhood to the next, encountering significant landmarks on the way, seeing a city I've lived in for seven years from an entirely new perspective.  We passed over the Gowanus Canal into Redhook, then headed north through Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, and Brooklyn Heights.  From there we crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge--magnificent as always.  I've only slowly ambled across before, never run.  The sky and water were both shockingly blue and I kept turning my head right and left to take in the view on either side: of boats and buildings.  Problem being that it's difficult to run forward and not crash into bikers or other runners while doing this.  Definitely worth the risk, though.  Once on the other side, we crossed lower Manhattan via City Hall and then headed north for another few miles on the West Side Highway running path.  The path parallels a park that runs along the Hudson River, so the route is populated with docks, gardens, artistic places to sit while you take in the view, and a billion other runners.  That's something I really enjoy about running: even though it's solitary in so many ways, encountering other runners reminds you that you're part of a larger community.

Last weekend I ran my longest distance ever: 11 miles.  In the past four weeks I've run 90 miles.  I can pull off 13.1 on Saturday, right?  Eep...

In school we've been studying comedy, satire specifically.  Last week the kids completed a new and experimental project in my class.  Each 9th grade class section had to create an Onion-like satirical newspaper from scratch, without any guidance from me.  After introducing the challenge to them, I put on a sticker that read "I am invisible," at which point they could not talk to me, nor I to them.  It all went astoundingly well; my biggest complaint is that I was bored out of my mind.  But the kids, they were amazing.  At the start of class Friday, each section handed me a beautiful satirical paper, written collectively by their section.  The 10th graders have agreed to judge the papers this week--I'm curious to see their assessment.  This whole experiment was merely a trial run for the project the kids will begin this week: producing and pitching a new comedy show.  Oh my.  I'll keep you updated.


P.S.--These are my running shoes, which I love and adore.

These are my brand spankin' new Nike Frees, just arrived in the mail yesterday.  A post-race treat to look forward to.  Hot pink laces...whee!

Spring has spru... (I guess we'll never know.)

The weather has been unpredictable this week, vacillating between stormy, muggy, chilly, and outright sunny and pleasant.  This is fine, except for the weather report was wrong every single day, so I never wore quite the right thing this week, which means that I was also chilled or overheated, depending on the day.  Yesterday threatened to storm all day.  By the time I went for my run last evening the air hung heavy with moisture, rendering it thick and comforting.  Because it had been raining on and off all week, the park's trees and grasses were lush and vibrant, giving off the sweetest mid spring smell.  A large puddle had accumulated in the road and a pair of ducks decided that this constituted a small pond, upon which they appeared to have taken up residence.  Comical and adorable

When I started training a couple months ago the farthest I'd ever run was just over 6 miles.  I set out on my first long run of training, hoping to match this personal distance record.  What's odd to me is that my long runs have become short runs; last night I got home from work and casually ran 6 miles in the park for my easy run.  This continues to surprise me.  A couple of weeks ago I ran 9 miles for the first time ever, and on Monday this week I came home to do my speed workout, which turned out to be 9 miles.  This week alone I've already run 25 miles.  This is so bizarre to me.  Don't get me wrong -- it's exhausting and time consuming, but I'm doing it, and I like that.

I find that I love small things while running.  I love the first drops of sweat that slide down my elbow, indicating that my body is heated and working.  I love the fine, gritty white film of evaporated sweat that covers me after a long run.  Similarly, I'm fascinated by how red my face gets and how long it stays that way.  Long after I'm home and rested my face will still be flushed.  I imagine that this sort of thing might be commonplace to many people, but I was never very athletic growing up, so these experiences still intrigue me.

Meanwhile, at school the children are growing incrementally up.  This does not stop them from doing ridiculous things on a daily basis, though.  I have a large closet in my room; the closet is not of the walk-in variety, but has shelves running from floor to ceiling, on which are kept supplies for the kids.  Markers, paper, folders, paper towel, Kleenex, etc.  The students have taken to using this closet as their own private space recently.  One of my seniors chose that spot the other day to practice aloud for his graduation presentation -- in the dark without room to move, he shut himself in the closet so that the other four people in the room wouldn't make him nervous.  My 9th graders go there to grab a Kleenex and stay crammed in the closet while they blow their noses in private.  One of the boys regularly goes in there to fart.  The hallway is just across the room, but somehow he's more comfortable in the closet.  No one bothers or teases him about this, which confuses me.  It's become somewhat of a class joke at this point and I relent to their sense of humor.

Another one of my students is a lovely but odd child, usually ostracized by his perplexed classmates.  One of his quirks is that he chews on -- really gnaws to bits -- everything, especially writing utensils.  Yesterday another boy had lost his pencap only to discover that the first child had it in his pocket.  He confessed to us a bit sheepishly, "Oh, I chewed it."  The second boy, watched intently by the entire class, replied, "That's no problem, it's not a big deal."  He even let the first boy hug him in apology, never indicating with his face or words that he was in the least upset.  I thanked him for being so magnanimous, at which point I realized it was necessary for him to learn this word in order to appreciate my appreciation.  Over to the dictionary we went -- magnanimous: generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness.  They really are growing up.  Just maybe they're ready to take on the 10th grade.

Avocado Kale Salad

This past winter I bought kale frequently and sauteed it with olive oil, minced garlic, salt, pepper, and some red pepper flakes.  Also tasted good with some grated Parmesan.  But now that the weather's getting warmer, I have a new favorite way to eat it.  Very easy to prepare, too.

Start with a soft avocado and a lemon.  Mush together the avocado with the lemon juice to create a thick salad dressing.  I've been using a 1-to-1 ratio, but you should play with it to see what you like.  I also add salt and pepper.  Wash your kale and tear it into bite sized pieces.  In a bowl combine the kale and dressing; use your hands to massage the dressing into the kale so that all the leaves are evenly covered.  The best part is that your hands get messy and you get to lick the avocado off your fingers.  (If you like that sort of thing.  I surely do.)

That's your base.  Then you get to add whatever sounds delicious or you have on hanging out in your fridge.  I added tomatoes, scallions, dried cranberries, and cucumber.  If I had had basil, I would have added that, too.  Strawberries or blueberries would also be amazing.  The lemon in the dressing really perks up the kale and offsets its heavy bitterness.

Okay.  Go make this now.  Enjoy!

Silenced

Friday was the National Day of Silence, "a day of action in which students across the country vow to take a form of silence to call attention to the silencing effect of anti-LGBT bullying and harassment in schools."  This is the second year in a row since I've taught at my school where the event was highly publicized and many of the staff and students participated.  I'm one of the teacher facilitators of our school's Gay-Straight Alliance; the kids have been working hard for the past several weeks to organize a "week of awareness" around Friday's event.  We've even invited a collection of outside speakers to come in this Wednesday to have a panel discussion around LGBT issues for the whole student body.  I'm proud of the organizing the kids have done--it's fun to watch their efforts ripple across the school.

Aside from the activism aspect of Friday, I was once again reminded of how much I enjoy teaching when I am unable to talk.  Initially the kids are excited because they hope class will be a free-for-all, but almost immediately they settle into our long-established routines and class runs even more smoothly than it does on any other typical day.  My silence encourages their silence, and a collective effort is born to interpret my directions.  Plus, by this point in the year they are well aware of my expectations, and so a simple, stern look from me will halt any misbehavior that might begin.  I can write a question on the board and the kids know how to lead their own discussion, they know how to put themselves in groups and focus on an assignment, and they're great at answering each others' questions when anyone is confused.  I love watching them function like this with almost no input from me.

As well as I know my students by April, I forget how well they know me, too.  My favorite moment in the day might have been as I was dismissing one class to lunch.  I opened the door and motioned into the hall, indicating that they could leave, and in the silent room one boy suddenly voiced what I must say almost daily: "Goodbye my loves.  Have a good lunch."  I maintain that laughing is still permissible during a day of silence--at least I hope it is, because I laughed hard in that moment.

In other news, I ran nine miles yesterday.  I was nervous before the run because of the distance, and because I was planning to run a new route and I more often than not make a wrong turn and end up who knows where.  But, I didn't make any wrong turns and I ran the whole nine miles at just under my goal race pace, so felt joyous when I had finished.  Upon returning home I listened to these seven songs loud and on repeat to celebrate.  I invite you to do the same.

Somebody That I Used to Know – Gotye

This Sweet Love – James Yuill

Ritual Union (Maya Jane Coles Remix) – Little Dragon

Tenuousness – Andrew Bird

Until We Bleed – Kleerup

Sail – AWOLNATION

Everlasting Light – The Black Keys

Sacred

Over the past couple of years I've been blessed with the opportunity to travel quite a bit.  I just returned from a week in Istanbul and am both happy to be home and already missing some of the characteristics peculiar to that city, as always seems to be the case when I find myself back in Brooklyn.  I do adore New York, but seeing other parts of the world awakens my wanderlust and has me scheming about where I might escape to next.

A motif of a few these trips has been visiting their famous sacred places.  The beauty of these places seems to transcend the earthly materials used to create them.  I find them breathtaking and am filled with awe.  Since I had this experience yet again on my most recent trip, I thought I'd take a moment to share a few photos.

Paris: Sainte-Chapelle
This Gothic style church was built in the 1240s.  Its stained glass windows are overwhelmingly blue and fill so much of the space where there would be walls that the whole construction seems to be held up by a miracle.

 

 

Barcelona: Sagrada Família
Antoni Gaudí began building this basilica in the 1880s and it is still under construction today.  Gaudi died in 1926, and since then architects have considered it an honor and challenge to help add to his vision.  Perhaps more than any building I've ever seen, the Sagrada Familia defies explanation or description.  The exterior has a different design on every side, exuding a feel of genius and insanity.  The interior is astounding and majestic; it truly feels like holy ground as you find yourself looking upward and wandering, wandering through its vastness.

 

 

 

Istanbul: Sultan Ahmed Mosque (Blue Mosque)
This mosque was built in a mere seven years, from 1609-1616.  It's still used today by worshippers.  The call to prayer emanates throughout the city five times a day.  Each mosque has its own caller and their calls are not entirely synchronized, so the effect is a sort of haunting, harmonious round.  I was standing directly outside the Blue Mosque, next to one of its six towering minarets, one day last week as this happened.  It was astounding.

 

Istanbul: Suleyman Mosque
Built by the architect Sinan from 1551-1558, this mosque is understated and awe-inspiring.  I love that the wooden benches and marble stations for pre-prayer foot cleansings are still used today, rather than simply a shadow of the past.

Rainbow Trails and Turkish Delight

Yesterday was a big day: I ran 8 miles for the first time ever, and I traveled to Istanbul.  That's where I am now as I type this.  Istanbul.  In fact, I'm trying to propel myself past jetlag into the correct timezone, so this moment is as much about writing a bit as it is about trying to stay up just that much longer before relinquishing to the sleep that has been coaxing me toward it all day long.

So, the 8 miles... hooray!  My ankle is awesome and felt nary a twinge during or after my run yesterday.  God job, ankle.  Also, 8 miles is not a short distance.  What's more, it takes a while to run that far; I now know about myself that I can run for 1 hour and 20 minutes without stopping.  Just a few years ago I couldn't run more than 20 minutes without walking, so this is significantly longer and something I am proud of.

The weather in Brooklyn yesterday was sunny and crisp and just a little breezy.  In other words, a perfect day to run.  The first half of my run took me around Greenwood Cemetery.  On the back half of this loop there is a series of small uphill segments.  The first one wore me down somewhat, but I was ready for the second.  It was on this second uphill portion that an odd thing of beauty eclipsed everything else.

The sidewalk where I was running was made from old pebbled concrete, and it was in a state of disrepair with large pieces gouged out or worn away.  This left the sidewalk to collect and store any debris that came its way.  Lodged in every nook and cranny were multicolor fragments of broken glass.  They glistened and sparkled in the sun--blue, brown, orange, green, red--like an underfoot urban disco ball.  At that particular moment I was listening to this song, and felt transported into some other rainbow glitter dimension, where running up a hill seemed effortless and like a gift I could not have anticipated.  These are the sorts of crazy beautiful that keep me running, and delighted to see what might be around the next bend.

Today on the streets of Istanbul I have heard the Muslim call to prayer three times.  This, too, has a haunting and beautiful, other-worldly quality to it that I quite enjoy.

In our attempt to stay awake today, Greg and I agreed to try Turkish coffee--for the experience and for the caffeine.  It should be known here that neither of us drink coffee.  Ever.  It should also be known that Turkish coffee is thick and strong, not like coffee most other places.  We were expecting bitter sludge, but it actually turned out to be delicious.  Greg did accidentally drink too far down into his cup, which left him chomping on some coffee grounds that are meant to remain in the bottom of the cup.  I was drinking more slowly, and so was able to benefit from Greg's misfortune.  The coffee was accompanied by a piece of pistachio Turkish delight.  I love this gooey dessert and have already consumed so much of it in my few hours in the country.  Do not fear, I will continue to do so until I depart--I promise!