I Might Be Crazy

Today I signed up to take a group of high school seniors to London for seven days after graduation. WHAT is wrong with me? Is it my desperation to travel Europe that drove me to it? Yes. Is it masochism (as a friend so recently described my life choices) that drove me to willingly put myself in charge of hormonally-insane newly-turned 18 year-olds in a foreign country where they will be of legal drinking age?! Maybe. Perhaps Kallie (the aformentioned friend) understands my psyche better than I do. And, believe me Kal, your post spoke to me. Not only did you "nail" me (in the non-adultery type way) but I, too, laugh out loud when I hear the saying, "Daddy drinks because you cry."

But, my friend Kallie brings up an excellent point about me. Her post forced me to reflect upon the seemingly crazy things I do for which I have very little explanation...with the exception of that dirty word I taught her in 11th grade. It served a very good purpose, and I hope it has served you well Kal!

So do I run because I teach, or do I teach because I run? Now I know the latter might not make much sense...I mean it'd be like asking what comes first, the baby or the embryo...duh. No one gets into teaching high school because they're a runner. What I mean is...it's all the same. Like how in "The Time Traveler's Wife" time is all the same. Everything has already happened and there is no changing it. Teaching and running are the same forms of torture for me. Both are things I don't really want to do, but I do them anyway because I know they are good for me. Even when they hurt me. I'm blowing my mind right now. And, just in case my desire for self-torture needed any sort of confirmation, let's recap the decision I made today.

I will be chaperone.
To 18-year-olds.
In Europe.
For 7 days.

This tempts me to write FML*, but I've done this to myself. All of it. The running, the teaching, the chaperoning. So maybe I have to come up with a new version of FML that suits my life choices. Like IFML**.

Sigh.

For more clarity on my chosen forms of self-torture, see Kallie's post about it at http://joshandkallie2.blogspot.com Titled: "only suitable for adults." It's hilarious--and I'm not just saying that because it's about me. If you don't laugh out loud at some point I'll..... to be honest, I'll do nothing.

*fuck my life.
**i fucked my life.

Kallie, do you think that word requires the "Only Suitable for Adults" warning? I should probably leave it then, huh.

True Health Starts With...

Sunblock. I contemplated this fact during the extra mile I accidentally ran today at Lake Murray (pictured here). But I'll get to that in a minute.

I am so sore! Sore sore sore. That's what I get for waiting three months since my last plyometrics workout and then jumping in with an hour long session last night. I read about running. A lot. I know better than to do these things... but the thing with the kid with the stuff yesterday really threw me off. Don't believe what all the health magazines tell you about preventing soreness. I've read that drinking coffee will help prevent it or a light workout the day after the hard one will prevent it. Lies. All lies. There is nothing that can actually prevent soreness if you workout hard enough. Just have to push through it. But on to my sunblock contemplation.

Let's call her LeatherBlader. (The non-space is intentional...as an English teacher I always 1. Feel the need to explain my odd, but intential misspellings and 2. Also, as an English teacher, it's my perogative to make up words. So there St. Martin's Handbook- you can suck it.) The reason I "accidentally" ran an extra mile today. I couldn't stop thinking about her and lost track of my mileage. She is a blur of bleach blonde, spandexy, brown-skinned, cougarness on wheels. She is a walking, no rolling, contradiction of health and decay. On the one hand, she is the ideal model for safety while rollerblading. Helmet? Check. Wrist Guards? Check. Knee pads and neon colors? Check. However, while she does a very thorough job protecting her skin from cuts, bruises and road rash, she does not address the most important aspect of skin protection: sunblockage*. She looks like a super skinny leather suitcase...the kind with wheels...and I feel badly for her. She may never get hurt rollerblading at Lake Murray**, but she will get hurt by melanoma; it's only a matter of time.

Despite the obstacles-- soreness, sun damage and exhaustion from an honest day's work... gotta keep on truckin'.


*Sunblock is running gear item number one for a runner. My favorite brand is California Baby Sunblock Stick for my face. It's made for babies, but it's the only brand that adequately fights off the dark spots I get on my face from the sun.

**Lake Murray is in La Mesa. (East County San Diego) It is a 6 mile out-and-back, relatively flat, paved path that winds around the perimeter of the lake. It used to be a loop, back in the day, but the dam was blocked off (probably due to fear of terrorist attack...sillys) and is no longer accessible to the walkers, joggers and bikers that frequent the path. Watch out for rattlesnakes! Especially in the spring and summer. Parking is free, but all cars must be out of the parking lot by 6pm. For directions go to: http://www.mtrp.org/lake_murray.asp

So Typical

Ever had an unexpected moment of understanding? I mean, it literally never crossed your mind that you weren't understanding a situation until suddenly you do understand it?

Today. Seventh Period. English. My little freshmen and I are reading "The Scarlet Ibis" together and I, every once in a while, hear a boy near me sporadically grunting. It sounds as if he is trying to quietly read out loud to himself along with the CD recording. He appeared to be concentrating so hard on the text that I (for once in my life thank God!) didn't tell him to keep his grunting down. I mean hey, if it helps his reading comprehension to say some of the words to himself, and he's not disrupting anyone, then I'm all all for it.

But as the story continues, I notice that he's also twitching, awkwardly drumming his knuckles on the desk, and squeezing his eyes closed as if they hurt him. This forces me to go into my "I-wish-I'd-followed-my-dream-to-become-a-private-detective" mode and survey the situation a little more closely. Something is up with this kid and the other kids seem to be in on it.

This boy, we'll call him Twitchy, is a very soft spoken student. He does his work adequately and is never a behavior problem; however, I'm beginning to realize that I have heard these groans, these grunts, these grunty-groany-twitchings, coming from this kid before; except, I always figured it was the culmination of various teenage noises from around the room. In case you don't know this about freshmen: they're 13-14 years old, can't sit still to save their life and have even less success keeping their mouths closed for more than 20 seconds. (No joke, I've timed them.)

So as I am conducting my covert surveillance of Twitchy, I simultaneously stop the CD to discuss a point of symbolism in the story. While I ask questions and the students share answers, I see Twitchy's eyes roll sideways and his tongue move in and out of his mouth at near supersonic speed. I realize, Holy Shit This Kid's Got Tourette's Syndrome.

My brain froze. Somewhere out in the classroom a student answered my question and all were waiting for my response, but my sudden understanding has rendered me utterly brain-dead-speechless. In my mind I'm flashing through all the times I've given instructions to the class and without realizing who was making the noise said, "Ok, whoever is mumbling and grunting while I'm giving instructions needs to shut it and listen to my instructions," or the time I said, "Hey guys, hi. I'm your teacher...remember me? You need to stop all your fidgeting and focus on what I'm saying because I say important things up here sometimes." And I'm sure I've made more comments that in some indirect way were directed directly at him!

I am instantly humiliated, humbled and saddened by this realization. An by the realization that the kids immediately surrounding him know of his condition. I can see on their little faces that they are concentrating really hard in order to avoid looking at him. So, in the midst of this mind-blowing realization, I think I said something like, "Uh...good answer. Ok. Ummmm. Let's hit the play button again...."

My thoughts a few hours later are only this: Why has NO ONE, no counselor, no advocate, no parent, no noone, told me about Twitchy's tourette's? And don't ask me if I think he was faking. I know bullshit better than a shit farmer...I teach high school (and I was raised on a cattle ranch...loads of shit). Plus, in case you missed it, I want to be a Private Investigator: It's in my nature to assume everyone is a liar.

But I don't have the answer to that aforementioned question so...

I guess for now I'll just hit the play button on my Plyometrics Workout Video* and work on my fast twitch muscles...just like my new favorite student, Twitchy.

*For more info about Plyometrics and why I do them, go here: "Plyometrics." Warning: Do not do plyometrics everyday. Once a week at most.

Today's Reason

When I woke up this morning and stuffed my running gear into a Target bag, I had every intention of running at my favorite lake in East County after school. But I didn't do it. Instead, I am here, sitting on my couch with said bag next to me on the floor staring me down. No really- it is. It's not that my day was especially exhausting, and it's not that the weather isn't perfect (because it is), and it's not even that my students pissed me off today (even though a few did when they asked if I had their essays for them. No I do not have your essay graded for you because you turned it in Friday...the same day 80 of your classmates also turned in their papers. Do you honestly think you are so important that I will spend the whole of my weekend wading through 80 essays about "The Most Memorable Event" in your ridiculously teenaged life? )...So no, it was for no other reason than: I just didn't feel like changing into my running clothes. It can be that simple sometimes.

This is the first part of the battle when it comes to running- at least for me. If I can get the clothes on, I can get my run on. That's why instead of telling you about how glorious and serene the lake was today, I'll probably do my usual three-mile loop around the neighborhood (which is the one map I won't be sharing with the world-wide web for self-preservational reasonings).

At some point I'll be adding links that give maps/driving directions to the lakes and trails I "test run." But today is a local day.

Let's Get One Thing Straight...

Yes, it says "I Run..." as the title of this blog...but that might be a lie. What I do would probably be laughed at by most "runners." An elite runner would say, "You're a jogger." But the term "jogger" is so 80's. Therefore, I will call myself a runner in the hopes that this will be the year that I finally become one. I've been "running" for about six years now (well...I do other stuff too. Like bake good food, play shuffle board, teach English--I'll get to that one in a minute). I do about four half-marathons a year.

The four major San Diego races include: The Silver Strand (in November), The Carlsbad Marathon and Half Marathon (in January), The La Jolla Half (in April), and America's Finest City Half Marathon (in August). Of course, there is the Rock 'n Roll Marathon in June --that's the big one almost everybody knows about. I did it two years ago. Was NOT pretty. Let's just say...I feel really bad for whoever had to empty the trashcans at the finish line...and for anyone who walked within a three-foot radius of said trashcans. I probably won't be doing a full marathon this year, but I'm not going to rule it out either.

So the purpose of this blog is to take you through some of San Diego's best (and maybe worst) places to run in San Diego. For the last five years, I've pretty much stuck to my neighborhood in Point Loma/OB for my runs. But, I'm hoping to expand my terrain this year...and hopefully it will inspire you to break from your regular running loops as well.

Aside from whether or not I can be called a "runner," let's get one more thing straight: the second half of the blog title, "...Because I Teach" is not a lie. I am a high school English teacher. I realized during my first year of teaching that if I didn't find a way to release the anger stored up throughout the day, then the people I love the most in my life (namely, my husband) are the first to suffer my wrath. When I cussed out my husband for not taking out the trash one afternoon, both he and I knew something had to change: either I find a different job, or find a way to let the day go.

Thus, I discovered running (ok...jogging...) and in the words of Robert Frost, "it has made all the difference."