I'll Wave YOU Through...

I am fifteen, behind the wheel of a Ford Taurus with a driving instructor next to me.  He's guiding me through our busy downtown, telling me to take wrong turns down one-way streets to test my awareness. I do well, only getting fooled for a second one time.  My hands are death-gripping at 10 and 2, my back ramrod straight.  We practice parallel parking, and then he guides me back on the freeway, encouraging me to go the 65-mile-per-hour speed limit.  I feel like I'm flying and have the most excruciating tension headache when I get home.

When I'm sixteen, it takes me two tries to get my license.  The first time, I would have passed with a 95 but I hit one of the poles parallel parking: an instant fail.  The second time, I passed with an 80 and have never felt happier to earn a low B.  Besides a few deer hits and an epic snowstorm navigation incident, driving has ranged from a pleasure to...nothing, kind of like walking.  I am a good and safe driver.  I go a bit above the speed limit, but never at unsafe speeds.  I do not text while the car is in motion.  I get from point A to point B.

My husband, however, would claim that I have a bit of the road rage.  I find this preposterous.  Road rage is when people flip the bird or even get out of their cars to belly buck each other in intersections.  Yes, there have been times when I've spoken loudly to myself about what some idiot is doing that is endangering me, my family, and my vehicle with their stupid brain and stupid vehicle, but I wouldn't call that rage.  I would call that social commentary.

One thing, however, really chaps my hide, and it's a bummer because the perpetrator is actually trying to be nice, which is a double-whammy: it's irritating AND I'm a jerk because I find it irritating.  Allow me to expound.

Let's say I'm approaching a four-way stop at the time time another car is to my right.  It's just me and this other car, and we get to the stop signs at the same time.  What do you do??  Easy.  If you get there at the same time, the car on the right goes first.  Why?  Because the Driving Gods say so.  Don't be a pain in the ass about it; that's just how it is.  

Who doesn't know this rule?  I know this rule, and I don't even pay attention to these kinds of things.  I don't even know the difference between a sweet potato and a yam, but I know that the person on the right has the right-of-way in an arriving-at-the-four-way-stop-at-the-same-time scenario.  So if a village idiot like myself knows this rule, I get a little irritated when others don't.  

Here's what happens that makes me feel crazy: the driver on the right waves at me.  He's saying, "Go ahead.  Go ahead through, person on the left."  

I hate that, you guys.  First, no.  This isn't polite society.  This is the road, where homo erecti are manipulating molded tons of steel and plastic at high speeds on four skids of rubber.  Because of this, and second, there are rules that should be followed. Otherwise, we become selfish assholes.  Just look at Black Friday at Walmart when they're selling 60-inch flat screen TVs for 250 bucks.  A guy DIED from being trampled because people couldn't wait to get that cheap TV, yo.  Even in super-polite northern Minnesota, we are jerks without rules.  Third, it actually takes more time to do this silly waving than if the person simply went because they have the right of way.  It's 7:56 in the morning, sir!  I know you have to be to work at 8:00; why are you wasting time with the parade princess wave??

Most of the time, if I get waved through, I'll go, momentarily disoriented (because this makes no sense!), replaced quickly by frustration.  I refuse, however, to wave back.  That would make me complicit in the game, as though I somehow approve of these rule-bending shenanigans.  Do I feel a little guilty for not matching niceness for niceness?  You bet your sweet ass I do.  Mama didn't raise no ingrate.  But I simply cannot encourage the other person creating MORE confusion for others in the future by acting happy about their "generosity" now.  If the person can see my face, they'll likely register irritation and think to himself, Hmm.  That woman seems irritated.  Perhaps I should have followed the civilized rules of the road and gone first.  Or, he thinks to himself, Jerk.

Sometimes I get so irritated I refuse to go.  The person will wave, and I will point him and then sweep my finger in the path that he should follow with his car, clearly saying, "No. You. GO."  They usually do, and I watch with a shaking head as they make their way through the intersection.

There have been times when I've done that, and they don't go, instead waving again.  God forgive me, I have, at times, taken my hands off the wheel and crossed my arms in front of me, defiant in what is a life-altering situation here in my first world of a full belly and several hundred dollar Frye boots.  Sometimes, another driver will show up at the intersection, and now there are spectators to the showdown.  The waving driver will see my crossed arms and will know that 1) I'm a piece of work and 2) I'm not going, so they'd better because this is getting stupid.  In response, I think, You already made it stupid, buddy.

Long story short, I do not have road rage.  I do, however, have a pet peeve that involves following the rules when at four-way stops.  Oh, and signaling.  Also, when people pull out into the middle turn lane to then merge into traffic because it scares the crap out of me.  And those LED headlights that are only a notch dimmer than the sun on a cloudless day.

Don't get me started on people who try the wave-through when they arrive first at the four-way stop.  Just don't. 

For the Community

Election day, 3 p.m.  I am sitting in my early American literature course.  We've just had a guest speaker leave; he's an incredibly powerful advocate for equality in our city and is a former colleague and friend of mine.  He's also a large, African-American guy with an infectious smile who embodies kindness.  He was there to talk about the legacy of slavery in our country and, more to the point, our city, the students just having finished reading Frederick Douglass's powerful autobiographical Narrative of the Life of an American Slave.

During our conversation, the issue of Black Lives Matter arose.  Our guest discussed the idea that it's truly about all lives mattering.  As I was half-expecting, a white student described a situation in which he went to a party in southern Iowa where he and his friend were the only white people there.  He cleaned up the story for class, but afterwards, he told me that it was worse: he and his friend felt threatened to the point of near physical violence until they left.  Back in class, though, he made his point: can't black people be just as racist as white people?  I looked at our guest and imagined the inner turmoil he must have been feeling.  As a person who refuses to play poker mostly because I don't have the face for it, I know my feelings were clear for anyone who looked at me.  There's a difference between racism and prejudice! were my first thoughts.  Our guest, however, still radiated kindness as he said, simply, "I'm very sorry that you had to go through that experience.  It sounds scary."  Ah, perspective.  This student wasn't wrong; his experience was his experience, and our guest acknowledged that.  Another student jumped in with an experience she had and we moved on.

After he left, I thought about his response as we continued our conversation, and, though no one talked overtly about the election (and I didn't encourage it, not feeling ready to put on an unbiased mask), one student, a woman in her 30's, said, "You know, we can talk about this stuff, but what difference does my one voice make?"

I looked around and saw other people nodding, and I said, "You know what?  NO.  I patently reject that sentiment."  The students laughed; they'd heard me "lay down the smack" like this before and knew I came from a place of respect.

Then I asked, "How many of you have been out in the world working before coming back to school?"  Over half of the students raised their hands.

"How many of you are still in high school?"  Two students.

"Listen.  What this is all about is choices.  You made a choice, and not an easy one.  Those of you who were working?  You made a radical choice that you wanted more.  Those of you still in high school?  You wanted the challenge of being among minds who are taking on complex problems, so you made a choice.  Even those of you 'traditional' students are here because you chose to be.

"You probably are in this class because you needed literature credits.  When you signed up for the course, did you imagine that we'd be sitting here, having such deep conversations not just about the symbols and characters in the literature, but about life?  This is happening because of YOU, because of your willingness to make a new choice and be open to creating a community in this classroom.

"And me, as an English teacher.  Do you really think that I'm here because I want you to learn how to write a thesis statement or not use 'they' when you really mean 'he or she'?  NO!  I'm here to get you to think more deeply about things, and when you're willing to engage in that because you've said 'YES' to broadening your thinking by taking these types of courses, I am inspired.  As an educator, the experiences we have here have a profound effect on my ability to do this work every day.  It's my hope that you will keep saying 'YES' to learning more and thinking deeply and creating community because that's when you'll see how much your one voice matters."

If I was holding a microphone, I would have dropped it.

I got emotional during my speech.  Tears came into my eyes and I told them I was feeling these emotions because they were giving me hope.  I was proud of them and the community we made.

I didn't know what I would be feeling the next morning after a restless night sleep and the news that Trump had won, forcing me out of my bed at 5:30 for a hard run to clear my mind.  As I headed up a hill, my legs felt it but kept moving, and I thought about the student who had a bad incident with a group of black kids.  It occurred to me that what my student walked into was not an angry hive, but a community of people that had formed to hold on to each other, to be a safe space in a world that hasn't seemed safe to them.

Our guest speaker's words echoed in my mind: I'm sorry you had to go through that experience.  It sounds scary.  I felt those words in my heart: "It sounds scary."  The antidote to fear is knowledge, and collective knowledge creates power.  Later that day, I met with people from my larger community, people who think deeply about issues and who care for one another and are reaching out to all people.  It wasn't right that my student felt fear in his experience at the party; it indeed sounds scary.  But it's scarier to allow a bad experience, either his personal bad experience or what many of us feel is a bad experience of this election, to close us off from still reaching out, reaching out and connecting and creating the community where all feel safe.

Burnin' In Me

I am not new to running, but the last time I made a serious go of it was four years ago when I trained my body to get through the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon.  At the time, I didn't control what I was eating, built distance too quickly, ended up with shin splints and finished at 2:18 (not too shabby, considering I had to stop and go number two halfway there (let's keep it real people)).  I swore I wouldn't do it again:

"13.1 miles is too far okay."

Image credit: http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Pepe_the_King_Prawn

Four years later, I've signed up to do it again.

This time, though, I'm being smart.  I started training over the summer (that's right...I started a year in advance); a good move when starting from zero.  I set some goals: 5k easy by October and 5 miles easy by January.  The class I'm taking to get me seriously ready starts in March, so I'd like so be up to 7 miles easy by then.  I say "easy" with a wink and a nod.  A mile is far, so I have respect for a person getting time on their legs no matter how far or how fast they go.  

I also have lost weight (20 pounds in six months), and that's made a big difference in my speed.  I'm finding a 9-minute mile to be the norm, whereas before, my goal was 10-minute miles (again, an excellent speed!  Have you noticed that I detest implicit (and obviously explicit) distance/time shaming?).  

So, I'm feeling good, running five days a week, eating better, and have a sub-2:00 half in my sights.  

Yikes.  That's the first time I've put that goal in writing.

...

Anyway.  Besides being smart about training, I have a not-so-secret weapon: tunes, baby.

Most people like music.  Many people who work out, especially during cardio, need music.  I'm one of those people.  One song in particular has been like an anthem, pushing me forward when I feel like I can't do it:  John Parr's "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)."

"Yes.  It is my epic feathered hairdo that inspires your miles."

Image credit: http://thistotallyhappened.blogspot.com/2012/09/john-parr-st-elmos-fire-man-in-motion.html

Let's address the MAN part of the song right away.  I am a WOman, and thus, it would seem, might feel left out or even dissed by the manly focus.  This is not true.  I don't need a song to talk about me being a hardcore woman, specifically, in order to get into it.  It needs to speak about baddassery, period, and if I connect, I connect.  In fact, I sometimes like to be in touch with my masculine side, which is not any weirder than encouraging men to be in touch with their feminine sides (though it does feel weird to type).  

Okay.  Back to the song.  First, St. Elmo's Fire is a weather phenomenon that occurs during a thunderstorm:  

Back in the day, when sailors saw it, they thanked their lucky stars, or, more accurately, St. Elmo (or Ermo or Erasmus), who was the saint of Mediterranean sailors,  It was good mojo for them.  (Read more about it here: What is St. Elmo's Fire?)

John Parr's song seems to focus more on the secondary title, "Man in Motion."  As the song begins, we've got a guy who's taken the straight path his whole life, but then, something happens that makes him change course.  He's not a rebel: he's playing "the game," but suddenly the stakes are much higher; he's a prisoner, "tryin' to break free," and now there's a second person "you," who is on the same path.

The third verse is what really gets me:

"Burning up, don't know just how far that I can go (just how far I go)
Soon be home, only just a few miles down the road
I can make it, I know I can
You broke the boy in me, but you won't break the man"

AHH!  Are you kidding me, John Parr??  This verse is MADE for a running person, especially a running person who's had a bad attitude about it for much of her life.  Believe me, in the song, it's much more like, "You broke the boy in me, but you won't BREAK THE MAN!!!!" I defy anyone to not feel pumped up with a lyric that's best represented in writing in all caps, italics, and bold.  

What's interesting in this song is that there's a chorus, of course, with the same basic melody, but the words are different each time.  It starts with illusions of flying eagles and a fast car, then moves to climbing the highest mountain (Everest, right?) and crossing the wildest sea (I'm going to go with the Southern Sea by Antarctica on this one):

"Iceberg! Right ahead!"

Image Credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ARL6j3saws

...and it ends with banners flying and music playing; "Feel like you're back again," full of hope.  Ah yes: hope.  The audacity of it.

I have to say, though, that the song's interlude rivals the above-mentioned verse in sheer pump-a-person-upness.  You're running along, riding high, a WO"man in motion," and all of a sudden, THIS:

"Just once in his life...a man has his time. And my time is now...I'm coming alive!"

You are STRAIGHT KILLING ME, John Parr!  This is it, folks.  A cheesy 80's song has buoyed me when I needed it most.  I am coming alive.  Listen to the song and get it on your rotation.

Lyric credit: http://www.metrolyrics.com/st-elmos-fire-man-in-motion-lyrics-john-parr.html

Losing It

Here's what happens when you lose weight: people say to your face that you look great/fantastic/amazing/SO SKINNY!!!!!!!** OMGOMGOMG! (Okay, that may be excessive, but there is one gal who says I'm skinny with such gusto, it can only be expressed here via texting shorthand.)

Sometimes people ask, "What are you doing?" (I always assume that they're asking me what I'm doing to lose the weight, not what am I doing at that second, which is having an out-of-the-blue conversation about my body.  This assumption is correct.)  I always answer the same way: "Calories in, calories out."  There's not much else to say.  I don't tell them I'm training for a half marathon very slowly; I don't tell them I eat the same thing for breakfast every day of the week and for lunch every weekday; I don't tell them I count my steps or use a calorie tracking app.  

First, typing that out makes me sound terribly obsessive.  I assure you, I'm not.  If I don't exercise one day, I still try to stay at or below my calories (1630, by the way, and to prove how NOT obsessed I am, I had to check the app on my phone for the exact number), but I don't exercise twice as long the next day.  Today, I had some of my husband's fries at lunch and didn't bother recording them on my phone because it's not that big of a deal.  I eat dessert every single night.  I like my breakfast (pina colada oatmeal, if you're curious). 

Second, weight loss is made out to be a practically-impossible act of willpower.  It wasn't for me.  I just stuck to my calories for the day.  I added a word I kind of hate, "JUST," but it's apt here for describing my emotional state about it.  I downloaded the tracking app and when I started figuring out how many calories certain things were, I took a pass on those things.  When I knew I was going to have dessert at night, it was easier to not go crazy during the day.  I figured out that veggies have few calories and loaded them on, and I did some research to understand the best, lower-calorie foods to eat so I would stay full.  

This did take some figuring, but the figuring was both eye-opening and fun.  Before this, every day, I would eat two eggs scrambled with some Parmesan cheese and two whole wheat pieces of toast with peanut butter on one and jelly on the other.  When I figured out that was over 500 calories, it was easy to make the oatmeal switch, which is about 300 calories.  I rarely eat eggs now; they're great protein, yes, but they aren't that enjoyable, and I'd rather spend my calories on something else.  I figured out that Hidden Valley has this ranch dip mix you can make with plain Greek yogurt.  It is so delicious and at 24 calories for two tablespoons, I'm piling the veg on my plate with a side of the dip--deliciousness.  My dessert choices?  Boom Chicka Pop Salted Caramel Corn (80 calories a cup), Nestle Toll House refrigerator cookies (80 calories a cookie), Yasso frozen Greek yogurt bars (100 calories apiece) and/or Diana's Bananas chocolate-covered frozen bananas (130 calories apiece).  I write "and/or" because it's usually a combination of two (or three!!) of these things every night. 

So, my weight loss has been mostly about educating myself.  I don't drink my calories unless it's my morning coffee with milk and sugar.  Low sugar jelly is just as good as the regular stuff.  Moving more, whether it's a training run or making my step goal for the day, feels amazing.  I feel healthier than I have been in a very long time, and weight loss has been a side effect.  It's been nice, yes, to get the compliments, but after I've said a polite "Thank you," I usually also add, "...but you know I looked good before, too."  With that kind of confidence, they cannot help but agree.  Losing weight is fine, but feeling good is better.  

____________________________________

*Note:  I am not, objectively, SO skinny.  I am in the normal range for my height and was only slightly (by five pounds or so) over the normal range when I started.  Don't think I lost fifty pounds or something. I did not go from a size 12 to a size 4.  If I did that, I would probably be unhealthy for my height.