Irish American for a Day

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In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve Riverdanced my way into a new pair of jeans.  If that’s a bad sign, I don’t want to hear it.  Okay, maybe it was more like a jig, but I did it with all the spirit and energy of my Irish brothers and sisters (even though I’m Asian).

In dishonor of the American celebration of St. Patrick’s Day, I refuse to drink green beer and am suspicious of people who want me to pinch them:  “I forgot to wear green!”  I wasn’t borned yesterday.  Birthed?  Home schooled?  Born!  I wasn’t born yesterday, people.

What’s for dinner?  Corned beef and cabbage, of course (still Asian).  In America, it’s our right to take part in all sorts of cultural celebrations even though we have no idea what we’re celebrating.  Viva la ‘merica!!

 

Blogging on a Runner’s High

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Victory!!

Today was the first day I actually felt good while running.  I mean really good.  My body didn’t argue with me, the weather was beautiful, my mind strong.  And I felt happy.

Not every day is or will be like this, but I realized that it’s important to know this feeling, to know what it is that makes you feel good so that you can more easily recognize what feels off or wrong.

On a different note, today I learned that I can look at visitor stats for my blog.  Granted, not many people go to my blog, but I was shocked to see that a few people outside of the U.S. have visited.  So I have to give a shout out to:

United Kingdom
Australia
Canada
Belgium
Poland
Kenya

Of course, this doesn’t mean anyone actually read anything I wrote.  They could have accidentally gone to a post, thought “What the #!%*?” and immediately clicked their heels and disappeared.  But that’s okay.  I mean, someone in Kenya looked at my blog.  For real?  Thank you, Kenya!!  I love you!!  In fact, I love all of you!!

I think I’m still on my runner’s high…

The Properties of Alchemy (and Meat)

/ jane in training / 8 Comments

**Disclaimer:  This is not a serious overview of alchemy, or meat for that matter.  If you’re a serious sort, I urge you to find other, more weighty info on Wikipedia (which will kindly lead you to scholarly sources) or look up Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.  You won’t find anything intellectual here.  Okay, I feel better now.

From what I understand, alchemy is the mystical process of turning common metals into gold.  There are a whole bunch of philosophical, scientific and psychological ideas regarding this process, but for me, it’s like this:

Running and the other types of exercise I’ve been doing are causing some sort of alchemical process to take place in my body.  My calves, which I had hoped beyond all reason would get smaller, are changing into chicken drumsticks.  My badonkadonk is like shawarma, originally stacked, but now portions are being shaved off.  And my thighs?  They are meat-filled burritos, flexing their power, when before, they were flabby and quietly respectful.  They kind of have an attitude now.

[I’m sorry if I ruined anyone’s appetite.  And, uh, I hope there aren’t any cannibals reading this.  Just to be clear, I’m speaking figuratively.  Please don’t picture me in your head right now.]

I always knew that I had to make friends with my body as part of the whole process of accepting myself.  I used to take the easy route, wearing baggy overalls that covered – well, covered everything in an extremely generous way.  But one day I saw a photo of myself in said overalls, and I cringed.  I was shapeless.  I might as well have worn a cape three sizes too big.  The poodle perm didn’t help, either.

Now?  No more perm.  No more hiding in my clothes.  Now I just need mental alchemy to help me see gold in the common form that is me.

Where do you need alchemy?

Shall We Dance?

/ jane in training / 4 Comments

I’m not sure what I was thinking.  That’s just it.  I wasn’t thinking.

After all, I’m still trying to understand the messages that my body sends me (see last entry).  Sometimes two halves don’t make up a whole, and sometimes the result isn’t as funny as the movie promises:

All_of_Me_1984

The local dance studio had advertised “Disco Night!” which included a lesson in the Hustle and then a dance party to follow.  I remembered how much fun it was to do the Hustle, and consequently, I thought it would be really fun to just let loose and dance afterwards.

What I didn’t expect was a formal lesson by award-winning ballroom dancers and as we learned each step, we would be switching partners.  I went by myself in an effort to “get myself out there” and found out, hey – this is what speed dating must be like!  Except, it turns out, this would be more humiliating.  On a positive note, I was having fun learning the first few set of steps before things got complicated with full and half turns.  On a not so positive note, if my guy also didn’t know how to dance and one of us missed a step, I got thrown off the ship and I took my partner with me.  If I tried to laugh it off and the guy didn’t laugh at all, I felt terrible.  Being responsible for my own demise was no big deal.  But if I ruined it for someone else…

When the lesson was finished, the lights went out and the disco ball came down. I thought, Let’s Dance!!!  Where’s Ren McCormack??!!  But people partnered up to elegantly chachacha and hustle and do whatever choreographed step they were doing.  Oh.

I watched the other single women being asked to dance and after fidgeting on the sidelines a bit, I left.  I felt…awkward.  I blame myself – I could have laughed it all off and not cared what anyone thought.  The point was to have fun, and my feelings of embarrassment kept me from truly having fun.

I guess the point of trying something new is that at least you learn what you like and don’t like.  After all, I don’t get the least bit embarrassed when I dance at weddings or other events where you can just let go and dance the way you want to.  In fact, I’m positive that I embarrass other people.  Maybe structured dance just isn’t my thing.

I was telling my mom about the experience and she said (translation provided in English), “When you were young, maybe 6 or 7 years old, you would put a record on and dance, dance, dance…dance, dance, dance…shake your booty, shake your booty…”  (Sorry, I made up that last part.  Couldn’t resist.)  She said that I would dance and dance and laugh and laugh…

That’s how a kid dances, right?  With complete freedom and joy?

That’s what all of me loves about dancing.  There is no argument within because I can let it all go and feel like a kid again.

No, I probably won’t be going back to that dance studio.  Not unless they combine speed dating with improvisational dance.  Now where to find…

Arguing With Oneself: A Runner’s Companion

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Have you seen the film “All of Me”?  With Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin?  I haven’t, but I believe Lily Tomlin’s soul (?) somehow enters Steve Martin’s body and she is able to control the right (or is it left?) side of his body.

That’s how I feel when I’m running.

My upper half is pumped up, ready to run.  Feeling strong.  But as soon as I start running, my lower half seems to have a mind of its own – which is strange, since my mind is contained in my head, which, from what I learned in school is located in the upper half of my body.

My legs drag, almost tripping, moving without any kind of coordination.  If they had a personality, they would be Jerry Lewis’s original persona in “The Nutty Professor”.  A more contemporary example would be…oh poop, I’m not very contemporary…let’s just say anyone clumsy and inept.

So my upper mind starts lecturing the lower one:

Upper Half (UH): Focus!  What are you doing?  Are your shoes even on the right feet!?
Lower Half (LH): Dum de dum de dum…look at the ocean!  Is that a sea lion?
UH: Seriously?  You don’t even have eyes!
LH: I don’t need eyes to see.
UH: So now you’re a Jedi warrior?
LH: Maybe.  Dum de dum…You’re too serious.
UH: I am?
LH: I just want to be strong enough so that I can carry you when you get old.  Uh, older.  You’re too worried about how you look when you run.
UH: Oh.  You’re right.  Sorry I yelled at you.
LH: That’s okay.  I wasn’t really listening anyways.
UH:  You’re smarter than I thought you were.
LH: I know.

The conversation always starts off the same way, and about a mile or so in, they come to some understanding and I begin to run in peace.  I hope that someday the arguing will cease and that peace will be the first feeling that starts off every run.