29 October 2006
running
i'm sore from running a 5 miler at slightly faster than marathon pace. oh no. let's hope things pan out better next sunday. but i'm quite happy with my results--top 8% of my gender. woohooo! off to take a bath in epsom salts, ahhhh!
23 October 2006
cutting off those that hurt you
a year and a half ago, inspired by krs-one's ruminations, i decided to cut off those that were bad for me. friends who hurt me but were my friends, shitty people in my life. since i had already stopped talking to the incredibly hurtful sibling of mine (who many of you may not even know i have since i never mention him, even to some of my close friends), i cut out a few other people, some of whom i deeply loved--because i saw they were bad for me.
now, years later, i miss them incredibly, even those that were bad for me--the people who made me feel bad about myself, those who put me down as a method of pulling themselves up, and even the one who tried to steal my cat...
it's so hard to let go, even years later. i miss them all; i miss them all greatly.
i love you wherever you are.
now, years later, i miss them incredibly, even those that were bad for me--the people who made me feel bad about myself, those who put me down as a method of pulling themselves up, and even the one who tried to steal my cat...
it's so hard to let go, even years later. i miss them all; i miss them all greatly.
i love you wherever you are.
22 October 2006
you see me every day...
i walk past you, to the subway. you sit in front of the bodega--all of you, all men. where are you wives, mothers, daughters? your hips swagger as your jeans cling to worn leather belts, and i can smell the stench of sweat/cigarettes/scuzz were i to approach you. but i never do.
i walk, straight. ipod often on ears, cell phone on ears, or the standard, new york straight ahead fuck you i'm in my own world leave me alone.
still, you attempt to engage me.
all of you. whistles at me, comments on my clothing, those eyes. those eyes. i feel them crawling up my legs, to my ass, to my chest, to my furry coat...to the friends i walk with, hands i clutch or faces i kiss..you are there, staring. when i'm on the phone with my father, or worse, my grandmother, i hear your voices, lewd and leery, and i want to smack you.
i want my grandmother to smack you: "how dare you talk fresh to my granddaughter."
every day, you stare at me. i've lived here for 3 1/2 years--i'm not a new fixture. i'm not into flirting with old men. i'm not into flirting with random gross men on the street. (maybe if you were cute, my age, had a witty comment about the cat i was walking or the inga muscio book i was carrying...)
but please, leave me alone. i don't want you in my life. i don't want you looking at me, talking to me. you make me feel dirty, gross.
you see me every day, and still you stare. i see you seeing me every day, and averting my eyes does no good. i hate it and i hate you more and more every day.
you see me every day.
i walk, straight. ipod often on ears, cell phone on ears, or the standard, new york straight ahead fuck you i'm in my own world leave me alone.
still, you attempt to engage me.
all of you. whistles at me, comments on my clothing, those eyes. those eyes. i feel them crawling up my legs, to my ass, to my chest, to my furry coat...to the friends i walk with, hands i clutch or faces i kiss..you are there, staring. when i'm on the phone with my father, or worse, my grandmother, i hear your voices, lewd and leery, and i want to smack you.
i want my grandmother to smack you: "how dare you talk fresh to my granddaughter."
every day, you stare at me. i've lived here for 3 1/2 years--i'm not a new fixture. i'm not into flirting with old men. i'm not into flirting with random gross men on the street. (maybe if you were cute, my age, had a witty comment about the cat i was walking or the inga muscio book i was carrying...)
but please, leave me alone. i don't want you in my life. i don't want you looking at me, talking to me. you make me feel dirty, gross.
you see me every day, and still you stare. i see you seeing me every day, and averting my eyes does no good. i hate it and i hate you more and more every day.
you see me every day.
18 October 2006
archbishop desmond tutu
i saw the archbishop desmond tutu speak tonight at trinity church. he was really amazing, and said a few especially interesting things.
the interviewer asked him and john allen (his biographer) about how the churches mobilized the whites and the blacks during apartheid and tutu reminded the audience, "the christian faith is responsible for some of the most horrendous atrocies." applause from brave audience members. he continued, "christians are responsible for the holocaust. christians are responsible for slavery. christians are responsible for apartheid."
he said that the struggle against apartheid has been compared to the civil rights movement in the usa. but it's NOT--"people in south africa--every person--must change. unlike the us." which is why we still have racism and have a concrete ceiling for women of color in the business world.
to desmond tutu, "the primary violence of apartheid is the injustice of apartheid."
to him, nonviolent protest was, "confronting without weapons in your hands--and call out the violence of your opponent."
he's amazing. i'm so lucky to have heard him speak.
the interviewer asked him and john allen (his biographer) about how the churches mobilized the whites and the blacks during apartheid and tutu reminded the audience, "the christian faith is responsible for some of the most horrendous atrocies." applause from brave audience members. he continued, "christians are responsible for the holocaust. christians are responsible for slavery. christians are responsible for apartheid."
he said that the struggle against apartheid has been compared to the civil rights movement in the usa. but it's NOT--"people in south africa--every person--must change. unlike the us." which is why we still have racism and have a concrete ceiling for women of color in the business world.
to desmond tutu, "the primary violence of apartheid is the injustice of apartheid."
to him, nonviolent protest was, "confronting without weapons in your hands--and call out the violence of your opponent."
he's amazing. i'm so lucky to have heard him speak.
All sorts of good news in my life!
My sister is flying to NY the weekend of my marathon!
Okay nothing otherwise specific other than happy moments like when Jessica called me from Paris (though she was sad) and running with Cara again today and eating super yummy Greek yogurt (remembering eating Greek yogurt and watching the sun rise with T after a night of excessive clubbing in Ios) and reading a terrific book (Sweet Relief) and also enjoying apple season and Inga Muscio’s book and good music and yes, the world can be a lovely place.
15 October 2006
running pics of me
here are some running pictures of me. the one where i am ready for my run with my arms down is BEFORE saturday's 23 mile run. with the arms above my head, it is after my 23 miler and i am signalling victory. somehow, i felt great. hungry, tired and a bit sore, yes, but great. the one of me in the subway is something i've been wanting to do for a while. it's me running with deena kastor (who i want to win nyc this year!) and paul tergat (the flash has blinded him in the face :( ). i'm hoping to get a better shot of this with me in my full running regalia, wooohooo! anyway, you can see how high maintanance i am with running. my hair is up in buns to prevent those nasty sweat dreds you get with running too long with ponytails, the sports bar is supportive and coolmax (you can't see), the tank also some sort of sweat-drawing-away-from-the-skin (also coolmax, perhaps?), the shorts coolmax (and they feature pockets in the back for goo, yum, chocolate goo and strawberry banana powergel!) and my fuel belt includes water, a pocket for clif shot blocs and sports jelly beans. check out my wristband (white with a pink heart) and my ankle brace. i also wore new sneakers by saucony and six-year old sunglasses by arnette. oh, and it was 45 degrees F when i left my house! my hands were cold the first few miles. here's to the running nerds of planet earth! and yes, running along the fdr, i lifted my water bottles like one might lift a glass of champagne--here's to new york, and the world's finest marathon!
i heart inga
last night i went to hear inga muscio read at bluestockings. she was, of course, phenomenal. she read from her new amazing book, autobiography of a blue-eyed devil, which is well-researched (high praise coming from a librarian), articulate, shocking, and even humorous. i love inga. i don't think i have time or the proper words to discuss this (although, v, i've discussed this in a letter), but she blew our minds. everyone was laughing, shocked, angry--all together. she really is a phenomenal woman.
one thing she DID do was reading the original chapter where she talks about re-reading little house on the prarie as an adult and seeing the disgusting racism against american indians. she had long excerpts but a week before production, random house revoked permission (probably getting wind of what inga was planning on doing with it (dissecting its racism)) and so she had to paraphrase. she read the entire piece as she originally intended it, and you see how fucked up and racist they were--but as inga points out, laura, like herself, and me, and most others, are products of our white supremacist society. it is SO easy to just accept things; it is harder to question everything about our society. that is what i try to do, and honestly, it's not easy, but you have to do it...or you are doomed to become like others, without assisting the progression of humans.
one thing she DID do was reading the original chapter where she talks about re-reading little house on the prarie as an adult and seeing the disgusting racism against american indians. she had long excerpts but a week before production, random house revoked permission (probably getting wind of what inga was planning on doing with it (dissecting its racism)) and so she had to paraphrase. she read the entire piece as she originally intended it, and you see how fucked up and racist they were--but as inga points out, laura, like herself, and me, and most others, are products of our white supremacist society. it is SO easy to just accept things; it is harder to question everything about our society. that is what i try to do, and honestly, it's not easy, but you have to do it...or you are doomed to become like others, without assisting the progression of humans.
soothed after shreds of fear
6:01 am, sunday morning. sunlight not yet streaming in the slits of the "room darkener" blinds. the panic is real, even though i am here, safe, warm, in my bed with you.
a dream so real i could touch it...a nightmare so real i am scared even after i wake up. i curl into your arms, let you hold me tightly in your sleep. and it is then that i know you are here for me.
"i had a dream. there was a shooting. it was so scary. everyone was getting shot."
these words that i whisper to you sound trite as i remember--the whispers of my friend who said she was moving for the witness protection program because she pointed a finger at various mafiosa. and then they were there. my friend (?) stood by the open car door (i was in the front passenger seat, and various other friends (???) were in the car as well) as they announced, "this is a suicide." they shot someone. "he wants to die. she wants to die too." and they shot everyone on the street--it was probably 2nd avenue in the east village (or 1st, but you know how dreams are) and i peered horrified through the windshield, watching as the bodies fell.
if they saw us...the open car door...we would be dead too.
and then i woke up.
and then i went into your arms, were finally, i was safe.
a dream so real i could touch it...a nightmare so real i am scared even after i wake up. i curl into your arms, let you hold me tightly in your sleep. and it is then that i know you are here for me.
"i had a dream. there was a shooting. it was so scary. everyone was getting shot."
these words that i whisper to you sound trite as i remember--the whispers of my friend who said she was moving for the witness protection program because she pointed a finger at various mafiosa. and then they were there. my friend (?) stood by the open car door (i was in the front passenger seat, and various other friends (???) were in the car as well) as they announced, "this is a suicide." they shot someone. "he wants to die. she wants to die too." and they shot everyone on the street--it was probably 2nd avenue in the east village (or 1st, but you know how dreams are) and i peered horrified through the windshield, watching as the bodies fell.
if they saw us...the open car door...we would be dead too.
and then i woke up.
and then i went into your arms, were finally, i was safe.
14 October 2006
november 5, here i come
i ran 24 miles today--i meant to run 22, but i got so excited exploring new territory--i ran on randall's and ward islands today. SO FUN!
okay so something is weird when you say, "oh just another two hours of running," or "so fun" when referring to a 24 miler.
yes i really am sick.
okay so something is weird when you say, "oh just another two hours of running," or "so fun" when referring to a 24 miler.
yes i really am sick.
10 October 2006
nyc half marathon
i just got my certificate for finishing the half-marathon in the mail and i learned this:
- i was 452 out of 4969 finishers!
- i was in the top 20% of all finishers!
08 October 2006
06 October 2006
15.5 miles
after work, i ran across wall st, crossed broadway, and then ran behind the world financial center to meet up with my beloved path along the hudson river/west side highway. i feel like i'm in another country when i run here, for some reason. today, i was getting flashbacks of running along the ocean in iceland (yes, the entire atlantic ocean was right next to me), running in copenhagen, running in other cities along rivers. traveling last summer, i thought, "wow, all these cities have rivers. crazy." it's because, duh, water means water, commerce, fish, etc. but my run today, i felt like i was in another country--not new york city.
i ran all the way up, past 100th st, and turned around at some point. then i ran across 104th st, then ran south to 96th st, entered central park, ran north, ran west, and ran south. i ran over 2 hours at about 9 minutes per mile (though at certain times, much faster) pace, running, loving it, feeling truly alive. nothing makes me happier than pounding the pavement. i wore my running skirt, a long-sleeved thin shirt (which i didn't want in the beginning but was very glad i had in the end), with my fuel belt, carrying two powergels (chocolate goo, yum), clif blocs (cran-razz, my fave!), and sports jelly beans (orange, okay), with of course, water.
i don't know how running can make me so happy--i think it is filling in a void left in me since love is no longer there. and i LOVE running--it's a way to spiritually fill me, physically fill me, emotionally fill me. nothing, in my life now, is more perfect than running.
05 October 2006
a story
they're on a mediterranean island, one with windy curvy streets that don't seem to make sense and they constantly get lost (never finding the proper restaurants in their guidebook) but always ending up at their private room at their tiny hotel (or villa, as it's called) just when they're about to give up. they don't know the language, and as this isn't the most touristy of the islands, they keep quiet and she speaks with the few words she's learned from the guidebook. five months ago, when they bought the tickets, he promised to learn enough greek to get them around, "hopefully on a basic level or even intermediate level," he said, spending $75 on language cds that he listened to once.
this was only a symbol.
they slept late, made love or rushed straight to the beach, eating sticky pastries for morning sustanance. on the beach, she tanned topless like the other women, and he slathered sunscreen on her back for her. she read thick complicated novels while he dozed or read pablo neruda. they would head over to the cafe on the beach, sitting in the sand, eating thick slices of bread, large salads topped with enormous chunks of feta cheese, and other local specialties that they often weren't sure what it was, but it was good. then they would head back to their towels or chairs, relax in the sun, maybe splash in the waves. as the sun headed down, he would flag down one of the waitstaff circulating the beach in shorts with drink trays and order them two drinks. they would drink their drinks, watching the sunset. then they would dance at the outdoor club or head back to their room to nap. when they'd wake up, they'd take turns showering in the tiny cubicle, get ready to go out to eat, late like the locals. sometimes they'd make love, but often, he would want to when clearly she had put too much time into her appearance to get mussed making love. they would eat dinner, then walk the confusing windy streets again, get wine at a local wine bar, talking in low tones to each other. if he wasn't too tired, they'd make love when they got back to their hotel.
so the making love time was often a maybe.
more often a no.
on this vacation, they enjoyed themselves. after eight days, he picked a fight with her in a restaurant. she was not responding, disgusted at his behavior. "this is not working. it's not working," he paused and addressed the other diners, "it's not working because you are a bitch." he threw several notes on the table, and left. she sat there, waiting, tears in her eyes.
he did not come back, although she waited for him to.
she finished her meal. the waiter came over and offered two dessert wines. she drank them both. she asked for the bill, and paid with the notes he had carelessly thrown at her. she took her time, sipping gently, ignoring the other diners staring, wondering "what does "bitch' mean?" in their language. her face burned, she had a lump in her throat: she would not cry.
outside the gate of the restaurant, he stood there. "i'm sorry but you were being a bitch. anyone would agree with me." she said nothing. "i don't know the way back to our room. look, i'm sorry. i love you, okay?"
"okay," she said in a small voice. she tasted the sweet dessert wine in her mouth and wanted more.
back in their room, he was not too tired to make love, but she said she was. she went to sleep quickly.
when they woke up the next morning, they made love. they did not talk about their fight. they bought sticky pastries and bitter coffee and ate their breakfast at the ocean. they went swimming. they tanned. they took naps in the sun.
they made love again.
they made love again.
this was only a symbol.
they slept late, made love or rushed straight to the beach, eating sticky pastries for morning sustanance. on the beach, she tanned topless like the other women, and he slathered sunscreen on her back for her. she read thick complicated novels while he dozed or read pablo neruda. they would head over to the cafe on the beach, sitting in the sand, eating thick slices of bread, large salads topped with enormous chunks of feta cheese, and other local specialties that they often weren't sure what it was, but it was good. then they would head back to their towels or chairs, relax in the sun, maybe splash in the waves. as the sun headed down, he would flag down one of the waitstaff circulating the beach in shorts with drink trays and order them two drinks. they would drink their drinks, watching the sunset. then they would dance at the outdoor club or head back to their room to nap. when they'd wake up, they'd take turns showering in the tiny cubicle, get ready to go out to eat, late like the locals. sometimes they'd make love, but often, he would want to when clearly she had put too much time into her appearance to get mussed making love. they would eat dinner, then walk the confusing windy streets again, get wine at a local wine bar, talking in low tones to each other. if he wasn't too tired, they'd make love when they got back to their hotel.
so the making love time was often a maybe.
more often a no.
on this vacation, they enjoyed themselves. after eight days, he picked a fight with her in a restaurant. she was not responding, disgusted at his behavior. "this is not working. it's not working," he paused and addressed the other diners, "it's not working because you are a bitch." he threw several notes on the table, and left. she sat there, waiting, tears in her eyes.
he did not come back, although she waited for him to.
she finished her meal. the waiter came over and offered two dessert wines. she drank them both. she asked for the bill, and paid with the notes he had carelessly thrown at her. she took her time, sipping gently, ignoring the other diners staring, wondering "what does "bitch' mean?" in their language. her face burned, she had a lump in her throat: she would not cry.
outside the gate of the restaurant, he stood there. "i'm sorry but you were being a bitch. anyone would agree with me." she said nothing. "i don't know the way back to our room. look, i'm sorry. i love you, okay?"
"okay," she said in a small voice. she tasted the sweet dessert wine in her mouth and wanted more.
back in their room, he was not too tired to make love, but she said she was. she went to sleep quickly.
when they woke up the next morning, they made love. they did not talk about their fight. they bought sticky pastries and bitter coffee and ate their breakfast at the ocean. they went swimming. they tanned. they took naps in the sun.
they made love again.
they made love again.
04 October 2006
leave me alone!
every day i run, i get sexually harassed. it's a "hey baby" or "lookin' good." i joke to cara, "i'm going to take my clothes off and fuck them right here at the side of the street."
sometimes i want to run, i want my emotions to come out completely, huge smile, myself totally out there. it's something i must avoid on many occasions, sadly.
my weird but nice neighbor has heaps of weird and not necessarily nice friends. one of them is a guy who has to comment on me, "you look sexy," "ooooh damn, you gotta boyfriend?" "mmm-mmm-mmm!" i've been quite nasty to him on several occasions but still, he continues to harass me.
today he saw me running up the street and though my neighbor had already entered his building, he waited. before he could speak, i said (i am mean), "yes, today i'd like to gouge your eyes out"--b/c they were looking at me in a way that made me feel quite uncomfortable.
he nodded and i continued, "yes with my keys."
he replied, "you look so sexy today, beautiful."
i entered my building and slammed my door shut.
sometimes i want to run, i want my emotions to come out completely, huge smile, myself totally out there. it's something i must avoid on many occasions, sadly.
my weird but nice neighbor has heaps of weird and not necessarily nice friends. one of them is a guy who has to comment on me, "you look sexy," "ooooh damn, you gotta boyfriend?" "mmm-mmm-mmm!" i've been quite nasty to him on several occasions but still, he continues to harass me.
today he saw me running up the street and though my neighbor had already entered his building, he waited. before he could speak, i said (i am mean), "yes, today i'd like to gouge your eyes out"--b/c they were looking at me in a way that made me feel quite uncomfortable.
he nodded and i continued, "yes with my keys."
he replied, "you look so sexy today, beautiful."
i entered my building and slammed my door shut.
03 October 2006
obsessed with running
my legs are still sore from the 4 hour run cara and i did on saturday--23 or 24 miles. ow. i wish t was around to give me a sports massage...
here's what's keeping me motivated!
here's what's keeping me motivated!
02 October 2006
i love to breathe
Walking home alone at 2am, streets empty save kissing couples surrounded by darkness, I trudge home in short skirt/bare legs, dreaming, loving oxygen, happy. The girl with the cute hipster glasses in front of me stops short, and I walk around her quickly as she leans to kiss the man holding her hand again. "I love loving you and you loving me." I walk on.
At home, I let myself into a quiet apartment with an overexcited cat who circles my legs until I pick her up to cuddle her into my arms. She is happy when we settle into bed together, with some treats on her pillow.
Being in love is the best thing in the world. I'd rather have love than anything else. If you are able to sustain your love and the incredible energy that goes along with it, that is a HUGE accomplishment. I miss being in love--kissing someone you are in love with is the most incredible thing in the world, better than anything you could ever buy--but I know I mustn't dwell upon what I lost, but instead, appreciate every little thing in my life.
Being asthmatic makes me do this. Before, my breathing grew irregular. After I calmed it down, I enjoyed and savored each breath. Non-asthmatics, take a nice deep inhale right here--ahhh, I'm so jealous of you! Enjoy that! Enjoy every lovely moment in your day--I am here.
At home, I let myself into a quiet apartment with an overexcited cat who circles my legs until I pick her up to cuddle her into my arms. She is happy when we settle into bed together, with some treats on her pillow.
Being in love is the best thing in the world. I'd rather have love than anything else. If you are able to sustain your love and the incredible energy that goes along with it, that is a HUGE accomplishment. I miss being in love--kissing someone you are in love with is the most incredible thing in the world, better than anything you could ever buy--but I know I mustn't dwell upon what I lost, but instead, appreciate every little thing in my life.
Being asthmatic makes me do this. Before, my breathing grew irregular. After I calmed it down, I enjoyed and savored each breath. Non-asthmatics, take a nice deep inhale right here--ahhh, I'm so jealous of you! Enjoy that! Enjoy every lovely moment in your day--I am here.
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