02 November 2011
01 November 2011
It's those moments where you're not expecting much where a lot happens.
I was stopping by Occupy Wall Street, to simply drop off some books I had sorted through and decided I didn't want/need, and some old (but warm) hats for the occupiers. In the Occupy Wall Street Library, I immediately got in a discussion with two of the library volunteers. From libraries to reading to the injustice to why we were involved in Occupy Wall Street to gentrification to our lives. And suddenly forty minutes had passed and I was still sitting on the color-chalked steps, enthralled, engaged, in the exchange of ideas and energy. It's beautiful moments like this that keep me going.
30 October 2011
Missing Even the Exodus
Even the Exodus at Burning Man was a party, a sad one, sad to be leaving my favourite place in the world.
Bad Runs, Good Runs
There are many things I cannot control, and the weather is one of them. The weather turned both of my fun long runs into short cranky ones.
Saturday Iliana and I planned on running all day at Bear Mountain. She picked a loop to repeat, and the plan was, we'd head to the car in between each loop, grab a little more water, food, whatever.
On the drive up, the precipitation grew colder and icier the further north we head. At Bear Mountain, it was snowing when we arrived, and I immediately began complaining. Iliana is somehow good at tuning me out. We headed out for the first of six loops and even though she dragged me on the dreaded Stairway to Heaven, I quickly worked up a sweat as we began discussing important things such as why there are so many wretched men in NYC and upcoming ultramarathons. At the top of Perkin's Drive, the snow was sticking hardcore and as we began running, I grew worried. I insisted we run a little slower than we would've liked, because the asphalt on the road down was slippery. The run felt more like 3 hours than an hour and a half, but at least I was in good company.
My gloves were soaked, so I decided to change them when we got to the car. I changed some layers, ate a bit of an Odwalla bar and some of those Honey Stinger chews, and drank a little water. And then I really didn't want to get out of a car with heated seats, but suddenly, the snow changed from lots of snow coming down to hardcore-you-can't-see-anything-blizzard.
So we decided to go home. Hmmmm let's drive back to the city in this? Probably not a great idea but it was good we left them. The roads grew progressively worse, with overturned cars, stuck cars, electrical fires, downed trees, and horrid drivers. The normally hour-long drive took 3.5 hours.
Sunday was supposed to be the Holiday Marathon - I would run 26.2 miles and Wayne was going to do 22. However, the race was canceled due to fallen trees and ice (pshaw! wimps!), so we decided to skip the ice/slush/snow that would plague sidewalks and head to Prospect Park to do six loops, and then I planned on running home (while Wayne would drive back). Little did I know that my legs had nothing in them and I felt like crap so I could barely push forward. I wanted to cry. Where were my trails? Where was my tough hardcore running weekend? What the hell?
We cranked out seven miles and hopped back in Wayne's car. That was enough, we told ourselves. We didn't feel it. He'd do his long run tomorrow. I would do a couple of slightly longer runs this week, and next week, 50 miles, the week after, 50k, and I'll be in good shape for the marathon.
Instead, we curled up, made a good brunch together, hung out, arranged stuff in our apartment, played with our bundle of fur.
I'll head out for another run in a bit, but really, when you just don't feel it, results don't seem to come. I think my run today was disappointing because I was supposed to be at a fun race - instead was like a hamster, running loops in a park. It was supremely depressing.
Let me out of my cage - send me to the trails - that's where I belong!
A little over a month to Cajun Coyote 100 miler!
Saturday Iliana and I planned on running all day at Bear Mountain. She picked a loop to repeat, and the plan was, we'd head to the car in between each loop, grab a little more water, food, whatever.
On the drive up, the precipitation grew colder and icier the further north we head. At Bear Mountain, it was snowing when we arrived, and I immediately began complaining. Iliana is somehow good at tuning me out. We headed out for the first of six loops and even though she dragged me on the dreaded Stairway to Heaven, I quickly worked up a sweat as we began discussing important things such as why there are so many wretched men in NYC and upcoming ultramarathons. At the top of Perkin's Drive, the snow was sticking hardcore and as we began running, I grew worried. I insisted we run a little slower than we would've liked, because the asphalt on the road down was slippery. The run felt more like 3 hours than an hour and a half, but at least I was in good company.
My gloves were soaked, so I decided to change them when we got to the car. I changed some layers, ate a bit of an Odwalla bar and some of those Honey Stinger chews, and drank a little water. And then I really didn't want to get out of a car with heated seats, but suddenly, the snow changed from lots of snow coming down to hardcore-you-can't-see-anything-blizzard.
So we decided to go home. Hmmmm let's drive back to the city in this? Probably not a great idea but it was good we left them. The roads grew progressively worse, with overturned cars, stuck cars, electrical fires, downed trees, and horrid drivers. The normally hour-long drive took 3.5 hours.
Sunday was supposed to be the Holiday Marathon - I would run 26.2 miles and Wayne was going to do 22. However, the race was canceled due to fallen trees and ice (pshaw! wimps!), so we decided to skip the ice/slush/snow that would plague sidewalks and head to Prospect Park to do six loops, and then I planned on running home (while Wayne would drive back). Little did I know that my legs had nothing in them and I felt like crap so I could barely push forward. I wanted to cry. Where were my trails? Where was my tough hardcore running weekend? What the hell?
We cranked out seven miles and hopped back in Wayne's car. That was enough, we told ourselves. We didn't feel it. He'd do his long run tomorrow. I would do a couple of slightly longer runs this week, and next week, 50 miles, the week after, 50k, and I'll be in good shape for the marathon.
Instead, we curled up, made a good brunch together, hung out, arranged stuff in our apartment, played with our bundle of fur.
I'll head out for another run in a bit, but really, when you just don't feel it, results don't seem to come. I think my run today was disappointing because I was supposed to be at a fun race - instead was like a hamster, running loops in a park. It was supremely depressing.
Let me out of my cage - send me to the trails - that's where I belong!
A little over a month to Cajun Coyote 100 miler!
16 October 2011
Six Hour Race!
I've never done a timed race before, but GLIRC was organizing a 6 hour run - that Ray K was running (Yay, I'd get to see/hang out with Ray K!), fit into my schedule perfectly, and wasn't that far. I figured I'd torture myself, I mean, train for my next 100 miler, December's Cajun Coyote 100 Miler.
The course was in Sunken Meadow State Park, where I spent every Saturday of my high school cross-country career racing. The first race I ever did, I hated every step of it and promised myself I'd quit cross-country after I finished. But then after my race, we roasted marshmallows and went swimming in The Long Island Sound and it was SO fun that I forgot how much it sucked until next week. The same thing happened. Repeat. And now I'm hooked.
However, this course was a little different - we skipped out on the awful Cardiac and Snake Hills, had a little bit of pavement, a lot of sand (and stupid Cherie forgot her gaiters!), some hills (that Ray and I were calling mountains at the end), and a lot of fun. Each loop was 2.1 miles with a smaller .36 mile loop you did at the very end.
I ate little, other than two gels and two packs of Honey Stinger Energy Chews. I drank a cup of water every loop, opting to not carry water but instead grab a cup every 2.1 mile loop.
The course was pretty, with some flat sections, a few uphills, and really, not enough downhills. It was fun because there were a few spots where you could see people running at a different point than you. Of course, we got lapped but that was fine.
I went out easy with Mary and we talked about slutty pumpkins and donuts. By loop four, I was feeling strong and Mary, who ran Portland the week before and had been sick all week, didn't feel like charging up the hills with me, I ran alone. I pushed it hard. My Garmin tells me my pace was low 9/high 8 minute miles. Woohooo!
Then I hit a hard loop and it was a struggle to keep the pace under ten. Still, I was mostly successful. As I ran into the start/finish/aid station, I saw Wayne standing there, waiting for me. He was only going to run 21 miles and do it as a training run, but he wanted to run the last two loops with me. He was hurting a bit, and we both slowed down further. I laughed aloud when I read the numbers on my Garmin 210.
It's always fun running with a good friend or love, and Wayne is both to me, so it was a total blast. I was sad when the two laps ended, as Wayne was heading back to Greenpoint (and oh, how tempting it was to leave!) but I wasn't sad for long - Ray K had slowed down and wanted to run with me. So we did.
The next few hours were fun - Ray is a legendary and brilliant ultrarunner, full of great stories and songs. He'd sing songs, or change the words. I'd tell him, "Ray, can you sing a song to the tune of Yellow Submarine/Eleanor Rigby/whatever I wanted to hear?" and he'd sing a hilarious song. Like about the ultramarathon we were in the midst of.
We finished our last final loop, and we were booth hurting bad. We joked the mini hills that I charged up at the beginning were mountains. "I need crampons!" "Throw me some rope!" "Is there ice at the top?" "I'm getting altitude sickness."
Then we had our mini loops. Though less than 20 minutes to go, my bladder refused to wait that long. So I peed and then slogged through the rest of the race.
I felt sluggish and achey and tired - BUT my time was good enough for 7th woman (out of 61) and 29th overall (out of 159). I felt pretty good, especially as it was "just a training run."
I'm glad I threw a lot of fast parts in there, and am excited to experiment a little more with faster paces in training for Cajun.
Dear Current PR,
Oh, how I'd love to smash you.
Yours (but not for long),
Cherie
The course was in Sunken Meadow State Park, where I spent every Saturday of my high school cross-country career racing. The first race I ever did, I hated every step of it and promised myself I'd quit cross-country after I finished. But then after my race, we roasted marshmallows and went swimming in The Long Island Sound and it was SO fun that I forgot how much it sucked until next week. The same thing happened. Repeat. And now I'm hooked.
However, this course was a little different - we skipped out on the awful Cardiac and Snake Hills, had a little bit of pavement, a lot of sand (and stupid Cherie forgot her gaiters!), some hills (that Ray and I were calling mountains at the end), and a lot of fun. Each loop was 2.1 miles with a smaller .36 mile loop you did at the very end.
I ate little, other than two gels and two packs of Honey Stinger Energy Chews. I drank a cup of water every loop, opting to not carry water but instead grab a cup every 2.1 mile loop.
The course was pretty, with some flat sections, a few uphills, and really, not enough downhills. It was fun because there were a few spots where you could see people running at a different point than you. Of course, we got lapped but that was fine.
I went out easy with Mary and we talked about slutty pumpkins and donuts. By loop four, I was feeling strong and Mary, who ran Portland the week before and had been sick all week, didn't feel like charging up the hills with me, I ran alone. I pushed it hard. My Garmin tells me my pace was low 9/high 8 minute miles. Woohooo!
Then I hit a hard loop and it was a struggle to keep the pace under ten. Still, I was mostly successful. As I ran into the start/finish/aid station, I saw Wayne standing there, waiting for me. He was only going to run 21 miles and do it as a training run, but he wanted to run the last two loops with me. He was hurting a bit, and we both slowed down further. I laughed aloud when I read the numbers on my Garmin 210.
It's always fun running with a good friend or love, and Wayne is both to me, so it was a total blast. I was sad when the two laps ended, as Wayne was heading back to Greenpoint (and oh, how tempting it was to leave!) but I wasn't sad for long - Ray K had slowed down and wanted to run with me. So we did.
The next few hours were fun - Ray is a legendary and brilliant ultrarunner, full of great stories and songs. He'd sing songs, or change the words. I'd tell him, "Ray, can you sing a song to the tune of Yellow Submarine/Eleanor Rigby/whatever I wanted to hear?" and he'd sing a hilarious song. Like about the ultramarathon we were in the midst of.
We finished our last final loop, and we were booth hurting bad. We joked the mini hills that I charged up at the beginning were mountains. "I need crampons!" "Throw me some rope!" "Is there ice at the top?" "I'm getting altitude sickness."
Then we had our mini loops. Though less than 20 minutes to go, my bladder refused to wait that long. So I peed and then slogged through the rest of the race.
I felt sluggish and achey and tired - BUT my time was good enough for 7th woman (out of 61) and 29th overall (out of 159). I felt pretty good, especially as it was "just a training run."
I'm glad I threw a lot of fast parts in there, and am excited to experiment a little more with faster paces in training for Cajun.
Dear Current PR,
Oh, how I'd love to smash you.
Yours (but not for long),
Cherie
Occupation, the Party
Seriously, there is an idea that protest is all marching, chanting, long days, aching feet, sore throats. Absolutely not! And Saturday, we proved that!
The Occupation Party was seeing this is a chance to celebrate - a chance to celebrate that people were WAKING UP and taking the streets and speaking their voice.
We met in Times Square 5pm, dressed in white. I pulled out my favourite white tutu I made, a silver top I made, my white fuzzy sparkly legwarmers I made, grabbed my boy (dressed in white), and didn't know what to expect - and liked it that way.
There was an awesome band. We bopped up and down, dancing. We chanted. Sparklers and tea light candles were handed out. We weren't sure what was happening. We liked it that way.
I saw friends - good friends and old friends and new friends. Wayne, Jenny, Dexter, Gwendolyn, Ofer and I clustered together, laughing, talking, dancing. People handed out flyers, exchanged stories, and we checked Twitter and FB on our phones for the update on the rest of Times Square. It was incredible. People were marching in solidarity. It was exciting. It was history.
Suddenly, everyone was lighting their sparklers. We shared lighters, shared the light of our sparklers. We danced. We laughed. It was so beautiful, so fun. We sang, "This Light of Mine."
We danced some more. We didn't care what was happening next; what was happening now was so much more fun, we told ourselves...until the next moment did indeed come, Wow.
And what happened next was also extremely fun. We began marching from our spot in Times Square to Rockefeller Centre. The cops were confused. What were we possibly doing? Having fun, yes. We had a band. We were dancing. I was kicking my legs high, waving my pompoms, feeling free and alive and happy. And then we headed down into the subway, smiling and laughing and cheering.
All several hundred or a thousand of us crammed into the subway. We sang, we drum, we danced, we did the people's mic version of spreading our mission, we had a blast. My friend Jenny who normally doesn't go to protests liked this dance-party version of a protest.
At W 4th Street, we got out. We entered Washington Square Park. The band played; we danced. We didn't care what happened next. This was so fun.
We texted our friends. Times Square seemed like a mess. They came down to the park. They danced. We shared stories. We shared snacks, hugs. It was beautiful.
It kind of reminded me of Burning Man.
But of course, it's political and so much matters.
Speakers began. This one incredible professor began speaking, and we were impressed. How the African countries are behind us. How this is so important. How the other countries, instead of shaking their heads, yelled, "FINALLY!"
We grew tired and had an early race. We hugged our friends, each other, and headed out into the streets. And into the subway.
And on the subway, we began talking to a really interesting guy about our days. On the subway, three more participants from The Occupation Party talked to us, about inequality and the party and how Occupy Wall St was going and the arrests and what was happening next. We shared ideas and listened. We were excited. It was exciting.
And what's next - that's also exciting too.
The Occupation Party was seeing this is a chance to celebrate - a chance to celebrate that people were WAKING UP and taking the streets and speaking their voice.
We met in Times Square 5pm, dressed in white. I pulled out my favourite white tutu I made, a silver top I made, my white fuzzy sparkly legwarmers I made, grabbed my boy (dressed in white), and didn't know what to expect - and liked it that way.
There was an awesome band. We bopped up and down, dancing. We chanted. Sparklers and tea light candles were handed out. We weren't sure what was happening. We liked it that way.
I saw friends - good friends and old friends and new friends. Wayne, Jenny, Dexter, Gwendolyn, Ofer and I clustered together, laughing, talking, dancing. People handed out flyers, exchanged stories, and we checked Twitter and FB on our phones for the update on the rest of Times Square. It was incredible. People were marching in solidarity. It was exciting. It was history.
Suddenly, everyone was lighting their sparklers. We shared lighters, shared the light of our sparklers. We danced. We laughed. It was so beautiful, so fun. We sang, "This Light of Mine."
We danced some more. We didn't care what was happening next; what was happening now was so much more fun, we told ourselves...until the next moment did indeed come, Wow.
And what happened next was also extremely fun. We began marching from our spot in Times Square to Rockefeller Centre. The cops were confused. What were we possibly doing? Having fun, yes. We had a band. We were dancing. I was kicking my legs high, waving my pompoms, feeling free and alive and happy. And then we headed down into the subway, smiling and laughing and cheering.
All several hundred or a thousand of us crammed into the subway. We sang, we drum, we danced, we did the people's mic version of spreading our mission, we had a blast. My friend Jenny who normally doesn't go to protests liked this dance-party version of a protest.
At W 4th Street, we got out. We entered Washington Square Park. The band played; we danced. We didn't care what happened next. This was so fun.
We texted our friends. Times Square seemed like a mess. They came down to the park. They danced. We shared stories. We shared snacks, hugs. It was beautiful.
It kind of reminded me of Burning Man.
But of course, it's political and so much matters.
Speakers began. This one incredible professor began speaking, and we were impressed. How the African countries are behind us. How this is so important. How the other countries, instead of shaking their heads, yelled, "FINALLY!"
We grew tired and had an early race. We hugged our friends, each other, and headed out into the streets. And into the subway.
And on the subway, we began talking to a really interesting guy about our days. On the subway, three more participants from The Occupation Party talked to us, about inequality and the party and how Occupy Wall St was going and the arrests and what was happening next. We shared ideas and listened. We were excited. It was exciting.
And what's next - that's also exciting too.
"Billionaires" Defend the 1% at Occupy Wall St
I adore the Billionaires, since the days when they were Billionaires for Bush. They're a great performance group that pretends to be the rich...Right now, they are hilarious. I've been having improv sessions whenever I run into them at Liberty Square, laughing, cheering. To get a feel for this awesome group, please, do watch this video. You will laugh.
Bolt the Billyburg: A Race Report on the Running of the Williamsburg Bridge
I've been running the Williamsburg Bridge since the days where I found the bridges of the lower part of Manhattan the most rewarding place to run when I lived in a crowded "one bedroom" (not sure if you can even really call the teeny apartment Jenny and I lived in that) in the East Village. So when I saw the announcement for Bolt the Billyburg, a race solely run on the bridge, I thought, "YES!" And then I got scared.
In recent years, I have been running long. LONG. I feel very comfortable running a 50miler, to be honest, more comfortable than I do running a 5k. But I still felt drawn to the race.
After a day of run-work-haircut-run-more work-protesting-NBR happy hour, I found myself tipsily ending the night. The alarm began braying way too early, but as usual, I respected it. And got myself to the foot of the bridge.
Fernando, Kim, Tyler, Wayne and I were the sole representatives of NBR, with Christine showing up for the Whippets (I miss her in NBR!). We did the race in two waves, running over the bike path side of the bridge, ending at the foot of the bridge in Manhattan, turning around, running back over the running partner until we hit the cross-over, then running across that, and down the bike path.
Wayne had promised me he'd run with me - mostly b/c I'm feeling like a slow wimp lately. He told me he'd pace me, and stuck by my side the whole time, which was really awesome and nice.
We started fast. My asthma was feeling crappy the day before, so of course, I immediately felt like hell. My lungs were burning - I used my inhaler. And again. And again. And again. I pushed hard up the bridge. My legs said yes, my lungs said no. It was so hard to push as fast as I was capable of.
I pushed faster. We got on the flat part and my lungs slowly calmed down. I looked at the water, the boats churning past underneath, the skyline, including my job's building. It was fun to run fast on my favourite bridge.
Running downhill was fun. My lungs were like, "Awesome."
At the base, some of the friends/volunteers of Mikal's were there to remind us to not run into speeding traffic and to instead turn around and run back upwards. And then my lungs began cursing me out again.
We pushed it faster.
And then flat.
And then down.
I pushed harder.
"You're the first woman," Wayne told me. That was obvious in our small heat, but I didn't know about the other heat. I told him this. But still, I pushed down.
He held my hand for a little while running down the very bottom of the ramp...
Until we finished.
I sat there, filling my lungs with oxygen and another six puffs of my inhaler.
After, we all went to Pips, where people drank PBR (though not me, a beer-hater), played pingpong, learned results, hung out, let my lungs chill a little. I was kind of excited to find out that I was indeed first woman; it was a very small race, but that's always fun to have. Victory does indeed taste so sweet, and it's impossible to accomplish without those you love. (Thanks, Wayne.)
In recent years, I have been running long. LONG. I feel very comfortable running a 50miler, to be honest, more comfortable than I do running a 5k. But I still felt drawn to the race.
After a day of run-work-haircut-run-more work-protesting-NBR happy hour, I found myself tipsily ending the night. The alarm began braying way too early, but as usual, I respected it. And got myself to the foot of the bridge.
Fernando, Kim, Tyler, Wayne and I were the sole representatives of NBR, with Christine showing up for the Whippets (I miss her in NBR!). We did the race in two waves, running over the bike path side of the bridge, ending at the foot of the bridge in Manhattan, turning around, running back over the running partner until we hit the cross-over, then running across that, and down the bike path.
Wayne had promised me he'd run with me - mostly b/c I'm feeling like a slow wimp lately. He told me he'd pace me, and stuck by my side the whole time, which was really awesome and nice.
We started fast. My asthma was feeling crappy the day before, so of course, I immediately felt like hell. My lungs were burning - I used my inhaler. And again. And again. And again. I pushed hard up the bridge. My legs said yes, my lungs said no. It was so hard to push as fast as I was capable of.
I pushed faster. We got on the flat part and my lungs slowly calmed down. I looked at the water, the boats churning past underneath, the skyline, including my job's building. It was fun to run fast on my favourite bridge.
Running downhill was fun. My lungs were like, "Awesome."
At the base, some of the friends/volunteers of Mikal's were there to remind us to not run into speeding traffic and to instead turn around and run back upwards. And then my lungs began cursing me out again.
We pushed it faster.
And then flat.
And then down.
I pushed harder.
"You're the first woman," Wayne told me. That was obvious in our small heat, but I didn't know about the other heat. I told him this. But still, I pushed down.
He held my hand for a little while running down the very bottom of the ramp...
Until we finished.
I sat there, filling my lungs with oxygen and another six puffs of my inhaler.
After, we all went to Pips, where people drank PBR (though not me, a beer-hater), played pingpong, learned results, hung out, let my lungs chill a little. I was kind of excited to find out that I was indeed first woman; it was a very small race, but that's always fun to have. Victory does indeed taste so sweet, and it's impossible to accomplish without those you love. (Thanks, Wayne.)
12 October 2011
No Sexual Harassment at #OccupyWallSt
En route to dinner with a friend, I stopped by Occupy Wall St. I did a cheer, talked to a man about how apparently JP Morgan is the bank affiliated with food stamps, chatted with a few random people, did a cheer. I was ready to leave, maybe do one more cheer, when I heard a guy yell, "Hey cheerleader."
My pompom was small and I wasn't cheering, but I thought he, like others, must've recognized me from cheering the other day.
I stepped back and smiled.
He got up out of his chair. He was probably about 65.
"You're so pretty," he told me.
"Uh, thanks." It wasn't told in that complimentary way, but the way where you are glad your jacket is zipped up, but you suddenly wish you had a down coat on too so he couldn't see your shape.
"Can I get a kiss?" he said suddenly, leaning in really close.
"No! No!" I told him. I darted away and he shrugged his shoulders.
"What just happened?" This activist guy yelled. I told him. He started screaming at the man.
"You gotta leave! You can't just sexually assault people. Leave. You've been sitting there all day, leering. We don't want you." The activist guy picked up the old guy's chair and tossed it out of the park. Others began gathering around.
"Calm down," people told the activist guy, who was admittedly rather worked up.
"No! We can't have people in here like that."
I again explained my story, and again. And everyone nodded. "The guy shouldn't be in the park - that's not cool - but this other guy needs to chill," I told someone.
I felt sleazy and uncomfortable. I didn't do my final cheer. I slunk out of the park, heading to the train, hating how people can just make you feel a certain way, despite you not letting them. It just happens.
And while the activist guy seemed crazy to some, I thank him for defending me.
My pompom was small and I wasn't cheering, but I thought he, like others, must've recognized me from cheering the other day.
I stepped back and smiled.
He got up out of his chair. He was probably about 65.
"You're so pretty," he told me.
"Uh, thanks." It wasn't told in that complimentary way, but the way where you are glad your jacket is zipped up, but you suddenly wish you had a down coat on too so he couldn't see your shape.
"Can I get a kiss?" he said suddenly, leaning in really close.
"No! No!" I told him. I darted away and he shrugged his shoulders.
"What just happened?" This activist guy yelled. I told him. He started screaming at the man.
"You gotta leave! You can't just sexually assault people. Leave. You've been sitting there all day, leering. We don't want you." The activist guy picked up the old guy's chair and tossed it out of the park. Others began gathering around.
"Calm down," people told the activist guy, who was admittedly rather worked up.
"No! We can't have people in here like that."
I again explained my story, and again. And everyone nodded. "The guy shouldn't be in the park - that's not cool - but this other guy needs to chill," I told someone.
I felt sleazy and uncomfortable. I didn't do my final cheer. I slunk out of the park, heading to the train, hating how people can just make you feel a certain way, despite you not letting them. It just happens.
And while the activist guy seemed crazy to some, I thank him for defending me.
06 October 2011
Why Are We Occupying Wall Street Anyway?
The past two weeks, I've been thinking about the Occupy Wall Street movement a lot. I've been reading articles. Heading down to Zuccotti Square. I've been talking to other activists, other people chilling down there, and (sometimes unfortunately!), media. I've been radical cheerleading. I've been helping out with the Occupy Wall Street Library.
I've been there, in the square.
Where are you?
Perhaps you think we have a muddled message. I'm going to tell you the main message is this: people are sick of how large corporations' money (Wall Street is a shortcut for this) controls government. Confines them.
And there's heaps of other reasons.
I've met so many incredible people. I've entertained, via my cheering. I've shared books. I've organized books. I've passed out flyers. I've chanted. I've danced. I've sang. I've hugged. I've donated.
And I'll be there, occupying Wall Street, supporting people because the people are me too.
I've been there, in the square.
Where are you?
Perhaps you think we have a muddled message. I'm going to tell you the main message is this: people are sick of how large corporations' money (Wall Street is a shortcut for this) controls government. Confines them.
And there's heaps of other reasons.
I've met so many incredible people. I've entertained, via my cheering. I've shared books. I've organized books. I've passed out flyers. I've chanted. I've danced. I've sang. I've hugged. I've donated.
And I'll be there, occupying Wall Street, supporting people because the people are me too.
02 October 2011
1st Place, 2nd Place, 3rd Place: a 5k, Two Little Girls, and A Whole Lot of Fun
Tony's cute 10 year old daughter had something to ask me. I couldn't imagine what. Julia shoved a piece of paper in my hand. "Will you do this race with me? Will you? Please!!"
It was a 5k, and it would be her first. How could I say no? Really, I couldn't.
Wayne and I went up there the night before, and Tony, Wayne and I drank 2 bottles of red wine. This was clearly a bad idea when our alarms went off at 5am the next day. We piled on some clothes and headed out for a 2.5 hour slog. We complained about the puddles, feeling the effects of the wine, being tired, and as many other things that one can possibly complain about. Wayne forced me to go over a toothpick on a broken bridge over rapids, risking my life (Okay, there were no rapids, but it was a broken bridge, and it was scary). After our feet were thoroughly soaked, we went inside where Julia was eating a massive bowl of corn pops with milk and Allison, Tony's 9-year-old daughter, was eating a dry bowl of Frosted Flakes. They asked me if they could have my running skirt, my top. I changed into a set of clean running clothes and they argued over who could have what part of this next outfit. They seem to covet all my clothes, despite the fact that I am 32 and am bigger than them. They are hilarious.
We headed to the race, with Jinnette, Tony's wife taking photos. Wayne decided to run up front, Tony ran with Allie, and I ran with Julia. Julia grabbed me at a sprint, "We're gonna win! You're going too slow!" Less than 400 meters later, she panted, "I have a cramp! I have a cramp! Slow down!" Allie told her that you get cramps when you're having a baby (I think Allie was thinking of contractions.), and Julia and I began walking and we watched Tony and Allie and Wayne recede into the distance. Julia clutched my hand and I encouraged her to stretch out her cramp.
We ran again, hit a hill, walked up it. She complained walking up it, and I thought about how tough her Dad is, doing Badwater the past few years. I tried to encourage her to run as much as she could, to walk faster, told her how tough she was, cheered her up, showed her how to stretch out a cramp. She held my hand the entire time.
"I don't want to be in last place! I don't want to be in last place!"
We weren't, but when some older people were catching up as we climbed the final hill, Julia would tug my hand and we'd run faster.
At the finish line, she yelled, "I wanna be first!" She ran her heart out across the finish line while I clapped behind her.
Allie ended up being the first girl in their age group (and 4th overall! Wow!) and Julia was the second girl in their age group. I somehow ended up being 3rd in my age group (on account of it being a small race) and Wayne was 1st in his age group. Tony, Tony simply laughed at me.
It was great. Honestly, it was my slowest 5k ever - BUT the most rewarding. Running a 5k holding a little girl's hand? She's hilarious and fun and great-spirited. Sure, I could have run all out, placed, probably even won overall for the women. But what would I have gotten? A trophy. I think it's more important to give to other people, to give yourself, to help them. I had SO much fun and she ran her first race. It was pretty, it was hilly, and it was a sweet victory for all of us.
It was a 5k, and it would be her first. How could I say no? Really, I couldn't.
Wayne and I went up there the night before, and Tony, Wayne and I drank 2 bottles of red wine. This was clearly a bad idea when our alarms went off at 5am the next day. We piled on some clothes and headed out for a 2.5 hour slog. We complained about the puddles, feeling the effects of the wine, being tired, and as many other things that one can possibly complain about. Wayne forced me to go over a toothpick on a broken bridge over rapids, risking my life (Okay, there were no rapids, but it was a broken bridge, and it was scary). After our feet were thoroughly soaked, we went inside where Julia was eating a massive bowl of corn pops with milk and Allison, Tony's 9-year-old daughter, was eating a dry bowl of Frosted Flakes. They asked me if they could have my running skirt, my top. I changed into a set of clean running clothes and they argued over who could have what part of this next outfit. They seem to covet all my clothes, despite the fact that I am 32 and am bigger than them. They are hilarious.
 |
| Me, Julia (#121), Wayne, Allie (#120) |
We headed to the race, with Jinnette, Tony's wife taking photos. Wayne decided to run up front, Tony ran with Allie, and I ran with Julia. Julia grabbed me at a sprint, "We're gonna win! You're going too slow!" Less than 400 meters later, she panted, "I have a cramp! I have a cramp! Slow down!" Allie told her that you get cramps when you're having a baby (I think Allie was thinking of contractions.), and Julia and I began walking and we watched Tony and Allie and Wayne recede into the distance. Julia clutched my hand and I encouraged her to stretch out her cramp.
We ran again, hit a hill, walked up it. She complained walking up it, and I thought about how tough her Dad is, doing Badwater the past few years. I tried to encourage her to run as much as she could, to walk faster, told her how tough she was, cheered her up, showed her how to stretch out a cramp. She held my hand the entire time.
"I don't want to be in last place! I don't want to be in last place!"
We weren't, but when some older people were catching up as we climbed the final hill, Julia would tug my hand and we'd run faster.
At the finish line, she yelled, "I wanna be first!" She ran her heart out across the finish line while I clapped behind her.
Allie ended up being the first girl in their age group (and 4th overall! Wow!) and Julia was the second girl in their age group. I somehow ended up being 3rd in my age group (on account of it being a small race) and Wayne was 1st in his age group. Tony, Tony simply laughed at me.
It was great. Honestly, it was my slowest 5k ever - BUT the most rewarding. Running a 5k holding a little girl's hand? She's hilarious and fun and great-spirited. Sure, I could have run all out, placed, probably even won overall for the women. But what would I have gotten? A trophy. I think it's more important to give to other people, to give yourself, to help them. I had SO much fun and she ran her first race. It was pretty, it was hilly, and it was a sweet victory for all of us.
01 October 2011
Occupy Wall Street
There's been a severe lack of media attention about the Occupy Wall Street protests - no surprise. The media typically downplays activism, the #s of protesters, etc - I know because I have been misrepresented by mainstream media many times as an activist.
To simplify things, basically, people took over this private park, Zucotti Square, right by Wall Street (and it's the park across from Century 21, for those bargain shoppers for designer brands). They wanted to put tents but they're not allowed, so they're sleeping, huddling under tarps when it rains, cooking, sharing ideas...
And why? It's to protest how damaged our culture is. When the CEO of Wal-Mart makes in an hour what the average employee does in a year, when yet another bank is raising fees...There's a lot of reasons, but I'm glad people are speaking up. We're losing our rights over our bodies. Will we really have social security? Why are there so many scary Tea Parties? And I can go on and on, but I have to catch a train...
I feel like the direction things have been going is immensely depressing...Really?
It's weird. Since we stopped organizing for NYC Radical Cheerleaders, I have felt this loss. But when Emily and I got together today, things have changed - but our politics still are the same.
We're ready to fuck shit up, as much as we possibly can in pompoms and miniskirts.
See you in the streets on Monday!
To simplify things, basically, people took over this private park, Zucotti Square, right by Wall Street (and it's the park across from Century 21, for those bargain shoppers for designer brands). They wanted to put tents but they're not allowed, so they're sleeping, huddling under tarps when it rains, cooking, sharing ideas...
And why? It's to protest how damaged our culture is. When the CEO of Wal-Mart makes in an hour what the average employee does in a year, when yet another bank is raising fees...There's a lot of reasons, but I'm glad people are speaking up. We're losing our rights over our bodies. Will we really have social security? Why are there so many scary Tea Parties? And I can go on and on, but I have to catch a train...
I feel like the direction things have been going is immensely depressing...Really?
It's weird. Since we stopped organizing for NYC Radical Cheerleaders, I have felt this loss. But when Emily and I got together today, things have changed - but our politics still are the same.
We're ready to fuck shit up, as much as we possibly can in pompoms and miniskirts.
See you in the streets on Monday!
30 September 2011
29 September 2011
Home...
As always, Stefan and KJ made a beautiful homage to Black Rock City in their video, "Home." For those who don't know, many Burners call the playa "Home."
And you get in one of those moods...
...where you start rethinking everything.
I woke up late, threw a comfy running outfit and hit the streets. I met N, one of my favourite running partners, and we did what we do best: ran while pouring our souls out. We talked about psychiatry and depression and love and running and politics of running and what's next and racing and friendship and basically, everything that matters. That's what comes up. I felt great, I ran with ease, and it felt like a perfect (though humid) run.
And then on the subway, there was that rare smile. I miss the days where I didn't commute on the train, where I walked or rode Mabel my bike to the Boulder Public Library. But I ended up making a connection with a human being, oh-so-rare, talking about Howard Zinn and how we got busy and stopped protesting and activism and what's going on on Wall Street.
Well, technically it's not Wall Street because of course the police didn't give the permits. Instead, it's that plaza where you go to the Farmers' Market or the falafel stand on the way to Century 21. And it's beautiful the way democracy is being made, or at least, how people are sharing their voices. I've been heading over there the past few days and being impressed.
I thought to myself, "I must bear witness to this history being made."
And then I thought to myself, "No, I mustn't do that. I must influence, I must partake in how history is being made."
But what am I doing? Washing my dishes and playing with my cat and not sleeping enough and letting work take up a lot of space in my head and riding my bike around Brooklyn and trying to do all these things but not accomplishing them. Like what happened to my novel. I need to move on that.
But I have no solution. I'm going to figure out how to break out of this shell of routine and live with my heart open. I don't want to live anymore a life where I have to put on that stare-straight-ahead-total-bitch look because the stupid construction workers/guys smoking cigs are all staring at me, rating me, talking amongst themselves after I/other women pass. I want to live a world where we hug hello. I want to live a world where dreams are realized every day...and everyone's there to help you.
(It sounds like I want to live at Burning Man every day...)
I woke up late, threw a comfy running outfit and hit the streets. I met N, one of my favourite running partners, and we did what we do best: ran while pouring our souls out. We talked about psychiatry and depression and love and running and politics of running and what's next and racing and friendship and basically, everything that matters. That's what comes up. I felt great, I ran with ease, and it felt like a perfect (though humid) run.
And then on the subway, there was that rare smile. I miss the days where I didn't commute on the train, where I walked or rode Mabel my bike to the Boulder Public Library. But I ended up making a connection with a human being, oh-so-rare, talking about Howard Zinn and how we got busy and stopped protesting and activism and what's going on on Wall Street.
Well, technically it's not Wall Street because of course the police didn't give the permits. Instead, it's that plaza where you go to the Farmers' Market or the falafel stand on the way to Century 21. And it's beautiful the way democracy is being made, or at least, how people are sharing their voices. I've been heading over there the past few days and being impressed.
I thought to myself, "I must bear witness to this history being made."
And then I thought to myself, "No, I mustn't do that. I must influence, I must partake in how history is being made."
But what am I doing? Washing my dishes and playing with my cat and not sleeping enough and letting work take up a lot of space in my head and riding my bike around Brooklyn and trying to do all these things but not accomplishing them. Like what happened to my novel. I need to move on that.
But I have no solution. I'm going to figure out how to break out of this shell of routine and live with my heart open. I don't want to live anymore a life where I have to put on that stare-straight-ahead-total-bitch look because the stupid construction workers/guys smoking cigs are all staring at me, rating me, talking amongst themselves after I/other women pass. I want to live a world where we hug hello. I want to live a world where dreams are realized every day...and everyone's there to help you.
(It sounds like I want to live at Burning Man every day...)
26 September 2011
Vermont 50 Miler: Fun, Friends, Laughs, and Fun
Some races are about PRs. Some are about proving how tough you are. Some are about finding yourself, or taking yourself to the next level. Some are about just being a training run.
And some races are just about having fun.
The Vermont 50 Miler this year was about having fun. It was a blast. Besides the Burning Man 50k, it was the most fun I’ve had in a while at a race. There was mud, there were good friends, there was mud, there was homemade cookies at mile 25, there was mud, there were hilarious stories, there was mud, there were dirty stories and songs, there was mud, there was sweat, there was mud, there were hills, mostly uphill, there was mud.
And we all had fun.
Iliana is good at convincing. She convinced me to sign up for the Vermont 50, which I love because I love Vermont. Vermont 100 is still my favourite race ever, and my first ultra, Jay Challenge was in Vermont. So I have a special spot in my heart for Vermont. So despite the fact that I ran Rio del Lago 100 Miler just two weeks prior, and ten days prior to that, ran the Burning Man 50k, and despite the fact that my legs are t…i…r…e…d, I signed up. Why? Because I’m an ultrarunner and we’re not always smart with our racing plans.
Iliana procrastinated signing up and the race ended up filling up. But I was still signed up. She decided she’d go up and pace. Then I found out despite having signed up, Tony wasn’t planning on running it – he felt really undertrained. I told him I was running slow. Hmmm…that sounded fun. So he joined me in the journey. “Think training run,” was my mode.
The fun started with the drive up – Iliana was hilarious, Tony was ridiculous, and I almost peed twice while laughing. Almost. Iliana and Tony split a 16 piece Popeye chicken and we couldn’t stop laughing over it. Sixteen pieces? And then we also stopped at the Vermont Country Deli to get mac and cheese (Tony), pulled pork and carrot ginger soup (Iliana), pesto pasta (me). And then there were conversations about OKCupid, beets and toilets, the Bear Mountain witch/hiker, Iliana stopping so I could pee every two minutes, Tony complaining…it was hilarious.
At the race start, we ran into Emmy and Chris. Oooh fun! We started together, and for the most part, stuck together. And the results – an absolute blast!
The course was muddy, but that seems to be nothing unusual from our experiences. Lots of spots where your shoes get completely covered, spots with big mud pits, but no one lost shoes. Because it’s Vermont, the entire course is up and down. Flats? Um…maybe a teeny bit? And lots of beautiful summits and trees and views and meadows and barns and horses and pretty leaves and all that good stuff. Yeah, you’ll love it.
We stuck together from the start, exchanging stories, laughing, complaining, avoiding or splashing in mud. Some of the aid stations seemed a little chaotic and disorganized and unhelpful, but for the most part, they were great. I carried one handheld, and just one time did I run out of water before the aid station. It was super humid so I opted to carry my water bottle instead of wearing a waist belt that would’ve chafed; as it was, the tag or the liner in my running skirt caused chafing.
It was humid. So humid that when a runner passed me early on, sweat splashed off him onto me. Perspiration dripped off our faces. It was pretty gross. My armpit got chafed, so I took off my shirt. It was one of those days.
Racewise, it was a good race. I had a good appetite, and ate gels, Honey Stinger chewy things, Honey Stinger waffle things, Odwalla Bars. Delicious.
Tony and I pulled ahead a bit, running and laughing. And suddenly Chris wasn’t there. Emmy told us he wiped out in the mudpit and took a bit to recover. But in the end, he was feeling great. He was able to join in for valuable conversations, like Asshole Flavored Heed (how to make it). Emmy’s legs felt dead from running a marathon a week prior - hardcore! Tony had a bad headache. I had blisters. But our struggles were suppressed by our friendship, our laughter, our jokes, our good spirits. We really motivated each other to the finish.
This race was not about a goal time. It was about a good training run, a fun run. Tony and Iliana shared a beer at mile 47. Iliana, Emmy and I peed right next to each other, right at the side of the trail (Okay, on the trail.), earning us the nickname “Reverse Moon Girls.” Tony made up songs and talked more than we wanted about certain topics. (Okay, I lied, we loved it because he was so funny.) We experimented with food to eat. We looked at beautiful vistas. We cursed our hills. We pushed each other and ourselves…and had so much fun. We got that ultimate high, especially when we got to those beautiful downhill sections – and we just flew…until the next uphill. Until the next mudpit. Until someone tripped.
But even if you tripped, you weren’t down because we were all there to keep each other having the ultimate runners’ high.
 |
| Finish happiness: Me, Tony, Emmy, Chris |
22 September 2011
Ultrarunner Podcast Interviews Me!
Very exciting: Ultrarunner Podcast interviews me!
Listen here...I talk about the Burning Man 50k and Rio del Lago 100 Miler.
Listen here...I talk about the Burning Man 50k and Rio del Lago 100 Miler.
20 September 2011
"You're the runner."
I was fiddling with my new Garmin, a few weeks back, waiting for the satellites to load, when a man I don't know said, "It's a little late for you today, isn't it? You usually run much earlier."
"Um, yeah. Well, I ran earlier, but now I'm doing my second run of the day. I'm doing heat training, so trying to run in the heat of the day." The watch was taking forever.
He bent down to scoop up dog waste, and said, "What? Second run? How much do you run?"
"Usually about an hour and a half to two hours. A lot of days more."
"That's crazy. And two runs?"
"Yeah."
"What are you training for, a marathon?" (Ha!)
"I have a couple ultramarathons coming up. I'm running a 50k and a 100 miler."
"100 miles! That's crazy! No wonder I see you out here so much."
I was stunned. I had never seen this man in my life. I waved to him.
The next day, on my second run of the day, a guy said, "I always see you running. You never stop." Again, it was a man I never saw before.
Just like when our car driver to the airport in June recognized me.
They all know me by my running.
I see neighborhood: the new buildings, the lilac bushes on Oak Street, the cafe's proud proclamation of a new menu, how pretty the new park on North 6th looks at dusk, all the people from my health food store, the bartender at my favourite bar, the changed hours of the ice cream shop, the new classes at the yoga studio, the construction everywhere. I see people, yes, I see the woman who hoses her pristine front porch in her frilly nightgown, I see the old guy smoking cigarettes on my way to the ferry, I see the cowboy on my old block who always waves, I see my favourite Italian-American barber wave over trimming a man's hair, I see the staff from the local library. But I don't see everyone.
But they see me. And they recognize me for who I am: a runner. I guess it's a lot bigger than I realize.
"Um, yeah. Well, I ran earlier, but now I'm doing my second run of the day. I'm doing heat training, so trying to run in the heat of the day." The watch was taking forever.
He bent down to scoop up dog waste, and said, "What? Second run? How much do you run?"
"Usually about an hour and a half to two hours. A lot of days more."
"That's crazy. And two runs?"
"Yeah."
"What are you training for, a marathon?" (Ha!)
"I have a couple ultramarathons coming up. I'm running a 50k and a 100 miler."
"100 miles! That's crazy! No wonder I see you out here so much."
I was stunned. I had never seen this man in my life. I waved to him.
The next day, on my second run of the day, a guy said, "I always see you running. You never stop." Again, it was a man I never saw before.
Just like when our car driver to the airport in June recognized me.
They all know me by my running.
I see neighborhood: the new buildings, the lilac bushes on Oak Street, the cafe's proud proclamation of a new menu, how pretty the new park on North 6th looks at dusk, all the people from my health food store, the bartender at my favourite bar, the changed hours of the ice cream shop, the new classes at the yoga studio, the construction everywhere. I see people, yes, I see the woman who hoses her pristine front porch in her frilly nightgown, I see the old guy smoking cigarettes on my way to the ferry, I see the cowboy on my old block who always waves, I see my favourite Italian-American barber wave over trimming a man's hair, I see the staff from the local library. But I don't see everyone.
But they see me. And they recognize me for who I am: a runner. I guess it's a lot bigger than I realize.
18 September 2011
For the Beauty of It
I sign up for ultras based on the beauty of the course. Likewise, Killian Jornet embodies the beauty of an ultrarunner on these amazingly gorgeous trails in these videos.
Decompressing From Many Things
Burning Man. California Trip. Rio del Lago 100 Miler. Another two races I ran poorly in. When will my running pick up again? My apartment’s a mess. My cat’s eating my plants. I have to kiss more ass at work. I have to think about strategy more. I have a mountain of dishes to wash. I have to spend more time with my grandma and my family. My sister is pregnant and far and I can’t even get to help her that much. I’m scared of my bank account. My Macy’s bill is overdue. I have a really long to-do list. I am trying not to think of all that is overwhelming.
But sometimes I get in these periods of decompressing. And I pull in closer to myself. I pull away. I spend days at cafés, in bed surrounded by fuzzy blankets and a good cat, writing, editing, making my manifesto. Baking, cooking. Food will heal.
Jenny and I swore we would change the world. That’s what we were gonna do. Sixteen with those smiles, we were confident we’d make a difference. And now, we sit, chopsticks in our hands, and think, “What have we done? What’s next? Will we accomplish all that we wanted to?”
And I wonder, will we?
Naked Feet
I’ve been enjoying Vibram runs on the regular. I find my feet feel lighter, my form is vastly improved, and it requires less socks to wash. Okay, the last part is not why I wear them, but I like wearing them.
During the Burning Man 50k, I had a pair of old sneakers I was running in. At Burning Man, I generally wear a pair of sneakers that I was planning on tossing near the end of its life, and after running all week, throw them out. I planned on doing that with these shoes…until mile 12.
The shoes felt tight, and it felt like a massive blister was forming on my big toe. I wasn’t sure if there actually was one (You know how you never can tell?) but when I started altering my toe, I decided something had to be done.
I removed both my shoes and continued running in socks.
The playa surface is rather soft, most of the time, so except for two sections in Deep Playa, I was great. It felt heaps better than running in those wretched shoes (which, for the record, are in a landfill somewhere near my friend’s mom’s house in Santa Cruz where we left our garbage), though the blister slightly hurt. When I finished, I removed the sock and saw an incredibly massive and disgusting blister close to the size of my small toe attached to my big toe. Ow. (This required the medical tent and a patient boyfriend who helped me clean and wrap it all week.)
The Hotter, The Better
I’m a summer girl, a beach girl. When it’s 98 and humid and everyone’s melting, I’m complaining a little but mostly loving it, loving my tequila lemonades, my skimpy dresses, the teeny bikinis, the long hours under the tree shelter on the trails, the walks around Brooklyn at night, the sitting on the waterfront with my best friends sneaking drinks out of Sigg water bottles…I love the heat.
But this summer, I knew that two of my races would demand expertise with heat – the Burning Man 50k, an absolutely fun race that I direct, and the Rio del Lago 100 Miler. Both were hot – Rio del Lago was 97 with lots of miserably exposed sections and lots of dust.
I knew I needed heat training. My weekend runs were great, but I needed more training. Luckily, my boss is understanding (though she doesn’t comprehend why I do such things) and my job immensely flexible. So I’d work at home from 8am-noon, and then head out for a run for 90-120 minutes in the hot hot hot heat of the day. I’d wear sunblock, carry water, put on a visor, and go. The heat would drain me. Post run, I’d shower, eat something, and often just sit zombie-like on my futon, finishing the workday, glad my work only required me to sit and not move. The heat and humidity would drain me.
But it prepared me. As much as those runs sucked, as slow as I went in 95 degree temps, it prepared me. Rio del Lago felt ridiculously hot, yes, but I felt mostly okay. I attribute it to the heat training.
And now it’s getting cold. Autumn demands more snuggle time, long-sleeved tea shirts, and tea with pumpkin cookies post run. I’ll miss my sports bra-and-shorts-only runs…oh, yes, I will.
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