and we’re back!

hi there loyal readers. should your rss feeds still include the blogging wasteland that is sjworksitout, dry your tears and open up your minds for What Sarah is Reading:

whatsarahisreading.wordpress.com

one mo’ time

True Things Thursday.

1) I went to a presentation at MSU today, and being on campus among students, I thought to myself, “maybe it would’ve been fun to come to a big school like this, and be ‘just a number’,” but then as I wandered the cavernous, seemingly unending concrete halls looking for my lecture hall, I decided I missed my cozy little liberal arts school. I like it here.

2) Christmas music. I’ve succumbed. (that’s a funny word to sound out. s u c c u m b e d.) I usually get grumbly over the too-soon-ness of the holidays, but this year I’m more okay with it. (Am I getting old? Am I, like Sherman Alexie said of himself at convo last week, “nostalgic for nostalgia”?)

3) Taco Bell Black Jack Tacos are God’s gift to fast food. And they’re friggen 89 cents, people! 89 cents!!

4) I love getting my daily news from TheDailyBeast.com. It’s a great mix of politics, smart cultural commentary, and mindless celeb gossip. check it out.

5) My book club is having a good ol’ girlie sleepover this weekend, and I absolutely can’t wait! I need a little break of pure silliness. Between Twilight and Bump-Its (yes. Bump-Its.) and junk food and sleep-deprivation, I think some silliness will ensue.

05.56:25

Well, it’s been 39 days…high time I wrote about the ol’ marathon, huh?

I’ve finally gotten around to ordering the official marathon photos (and paying out the wazoo for them…), which I will post once they’re here and I scan them…digital copies were $59.00 (that’s right, fifty-nine. like I said, got me by the balls, that marathonfoto.com…).

And I did a little early Christmas shopping for myself on nike.com, where some Chicago Marathon 09 Finisher swag remains.
(reminds me: mom asked me last weekend what I mean by “swag” when I’m talking about stuff…”well,” I said, “you know…stuff. Swag means stuff. Like goodies. Free stuff.” But I’m not sure whether that’s true…an informal search of online dictionaries found that Merriam-Webster disagrees, whereas urbandictionary.com and a few others confirm, that “free shit” can be “swag” as well.)

Anyway, over a month after the fact, I’m still a little dazed about it all, as you might guess by my procrastinatory writing and photo-ordering. Life (like it does) has gone on. One can’t wear her medal to work EVERY day, after all. (Better believe I did wear it the day I came back.)

The whole weekend in Chicago was a delight. Mom and Dad loved it. Brandon was a patient tour guide. I had my deep dish Giordano’s and saw Second City (the drunken 50th birthday revelers were big fans of me, and the performers even called us runners out as “crazy people” during the show. Delightful.) Ooh! Plus the red-headed chick in the new Sonic commercials? TOTALLY at our show. I liked her. Amy Poehler-esque.

The race itself: pretty amazing. Really. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of those 5 hours and 56 minutes. Delight. Disbelief. Relief. “This isn’t so bad!” Thirsty. Cold. GottaPeeGottaPeeGottaPee. Excited. Hilarious. Summer Camp Warm Fuzzies with Strangers. Tired. Blistery. Worried. Relieved. Delighted again. “I’m going to finish? Holy Shit! I’m going to finish!” Done. Smiling. Smiling. Smiling.

When I finally got to bed that night, I just kept thinking to myself: I’ve done this now. This is now something I’ve done. I couldn’t help thinking about our guide in India who told us, “there are two kinds of people in the world: those who have seen the Taj, and those who have not seen the Taj,” and knowing I’m am now one of the kinds of people who has finished a marathon. (I read somewhere it’s less than 1% of the U.S.)

One of the best parts of running a big race like this are the crowds who line the course offering encouragement (and in later miles, bless their souls, snacks!), so in honor of that awesomeness, which you really can’t know unless you’ve run one, I’m going to share some of my favorite posters along the way:

“Chuck Norris never ran the Chicago Marathon!”
“You’ve done much worse for much longer.”
“I ♥ correr” (in hispanic neighborhood…”to run”)
“Runners have balls. All other athletes just play with them.”
“Poop if you gotta.”
something in binary (1000101) that this one dude and i giggled over. nerdiness.

And then there’s the all-male cheerleaders of boys town.
The seeing Sears Tower from north and south.
Charity groups supporting their runners.
Wackos in costume. Running in costume.
All the lovely volunteers handing out water and gatorade (and getting splashed. bless their hearts.)
The port-o-potties. Thank Jesus for port-o-potties. And whoever makes sure they stay stocked with t.p.

And my #1 fans who managed to find me at mile 13 and 22!

Who could’ve imagined in July 2007, when I started this little running blog, that this is where I’d be? I never would have.

…and with this I think I put sjworksitout to rest, at least for now.

Don’t fret, loyal readers! i’m starting a new direction for my blogging life, in fact i’ve already started it. you can continue to follow my e-writings soon. I’ll let you know.

From now on, I’m focusing more on books, articles, movies, etc. and how those things shape my life. I’m a creator and consumer of words after all, so I’m getting serious about writing about that.
You can be sure I might still write a little about running, no doubt after all i’ll read about it, but my focus has changed.

Been there. Done that. For 26.2 miles.
Now it’s time for something new.

What a country.

Do you ever go through your daily life and wonder to yourself, what would Yakov think? Yeah, me neither, but I’m wondering it now. Some things about America perplex me. What a country.

First of all:

The Mall
I was at the mall on Saturday (a statement that will not be true again until Christmas has come and gone. oye.)
Y’all saw the commercials for $1 scarves at Old Navy…well I fell for it. Along with 1000s of other Springfieldians. The mall is in full-out Christmas bustle. Garlands are hung from the ceiling with care. St. Nicholas, and his jolly elves paid-by-the-hour, are there.
Somewhere while navigating the narrow aisles, dodging double-wide strollers, and scouring ransacked racks for my size, I’d had enough.

I got ANGRY. Nobody in this mall needs a damn thing, I fumed.
Poor Brandon, he did what he usually does in times like these, quietly humors my rampage and then reminds me that maybe I can’t change every injustice in the world, and maybe it’d be better for me (and my blood pressure) if I could learn to say “that’s just the way it is” and move on. (I hate that.)

I can’t get over the fact that we buy too much shit.
(Pardon my french, mom, if you’re reading this, but you know it’s true.)
There are people in the world who don’t have clean water to drink. Do I really need another pair of jeans? What’s so bad with the 10 scarves I already own?
(nothing. Nothing is wrong with them.)
And so I don’t really need another scarf, whether or not they’re just a dollar.
So I didn’t buy one.

And that is, I think, the one victory i can have in the midst of my middle-class existential angst.

What I can do is continue to look at my own spending, and learn to tell myself NO.
And while I’m at it, I’ll ask wouldn’t it be better if we stopped buying what we don’t need, and evaluate what we could give away?
or save for a trip?
or save for a big item we really do need, but “can’t afford”?

Because there’s nothing wrong with spending money and having nice stuff. But there is something wrong with trying to buy happiness, and I think that’s what we do all too often.
What a country.

Second of all:

Shoney’s
Brandon and I went to Shoney’s for Sunday breakfast buffet. mm mm you got your home fries…your bacon…your pancakes…your eggs with hot sauce.
you got your highest tank top undershirts* per capita.
you got your old people. cute, polite, chatty old people.

(*trying to eliminate biased language from my vocabulary, but dang it—there really is no better term than “wife beater”…)

One particular old dude across from us, on oxygen (and, it turns out, coumadin…some things you can’t help but overhear) reminded me of my grandpa. Not just because they shared blood-thinning medication, but because a playfully grumpy disposition like that is exclusive to the WW2 generation. Something about the gravely voice and time-tested wisdom.

I missed my grandparents in a tangible way like maybe I haven’t since my grandma died this summer.

Old people get to me. Especially if they’re dining alone. (This is another case where Brandon tells me not to get too upset; they’re probably fine. But I can’t help but be sad, imagining they’re lonely.)
I wish it was more socially acceptable to talk to strangers.
That somehow life could feel more communal, instead of closed off. too busy, too self-concerned, too scared to care about anyone else.

The newest Radiolab, “New Normal?” was all about community (Listen to it for free at radiolab.org) and whether people (apes. foxes.) can change.
What got to me the most is the idea that empathy is a highly evolved trait, and will continue to be a side-effect of survival.
Maybe someday war and conflict won’t be “human nature,” and instead empathy and care will be. It’s worth thinking about, and worth believing in.

In America, podcast listen to you! What was that, Yakov? You crazy.

Blast from the past

Working in Publications and Creative Services at Drury has its perks. Not minimal among them is the fact that “Creative” is part of its name. Another perk is access to old publications and photos from years past. Today we happened upon the admissions viewbook from 2002…and who should appear but…

Rodrigo.

I conjure my best hispanic hotman accent here as I tell my coworker, my roommate and i, we luuuuulved him. he was a 5th year architexture studen’ from Mehico. we had psychology with heem.

i want to touch your model.

So funny. I hadn’t thought about that dude in years. Seriously I was a freshman 7 years ago…
I dropped my hispanic accent to lament aloud: i feel so old.

To which she replied: I guess that should just be a reminder to seize the day now…

Me: that’s very wise.

*I feel as though I should note that I am aware my hispanic hotman accent is entirely stereotypical, and intended for entertainment purposes only.

no shame november

Good Lord a new month’s upon us already! Hard to believe Once A Day in May was six months ago. Maybe I need another little gimmick to get me writing regularly again…
So many bearded ones choose to celebrate “No Shave November,” so I’ve come up with a rhyming near-homonym homage: No Shame November, as in:

she’s got no shame: one has no susceptibility to guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety
what a shame: declaring a “tsk” at something to be regretted

Inspired a bit by last week’s Community (ps– that show is getting so much better. Premiere week I was skeptical, and not raving nearly as much as some folks I know. but lemmetellya Halloween episode was a delight—A delight with a nugget of wisdom, one of my favorite TV phenomena.)

If life is just a series of ridiculous attempts to be alive, you are a hero to everything that’s ever lived. ~Guy from The Soup to Chevy Chase

That’s the spirit of No Shame November. Finding as many ways, even on mundaner days, to facilitate ridiculous attempts to be alive.

On post-daylight savings fall evenings it can be far too easy for me to get gloomy. Get sleepy. Get nothing done. That’s probably true of most anyone, but I in particular become a little hibernating bear come wintertime. The cold draft wind that sneaks under my door frame is evidence that depression might be setting up a sleeping bag outside my door. After that there’s only a matter of time until it wants to come in.
I’m trying to exercise my choice in the matter. Claiming that I can overcome how I feel.

So I’ll write. Because I (like David Sedaris…and I know this because, well, he told me) feel that “nothing quite seems real to me unless I write it down.” Hoping to write my way toward waking up like Meryl Streep’s Julia Child, springing out of bed with a 5:30 alarm ready for cooking class.
Hoping to write my way toward Bobby Darin singing “It’s Today” from Mame: Though it may not be anyone’s birthday, And though it’s far from the first of the year, I know that this very minute has history in it, we’re here!

That’s right. I strive to be a lyric from a musical. No Shame November, folks. no shame.

quite the week, folks. quite the week.

Think of this as True Things Thursday, week-in-review edition. Sorta wish every week could be this action-packed. Then again, I’d never afford the gas.

Obviously much of last week requires its own entry, longer with more anecdotes and photos and such. For now, this is all you get. I’m at work after 5:00 and Ima make this quick.

Sunday: Ran the Chicago Marathon. saw Second City.

Monday: Bought an iPod touch; ate Giordano’s.

Tuesday: Saw David Sedaris do a reading in Arkansas, during Q&A I asked about his writing habits, and he answered by reading from his pocket journal (!) “nothing quite seems real to me unless I write it down”, waited for hours for a signed book. Laughed out loud more than at all Judd Apatow movies combined.
First pumpkin pie Andy’s of the season.

Wednesday: Ate Addison’s, Shakespeare’s and Sparky’s during mid-week field trip to fetch my car from Columbia.

Thursday: Inspired by Sister Helen Prejean (Dead Man Walking) during convocation, signed book #2 of the week. she quoted Faulkner, “The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.”
Season premiere of 30 Rock. I heart Tina Fey. Watch her Letterman appearance on YouTube. It doesn’t get much better.

Friday: Supported KSMU, felt grown-up and stuff pledging to public radio…and if that doesn’t make me feel old, my boyfriend’s 10-year reunion is tonight.

I do.

I just got done watching Jim & Pam’s wedding.(it’s so odd to say “watching” when it felt more like “going to”. ridiculous i know, but it feels that personal almost.)

It was all lovely, wasn’t it? Zany side-bits with the supporting characters (Dwight’s a sex-bomb, what?!), Jim’s cute speech about the last four years…I wasn’t too schmaltzy about it until the last 15 minutes. And in those few (well-orchestrated, surprise-montagey) moments, my own emotions of the last four years washed over me all at once. (I KNOW! It’s cliche and stupid. Leave me alone.) Because this show isn’t just about the show. It never has been.

It’s been about the coworkers who’d giggle about it with me Friday morning.
The is-it-better-than-the-BBC-version arguments with fellow tv-snobs.
The “that’s what she said” jokes.
The dreams of romance that Jim and Pam rekindled with every glance at the camera.

It’s been about the friends I watched it with week after week. The yummy snacks and comfy home where i shared the show with my cousin and her husband, and a large group of friends. For the last four years, in times when work was stressful, or life was hard, I looked forward to Thursday night. Some weeks it seemed The Office was the happiest 30 minutes I had—one of the few things I looked forward to.

And when times were good, the show still meant a lot to me. There’s something magical about sharing something like that week after week. The characters start to mean something to us. It all becomes routine.
You hum the theme song.
You “shh! it’s back on!!” after commercial breaks
You “yesssss!” when Jim and Pam seem to get together, “NOOOO!” when Michael does something awkward.

And it’s all “just a tv show”…but it’s so much more. Tonight when Jim said he’d waited four years for this moment, I realized I have too. And what a perfect moment it was.
(I know I’m not the only one who felt the magic…In about two minutes 1100+ tweets stacked up for #TheOffice.)

I watched this one by myself…my cousin and her husband recently had a baby (a beautiful, magical, wonderful baby) and so our weekly Thursday tradition has been put on hold.
I miss those times. I miss the people I’ve shared this show with (geez, since 2005…) many of them far away from me now.
I feel…i dunno. I feel bigger emotions than are perhaps “appropriate” for reacting to a television show. Like actual people I actually know just got married. Two people whose ups and downs i’ve experienced up-close once a week. Whose ups and downs I’ve associated with my own.

And it turned out okay for them. It turned out perfect.

i would run [20] miles…i would run [6.2] more

I just got an email with the subject:
“Six days to go until the Bank of America Chicago Marathon”

In six days I will run a marathon.
Sunday morning I kept telling myself: “in a week. in exactly a week.” This was true from about 7:30 to about 12:30…

I’m filling my brain with pre-race preparation. Reading my participant guide. Making notes. Race-week tips online and in magazines. Filling my body with carbs and water. (plus zinc tabs and orange juice thanks to pre-race-sickness paranoia.)

I don’t really know how to describe how I feel. It all feels a little unreal—as it should, since I am in fact about to do something I’ve never done before.

It’s like the feelings i had the week before skydiving; I was feeling excited but also a little undefined. (until, that is, the night right before where i had a sudden, paralyzing grip of fear: I am going to jump out of a plane… and I could feel my stomach fall, like it does at the crest of a roller coaster hill.)

Lucky for me, my paranoia was wrong. Skydiving felt like nothing I could’ve imagined. Better. Nothing like what I feared. And like nothing i’ve felt since.

So thats how I approach this big day. This Big Race, as i’ve called it for months now. (in fact, it was 10 months ago tomorrow that i first had this crazy idea. Sitting in memphis, sorting through my 1/2 marathon packet, thinking: is this something I could really do?!)

And I’m about to do it.
The closest I’ve come is my 20-miler (believe it!) which I survived over the course of 3.5 hours on Thursday, Sept. 24. (mid-run thought: i’m running for an entire extended-cut Lord of the Rings movie…) I’ve meant to blog about it since then (i wrote that night, of course), but life has been getting in the way.

Like it do.

Hm.
And that, my friends, is another reason why I am a runner. (in spite of the stress and the sweat and the self-consciousness and the time spent and the soreness). Running for me is a time (a half-hour here, an hour there, and 5 hours ultimately) when I can turn off everything else in my life. Where I’m just doing this one thing I truly enjoy. where I’m experiencing my thoughts and the passing of time as they come, just as they are.

For most people I talk to, the idea of running a marathon is tortuous. For me, it’s exciting.
And it’s also just something I’m going to do. It feels natural by now. Simple. I’m going to do it. (And according to Runner’s World’s website, I’ll be one of 0.1% of Americans who can say the same.)

So I’m nervous, and a little unsure how to feel, but I know I can do it.

Just found an inspiring story of a blind runner who will have 100 volunteers helping him along the way. if this guy can do it, I can too.

“I could write while in motion I’d have a memoir by now”

Life, folks! It just needs to slow down sometimes.
Remember that scene from Our Town, where Emily is visiting her family from the afterlife, and she is so frustrated that everything’s moving so fast, saying “can’t we just look at one another?”

Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?

I have that feeling a lot while I’m still here.
Can’t I just stop and absorb this?
I had a special “driveway moment” with a particular NPR story two days ago. There’s something simply wonderful about sitting in my car, in the rain, and listening to a good story at the end of the day. Check it out:

Andrei Codrescu: Growing Up The iPod Way
You’ve got to take the time to listen to this, though you can read a transcript online as well. Codrescu has a delicious accent that compliments his storytelling. He talks about how our music tells the story of our lives.

I’ve found I learn a lot about someone by experiencing her music taste, or borrowing his iPod. In fact, I love running with a mix of someone else’s music that I’ve never heard before. It is a bit like experiencing life from within their mind, from their history, as Codrescu argues in the piece.

Growing up, he asserts, is like moving from being a memoirist to a novelist.
Finding value in learning the stories of those you love, learning to listen with their ears.
bellissimo.