The only thing that has stuck with me for most of my life is running. I started when I was 12 and it’s been the way I decompress and shake off anxiety. I feel most connected to myself when I run and I do unfortunately experience the “runner’s high” when I’m out for a long run.
My second day of cross country we had to run a 3 mile time trial. Races back then (laughing at referring to anything as “back then”) were 3 miles long, which the length would later upgrade to a 5k cementing my time of 20:13 as the second fastest time in my school’s history. The fastest time? 20:12. Missed it by one second, baby.
The time trial is done the first week to assess where you’re at and also to filter out anyone who signed up because they wanted to be close to their crush. I went to a K-12th grade school and for some reason starting in 7th grade you were allowed to play varsity sports. Cross country had the reputation of being a cult- everyone had nicknames and proudly wore shirts that said “Our Sport is Your Sport’s Punishment” and “Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body.” And for some reason my frail, shy 7th grade body couldn’t wait to enter this secret society that consisted mostly of high school seniors.
On this day of the time trial, 3 miles was the longest I had ever attempted to run. I was one of the last to finish and as I got to the end the rest of the team was lined up cheering me on. Great! However with 400 meters left the friendly cheers morphed into chaotic yells to pick up the pace. I would soon learn that the last 400 meters is when you sprint and since I am not a sprinter that is why I will forever be one second behind the school record.
Here I am (8th grade) the day that I secured forever being one second short.
Since I am a noted People Pleaser, I immediately took off. I sprinted as hard as I could as the August South Florida humidity caked itself around me. However with the end in sight my stomach started turning on me so I did what any normal, rational, critical thinking, smart 7th grader would do and I stopped. But the yells only got louder to keep going. Don’t Stop!! FASTER!!! I took off again ready for death to extend it’s grim hand and pull me to the finish line when suddenly I started barfing. Everywhere. All over myself. All over the grass at Topeekeegee Yugnee Park. But I didn’t stop because they kept yelling at me to keep going and these were seniors so there was no other choice than to run and barf and run and barf and run and barf. It was terrible and awful. I don’t think I looked up from my running shoes till my mom picked me up from practice. A few days later I was christened with the nicknames Barf and Hardcore and since I turned out to become a pretty decent runner I grew fond of these nicknames (especially when I found out my crush at cross country camp also went by Hardcore. And yes I did ask him for a picture on the last day.)
Since the day I barfed my way through the time trial, I never stopped running. And I mean that very literally. Every run I do I never stop. Even the marathon last year I never walked. I’m not bragging because this is actually a very bad mentality to have about running. It causes injuries and does nothing to improve your stamina as a runner. But I hate stopping because it makes me feel like I’m not doing enough or I’m weak. Which isn’t true! However it’s ingrained in me in a way that’s so permanent it's hard to let go.
This is where you can pause to see some bears on a hammock if you need that this morning.
Hello again. So now that I’ve been forced to stop everything it’s been hard. Every single day I am stopped and it feels stagnant and bad. I’m not used to stopping so quarantine hasn’t been working for me. It feels like I’m missing out even though there’s nothing happening to miss out on. I watch each of my friend’s celebrate zoom birthdays begrudgingly counting down the days to my own zoom celebration. I look at pictures from a year ago that sting worse than seeing an ex with their new girlfriend. I am stopped and there seems to be no start in sight.
But because of this stop I am forced to examine who I am when my social life and career goals are stripped away. The things that I always put on a back burner because my life was so busy before are now peeking their heads wanting to be let out at last. I’ve always wanted to explore more trails and nature and this bonkers era is letting me research that so that when we are out of this thing I won’t just spend another Saturday re-watching High Maintenance. I’m learning more about the value of resting, strength training and speed exercises to improve my running and I have time to actually care about and implement them. I even started an herb garden. None of these things would I have given a second thought to a year ago.
And the most crucial thing is that I’m going to come out of this with a better understanding of my privilege, my words and my actions when it comes to being anti-racist. Making this a long term and permanent action is only done by allowing it to become a habit, one that is properly groomed and cared for and right now there is plenty of time to accomplish just that. It feels like a training montage where everyday I am creating new habits and life experiences so that when I’m finally out of this thing I can feel stronger about who I am and how I can help those around me. I’ll admit I do have weeks where I can’t get off the couch and I’m learning that is okay too. It’s okay to feel your way through something at your own pace and it’s okay to stop so that when you do re-start that rest will lead you to feeling better than before.
Last week I went for a run at the beach. I got there early and thank god the few people I encountered were masked. As I made my way down the beach (listening to folklore, DUH it was an overcast morning) an older man waved to me from just inside the shoreline. I hesitated for obvious reasons but he was adamant I come over. He held out his hand to show me that he had accidentally caught a baby shark while fishing. “I just had to show someone” he said as I tried to compute that it was Monday morning and there was a baby shark right in front of me.
This is the baby shark I saw with my own damn eyes.
As I settled back into the rhythm of my run I tried to assign some meaning to this- a baby shark that made its presence known to me on a Monday morning during a pandemic? Excuse me? But I couldn’t find anything because sometimes you just see a baby shark out of nowhere on a Monday morning and that’s all you can handle. There might not be any cosmic meaning to this but it was nice to feel, in some way, a part of the world again. And to be reminded that what I’m working on will always have disruptions and sometimes they’re cool little baby sharks and other times they’re injuries or blindspots that I need to address and let rest over time so that when I can move forward I will be better prepared. Because how I dealt with things in the past- never stopping, always pushing through- has obviously not worked and I’m finally realizing that I just need to give myself a goddamn break for once and explore the things that have been bottled up inside me waiting for a proper stop to be let out. I will update you on the herb garden next month.
Re: what is going on?
Of course I’ve been listening to folklore, Taylor Swift’s new album. What I am recommending are the lyric videos for the album’s songs on her YouTube which are actually very soothing. When the earthquake hit last week (a rare earthquake that had the ability to wake me up) I watched some of these videos to fall back asleep.
Whenever I go home, my dad immediately asks if I want to watch episodes of the Rick Steves’ travel show he’s saved on his DVR. It’s cute because he will record the episodes throughout the year and as we watch them he will delete them from the DVR (except for the Bulgaria one which I imagine he shows to anyone who walks through the door). Rick Steves wrote this about his home life in quarantine, which I felt punctuated more how I’ve been feeling lately. You can read the rest of this thoughts here.
Travel teaches us that there’s more to life than increasing its speed. This quarantine has been therapy for a workaholic like me. Perhaps the pandemic is the universe’s way of telling us all to slow down. And, like travel, this crisis is reminding us of how we need one another, and we need one another to be safe and cared for. Hard times highlight the importance of public services and good governance, as well as the value of neighbors.
It’s getting hot and the unhoused of LA need cool water! If you can’t drop off cold bottles here is where you can donate. If you live outside of LA, still consider dropping off water bottles to your unhoused neighbors (looking at you, Florida friends).
I can’t believe the election is so soon and we are dealing with a massive slowdown in the USPS during a time when that will be the primary way of voting. I’m trying to find new ways to help voters in other states be able to either get their ballot in on time or have a ride to their polling place. If anyone has tips or leads on this please let me know! Also take one minute and check to see if you’re registered to vote!
Last summer I started a twitter thread about my favorite Dodger nemesis Joe Kelly because it seemed that he came to the Dodgers to exclusively play pranks to make us lose. However I called a truce with him the moment he yelled “nice swing, bitch” at the Astros. I have repeated this phrase in my brain multiple times a day and the most hopeful I’ve felt all of quarantine was watching this game unfold and seeing this face.
Alright that’s it- see you in two weeks! Till then feel free to message me, comment or simply X out of this email and have a fantastic week!
