by Lesley on March 3, 2010
in running
There’s a reason I’ve been so tired (and cranky) recently. You see, one of my fabulous aunts ( I have many fabulous aunts- I’m lucky that way) asked me to run be part of a relay team this April. It’s no ordinary relay either. The Ragnar Relay will take 12 of us over 24 hours to complete the course from Ventura to Dana Point.
Everyone on the team will run three legs of the race, which means that training requires us to sometimes run twice a day to prepare. Today was the only day this week I could squeeze in two runs with Sharon, my faithful running partner. Just so happens it was raining. A lot. Since I’ve nominated myself to create and compete in the race’s video competition, I’ll give you a sneak peak at what goes into a race like this. (This is your cue to sit back/enjoy/feel sorry for me/tell me I’m hardcore/send bouquets of flowers as encouragement.)
by Lesley on February 28, 2010
in travel
When Jonathan and I were living in Shenzhen, China there were many nights it was just the two of us. Our little studio apartment, while clean and livable, didn’t feel like home. Our “friends” there were loving and kind but spoke limited English. And, after blowing through the entire first season of 24 on DVD, we didn’t have much to watch. One night we took the bus to a bar near the harbor called, “Ex-ta-sea” where we planned to get a drink and play pool. (Do I even need to add commentary to the bar’s name? I think not.)
The bar was full of Chinese women, and about six or seven expat men who were all flirting with the young girls. Jonathan and I sauntered over to the bar where I waited to place an order. In the meantime, Jonathan went searching for the restroom. It took very little time for me to get myself in trouble.
A gentleman at the bar eyed me as soon as I sat down. He was in his fifties, graying and unattractive, wearing MC Hammer style pants in American flag pattern. He started conversation immediately. “Haven’t seen you here before… you new around here?” I answered in a friendly manner, telling him that Jonathan and I were in the country for several months. He explained he’d been living in the city for years. He loved China. The country, he explained, offered him the life of a king–a life he wouldn’t be able to afford in the states. Then, quickly, he said, “But, if there’s one thing I hate about this country it’s their women. They are idiots. Every single one of them.” I responded cooly, “Really? I haven’t found that to be the case at all. In fact, the women here are intelligent and kind.” At that point, I turned away, giving him the “I don’t want to talk to you anymore” vibe.
He faced the bartender, a young woman in her twenties. I can’t remember his exact wording, but he started yelling at her for not bringing him the right drink. I stared, my eyes wide, at the interaction. He continued to try and make conversation with me, his eyes never leaving the area just below my collar bone.
I don’t really know why I said the next words that came out of my mouth. They were probably not the smartest thing to say or the classiest, but they flew out unplanned.
“I don’t want to talk to you, and if you don’t leave me alone my husband is going to beat you up.”
Leave me alone would have probably been sufficient. Or even, “You’re a horribly rude person that also happens to be highly unattractive” would have also worked. But, my threat seemed to really do the trick. He shut up. Said nothing. Stopped staring. Looked at his drink. I won. Victory tasted so sweet until I realized my innocent husband could walk back to a brawl. Oops.
What did I do? I ran for Jonathan as soon as he got out of the restroom. And then I told him, “I think we should leave. Quickly.”
And so we did.
photo credit
One of my favorite classes at Westmont was Rhetoric, a two semester course covering the five canons. I’m just going to be honest when I say–I don’t remember as much of the course as I wish. But, every once in awhile, something will trigger a memory that seems to float out from somewhere deep inside my being. Today, I had one of those moments.
Recently, life has felt very much the same. I get up at the same time, and trudge along on the same running route. I come home and eat the same breakfast cereal, and part my hair the same way. I run for the bus and miss the bus (and then cuss about missing the bus, and then ask to be forgiven). I tweet and email and write all day, then rush off to some type of networking/volunteering/biblestudying event. I come home tired, really tired, and go to bed way too late. And then, I get up. And I do it all again.
Today was not going to be another one of those ordinary days. No…today was going to be a frozen yogurt for dinner type of day, and no one was going to tell my otherwise. I packed up at 5:45pm, bundled in my warm coat, and started off on my brisk walk to Yogurtagogo. I slid in the doors just before their 6:00pm cut off for their $2 happy hour specials, piled up as much yogurt as the 4oz cup would hold, and confidently handed my $2 in bus money over to the cashier. I would have walked home if I had to. NOTHING would stop me from that yogurt.
As I walked the streets back towards the office, I found myself noticing the quiet. The bars and restaurants on L Street are closed on Mondays. Few cars rushed by. A person here or there walked a dog. It was just me, my yogurt, and the street lamps. All of a sudden, I heard my rhetoric professor’s words: “Break your habits.” He didn’t necessarily mean the bad and ugly habits-like smoking or drinking exorbitant amounts of coffee. While those habits could probably stand to be cut, I don’t think they were really what he was referring to. What he meant were the habits which are so normal, so accepted, that we don’t even think of them as habits anymore. Things like–always sleeping on the right hand side of the bed, or choosing the same seat in math class, or taking the same route to work every morning.
Sometimes, we need a change in perspective to see life a bit differently. Today, I needed frozen yogurt to remind me that life doesn’t have to be so routine. I don’t have to stay at work until all my tasks are done, or get home right on time to make dinner. I can eat ice cream instead and it really doesn’t matter.
What habits are hardest for you to break? What (good or bad) habits do you want to break the most?
image credit
It was already the third day in Paris, but I’d seen only three places: my hotel room, the internet cafe, and the classroom. The point of our trip was to learn as we traveled, but that particular week my head had been buried in more books than city maps. Two projects were looming, hundreds of dates needed memorizing, and my dad and sister were just a few hours from arriving for a visit. I remember sulking on the way to class that morning, passing by pastry shops and crepe stands as I walked through autumn’s brisk air.
My entire life I’d followed the rules. Brush your teeth twice a day. Make the bed. Don’t be late. Park in that lot. Wear a helmet. I’d never regretted my decisions to follow the rules until that morning, in a tiny classroom tucked away from Paris’ streets, learning everything important but nothing memorable.
And so I walked out. I turned in the test early, painted a “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW” look on my face, then bolted. When I got outside that classroom door, I looked back as if anticipating a professor to chase me down the narrow streets. But, no one came. I picked up a quick pace, giggling to myself as I ran towards the metro. Still, no one followed. I felt like a rebel until I made it to the Picasso Museum–my hooky destination of choice. It wasn’t a quaint flea market or the grand Eiffel Tower–but it was a quiet escape from the itinerary, the schedule, the rules.
You know what? I don’t remember what was on that test, or what grade I got. I don’t think any of my professors ever asked where I went. But, I remember that day by myself and Picasso more than many of the other days spent in Europe. Today, break the rules. Sometimes it’s the best way to play.
She is my friend from before I’d ever kissed a boy, or been out of the country, or thought about college, or been in a bible study. She is who I followed to Westmont, who lived down the hall, who wrote me sweet notes when my boyfriend dumped me, who shared a house overlooking the ocean. She is now a married woman, and I got watch it all happen.
