I was recently chatting with a friend and realized that despite my joy during the last elections and commitment to democracy, I could be persuaded by an enthusiastic population to be a benevolent dictator. The world could do worse--actually, it has done much worse. I mean most people hate dictators because we equate them with evil and lack of accountability. But I'm a relatively nice person on many, many levels. Sure I have temper issues, but I limit myself to yelling and an occasional use of profanity. On the upside, I believe in feeding people. If I make crazy declarations like, "Let them eat cake" (which Marie Antoinette never did by the way), it will be because I have baked lots and lots of cake. Also, I would never make such declarations until everyone has had lunch or dinner. Unless it is their birthday, in which case they can eat cake whenever they want.
I'd also put a lot of emphasis on universal literacy and health care. I'm pretty sure if there weren't such ridiculously high levels of illiteracy and ignorance in the world, we wouldn't be dealing with half the things that are going on around the world. I know ignorance is in the eye of the beholder, and literacy cannot erase it, but it can be reduced and isolated. I'll take that as a positive first step. All that knowledge can be channeled to doing a few positive things--curing diseases, building things and what not. Plus, once everyone is literate, they can read about all of my amazing contributions to the world.
I think that's a good start to a new society. I realize that I would technically be a dictator, I'd emphasize the benevolent part. I'm not sure how I'd go about achieving such things--I'm assuming there will be a petition or a revolution involved. Just please, keep it civilized. This should be a happy event.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Gimpy Cupid Strikes Again!
Out of curiosity, is it wrong to flirt with one's doctor? What if your intentions are pure?
I had a first time appointment with my Sports Medicine physician today, who I had researched extensively based on first availability. I finally broke down and made the appointment after realizing my knee problems weren't going away on their own and crossing my legs is one of the most painful things I do these days.
After a visit to Radiology, I finally met my new doctor. I liked him immediately. He asked some questions, I answered, showing him where my assorted aches and pains resided--under my black jeans obviously. I told him about my training, what mileage brought the pain, what my future training goals were. He took some notes, asked some follow-ups and asked me to stand up and take off my shoes. I looked at him in confusion and ask if he really wanted me barefoot (he did).
Up to this point, I had been relatively successful maintaining some level of dignity and not acting beneath my age. As I took off my shoes, I apologized and told him that my pen had exploded last night and I hadn't noticed all the blue spots I had given myself. Although, I had showered and tried to get rid of the spots. "So, for the record, I'm clean but spotty." As I said those last words, I knew I was no longer the dignified potential athlete, but my usual less than impressive self. He chuckled and commented on the dangers of ink attacks.
Eventually, I got on the bed and he felt my legs, checked my x-rays and said I have beautiful ankles. My knees however, are trying to run away from me. He showed me what normal knees look like, and where my knees and surrounding muscles were doing their best to escape. This causes a lot of stress on them when you're running in one direction and they are trying to run in another. They pull on IT bands that make crossing one's legs almost impossible.
Then he dropped the real bomb: "If you look here", as he looked evenly my legs, "you'll notice that your right leg is a little more than an eighth of an inch longer than your left leg--which will make your body adjust and put more..."
By now I was laughing so hard, my whole body was shaking. "How can you tell me I'm lop-sided with a straight face?"
"Oh, in this line of work you realize every body is truly unique."
I started flirting with him because he struck the right tone. And he laughed at my comments, actually said I was funny complimented my x-ray ankles again. Compliments AND appreciating my sense of humor? All that was missing was a British accent.
Did I mention he was gay? You didn't think I was actually flirting with him for me, did you? And you know that by flirting, I meant I was just more charming than I usually am to doctors who I don't trust any further than I can throw them, right? (As a side note, I would like to gather some of my past physicians and see how far I could throw them--as a scientific experiment of sorts.) It just occurred to me that a nice doctor would be the perfect potential boyfriend for my best friend who eventually owes me a wedding.
By the time I left his office, I had learned where Dr. Peter was from, what his Thanksgiving weekend plans were and that he was a competitive swimmer for many years and couldn't dream of running long distances. He never implied anything about a spouse/partner, nor was he wearing a ring. Now I'm slated for some physical therapy and have been instructed to put off another half marathon for at least 6-8 months and fill my time with 5-10ks. Of course, if my injuries don't get any better, I'll have to go back and see the nice doctor. With my best friend.
I had a first time appointment with my Sports Medicine physician today, who I had researched extensively based on first availability. I finally broke down and made the appointment after realizing my knee problems weren't going away on their own and crossing my legs is one of the most painful things I do these days.
After a visit to Radiology, I finally met my new doctor. I liked him immediately. He asked some questions, I answered, showing him where my assorted aches and pains resided--under my black jeans obviously. I told him about my training, what mileage brought the pain, what my future training goals were. He took some notes, asked some follow-ups and asked me to stand up and take off my shoes. I looked at him in confusion and ask if he really wanted me barefoot (he did).
Up to this point, I had been relatively successful maintaining some level of dignity and not acting beneath my age. As I took off my shoes, I apologized and told him that my pen had exploded last night and I hadn't noticed all the blue spots I had given myself. Although, I had showered and tried to get rid of the spots. "So, for the record, I'm clean but spotty." As I said those last words, I knew I was no longer the dignified potential athlete, but my usual less than impressive self. He chuckled and commented on the dangers of ink attacks.
Eventually, I got on the bed and he felt my legs, checked my x-rays and said I have beautiful ankles. My knees however, are trying to run away from me. He showed me what normal knees look like, and where my knees and surrounding muscles were doing their best to escape. This causes a lot of stress on them when you're running in one direction and they are trying to run in another. They pull on IT bands that make crossing one's legs almost impossible.
Then he dropped the real bomb: "If you look here", as he looked evenly my legs, "you'll notice that your right leg is a little more than an eighth of an inch longer than your left leg--which will make your body adjust and put more..."
By now I was laughing so hard, my whole body was shaking. "How can you tell me I'm lop-sided with a straight face?"
"Oh, in this line of work you realize every body is truly unique."
I started flirting with him because he struck the right tone. And he laughed at my comments, actually said I was funny complimented my x-ray ankles again. Compliments AND appreciating my sense of humor? All that was missing was a British accent.
Did I mention he was gay? You didn't think I was actually flirting with him for me, did you? And you know that by flirting, I meant I was just more charming than I usually am to doctors who I don't trust any further than I can throw them, right? (As a side note, I would like to gather some of my past physicians and see how far I could throw them--as a scientific experiment of sorts.) It just occurred to me that a nice doctor would be the perfect potential boyfriend for my best friend who eventually owes me a wedding.
By the time I left his office, I had learned where Dr. Peter was from, what his Thanksgiving weekend plans were and that he was a competitive swimmer for many years and couldn't dream of running long distances. He never implied anything about a spouse/partner, nor was he wearing a ring. Now I'm slated for some physical therapy and have been instructed to put off another half marathon for at least 6-8 months and fill my time with 5-10ks. Of course, if my injuries don't get any better, I'll have to go back and see the nice doctor. With my best friend.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Hey Jealousy
I'm back! Well, kind of--more in the process of coming back. I have been away on a few adventures and trips, been duly punished for my time away from the office by one of my (least) favorite co-workers and have been writing friends fun emails that none of them have received on account of all of the emails ending up in my Drafts folders. I apologize to everyone who has been emailing me and hasn't gotten a response in a while. I'd like to think I'm not rude, just forgetful. This should not surprise any of you.
On a happier note, I have been crocheting quite a bit lately. My new hobby started in August when I had rare foresight to start a project before the time had passed. I started a scarf for a friend while I was visiting my grandmother. My grandmother kept commenting on how cute it was, how quickly it was coming along and how lucky my friend was to have me thinking of her. Now, I may not have seen my grandmother in five years, but I have not forgotten how unsubtle she can be. Despite my firm belief that a project intended for one person, should only be completed for that person--I broke my rule and gave my first scarf to my grandmother. She was gleeful. She went back to Iran and showed it to everyone, bragging about her talented granddaughter who loved her so much that she made instant scarves for people. Normally, I would be happy to hear about people singing my praises--however this time around the praise has caused a ruckus. My father started asking my mom why I had never made him anything (except for the assorted baked goods, foods and knit scarf and cap). Did I not love him enough? Why was I ignoring him? Did I not remember how much he hated the cold? Now you may think this sounds a little bit like a jealous child throwing a tantrum*--you'd be right. That is why my poor mother started a scarf for him which was quickly going no where. She sounds miserable every time I call her. I told her to drop the crochet hook and yarn, and wait for me to send them a package.
Since then, I have finished a few scarves--which are a great project to work on while on cross country flights--and have a growing stack of patterns and yarn. I'm really enjoying the quiet that comes with focusing on a pattern and trying to create something pretty and useful. It is almost as satisfying as cooking--just more enduring and fewer calories.
Unfortunately, it is not a hobby that allows multi-tasking. Sure, I can watch TV and attend early morning meetings, but I can't type and crochet at the same time. Soon, I will have to find a balance between yarn related activities and posting stories that are swirling around in my head.
*As a side note, if you ever wonder where some of my more charming personality traits come from, please remember these family moments. Especially the subtlety, impatience and jealousy parts. While I would like to think that this Pomegranate has rolled far from the tree, it initially dropped pretty close to it.
On a happier note, I have been crocheting quite a bit lately. My new hobby started in August when I had rare foresight to start a project before the time had passed. I started a scarf for a friend while I was visiting my grandmother. My grandmother kept commenting on how cute it was, how quickly it was coming along and how lucky my friend was to have me thinking of her. Now, I may not have seen my grandmother in five years, but I have not forgotten how unsubtle she can be. Despite my firm belief that a project intended for one person, should only be completed for that person--I broke my rule and gave my first scarf to my grandmother. She was gleeful. She went back to Iran and showed it to everyone, bragging about her talented granddaughter who loved her so much that she made instant scarves for people. Normally, I would be happy to hear about people singing my praises--however this time around the praise has caused a ruckus. My father started asking my mom why I had never made him anything (except for the assorted baked goods, foods and knit scarf and cap). Did I not love him enough? Why was I ignoring him? Did I not remember how much he hated the cold? Now you may think this sounds a little bit like a jealous child throwing a tantrum*--you'd be right. That is why my poor mother started a scarf for him which was quickly going no where. She sounds miserable every time I call her. I told her to drop the crochet hook and yarn, and wait for me to send them a package.
Since then, I have finished a few scarves--which are a great project to work on while on cross country flights--and have a growing stack of patterns and yarn. I'm really enjoying the quiet that comes with focusing on a pattern and trying to create something pretty and useful. It is almost as satisfying as cooking--just more enduring and fewer calories.
Unfortunately, it is not a hobby that allows multi-tasking. Sure, I can watch TV and attend early morning meetings, but I can't type and crochet at the same time. Soon, I will have to find a balance between yarn related activities and posting stories that are swirling around in my head.
*As a side note, if you ever wonder where some of my more charming personality traits come from, please remember these family moments. Especially the subtlety, impatience and jealousy parts. While I would like to think that this Pomegranate has rolled far from the tree, it initially dropped pretty close to it.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Living in the Now
I'm alive to see a moment that has left me speechless. I'm a crying puddle of pride, emotion and hope. There will be plenty of other people more eloquent than me with much more at stake and stronger claims to this moment. But as an American and a citizen of the world, a world broken by years of gleeful ignorance, arrogance and cruelty--this is a moment I feel is burnished into my heart and soul.
This could not happen in any other country in the world. This could not happen at a more crucial moment in our history and identities.
I am grateful, joyous and full of love for my country and fellow countrymen.
This could not happen in any other country in the world. This could not happen at a more crucial moment in our history and identities.
I am grateful, joyous and full of love for my country and fellow countrymen.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Wish You Were There
Sadly, I am not photogenic--mostly because cameras have a tendency to capture me as I am. Over the years, this has caused me to avoid taking pictures and losing opportunities to document some incredibly happy moments and experiences. Left to my own devices, I don't even take a camera with me to typically camera-worthy events. Lucky for me, during my race weekend I had my husband, my brother and best friend (Tall Lanky Guy) with me--and all three are pretty good photographers. M was sweet enough to compile some of the pictures and video clips to make a slide show-video of our weekend.
The bad news is, I am still not photogenic. The good news is, I was so ridiculously happy that I was not too bothered by that minor fact.
I wish you were there to see and hear everything I did. The best I can do is share M's perspective with you.
The bad news is, I am still not photogenic. The good news is, I was so ridiculously happy that I was not too bothered by that minor fact.
I wish you were there to see and hear everything I did. The best I can do is share M's perspective with you.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
3: 14: 04
I was looking forward to last weekend for almost six months. I dreamed of who I would meet, how we'd get along and my performance overall. I was a little concerned that after all that dreaming the weekend wouldn't be what I had imagined. Except it was so much more.
I called Amanda in April and asked if I could run with TNT in her honor. With her blessing, I signed up and joined Team In Training, where they promised to make an endurance runner out of a heavy little couch potato. For six months, I did things I never thought I would to prepare for the Nike Women's Marathon on October 19th. And finally the big weekend arrived.
Last Friday, I was up at 4 am and at the airport not long after. I sat nervously waiting for our flight, listening to everyone's excitement. There was a large group of people in green and purple jackets, waiting to catch various flights to San Francisco. I knew many of them, I was one of them. I don't remember the flight or the ride from Oakland to the Grand Hyatt in Union Square (the hotel was lovely), I just remember the excitement. There were people--mostly women--everywhere. Nike Town was conveniently across the street from us, with all of the participant's names posted on a pink wall. The Wall and Expo, where we were to pick up our runner's numbers were already packed. Some of the activities were ridiculously 'girlie' and I gladly participated. Who am I to pass up free manicures and massages? But beyond the girlie-ness, while waiting in the lines you met other runners--many of them TNT members--who were there exchanging stories, encouraging and cheering each other days before the race. Among the more humbling moments was listening to Sarah Reinertsen--an amputee who competes in triathlons, marathons and other endurance events--speak about how she prepares for events. The whole time she was speaking, I kept thinking to myself that I have no excuse for being inactive. I have two whole legs!
Saturday was spent hanging out with my best friend from college, my husband and my brother who had both flown in to support me. I was touched to have my three favorite guys in one place looking out for me. M was commissioned with taking pictures and video of all the excitement. We eventually went to the big Pasta Dinner at Mascone Center, to be greeted by all of the TNT coaches, capitains and mentors, dressed in costumes and cheering us from the entrance all the way down the stairs and into the huge center that was setup to host thousands of giddy people. It was incredibly emotional being greeted by the people who have spent months training you, listening to survivor's stories and seeing slide shows of the people we are running for and with. My nervousness pretty much went away at that point when I remembered what and who I was there for. I was ready for the race.
Sunday morning, I was awake at 4am--again--and this time without my alarm clock. Our wake-up call wasn't for another hour, so I lay in bed thinking of Amanda and her family, planning next year's trip and thinking of things that a three-four year old boy would enjoy. I didn't really come up with many details, other than things that involved Ghirardelli Square and Mitchell's Ice Cream (sorry, Manda--kids love me for the treats). We got up at five, got ready and met what seemed like half the hotel's guests downstairs. By 6 am, the early starters had already left and everyone else was checking in their coat bags and finding their corrals. There was just so much excitement and anticipation it was hard to stand still. There were people EVERYWHERE. Almost 20,000 of them. And I was but a drop in this sea. The last thing I remember before I started running was our coach's advice to smile while we ran. I thought that was odd advice at the time. Once we started running, I was smiling almost non-stop.
The run was amazing. The temperature was perfect for running--cooler than the previous two days. The streets and views were gorgeous. Unfortunately, shortly after Mile 2, my right ankle started hurting and by Mile 4, my left knee was kicking in. Both are injuries I have had on my longer distances all season, but was hoping to avoid during the race. Neither injury stopped me. I ran up the first hills, and about half way up the Giant Hill. I walked the rest of that hill going up, took a few pictures with my cell phone and continued to run again. Every step of the way was literally amazing to me. The views, the cheering volunteers, our coaches and the sign holding survivors all made the 13.1 miles go by so quickly. The last three miles were the easiest both because the path had evened out and because the energy just moved us forward. As I approached the finish line, I saw my Three Men again (they had greeted me at Mile 7) cheering and taking pictures. I was greeted at the finish line by a group of very well dressed firemen handing out Tiffany's boxes. I could not believe I had finished my race. I felt nothing but joy as I watched others follow me across the finish, claiming their necklaces and sneaking in hugs from the firefighters (yes, they were all exceptionally handsome and polite). I actually bumped into Sarah again, shook hands with her and thanked her for her talk. She graciously congratulated me and encouraged me to keep up the good work.
After I checked in, got my post race massage and got my Finisher's shirt, we went back to the hotel, where my college roommate was waiting for us. I hadn't seen her in almost 3 years and seeing her then was just like icing on a giant piece of cake. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, eating and resting. My cheer team had been up at the same time I was and had watched hundreds of runners go by in an attempt to yell out my name as I slowly passed. We were all exhausted.
All in all, this was one of the most amazing things I have participated it. My intentions were completely altruistic when I joined--in then end I derived so much joy from it myself. I am proud of the $18 million dollars that was raised for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society through this event alone--and proud of my tiny contribution to it. I am grateful for the support of my friends and family (real and virtual) who helped get me to San Francisco. I am humbled by the strength of the men and women I met last weekend, some of them survivors running/walking/cheering at an event that was meant to honor them. I'm already planning on raising funds and going back next year. Times like these, it's good to be one of the crowd.
I called Amanda in April and asked if I could run with TNT in her honor. With her blessing, I signed up and joined Team In Training, where they promised to make an endurance runner out of a heavy little couch potato. For six months, I did things I never thought I would to prepare for the Nike Women's Marathon on October 19th. And finally the big weekend arrived.
Last Friday, I was up at 4 am and at the airport not long after. I sat nervously waiting for our flight, listening to everyone's excitement. There was a large group of people in green and purple jackets, waiting to catch various flights to San Francisco. I knew many of them, I was one of them. I don't remember the flight or the ride from Oakland to the Grand Hyatt in Union Square (the hotel was lovely), I just remember the excitement. There were people--mostly women--everywhere. Nike Town was conveniently across the street from us, with all of the participant's names posted on a pink wall. The Wall and Expo, where we were to pick up our runner's numbers were already packed. Some of the activities were ridiculously 'girlie' and I gladly participated. Who am I to pass up free manicures and massages? But beyond the girlie-ness, while waiting in the lines you met other runners--many of them TNT members--who were there exchanging stories, encouraging and cheering each other days before the race. Among the more humbling moments was listening to Sarah Reinertsen--an amputee who competes in triathlons, marathons and other endurance events--speak about how she prepares for events. The whole time she was speaking, I kept thinking to myself that I have no excuse for being inactive. I have two whole legs!
Saturday was spent hanging out with my best friend from college, my husband and my brother who had both flown in to support me. I was touched to have my three favorite guys in one place looking out for me. M was commissioned with taking pictures and video of all the excitement. We eventually went to the big Pasta Dinner at Mascone Center, to be greeted by all of the TNT coaches, capitains and mentors, dressed in costumes and cheering us from the entrance all the way down the stairs and into the huge center that was setup to host thousands of giddy people. It was incredibly emotional being greeted by the people who have spent months training you, listening to survivor's stories and seeing slide shows of the people we are running for and with. My nervousness pretty much went away at that point when I remembered what and who I was there for. I was ready for the race.
Sunday morning, I was awake at 4am--again--and this time without my alarm clock. Our wake-up call wasn't for another hour, so I lay in bed thinking of Amanda and her family, planning next year's trip and thinking of things that a three-four year old boy would enjoy. I didn't really come up with many details, other than things that involved Ghirardelli Square and Mitchell's Ice Cream (sorry, Manda--kids love me for the treats). We got up at five, got ready and met what seemed like half the hotel's guests downstairs. By 6 am, the early starters had already left and everyone else was checking in their coat bags and finding their corrals. There was just so much excitement and anticipation it was hard to stand still. There were people EVERYWHERE. Almost 20,000 of them. And I was but a drop in this sea. The last thing I remember before I started running was our coach's advice to smile while we ran. I thought that was odd advice at the time. Once we started running, I was smiling almost non-stop.
The run was amazing. The temperature was perfect for running--cooler than the previous two days. The streets and views were gorgeous. Unfortunately, shortly after Mile 2, my right ankle started hurting and by Mile 4, my left knee was kicking in. Both are injuries I have had on my longer distances all season, but was hoping to avoid during the race. Neither injury stopped me. I ran up the first hills, and about half way up the Giant Hill. I walked the rest of that hill going up, took a few pictures with my cell phone and continued to run again. Every step of the way was literally amazing to me. The views, the cheering volunteers, our coaches and the sign holding survivors all made the 13.1 miles go by so quickly. The last three miles were the easiest both because the path had evened out and because the energy just moved us forward. As I approached the finish line, I saw my Three Men again (they had greeted me at Mile 7) cheering and taking pictures. I was greeted at the finish line by a group of very well dressed firemen handing out Tiffany's boxes. I could not believe I had finished my race. I felt nothing but joy as I watched others follow me across the finish, claiming their necklaces and sneaking in hugs from the firefighters (yes, they were all exceptionally handsome and polite). I actually bumped into Sarah again, shook hands with her and thanked her for her talk. She graciously congratulated me and encouraged me to keep up the good work.
After I checked in, got my post race massage and got my Finisher's shirt, we went back to the hotel, where my college roommate was waiting for us. I hadn't seen her in almost 3 years and seeing her then was just like icing on a giant piece of cake. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, eating and resting. My cheer team had been up at the same time I was and had watched hundreds of runners go by in an attempt to yell out my name as I slowly passed. We were all exhausted.
All in all, this was one of the most amazing things I have participated it. My intentions were completely altruistic when I joined--in then end I derived so much joy from it myself. I am proud of the $18 million dollars that was raised for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society through this event alone--and proud of my tiny contribution to it. I am grateful for the support of my friends and family (real and virtual) who helped get me to San Francisco. I am humbled by the strength of the men and women I met last weekend, some of them survivors running/walking/cheering at an event that was meant to honor them. I'm already planning on raising funds and going back next year. Times like these, it's good to be one of the crowd.
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