tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27216443368680837462024-03-21T20:22:45.459-07:00The reluctant tech girllaunching a tech start-upAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-17500072213408304612017-01-03T12:13:00.003-08:002017-01-03T20:52:17.197-08:00¡viva méxico!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have been asked numerous times about my recent three day solo journey through Mexico City. That's right, solo. I went traveling by myself, and to anyone thinking of traveling alone, do it. Just go. You will never regret it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I arrived in Mexico City (CDMX) from Fort Lauderdale on a Wednesday afternoon. I did set up free international roaming from my cell phone provider before I arrived in Mexico, but if you don't have international data, you can easily log into the airport's free wi-fi. I hired an Uber to take me straight from the airport (after hitting the ATM for some pesos) to my Airbnb hotel. About 40 minutes and 100 pesos later ($5) I arrived at <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/12381174"><span style="color: blue;">Hotel Parque México</span></a></span><span style="color: #414141;"> </span><span style="color: #414141;">in </span><span style="color: #414141;">the </span>Hipódromo<span style="color: #414141;"> /Roma/ Condesa neighborhood. The hotel, complete with rooftop bar and restaurant, hooked me up with a free margarita. It felt amazing to finally relax after a day of traveling. That evening, post-margarita, I didn't do anything specific. I wandered around and, though I was intrigued by the</span><span style="color: #414141;"> </span><a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/mercado-roma-m%C3%A9xico-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Roma Market</span></a><span style="color: #414141;">, it felt like a tourist location, with overpriced fancy foreign cuisines. Not the Mexico City food I was truly searching for. Instead, I walked around the block, stopped at the first roadside stand I could find, and ate way too many tacos al pastor. They were delicious!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCFUiqZbtOpXjOo5s4EUdKErVDRx3I5pVsu6r7qifFezWWKbO0VHJoR6unVaZcs8azlmu6Hjs8Hu6ojzzzgb90Swm7hAbvIM81y10donbeO0QWEjdIbMNJ79SRl6eLRWT4Izw7_VtVk4/s1600/IMG_0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCFUiqZbtOpXjOo5s4EUdKErVDRx3I5pVsu6r7qifFezWWKbO0VHJoR6unVaZcs8azlmu6Hjs8Hu6ojzzzgb90Swm7hAbvIM81y10donbeO0QWEjdIbMNJ79SRl6eLRWT4Izw7_VtVk4/s200/IMG_0141.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tsmLYARBFC33cqYO9sXZX_drZNB2iQicoQmLNaR6-2L297w0dIn-0EtoYSEGfaw3wCeFvWPOsVg-yFBFu93zKEh4MN12Fi0oDMJC8A_FP-B15wFE7XO71pgi5PRvBcN3TYaOd53TnLc/s1600/IMG_0164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tsmLYARBFC33cqYO9sXZX_drZNB2iQicoQmLNaR6-2L297w0dIn-0EtoYSEGfaw3wCeFvWPOsVg-yFBFu93zKEh4MN12Fi0oDMJC8A_FP-B15wFE7XO71pgi5PRvBcN3TYaOd53TnLc/s200/IMG_0164.JPG" width="132" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Airbnb Hotel Parque </span><span style="text-align: left;">M</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">é</span><span style="text-align: left;">xico</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Day 1, Thursday, I was up early and out the door. The night before I purchased a ticket to the <a href="http://www.museofridakahlo.org.mx/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Frida Kahlo Museum</span></a> for 10:30am (the museum opens at 10am). I highly recommend purchasing your ticket in advance. You'll wait in a much shorter, quickly moving ticket holder line. There was a minimal fee for purchasing the $7 ticket online but it was totally worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Starting from my hotel, I took an Uber south to the neighborhood of Coyoacan. The ride was so quick that I had enough time to stop at the fantastic neighborhood café, <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/el-beneficio-caf%C3%A9-m%C3%A9xico-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">El Beneficio</span></a>, about 4 blocks from the museum. I had a delicious latte, along with free samples of decadent brownies. I spoke with a few patrons who highly recommended the egg dishes I was eyeing. If I had more time, I definitely would have ordered some breakfast.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Visit El Beneficio Café if you're in Coyoacan</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once I arrived at the Museum, I waited in a short line to get in to the Blue House, where Frida and Diego lived for decades. Their home has been converted into the Museo Frida Kahlo and it houses everything from recently discovered paintings and photographs to Frida's actual wheelchairs, braces, and even her ashes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtUnGFgmI4rJUXFx7CVVGf1Zb3FCpZHDOKvNM48-zVljn0SMHVxovEOBJuG_9x7f5Pn22erMETi3fT0fIK8FTgIVyNYF5KG0WLfuJEV4VLTgpZuGrloTTVdAjKuRlDJJiIjDNF8SeNFI/s1600/IMG_0198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtUnGFgmI4rJUXFx7CVVGf1Zb3FCpZHDOKvNM48-zVljn0SMHVxovEOBJuG_9x7f5Pn22erMETi3fT0fIK8FTgIVyNYF5KG0WLfuJEV4VLTgpZuGrloTTVdAjKuRlDJJiIjDNF8SeNFI/s200/IMG_0198.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yh-c9SlCuzDaQUSHHeCOiBrLsVofXkzcWuvlWqiXr_udfxl-sBtg9HIDzLnYhhB6U027QDNNgkhWh4MNqTDm0GU-lok1o91t9VR3xv32NBWLbpn-sN1mS6BJSnn-zJ1rpi8uPIS7IZY/s1600/IMG_4404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yh-c9SlCuzDaQUSHHeCOiBrLsVofXkzcWuvlWqiXr_udfxl-sBtg9HIDzLnYhhB6U027QDNNgkhWh4MNqTDm0GU-lok1o91t9VR3xv32NBWLbpn-sN1mS6BJSnn-zJ1rpi8uPIS7IZY/s200/IMG_4404.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Visitors can take photos inside the Museo Frida Kahlo</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I</span> also absolutely loved the additional temporary exhibit, devoted to how Frida dressed. Complete with every type of brace she used over the years, the exhibit included a sampling of each of Frida's clothing items. I spent about an hour and a half there and saw the entire museum. I then decided that since it was a quick walk to the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://museocasadeleontrotsky.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">Leon Trotsky House Museum</a>,</span><span style="color: blue;"> </span>I would check it out as well. When I arrived the museum was empty. After a quick look around, I left Coyoacan via an Uber and headed downtown to the <a href="http://www.visitmexico.com/en-us/bellas-artes-palace-in-mexico-city" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Palacio de Bellas Artes</span></a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Palacio de Bellas Artes is also a museum</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I knew that the <a href="http://www.balletfolkloricodemexico.com.mx/"><span style="color: blue;">Ballet Folklórico</span></a> was in the Palacio de Bellas Artes for a few more nights. I had looked into purchasing a ticket online via <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.ticketmaster.com.mx/Ballet-Folklorico-de-Mexico-de-Amalia-boletos/artist/803500" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Ticketmaster</span></a> </span>the week before my arrival, but the fees were just too high. Also the ticket would have to have been picked up at an unknown location in Mexico City, not the box office. Instead I quickly ran into the Palacio, found the ticket window, and purchased a ticket for the performance later that evening. For $300 pesos total, no fees (around $15). The show would start at 8pm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I then headed underground and took the </span><a href="http://mexicometro.org/" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Metro</span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> from Bellas Artes to </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chapultepec" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Chapultepec Park</span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">. Although I had to transfer lines, the metro was easy to learn. A metro train arrives every 2 minutes. It's amazingly efficient and also happens to be the least expensive public transportation in the world (5 pesos or $.25 per trip, including transfers). The metro is also its own underground city. There are plenty of places to eat and kiosks to buy anything you may need. If you go to Mexico City, I highly recommend you venture into the Metro. It is an integral part of the city and is not to be missed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ce back above ground at the Chapultepec station, I walked for a long time through Chapultepec Park, eventually entering the <a class="resultTitle" href="http://www.mna.inah.gob.mx/tu-visita/plan-your-visit.html" style="background-color: white; background-position: 0px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Museo</span> <span style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">de</span> Antropología</span></a>. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After a quick tour of the museum, I grabbed some fresh cut fruit and freshly made potato chips from the vendors outside the museum. I also tried the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/the_americas/the-new-snack-craze-on-mexicos-streets-starts-with-doritos-and-goes-from-there/2014/10/19/b57289aa-91cd-4cbb-99ba-d75ffe704efe_story.html?utm_term=.aa9098b389b2" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Dorilocos</span></a> for sale. If you get the chance, be sure to try them, as they are a Mexico City specialty. And very, very popular.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRxtsnHXPJL3TQe-KceX6tHvOHTafLrGJnR0Lao_u5gDfaHW1DTJJ-EWVgueqpLd4R_Lh47gw9kXSi1X-MDc_DZ14I4tzw_KpPoztZIg55RZfmJ93tundt263gxUsVhssJbC7NoicLIU/s1600/IMG_0265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRxtsnHXPJL3TQe-KceX6tHvOHTafLrGJnR0Lao_u5gDfaHW1DTJJ-EWVgueqpLd4R_Lh47gw9kXSi1X-MDc_DZ14I4tzw_KpPoztZIg55RZfmJ93tundt263gxUsVhssJbC7NoicLIU/s200/IMG_0265.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7HrqbnPIhUbcpulSvBd4aVWma4_YkUIOTzL_WVFvFynR-BJUyvMmKXHylMkBxFPVwZd_egGFdpyj7GQIuUXhJjiKq2f-2ytqYHaH1pkOIMRkzdkzV_i7NrO4WcrStP2YebKfCHjAD6w/s1600/IMG_0278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7HrqbnPIhUbcpulSvBd4aVWma4_YkUIOTzL_WVFvFynR-BJUyvMmKXHylMkBxFPVwZd_egGFdpyj7GQIuUXhJjiKq2f-2ytqYHaH1pkOIMRkzdkzV_i7NrO4WcrStP2YebKfCHjAD6w/s200/IMG_0278.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbpKpqnpNYpDf1OXDW0VGAnfkDLawnFHYsk7GwsLn2O88S2kfl9GVm3XyiH0a_23m-tQbx3binnYm-2_s-aPria6EAU8nPlTB6OPzVNi-QipBYm9Nv6mTWxYA5QqD6bMtb-iurEduGyw/s1600/IMG_0282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbpKpqnpNYpDf1OXDW0VGAnfkDLawnFHYsk7GwsLn2O88S2kfl9GVm3XyiH0a_23m-tQbx3binnYm-2_s-aPria6EAU8nPlTB6OPzVNi-QipBYm9Nv6mTWxYA5QqD6bMtb-iurEduGyw/s200/IMG_0282.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizs0aKCYsIYKODXMacrIMbT6OxLk0GvuJy-VMVCRFfSzekGE94MprqoOKOV2t6i1f3tW6GJjwBJ9Azp4kaIica_X-UMsgFMdLEsnq5deqat7vtDCpST1nZ-bepNa9kE1ERGDmgnPW4Fjc/s1600/IMG_0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizs0aKCYsIYKODXMacrIMbT6OxLk0GvuJy-VMVCRFfSzekGE94MprqoOKOV2t6i1f3tW6GJjwBJ9Azp4kaIica_X-UMsgFMdLEsnq5deqat7vtDCpST1nZ-bepNa9kE1ERGDmgnPW4Fjc/s200/IMG_0303.JPG" width="200" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Museo de Antropología is CDMX's highest rated museum</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After leaving the museum and heading toward the Chapultepec gardens, I eventually found myself following the crowd and heading up a giant hill to <a href="http://www.visitmexico.com/en/chapultepec-castle-in-mexico-city" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Chapultepec Castle</span></a>. The castle is was worth entering, albeit there are no English explanations of anything you'll see. Despite the hot, direct sun at the top of the hill, I loved the Palace, which happens to be the former residence of past Mexican presidents. I also got a 360 degree of Mexico City from the top of the Castle, which was really gorgeous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It's a trek up to the top of Chapultepec Castle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After heading back down the hill and meandering through the Chapultepec gardens for a while, I walked out from Chapultepec Park over to a restaurant recommended to me, <a href="http://www.delirio.mx/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Delirio</span></a>, located in Condesa, which happened to be not too far from my hotel. I had a fresh seasonal bocadito at Delirio, a fancy latte and wandered around the Condesa neighborhood. I ended up back at my hotel. I was exhausted. After a short rest, I headed out again. This time I headed back, via metro, to the Palacio de Bellas Artes. I walked around the plaza, taking in the monuments, the architecture and the sheer crowds of people out and about in the days before Christmas, finally heading into the Palacio for the Ballet Folkl</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ó</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">rico performance.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> The ballet was breathtaking; consisting of nine different types of traditional Mexican dances. I was mesmerized. After the ballet, it was pretty late, so I quickly took an Uber back to the hotel, but I just as easily could have taken the Metro. But I had already walked over ten miles that day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweAH7IxyXfpa4-RgYlNLI9NQUZafCtnwidHeq77vSc8mDNWfX97YKk6QwlCoZvUc_ftA03GA6Z1Ay9ExPYX9m76AN9itbYQQDzEuHsQfP-hFf6Hggl2AMgi7TFRsUsCX0RSMhQe6OdHk/s1600/IMG_0384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweAH7IxyXfpa4-RgYlNLI9NQUZafCtnwidHeq77vSc8mDNWfX97YKk6QwlCoZvUc_ftA03GA6Z1Ay9ExPYX9m76AN9itbYQQDzEuHsQfP-hFf6Hggl2AMgi7TFRsUsCX0RSMhQe6OdHk/s200/IMG_0384.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFST-e5k9IfjB5NFelDIIE02-mTBCgf7XB70X-nxCYsQQKQ2dcjJ8gltwtR8TnkQhzEiCh-AJSuuFUfB8a5Dn2jYxzFWEG7D85dGcVZvdSwTxS6pMqQd5HG1Ao70RjsNtYuZdYSyC1KG8/s1600/IMG_0404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFST-e5k9IfjB5NFelDIIE02-mTBCgf7XB70X-nxCYsQQKQ2dcjJ8gltwtR8TnkQhzEiCh-AJSuuFUfB8a5Dn2jYxzFWEG7D85dGcVZvdSwTxS6pMqQd5HG1Ao70RjsNtYuZdYSyC1KG8/s200/IMG_0404.JPG" width="133" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmkLA3slcwD9y0ILZhV5bRXk-YQVH7hDwjyeHl560U1_REaJiOwjcbWutzy4btJc4wxCJVmZxh-L1PjDW_KRz1RNKmC3bQ1D8vp85rI4nrLnIc6wRVGXwOaKAVtsREmo_3aDzmw0zd8Y/s1600/IMG_4574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmkLA3slcwD9y0ILZhV5bRXk-YQVH7hDwjyeHl560U1_REaJiOwjcbWutzy4btJc4wxCJVmZxh-L1PjDW_KRz1RNKmC3bQ1D8vp85rI4nrLnIc6wRVGXwOaKAVtsREmo_3aDzmw0zd8Y/s200/IMG_4574.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcFve7xZLax9WBo-tUMK558almnkqnfe4IiRWlps9fggaJLJd-81lD-hE1Vxd9_gtJeNtrMx1SXsAGMP4LmgkVoOLSUak0SSl-aGiunsIfafLVdo-A36D5nHSVqVJA_o46OzEAl2-VZQ/s1600/IMG_4591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcFve7xZLax9WBo-tUMK558almnkqnfe4IiRWlps9fggaJLJd-81lD-hE1Vxd9_gtJeNtrMx1SXsAGMP4LmgkVoOLSUak0SSl-aGiunsIfafLVdo-A36D5nHSVqVJA_o46OzEAl2-VZQ/s200/IMG_4591.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Photos and video are permitted during the Ballet Folklórico</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Friday, Day 2, began early as well, but was a little more relaxed. I walked a few blocks to <a href="https://www.yelp.com.mx/biz/chilpa-m%C3%A9xico" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Chilpa</span></a>, a tiny cafe that specializes in Chilaquiles. I had the Chilaquiles rojos with a fried egg. And a cafe con leche soya. Next, I walked to the Metro (my hotel was about an eight minute walk to the metro) and took it all the way out to the end of the line at Tasque</span></span><span style="line-height: 20.8px;">ñ</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a. At the Tasque</span></span><span style="line-height: 20.8px;">ñ</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">station I transferred to the </span><a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tren_ligero_de_la_Ciudad_de_M%C3%A9xico" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">light rail</span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> (which costs an additional 3 pesos) and took that train to the end of the line at Xochimilco. From there, it was about a five minute walk out of the Xochimilco station to arrive at the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.museodoloresolmedo.org.mx/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Museo Dolores Olmedo</span></a>. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Dolores Olmedo was a Mexican businesswoman, philanthropist, and friend of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. Dolores donated her estate and everything in it to create the public museum that stands today. The museum houses over 100 Diego Rivera paintings. I was blown away; photos of Dolores, Diego, and Frida. The art, including paintings, sculptures and photographs by Frida and Diego, was outstanding. And the estate even includes all the original furniture, stoves, and serving pieces from when Dolores lived there. Although situated slightly outside the city, this museum is a gem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The gardens at the Museo Dolores Olmedo are stunning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Museum, located in La Noria, is part of the city of <span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://xochimilco.gob.mx/" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">Xochimilco</a>, </span></span>which is also full of canals and boats and little islands. But since I don't like boats and I had limited time, I ended up taking the light rail and then the metro back to downtown Mexico City. This time I got off at the <a href="http://www.visitmexico.com/es/el-zocalo-en-mexico-df" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Zócalo</span></a> stop. Zócalo is the historical center of the city, formerly the site of Tenochtitlan. It took me a while to find the entrance, but I eventually elbowed my way through the crowd and into the Palacio Nacional. The National Palace houses a large collection of Diego Rivera murals. Entrance to the Palacio is free, as long as you leave a photo ID at the entrance as you walk in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The <a href="http://cdmxtravel.com/es/lugares/palacio-nacional.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Palacio Nacional</span></a> is an oasis in the middle of madness. Mexico City is, at Christmas-time, filled with people. And two ice rinks. And a giant ice slide. And a giant Christmas Tree. And lots of shopping. And lots and lots of people. The Palacio, on the other hand, is filled with gardens. And some of the most magnificent art I've ever seen. And just a handful of people. Suddenly, the day before Christmas, I found myself at peace. And falling even more in love with Mexico City.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Diego Rivera murals are breathtaking</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After the Diego Rivera murals, I walked around the old city of Mexico, grabbing a green juice from <a href="http://frutosprohibidos.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Frutos Prohibidos</span></a> (orange, grapefruit and chaya) and eventually taking the metro back to the hotel. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After a quick rest I took a long walk through the Parque Espa</span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 1.3;">ñ</span><span style="line-height: 1.3;">a to <a href="https://www.dondeir.com/pizza-nosferatu-pizzas-salsa-vino-cerveza/2016/12" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Pizza Nosferatu</span></a>. It was a treat to try different wood-fired pizzas, each covered with a random assortment of meat, vegetables, or greens and doused with balsamic vinegar; I was in heaven. Then it was back to the hotel to try to get some sleep.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Day 3, Saturday morning, I woke up early and quickly took an Uber to the El Norte Bus Station. Once inside the station, I found gate 8, bought a ticket to the ruins at </span><a href="http://www.teotihuacan.inah.gob.mx/" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Teotihuacan</span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, and got on the bus. About an hour later, the bus dropped me off at the entrance to Teotihuacan at gate 1. Once again, I found myself climbing up large pyramids in Mexico. After a few hours, I was hot and sunburned and ready to head back to the city. I walked out of the ruins via gate 3, through a parking lot and onto the side of the road. After about 10 minutes a bus heading back to the city picked me up and took me back to the El Norte station. From there I took the El Norte Metro back to the </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Z</span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">ó</span>calo</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">. I had one more museum to see: the </span><a href="http://www.templomayor.inah.gob.mx/english" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Museo Templo Mayor</span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Teotihuacan is located an hour outside the city</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After another quick tour of the Templo Mayor ruins at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tenochtitlan" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Tenochtitlan</span></a>, I grabbed a fresh berry smoothie and took the metro back to the hotel. In the mood for more tacos, I wandered around the Roma/Condesa area again and found a tacos al pastor restaurant, <a href="http://www.chilango.com/restaurantes/condesa/el-tizoncito-condesa" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">El Tizoncito</span></a>, open on Christmas eve. I ate way too many tacos, stopped for pan dulce at Panadería Lecaroz and headed back to the hotel for the night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me + Mexico = Ruins + Tacos</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sunday morning, Christmas day, I finally slept in, packed up, and checked out. I had enough time for one last chilaquiles meal. But first, I walked from my hotel to the <a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monumento_a_la_Independencia" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Monumento de la Independencia</span></a>, a long pedestrian pathway that runs on a diagonal across town. It starts at Chapultepec Park and is filled with large statues and roundabouts. It was a perfect last minute tourist stop. On the way back to the hotel, I stopped for lunch at <a href="https://www.yelp.com.mx/biz/ojo-de-agua-m%C3%A9xico" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Ojo de Agua</span></a>, which was thankfully open on Christmas day. It was one the few places open and it was booming. I had chilaquiles, once again rojos with eggs, and a fresh squeezed juice in a giant mason jar. This place was swimming in fresh produce and loud conversation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One last chilaquiles meal after a walk around Condesa</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I quickly walked back to my hotel a few blocks away, grabbed my luggage, took an uber fast Uber to the airport (there is little traffic on Christmas Day) and said goodbye to Mexico City. I still had a lot more traveling to do, so I tried to recharge myself for M<span style="background-color: white;">é</span>rida and the next leg of my journey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the end I took over 700 pictures during my 3+ days Mexico City. And I still feel like I could have taken more. Mexico City definitely has my heart. The people. The culture. The history. The beauty. CDMX has it all. While there were only a few things I did not get to do because of the Christmas holiday, almost all of them revolve around restaurants I wanted to try. So I will have to come back and try them. Hopefully it will be someday soon. Until then, hasta luego, M</span><span style="background-color: white;">é</span>xico!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-14738266373590236582016-01-12T10:27:00.000-08:002016-01-12T10:33:52.062-08:00dvt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">About six hours into the first of many flights from San Francisco to Bangalore, India a few weeks ago, my left calf started to hurt. By the time we arrived at G's cousins' home in Bangalore, the pain had spread from my knee to my toes, which were now numb. Instead of easing, the pain continued day after day. By about day three, I decided to call my mom. She quickly offered advice for icing the leg (my calf to be precise), keeping the leg over my heart, and using heated compresses. But what I really wanted to know was if leg/foot pain and numbness was something she usually encountered when traveling long distances. Despite her own foot pain, my mom is an avid traveler. She didn't think this was a normal occurrence.<br /><br />So things didn't seem to be quite right. I had not experienced this level of pain while flying before. And it didn't seem to be easing up anytime soon. While at lunch on day four, the pain was so acute, I didn't know what to do. Fortunately, the restaurant was above a hair salon. Down in the salon, we convinced the pedicurist to massage my calves and feet. But nothing seemed to help. Where could I find a foam roller, my usual go to cure for leg cramping and pain? Surely Bangalore had its fair share of gyms and yoga studios. Maybe I could talk my way in? But then I thought, maybe at this point I should just leave the calf alone and try to enjoy India.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2paX4DFEKdk52tMTFOf-PSS-Xq-p6rgwouy-KtskEy7TnvZgfPGzb5U3pXB61x0Ha-wAzdeaOQF2QrNgwTJcTjPGQPiYfbbITWNw-YA424vGes3EV4LBdiqfaTuMlJM9JA-AzCKE67A/s1600/IMG_1777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2paX4DFEKdk52tMTFOf-PSS-Xq-p6rgwouy-KtskEy7TnvZgfPGzb5U3pXB61x0Ha-wAzdeaOQF2QrNgwTJcTjPGQPiYfbbITWNw-YA424vGes3EV4LBdiqfaTuMlJM9JA-AzCKE67A/s200/IMG_1777.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(this man definitely seems to be enjoying Bangalore)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Still writhing in pain, unable to sleep, I came out into the living room (where I got wifi signal) at about 5am on day five. Just then my phone began to beep. A lot. The messages started coming through. Mom had talked to dad (a doctor) and it seemed to them that I had a common traveler's condition: a deep vein thrombosis, or blood clot. I had all the symptoms. And I was taking a medication that additionally put me at risk. It seemed to them to be a no brainer: get to a hospital and get a doppler (ultrasound) of my left calf. But I'm in Bangalore. This is a lot easier said than done.<br /><br />I called my mom. She started to tell me that I needed to seek medical attention asap. "This must be serious," I thought. My family has never been one to actually go to the emergency room or even the doctor's office. I basically have to be unconscious before having myself checked out my a medical professional. And then mom started telling me about all the people she knew about who had blood clots and died. Friends of friends. Friends of friends' children. Even famous journalists. Do you remember David Bloom? He died of a blood clot. Each name pushed me further and further into panic mode.<br /><br />I immediately woke up Rama and Neetu. "I need to get to the hospital," I said. "I might have a blood clot." We jumped into the car for a quick (by India standards) ride, eventually walking into the Emergency Room of Apollo Hospital at a little past 6am. I walked right up to a Doctor. "I need to get checked for a DVT," I said. Then I sat down on a bed. I put on a gown. And I immediately spoke with two very sympathetic doctors. They ordered an EKG and a doppler.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQy79jk3chS2dLBa-UQsrrywAZWoRW0Vf2L4cMrKl9YXG0Bb2lpvLK1MHU-30V8LzcdhcGkmshZkDzR0612_FlOgSgVQV80WCuZD6QpSXxRgkav1QJRvPxdHi5d9Nrfz1CfsAByoNDYS8/s1600/12527732_10153839554026944_253352003_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQy79jk3chS2dLBa-UQsrrywAZWoRW0Vf2L4cMrKl9YXG0Bb2lpvLK1MHU-30V8LzcdhcGkmshZkDzR0612_FlOgSgVQV80WCuZD6QpSXxRgkav1QJRvPxdHi5d9Nrfz1CfsAByoNDYS8/s200/12527732_10153839554026944_253352003_n.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Making the best of a scary situation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The key to the doppler (ultrasound) is to compare legs; one in significant pain against one without pain. The tech rubbed the wand up and down my leg, taking photos. The assistant positioned my leg for the tech and did as he said. When the tech first said "compress" the assistant squeezed my thigh. When the tech again said "compress" the assistant squeezed my calf. I immediately screamed out in pain. I'd never felt pain like that before. The assistant looked at me. "What happened?" she asked. I was speechless, trying to mouth the words. "The reason, I'm here...the pain...is here...don't squeeze...the pain...is here." She gave me a quizzical look and continued on. "Oh well," I thought, "at least the photos will be accurate."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae9E6ghzXOJ0CSyIhhJC6etKVbhDXHZIZyBErJnM5GZuPxSAcQZ5ZSpR8ffSfIJxZML_2PVCQQ9B2UiUieOkc9Co6X_dDC-LXlGznRMI8W75AtdiqEaAFY5odg163-D7LvkME8YE5ztg/s1600/IMG_3134.JPG"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae9E6ghzXOJ0CSyIhhJC6etKVbhDXHZIZyBErJnM5GZuPxSAcQZ5ZSpR8ffSfIJxZML_2PVCQQ9B2UiUieOkc9Co6X_dDC-LXlGznRMI8W75AtdiqEaAFY5odg163-D7LvkME8YE5ztg/s200/IMG_3134.JPG" width="192" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A copy of the doppler ultrasound of my legs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />In the end, there was no blood clot. I would be in and out of the hospital in less than three hours. There was no admission to the hospital during our vacation; no damage to my heart, lungs, or brain. So why the pain? Why the unending, un-ignorable pain? No answer. The prescribed treatment for my pain? Ibuprofen. Plus a referral to see a neurologist back in the US. Because the pain is most likely neuropathy related.<br /><br />After checking out of the hospital, handwritten intake forms in tow, I stopped by the pharmacy for yet more ibuprofen. "How many do you want?" the pharmacy tech asked me. I pointed to the sheet of six pills in her hand. "5 rupees," she said. I handed her a 10 rupee note. When I went to take my change, she began to hand me a handful of candy. "No change," she told me. I was quick to reply. "No candy," I said. "I'll take six more pills." So she handed me five more pills and a piece candy. India, where you get change in the form of candy.<br /><br />That night, before going to bed, I quickly checked my email as I usually do. In my inbox sat an article "sent from mom" entitled, "<a href="http://www.today.com/id/49038269/ns/today-today_news/t/legacy-weekend-today-co-anchor-david-bloom/" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">The legacy of reporter David Bloom - News.</span></a>" It's actually an interesting read. <br /><br />Thanks, mom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To see more of our non-hospital related photos from a somewhat epic journey to India, they can be found online <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/113946824156019423944/IndiaFavorites?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCIvim7TX0NqtxgE&feat=directlink" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">here</span></a>.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-12640266095251160772015-12-10T13:16:00.001-08:002015-12-10T13:33:03.563-08:00pass the test<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bechdel_test" target="_blank">The Bechdel Test</a> (est. 1985)</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 21px;">A few weeks ago I found myself telling a new acquaintance about a film I had just seen (it was Bridge of Spies and it had been about 3 months since I'd seen any movie). Instead of telling</span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> her about the film, or whether or not I even liked it, I told her it failed the Bechdel test. Of course she had the same response any normal person would. The what? The Bechdel test. What's that? Oh, you don't know the Bechdel test? Let me tell you about it...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcl5foB-Gx4plYyV3f8or4eiFRklnd40HRUi02BcOQSdC-iqlKBl93N5hmvSFWrKtHY2JEyn0wZ1qcX_PsWN5Nt_o8EGIaC8mWek-wnlkNptkYmdXDzJDjet-fABwTKdtrOAaIMAtik/s1600/Dykes_to_Watch_Out_For_%2528Bechdel_test_origin%2529.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcl5foB-Gx4plYyV3f8or4eiFRklnd40HRUi02BcOQSdC-iqlKBl93N5hmvSFWrKtHY2JEyn0wZ1qcX_PsWN5Nt_o8EGIaC8mWek-wnlkNptkYmdXDzJDjet-fABwTKdtrOAaIMAtik/s320/Dykes_to_Watch_Out_For_%2528Bechdel_test_origin%2529.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.4px;">Alison Bechdel's comic strip</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.4px;"> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dykes_to_Watch_Out_For">Dykes to Watch Out For</a>, 1985, explained "the rules" that have come to be known as the Bechdel test.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I went on to tell said new female acquaintance how a story passes the test. Two named women, onscreen at the same time, speak to each other. Oh, and it's about something other than men. And really, the characters cannot be mother and daughter. I then told her one of the best known examples of</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> an award winning film that fails the test. A film that, a few years ago, brought the Bechdel test into the mainstream for a while. That film is Argo. IMHO, it fails the test. On this, you can trust me. Or you can go watch it and see for yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So what? W</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">hether or not a film passes this test has no bearing on whether or not the film is good. Or great. It's a separate entity. So why do we care? First, I'd like to state the obvious. We don't care. We go to the movies to be entertained. We don't ask any questions about what we see. Was the movie accurate? Who cares. Was I entertained? Well, for $12.75 I had better be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yet, I still think about the Bechdel test. Maybe it's because I'm a feminist. Because, well, I am a feminist. But I'm also an avid fiction reader and film goer. As someone who likes entertainment, I happen to like seeing women on screen. Together. Being complex and dynamic. And having deep friendships with one another. And so, as such,</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I do think that the test evaluates the depth of the female characters. And what's wrong with a little depth in our movies? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Not long ago, I heard something interesting on a podcast. In all honesty, it was a Gilmore Guys podcast, where two guys talk at length about each and every Gilmore Girls episode. As someone who has loved the show forever (and owns every episode on DVD), this podcast is enjoyable. So when one of the hosts mentioned the Bechdel Test, I was intrigued. He commented that though many episodes of Gilmore Girls pass the Bechdel Test with female characters, the show tends to fail considerably with the male characters (aka the reverse Bechdel). And admittedly, men aren't the focus of the show. On any given episode there may not be more than one man on screen at a time and this man may never speak to another man (that we see, anyway). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So what does this mean? </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I don't know. Does this mean something to you? Or is it just something to talk about at a cocktail party to appear intelligent? I'm not sure yet. Since the Bechdel test doesn't indicate a script's quality, what does it do? I've heard it increases gender bias awareness in Hollywood. But is this supposed awareness doing anything to make the situation better? Is it closing the wage gap? Only time will tell. But right now, I'd say no.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So in the meantime, go out and watch a film. Any film. And ask yourself, does it pass the test? Why? Because you can.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If you're interested in what others are saying about the Bechdel test, check out:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.ew.com/gallery/bechdel-test-movies-pass-surprise" target="_blank">The good</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://filmschoolrejects.com/features/10-famous-films-that-surprisingly-fail-the-bechdel-test.php" target="_blank">The bad</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/anna-waletzko/why-the-bechdel-test-fails-feminism_b_7139510.html" target="_blank">The ugly</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-73402740380959924012015-08-11T12:29:00.000-07:002015-11-12T12:15:39.040-08:00my dark day<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For the many of us who have lost someone special, there are certain days of the year that make it hard to keep on moving forward, to keep on growing old. The deceased's birthday or the anniversary of the day he/she died is almost always harder for us than all other days in a given year. But since losing my older brother, the hardest day of the year for me has always been MY birthday. That's right, my own birthday. I still recognize my brother's birthday, the day of his diagnosis, and the day of his death. I light a Yahrtzeit candle. My family goes to the cemetery. We mark these events the same way everyone else does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But the hardest day of the year, for me, is the day I turn yet another year older. Older than my big brother. From my perspective, he stopped aging at age 30. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The day I turned 30, two and a half years after Dave passed away, I was a mess. But then I was okay. I was surrounded by good friends, who raised money for <a href="http://www.braintumor.org/" target="_blank">Brain Tumor Research</a>. Well, I thought, I finally caught up to you big brother. Thirty's not so bad. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But then I turned 31. I had officially outlived my older brother. I didn't do a single celebratory thing that day. I think I ate Taco Bell and went to bed early. I just didn't want to be around anyone else on my "dark day."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So last week, when I turned 35, I just felt awful. Turning another year older, I always feel awful. I'm used to it now. I can see it coming. And I do my usual ignoring of the inevitable, "what are we doing for your birthday" texts. Because, let's face it: I'm now 35 and my big brother is <strike>37</strike> still 30. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I know Dave would never want me to sit at home on this special day and wallow in my sadness. I don't do that (anymore, at least). I go out to dinner. I try to run a race or be outside. I try to learn something new, or travel to a different location. But I know this day is still going to be excruciatingly hard. And often the days leading up to the birthday are even harder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes I just disappear off the grid for a few days. Frequently, I try to ignore the darkness that I know is inevitably coming. Other times I just let the sadness envelop me and sit at home and cry. Mostly, though, I've learned to be honest with people. I find myself saying more and more to my close friends and family, "you know, my birthday is just a really hard day for me." They don't have to know why it's my dark day. They can just nod and move on. Knowing that the next year they will still ask me what I'm doing for my birthday. Because that milestone will come, whether I like it or not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few days after my birthday, I saw a former Business school classmate celebrating her 30th birthday. With a giant party. And a huge close-up photo of the stitches in the side of her head. And an announcement that, after eight years of beating her tumor, her brain tumor (just like Dave's) had morphed into the dreaded Glioblastoma (GBM 4 for short). She referred to her tumor as terminal and at that point, something changed inside my head. No, not really. I can't change my whole temperament that quickly. But I did have a bit of a reality check.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This lovely young lady is actually the true definition of a fighter. She will forever remind me of why we (I) need to celebrate life. And never give up. Regardless of her diagnosis, her words are always filled with hope and I love seeing her smiling face when we meet up in Golden Gate Park for the <a href="http://events.braintumor.org/events/bay-area-brain-tumor-walk/event-details/" target="_blank">Brain Tumor 5K</a> (almost every year). Next year, I will complete the race for her. But I know she will still be here to ring in yet another birthday, to complete yet another milestone. And she will once again remind me that it is not about feeling sorry for myself. It is about celebrating the gift I receive by being able to turn yet another year older.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">#curegbm #greymatters </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: center;">#curebraincancer #braincancerawareness</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.abta.org/">http://www.abta.org/</a></span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-88450353883238875172015-07-21T09:56:00.001-07:002015-07-21T09:56:35.513-07:00working for the weekend<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lately I have been inundated with certain ground-breaking announcements. This just in: working over 60 hours a week is not <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/molly-borchers/no-one-admires-your-60-ho_b_4699378.html" target="_blank">productive</a>. Actually, it can become counter-productive. So stop working so much overtime. Don't give up your personal life for more billable hours. Take control of your work addictions. Step away from the phone...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of which is not really a problem for me. I'm happy to work my 30ish hours per week (many of them from home) and call it a success. That is, until I was asked to work over the weekend. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Because, well, there was a mix up. A mistake. And a 50 page report that had yet to be completed. It needed to be compiled and written already. But it didn't quite exist yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, at 4pm on a Friday I finally accepted my future; because there would be a report by Monday. And I would be the one to create it. I looked at my weekend calendar. I cancelled everything. I started to drive home from work, ready to get started on the report. But first, I stopped </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">to go for a run.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because that is how I work best. I need time for me. I need to calm down, to breath, to step away and come back to whatever I am working on with fresh eyes. I need to know that before I spend 80+ hours doing something for someone else, that I did something for myself. Plus, if I go for a run first, I'll do a better job in the end. It's just how it works for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I finally got home Friday evening, I got to work. I printed hard copies of instructions, spread out in the living room, organized my emails and documents, and read up on what I needed to know to get started. Then I started organizing my thoughts. Hours flew by. Once I couldn't see straight, I knew it was time to stop for the night. So I went to bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I woke up the next morning and went to a class at my gym. Yes, I had an insurmountable amount of work to get through. Yet I still needed a little bit of time that day for me, an appearance of weekend. I had already cancelled all my other Saturday plans, but not this class. It was over before I normally get out of bed on the weekend and I was back home, back to work, before I knew it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I worked until the sun went down. I ordered myself a pizza. It tasted amazing. I ate it over the computer screen. I worked and worked and again once my eyes started blurring the type, I set aside the computer and went to bed. I was making progress, but I had so much more to write.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This isn't a lesson in complaining about having to work. Or about how much more I work than anyone else (we all know that isn't true). It isn't even about how I manage to work every weekend. It's about how something good came from something that at first seemed completely awful. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">At first, I was afraid to tell my friends what I was up to that weekend. I immediately thought they'd judge me and my job for letting it control me and dictate my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But this couldn't be further from the truth. My job is amazing. The best job I've ever had. It's a treat to do my job, to go to my office on a beautiful college campus, to work with brilliant and caring individuals, and to help send low-income students of color to college. It's a privilege. Sometimes it just becomes like every other job; too much work and not enough employees or time. It's rare, but it happens.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Except that I've just learned it doesn't much happen in San Francisco. I'm shocked about this. When I did tell a few people I was working all weekend, they complained. No one around here works weekends. I thought that was crazy. Of course they do. They go in to the office on Saturdays. They work from home on Sundays. They are always checking their work email throughout the weekend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But that's in Chicago, not in San Francisco. The last time I checked, almost every single member of my family works weekends. My dad, as a doctor, worked every weekend of my life. My brother, as a corporate lawyer, most definitely went into the office on Saturdays. My sister, as a lab tech, works a Saturday shift every week. My cousins and aunts and uncles all do this as well. They work during the week. And then on the weekend they work some more. Whatever it takes to get the workload done. To get the promotion. To get the recognition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Except that it doesn't need to be done. After working 22 additional hours in one weekend I did get a promotion (I got a bonus). And yes, I did get a ton of recognition. But I also got the best gift of all: permission (and funding) to hire another staff member. In response to the "great jobs" I was receiving all around for my (to be honest) kick-ass work, I was able to say, "let's make sure it doesn't happen again" to people who are now making sure it doesn't happen again. Because I am not my best at 90 hours a week. I'm just not. And thus my organization is not. I don't know anyone who is their best self at that rate. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If working this much is your life, I won't judge you. Maybe you have to. But maybe you don't. Maybe you work this much because you let yourself work this much. It's okay to push back every now and then (if you can). And it's absolutely okay to do something for yourself every day (if you can). For me, this is mandatory. Because in the end, it will make you happier, more balanced, and simply more pleasant to be around. And that will pay off in spades.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-62467826085300046742015-06-17T11:28:00.000-07:002015-06-17T11:28:07.596-07:00matapollo<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few months after I first got up on stage and told the sad story of the accidental death of my precious first pet, my cat Bella, I found myself yet again wanting to open up to a group of strangers regarding a second sad, yet slightly less accidental, animal death story. This story will ultimately become my next NorCal Story Jam story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once upon a time, in a Honduran village far far away, two chicks hatched. My very generous host mom named each chick. The first was mine; she was named Karen. The second was my site-mates'; she was named Jason. My host mom took care of these chicks, feeding them along with all the others. She told me that when our chicks grew up they would ultimately become ours. And the eggs they would go on to lay would be ours as well. It was a really sweet sentiment, while also saving us from having to purchase eggs, an integral part of our daily diet.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsY9tmzGpp26VgbZo8BadG9sZv-B0Ff_ZV8L6S9Q1CS2Bviv68vQEqFmtv06j4B32DA3PPrrOp_FOhm-VrrZhnjVQ6Rteh-QvlxIe-2gLKkzoA8CpAEQ-I-P2kPSP1BSJ_EE8WaZBEXI/s1600/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsY9tmzGpp26VgbZo8BadG9sZv-B0Ff_ZV8L6S9Q1CS2Bviv68vQEqFmtv06j4B32DA3PPrrOp_FOhm-VrrZhnjVQ6Rteh-QvlxIe-2gLKkzoA8CpAEQ-I-P2kPSP1BSJ_EE8WaZBEXI/s1600/download.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My host sisters showing my chick, Karen, to my brother</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> As Karen and Jason grew they became teenagers. Then they became full fledged hens. Jason hardly ever lay eggs, while Karen, on the other hand, laid her fair share of eggs. She was just very particular regarding her egg laying habits. She would lay eggs only deep within the grass. She would leave the confines of my host mother's yard and lay her eggs in the grass across the street. She was particular in this respect. But I received her bounty every week. And she continued to lay eggs. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Until one day she didn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It quickly became apparent that Karen had just stopped laying eggs. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with her; it was as if her eggs had run out. S</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">o the question was raised as to what would become of Karen. Because my host mom continued feeding her (at a cost) and no one was reaping the benefits of having a hen, I went back to spending my money on store bought eggs. Keeping Karen around no longer seemed like a benefit; she was now simply a cost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meanwhile Jason, the human Jason, was in the middle of a crisis of conscience. He had just announced that he would no longer eat meat, unless he killed the animal himself. While I'm a fan of knowing where your food comes from (that's farm to table, right?), I thought his rantings a bit extreme. However, it gave me an idea. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I would kill Karen myself. Then I would cook her up. I know it seems morbid, but it's the circle of life. I realized that I too shouldn't eat any animal I wouldn't be willing to kill myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, willing is one thing. Actually doing is another. But, I thought now might be my one and only chance to learn how to kill chickens as my neighbors did. It would be cultural bonding at its best. I felt like a true Peace Corps volunteer.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnSgUkgrK_8uTxRuMzemJpsInHSTBIZlJvJ_PEeINssj-_fF4vD4aDsgFjb01Md_AfDzGjN3cya3HKrpdAN8w8FHzq3V6ZifRO9xawgsysTt2Z6XUZPDkOV3eDB17tvmZws3rO-zqPIk/s1600/download+(4).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnSgUkgrK_8uTxRuMzemJpsInHSTBIZlJvJ_PEeINssj-_fF4vD4aDsgFjb01Md_AfDzGjN3cya3HKrpdAN8w8FHzq3V6ZifRO9xawgsysTt2Z6XUZPDkOV3eDB17tvmZws3rO-zqPIk/s1600/download+(4).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My host godmother, Marleni, prepares to teach me how to kill my chicken</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I took Karen (the chicken) over to my host-godmother's home. She would show me the ropes. The first step? To wring Karen's neck. How was I supposed to do this? I wasn't exactly sure. I do recall taking the neck and wringing it, waiting for it to snap. But it didn't work; there was no snap. And I couldn't tell if Karen was dead or not. So I was worried. I didn't want to her suffer. If she did suffer, I didn't thi</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">nk I could eat her. And then I would have killed my namesake for nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So my host godmother, Marleni, quickly grabbed a bucket. She laid the chicken on the ground, turned the bucket over with the rim of the bucket crossing the chicken's neck and stomped down. Hard. I heard the crunch. Karen was dead. And I was horrified. Marleni had just completed one of the dirtiest chicken killings I could imagine possible. It was gruesome. Poor Karen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How could I explain to Marleni and her family how horrified I was? Her family had to eat. I felt that I had no choice but to pick up Karen, pluck her feathers and cut her up. Marleni needed to make her in to tamales for her entire family's dinner.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That's when I learned yet another Honduran custom. Not the one about using every part of the animal. I had seen that before. But the part where my host family argued over who would get to eat the tamale with the huevos in it. Even though Karen had long ago ceased to put out eggs, she still had her own ovaries. And apparently they, along with the rest of her internal organs, were considered delicacies. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I then watched my godmother stealthily set the eggs aside and make herself a special tamale. I could barely stand as I watched her feast on Karen, huevos and all. But she had done the dirty work. She deserved the caviar</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> of chicken parts in her tamale.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6ylI1q8X8fAht16Elq_rqrli-Z0iBzTOkgkAIz7viX0VGZPfkzFN2rqD_LSfCliduty7rTqityZBxmEYCT_hy4iAQatEqtONepryV1ZGicJ_sD0rhJhYO95vWid1hFiHoSp5G9AeCps/s1600/nacatam.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6ylI1q8X8fAht16Elq_rqrli-Z0iBzTOkgkAIz7viX0VGZPfkzFN2rqD_LSfCliduty7rTqityZBxmEYCT_hy4iAQatEqtONepryV1ZGicJ_sD0rhJhYO95vWid1hFiHoSp5G9AeCps/s1600/nacatam.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Yum, nacatamales de Karen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">At that point, I had to get out of the kitchen for a few minutes. And i</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">n the end I didn't eat a Karen tamale. I'm not really a fan of nacatamales, a traditional Honduran food. Plus, Karen's death had been a bit too horrific for me. But she was enjoyed by all. And I suppose that's what really matters.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-89307862765977223672015-05-21T11:49:00.001-07:002015-05-21T11:49:06.225-07:00B2B<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are very few things as truly San Franciscan as Bay to Breakers. It's a 40,000 person springtime Sunday party, a race through the city, and Halloween all rolled in to one. San Francisco is Bay to Breakers and Bay to Breakers is San Francisco.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I remember my first Bay to Breakers (B2B). I had been living in San Francisco for about five months, newly returned from the Peace Corps. I wasn't yet a runner. I had only a few friends. I wasn't a big drinker. But somehow I found myself in a Bay to Breakers group, complete with matching t-shirts, a float, and all the beer we could fit in a shopping cart. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeNxpu9gQKLIjkFrWrbaqj4-0pdcIvfNyGF3XqJhwNYhYb47veUMRxK18LTOcbOOAhyphenhyphen-l5MLqAm_n9BkwddS1M1lIlziN6O_gjFYh69lfgIsL1s_gOWzJh7_iPVyvg4U8MGz8XpRz29w/s1600/duff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeNxpu9gQKLIjkFrWrbaqj4-0pdcIvfNyGF3XqJhwNYhYb47veUMRxK18LTOcbOOAhyphenhyphen-l5MLqAm_n9BkwddS1M1lIlziN6O_gjFYh69lfgIsL1s_gOWzJh7_iPVyvg4U8MGz8XpRz29w/s1600/duff.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our theme was the Duff beer guy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That first B2B had a lot of firsts for me. The first time I tried skateboarding. The first time I entered a race. The first time I tossed tortillas in the air and passed men and women in salmon costumes running the opposite direction. And I definitely didn't make it to to ocean (aka the breakers). Still true today, B2B 2007 was the only time in my life I have been drunk before 8am (that wasn't from the night before).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWckCG2F8dEy3Bpw8SGIEs4YtlZV0OD6Vj21m1S-Iot_vi9Fa7tBm0zis_93JcYcYSJy_nl2OJT0mp_k7es-0HMtZHNBORglZ6VXm5-WwFht4FnkEHT1VubWFUdfFwfInArVnZ5yYVAc/s1600/muppets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWckCG2F8dEy3Bpw8SGIEs4YtlZV0OD6Vj21m1S-Iot_vi9Fa7tBm0zis_93JcYcYSJy_nl2OJT0mp_k7es-0HMtZHNBORglZ6VXm5-WwFht4FnkEHT1VubWFUdfFwfInArVnZ5yYVAc/s320/muppets.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">B2B costumes can get pretty elaborate. I'm always impressed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Proudly, my Bay to Breakers 2008 was not a repeat performance. Over these past seven years I have slept through the race, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">watched the race in Hayes Valley with friends, </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">driven my boyfriend to the start of the race, cheered on random runners near the end of the race, and run the race myself. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I long ago learned that the best way to avoid the late drunkenness of those walking the race with floats, yet still experience the costumes and massive groups of people, was to run the race myself. Alongside all the people. To be one of the people. To make it to the end and then hit the bbq. Because Bay to Breakers is also San Francisco's official welcome to summer.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSqqvj0vIAabNl_vzhuxk5OgVvb5yybcWfVtIc3MvJz9cED_EVop7zZkMyq6KbMmHa4XgjP-U4oTaRYQAx_PqUqE3uF9nHkvctylpcjEgjfa51JLTwokSu8OttvCNzdoiZkEhSS1dpqc/s1600/city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSqqvj0vIAabNl_vzhuxk5OgVvb5yybcWfVtIc3MvJz9cED_EVop7zZkMyq6KbMmHa4XgjP-U4oTaRYQAx_PqUqE3uF9nHkvctylpcjEgjfa51JLTwokSu8OttvCNzdoiZkEhSS1dpqc/s320/city.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Racing through this amazing city with 40,000 other people is quite an experience!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Thus, as I found late May quickly approaching, I couldn't think of a more appropriate first race post-marathon. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Which is why I chose to run Bay to Breakers 2015. It would be my return to running short races (a quick 12K or 7.5 miler). It would be my first race back from so many things; from the flu, from new orthotics, from running once a week, if at all. But most importantly, it would be my first race back from the marathon.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCu1ECmw745bV9Xp6u_eiVSxrR4LAQm-1xFjbgs3Bka-ub12eDlbbzAfgFVvBGwEbgD_icjtJZbFaFrrOD95Y6vRDq6cyWDPGY0MkWDM6vcBNkHV1e-gDKNEeCWXWAy6F_huXR3Ni3JYc/s1600/start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCu1ECmw745bV9Xp6u_eiVSxrR4LAQm-1xFjbgs3Bka-ub12eDlbbzAfgFVvBGwEbgD_icjtJZbFaFrrOD95Y6vRDq6cyWDPGY0MkWDM6vcBNkHV1e-gDKNEeCWXWAy6F_huXR3Ni3JYc/s320/start.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The starting line of Bay to Breakers 2015</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It's a strange feeling, running a short race. I found myself exactly on pace. And enjoying the scenery. And the costumes. But I also found myself anxious to be finished already. To be at the finish line, enjoying coconut water and potato chips. To be home already and in a hot shower. But I was still in the middle of the race. But by mile six I was just ready to be finished. So I sped up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But then I began to really think about enjoying what I was doing. To realize how fun it was to run with no preparation. How I didn't pick out a special running outfit the night before or bother with goo. How easy it was to run a negative split - finally! (A negative split means running the second half of a race faster than the first. It's always a mini-goal of mine and I knew I had done it this time!) I also knew I didn't PR, but I didn't care. Because, I realized, it was a little chilly and slightly overcast most of the way; my perfect running weather. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIMCQyNOmpRGIIrn8H1G8vOo1CscIglWvAHRjscE_WqqzvvvVF_mmGb_x9dltsJdPcGSWbWL18OsIExxypAcpNvXbOgiWWb8WRZ3-OTc_9-3fTxg6qdjCt76j-ECklIyAAaLLU_cVpxI/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIMCQyNOmpRGIIrn8H1G8vOo1CscIglWvAHRjscE_WqqzvvvVF_mmGb_x9dltsJdPcGSWbWL18OsIExxypAcpNvXbOgiWWb8WRZ3-OTc_9-3fTxg6qdjCt76j-ECklIyAAaLLU_cVpxI/s1600/beach.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Making it all the way to the beach (in costume) is always impressive</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Most days I honestly don't know if I'll ever race again. I ran a marathon, for crying out loud. What else do I have to prove? I don't know if I have the patience to start training all over again. I don't know if I can run that distance again. I don't know if I should. And I don't know if I want to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm not certain </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">what the future has in store for me and road racing. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The same can be said for Bay to Breakers. Every year there are more restrictions on the race, more police presence, fewer floats. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But despite the mayhem, the nudity, the drunken sh$% show that it truly is, Bay to Breakers still belongs to San Franciscans. It is still ours. For over 100 years now we've been running across town, from the bay to the breakers. And I can't imagine spending the third Sunday in May any other way.</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-44201690177522751622015-05-06T11:31:00.001-07:002015-05-07T16:19:08.949-07:00the end of the road<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-small;">Veo al final de mi rudo camino, que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-small;">I see at the end of my rough journey, that I've been the architect of my own destiny.<br /><i>- Amado Nervo</i></span><i><br /></i><br />I feel pretty comfortable driving in Mexico. Actually, I feel comfortable driving just about anywhere. And I'm almost always the driver. Rental cars don't bother me. I like getting to test drive different cars. Every time I've gone to the Yucatan to volunteer with Proyecto Itzaes, I've rented a car. And the only mishaps I've had have been regarding the actual renting of the car. No matter what time you arrive, the process of filling out the rental paperwork and getting to drive away in your newly rented car takes several hours. I don't exactly know why, but it just does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5HAzKJiJL6_SJuLroIuD0PgKG3tTTDxOh8Lw6Eo-EhigNGFWVn7O4g3XR8Ge81yqW4nMur6KOmn5kwSz4N3lHWvwUTqlnfz7YiB1mT361ptvEcNKeKkx0RK-CBREc6_F9h0bvOkMsas/s1600/roadtrip.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5HAzKJiJL6_SJuLroIuD0PgKG3tTTDxOh8Lw6Eo-EhigNGFWVn7O4g3XR8Ge81yqW4nMur6KOmn5kwSz4N3lHWvwUTqlnfz7YiB1mT361ptvEcNKeKkx0RK-CBREc6_F9h0bvOkMsas/s320/roadtrip.JPG" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is how much Mexican country-side I typically drive through</span></div>
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<br />But then, while driving through the Yucatan last month, my car rental luck ran out. A rock hit the car's windshield. And at the very most top part of the windshield, half on the plastic that seals the glass to the roof. But just low enough to embed itself at least partly in the glass. But just high enough that I didn't know that was the case. However, once the crack started to spread in a long line down the window, I realized exactly what had happened. In the five minutes it took us to get home the crack had successfully run the entire length of the windshield. And it was only getting longer. I panicked. I didn't know what to do. This had never happened to me before. Not even in the US. I once had a windshield bashed by some thugs with baseball bats in Potrero Hill. But never a rock in the windshield. I guess it was about time this finally happened to me.<br /><br />I quickly tried to decide what should I do; get an estimate from a nearby mechanic and pay for the repair before the rental was due back? Or break down and call the rental car company, knowing it would be a long painful process. I knew I couldn't drive the car again, so I had to do something. I called the rental agency. They were so nice. Surprisingly nice. With amazing customer service. I had never experienced this before. I was still skeptical this would go off without a hitch, but the nearest car rental depot (not the one we originally rented from) would send a driver out to our home, bringing a replacement car for us. It sounded too good to be true. Especially because I had to head to a village for an appointment and wouldn't be home for a few hours. They assured me they would sent someone in a few hours. It would all work out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />When we go home from Dzemul, there it was; a brand new, identical but red (our first car was turquoise) rental car, along with two patiently waiting agents. Though I had arrived only five minutes past my scheduled time, it seemed like they had been waiting for quite a while. When I asked the rental agents the length of their wait they politely responded that they had been there for an hour. Yet they didn't seem restless. Perhaps they were enjoying the sun, sand, and ocean. Yes, they assured me, the windshield will need to be replaced. ¡Que mala suerte!<br /><br />So there we were, new and improved rental car at our disposal. Which was convenient. Because we were planning to leave the beach, drive south a few hours to my favorite ruins (Uxmal), and many hours later arrive at Bacalar, situated just south of Playa del Carmen. On the other coast. It was about a six hour drive but we planned to make it into one long day of driving and sightseeing along the way. We set out very early in the morning. <br /><br />And we were driving along just fine. Highway driving in Mexico is pretty self explanatory. The highways are nice and new, although mostly two lane. Since the speed limits are high (at least 110 kph), it's completely normal to pass slow moving vehicles. When the roads aren't curvy or dangerous. I'm a pro at passing cars on single lane Mexican highways. It takes a lot of patience, but you can always eventually pass.<br /><br />Which is why I was very perplexed when I quickly came upon seven cars going slightly slower up ahead of me. They were clearly waiting to pass a slow moving van. Wow, I thought, they must have some serious patience to wait so long to pass. But in time, I knew, we would all make it safely past the slow moving vehicle. We had many many more hours to drive; we couldn't exactly afford to drive so slowly for a very long time.<br /><br />None of the cars ahead of us were going particularly slowly, nor were they inching to pass the slowest car at the front of the line. I thought about it for a split second before heading on to pass the cars myself. There was no use in waiting, after all. Except that the roads through the Yucatan can be windy. So I wouldn't have enough time to pass all seven cars at once. I started passing them two at a time. I passed the first two cars. They seemed content to be where they were. Hmm, I thought, maybe they're driving in a line. I wonder why. I can't be sure, but it doesn't seem as if they are trying to pass the front car. So I quickly passed the next two cars, and then the next two cars. Eventually I was right behind the slow moving van. And that's when I saw it. The giant picture of the Virgin Mary staring right at me. It was posted conspicuously in the rear view window.<br /></span><br />
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It looked like a regular covered truck to me</div>
<br />Because it was a hearse. Carrying a corpse to its final resting place. And we had placed ourselves prominently first in line at a funeral procession. I swallowed hard. Was what I had been doing wrong? Was I not supposed to weave in and out of a funeral procession? Was there some tell tell sign early on in this process that I had completely missed? Or did I not know what was going on until just that moment? And once I realized where I was, was it wrong to try to head out and pass the hearse? So I did just that. I waited for a clear view of oncoming traffic and sped over and passed the hearse. What else was I to do? They were going far and long; but they were also going slow. They didn't need me embedding myself in their mourning processional.<br /><br />So we drove on. And on and on and on. We were going to take Highway 184 from Uxmal to the Caribbean coast. Highway 184 would meet up with Highway 307, the main road from Cancun all the way down to Belize. We'd hit into 307, turn right, and drive a few miles down the coast to Bacalar. We'd been driving for hours, but we started passing the signs telling us that 307 was just ahead.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmbp3dvJXP0nk7t1SxSC_kvz9FOZN1y2bk5lTOl0LX_3Px0dcEfa2GXkXy-IhivoH4rU9adAPZFvoEFkUTrhyOLPaH6GJqBygVoI0lD343wFTOF0ZWPXmqqu7_K6MXDoalLkRiMi71j0/s1600/MEX.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmbp3dvJXP0nk7t1SxSC_kvz9FOZN1y2bk5lTOl0LX_3Px0dcEfa2GXkXy-IhivoH4rU9adAPZFvoEFkUTrhyOLPaH6GJqBygVoI0lD343wFTOF0ZWPXmqqu7_K6MXDoalLkRiMi71j0/s320/MEX.jpg" /></a></div>
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According to Google Maps, Highway 184 bisects Highway 307</div>
<br />Which it probably was. But we'll never know for sure. Because we never merged onto Highway 307. We never go that far. Instead, we drove on Highway 184 until the road just ended. That's right, the highway just stopped. So we stopped. And then we looked around. There were people coming towards us on foot. They were walking over with suitcases and backpacks. They were getting into taxis. They were driving away, the only direction the road went - back to where we had just come from.<br /><br />I found a narrow place to turn around. And then attempted to ask a taxi driver for directions. He and his friends laughed as us. The road didn't intersect with the coastal road, at least not yet. The road would be built, someday. I couldn't believe it. The maps/gps indicated we could drive right on through. Except that we could see right in front of us; there was no actual road. Only a parking lot. The taxi driver drew us a map; we'd have to backtrack for a while, then turn off and pass through three villages before finally hitting 307, south of where we were. But we would hit it eventually. In only a few hours time.<br /><br />So then I asked about the people coming towards us, from what appeared to be the other, coastal side. No one could answer me. Apparently there was an airport some place nearby. But that didn't explain the cars and people I could see ahead of us, driving inland from the coast to meet us. Except we wouldn't meet. Because there is a strip of highway missing. That just hadn't been built. Instead of continuing on the way we had planned, we had made it to the very end of the road. So we turned around, drove back back, turned off at a random desvio, and ended up in paradise. Because that's what happens in Mexico. Paradise is always just one wrong turn away.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s1MQ_N57LeiFeWvfUZKW0nwi2wrX0x56abTXwVtZ05Wk-bCJdpP-grnEgEHZ4xJl_WPBTorryYEQMBSMdKIpDR3dIehgVqGXm399pIJfKn0UFsnjZR9XqF8UflsT6iQg1HVbySztYYM/s1600/IMG_1196.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s1MQ_N57LeiFeWvfUZKW0nwi2wrX0x56abTXwVtZ05Wk-bCJdpP-grnEgEHZ4xJl_WPBTorryYEQMBSMdKIpDR3dIehgVqGXm399pIJfKn0UFsnjZR9XqF8UflsT6iQg1HVbySztYYM/s320/IMG_1196.JPG" /></a></div>
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Bacalar</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-21341740599621576252015-04-23T09:12:00.000-07:002015-04-23T19:39:46.081-07:00a place in the sun<div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>La sangre sin fuego hierve. </i></span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Blood boils without fire</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>- Mexican Proverb</i></span><br><br>I've spent a little bit of time in Mexico recently. Actually, it's been quite a bit of time. Yet it's never enough. There are so many things I love about Mexico: the food, the ocean, the people. But I can't forget about the sun. In Mexico, the sun is an entity in and of itself. It calls the shots; when we wake up, when we go to sleep, how we spend our days. It has been both lovely for me as well as painful. My first trip to Mexico I burned my feet being out in the sun too long, and they swelled up into giant tomatoes. I learned my lesson.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I try to never miss a sunset when </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm on the Gulf Coast of Mexico</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The sun in Mexico is almost always shining. Even when it rains, a few minutes later the sun inevitably comes out. It's a sunny place. The sun shines down upon us, a constant reminder of the heat we must endure every day in this endlessly tropical climate. So it's not really surprising what I'm going to talk about next. The energy of the sun can only lead us to one possible conclusion. That's right, I'm going to talk about solar energy. I recently learned an important lesson about using the sun's energy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I must admit that I'm still learning about solar energy. And a lot of what I do know I learned very recently, both in a classroom as well as in practice. I have lived in a hot, tropical, sunny climate. I have left a clear bottle of water out in the sun. Heck, I've even left one in my car on a sunny day. How hot was the water? Hot enough to burn. And hot enough to cook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is what the local people I visited in Mexico already knew; the sun can cook things (other than just their skin). Yet, they weren't, to the best of my knowledge, really utilizing the sun's power for cooking. I needed to find out why. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There had to be a reason (or reasons).</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But before I could find out what people knew and didn't know about the sun, what the locals were or weren't using the sun for and why (or why not), I was beat to the punch. Because a group of generous souls set up solar cookers for these same villages where I spend much of my Mexico time. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A new solar box cooker</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTt6E16PQBQmQo_j5xUND56oZVwf_CXfaXJgCTBQD_SK223bhsx2DifxhzIkztxn4T2MlwVRM86jkF_CYP9JkjnIlDnHjg1v3LyQVBE2PMVXUWbmiToJGmaRE_7ZWdKE3S_mGs5EYzFk/s1600/IMG_0886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTt6E16PQBQmQo_j5xUND56oZVwf_CXfaXJgCTBQD_SK223bhsx2DifxhzIkztxn4T2MlwVRM86jkF_CYP9JkjnIlDnHjg1v3LyQVBE2PMVXUWbmiToJGmaRE_7ZWdKE3S_mGs5EYzFk/s1600/IMG_0886.JPG" height="200" width="122"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Don Alejandro shows off a new & </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">highly </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">efficient </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">wood burning stove.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What have I learned since these solar cookers were introduced to the villages? The sun is hot. And everywhere. And free. Except that it's not free; not exactly anyway. There are so many costs, some I saw coming, but some of which were totally unforeseen. I have to admit I was surprised how enthusiastic everyone was when they saw a demonstration of the solar cookers. There are a few types (solar oven, solar stove, efficient wood burning stove) and they're all impressive. However, they are all small. Too small. And expensive. Too expensive.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They cook one pot of beans. Which isn't enough. We know it's not. Because we asked. And because I thought about it. I can't remember the last time I used one pot to cook a meal for a group of people. Especially one involving rice, beans, meat and tortillas. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They are cost prohibitive. This we also know. How expensive are they? Well, using the cheapest materials we could find, they are still too expensive. Honestly, anything over thirty dollars is out of the locals' price range.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, seeing the demand for the solar cookers, I saw an opportunity from my capitalistic American point of view. They just needed to set up a stove factory. I was certain the completed stoves would sell like hot cakes. As long as we could get the cost down. So we would have to be creative. We would have to use alternative, and thus cheaper, materials and buy in bulk. We would have to design an equally efficient stove using new designs. And then we would have to get the stoves to actually work. But I knew it was a good idea. Build the stoves, I thought, and they will come.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I suggested to a few local friends that they might want to be the ones to capitalize on this untapped high demand marketplace. My friends looked at my like I was out of my head (more-so than normal, as I tend to offer up pretty nutty ideas to anyone who will listen). They couldn't imagine how to make the ovens more cheaply. But I pushed them on this point. I knew it would be possible. I just didn't exactly know how.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The original design for the solar box cooker (an oven)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The materials and ingenuity question weren't actually the biggest barriers my friends needed to overcome. They first needed start-up funds; they didn't have the necessary amount of cold hard cash. So I started to channel my inner venture capitalist. We would simply search for some start-up funding. It would be easy. We knew people in Merida. They would have money. After all, we were planning to set up a small solar cooker making operation, not a high tech computer company. How hard could it be?</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br>The answer is hard. But also easy. Because i</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">t turns out it <i>is </i>possible to cut down the cost of the cookers by using alternative materials and increasing quantity. So we don't need a lot of funds. Just a few supportive friends with a little bit of money. Which we found we have. In spades. And just how will we design less expensive stoves? Turns out we have friends who know how to do this as well. We are rich in resources. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have high hopes we'll be able to drop the cost of the ovens significantly. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But we still have miles to go before they can become affordable to the local population. But I know it will happen. We will figure it out. It is possible. N</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ada hay nuevo debajo del sol. There is nothing new under the sun.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-34468268447827355672015-04-10T08:38:00.000-07:002015-04-10T08:56:01.039-07:00fitness therapy<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Coming down from my marathon high, I had to decide where to go next. While I wasn't about to give up running any time soon, I found myself longing for something new. And because of the weight I had gained while training for the marathon, I was also looking for a way to kick start my metabolism. Years ago, running had done that. A few years ago, after settling into my running routine, I started lifting weights with a trainer and, no surprise, the new exercise gave my metabolism another nice boost. So once again I found myself at a crossroads. Where should I go next?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With no shortage of workouts available to me, I chose TRX. Or rather, I decided to give a few new workouts a try and TRX came out on top. For now. I'm not an all or nothing kind of person. While training for the marathon, I would lift weights, run intervals, climb stairs, go for (short) bike rides, and practice Yoga and Zumba. The majority of my workouts were runs, but not all of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The past few years I've also tried working out at home. I'm a fan of Jillian Michaels - I find her voice less annoying than others and her workouts tough. But home workouts weren't cutting it for me. I could just crap out easily and no one (except my belly) would ever notice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I first decided to sign up for a month of unlimited classes at a nearby gym. Actually, it's a gym located directly on my commute home from work. The gym had two very important components and these are the reasons I chose it above all others. It offered classes in the evening. And it had online class registration. It was very no nonsense. You sign up. Then you go. All I had to do was go that first time (always the hardest for me).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I went. I didn't know much about the gym or the types of workouts it offered or what I was going to experience. I did know the gym wasn't CrossFit and I had heard (and read) great things about TRX. But I don't think I really understood how tough the classes would be. I had just run a marathon, after all. I could easily conquer anything they could throw at me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Well, this particular gym has become my sanctuary. The classes are small. Everyone knows your name. So I continue to go. And work my butt off. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The gym offers a small variety of classes. The two I rotate between are HIIT (high intensity interval training) and TRX (total body resistance exercise). HIIT is basically indoor boot camp. TRX is basically a trapeze. Except not really. It's a set of adjustable stirrups used to help you throw your own weight around. It requires coordination and is not a natural fit for someone as uncoordinated as myself. Yet I find myself loving it. My own weight has caused me to work muscles in my arms I never thought existed. TRX has caused me to feel the burn while holding a plank, feet still inside the stirrups. And pressing my own body weight has caused me to spend the better part of my first week in pain. And yet, I go back for more.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCxaL3Qm0l5B9NOY_Xnyr-bl49J21wOu2fCGmS8WpyykT7PYsU7InwNsIhx0kGxhnVoQzkM9YC8EyE7aNdYdhT7nz3rOfw9IlWp7gIn2QadsnXPt6EsoFrA__ch1GOAObkV_3hgdGkxI/s1600/IMG_1518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCxaL3Qm0l5B9NOY_Xnyr-bl49J21wOu2fCGmS8WpyykT7PYsU7InwNsIhx0kGxhnVoQzkM9YC8EyE7aNdYdhT7nz3rOfw9IlWp7gIn2QadsnXPt6EsoFrA__ch1GOAObkV_3hgdGkxI/s1600/IMG_1518.JPG" height="200" width="147" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8D_PfaIzGs0hzoPKQXeEKl7rSApEzKz-Mvcni4Tdv-Ldhyphenhyphen-LrWnSs7EltXCZC9asg8UDFKMzhzx8RQ7BpDeitEgD2kTiBfD7RZGgUArAv3cEmJ016KvvBdfMHJmtekG1MmLiq896IOA/s1600/trx.jpg" height="200" width="143" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My TRX and the class set of TRXs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I tried a few other gyms on my quest to mix up my post-marathon workouts. From Orange Theory to track workouts, these programs involved too much running. As I runner, I know that criticism might sound strange. But running is the thing I do myself. If my goal is to work out hard, I don't really enjoy a class where half of it is spent on a treadmill (for so many reasons). I still run outside several times a week; varied short midweek runs and one long run every Sunday. This is my recovery/training program. And it feels like it's working. Every run is less exhausting than it was before. At times I even feel light on my feet.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU339luikWh_JTCL9yQuTEjPe1IZp8JgVmK1snanmqU-dq3e9BQxFBRUlpp_QCjbvW1ESMTPE67P0VYJP8SREPT0hSHYpdni3vxJkrE4jIIh0H9gdoaflmQggH8tmB22LZWcNHJB15zU/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU339luikWh_JTCL9yQuTEjPe1IZp8JgVmK1snanmqU-dq3e9BQxFBRUlpp_QCjbvW1ESMTPE67P0VYJP8SREPT0hSHYpdni3vxJkrE4jIIh0H9gdoaflmQggH8tmB22LZWcNHJB15zU/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" height="147" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A little motivation at the gym</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because in addition to my interval, short, and long runs, I go a small gym. Where everyone is kind. And there's no waiting in line. There are only people who swear by the TRX. I just mostly swear at it. I think I have a love-hate relationship with the suspension stirrups. But I can feel my body transforming. I can hold positions longer. I don't know how long this new fad workshop mechanism will keep me satisfied, but I'm enjoying the ride. Once over the steep learning curve, the TRX has quickly become the mechanism with which I will transform my body. And it definitely passes the time more quickly than the elliptical machine ever will. And that's good enough for now.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-61872994827534682592015-03-25T12:27:00.001-07:002015-03-25T12:27:48.972-07:00sustainability<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every industry has its fair share of buzzwords. From social impact investing to emotional intelligence, it feels as though more and more industry terms are being inserted into everyday jargon with each passing year. The "new" term being passed around every board room in my non-profit industry last year was "collective impact." What does it mean? Well, it means exactly what it sounds like; a group (the collective) working strategically together can create a deeper impact. In other words, it's a shared vision for change. This is not a new idea. So why all the buzz surrounding this buzzword?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PJZJzH0jeYrsQhXgyLr0QsSvfu1KHfaOrpdRhIjaitOdKWzfGJ7JqNIQgDm7zn6XrmRtKwvItZmM19dcMHZ9u27rwQG5uTU0Ola_cglTNOFZgyMA5cNnJ2iLd8VziGeKsNOX7cwFVpw/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PJZJzH0jeYrsQhXgyLr0QsSvfu1KHfaOrpdRhIjaitOdKWzfGJ7JqNIQgDm7zn6XrmRtKwvItZmM19dcMHZ9u27rwQG5uTU0Ola_cglTNOFZgyMA5cNnJ2iLd8VziGeKsNOX7cwFVpw/s1600/images.jpg" height="135" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The difference between Collaboration (old concept) </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Collective Impact (new, slightly different, concept)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We are all guilty of using these terms. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We buy in to the buzz.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">From level five leadership to leaning in, no one is immune from throwing these terms around in conversation. But do these words really matter all that much? They sound like great concepts and will most likely help a lot of people. But I still believe that actions speak louder than words. Even louder than the most popular words of the year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because I still believe in actual sustainability. Good old sustainability, the biggest buzzword of them all (in my industry). I'm no stranger to the term; I've been working toward sustainability for the majority of my life. It's the very basis of why I do what I do. I am constantly asking myself, "why am I working so hard for change if it doesn't turn out to be long lasting? What will my program's impact really turn out be?" Despite all the new buzzwords, these are still the main things I care about thinking through and discussing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Every day I find myself still relying heavily on measuring the "sustainability." But what is sustainability? And why do I care so much about it? Because sustainability is still the mother of all end results; it is meant to signify success. It's meant to move the needle. It's meant to bring about change in the world.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbr_O14mmTrjy1Bie0LIN98YWbRoMfC1xbUPB7fekZNIgKpUEcI_pVHkd_73xYpmmw-a6RbA7o44X88DEZWCFVfw3o9Ar4tSPNgg28SbjZd9Cr2eXH6oa-TSQHIp-ikEUh3HOkJWD7GLo/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbr_O14mmTrjy1Bie0LIN98YWbRoMfC1xbUPB7fekZNIgKpUEcI_pVHkd_73xYpmmw-a6RbA7o44X88DEZWCFVfw3o9Ar4tSPNgg28SbjZd9Cr2eXH6oa-TSQHIp-ikEUh3HOkJWD7GLo/s1600/images+(1).jpg" height="180" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But how does one buzzword accomplish so much? Because it's not about the word itself nor its definition. It's about the thought process. That's what all these ideas and phrases have in common. They remind us to remember to act collectively. To remember to lean in (only if you want to). To remember to measure your ROI and to present your company as a social impact investment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I recently heard the following quote, "if you want creativity, take a zero off your budget. If you want sustainability, take off two zeros."<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1</span> This quote makes me smile every time I come across it. It's a pretty honest reminder to stay focused. To stay cheap and stick to your grassroots. But also don't forget about your sustainability plan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Keep sustainability in mind all the time. Even if it becomes your mantra. Even if you can't stand hearing the word even one more time. Let it guide every action you take. Don't throw a dart at a board, grab some money and run off to a place you know nothing about. Be smart. Be thoughtful. Be long-lasting. In other words, be sustainable.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Be willing to change. And if you're like me, become a part of this change. Pick your passions. Start small if you have to. But don't be afraid to get big. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I can see my big picture. I know what I want for the next generation. I want all high school seniors to graduate this year. I want every mother and daughter across the globe to get an education; the highest they can possibly find. I don't want women's rights or gay rights or minority rights to exist; can we please just eliminate the qualifiers already and look at the "rights" of all? </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc12v-9qrWukN0VYbOzLQr2ec19IUu9o26Tfc9xKlVONsV_tZFfto2U-dVsXJg0369RIt2JOTcinuTXOAzkhkyhROH-QM8ON7uqZmTCm0L3Q4Leuao1iFgRt5NDQfiXEXIZRUK-bPeUAM/s1600/Page1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc12v-9qrWukN0VYbOzLQr2ec19IUu9o26Tfc9xKlVONsV_tZFfto2U-dVsXJg0369RIt2JOTcinuTXOAzkhkyhROH-QM8ON7uqZmTCm0L3Q4Leuao1iFgRt5NDQfiXEXIZRUK-bPeUAM/s1600/Page1.jpg" height="121" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ten years later, my Honduran host brother is still studying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">However my host sisters are not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can't do everything I want to and I don't plan to. If I do my piece well, then I've truly achieved something. Because perhaps through the course of my existence I'll have helped one or two or hopefully even ten people out of a vicious cycle of poverty. Because that's what is important to me. And I certainly don't work at it alone. I choose to surround myself with like-minded people; people who also want to be a part of the change. People who also thrive on this change, as tough as it may be. People who also want to watch change pass on through a few generations before calling it a success. People who want to see this change become truly sustainable. Because it means we're not needed anymore; our jobs are done. And it's an incredible feeling. One I very much look forward to experiencing one day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For even more fun, check out this <a href="http://www.building.co.uk/play-the-sustainability-buzzword-game/3130368.article" target="_blank">sustainability buzzword generator game</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For sustainable grassroots development, join the <a href="http://www.peacecorps.gov/" target="_blank">Peace Corps</a>. Just kidding (maybe). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And check out <a href="http://www.proyectoitzaesusaonline.org/" target="_blank">Proyecto Itzaes</a>. The most sustainable education program I've ever come across (and that's saying a lot).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">1. http://www.forbes.com/sites/tomwatson/2015/01/15/capacity-the-philanthropy-buzzword-for-2015-thats-missing/</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-83859030201769576952015-03-10T21:52:00.000-07:002015-03-10T22:01:30.665-07:00the killers<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I find myself going through phases. Sometimes I'm a hobby person, other times I'm not. I find I have a wide variety of rapidly passing interests. Except for one. Most of my life I have stuck to one very specific interest. It's the same interest I've had since I was in high school; it has never wavered. I'm interested in true crime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What do I mean by interested? Well, I spend my free time learning about different types of killers. Before you call the police and then go running for the hills, let me clarify what I mean by learning about killers. First, I'm not learning about killing. I'm not really interested in the gory part. It's just so...gory. I usually look away during a horror movie. I'm not into seeing nor reading about any of the blood and guts. That's not what I mean by learning about killers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I mean learning about the people behind the killing. The individuals who have gone off the straight and narrow. Because, well, I simply find all people interesting. E</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">veryone has a story and if you tell me yours, I'll gladly listen. I'll be all yours while you fill me in. I just find stories of murder and mayhem to be more interesting than other types of stories. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Because when it comes to the real serial murderers, they are by far the most compelling. Because they are real. And they all have some of the most incredible stories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And in this regard I know I am not alone. The number of books about murder, the number of movies about crime, the number of TV shows investigating murders and murderers is never ending.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeGs-SPMMyaPum9uQjCWHcuUlWKX3L66Yw2Ve_e17cos2gJnObGtcevHJhDyj_aW6q376MtUHrwrwWKCazMqI7TU4_BcJvqvc8qLLrPt7YdjK3y_mEvVNxpGhBdLa1B21j1dA7BmTR6E/s1600/8447565_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeGs-SPMMyaPum9uQjCWHcuUlWKX3L66Yw2Ve_e17cos2gJnObGtcevHJhDyj_aW6q376MtUHrwrwWKCazMqI7TU4_BcJvqvc8qLLrPt7YdjK3y_mEvVNxpGhBdLa1B21j1dA7BmTR6E/s1600/8447565_orig.jpg" height="200" width="131" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ann Rule, a prolific true crime author, worked as a police detective alongside Ted Bundy in Seattle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She also had the privilege of figuring out just what Bundy was up to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So why has this life-long hobby of mine become so incredibly popular lately? Looking at the prime-time TV guide lineup, there are no less than 20 shows centered specifically around serial killers (real and fictional alike). So why the massive number of serial killer shows? Your guess is as good as mine. According to the whole of the internet, audiences love sexy killers who can let loose and act out our own violent fantasies. I do not agree. I have no interest in the good looking TV killers; most real life US serial killers are white middle aged men and they're the ones I read about. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I just love a good mystery. With a little psychology thrown in for fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My interest in serial killers began one week back in 1994. I watched one specific TV program every day: the Biography Channel's "serial killer series." It had all the greats; Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, Gary Ridgway, Ed Gein, Albert DeSalvo. Five hours of the real lives of the most prolific American serial killers in history was just enough to solidify my interest for life. These men were, in a word, fascinating. What makes someone kill like this; without conscience? Without remorse, and, for a while at least, without getting caught? I had to know more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Twenty years later I know a lot more. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I know that serial killers kill for one or more of the following reasons; greed, power, need for intimacy, fear of rejection, and perfectionism. Serial killers act with a high amount of control and a lack of morals. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I find these individuals (mostly men, but there are a few women) utterly reprehensible. I do not like what they do. But I strive to understand why they do it. And I always want to know more. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And I do know more. Through the years I've also learned that serial killers wet the bed until a very late age, experiment with killing and torturing animals, hide their victims in secret, keep trophies from the victims and never express remorse. These things only an avid serial killer profiler knows. Just watch an episode of Criminal Minds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Except that I'm not a real profiler. I'm not even a psychologist. So what am I doing playing amateur detective/therapist? What are millions of people just like me also doing? We're all trying to understand the murderer behind the Fall or the Following. The mystery behind True Detective or the the hundreds of other shows just like it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last year I went to a documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer. It was real footage taken from inside Dahmer's apartment when it was raided by police. They found no less than 17 skulls of young boys, all with differing holes in them. That's when I learned that Dahmer was trying to make a young boy zombie sex slave. He'd grab a boy and perform his own version of a frontal lobe lobotomy. The boy would be a zombie for a few hours, then die. So Dahmer would repeat the whole process again, the next time slightly altering the location of the brain hole. He knew he would eventually get it right. This is insanity at its very core. And yet it is totally, completely fascinating.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-YMZJZBHuhz9Unr3k1EhY24M6ANPlKfdJyQ1mVBC9lwVQf-NE2lJ9lv_k5AI3_66hRpbsRUL3Jss01zGF86V_0GyQsV_y6URBC8flGF3L898DLd14dO9OqPK7NbsJ1FmpcnI9qMS5_A/s1600/IMG_1462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-YMZJZBHuhz9Unr3k1EhY24M6ANPlKfdJyQ1mVBC9lwVQf-NE2lJ9lv_k5AI3_66hRpbsRUL3Jss01zGF86V_0GyQsV_y6URBC8flGF3L898DLd14dO9OqPK7NbsJ1FmpcnI9qMS5_A/s1600/IMG_1462.JPG" height="200" width="129" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My own copy of a graphic novel created by a former High School classmate of Dahmer's. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It tells a compelling, if not super graphic, story. It has also become incredibly popular. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Perhaps I take my interest in killers a bit further than the average American TV watcher. But still I know there are millions of us; sitting at home, watching scary movies and reading true crime books. While serial killers aren't nearly as prolific as TV would lead us to believe, their stories are out there. And they're real. And captivating. And completely entertaining. If you like that sort of thing. Which I most definitely do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Huffington Post recently recommended <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/04/true-crime-documentaries-netflix_n_6787720.html?ir=Women&ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000046" target="_blank">ten true crime documentaries</a> currently on Netflix. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">While I've seen most of these movies, I still prefer reading about true crimes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few of my favorite true crime novels include:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Devil in the White City</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In Cold Blood</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Green River Running Red</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Stranger Beside Me</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Death in the City of Light</span></i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-19049464584874452192015-02-24T11:27:00.000-08:002015-03-15T11:37:51.060-07:00matagato<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a lot of stories from my years in the Peace Corps. I have a least a dozen stories that involve all sorts of shenanigans, from the campaign to get Eddy Urbina front teeth to the time my mom hopped on a random stranger's horse and rode away, bareback.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But no other story holds a candle to the one involving two large men, a small cat, my living room, and a Spanish book of yoga poses from 1972. But I'm getting ahead of myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've gotten more and more into storytelling this past year. Having a blog will do that to you. And just as I'm getting into writing stories, the Northern California Returned Peace Corps Association (NorCal) starts up a storytelling series, the Story Jam. Over the past year, Story Jam has consisted of Returned Peace Corps Volunteers getting up on stage and telling their stories. I'd been meaning to attend a Story Jam for months. Because before I knew it, I was standing on stage telling my tale of lost love. Below is my story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or you can listen to the audio version of the story here: <span id="goog_366935141"></span><a href="http://picosong.com/2ycF/">http://picosong.com/2ycF/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the video version is available here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bPu6U7_QVY&list=PLHcV3zsz2X9w7cZJTFHj34FpY97j64Csa">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bPu6U7_QVY&list=PLHcV3zsz2X9w7cZJTFHj34FpY97j64Csa</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In my home in Gualaco, Olancho, Honduras I had mice. They would pitter-patter every night on the side of my bed, trying to crawl into it with me. So I got a cat. I didn't have mice anymore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Instead, I had a best friend. This was a very special cat. "Mi Primer Mascota." My first pet. I named her Bella, bathed her, put a flea collar on her, brushed her fur, let her sleep in the bed with me, potty trained her, and even bought her Gati, special cat food only found in the capital of my department, over two hours away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The kids loved playing with Bella</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone in the village knew my cat; my special gringa cat (pink and white striped "gringa" flea collar and all). I loved this cat with all my heart and soul. When you are the only person living in a small village without your family, you have two choices: you can either miss your family inconsolably. Or you can make your own family. Bella was my family. I named her after my Aunt. I would take pictures of Bella and send them to my mom. I had never had a pet before and Bella was 100% mine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I was a new Peace Corps volunteer, always looking for something to fill my time. Around the same time I left for my two plus years in Honduras, my best friend decided to quit her job and move to a yoga retreat in Hawaii. Despite my reluctance to accept yoga into my life at the time, she had sent me off with a deck of yoga cards. I couldn't think of a better project to occupy my time than translating the yoga cards into Spanish. Frequently people would see me around town, at the school using the copier machine, or at the internet cafe, translating the instructions into Spanish. It took up a lot of time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My yoga deck of poses</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the very best things about living in my village was the Sierra de Agalta National Park that surrounded us. A group of Gualacans (my people) were "guides" who knew the park like the back of their hands. They would lead me to the Caves of Susmay any time I wanted. They helped me climb La Picucha, the tallest mountain in our department. These guys had day jobs, but being guides was the thing they were most proud of. I spent countless days with these guys; they became my closest friends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it wasn't too surprising when I got a knock on my door at 9pm one night. I was almost in bed. But Moncho (real name Ramon) and Eddy were at my door and they were super excited; they had just found a book, in Spanish, of yoga from 1972. And they couldn't wait share this information with me. What the hell, I thought, yoga hasn't changed in a few thousands years, what's another 20? Their poses should be the same as mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Moncho asked me if he could show me what he'd been working on. I didn't see why not. It was late, but they were already here and they were so excited. So Moncho quickly swept my living room floor clean and started one of the most difficult poses in all of yoga; he would attempt to do a tripod, leading into a head stand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's the thing about Moncho Belis: Moncho is a great guy, heart of gold, but also a former alcoholic always one step away from falling back off the wagon. His years of drinking had begun to catch up with him and he was what Hondurans refer to as "panzon." He had a literal beer gut. This guy weighed at least 200 pounds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Moncho & Eddy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So to watch Moncho attempt the headstand was nothing short of miraculous. But, along he went: elbows on the ground, legs on his arms, legs heading straight up in the air, and then legs coming down faster than you could imagine. But that's when I saw it. I gasped in horror as Moncho sat up. I was the first person to see the blood that completely covered his back. Then I saw my cat. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bella then started running around in little circles, blood shooting out the side of her head. Finally she dropped down dead and I just took off running, screaming and crying. I woke up the entire town. "What's the crazy gringa going on about now?" they started asking each other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where I went wasn't all that much of a mystery. I went to the home of my then Honduran boyfriend. I banged on the door, screaming for him. He was the only other person in the town who could even fathom how much I loved this cat. I woke him up. I also woke up his entire family. I screamed, "Moncho la mato, Moncho la mato!" - "Moncho killed her". And that's when things went from bad to worse. See, my boyfriend's brother's name is also Moncho. So his mom and dad thought either a. someone had killed their son Moncho or b. their son Moncho had killed a girl. Either way, it was looking bad. Everyone was upset.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then my boyfriend had to explain a completely foreign concept to his parents; Karen was inconsolably upset because Moncho Belis had just killed her cat. Relieved their own son Moncho was okay, they started to stare confusingly right at me. At that point they knew I was crazy; how could I get so upset about an animal? Animals were meant to be kept outside, literally at arm's length all the time. It's not like a family member was gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once I had mostly calmed down, I knew I had to go back home, to confront the scene of the crime. I headed home. Moncho was gone, but Eddy was there waiting for me. The floor was mostly cleaned up, but it still looked like the scene of a very bloody crime. And it was beginning to smell like one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eddy told me that Moncho had gone home. That's when I realized what my running away had done; it had told Moncho that I couldn't look at him ever again. But that wasn't true. It was a freak yoga accident that killed my beloved cat. It was absolutely an accident.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I knew I had to talk to Moncho right away, so I went right over to his house. He was so sad, I just couldn't be mad at him. He very apologetically told me, "Karen, I am a lover of all animals. I could and would never hurt your cat. My children can attest to this fact. I have never harmed another living creature in my life!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Remember I mentioned these guys all had day jobs? Well, Moncho was a fumigator. The emotional side of me knew it was just an accident; the logical side of me knew we'd have to some day revisit just what it meant to be a fumigator by profession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back at home we put Bella in a box. I apologized to everyone around me for my crazy outburst that night, but my period of mourning had already begun. I put a sign on the door. "Hubo un accidente, no hay clases hoy." There was an accident, there are no classes today. I wasn't about to start telling everyone what Moncho had done. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I lived in a small town; everyone already knew. By noon the next day, Moncho already had the nickname "Matagato." Cat-killer. The cat was out of the bag. Everyone knew Moncho Belis had killed my cat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We ended up burying Bella in my backyard. Eventually I accepted what had happened to her. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And what about me and Moncho? I really did forgive him and we ended up becoming great friends. Even if he is a matagato.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Watch out for the cat-killer!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-2491998123639482442015-02-08T14:12:00.000-08:002015-02-08T14:12:34.768-08:00charcot marie foot<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Symptoms, then are in reality nothing but the cry from suffering organs"<br /><i>-Dr. Jean Martin Charcot</i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ever since I can remember I've suffered from mid-sleep charlie horses. If you're not familiar with the term, I get cramps in my calves while I'm asleep. Yes, I said while I'm asleep. In complete and total pain is a very jarring way to wake up.<br /><br />So you can imagine my surprise when, halfway through my very first marathon, both my calves started actively cramping. Calf and foot cramps, until that point, had been reserved for laying down and/or sleeping. But instead I found myself running (for over two hours) through the active cramping in my lower legs. When I finally finished the race, medics put ice bags on my calves. While that helped relieve the pain a bit, removing the ice resulted in two of the worst cramps of my life; charlie horses so painful I dropped to the ground, screaming and swearing uncontrollably and scaring the medics who had circled around me and my family. All I could think was, "I haven't had a calf cramp this bad since I was fifteen years old." And I probably hadn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Running a marathon (and smiling) while my legs are actively cramping</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you've never suffered from a calf cramp (or in my case, many many calf cramps), you are lucky. They are painful. I'm never sure when they'll start, I do not know how best to ease them, and I absolutely do not know how to prevent them.<br /><br />I wasn't the only person in my household with this mysterious midnight pain. My brother also suffered from mid-sleep calf cramps (and was the one who first used the term "Charley horse" and taught me its meaning). Most of my memories of Dave's calf cramps were during his high school years. Despite being two and a half years younger than Dave, we would both suffer leg pain at the same time, often during the same night. While I would always choose to instantly grab my leg (or legs) and try to massage out the cramp, Dave chose another treatment; he'd try to stomp them out. Dave would suddenly jump out of bed and start stomping down on his leg. Once he was satisfied he'd gotten the cramp out, he'd fall right back onto his bed and into sleep. The number of times I woke up to the sound of Dave stomping his leg are too numerous to count. It was a typical occurrence in our home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />And clearly I still continue to get these cramps. What's interesting to me it that there is very little known about WHY I get searing pain in my calf muscles that wake me up. I have been told about any number of possible causes of my distress, but none of them make any sense. Everyone seems to offer up an unsolicited solutions to this problem. First up, lack of potassium. Sorry friends, but I am absolutely 100% not potassium deficient. It's not the culprit. Trust me; I have my potassium level checked every six months (an unrelated concern). More potassium will not eliminate my cramps; I could eat all the bananas in the world and not get better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The suggestion that dehydration is to blame for my charlie horses is much more believable. I don't drink enough. I try, especially with all the running I do. But I am always thirsty, most especially in the middle of the night. So I drink a lot. And I pee a lot. And I drink a lot more. But I never feel hydrated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During my post-marathon calf cramp fit, my mom offered up some life changing information; calf and foot cramping is a symptom of Charcot Marie Tooth disease. Charcot Marie Tooth (CMT) comprises a group of disorders passed down through families that affect the nerves outside the brain and spine; aka the peripheral nerves. I know, it's an odd name for a foot disease (actually it's foot and hand). But it's named after the three doctors (Charcot, Marie, and Tooth) who discovered it. Several members of my family suffer from CMTX, the x-linked form of the disease.<br /><br />After the marathon I had truly reached my breaking point. My feet had been hurting so bad for so long I had to finally see a podiatrist. Four days later I had the official diagnosis; I have Charcot Marie Tooth. I wish I could say I'm not devastated. But I am. Why else would I have avoided the podiatrist for twenty years? Up until last week I had still hoped I'd hear, "new shoes will fix your chronic foot pain." But they won't. Foot pain is a part of me. Most of the people close to me know my feet hurt every single day. Some days I run with the pain. Other days I run through the pain. But most of the time, I run despite the pain.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrPs5g7yJNSgCBs2ZonvEtEk9xdDJGwbsBPKRHmH8xXmncMZ4gbJ16bSkwXNsAdsDr_M3T4YDu74EyQqBu5zy9s6lKZDcymgX0xLT4ALQyaBNDPF4gLtssQMLWQezF0hGQ2Ly7AkyY-g/s1600/IMG_1333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrPs5g7yJNSgCBs2ZonvEtEk9xdDJGwbsBPKRHmH8xXmncMZ4gbJ16bSkwXNsAdsDr_M3T4YDu74EyQqBu5zy9s6lKZDcymgX0xLT4ALQyaBNDPF4gLtssQMLWQezF0hGQ2Ly7AkyY-g/s1600/IMG_1333.JPG" height="145" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Packing for a marathon includes lots of 2nd skin bandages</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So what does this mean for a (now official) marathoner? Of course I had to ask my doctor about the running. Would I have to give it up? The short answer is no. With lots of orthotics. And maybe surgery. But first orthotics, lots and lots of orthotics. And new shoes. And stretches. And special exercises. And the frozen water bottle under the foot trick that I promise alleviates plantar fasciitis.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Many people prefer to keep their CMT on the down low. In their defense, the symptoms can become very dehabilitating, especially for men. But I'm putting it out there; I am a marathon runner with CMT. Because I want you to know. And to understand. If we're out walking together, I'd like you to slow down. And when we're out on a hike, the pain might become so unbearable for me we have to either stop for a while or immediately turn back. But the pain won't stop me. I will continue to go out and run. And maybe even hike once and a while. And maybe, just maybe, someday I'll run another marathon. After all, "few things in life match the thrill of a marathon." (Fred Lebow, runner and founder of the NYC Marathon). Mr. Lebow, I completely agree.</span></div>
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I'm already thinking about my next marathon...</div>
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-67857312022979231732015-01-21T18:07:00.002-08:002015-01-22T08:44:11.172-08:00grounded<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.<br /><i>~Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Five days after signing up to officially run my first marathon, I had a rude awakening. Simply put, I had a bad run. It does happen, albeit rarely. But it hadn't happened to me in a very long time. So long so that I had forgotten how frustrating a bad run can make me feel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This particular run started the same as all the others. I left work a few hours early to be able to get in a mid-length mid-week run before the sun went down. The weather had been cold for months and the sun still set before 5pm. If I was going to run nine miles (for approximately 90 minutes), I'd have to set out no later than 3:30pm to beat the sunset. It was definitely doable.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdhqGliksRElueV3ibfCF65kxccpycORvLIWfB-5jd_9wlwN5B6OadIuwusITAXImJrWkaOfodeMFsARC0d1jamPuqJd3ZxIochi9zC6JPrcz62QsK6XwCE0Mfh9asFz7m6zFUZiE2qs/s1600/lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdhqGliksRElueV3ibfCF65kxccpycORvLIWfB-5jd_9wlwN5B6OadIuwusITAXImJrWkaOfodeMFsARC0d1jamPuqJd3ZxIochi9zC6JPrcz62QsK6XwCE0Mfh9asFz7m6zFUZiE2qs/s1600/lake.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A late afternoon run around the lake</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I prepared to run the same as always; I taped up my toes (covering my blisters), set up my iPod, and drank a good amount of water. I had just hit the ground running, when boom, the problems started exploding from every direction. First, my running capris were too loose. And I really had to pee. Then my prescription sunglasses wouldn't stay on. And my headband wasn't tight enough. And then my knee brace wasn't tight enough either. And one of my running earbuds broke off. What was going on?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then, seemingly out of nowhere, my asthma flared up. I had used my inhaler before the run, as I always do. Yet there I was, less than 10 minutes into a 90 minute run and I couldn't breathe. If you have ever felt short of breath, it's awful. Imaging trying to run through the shooting side pain that then ensues. In case you're trying to imagine this scenario, let me just tell you that you can't run through this pain. You have to walk until the pain subsides (usually helped along for me with copious amounts of cold water and more use of the inhaler). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Things were going terribly. I kept thinking about the shortest distance to my car, where I could hop in, drive home, and wash away the horrible terrible run. After first finding the nearest bathroom, of course. But instead of running away (literally), I took the time to ask myself the following: Was it really worth just giving up completely? Or could I possibly find a silver lining somewhere in this crappy, painful Wednesday afternoon run? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Immediately, I knew there were several lessons to be learned. So I first focused on the physical issues, the things right in front of me that I could control. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">focused on breathing until the asthma was under control. Then, as quickly as possible, I ran to the nearest restroom, only one mile away. I w</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">edged the broken ear-bud into my ear, and </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">rolled over my pants so they became tighter. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">pulled up my knee brace. Now I was getting somewhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Then I decided to focus on the things a little more out of my control. I started to t</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">hink about what I could accomplish that afternoon, using the opportunity to test myself; to see how fast I could run one mile. Because the need to complete all nine miles was clearly a thing of the past. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I also took the time to look around; it was an absolutely gorgeous afternoon on the lake.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWk1N5dj4OBWcqcqhUuD4Ivxbwv9-svSHYxjVvxwRuuCjNfWxiR3nHMDk-Dw9l6IIuDjPHjnfJbA7o0To3iWxoc-otM4oZkZG3LIhrluFJ34J-gAufF3qAd87LDneVkh8Atf8iL3yUOM/s1600/-modal=true.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWk1N5dj4OBWcqcqhUuD4Ivxbwv9-svSHYxjVvxwRuuCjNfWxiR3nHMDk-Dw9l6IIuDjPHjnfJbA7o0To3iWxoc-otM4oZkZG3LIhrluFJ34J-gAufF3qAd87LDneVkh8Atf8iL3yUOM/s1600/-modal=true.jpg" height="200" width="198" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Having a bad run wasn't fun. I wouldn't call it a positive experience. Instead, it was humiliating, tough, and, most importantly, humbling. It put me in my place. For the past six months I had been slowly moving forward. What started as 8 miles soon turned into 13, then 16, then 18 and finally 20. It led me to believe I could and would run a complete marathon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But this bad run didn't deter me. A bad run can't stop me and doesn't set me back. A bad run grounds me; it reminds me that am human and I am allowed to have a bad day. I am allowed to take a rest and yet still be prepared. And the problems I encounter on a bad run only further prepare me for race day.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This mid-week no pressure run was not an integral part of my training plan. It wasn't one of my precious weekly long runs. I've never had a bad long run (except that one way too hot morning in Mexico). In fact, I've enjoyed every single long run. There have been over 16 of them. And they've been nothing short of awesome; even the ones where all I could think about for miles was just putting one foot in front of the other and heaving myself to cover a new, longer distance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Long runs have gotten me to the point where I could say it out loud: that I'm training for a marathon. They have been the crux of my training. But I can't forget about all the little runs in between. All the sprints on the treadmill. All the jogs through the snow in 30 degree winter. All the evening runs with only a flashlight. And every day at the gym in between. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Because running is nothing, if not fun. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Except on a bad day; a day that running has kicked my ass. But a bad day doesn't defeat me. It never will. Because I have already won. I have already run for longer than I ever thought possible. I have not only run 20 miles, but I have loved (almost) every mile of it. To a runner, this is a definite win.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9NfDciKsBGMjjf0dkuxpt5RqUrDpDLwIJw5mnm4TAavS8tBlP1FlUO4IwtcRIqNEeqbjgrd-n1pA_6PUzmp4uyVwIKxmPM7WdS8AUh5uSDgRoyh8qJGekgJYMpn12prs2vpwmb8IgH4/s1600/617384538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9NfDciKsBGMjjf0dkuxpt5RqUrDpDLwIJw5mnm4TAavS8tBlP1FlUO4IwtcRIqNEeqbjgrd-n1pA_6PUzmp4uyVwIKxmPM7WdS8AUh5uSDgRoyh8qJGekgJYMpn12prs2vpwmb8IgH4/s1600/617384538.jpg" height="151" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not too easy to find a running path in a city that's only 7x7</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a follow up, I'd like to mention that two days after this particularly bad run, I went out and ran the nine miles I had originally planned to complete. It went well. Then two days after that run, I went out and ran 22 miles. My longest run ever and my last marathon training long run. The pressure was on and all I can say is the run just felt awesome.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-60418086262323055832015-01-11T14:11:00.001-08:002015-01-25T15:43:47.562-08:00commitment<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">-John Bingham</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Some days I feel completely committed to my marathon training plan. Other days I feel I've committed a grave mistake. Only on race day will I know how it will all turn out. Because I've made a commitment; to run the Surf City Marathon on February 1, 2015. It'll be my first marathon. But it might also be my last.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I started running exactly seven years ago. Most people don't have a life changing story; a day when they made a conscious decision to commit to running. But I'm not most people. And I have a story. It all starts with a conversation with my very sick brother in late August 2007.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3blLG6UhzwOB-Nb6qORRi-bjaKoSj_SAw1eHV584WGD7h_uXdPUa0VjvSf5rujMgX_0M4NeWYX7r9xKDhdKKvJgtoD38p205SVMqWeFoXGkoK6Hx7qfXweXf5dXAoFLAqccZWJRA1zAo/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3blLG6UhzwOB-Nb6qORRi-bjaKoSj_SAw1eHV584WGD7h_uXdPUa0VjvSf5rujMgX_0M4NeWYX7r9xKDhdKKvJgtoD38p205SVMqWeFoXGkoK6Hx7qfXweXf5dXAoFLAqccZWJRA1zAo/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My big brother and me enjoying lunch at Hot Dougs, 2006</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the middle of a typical daily phone conversation, a nearly wheelchair-bound Dave blurted out "if I had your legs, I'd run." I responded with a barely audible "okay," figuring I'd just shrug the comment off. Instead, at that exact moment, my running career began. A runner was born. After a few initial runs (I'd never run over 5 miles in my entire life) I signed up for the first race of my life; a half-marathon. Then I committed to a running plan. And most importantly, I kept to it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Six months later, Dave and I had one final chat. It was January 25, 2008 and I remember the evening perfectly. I didn't know it at the time, but that particular Friday night conversation would be our last. With my mom holding the phone to Dave's ear, he asked me how I did in my race. I told him I hadn't run it yet. It was coming up the following Sunday. I was nervous, but I was also prepared. We then went on to talk about other trivial things, like baking cupcakes and turkey sandwiches. Later that night, Dave went to sleep and never woke up. I spent the week grieving with my family. But I was still in half-marathon training mode and because it was winter in Chicago, I had to run a little every morning at a nearby indoor track. But I knew Dave would understand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One week later, on February 3, 2008, I completed my first half-marathon. Then I sat down with friends and watched the Super Bowl. I don't remember anything about the game. I do remember being so proud of my accomplishment, despite my completely broken heart.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHyn8RDAJZE14J-9hAy6vXY6h84Yrhdkoy7t-fp3TfVmLVYo_mBD1DI5mJbXWbJFJRldZjIMNI7bAbx3lhukD3dFCZb9n2_sNMEjm9jrBXvrUvpzWnsoau21_YWMlaO003UF786PRtmI/s1600/image2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHyn8RDAJZE14J-9hAy6vXY6h84Yrhdkoy7t-fp3TfVmLVYo_mBD1DI5mJbXWbJFJRldZjIMNI7bAbx3lhukD3dFCZb9n2_sNMEjm9jrBXvrUvpzWnsoau21_YWMlaO003UF786PRtmI/s1600/image2.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I've run too many races to count over the years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Including my first, the Kaiser San Francisco Half-Marathon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But those events didn't turn me off to running. On the contrary, I knew I'd continue to run. I knew I'd have many more 13.1 mile races. And I have. But what I never could have known at the time was that I would eventually commit to running a marathon. That wasn't even in my wheelhouse as any kind of possibility. It wasn't an idea I ever passed around, not to others, not even inside my own head.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then one day I committed myself to running 26.2 miles. And I was going to do it in front of my friends, family, and a ton of total strangers. All that was left was to actually say the words out loud, find a training plan, and think of a good marathon that was 24 weeks away. Easier said than done. Until I found the Surf City Marathon on February 1.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Seven years into my running career, I have come full circle. On the exact date of my very first race, I'll run my most ambitious. It's been a long journey. Running has always been tough for me. My feet are covered in blisters. I've had to sneak out of the office numerous times to head out on a run before the sun went down. I've cancelled plans too many times to count, given up alcohol, and spent countless hours on amazon shopping for gels, compression socks, water bottles, athletic tape, running shorts, and more. </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.runsurfcity.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8j9jKFcl0PKcil79R37wUhQSUSAv1Bu2WDQfbZpRzFDwI4TnsDsKVu9bc4pjXZdX3t2GA3uM-3rDXjCAJH4cNn7YPOFYNQsQEeflNTlXn8eORmrfo7TIUtAPBAOvHsthiEbpqZPhi3E8/s1600/SurfCityUSA+(1).png" height="121" title="\" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I'm committed to running this race. I'm moderately scared, a little bit obsessed, and probably totally crazy. But I'm also incredibly determined. And strong. I can't remember ever being this strong, both mentally and physically. For the past five months I've gotten in to the habit of going out, spending hours pushing myself through every kind of pain, and convincing myself to do it all over again in a few days. This marathon training plan has forced me to muster up every bit of patience, fortitude, courage and commitment I never knew I had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I never set out to run a marathon on my race day anniversary. I never meant to put so much importance on a specific time period (the week leading up to the Super Bowl). It's just how this year turned out; the date when my marathon training plan completed. The time has come for me to lace up my shoes and step up to the starting line of an actual marathon. Which I will complete. Because I've already committed myself to seeing my friends and loving, supportive family on the other side of those 26.2 miles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Huntington Beach Surf City Marathon is sold out, but you can come cheer on the runners if you live nearby. <a href="http://www.runsurfcity.com/">www.runsurfcity.com</a></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-85670193731201892092014-12-31T11:57:00.001-08:002014-12-31T11:57:20.731-08:00habits<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's that time of year again: a time to make new year's resolutions. If you believe in that stuff. I just read an article entitled, "<a href="http://www.realsimple.com/holidays-entertaining/holidays/more-holidays/100-resolutions">100 Inspiring New Year's Resolutions</a>" - that's right, 100. I'm not going to have even ten resolutions this year, let alone 100. That seems extreme to me (and with a high failure rate, something I don't like to experience).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGfiBHUSSS3c6x4Q5lv8E80QpBzswhmMnp2FtPGVIR6VahBJZxPvfvye3Xbk413BSQRUQEIB8FQw9gVX6wNMENMiFFfqW-5efxk_lX7-kHInwzqP0ly4cdL25mYqZXQqDS2an4rX1Ecw/s1600/images+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGfiBHUSSS3c6x4Q5lv8E80QpBzswhmMnp2FtPGVIR6VahBJZxPvfvye3Xbk413BSQRUQEIB8FQw9gVX6wNMENMiFFfqW-5efxk_lX7-kHInwzqP0ly4cdL25mYqZXQqDS2an4rX1Ecw/s1600/images+(2).jpg" height="183" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have had the same one resolution every year for the past five years. I think it's a good resolution. I am mindful of this resolution most every day. It's a small, manageable resolution. Every year I resolve to eat fruit every day. I honestly try to eat some form of whole fruit (fresh, frozen, juiced, blended) every single day. And, most days, I complete said resolution. I like attainable, small goals. The ones where I don't feel bad about myself if I don't complete them. Instead, I simply feel a little better (and healthier) if I do complete them. Simple enough?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But back to these 100 resolutions. Some of the resolutions on the list? </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Practice an instrument more (or take up a new one)</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. I'm going to absolutely pass on this one. As much as I love music, it's not in my plans for 2015. Maybe that'll change, but I'm not setting myself up for a resolution on the last day of the year I am not simply not feeling. Only 99 resolutions left to go. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Go on a blind date</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. Should it be with someone I don't know? Can my significant other attend as well? I think I might skip this one as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When did this whole resolutions nonsense begin? I'm assuming it's because many people like to wipe the slate clean on the first day of a new year. But what happens if you mess up on January 1? Do you throw in the towel and consider the entire year a failure? That's 364 days you must endure knowing you are a failure. Not striving for that broken resolution, living sad and broken. And what if the same thing happens again the next year? Another 364 days of sadness? This vicious cycle sounds awful to me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpN6KlDZwXAO_LPl4YYCKnlIGVdyjLQbSK48G2r1xTemxR1scG8w1sORB9zEw9FUypq1SWBOsNZd9AsPjXx6dfZdCYdSc3EhkVzU93spxnZigGA8_kmh6ak3a-mydXT1sEBTdzFrcU3A/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpN6KlDZwXAO_LPl4YYCKnlIGVdyjLQbSK48G2r1xTemxR1scG8w1sORB9zEw9FUypq1SWBOsNZd9AsPjXx6dfZdCYdSc3EhkVzU93spxnZigGA8_kmh6ak3a-mydXT1sEBTdzFrcU3A/s1600/images+(1).jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Instead, I think day one of a "resolution" starts on the day you want it to begin; on the day of your choosing. Maybe I've been watching too many diet and exercise shows, but I know that the race training begins with your own personal day one, whenever that might be. For many people, I guess it starts January 1. For me, it will begin when my Vitamix blender arrives. That'll be the day I begin juicing. Unless it's not. Because maybe the item will sit unused on my kitchen counter for a month. But then one day I'll use it. And voila, thus will being my day one. With a specific activity. use Vitamix machine every day. This is actually no longer a resolution; I plan to develop a habit. A resolution is "use vitamix," but a habit is "use vitamix one time daily." There's a slight difference.<br /><br />I've heard it takes 21 days to form a habit. I'm not sure this number makes sense to me. I definitely did not run for 21 straight days before I made running a habit. I cooked a lot more than 21 times; I read a lot more than 21 books. I took a gym bag with me to work about three times before it became habit. Maybe I'm ahead of the curve on this one activity?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The web is now filled with 21 day habit apps. The funniest to me is the web app <a href="http://www.21habit.com/">21Habit</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVT7QV1lApSSua0rVjgGD4YG175nK8rGtfwZJLXI1h-dAlvglfQ3L2rUU4sLFNb4okpLChAAWZV0GINtV5TQznzQTrql4UIvpJF5JeYmrRbucsItMYJ3CsKmPKNC117xtd-V4WJ85ZQo/s1600/www.21habit.com-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVT7QV1lApSSua0rVjgGD4YG175nK8rGtfwZJLXI1h-dAlvglfQ3L2rUU4sLFNb4okpLChAAWZV0GINtV5TQznzQTrql4UIvpJF5JeYmrRbucsItMYJ3CsKmPKNC117xtd-V4WJ85ZQo/s1600/www.21habit.com-.jpg" height="67" width="320" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There's nothing wrong with writing down your goal. I also like how the day one starts when you decide it will (good minds think alike.) And I don't even disagree with the next part of the app, where you pay $21 at the beginning of the month and for every day you do said activity (or not do said activity if you are trying to quit) you receive $1 back to you. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBroigUnWcbspWT9UYhdksNAbdUD5O5KaopcyZGuy-mjsJomtqLXgk4cAOrmHN9Wyl0VcieGSaK1F5Ry5s2CLgTZ5eX0bSsoWwemGBJJZLT-IRIGJ0qjiWXmTMBp5qtRo4xbjL7KLr8Z8/s1600/howitworks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBroigUnWcbspWT9UYhdksNAbdUD5O5KaopcyZGuy-mjsJomtqLXgk4cAOrmHN9Wyl0VcieGSaK1F5Ry5s2CLgTZ5eX0bSsoWwemGBJJZLT-IRIGJ0qjiWXmTMBp5qtRo4xbjL7KLr8Z8/s1600/howitworks.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have heard pretty strong evidence (and seen it myself) that human behavior is stronger when a financial commitment is involved. Even if it's just $1 (although I've never seen it work for less than $5, it just might), it's frequently enough for a person to commit and follow through. What I don't understand is how the accountability works. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In my experience, accountability makes all the difference. If you don't have to answer or pay a price for something, you will (or won't) do it. It's a completely internal compass you possess. You know right from wrong (or at least you should) and will act the way only you can control. So would I use this app and then lie to get my $21 back? Depends on how badly I want to a. achieve my goal, b. have the money, and c. not feel guilty about cheating. I would venture to say that the majority of the world's population would lie and get the money back. Haven't we all fibbed once or twice before to cancel an unwanted hotel reservation or get something for free? I know I have.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But back to the 21 days. Thanks 21Habit (and <a href="http://www.42goals.com/">42Goals</a>, <a href="https://www.beeminder.com/">Beeminder</a>, <a href="https://chains.cc/">Chains.cc</a>, and <a href="https://gofuckingdoit.com/">Go F#^ing Do It</a>) for organizing my resolutions and turning them in to habits. I don't think a single one of you will work. But at least Go F#^ing Do It uses accountability in its metrics.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvFtodCk240XGMEXi_51BNb05HN_v-SflEoc3l4b0ePO8hCHHzCZyQMVLMdYEIZUUNqhu99sik-Qxmj9x4U1CssLl_cly81tH_2CPYp08Yi3hMn_hknADy44kgB_t9muDfRZqxfx5_lk/s1600/tumblr_inline_mj584mmRYN1qz4rgp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvFtodCk240XGMEXi_51BNb05HN_v-SflEoc3l4b0ePO8hCHHzCZyQMVLMdYEIZUUNqhu99sik-Qxmj9x4U1CssLl_cly81tH_2CPYp08Yi3hMn_hknADy44kgB_t9muDfRZqxfx5_lk/s1600/tumblr_inline_mj584mmRYN1qz4rgp.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The projected likelihood of continuing a behavior, such as meditation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I'm back looking at the beginning of my 21 days. Okay, I'll give it a shot. 21 days of Vitamixing. But I'm not starting on January 1. I'm starting when I decide to start. I just don't know when that will be exactly. But once it is, I'm sure to form a Vitamixing habit. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0nmRIDbI6XNAvq5m2SaZFQWANUQXss1jWxG1TXhD2-85G3zHc7q-FldBkQfH7zalvYd2tdp9CvFWaOw_NQfgtxM3k_gIKloEgTODqpkq2Orw__wCEV0KjDuaCtoyGuOYkXw8S1Pm244/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0nmRIDbI6XNAvq5m2SaZFQWANUQXss1jWxG1TXhD2-85G3zHc7q-FldBkQfH7zalvYd2tdp9CvFWaOw_NQfgtxM3k_gIKloEgTODqpkq2Orw__wCEV0KjDuaCtoyGuOYkXw8S1Pm244/s1600/images.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Because 21 days is all it takes, right?</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-53357314783590547822014-12-23T11:14:00.001-08:002014-12-23T11:21:17.723-08:00balance<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #073763;">-Rumi</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meaning different things in different contexts, balance is an interesting word. Imagine yourself on a balance beam. Then think about your bank account balance. Then start thinking about the always present "work-life balance." Already this word is all over the place, infiltrating itself into everyday life.<br /><br />There are a few instances in which my balance is right on. I'm great at balancing my checkbook. I love spending time with my friends and alone. I'm slowly getting better at the tree pose in yoga. Maybe some day I'll be able to hold a headstand or walk a tightrope.<br /><br />But there are other places where my balance is way off. I often get my diet out of balance; I'll eat whatever is in front of me. And my work can overpower my personal life; my habit of working evenings and weekends throws my personal life well off balance.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4T2yvPMTBUD4abH3AhIBnlLDXfznIrZjDIod9BZjsfrT9rpuBrcZmfhgYR-kmN4WtlehL8UE6dofI5CVUpbmh5UrPeB_v9WFjXVDjtC82BKk_xhVXlLRt72avVf9aa0nztnV6quw_fQ/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg"><img border="0" height="62" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4T2yvPMTBUD4abH3AhIBnlLDXfznIrZjDIod9BZjsfrT9rpuBrcZmfhgYR-kmN4WtlehL8UE6dofI5CVUpbmh5UrPeB_v9WFjXVDjtC82BKk_xhVXlLRt72avVf9aa0nztnV6quw_fQ/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><br />But nowhere am I more out of balance than when there's movement involved. Inevitably, I'll get motion sickness. I have found that most people fall somewhere inside one of two categories: those who suffer from motion sickness, and those who do not. I know a few people who have no motion problems. They're happy to sit backwards on trains, read in the car, and rock on any boat (even in the most choppy of waters). To these people I say the following: you have absolutely no idea how lucky you are. Try, just try, to think about what your life would be like if every time you moved you felt queasy. Doesn't sound fun, does it?<br /><br />Because it's not; in fact it's debilitating at times. And, unfortunately, most of the people I know fall somewhere on the motion sickness spectrum. I would venture to say that growing up I was probably at about a 5 on the motion sickness scale from 1-10, 1 being mild, infrequent sickness, and 10 being daily all consuming sickness. When I was a child, I thought I had it bad; I had to sit in the front seat, facing forward, looking out the window. I had to chew mint gum and once in a while take dramamine. But I could (and would) travel no problem, taking a plane, train, or automobile without giving it a second thought. I could enjoy a good roller coaster ride just fine, depite having a few motion sickness limits (like no reading in the car.)<br /><br />But now, I can definitively say my motion sickness level is at a 10. Yes, that means it's a daily disability. If you were to ever travel around with me, you would notice the following: I drive. Always. I take dramamine every day, if my driving is not a possibility. I don't go on roller coasters, let alone boats. I have to sit forward on the train, at the front of the bus, and will throw up if I'm not able to control the motion sickness. I won't even go to a 3D movie. I have prescription motion sickness medication, both pills and skin patches. I even have those sea calm bands, although they don't even work for me on BART. You're lucky if they work for you.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6CmnuYnMwsHQN4HM0ksA4vpCiaiLE82fHwNe54jSo_TUcxpIsnSQv1oCDJFN0-ASQK8cdIWrUNcJYuGlTXKg8Dg4hjleJtDvT2oiZAqakH_gdVT79P-GDyb72VBmY75KR3hfJTuC9V4/s1600/patch.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6CmnuYnMwsHQN4HM0ksA4vpCiaiLE82fHwNe54jSo_TUcxpIsnSQv1oCDJFN0-ASQK8cdIWrUNcJYuGlTXKg8Dg4hjleJtDvT2oiZAqakH_gdVT79P-GDyb72VBmY75KR3hfJTuC9V4/s1600/patch.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">The scopolamine patch pictured here causes blurred vision. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I learned this while traveling in Cambodia.</span><br /><br />Why do I have such horrendous motion sickness? As much as I want to blame my inner ear, I only put the blame squarely on my parents. Both my mother and my father suffer as severely as I do. It's a running family commentary about the places we have thrown up, which between us covers just about everywhere. Some of my top motion sickness travel destinations include Peru, Alaska, Israel, and even on my way to work (in the car driving down 280).<br /><br />As I previously mentioned, I often get my diet out of balance as well. I think this is somewhat related to my motion sickness issues. If I'm eating too much rich, fried, heavy food, I'm much more likely to get ill while moving. If I eat unhealthful food for more than a day, I'll feel ill. If I drink alcohol, I'll get sick and throw up. Perhaps this is my body's way of keeping me healthy; because I don't drink. And I try to control the amount of junky food I consume (even though I love it so much). I'll never understand how my friends can have alcohol while flying. Alcohol is the most potent cause of my vomiting I've ever experienced. And then you put those two together? Talk about a toxic cocktail. The only thing I want while on an airplane is a little ginger ale and to crawl up into a ball, throw up, and get myself off the plane as soon as possible.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHHaAu7B2Dwk3p2-qChxv_Sw1PLpTs_bRfjfCh8Zouik0eEhWBseamReuUodShB9CT4QNqlteDI_yiIm39ANbbNg3OXJBAyGvRRX-LeOKY8xSNMfy4NzOhEt_GmkS8NEDIajValD0fxQ/s1600/Balance.jpg"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHHaAu7B2Dwk3p2-qChxv_Sw1PLpTs_bRfjfCh8Zouik0eEhWBseamReuUodShB9CT4QNqlteDI_yiIm39ANbbNg3OXJBAyGvRRX-LeOKY8xSNMfy4NzOhEt_GmkS8NEDIajValD0fxQ/s1600/Balance.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /><br />The other kind of balance that comes to mind when using this buzzword is the "work-life balance." I'm not sure who coined this term, but it's come up in a few (or all) recent job interviews. I always answer with honesty; that I'm always working on my work-life balance. I still believe in something I discovered in college about human beings; we are always managing work, love, and housing. And at least one of these always seemed to be in flux, needing my full attention. Plus, I only felt I could tackle one at a time. As I've gotten older, it's become more about the balance between work, family, and money. And I thought I had it rough when I was in my 20s. I had no idea. I feel like I am always focusing on these three items all at once.<br /><br />Here are some interesting statistics from the OECD better life index that make me feel a little better about the fact that I don't have my work-life balance set.</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">People spend one-tenth to one-fifth of their time on unpaid work.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Women spend 248 minutes per day cooking, cleaning or caring. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Evidence suggests that long work hours may impair personal health, jeopardize safety and increase stress. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /><a href="http://www.oecdbetterlifeindex.org/countries/united-states/">http://www.oecdbetterlifeindex.org/countries/united-states/</a></span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While I see that life balance is a struggle for most people, especially women, I don't know how to not work every single day until the job is done. I don't, "work hard and play hard." I work hard and play at a normal level. I don't know any other way.<br /><br />A new colleague told me she keeps normal work hours by accepting that, "there will always be work; but there will always be tomorrow." I don't have such discipline. But I'm trying. Because I love work. And I love life. As long as work and life aren't asking me to drive a train or man the sails. I prefer to stick to solid ground as much as I can. It helps me with my balance.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9dbTnJH8zG7TZGOSL7GW2T1YvYY3z4DvOs6aY9VGfK3TMwyWeBjE3RCp0PAFE8jLAm3SKz4GCIshD2KgGr7dr_ipfeFSjKTYMRygX6zLmauuxhyphenhyphenTPd6TuNKWWAW2pQxyIqBe8v-sBNY/s1600/images.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9dbTnJH8zG7TZGOSL7GW2T1YvYY3z4DvOs6aY9VGfK3TMwyWeBjE3RCp0PAFE8jLAm3SKz4GCIshD2KgGr7dr_ipfeFSjKTYMRygX6zLmauuxhyphenhyphenTPd6TuNKWWAW2pQxyIqBe8v-sBNY/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8B3z5-FA9JM/U9WsG6-cfKI/AAAAAAAARtg/rXde-yLdOL8/s1600/IMG_0290.JPG"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8B3z5-FA9JM/U9WsG6-cfKI/AAAAAAAARtg/rXde-yLdOL8/s1600/IMG_0290.JPG" width="150"></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">- 3 trips to Mexico<br><br>- Hundreds of job applications submitted and cover letters written<br><br>- Rounds and rounds of interviews</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br>- 1 visit to the unemployment development department<br><br>- 4 consulting gigs</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br>- 2 phone calls from the EDD to explain my consulting income</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br><br>- 3 family visits<br><br>- 2 seasons of Criminal Minds and House of Cards completed<br><br>- 1 matinee (Rosewater - see it!)<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGm_ECzl6AL9fCTBuRlLNtqVY1tAhW-oQJ8niugJzoOrRhQMX3MGGu7csmc4IHCOgSSO37rNIAHV2aohK17QQkXzP7NYY7r8sGf0scxsAOYNWl1Zm1M0TXyeYNPbzoJwE6dd_E1ms6aQw/s1600/IMG_1015.JPG"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGm_ECzl6AL9fCTBuRlLNtqVY1tAhW-oQJ8niugJzoOrRhQMX3MGGu7csmc4IHCOgSSO37rNIAHV2aohK17QQkXzP7NYY7r8sGf0scxsAOYNWl1Zm1M0TXyeYNPbzoJwE6dd_E1ms6aQw/s1600/IMG_1015.JPG" width="200"></a> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK9FqSxfW_hxdi7tV1rYWhAsB-oIOdbJdyLbwaCY416HBIMNocqmPhVtkczEQFeP2x9xIQspobzMetbrZTZDL6HgPAtcz5louR3WKclf8TtOF4xPGdEuBS-epqC8CGuzT2KCZzKTVUK0/s1600/IMG_1014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK9FqSxfW_hxdi7tV1rYWhAsB-oIOdbJdyLbwaCY416HBIMNocqmPhVtkczEQFeP2x9xIQspobzMetbrZTZDL6HgPAtcz5louR3WKclf8TtOF4xPGdEuBS-epqC8CGuzT2KCZzKTVUK0/s1600/IMG_1014.JPG" height="150" width="200"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">- 1 hair donation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br> - 5 references (and 1 thank you lunch)<br><br>- 1 scholarship awarded<br><br>- A handful of days spent in only my pajamas<br><br>- 1 major house cleaning completed by yours truly<br><br>- 1 bout of gastroenteritis (stomach flu)<br><br>- 1 garage sale<br><br>- 1 marathon training plan nearly completed<br><br>- 1 SIBO (small intestinal bacterial overgrowth) diagnosis<br><br>- 30 blog posts written<br><br>- Numerous books read - too many to name (and not nearly enough)<br><br>- 1 freelance writing gig completed (and 1 story published!)<br><br>- 1 dinner at State Bird Provisions<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9MuVuVhWU0MSpP2honM58WLata-5-T3Xow_R-RZ7q6uZtvwxQCRSIr2Fg9Xf6ug8D2a-aqJKxq-ZiIDKIlDGBqxUr-hC1yM6YQ-OQ3w_gIuqhLNYytCArajPHK5BhxnuJC5pX-uhyphenhyphenR4/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9MuVuVhWU0MSpP2honM58WLata-5-T3Xow_R-RZ7q6uZtvwxQCRSIr2Fg9Xf6ug8D2a-aqJKxq-ZiIDKIlDGBqxUr-hC1yM6YQ-OQ3w_gIuqhLNYytCArajPHK5BhxnuJC5pX-uhyphenhyphenR4/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG" width="200"></a><br>- 3 Bingo nights<br><br>- 1 social media campaign launched<br><br>- 1 laptop purchased and repaired<br><br>- 1 iBook written<br><br>- 2 races run <br><br>- 2 serious job offers<br><br>And, finally<br><br>- 1 job offer accepted</span><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwgwdP3xDpVAZWfaaHOykq2PNu1GA0bQKv6RXZQykFWklI3PmPiHrVfWyuuJXyHfATC3Sq3tXL3JOOIEgrPuc18BjKFm6q1FJWph2PxbyY313C04M887WVIkFh7VyqliP-8bLSQUrE2g/s1600/IMG_1014.JPG"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mexico always changes its clocks at 2am on the last Saturday/Sunday of October. The U.S. typically changes its clocks after Halloween. So, this year Mexico fell back on October 25; the U.S. on November 2. Normally these facts don't matter. Except all of a sudden they mattered to me. Because I was traveling internationally during one country's time change, I started questioning what it would mean logistically. Would I get an extra hour of sleep or would I end up missing my flight? How could I be sure just what time it was?<br /><br />What I experienced last week in Mexico was a small reminder of the chaos I experienced during an entire year of "daylight saving" time in Honduras. One of my favorite all time Peace Corps stories I referred to as, "the year I had no idea what time it was." I'm not exaggerating. Honduras has become a prime example of many things gone wrong, including telling time.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I will explain the horribly confusing time change a little later in this post.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There are actually two different time issues I've been referring to: one is the topic of time zones. The other is daylight saving time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Look at this map of the world. What are the world's largest (and widest) countries? Do they have more than one time zone?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnbS3YkCLnFByFBI6DQd_lGN5VSE9dTFuELVXYj_dWKyUPHrNZz9iy1kTG9aN3VOASUIBdeFTVIAw8kbYf59O68x4AGbXorj3gqPpgh28ANklTZ0K5DIHGPF2B3mm1TNDukoJJ15-Rec/s1600/fuseaux.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnbS3YkCLnFByFBI6DQd_lGN5VSE9dTFuELVXYj_dWKyUPHrNZz9iy1kTG9aN3VOASUIBdeFTVIAw8kbYf59O68x4AGbXorj3gqPpgh28ANklTZ0K5DIHGPF2B3mm1TNDukoJJ15-Rec/s1600/fuseaux.gif" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Furthermore, should some of these larger countries have more than one time zone? Look at China. What do you think?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What is my view on time zones? I'm pro. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here's why. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There were a few questions I was always asked while living in Honduras. How old was I? Where was I from? How many children did I have? What time was it in the U.S.? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yep, I was constantly asked what time it was in the U.S. My answer? Well, that depended. Was I going to give the simple answer or the complicated answer?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The simple answer was, "the same time as here." I mean, Honduras is on CST, which is the same time zone as my parents' home (aka the last place I lived before leaving for the Peace Corps). The complicated answer was, "it depends." Because in reality it does depend; on what time zone you're referring to.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_BHfbxR7XAcaeWAErT9lxpvKh9USOZVowYMH9hucSAavEDXGeSuZZ6byGBhBt7Jy_-em1Q2M1wlx4K0cTfCgKjdtgmpvT9y5God-DUPIegruOwDBVMRE4CHDaUuyFVS0QEMGwsgFbJU/s1600/North_America_Time-Zones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_BHfbxR7XAcaeWAErT9lxpvKh9USOZVowYMH9hucSAavEDXGeSuZZ6byGBhBt7Jy_-em1Q2M1wlx4K0cTfCgKjdtgmpvT9y5God-DUPIegruOwDBVMRE4CHDaUuyFVS0QEMGwsgFbJU/s1600/North_America_Time-Zones.jpg" height="316" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had a giant world map on my living room wall (and a U.S. map on the other wall). If I found myself in a "teachable moment" as I often did, then I would casually escort my inquisitive guest over to the living room wall and explain about the many time zones in the U.S. It was also helpful in answering the additional questions I was frequently asked, such as, "what's the weather in the U.S.?" or, "my cousins live in Miami, is that nearby?" Geography for the win.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />According to World Time Zones, "in order to efficiently use and measure time, everyone in the world would like to fix noon as the time at which the sun is at its highest point in the sky (i.e. when it is crossing the meridian). However, this seems to be impossible without the use of time zones."<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 </span>Well said. I think I'll keep subscribing to the time zone concept.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Which actually brings me to the second issue I mentioned earlier; daylight saving time. Currently, the U.S. is not on daylight saving time; i.e. we are not currently saving daylight. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYf5ao8hMVE0Y9qivFfgEhoxB4SuihNZSwAk0DCrh3ZZ-XkEzbOrqAvInT0hEIqbBitZO99rUPaeP1KHSxwSlp5uAuv7YGQRbm1WN5fXKFQbGwK_N_2ZQ7L7xRUsiMtQtRSXTCW9tblU/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYf5ao8hMVE0Y9qivFfgEhoxB4SuihNZSwAk0DCrh3ZZ-XkEzbOrqAvInT0hEIqbBitZO99rUPaeP1KHSxwSlp5uAuv7YGQRbm1WN5fXKFQbGwK_N_2ZQ7L7xRUsiMtQtRSXTCW9tblU/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg" height="140" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In a nutshell, the sun goes down early in the afternoon, so we spend many more hours using lights until we go to sleep; non-daylight saving time is significantly less energy efficient. If I go to bed at 11pm year-round, using 2 hours of lights (from 9pm-11pm) is much less wasteful than using lights for 6 hours every night (5pm-11pm). It's simple math. So, I'm liking daylight saving time so far.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />But what happens when a country doesn't have much electricity? Well, I can tell you this from experience; when you don't have electricity, you wake up when the sun comes up and go to sleep when the sun goes down. It honestly does not matter what time the clock says; you can call it any time you'd like. You will still wake up when the sun comes up and go to sleep when the sun goes down. I don't know the last time you lived in a town without electricity, but I can also tell you that when it is dark out, it is dark. Pitch black to be exact. And it is not safe to be up and out after dark. There's nothing left to do except head to bed.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Which is why the Honduran government's (pre-coup government, mind you) decision to institute daylight saving, while grounded in energy efficiency, in reality only led to constant confusion. For example, when I lived in the village without electricity, I woke up naturally when the sun rose at 5:30am. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The bus into town also came by at 5:30am. But was the bus (since it was run by a "company" and went into "town") now on daylight saving time? Would it come by at 5:30am sprung forward? How was I supposed to know? </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje2tBs01dnTynOVpd6wGayyf9MPKAT7Hsta33Oa31Os8_WQm7KCh8vkj-gBZ1LzZ3HKfAU89oYZMMjklqdMxEOHTgwsdxagVc1Z8t62kzZ2itnKhKwOLXAcDkEosWZEtm8QNX3-zLHZE/s1600/clock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje2tBs01dnTynOVpd6wGayyf9MPKAT7Hsta33Oa31Os8_WQm7KCh8vkj-gBZ1LzZ3HKfAU89oYZMMjklqdMxEOHTgwsdxagVc1Z8t62kzZ2itnKhKwOLXAcDkEosWZEtm8QNX3-zLHZE/s1600/clock.jpg" height="190" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What time is it where?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Imagine this scenario: not knowing what time (the new hour or the old hour) each individual business was using. Honestly, not only did I have no idea what time it was for an entire year but I arrived everywhere an hour early in case they were on the new time. Was the bus going to leave for home at 1pm new time or 1pm old time (12pm new time)? I had no choice but to show up at 12pm and even then the bus drivers themselves wouldn't be sure what time they were leaving. It was awesome. Because I would just take that bus back to the village, where there was no electricity, and just head to bed when the sun went down (which was either 7:30pm new time or 6:30pm old time). Then I'd wake up when the sun came up (which was either 6:30am new time or 5:30pm old time). How are you doing with all this? Does your head hurt yet? Imagine living this way for 365 days. </span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I also want to point out something about the sunrise and sunset times I have listed; they are real times. What I'm getting at is that Honduras is almost on the same latitude as the equator. This means that over the course of a year, I knew, to the minute, what time the sun would set and the sun would rise. Honduras always has between 11-13 hours of sunlight every day and 11-13 hours of darkness every day. Honduras didn't exactly need daylight saving time; it seemed run by the sun.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WdeRsZ89YiVIISJ3UyoEmi6Q4EAPEaXcf_Culb617rwOZ-Ni5oZOTVXg3JiRfpCDB8mHEF2txFIPD0Afqz-0w1pqJtk2Y4R_op4nnuRLMX9PiImJXOzK9VGxICVrMYNDV1Bwuue9OSM/s1600/images+-+Copy.jpg" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WdeRsZ89YiVIISJ3UyoEmi6Q4EAPEaXcf_Culb617rwOZ-Ni5oZOTVXg3JiRfpCDB8mHEF2txFIPD0Afqz-0w1pqJtk2Y4R_op4nnuRLMX9PiImJXOzK9VGxICVrMYNDV1Bwuue9OSM/s1600/images+-+Copy.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here's how the internet describes equatorial latitude: If you live near the equator, day and night are nearly the same length (12 hours). But elsewhere on Earth, there is much more daylight in the summer than in the winter. The closer you live to the North or South Pole, the longer the period of daylight in the summer. Thus, Daylight Saving Time (Summer Time) is usually not helpful in the tropics, and countries near the equator generally do not change their clocks.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">2</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />I also want to mention the outcome of Honduras' little energy saving pilot. In the end, the program did not save any money or electricity. All it did was create confusion. And let me know that, despite my preoccupation with being on time, it really doesn't matter what time it is. It just hurts your head a little if you try to think about it too much. It also probably means that in order for Honduras to keep up with the rest of the world, most (if not all) of the country should have reliable electricity. But I'm pretty sure that's a different blog post completely.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">1. </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.worldtimezones.com/guides/facts_and_figures_about_time_zones</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">2. http://www.webexhibits.org/daylightsaving/</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I recently found myself in the
middle of a sociological experiment. And I'm thrilled it turned out to be an
actual empirical experiment, complete with controls, data collection, and
results. But I'm getting ahead of myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><b>The Competition:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Because I can't divulge the details, I'll explain what happened like this: I promised to help a company get votes. This has actually happened to me a few
times in the past year. Social media presence is becoming more and more
prevalent in our work environments.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you spend any amount of time
online, you've probably also seen ads asking you to vote for an emerging small
business trying to win BIG money from any number of business grants. These
contests are neat ideas; they have launched some super awesome businesses (as
well as some less than stellar ones).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
But getting people to vote for a company is not easy. I knew it wouldn't be,
but I also had no idea just how hard it would turn out to be. I quickly made my way through all the
people I know personally and individually asked every single one of them vote
(as many times as possible). And they did. I am honored to call these
people my friends. Hundreds of people stepped up to the plate simply because I
asked them too. Incredible, yes, but unfortunately not good enough. So next, I tweeted about the
vote. I posted it on LinkedIn (and made ALL of these posts public). Yes, I even
used Google+, which I'm honestly still not sure how to use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then the company searching for votes decided to put some money into the
project. It paid Facebook to sponsor the vote getting posts. This means Facebook will put the
post on the walls of your friends' friends. Supposedly over 1500 people saw our ads on their Facebook walls. How many votes do you think this got us? I bet you can venture an educated guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
At the end of a long vote getting day my boyfriend saw me struggling. I had
exhausted every personal relationship I had. Who else could I turn to? I'd have
to rely on the virtual kindness of strangers. But I kept circling back to the why; why would an online stranger help our company? The truth is, he or she won't. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So that led me right back to reality. To real people. And then my boyfriend came up with one hell of a "get the vote out" campaign. After giving me his own long-winded explanation of human behavior, his point was that he thoroughly believed a quid pro quo campaign was where we'd get those final votes to come in. So we decided to give his plan a
try; we'd offer something back to actual complete strangers.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3t3meXtrJvZw8YXgsCF-fQaDAuW8xqpuMCigImJ3u6eXO-KPLpCwigLCGP8FTW_zE6lNZ5baAoKEixN-wwWNx5qqlC4ifZHkYfPFoSd3WSL3JelCpG6lnWBMd-es9fkf4vrPusuzV5zk/s1600/Quid_pro_quo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3t3meXtrJvZw8YXgsCF-fQaDAuW8xqpuMCigImJ3u6eXO-KPLpCwigLCGP8FTW_zE6lNZ5baAoKEixN-wwWNx5qqlC4ifZHkYfPFoSd3WSL3JelCpG6lnWBMd-es9fkf4vrPusuzV5zk/s400/Quid_pro_quo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So first I baked cookies. Then I went out in public and asked people to vote. At the same time (or usually after speaking with a passersby) I was handing
out cookies to anyone who wanted one.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
I had NO idea if this plan would work. Or if I would get thrown out of the park. Or possibly even arrested. Would strangers actually accept a cookie baked in a
total stranger's home? Perhaps I should have brought store bought cookies instead. In the end, I
ended up baking snickerdoodle and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I made a
sign. I generated a QR code. I made stickers. And I placed each cookie in an individual cupcake holder
(Costco sample style). I had a stack of napkins. I was going to give it a
shot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8l7ktXx6O3bPMfH3sRudoFUGFJrgCduE3FSzBYiH6vvQuvyXviWc9F2HueSZ_FnJ9aQNqvflaxs-1cL_hRA6jbsmh9vZDeMIqD-MoJnJuLYrm5DbO79jiGkH8CFt_LmezrBINVlOXSE/s1600/kd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8l7ktXx6O3bPMfH3sRudoFUGFJrgCduE3FSzBYiH6vvQuvyXviWc9F2HueSZ_FnJ9aQNqvflaxs-1cL_hRA6jbsmh9vZDeMIqD-MoJnJuLYrm5DbO79jiGkH8CFt_LmezrBINVlOXSE/s200/kd.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>The Results:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
In the end, we spent $15 promoting the competition on social media sites. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Conveniently, I also spent $15 buying the raw
ingredients to bake the cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Thus, I found myself facing an equal opportunity investment plan
with differing strategies. Lining up the digital world vs the real world, which
one do you think came out ahead with procuring votes for an unknown company?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
According to The Fundraising Manager, "relationships
matter." And never have I realized just how much they do matter until
I had to reach out to every personal relationship I have.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How did the marketing fare? By the numbers, the promotion of the site to 1500 strangers led to zero votes. Yep, no additional votes.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Standing on the street for 4 hours led to 20 votes. Yes, 20 votes! It doesn't seem like a lot (I got hundreds by asking people I knew), but when you're looking at the amount of votes received by unknown persons, a human interaction makes a difference. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So there you have it. Go out and bug somebody. They might just listen to you. And if you're lucky, they'll even cast a vote for you. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Don't sit at home sending generic requests out into cyberspace. Unless you want to have exactly no more friends than you did before you started. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
This Forbes article is so helpful! Here's why asking for votes while handing
out free cookies is more effective than just asking.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/jaysondemers/2014/03/27/5-reasons-why-your-social-media-campaign-isnt-working/">http://www.forbes.com/sites/jaysondemers/2014/03/27/5-reasons-why-your-social-media-campaign-isnt-working/</a></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-51739961439874875772014-10-29T12:05:00.000-07:002014-10-29T20:03:23.322-07:00my eleven<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I'm running my weekly long run (we're talking anywhere from 10 to 20 miles these days), my guard drops and the truth of who I am and what I can accomplish comes out. I have heard too many times that running is 10% physical, 90% mental. I have found this to be the case if running conditions are optimal and I can focus on each step I take; counting as I breathe, envisioning myself making it over the hill, adjusting my gait to try to hit heel first once and a while. So yeah, every so often I find myself in ideal running conditions and I feel incredible. But most of the time, runs are hard and my body starts to physically break down. Frequently, running is just as physically challenging as mentally challenging; it's more 50/50 for me. I find myself having to push through the pain just to make it through every run.</span><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldPLhX5Ck057rQkomRtHxj90bq-LgxGqqmOlZHbBQWtDBS12ZLGobyYTe3FOyp_wfXpvskglPBgwQzeNyAY3nnTWukOLdMBY4wgDLZb-T9kfj49FzobXslBVyt6cOTafWdzQJ0c9yl4k/s1600/doris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldPLhX5Ck057rQkomRtHxj90bq-LgxGqqmOlZHbBQWtDBS12ZLGobyYTe3FOyp_wfXpvskglPBgwQzeNyAY3nnTWukOLdMBY4wgDLZb-T9kfj49FzobXslBVyt6cOTafWdzQJ0c9yl4k/s1600/doris.jpg" height="85" width="400"></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">Since there is a lot of physical strength involved in running, I take my distance run training seriously. I follow a plan. And because there is also my mental toughness being developed, I read A LOT about running. I read at least five running articles a day, covering everything from the most common mistakes runners make to how to pace yourself while training for your next long race. When it comes to running articles, I don't discriminate; I read them all. But they are all, to a degree, saying the same thing; they are giving the same tips. A friend appropriately pointed out to me that these articles are being published online as pieces from commercial enterprises; basically I need to take what they choose to write about with a grain of salt. The ultimate goal of Women's Running Magazine is to sell magazines. It's not a hidden agenda; it's actually clear and appropriate. So they post clever articles about the ten best running gadgets (really?) and what to eat the week before a marathon. And it can be helpful. But so is actually putting on your shoes (they'll tell you how to pick the best shoes for running, too) and hitting the pavement. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Typically, a running magazine/blog/article/website will have something super generic, like this article from Active entitled, "<a href="http://www.active.com/running/articles/10-tips-for-injury-free-running">10 tips for injury free running</a>."<br><br>But by learning to run miles around my town several times a week, here is what I have learned (and some of it isn't pretty).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1. Sprints work. A year and a half ago I started lifting weights with a trainer. I became, and still feel, strong. One of the first and best warm-ups my trainer showed me was running sprints. Run 45 seconds on the treadmill or the pavement as fast as you possibly can, walk fast for 90 seconds, while waiting for my heart rate to drop about 30 bpm (to around 140 bpm). And then once again sprint for 45 seconds again, walk for 90 seconds, repeating this for as long as you like, for no more than 30 minutes. I typically run 1.5 miles in 15 minutes at this pace and I love it. It may at first be hard to make the full 45 seconds (30 seconds is fine, or work your way up from 20 seconds to 45 seconds with time and practice), but it has helped my race stamina tremendously. I ran a 12K three weeks ago and I was so prepared for the shorter distance race that I ran the last half mile in a full on sprint. And I crossed the finish line with a huge smile across my face. Sprinting works for me.</span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaWs5JT8EtBGjuYkm4upflbCDN84OTLnqNaXhlUA4v3QHzqauJuLEiOOp-4wObga0AqPqbM6AUeL3gWJHGkPtbgaremEW2Y_hJ3JTzCKt6YmEiDKQ0YGZb176XqvE3ISQm7E2gOQNj14/s1600/121843-063-027t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaWs5JT8EtBGjuYkm4upflbCDN84OTLnqNaXhlUA4v3QHzqauJuLEiOOp-4wObga0AqPqbM6AUeL3gWJHGkPtbgaremEW2Y_hJ3JTzCKt6YmEiDKQ0YGZb176XqvE3ISQm7E2gOQNj14/s1600/121843-063-027t.jpg"></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2. Every part of me can sweat. And it does. My elbows sweat. Okay, my elbows probably don't technically sweat, but there is a constant stream of sweat beads forming on and then shaking themselves off of my elbows. I now know that I sweat in places I didn't think possible. And you will too. My hair drips water out of my ponytail. My boobs sweat soo much they chafe. Trust me, NO ONE told me in any article about boob chafing. But it's true, we will all chafe at some point. So run out and buy yourself some body glide and don't be afraid to cover yourself with it. Because it works. "Chafing" is no longer a part of my running vocabulary. No more covering everything with band-aids - I've evolved.</span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJuuE4RnnAXDl282mDIPLqogLFlaZtqPaRCUoZXftATobCinq-H-bPyRF1VzAa6dhJ2U0DikyBPP_MZlIu6tXCkl6DMExWUqo8OXiWgFTlDlCS5CizA22QARcv3mEWdPm1t95UrxtkvE/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJuuE4RnnAXDl282mDIPLqogLFlaZtqPaRCUoZXftATobCinq-H-bPyRF1VzAa6dhJ2U0DikyBPP_MZlIu6tXCkl6DMExWUqo8OXiWgFTlDlCS5CizA22QARcv3mEWdPm1t95UrxtkvE/s1600/Untitleddocument.jpg" height="135" width="400"></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3. My hip hurts when I run. Okay, this I actually did read about in a running magazine. But it's also something important that affects me. Because only my right hip hurts. But wow does it hurt. It has ALMOST caused me to stop every long run I've ever attempted. But it hasn't yet. Instead, my hip just hurts and I deal with it, typically starting mid-run. But it's only on the right side. Go figure.</span></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgz6qcvga_3MMGO2Y1XdgvMliHXp-ZTUEc4OV5m86qdo8vXc4Fj1B8yF4vWhM8_KlkalX4vY39w1iTsQQmozDzPSnj0A3B-uiZIRFjbwp_Wq5sabJkngp05bPcFr1YGniI6dCfczslxTc/s1600/running-quote.jpg" height="137" title="http://www.curatedquotes.com/picture-quotes/run-can-walk/" width="200"></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">http://www.curatedquotes.com/picture-quotes/run-can-walk/</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">4. There are runners who race. But there are other runners who don't. I race every once and a while (once or twice a year) because I love the actual race. I race to see the city in the morning. I race to experience the joy of running with total strangers. I race to push myself to my limit. And, as a novice, I race to figure out my pace; to get a sense of just how long and how fast (or slow) I am actually running. But there are many people I know who are true runners that don't ever race. Racing is not for them. But they are more dedicated to running than I have ever been. Non racers run several times a week, and have been for years. And they will continue to run long after I've given up.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">5. I do the Gu. At first, I was skeptical of using gels and goos. I can still not need any pre-race prep. Sometimes it's okay just to tie on my shoes, go outside, and run 7 miles. No problem. But on longer runs, I found I was always hitting a half-marathon wall at mile 11. The last two miles were always evil, and felt torturous, and were in the end just too much for me. Until I started running with Gu. Gu helps. Sugar helps. The best long run I've ever had included 2 cookies and coffee pre-run, two Gus during run, and a Gatorade post-run. This got me through my longest run ever. The Gu definitely helped.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">6. And cookies help too. Before a long run, I eat cookies and coffee. I have tried all other recommended breakfasts, from bananas to dry toast, peanut butter on bagels, and energy bars. I've even tried salad (an ultra-marathoners go-to breakfast), but I'd find myself throwing up by mile 8 if I hadn't eaten anything. Until I found cookies. A cookie (or four) pre-run has enough sugar to get me through the first few miles happily and don't come back up during the last few miles. It's not the advice any magazine would recommend, but it's what works for me. So I'm going to stick with it. (Runners World actually slightly agrees with me; Eat 2 Run and everyone else does not).</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">7. I foam roll religiously. This little piece of PVC pipe covered in foam is one of the best investments I have ever made. I love it. I foam roll almost every day. It's not necessary, but I also can't remember the last time my quads and calves have been sore post-run. Foam rolling helps with lactic acid in my legs and helps my muscles recover faster. Foam rolling hurts, at first. But then it's wonderful and I love every minute of it. I foam roll post-run and sometimes even soak my legs in an Epsom salt bath. I have skinny little legs with almost no muscle; my pencil stick legs used to hurt every single day. Now my legs (especially my quads) never scream. Well, almost never...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">8. I don't run with an iPhone. And I am in the minority. Because I run outside several times a week, I typically run laps around San Francisco and I end up passing a lot of fellow runners. 90% of those running have their iPhones on them. I, on the other hand, do not. For many simple and personal reasons. The main reason is that it's heavy and bulky. The iPod nano 6th gen (with the clip and Nike+ tracking) is a runner's dream device. I use it every day. It also has incredible battery life; my iPhone does not. It holds 10,000 songs and my iPhone most certainly does not. My iPod Nano doesn't require holding it in my hand or require me to attach a giant armband (that honestly breaks every time) to my arm. So I leave my iPhone at home. Because I do this, you also can't reach me when I'm out on a run. While no one really cares that I'm unavailable for a few hours every week, I also won't post pictures taken during a run. I'd probably like to, but not enough that I would try juggling an iPhone on my arm during a 16 mile run. I only carry my iPhone when I am in a new place, like going on a random run down the beach in Mexico, getting lost on a jog through Lima, or running in the dark (its flashlight is awesome).</span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTQ7peskWjkvBQ2HH36d5UuZ3El010PuZjzVaUf-UKYrokquIHdA6JS06hA_y7ow8N667Sz3EpyVy2tCkvHoyMSydEet-X1Vn2chI1pefDKwxaVzR0dsvOCaZechLV3HfN2StJxiTBlE/s1600/IMG_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTQ7peskWjkvBQ2HH36d5UuZ3El010PuZjzVaUf-UKYrokquIHdA6JS06hA_y7ow8N667Sz3EpyVy2tCkvHoyMSydEet-X1Vn2chI1pefDKwxaVzR0dsvOCaZechLV3HfN2StJxiTBlE/s1600/IMG_0129.JPG" height="200" width="195"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">iPhone 6s vs iPod Nano 6th gen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9. I do run with a safety net; I carry my clipper card. I bring my bus pass with me on every long run just in case. To date, I have never had to stop mid-run nor been stranded miles from home. But in the event that I do have to stop for any number of valid reasons, I know I can always hop on a bus and be home shortly. I did this after my 12K a few weeks ago. The race ended miles from my home and since I didn't have my iPhone with me, I couldn't call a friend or even a cab. So I took the bus. And I was home in a snap. It was awesome. Because going out on a 14 mile run is difficult enough for me, knowing that if I'm having an off day or a bad run, I can always get home. This makes me feel okay. And that takes a load off my already jumpy nerves.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">10. I wish all my toenails were gone. Currently, I've only got about seven remaining. And there are another one or two that are so badly bruised they should be falling off soon. The remaining toenails I wish would just hit the road. Currently, having toenails only adds to the pain. If I didn't have any nails on my toes, they wouldn't rub in my shoes and wouldn't cause any pain. And, thus, life would be better (don't worry, you don't have to see my nail-less toes; I don't typically wear sandals). If the first thing that comes to mind when I mention removing my toenails is torture, you would technically be correct. While the ripping off of toenails has been used as a mechanism of torture, simply allowing us runners (or maybe just me) to remove our whole toenails would actually make us very happy.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">11. I love to talk about running, but it's not my whole life. I also talk about the book I'm reading, the trip I'm taking, what's new with my family, how things are going with my start-up company, and some of the new volunteer projects I've got going on. But I do talk A LOT about running. I'm not obsessed, I'm just in new territory and I'm scared. It's always in the back of my mind; what does this week look like? When will I fit my long run in? What will I do for my shorter runs and sprints and cross-training? Do I have everything I need to run my best run? What are my goals for the week? These thoughts (and more) are constantly running through my mind. So yeah, I may seem a little running obsessed lately. But I'm new to the run-life balance. I'd like to think I'm getting better at it every passing week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So that's a look at what running is like for me. We all feel differently about running. But hopefully you too have wondered HOW your elbows manage to sweat. Or perhaps your loved ones also think that when you foam roll you're simply inflicting unnecessary pain on yourself and they will never enjoy doing it themselves. Or maybe you love taking mid-run selfies and I'm nuts to run without an iPhone (it certainly appears that way). Whatever gets you from mile 0 to mile 1 and all the way to mile 26 is what matters. For me, it involves a heavy amount of toe bandaging and dozens of sugar cookies. And lacing up my shoes for yet another 2+ hour run. And loving (almost) every minute of it.</span><br>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-81219089118687812602014-10-17T08:08:00.002-07:002014-12-20T13:21:52.184-08:00homework<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.”</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">― Steven Wright</span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c76f48dd-1e9e-48aa-bfac-838d2b28def0"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I recently began applying for jobs, and I've gotten pretty good at it. I have gone through all the motions, from meeting with a career counselor, to networking myself through everyone I know (and may know) thanks to LinkedIn. I have applied for too many jobs to count, but I'm getting responses. Over the past four weeks I have averaged four interviews every week. I'm talking about all kinds of interviews, from informational to in-person. </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is a very time consuming process, mostly because each interaction requires scheduling, research, and time. I take each interview pretty seriously. Until I don't. Because, inevitably, something in the process will rub me the wrong way. No longer being interested in the position, not being able to come to a consensus on salary, or not wanting to work with the staff are all very solid reasons not to take a job. I have used all these reasons to withdraw my candidacy from consideration. But I have also come across one more reason to run away from any given job opportunity. And that is when I'm given too much homework.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know it has been a few years since I've set out to seek full time employment, but since when has it been okay for employers to take advantage of candidates? I am actually shocked at the amount of work I have been asked to complete throughout various stages of interviewing.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">https://jobmob.co.il/blog/funny-ikea-job-interview-cartoon/</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c76f48dd-1e9f-194d-32cd-deb156863aba"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two recent instances have stuck in my craw. The first was an interview granted with a wonderful educational organization. Before I even spoke to anyone about this position, I was sent a letter (in the mail) with two items. One was a parking pass for my scheduled interview date and time. And the second was a request to give a one-hour presentation to a board of representatives at the organization. The presentation topic? A complete proposal for a multi-year $250,000 grant, based on the type of programming the organization runs. But I didn't know what type of programs the organization runs. It's not apparent on their non-existent website. I hadn't even spoken with anyone at the organization about the position, let alone what would be beneficial to it. I was extremely frustrated.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But that's not what upset me the most. The most ridiculous part of this assignment was for me to do the work for the organization. If I were to write an incredible multi-year grant proposal under any other circumstances, I would be appropriately compensated. Actually, I have been compensated for this type of work for over ten years now. I am not going to give away my secret grant-writing formula for free, no matter how much I want the job. In the end, I called the organization, left a voice-mail, and bowed out of the interview process. Mostly because I don't want to write grants full time, so it's clearly not the right position nor the best fit organization for me. But also because I was not going to do the work they inappropriately asked of me.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmhi9YTWPsv_xfRbYCCawjw_GZy6X-qaaXjgsNr6Ti-0nMxiyBYKcX6M8awea8hYBIa70xn81d09rD7Hi33ENj7WOiJoSx5LP2TacjuHr3xkDyO4kd1VEAO8GX1jhWGGBUC-FsgeM-mk/s1600/69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmhi9YTWPsv_xfRbYCCawjw_GZy6X-qaaXjgsNr6Ti-0nMxiyBYKcX6M8awea8hYBIa70xn81d09rD7Hi33ENj7WOiJoSx5LP2TacjuHr3xkDyO4kd1VEAO8GX1jhWGGBUC-FsgeM-mk/s1600/69.jpg" height="199" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> http://www.snotm.com/2011/05/69-never-work-for-free.html</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c76f48dd-1e9f-9d0f-3011-12deebc585d7"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The second homework assignment I received recently was to plan an event for an organization I had been currently interviewing with. I understand the idea of raising the expectations for a candidate in a second round of interviews. But asking me to present my complete event proposal for an event that will be happening early next year is just an absolute abuse of power. Again, asking for all my ideas and taking them to plan an event is not an ethical way to work. It's not how I work. And I wouldn't work for an organization that treated others this way. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrLu_WgpnyYsEeYx_5GF-87U2qPLiQMSH5rnzsA0BfZmC4hjbnnGZDlFfzvwOpyNw1CFYtHaU8Wh6PRDE_BwBtC5RhGAm71YwHf8D7R51yWP3igj5Y713og_L9du6-rFX67GhvqFwNT0/s1600/Intellect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrLu_WgpnyYsEeYx_5GF-87U2qPLiQMSH5rnzsA0BfZmC4hjbnnGZDlFfzvwOpyNw1CFYtHaU8Wh6PRDE_BwBtC5RhGAm71YwHf8D7R51yWP3igj5Y713og_L9du6-rFX67GhvqFwNT0/s1600/Intellect.jpg" height="106" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">http://www.statusant.com/</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c76f48dd-1ea0-1ef3-bfa8-2659eb6c29ef"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What is acceptable is the following: arrive at said interview with a few concrete ideas to discuss, Then, the organization hires me, and I complete said ideas. Sounds like a pretty awesome plan. On the other hand, for me to present to the organization's entire staff for over an hour, lay out how I'd secure each vendor and contact each vendor for an upcoming event is the very definition of work. Again, I'd expect to be compensated. This is true event planning/consulting work. And it is usually accompanied by a large amount of monetary compensation. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the end, I wanted the position at this second organization, so I did the work. I presented my event plan, complete with budget templates and event checklists. But the truth is that my heart wasn't in the proposal. No longer did I hope for a job offer at this organization. The idea of free labor is what I expected to provide over twelve years ago when I was an intern. A decade later, I've got two degrees and a world of experience. </span></span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">http://filmmakeriq.com/2012/04/do-not-work-for-free-for-exposure-the-wrap/</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me make sure I am clear about one thing: I am not saying every time I use my skill set, I should be compensated. I'm not saying that at all. Anyone who knows me knows that I use my knowledge, experience, and passion for good. I am currently writing grants, raising money, designing websites, planning events, and even training a student on the grant-writing process, all for free. I am a volunteer. I am happy to help. But there is a very distinct line for me between being a volunteer and being taken advantage of. When I'm working, there is the expectation of monetary compensation. When I am volunteering, I receive a reward of the non-monetary kind. And that works for me. But I'm not talking about the volunteer part of my life. I'm talking about my livelihood, the money I use to pay my rent, and eat, and pay the internet bill so I can afford to post this blog online.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1c4lUyci4zp0Apao31-9a9vJ4Zi71fC38HuxHIsnqvl90Y_7o7JAztHrU_mcoG3H1iUBtKRQrJwKU9xr18nN1byT1XciUbtOFR39W4bgdCBqft61zMvazv1MmCNbGIPeWZBhmgzECN8/s1600/Churchill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1c4lUyci4zp0Apao31-9a9vJ4Zi71fC38HuxHIsnqvl90Y_7o7JAztHrU_mcoG3H1iUBtKRQrJwKU9xr18nN1byT1XciUbtOFR39W4bgdCBqft61zMvazv1MmCNbGIPeWZBhmgzECN8/s1600/Churchill.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Plus, it's not an all or nothing job interview homework mentality I'm holding. For instance, I am not against skill set exercises. One company asked me to complete a data merge and collate said data, drawing conclusions based on the data. This exercise took 20 minutes and I was happy to do it. Apparently my Excel skills passed the test, because I was asked to come in for a second interview. Score!</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But what surprised me about this data collation activity was the simplicity of the exercise. Granted, I needed to use equations across multiple spreadsheets, but in the event that I wasn't sure how to do this, I could have always used Google. It is common practice for most people I know; if you don't know something, or need to fix something, or have a general question about how anything works, you get on your computer (or phone, or tablet) and Google it. Then you have your answer. I suppose a better test of my skills as a potential employee would have been to ask me, "if we asked you to create pivot tables in an Excel document and you don't know how, what would you do?" I could quickly answer, "I'd Google the question and teach myself the answer." There you go. Clearly I can learn anything I don't know how to do. I am industrious. I will make an awesome employee.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have used this tactic before. Haven't we all? During a phone interview I actually said I knew how to create pivot tables. The night before I went in to the in-person interview, knowing I'd have to speak specifically on the pivot table topic, possibly even tested on it, I taught myself pivot tables. I know how to use the internet, a skill which will, no doubt, help me secure my next full time gig. In the meantime, just don't ask me to solve your company's issues for free. You'll have to hire me first. </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Here is Forbes Magazine's approach to job interview homework: <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/dailymuse/2014/05/29/what-every-job-seeker-should-know-about-work-assignments-during-the-interview-process/">http://www.forbes.com/sites/dailymuse/2014/05/29/what-every-job-seeker-should-know-about-work-assignments-during-the-interview-process/</a></span></span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-14538151567459800602014-10-02T10:53:00.001-07:002014-10-02T10:58:40.444-07:00read on<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">“Lovers of print are simply confusing the plate for the food.” </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">― </span><i>Douglas Adams</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've been long overdue for a post about digital books. I don't know why I haven't written about this hot topic yet. Digital books, e-books, i-books. Whatever you want to call them, they are now an integral part of my everyday life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So why have I been avoiding the topic? Because I don't have any hard set opinions on which is better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is where I'm coming from (and what I'm debating).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1. I am completely undecided about digital books vs actual books. Because I read both. I know this may be hard to believe, but I currently have two hardcover books checked out from the public library, along with an audio book (which I refer to as a "cd on tape"), and at least a dozen e-books on my iPad (by way of the Kindle app). Yep, I've got books in all formats. So which is my preferred method? I still don't know. I read them all, with no major problems. +0</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96zr7wj7yOI22O19jDDCDEluZmqRKYd93odnl41Cc3H9wxiwU55LXmzjHv9hG2zgLirWxwsCcQEaZ86bY0sUjXOvNTCw1t48bf02HSF-C58xPaYz0khp3OdgdR1QrBxzdC5ry5z9zsCE/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96zr7wj7yOI22O19jDDCDEluZmqRKYd93odnl41Cc3H9wxiwU55LXmzjHv9hG2zgLirWxwsCcQEaZ86bY0sUjXOvNTCw1t48bf02HSF-C58xPaYz0khp3OdgdR1QrBxzdC5ry5z9zsCE/s1600/images+(1).jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2. I do not believe there are any long range studies that conclude without a doubt anything about the use of e-books. How can there be? The internet/e-book world hasn't been around long. I'm not saying I don't see any studies posted. I do. It's just that every week a new study comes out, typically contradicting last week's study. How about we hold off on any e-book "conclusions" until significance has been taking into consideration? +0</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3. The data does show, however, that reading online does not damage your eyes. I heard this rumor throughout college, as my classmates found themselves needing glasses more and more. This is not the fault of reading on computer screens. This is a result of aging and lots of reading in less than ideal circumstances (too close, not enough light). And I speak from experience: in the fifteen years that I have been reading 8+ hours a day on screens of all shapes and sizes, my eyesight has never gotten any worse. I will need "reading glasses" in a few years, but that's from the decrease in elasticity in the crystalline lens in my eyes, not from a lifetime of reading online. +1 digital reading.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">4. I had a horrible first experience reading online. It was in the form of the GRE exam I took my senior year of college. I didn't know until I went to register for the test, but the only way the test could be taken was on a computer. Not a huge deal for the vocabulary section, but a horrific way to attempt to answer the questions about the passage. This was over a decade ago; reading online was not interactive at all. You couldn't touch the screen, let alone highlight a word, see the whole passage alongside the questions, or go back to the passage. You had no choice but to read the passage as it was printed on the screen, half at a time, and then answer the questions on a new page. No exceptions. No underlining, no going back, no fun. It turned me off to reading online for a long long time. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">+1 actual reading. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">5. The book writing and publishing industry seems to be doing okay with the mass switch to digital books/reading. Unlike the music industry, it's a lot harder to pirate copy a book than a song. I have yet to unlawfully obtain a digital book. It's not a battle I see being waged. If anything, we are seeing more books because of digital publishing. Case and point: <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i>. Sigh. Not a selling point for digital books. +1 actual books.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71X7myF8hPlM4vWSZ7oRngsl9_4VzYE-aDgy9t6J3wLybRZvww1uhXzXzu_AypezZJwVz2ar-OnMiP20Q5rPqoL61NaNGT42ljQMwd7umvj5jG6Y_-zigdqX2gIdUtvaCRqAJ4_3BBtg/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71X7myF8hPlM4vWSZ7oRngsl9_4VzYE-aDgy9t6J3wLybRZvww1uhXzXzu_AypezZJwVz2ar-OnMiP20Q5rPqoL61NaNGT42ljQMwd7umvj5jG6Y_-zigdqX2gIdUtvaCRqAJ4_3BBtg/s1600/images.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is this what the library is starting to look like?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In summary, the digital world has yet to win me over. But it's not because it's bad for me or my eyes. It's more a behavior change. I mean, eventually my computer went from my desktop, to my lap, to my hand. It appears books are following this same course. I have found that e</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">-books travel well. Although computers/phones/tablets eventually run out of power. And they are hard to take to the beach. And I can't exactly read them in the bath. But they're portable. And they contain entire libraries of books in one single click. So, I'll give digital reading another go around. But for now, nothing beats turning the pages of an actual book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Final count: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Actual books/reading: 2 points</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Digital books/reading: 1 point</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Conclusion: Reading always wins</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2721644336868083746.post-43722185856903320472014-09-16T09:14:00.000-07:002014-09-16T09:14:58.875-07:00ojo rojo<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My last morning in Mexico I woke up with tears in my eye. After wiping them away, they quickly returned. I ran to the bathroom to see what I knew was inevitable; an eye infection. Was my eye going to be red, pink, or white? It was white. Phew, I thought, at least I won't stop traffic with my clearly infected eye. Plus, there was still time to wait before officially declaring myself with pink eye, since it wasn't puffy or pink.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have had conjunctivitis (pink eye) in more countries than I care to count. If you are not prone to eye infections, they can be scary entities. Many people don't like touching their eyes. And an eye infection scares the sh#* out of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am no such person. I've been getting eye infections my whole life. I've also worn contacts (on and off) since middle school. Sticking my fingers in my eyes is common practice for me. I have been known to put a contact back in during the most precarious of situations. Because, believe it or not, the most dangerous place for me to be in is the one where I have no way of seeing. Without prescriptive lenses, I can't see. I'm not exaggerating. My prescription is in the negative double digits and I have never met a person with worse eyesight than mine. I can't even read the clock on my nightstand without lenses.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZV-Jy5zYoeRl4cC6k1ccosccu5b9bf1aY-a6Y663HJaN0vFMDgK37gCcwTrcSm5GwBohOq8leHhyphenhyphen8mrtD1LS0VYs5hv5485JoeylG6pKknF93XwaNQffta3qFmj7WKCQGeoWPJVAdA4/s1600/lasik-benefits-image2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZV-Jy5zYoeRl4cC6k1ccosccu5b9bf1aY-a6Y663HJaN0vFMDgK37gCcwTrcSm5GwBohOq8leHhyphenhyphen8mrtD1LS0VYs5hv5485JoeylG6pKknF93XwaNQffta3qFmj7WKCQGeoWPJVAdA4/s1600/lasik-benefits-image2.jpg" /></a><br />What the world looks like to me without corrective lenses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So what does one do when she finds herself with an eye infection in a foreign land? Oh yeah, to make matters more complicated, I was on a small island off the Caribbean coast of Mexico.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I casually went down to my hotel lobby and told the lovely desk agent, "Umm... fijense que estan infectados algunos ojos." (Translation: Umm, I think some eyes might be infected). She quickly told me about a doctor with morning hours, whose office could be found above a pharmacy three blocks away. She gave me good directions (rare in Mexico), and I headed out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I found the pharmacy, but I was too early. Doctor hours didn't begin until 10am. I had two hours to kill. No problem, I'd be back. But just out of curiosity, I asked the pharmacist how much the doctor visit would cost me. $35 pesos ($3). Yep, $3 to see a doctor without an appointment. I would definitely be back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This incident reminded me of one particularly silly bout with pink eye while in Peace Corps training. As I mentioned, I have gotten pink eye about once a year my entire life. Sometimes it's bacterial and sometimes it's viral. I used to get pink eye so frequently, I'd travel with my own bottle of sulfa drops - a miracle cure, depending on the type of pink eye you've got.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had pink eye during field-based training in Danlί</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">, Honduras. One thing we like to tout about the Peace Corps is the free health insurance. So, I was taken one morning via Peace Corps white van to a doctor's office. The Peace Corps staff member with me thought my "ojo rojo" (red eye) was hilarious and everyone else was pretty much freaked out. I was calm. Another bout of pink eye. Would it be bacterial or viral this time? </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This particular bout of pink eye left my eye red, puffy, and oozing pus.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I know, gross. But it was quickly treated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Honestly, the worst part about pink eye in a tropical climate is not being able to wear contacts. During my normal life in perpetually cold San Francisco, I can wear my glasses every day. But when I want to swim, or even run a long distance, glasses just don't cut it. And I'm not about to go without. So I put in my handy contacts. And I'm good to go. Until I'm not. Because inevitably, I will get an eye infection. I know I will. And I do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So why didn't I get LASIK all those years ago? Somewhere in between all that travel, everyday life, and eye infections, my eyesight was still getting worse (along with my pesky astigmatism). My eyesight has since tapered off, but now the years are numbered before I'll need reading glasses too. I know many LASIK candidates who wear glasses for driving now. A few years without glasses? I didn't necessarily need that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Plus, glasses have become a part of who I am. They are me. Just like having brown hair and brown eyes, I wear glasses. It took me many years to be okay with wearing glasses in public (I worshipped my contact lenses for the 10 years I wore them). And I'll still wear them when playing sports. But I've become okay with wearing glasses. And I've noticed many women have as well. No girl had glasses in middle school. Everyone was getting contacts. But now, I have several friends and even an aunt who got married wearing glasses. After all, we don't expect men to get contacts, even for their weddings. So why should women have to?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The answer is we don't. Despite ridiculous websites like this one, a Wikihow entitled, "<a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Look-Good-in-Glasses-(for-Women)">how to look good in glasses (for women)</a>." Totally absurd. Just wear your glasses. You'll not only look good, you'll also see well. It's win-win.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am proud of my decision to wear glasses, even if I'll never be able to wake up and see clearly without them. Even if it means sleeping with a watch to be able to read the time while in bed, or wearing glasses in the shower so I can see where I'm walking (and also find the shampoo). And yes, my glasses break. And contacts dry out my eyes. And my eyes get infected. And I'll never have cool sunglasses (I have prescription ones, but because my prescription is so strong, the lenses are in super small frames which looks silly). But, I'll look like me. And that's what makes me the happiest.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05663640167402427412noreply@blogger.com0