Something of My Own

Wednesday morning I woke up in tears. Mainly because it was Wednesday, which isn't exactly as bad as Monday, but almost. The evil class is on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Last week we all got our homework handed back to us to redo because it wasn't perfectly precise. I will have you know that I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist. At least that's what I thought... until I met this instructor. No, I'm just a normal girl with high standards. This woman (I think she's younger than me) got her PhD at Princeton and expects us to meet the standards they had for their PhD's. We're masters students. And we're state schooled. Not just state schooled... CSU state schooled. We're not even UC.

On Monday, when we handed in our re-done homework, she said "So... how is the proposal writing going?"

Crickets.

No one has started analyzing the data for the proposal yet because we've all got 2 assignments to turn in to her this coming Monday and we're all (including me) behind on the reading. And there's a midterm coming up.

"Does anyone want to share their topic idea with me and see if it's a good idea?"

Crickets. Because no one has had time to look at the data.

Wednesday I wanted to be able to present something at my thesis meeting with my advisor, since I had absolutely nothing to show at last week's meeting. So I quickly threw some plots together at 6 am while it was still dark outside and thought about all the other changes I needed to make to my thesis computer code to fix some mistakes. And finish the homework for the evil class.... and figure out the technical issue with my remote job... and grade papers... and catch up on the reading... and eat, or something.

Cue anxiety attack. And lots of self loathing.

I had taken Monday and Tuesday off of working out after a good hard push at Sunday's triathlon. Wednesday I was going to run.

When it got light out, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door. Same as always, I mulled over my workload during the first mile. I wondered how I was going to make it. How do I make time for things I don't have time for? What can give? What can I get rid of?

People (mostly other grad students) are always shocked at the workout schedule I maintain with everything else I'm doing. It's been suggested to me that I drop, or at least ease up on, my training in order to make more room for my other responsibilities. One semester I did let that drop. And I quit sleeping, which led to me eating like crap, which led to me getting sick. I'm not allowed to let my workouts slide anymore.

While I was running, it occurred to me that my training was the only thing in my life where I did not have to meet anyone's expectations but my own. I decide my goals, I decide my expectations, I decide my training plan, and I decide my measures of success. My training is for me and me only. How on earth can I drop the only thing I have in my life that is mine and mine alone? In everything else I do, my success is measured by someone else's expectations.

This is why I push myself in my training, why I'm hard on myself... but also exactly why I celebrate my accomplishments. I work hard and it shows. I am a faster, stronger, smarter athlete than I was last year, and the year before, and the year before that. I am improving every year and it feels damn good.

I think everyone should have something like that. Something in our lives that is meant for only us. That no one else can come and make big black marks on (or bright red). A sport, art, a hobby, something.

By the time I made it home from my run, I was relaxed and happy. I presented my hurried plots at my thesis meeting and my advisor was excited with my results.

I went into the shadow lands of my evil class and refused to let my anxiety boil up. Until she said "So...homework four....". Mother of god....

After ensuring us that we once again let her down, we carried on with lecture. I tried to breathe rays of sunshine into my agitation. I thought about Kona.

The professor said we were going to go around the room and each answer some tricky questions. My heart rate shot up and my soul burrowed down in the black tar pit of its new home. Sitting next to me, Jodie whispered "I hate this fucking class". I looked over at one of the new grad students seated in the front of the room. His face said what we were all thinking: Fuck my life.

At that moment I realized it didn't matter. We were all afraid, we were all stressed. There was not a single person in the room (besides the instructor) who did not want to crawl into a hole and die at that moment. We were all suddenly psychically bonded in our misery and fear. No one was going to show anyone else up. We were all going to suffer.

And Thursday morning felt like a Friday. So much so that I almost didn't go to class. Because Thursdays mean that I have survived both Monday and Wednesday and am released from my hell until next Monday.

...Next Monday when I will have to turn in 2 assignments for the evil class, have another lecture prepared, have caught up with my reading, have rewritten my notes, have fixed my thesis code, have started my new assignment for my remote job, and have hopefully reviewed the data for my evil class enough to have come up with a proposal topic. Somewhere in there, I will have hopefully eaten more than once.

And I will have run. Twice.

Because I will sacrifice myself to the gods of mercy first and feed the scraps to the demons.