If Something Should Ever Happen...

I just got back from Japan... and came home to chaos. Chaos that I knew was coming. Maybe I'll post more on Japan later. I got so busy trying to see so much in such little time, that I didn't have time to write about it.

I went to Japan because I felt the US plummeting. I needed to see the temples that gave birth to the Buddhist temples here. My temple.

I went to Hiroshima, to pay my respects and to learn. I have literally hundreds of pictures from Japan, but for this post, I'm going to only share a couple, because it's what's on my mind.

This photo:

With this explanation:

On September 11th, of 2001, I drove my dad to work in his jeep because my vehicle was in the shop. We listened to KGB on the radio, and heard the reports of the attacks. I asked my dad if it was for real. "Shh... let me hear this".

Campus let us out early that morning. America was under attack. It was a scary time. People left notes in New York trying to find each other... for days, weeks.

My dad and I discussed what we would do if something ever happened and we were separated. Phones wouldn't work and we'd have no way of getting in touch, no way of letting each other know we were alive.

We made a pact to meet at Bud Kearns, where I swam. Or to leave a note on the building.

As I stared at the photo of the Japanese writing in Hiroshima, I immediately thought of my dad and our promise to each other. To find each other.

I watch our country crumble now and think about what my dad would say.

When I was young... less than 10 years old I would guess, we sat in line at the Mexican border and I saw a couple guys scaling the border fence. Having only heard my mother's take on the issue, I said "Dad, do you see that?"

"They're just trying to make a better life for themselves, Carrie".

I am so thankful for the influence my dad had on me. How he chased out some of the ugliness my mother taught me. How he softened my heart a little. My dad, the science lover, the feminist (a topic for another post, maybe tomorrow), the humanist.

And as I travel the world and get ready to set out on another adventure, I know I am forever trying to find my dad. And I know I will never find him. Maybe that's not true. When I let go. When I stop trying and stop thinking and stop fighting, I realize he's right with me. In my heart, my thoughts, my mannerisms. He is the mold that made me.

Wild Creatures

Lucky for me, they cut one of my ribs out... just below the collar bone. And every once in awhile, my heart can squeeze out in the newly created space, like jail bars pried apart.

Sometimes at night, when I can't sleep, I lay on my left side and place my right hand under my left armpit. I can feel my heart quiver in its cage, and the first time I felt that, I thought there was something wrong with me. It's not a heartbeat I'm feeling, it's the actual contraction of the ventricles, then the atria, and somehow I can feel the whole thing. I guess it's normal. I place my hand under my ribs and feel it flutter as if it's living a life of its own. And maybe it is. Like a stranger living in my own body.

Maybe I should introduce myself. We could become friends.

That wild thing with wild ideas.

Far Away Places and Forgotten Times

It's Thursday night- not like the days of the week matter in between semesters- and I'm listening to Ray LaMontagne Radio on Pandora, drinking wine. It might as well be Friday, or Monday, or Wednesday. I try to stick to a routine as I do best while following a routine, but it's hard to get up at 5am when you know you don't really have to be somewhere at a certain time.

The rain has been keeping me up. And every time I'm lying awake listening to the rain, I think about Matchbox20's song, 3am- "She only sleeps when it's raining".. and I can only think.... she doesn't sleep when it's raining....

So I listen to the rain and toss and turn. It's a good thing California doesn't get much rain (don't quote me), otherwise I wouldn't sleep.

I got zero of my thesis done today. But sometimes that happens. And it sounds like my advisor has several back up plans in case I don't graduate this semester. I'm trying not to freak out when things don't go exactly to plan.

A song comes on and I'm reminded of eating fancy dinners at the Blackbird Cafe in Black Mountain, NC with Crystal. We were on a winter hotshot crew, earning summer wages during the winter, which was new to us Californians. So we lived it up. We ate at expensive restaurants and stayed in fancy hotels (at a government discount rate) when we needed a break from the crew. We got facials.

Another song comes on and I'm reminded of Ireland with Corey. And I would definitely go back. Soft days...nearly every day.

I was turned on to Ray LaMontagne while helping Gwen paint a mural of trees and owls on the guestroom wall. The songs make me calm and sad at the same time. I think maybe they made me feel in love when I indeed was actually in love. But being single, they mostly make me feel alone, though not in an incredibly bad way. More in the way of standing in a room, hanging photos or painting a wall- making life your own when it's only your own. 

Mostly my memories of far away places are alone, and I'm okay with that. I frequently get a longing for a place I've been- that comfort that comes with being in a totally strange place, where you can't possibly be expected to keep your shit together. And being lost and confused is expected and acceptable.

I'm leaving for Japan on Monday, and I don't speak Japanese, which makes me a little nervous. But my longing for strange places is so natural that being lost is being at home. I must have a gypsy soul.

Hard Women

Today was my first speedwork run of the new training season, which made it more miserable than usual. Not to mention I'm aiming for a slightly faster speed than I've ever done the repeats. In my head I was going to do 3x1mi repeats, but when I checked the calender, it said 4x1mi repeats. Bah!

On my last repeat, as misery was overtaking me, I thought about the poem by Brenna Twohy.

"& did you know
this is how we evolve?
Hunted girls
grow shells
& they call us
'hard women.' "

I thought about when a man is chasing you, you don't get to slow down just because you're tired.

I thought about how, years ago when I was on an engine crew, there was a guy who took a liking to me. He told the other guys on my crew, who proceeded to try to hook me up with him. They told me he wished I was more feminine though. That struck me as odd. If you already want to change me, don't think I'm going to give you a chance.

But as a small female, I have been targeted as prey by men on several occasions. I've been lucky in that taking an aggressive stance and shouting has led them to back off. So far.

I used to run the mountain roads alone at work in the morning. They say that if a mountain lion comes at you, you're supposed to get real big, wave your arms, and shout. Making myself as large and intimidating as possible has saved me from many dog attacks. Turning to square off with two large cows one time saved me from god knows what.

But there I was, 27 years old, and a man was saying I should be more feminine.

More delicate.

"As if survival
could ever be delicate."

When I was 16, I was followed home from school on more than one occasion. I have been chased by men on my runs... on a busy road or bike path... in the middle of the day. I've had to shove men away in clubs and bars. A man in Belize charged across the street at me until I squared up with him and shouted "Hey! No!", after which he followed me down the street shouting obscenities at me.

How am I supposed to make myself smaller, and more delicate, when that would certainly make me even more of a target than I already am? This world has made clear to me that I am not big enough, not strong enough, not intimidating enough.

"& they call us
'hard women.' "

A friend of mine was attacked a couple years ago on a run Christmas morning. Her injuries weren't too bad, but psychologically it damaged her for quite some time. She now does Krav Maga (self defense developed for the Israeli Defense Forces). She's smaller than me. She's had to make herself hard too. She just got her orange belt, and I've never been so proud. After being attacked, it took months before she could even run again because she was terrified. And people judge her for doing this aggressive training. I don't get it.

I took a self-defense class years ago when I was an undergrad. They tell you that being aggressive can sometimes convince a would-be attacker that you're not worth the effort. A girl in Belize was surprised that I follow that line of thinking, because I might come across as a bitch.

I would rather be a bitch than dead.

I would rather be muscular and intimidating than a delicate flower whose throat a man could crush with just one squeeze.

And so I press on.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

I Guess I'll Tell It Like This
by Brenna Twohy
did you know
sand dollars grow heavier skeletons
in rough water?

& did you know
young sand dollars
can't make themselves heavy enough
so they eat pebbles
to weigh their bodies down?

& did you know
the things
that
I
have
swallowed
just to keep this body
safe from the current?

& did you know
when I say the current
I mean
this body;

& did you know
there is a man
I can only talk about in metaphor,
the way his tattoos
make an avalanche
of my mouth

(even now)

& did you know
there are whole years
I have dropped
to the bottom of an uneasy ocean;

& did you know
this is how we evolve?
Hunted girls
grow shells
& they call us
"hard women."

As if survival
could ever be delicate.

As if we haven't been chewing rocks
for generations.

As if we haven't been rebuilding
our own bones.
-------------------------------------------------------------

New Year

It's the start of another new year and I'm pondering how productive I need to be today. It's already 2:30 pm, so today is mostly gone but there's still a little time to accomplish stuff. Next to me sits a list of things I need to get done within the next couple of days. I also added "Thesis" to the list for good measure. My projected graduation is this May, but due to being highly overwhelmed last semester, my thesis was put on hold which hopefully doesn't push back my graduation date.

I don't do New Year's resolutions. As a matter of fact, I don't even do New Year's. I go to bed around 8:30 or 9 pm, wake up to the sound of fireworks and gunshots around 11:58 pm, and when they finally die down around 12:30 am, I fall back to sleep. This year is no exception.

Tomorrow starts my official marathon training for a May marathon, with a March half marathon thrown in for inspiration as well as gauging my training. But training is nothing new for me, I've been doing it for years. I did decide to do a massive purge of my belongings that are no longer useful, which has been a two-day process. Now a huge pile sits in my tiny living room waiting to go to Goodwill tomorrow.

I filled out my paperwork for teaching this semester and will turn it in tomorrow or Tuesday, depending on when campus is open. I have laundry to do, but I have to take it to the laundromat since I have a comforter to wash. I don't know if anything is even open today.

So that leaves me with work for my remote job in San Diego, and my thesis. And cleaning the house. It's hard to clean the house with a large pile of stuff that needs to be removed...so that leaves me with San Diego work and my thesis. Neither of which I feel like tackling right now.

So I read a few chapters in my new book.

And now I feel guilty. I had plenty of sleep last night, so I have no excuse not to be productive. I can't even take a nap; I'm well rested. I'm going to have to establish a strong routine in order to make it through this month and the coming semester. It's hard for me to accomplish anything when I don't need to be anywhere at a certain time.

For now I think I'll snack.