Sometimes we don't get to choose our changes. And 6 months ago, I would tell you that I'd rather not teach AP Physics this year. It's too scary. And I'd tell you that my goal for the summer would be to just focus on my Physical World class so I could feel like a slightly better teacher.
Now, somehow, a whole term of school has ellapsed. That's one term of AP Physics and a full term without my physics unofficial mentor to tell me what comes next, how to present an idea, or where lab supplies are (though he's kindly responded to a few early morning "Where's this?" texts).
Life update:
I'm tired of meetings. I'm sick of paperwork. I haven't the foggiest idea yet how I'll phrase my SLO or get baseline data. I haven't considered by PPG. Furthermore, I've barely started my PDP and need to work on my department SMART goal. I also should examine ELOs to help my EE readiness. And fully realize that I'll need to complete all these things at some point soon because the government says so. I promise I get all that junk and how far behind I am. Count yourself lucky if the alphabet soup sounds foreign.
BUT...
I know my students.
I started a "Question of the Day" last year and felt a little silly about it. Basically, I take attendance by asking each student to respond to a question. Sometimes, they have to pick which they'd rather ride to school (options:unicycle, dinosaur, giraffe, or piggy-back on a zombie), describe their weekend in less than 5 words, or they might have to tell me whether or not they think bullying is a problem at our school and why. Some people pass, and that's okay (the questions can be ridiculous), but I get to hear every single student's voice before even 5 minutes have elapsed every class period. I learn their hobbies, stresses, daily mood, and get a feel for their sense of humor. It's been really helpful in building relationships with the students who are less likely to participate in class discussions or strike up conversations in the lunch line. Maybe it's technically a waste of valuable class time, but I personally gain a tremendous amount from those five minutes three periods a day.
I know my content.
AP is still a stretch, but in Physics I feel like I really know what I'm doing. I know which lessons are coming up and a variety of ways to explain the concepts. I have memorized every useful equation and the products of 9.8 and every integer under 9. My mental math is picking up, and I can whip up practice problems on my own. Feeling smarter is pretty grand.
I LOVE my job.
I was clearly taught that it's bad idea to use sarcasm in the classroom, but my students are fluent in it. It seems silly to ignore a common tongue as long as there is mutual respect. So, my students know that there is a pretty high level of mocking that they can throw my way, and we can also generally use humor to defuse a situation. They are also able to repeat to their peers as needed, "We only use nice words," and "There's no fighting in physics"...this is sometimes extended to no boxing, katanas, climbing...etc. I'm lucky. Serious issues are rare and easily resolved with one on one conversation. So, we get to have fun.
And I know I have a crazy way to go. The greatest frustration I have is realizing repeatedly that I'm not the best I can be yet. I don't know enough. My differentiation skills are lacking. My answer keys have flaws or are less than ideally organized, I am not sure what the homework will be in two weeks, I haven't integrated inquiry methods into my plans and ... I don't have my DPI mandated paperwork done. And a lot of the time the whole weight just feels like it's about to crush me. I'm not the strongest physics teacher these students could have, and that feels completely awful.
But I'm getting there, and I truly know that I'm in the right profession for me.
Yesterday, another teacher told me that a student said, while discussing my class, "She's a fantastic teacher." That's a big part of what should matter. If great student thinks I'm a great teacher, I'll wear it like a badge of honor and do everything I can to deserve it.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Finishing the First Year and Starting Another
With only a few weeks remaining before students come back to school, it's probably time to write about finishing my first year. I wish I could say that it ended with triumphant glory and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.
That isn't how it happened though. The last month and a half of school was totally and completely draining. Outside of school, I tried to balance social activities to prevent me from burning out with keeping up with school work and moving into my new house. I also realized (with all the subtlety of being punched in the face) that I needed to amp up my classroom management game before working with pre-summer break students again. All in all, it was just rough. But, I was supported by staff and administration and learned a lot that I'll carry with me into next year. So, with about as much enthusiasm of a zombie sloth, I dragged myself through the last few weeks.
Summer started with a whirlwind of amazing experiences and a two week long trip to visit my sister in Guatemala. Thanks to the time off, I feel like me again, and that's the most refreshing sensation I know.
Upon returning from Guatemala, I learned that my physics coworker won't be returning to the school in September. It was hard news since he was instrumental in my progress (and survival) last year. I relied heavily on his advice, resources, and support. Between reassuring me that the students might not always be right about things, to making copies, to inviting me to question processes and routines, he made me a far better teacher.
Maybe it doesn't mean that much to everyone, but thanks to John and Hank Green's influence in my life, to me, being awesome encompasses living life as a kind, outspoken, intelligent, open minded, critical thinker. I won't turn every student into a physicist. Not every student will like me. But, if I can help these students grow in a positive way while sharing my passion of physics with them, I'm not failing.
So, it's time to buck up and stop procrastinating. After all, there's only one paper I left hanging on my office's corkboard from last year, and it's hanging to remind me that "It is not the critic who counts." ( Reference Background Here ) Thanks Mr. C :)
That isn't how it happened though. The last month and a half of school was totally and completely draining. Outside of school, I tried to balance social activities to prevent me from burning out with keeping up with school work and moving into my new house. I also realized (with all the subtlety of being punched in the face) that I needed to amp up my classroom management game before working with pre-summer break students again. All in all, it was just rough. But, I was supported by staff and administration and learned a lot that I'll carry with me into next year. So, with about as much enthusiasm of a zombie sloth, I dragged myself through the last few weeks.
Summer started with a whirlwind of amazing experiences and a two week long trip to visit my sister in Guatemala. Thanks to the time off, I feel like me again, and that's the most refreshing sensation I know.
Upon returning from Guatemala, I learned that my physics coworker won't be returning to the school in September. It was hard news since he was instrumental in my progress (and survival) last year. I relied heavily on his advice, resources, and support. Between reassuring me that the students might not always be right about things, to making copies, to inviting me to question processes and routines, he made me a far better teacher.
One day, he came into the Physical World classroom behind me and asked, "So, how did the lesson go?"
I turned around to face him taking a deep breath, "Not...great." Perhaps it was not the most informative response, but I didn't cry as I said it, so I was totally counting that sentence as a success.
He said, "Well, I noticed you're standing alone in the room with the lights off," (a detail which had somehow eluded me until being pointed out). He then let me vent, listened, and, when I reached the resolution part of the venting (or maybe it was just the first time I stopped talking long enough for him to say something?), he weighed in. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
When I was hired, I was taking the place of my favorite chemistry and physics teacher.
The shoes were big.
As Nick leaves this year, I'll be taking on AP Physics.
Big big shoes.
There isn't enough tissue paper in the world to stuff into my predecessors shoes convincingly.
Here's why I'm not paralyzed with fear though. What I lack in classroom management, experience, and prior knowledge, I believe I can make up for with my passion for the content and for the students. Below is an illustration a student drew on the back of her 1st semester final. If this is how I am seen by a student, then I feel pretty accomplished. In addition to outlining important topics (and the dog illustration is a bit of an inside joke), she drew me clearly enjoying my job and teaching students to "BE AWESOME".
I turned around to face him taking a deep breath, "Not...great." Perhaps it was not the most informative response, but I didn't cry as I said it, so I was totally counting that sentence as a success.
He said, "Well, I noticed you're standing alone in the room with the lights off," (a detail which had somehow eluded me until being pointed out). He then let me vent, listened, and, when I reached the resolution part of the venting (or maybe it was just the first time I stopped talking long enough for him to say something?), he weighed in. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
When I was hired, I was taking the place of my favorite chemistry and physics teacher.
The shoes were big.
As Nick leaves this year, I'll be taking on AP Physics.
Big big shoes.
There isn't enough tissue paper in the world to stuff into my predecessors shoes convincingly.
Here's why I'm not paralyzed with fear though. What I lack in classroom management, experience, and prior knowledge, I believe I can make up for with my passion for the content and for the students. Below is an illustration a student drew on the back of her 1st semester final. If this is how I am seen by a student, then I feel pretty accomplished. In addition to outlining important topics (and the dog illustration is a bit of an inside joke), she drew me clearly enjoying my job and teaching students to "BE AWESOME".
Maybe it doesn't mean that much to everyone, but thanks to John and Hank Green's influence in my life, to me, being awesome encompasses living life as a kind, outspoken, intelligent, open minded, critical thinker. I won't turn every student into a physicist. Not every student will like me. But, if I can help these students grow in a positive way while sharing my passion of physics with them, I'm not failing.
So, it's time to buck up and stop procrastinating. After all, there's only one paper I left hanging on my office's corkboard from last year, and it's hanging to remind me that "It is not the critic who counts." ( Reference Background Here ) Thanks Mr. C :)
Friday, July 18, 2014
The Medical Adventure (a long story)
I’m a wimp. I wont even try to hide it. So, after
coming home with a bug bite on my back from Guatemala that would randomly
just hurt (a sharp pain), I texted my doctor (she's cool enough to let me do that).
She suggested that if it hurt, I should have it looked at. About a week
ago, I went into walk-in. They were able to rule out a few things and prescribe some antibiotic, but that was about it.
It didn’t get better. The pain got a little stronger,
the bump underneath got bigger, and the surface refused to heal. So, on Sunday night, I found myself in Missouri with my sister and friend Rachel before our planned road trip. I was
putting a warm compress on the bite and asked my sister to look at it. She
noted a white part sticking out and showed me a picture on my phone. There's really only one thought that runs through your mind when there's a mass sticking out of your skin. So, despite the pain, I tugged on the white part. I pulled it out, looked, and immediately set it on the t-shirt beside me and made
the other girls look at it while I momentarily buried my face in the bed spread (distancing yourself from reality is always a safe course of action).
There, wiggling on the shirt, was a small larvae. The surreal nature of it sent us all into hysterical giggles and occasional heeby-jeeby squeals. Rachel called her dad (an ER doctor), who immediately concluded that there’d been a human botfly in my back. It was a shockingly fast and accurate diagnoses.
Via the all knowing Google, we further learned that mosquitoes can inadvertently carry the eggs and lay them as they bite. It’s pretty unusual…but then, I’m unusual. So, long story short, a fly egg hitched a ride on a mosquito and stowed away in my body as an illegal immigrant to America. We named him Ted and put him in a zip-lock.
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| Ted! (And Rachel) |
There, wiggling on the shirt, was a small larvae. The surreal nature of it sent us all into hysterical giggles and occasional heeby-jeeby squeals. Rachel called her dad (an ER doctor), who immediately concluded that there’d been a human botfly in my back. It was a shockingly fast and accurate diagnoses.
Via the all knowing Google, we further learned that mosquitoes can inadvertently carry the eggs and lay them as they bite. It’s pretty unusual…but then, I’m unusual. So, long story short, a fly egg hitched a ride on a mosquito and stowed away in my body as an illegal immigrant to America. We named him Ted and put him in a zip-lock.
It was a bit of a relief to be rid of the bug going into the evening, knowing we had one relaxing day in town before driving out to start the trip. I planned to get up bright and early to get a run in, but sleep sucked. I was hot, and nauseous, and developed some strong abdominal pain.
I tried to rest up all day, but everything became worse as the day progressed until around 6pm, when we agreed that I should see a doctor. Rachel's mom took on the role of my substitute mom and drove me to urgent care. Much like my actual mother, she knows most medical professionals in the area and is well versed on medical procedures. I originally felt pretty stupid going in for what would undoubtedly turn out to be the stomach flu, but by the time we reached the clinic, it was pretty clear it was more than that.
I tried to rest up all day, but everything became worse as the day progressed until around 6pm, when we agreed that I should see a doctor. Rachel's mom took on the role of my substitute mom and drove me to urgent care. Much like my actual mother, she knows most medical professionals in the area and is well versed on medical procedures. I originally felt pretty stupid going in for what would undoubtedly turn out to be the stomach flu, but by the time we reached the clinic, it was pretty clear it was more than that.
I was very dehydrated, sick, and in severe pain. But, I'm a wimp, so it's hard to know how much that means. I was not pleasant company. Talking no longer really felt worth it. Completing small tasks just really really hurt. I was given some good drugs for the pain and nausea and Rachel's mom drove to the pharmacist to pick up a bag of fluids. The pharmacist than came in and met her at the door (after hours) to send the saline along. Based on the pain, we were sent to the ER to rule out Appendicitis.
My surrogate super mom stayed until around midnight (when my sister arrived) as I talked to an assortment of nurses, doctors, had a CT scan, and basically just showed off pictures of Ted to anyone who asked. By the time I was taken up to a room for the evening, I was feeling much better (thanks to the meds), and was dead tired.
My surrogate super mom stayed until around midnight (when my sister arrived) as I talked to an assortment of nurses, doctors, had a CT scan, and basically just showed off pictures of Ted to anyone who asked. By the time I was taken up to a room for the evening, I was feeling much better (thanks to the meds), and was dead tired.
It did feel better in the morning, but it just wasn't yet. My heart rate was crazy high, my white blood cell count dipped low before sky rocketing, my blood pressure was low, my intestines were still inflated like balloons, and I was quite dehydrated.
Here's the deal though, I walked into urgent care in pretty rough shape. After three days, I get to walk around feeling close to a million bucks. But then, that might be the steroids talking. So, if I sound overly positive, it's because by contrast to Monday, things are looking up. (Here's my play-by-play). Life is grand.
7pm: Monday: basically holding myself up with the counter, unable to focus or talk much due to pain, etc
9pm: the nausea evaporated and pain is reduced from 8 to 3 or 4 thanks to two shots in the rump.
9pm: the nausea evaporated and pain is reduced from 8 to 3 or 4 thanks to two shots in the rump.
11pm: We realize that my IV is in the same vein that blood was drawn from as the CT contrast solution makes my arm feel like it's going to burn up
Midnight: I developed a fever and started hoarding blankets (fever is gone in a few hours)
3am Tuesday: Crazy low white blood cell count
Early morning : Sue arrives with my laptop, phone charger, etc. Life is better already
8am Tuesday: high white blood cell count.
10ish: I gain an NG tube and the throat irritation removes most incentive to talk. But my nurse (Nikki) sings my praises for taking it like a champ. No tears, vomiting, etc.
11am: I work with my gown to try to walk around the floor a bit. I look a mess, and both gowns are about 10 sizes too big. But I get to move around...and then get kindly chastised for walking too quickly. Nikki says a doctor said to her, "She weren't walkin. She was runnin!"
Noon: We agree that I wouldn't be joining for at least the first part of the road trip.
11am: I work with my gown to try to walk around the floor a bit. I look a mess, and both gowns are about 10 sizes too big. But I get to move around...and then get kindly chastised for walking too quickly. Nikki says a doctor said to her, "She weren't walkin. She was runnin!"
Noon: We agree that I wouldn't be joining for at least the first part of the road trip.
8pm: vitals looking up, but I learned I'd be sleeping with the tube (or at least trying)
3 am Wednesday: Paige, the super sweet radiologist, stops in to take an x-ray (kudos to her for bringing the machine up to my room). She's surprised that I'm still here and asks how I'm doing. With tears rolling down my face, I just whisper, "Hurts to talk." Besides the pain waiting in urgent care, this was my worst moment of the whole experience. I mean, she gets it, but I want to thank her for everything, and be friendly, and let her know that my stomach pain is so much better, but after sleeping with the dang tube in, everything just hurts like crazy.
6 am: Blood sugar dropped to 77 (No duh, I'd spent the day having the minimal contents of my stomach removed), so they started regular testing and pushed syrup water (Dextrose 50) into my veins
9:30am: Sue arrives. I'm feeling good. I just.can't.talk. :/
9:30am: Sue arrives. I'm feeling good. I just.can't.talk. :/
10am: I wont be leaving until Thursday, but blood pressure is regular, white blood cells are stable
11am: New criteria for judging appearance: If you look less crazy than the guy down the hall they keep having to ask to "cover up" and call "Wild Bill", it doesn't matter what your hair is doing. Go walking.
noon-ish: The ladies set out on the road-trip. I'm along in spirit :)
11am: New criteria for judging appearance: If you look less crazy than the guy down the hall they keep having to ask to "cover up" and call "Wild Bill", it doesn't matter what your hair is doing. Go walking.
noon-ish: The ladies set out on the road-trip. I'm along in spirit :)
12:15: 3rd IV blows. Nikki says they'll send in the house supervisor rather than risk plucking me a dozen more times
12:20: A young man who looks about 16 walks cautiously and awkwardly into the room. Not sure I want to give him a needle.
12:21: Young man IS 16, and just a volunteer at the hospital. He took AP Chem last year. We talk about the redesign.
12:20: A young man who looks about 16 walks cautiously and awkwardly into the room. Not sure I want to give him a needle.
12:21: Young man IS 16, and just a volunteer at the hospital. He took AP Chem last year. We talk about the redesign.
12:40: New IV placed in my hand by actual professional. I'm a happy camper.
2pm: NO MORE TUBE. I literally called out, "Freeeeedom!" when Nikki pulled it out. Quality of life improved 3000%. I can talk and am strapped down to one less thing.
5pm: Clear liquid dinner tastes like heaven.
6:30pm: Parents arrive while I'm strolling the hall like a good girl.
8pm: I get my own vanilla pudding pack like the big girl I am. Vitals are solid
(Best night's sleep eva)
2pm: NO MORE TUBE. I literally called out, "Freeeeedom!" when Nikki pulled it out. Quality of life improved 3000%. I can talk and am strapped down to one less thing.
5pm: Clear liquid dinner tastes like heaven.
6:30pm: Parents arrive while I'm strolling the hall like a good girl.
8pm: I get my own vanilla pudding pack like the big girl I am. Vitals are solid
(Best night's sleep eva)
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| No one told me I was back on solids. This breakfast felt like winning a new car. |
3am and 5am respectively: vitals, and blood drawn. It's the third time it's happened, but the first time I've slept well enough to dislike being woken up for it. Taking that as a good sign.
6am: Potassium is low, so I'll get it via IV, Nikki is very very apologetic because everything going through my veins has been a major pain the the ...well, vein in this case. She explains the injection schedule which runs through 5pm. This is disheartening, as I want to be half way to La Crosse by then
8am: Parents arrive in time to meet the amazing doctors (Dr. Collins and Dr. Jenson (surgeon)). Sounds like I'll be going home after all. We just need to get a few more things moving before hand
10am: Dr. Collins is working through my discharge stuff extremely quickly, and I'm stopped on my walk to have my IV removed and get dressed.
10:30am: I can move my arms enough to do my own hair, put on make-up, and get ready to face the world. I learn that the chaplain has relatives in Cashton...and used to be Amish.
I've learned a couple things from my mini adventure.
First, I was reminded about all the amazing people in the world. I've been helped by emergency substitute parents, been pampered by the real ones who'll drive six hours to take care of me and bring me home, gotten warm wishes from dozens of friends at home, and met an amazingly friendly group of doctors, nurses, radiologists, security officers (seriously, that guy was one cheerful dude), a Chaplin, nutrition specialists, and hospital staff.
Second, I have a profound new respect for people who have to spend time in the hospital for more serious issues or for longer periods of time. The reason I got to feel so grateful all the time was because there was always a very bright light at the end of the tunnel. Each IV prick had to be close to the last and every test showed improvement. But with all the bruising, and blood tests, and restrictions, and crazy complications that arise when we try to take control of a body's normal functions (eating, drinking, digesting, healing, feeling pain, etc) I figured out that being in the hospital sucks. And feeling dependent, and not being able to talk, and hurting, sucks. So, I can't imagine a week long stay or a stay for a more serious issue. Kudos to you who know how much it sucks and somehow deal with it. You're my new heros.
6am: Potassium is low, so I'll get it via IV, Nikki is very very apologetic because everything going through my veins has been a major pain the the ...well, vein in this case. She explains the injection schedule which runs through 5pm. This is disheartening, as I want to be half way to La Crosse by then
8am: Parents arrive in time to meet the amazing doctors (Dr. Collins and Dr. Jenson (surgeon)). Sounds like I'll be going home after all. We just need to get a few more things moving before hand
10am: Dr. Collins is working through my discharge stuff extremely quickly, and I'm stopped on my walk to have my IV removed and get dressed.
10:30am: I can move my arms enough to do my own hair, put on make-up, and get ready to face the world. I learn that the chaplain has relatives in Cashton...and used to be Amish.
I've learned a couple things from my mini adventure.
First, I was reminded about all the amazing people in the world. I've been helped by emergency substitute parents, been pampered by the real ones who'll drive six hours to take care of me and bring me home, gotten warm wishes from dozens of friends at home, and met an amazingly friendly group of doctors, nurses, radiologists, security officers (seriously, that guy was one cheerful dude), a Chaplin, nutrition specialists, and hospital staff.
Second, I have a profound new respect for people who have to spend time in the hospital for more serious issues or for longer periods of time. The reason I got to feel so grateful all the time was because there was always a very bright light at the end of the tunnel. Each IV prick had to be close to the last and every test showed improvement. But with all the bruising, and blood tests, and restrictions, and crazy complications that arise when we try to take control of a body's normal functions (eating, drinking, digesting, healing, feeling pain, etc) I figured out that being in the hospital sucks. And feeling dependent, and not being able to talk, and hurting, sucks. So, I can't imagine a week long stay or a stay for a more serious issue. Kudos to you who know how much it sucks and somehow deal with it. You're my new heros.
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| FREE HOSPITAL SWAG! (plus some lozenges and throat spray) :) |
Sunday, June 1, 2014
"It's just going to be weird"
I hate moving. HATE it. I always develop a severe case of pre-home sickness. I am unable to throw away things like calendars, ticket stubs, and old notes, because I feel like I never want to lose touch with the memories they carry...requiring me to carry even more stuff to a new house. It's awful. However, I've yet to find a 12 step program or Nostalgics Anonymous group to suit my needs.
The summer between high school and college, I occasionally become dizzy and lightheaded just trying to wrap my head around moving to La Crosse. Looking into my dorm room on move out date brought tears to my eyes despite it's jail cell like appearance. Two years ago, I was depressed to move a whopping 10 blocks across campus into a duplex with some amazing girls. I fail to understand it. Each big move has improved my life and led to fantastic memories (so fantastic that I'm reticent to move again). Somehow though, I still turn anxious every time I make a move.
I've moved into my beautiful new duplex in Onalaska. I've yet to completely unpack, but can't complain about the house. It's the largest, newest, and best home I've lived in since college. The shower feels like being caressed by the fingers of angels, the dishwasher is going to save me a lot of strife, my room is large, and I'm once again within a block of Kwiktrip.
But I'm not a block from the marsh, campus, or the bluff. I can't run from home to the gym, or Riverside, or downtown, or to the houses of my college friends. And most significantly, I don't live with the same group of women.
A short list of why my "fros" (former-roommates. A term coined by Kara) are amazing:
These girls drove me to the ER and didn't even laugh at my crazy allergic poofy face (much), planned a surprise trip to Chicago, use awesome puns, and made birthday signs. They inspired me to stay active, but didn't judge me when I reached for another cupcake or ate all their leftovers. They watched WAY too much Pitch Perfect and made fun of me when I was clumsy, or got too many parking tickets, or drooled. They took me to Packer games, ski jumps, wine tastings, and HuHot...lots of HuHot. They got me through student teaching, subbing, job interviews, personal drama, and my first year as a science teacher. They kept me in one piece and laughing for two years. They rock my world.
I am going to miss living with them tremendously, but plans have been made to see each other frequently and I'm about to start summer. I'm almost not even going to be home for the next two months. I can be a big girl about moving, and I can let the excitement for summer trips and plans overshadow the usual moving blues. Life is good and it just might continue to get better.
The summer between high school and college, I occasionally become dizzy and lightheaded just trying to wrap my head around moving to La Crosse. Looking into my dorm room on move out date brought tears to my eyes despite it's jail cell like appearance. Two years ago, I was depressed to move a whopping 10 blocks across campus into a duplex with some amazing girls. I fail to understand it. Each big move has improved my life and led to fantastic memories (so fantastic that I'm reticent to move again). Somehow though, I still turn anxious every time I make a move.
I've moved into my beautiful new duplex in Onalaska. I've yet to completely unpack, but can't complain about the house. It's the largest, newest, and best home I've lived in since college. The shower feels like being caressed by the fingers of angels, the dishwasher is going to save me a lot of strife, my room is large, and I'm once again within a block of Kwiktrip.
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| Guess who has a garage!? |
But I'm not a block from the marsh, campus, or the bluff. I can't run from home to the gym, or Riverside, or downtown, or to the houses of my college friends. And most significantly, I don't live with the same group of women.
A short list of why my "fros" (former-roommates. A term coined by Kara) are amazing:
These girls drove me to the ER and didn't even laugh at my crazy allergic poofy face (much), planned a surprise trip to Chicago, use awesome puns, and made birthday signs. They inspired me to stay active, but didn't judge me when I reached for another cupcake or ate all their leftovers. They watched WAY too much Pitch Perfect and made fun of me when I was clumsy, or got too many parking tickets, or drooled. They took me to Packer games, ski jumps, wine tastings, and HuHot...lots of HuHot. They got me through student teaching, subbing, job interviews, personal drama, and my first year as a science teacher. They kept me in one piece and laughing for two years. They rock my world.
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| Silly friends are the best friends |
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| Still lacking in some furniture, but plenty of comfortable space for grading |
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| I LOVE all the storage and appliances...now we just need a table |
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Why I Run
A friend used to explain in campus tours that when you get to college, you start seeing skinny people running all the time. You can't help but notice the correlation and want it for yourself. So, like half of the city of La Crosse, I tried running. I absolutely hated it. It was boring and hard. My face turned bright red as soon as I started, and I couldn't go a mile without huffing and puffing. Running made me this insta-ugly big bad wolf character who felt pretty helpless.
I stuck with it though, and somewhere along the line, it stopped making me miserable. Then I became busy though. I started teaching and felt guilty spending time running or at the Y, when there was always so much more I should be doing for students. My plan to workout every day failed, and I didn't feel great about my body. So, I set a goal to run a 5k and 5 mile race, to force myself to start putting time into myself. I achieved the goal and set a new one.
Now, I workout almost every day and totally love it.
Instead of feeling guilty about it, when school is stressing me out or I don't think I'm enough, I run to relax and give my brain time to over analyze everything. I'm convinced that being calm, happy, healthy, and proud makes me a stronger individual, and thus a better teacher.
When I've had a great day and am totally loving my life, the run is a celebration. It actually becomes more of a dance to whatever Pandora comes up with. I grin from ear to ear like the complete dork I am.
When I haven't been running as much, I run twice as far as I think I can to make up for the other days.
If I've run a great distance the week before, I run even farther because I know my body can do it.
And I run because I really really really love to eat.
When I love my body, I run to love it even more.
On days when I don't love my body, I run to remember what's important. I don't need to be a size 2. I'm convinced that if I'm eating food that nourishes my body, and my legs can carry me 7 miles at a steady jog, love handles aren't a big deal. I am healthy because of what I'm doing and what my body can do.
I also run for the numbers. I know that I'm capable of increasing my long run distance 10% each week. To not do so would be selling myself short. So, if my RunKeeper says I'm closing in on home under my goal, I better take a few turns around the block to make up for it. At the gym, some people cover the display, for me, it's the best motivator.
I run for my goals. I met my 5k and 5 mile goal, and have a 10k scheduled for June. I want my next goal to be a half marathon, but haven't set a date for it yet. Life might get in the way of that, but I'll do my best to make it happen.
I run because it makes me love who I am and what I can do.
I stuck with it though, and somewhere along the line, it stopped making me miserable. Then I became busy though. I started teaching and felt guilty spending time running or at the Y, when there was always so much more I should be doing for students. My plan to workout every day failed, and I didn't feel great about my body. So, I set a goal to run a 5k and 5 mile race, to force myself to start putting time into myself. I achieved the goal and set a new one.
Now, I workout almost every day and totally love it.
Instead of feeling guilty about it, when school is stressing me out or I don't think I'm enough, I run to relax and give my brain time to over analyze everything. I'm convinced that being calm, happy, healthy, and proud makes me a stronger individual, and thus a better teacher.
When I've had a great day and am totally loving my life, the run is a celebration. It actually becomes more of a dance to whatever Pandora comes up with. I grin from ear to ear like the complete dork I am.
When I haven't been running as much, I run twice as far as I think I can to make up for the other days.
If I've run a great distance the week before, I run even farther because I know my body can do it.
And I run because I really really really love to eat.
When I love my body, I run to love it even more.
On days when I don't love my body, I run to remember what's important. I don't need to be a size 2. I'm convinced that if I'm eating food that nourishes my body, and my legs can carry me 7 miles at a steady jog, love handles aren't a big deal. I am healthy because of what I'm doing and what my body can do.
I also run for the numbers. I know that I'm capable of increasing my long run distance 10% each week. To not do so would be selling myself short. So, if my RunKeeper says I'm closing in on home under my goal, I better take a few turns around the block to make up for it. At the gym, some people cover the display, for me, it's the best motivator.
I run for my goals. I met my 5k and 5 mile goal, and have a 10k scheduled for June. I want my next goal to be a half marathon, but haven't set a date for it yet. Life might get in the way of that, but I'll do my best to make it happen.
I run because it makes me love who I am and what I can do.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Why I Shouldn't Travel Alone...
This weekend, I decided to visit my amazing friend Nikki, who teaches up in Minoqua. I left school right away on Friday with the plan to get a quick run in before leaving for the drive. Before starting the run, I realized that I'd just consumed taco meat which was about 1/4th ground turkey (which I'm allergic to). However, it was a beautiful day (which is rare) and I wanted to feel more positive about my body by getting some exercise in. I decided to stuff some Benadryl in a plastic bag classily down my sports bra and take the jog (sorry Mom).
Sure enough, I started reacting after about 3 miles and took my drugs. The issue became this though: taking lots of antihistamine would stop the reaction in it's tracks...but also make it impossible for me to stay awake. I was bound and determined to drive to Nikki's house before night fall and knew that the reaction was slowing. I walked home and started packing, letting the reaction run its course. I hid in my room and debated how to make it past the roommates. You see, I live with kind wonderful amazing young women who drove me to the ER and sat by my hospital bed a couple months ago when I had a crazy strong reactions. So, I was a little hesitant that they'd willingly let me out of the house with my droopy eye lids, puffy lips, and reddened hive ridden skin. Fortunately, after minor questioning, I was trusted and permitted to start the trip.
The drive went amazingly smoothly (I'm only a good navigator when I'm also not driving). I hastily picked out a couple audiobooks from the library before stopping to fill up and buy some caffeine on the way. When I reached Nikki's house, I discovered I'd parked in a huge puddle as I tried to make my way around the back of my car to get my bag. I squealed loudly as I found myself soaked to the ankle in freezing water and became acutely aware of the neighbor fellas working on their truck next to the garage. Nikki was kind enough to leave her garage door open, but was unable to hear me knocking. After several minutes of pounding and attempting to reach her by phone (without any reception). I was faced with three perceivable options. I could keep pounding on the door, start opening and closing her garage door until she heard from upstairs, or visit next door (the guys could totally hear my random pounding on the door). At that precise moment as I stood on the cusp of branching out into greeting the neighbors or going crazy with the garage door button, I was discovered and started enjoying a perfectly lovely weekend with Nikki. I will skip the details. I enjoy spending time with this lady just to spend time with her. Know that we made some baked goods and painted the town red. That's about all that's important
Skipping ahead to Sunday afternoon, Nikki walked me out to my car to say goodbye. She was the first to notice that the 6 inch deep puddle had frozen around my passenger side tires. I was able to rock the car slightly forward and back, but it became clear that we'd need to try something else. Before we could get the shovel or put a support under a tire though, Nikki's neighbor walked over. I had a limited vantage point, but it appears as though the not at all ugly twenty something propped his legs up on the mountain of snow in front of my car and started doing push-ups against the hood (I cannot complain about the view from behind the wheel). Despite her sandals, Nikki joined in and they pushed me free (I told you she's amazing, did I not?). Seeing their shocking display of physicality, I mentally committed to working out upon reaching La Crosse.
In a rush to not look awkward in front of the neighbor I hastily programmed the GPS to go "home" assuming it wouldn't lead me astray. Finishing Mindy Kaling's delightful autobiography, I popped in an audiobook by Samantha Bee (chosen for the familiar looking cover). The content of this book is well phrased but disturbing. I listened with confused disgust. Unsurprisingly, I missed a turn. I decided to make it look intentional by stopping at a Kwiktrip to fill up, buy some "just in case" oil, and pick up a coffee. In the excitement of learning that a refill is significantly less expensive than a new cup of coffee, I entirely neglected to fill up and buy oil.
A while later, I recalled that the fuel needle of my car is notoriously dishonest. So, despite having a good deal of fuel remaining, I kept my eyes open for green signs boasting my favorite gas stations. Seeing none, I thought to myself, "This sounds like a job for Garmin!"
I selected the "Fuel" option and started directing myself towards a stations. 15 minutes later I reached my "destination" in the middle of farmland with a few houses nearby. I tried again for several miles...and became even more lost in fields. Craving civilization, I rerouted back towards "home". Becoming very very nervous with the now precarious position of my fuel needle, I turned off at the first sign of a city, now rather unaware of where I might be and dreading the idea of becoming stranded on the highway. Not finding a gas station, I pulled into a Festival parking lot. In times like this, I turn to comfort. Grocery stores tend make me feel comfortable. I also defaulted to my two sure fire fixes. I reached into the back seat to start devouring the brownies I made with Nikki (they were meant for school...but this seemed more important) and messaged my friend Andy (Back story: Andy has also saved me from tornadoes at a DCI competition, being lost before my second day of student teaching, and various other minor remote disasters. He's kind of my fairy godfather of phone support). He informed me that I was near Altoona (according to the internet) and that I should inquire inside (which was the plan). I was just entering Festival, when I noticed my hands were covered in chocolate smears. Feeling sheepish, I further committed to some serious cardio upon my safe return.
Following the directions of the gentleman who pretended not to notice or judge me for being chocolaty and lost, I found my way towards a Kwiktrip and noticed a Red Robin signalling that I was in Eau Claire. I only know how to get to one place from that Red Robin, but was comforted by the fact that at least I could migrate to Nikki's parents abode if I was in need of further comfort (or call the friend I'd been potentially planning on meeting in Eau Claire on the way home). I was way off course, but could recognize my surroundings.
It took me an hour longer than expected to get home, and feeling betrayed by the distraction, I put away the autobiography in favor of the radio. Reflecting on my misfortune, I vowed to take the time to plan a trip home EVEN if I'm reacting to poultry at the time or fleeing an impressive neighbor of a friend.
Sure enough, I started reacting after about 3 miles and took my drugs. The issue became this though: taking lots of antihistamine would stop the reaction in it's tracks...but also make it impossible for me to stay awake. I was bound and determined to drive to Nikki's house before night fall and knew that the reaction was slowing. I walked home and started packing, letting the reaction run its course. I hid in my room and debated how to make it past the roommates. You see, I live with kind wonderful amazing young women who drove me to the ER and sat by my hospital bed a couple months ago when I had a crazy strong reactions. So, I was a little hesitant that they'd willingly let me out of the house with my droopy eye lids, puffy lips, and reddened hive ridden skin. Fortunately, after minor questioning, I was trusted and permitted to start the trip.
The drive went amazingly smoothly (I'm only a good navigator when I'm also not driving). I hastily picked out a couple audiobooks from the library before stopping to fill up and buy some caffeine on the way. When I reached Nikki's house, I discovered I'd parked in a huge puddle as I tried to make my way around the back of my car to get my bag. I squealed loudly as I found myself soaked to the ankle in freezing water and became acutely aware of the neighbor fellas working on their truck next to the garage. Nikki was kind enough to leave her garage door open, but was unable to hear me knocking. After several minutes of pounding and attempting to reach her by phone (without any reception). I was faced with three perceivable options. I could keep pounding on the door, start opening and closing her garage door until she heard from upstairs, or visit next door (the guys could totally hear my random pounding on the door). At that precise moment as I stood on the cusp of branching out into greeting the neighbors or going crazy with the garage door button, I was discovered and started enjoying a perfectly lovely weekend with Nikki. I will skip the details. I enjoy spending time with this lady just to spend time with her. Know that we made some baked goods and painted the town red. That's about all that's important
 |
| This is Nikki! |
Skipping ahead to Sunday afternoon, Nikki walked me out to my car to say goodbye. She was the first to notice that the 6 inch deep puddle had frozen around my passenger side tires. I was able to rock the car slightly forward and back, but it became clear that we'd need to try something else. Before we could get the shovel or put a support under a tire though, Nikki's neighbor walked over. I had a limited vantage point, but it appears as though the not at all ugly twenty something propped his legs up on the mountain of snow in front of my car and started doing push-ups against the hood (I cannot complain about the view from behind the wheel). Despite her sandals, Nikki joined in and they pushed me free (I told you she's amazing, did I not?). Seeing their shocking display of physicality, I mentally committed to working out upon reaching La Crosse.
In a rush to not look awkward in front of the neighbor I hastily programmed the GPS to go "home" assuming it wouldn't lead me astray. Finishing Mindy Kaling's delightful autobiography, I popped in an audiobook by Samantha Bee (chosen for the familiar looking cover). The content of this book is well phrased but disturbing. I listened with confused disgust. Unsurprisingly, I missed a turn. I decided to make it look intentional by stopping at a Kwiktrip to fill up, buy some "just in case" oil, and pick up a coffee. In the excitement of learning that a refill is significantly less expensive than a new cup of coffee, I entirely neglected to fill up and buy oil.
A while later, I recalled that the fuel needle of my car is notoriously dishonest. So, despite having a good deal of fuel remaining, I kept my eyes open for green signs boasting my favorite gas stations. Seeing none, I thought to myself, "This sounds like a job for Garmin!"
I selected the "Fuel" option and started directing myself towards a stations. 15 minutes later I reached my "destination" in the middle of farmland with a few houses nearby. I tried again for several miles...and became even more lost in fields. Craving civilization, I rerouted back towards "home". Becoming very very nervous with the now precarious position of my fuel needle, I turned off at the first sign of a city, now rather unaware of where I might be and dreading the idea of becoming stranded on the highway. Not finding a gas station, I pulled into a Festival parking lot. In times like this, I turn to comfort. Grocery stores tend make me feel comfortable. I also defaulted to my two sure fire fixes. I reached into the back seat to start devouring the brownies I made with Nikki (they were meant for school...but this seemed more important) and messaged my friend Andy (Back story: Andy has also saved me from tornadoes at a DCI competition, being lost before my second day of student teaching, and various other minor remote disasters. He's kind of my fairy godfather of phone support). He informed me that I was near Altoona (according to the internet) and that I should inquire inside (which was the plan). I was just entering Festival, when I noticed my hands were covered in chocolate smears. Feeling sheepish, I further committed to some serious cardio upon my safe return.
Following the directions of the gentleman who pretended not to notice or judge me for being chocolaty and lost, I found my way towards a Kwiktrip and noticed a Red Robin signalling that I was in Eau Claire. I only know how to get to one place from that Red Robin, but was comforted by the fact that at least I could migrate to Nikki's parents abode if I was in need of further comfort (or call the friend I'd been potentially planning on meeting in Eau Claire on the way home). I was way off course, but could recognize my surroundings.
It took me an hour longer than expected to get home, and feeling betrayed by the distraction, I put away the autobiography in favor of the radio. Reflecting on my misfortune, I vowed to take the time to plan a trip home EVEN if I'm reacting to poultry at the time or fleeing an impressive neighbor of a friend.
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