I feel like a "runner" again.

For people who don't run, this will make no sense.  But when you start running and you're just doing shorter distances like 2 or 3 kilometres, you don't think of yourself as a "runner".  Just by getting out there, you are one, but you don't consciously feel like one.

And then you get to 5km.

There is a change, albeit a subtle one, that occurs in your brain.  Like a little lightbulb that turns on and lights up a dark corner where a sign was hanging, invisible until that magical moment: "Runner".  It's a good feeling.  You become conscious of what you eat and consider how it will fuel you.  As you move through your day-to-day routine, you are more aware of how your muscles stretch and contract, working together to grant your every wish.  Occasionally, you think about a run.  Maybe it was your last one, maybe the one that you're going to do next. Either way, that thought is there, just below the surface.

(Not my feet.)

I had almost a year off.  It was relaxing and lazy, but I'm glad to be back at out there.  I missed the people, I missed the energy I had, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the sweaty feeling after a run as your body desperately tries to cool you on a summer morning, and most of all, the feeling of being a runner.  That quiet confidence that it gives me is amazing.  I've missed it and until today I didn't have it back.

It's taken me two months to get back to 5km.  Two months of convincing my lazy ass that I should get out there instead of boiling the kettle for another cozy tea and my office chair.  Two months of running solo with no one to talk to, just listening to my breathing and the slosh of my water bottle.  Two months of routinely running to feel like a runner.  It was worth the work.  It was worth the wait.

I am a runner.

So I took a year off... sort of.

In 2008, I was getting a little burnt out.  Working 50 hrs a week at a pretty stressful job, trying to settle into married life, but generally enjoy it overall.  But I wasn't happy.  I didn't feel good, I didn't have an outlet for the stress and I didn't have a lot of friends outside of work.  (And by "not a lot", I mean one.)

So I started running.  Partly because I went to buy jeans and it woke me up to the size of my own ass.  I didn't have a lot of energy or stamina.  So I started running.  And I loved it.  I ran regularly for 5 years.  Did a couple of half marathons, a bunch of 10k races, even flew to Quebec City for the Defi des Escaliers.  It was AWESOME.  I made friends, found an outlet for stress, a support network, regained some of my energy and felt good.  (And added bonus - my ass shrunk!)

Then I lost motivation.  I can't tell you why or how, but it just faded.  I would think about going for a run and then... sit.  It was like I wanted to but just couldn't get off my butt.  There were lots of excuses: too hot out, too cold out, it's raining, my bras are all in the wash, the cat's comfortable and I don't want to disturb him.  A tea and a cookie won out over miles and sweat.  I wish I knew why, but I never figured it out.

Running friends would say they missed me, ask if I was coming out, how I was doing, but nothing could really get me going again.  I even missed the sign up for my favourite race so I'll be sitting that one out this year.  (Maybe I'll go cheer on some friends.)  I tried setting goals or a schedule but I would just ignore them.  The cookies went to the hips (as Grammy warned me: a minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips!) and I've gained about 30-40 lbs.  My clothes don't fit and I don't feel good.  There are knots in my shoulders and I know there is more stress coming in the next 6-8 months.  So I need the outlets: my piano, writing, reading... and running.  I want it all back: the energy, the release, the challenge, and of course, the ass-shrinkage.

So, a couple of weeks ago, while my husband was out, I decided to get out there.  Just start back at the beginning at 1:1s.  I didn't say anything to anyone.  Not even my husband.  My lungs had forgotten, but my legs remembered a bit.  It was a little tough, but not horrid and I felt good afterward.  No posts on Facebook, no driving out to Run Club, nothing public.  Just quietly going for a run.  The way it really should be: becoming 'one with the road'.

Today was my second run at 2:1s and I'm still into it.  My lungs are remembering quickly and my legs only ask they I give them some TLC by stretching for at least 10 minutes afterward.  (I am happy to oblige - it's like meditation or yoga.)  I love running.  I read about it, I think about it, and now I blog about it.  I want to keep it going but I feel a little like a smoker - just have to take it a day at a time.  The only difference is that, instead of avoiding a cigarette, I'm avoiding the couch, the cat, and the cookies.

(Well, maybe just cookies.)

We have a new barbeque!

Now, when I say something like that, you picture this:

Sexy, isn't it?  *rawr*

But the reality is this:

It might not look like much, but I love it.  Our old Thermos BBQ had been rebuilt once or twice and we were doing fine with it, but when the lid fell off and we had to use paperclips to keep it on, we knew it was time.  RIP Thermos.  You were good to us.

Hello, Napoleon!  Not only is it shiny and new (I love shiny...) but we didn't have to put it together.  It came with a manual that I've read a couple of times and cookbook that I've read more than a couple of times.  BRING ON THE EXPERIMENTS!!


So what did I do first with this little gem?  Burgers.  What I believe is the true test of a bbq.  Will they cook evenly?  Will they stick to the grates or fall through?  Is it possible to avoid flare-ups and charring?

Answers: Yes.  Neither.  Absolutely.

Found a great recipe in a book and fired it up.  Rubbed the pre-heated grids with shortening and we were good to go!  Other than a few hot spots to get used to, it was a dream.  No more rebuilding parts each spring or being afraid that the wheels will fall off or the lid will drop on my foot.

I think this little baby will get quite the workout this summer.  Can't remember the last time I turned on my oven.  What's next?  Not sure.  Maybe fajitas, grilled shrimp, homemade kebabs, or even a good, old-fashioned steak.

But it came with a rotisserie too.  Hmmm....

Do grammar and spelling matter? Short answer: YES!

I am a spelling, grammar and punctuation fiend.

There.  I've said it.  Anyone who knows me, knows this is not new.  My co-workers know it.  My friends might know it.  My students definitely know it.  

Spelling, grammar and punctuation are the order that tames the chaos of thought.  When we put pen or keyboard to a blank paper or space, these rules guide us.  They provide a framework so that we might understand each other.

I'm all for adventure and spontaneity, but when it comes to communication, I need to know what you're trying to say.  It's like driving.  If you are driving on the wrong side of the road, you can't get very far.  If you don't read the signs, you'll end up at the wrong destination.  It might be just as fun (or not) but it's not the point you were trying to get to in the first place.  

Road rage is everywhere.  People are packing guns, getting out of their cars to fight, throwing things... it's all a little crazy.  It doesn't stop us from getting home or to work (unless it's extreme) but minor delays, such as those from red lights, being cut off, or not permitted to merge into a lane can send us over the edge.  

Being able to write or speak a coherent sentence is no different.  Poor spelling, grammar and punctuation slow us down, but we still get there. Why is there no "word rage"?  

(One of my favourite blog posts on grammar is The Alot is Better Than You at Everything.  It's awesome.)

I received an email from a co-worker/friend.  This person has done several years of post-secondary education, and I don't mean trade school.  (Not that there's anything wrong with trades, but I should think you don't have many essays in a trade school.)  The email was littered with punctuation.  Multiple exclamation marks.  Everything she wrote looked like this!!  It was a little crazy!!!  I had no idea how she meant her words!!!  Was she really this excited about EVERYTHING?!?!!?!   OMG!!!!

If you want to be taken seriously, you need to be able to communicate well in written form.  It's true.  If u writ lik thiz tryna git a gud job, u wont get far.  Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger.  It's your job to write the message.  Do it well, please.

Do You Love It Enough to Be Great?

Final assignments and exams to mark.

You'd think that teaching 6 classes would make me rethink my goals and the work involved.  (Especially when you consider that I hate paperwork.)  But I've loved it.  Touching base with other teachers, learning new things, keeping up some of my RVT skills and watching students learn and grow.  Is it tough?  Fuck yes.  But is it worth it?  Hell yeah.

I'm going to miss this round of students.  Don't get me wrong, I liked the last crew, but because I ended up teaching some of these students through the entire year, I've been able to know these ones a little better.  Some still think I'm goofy (they're not wrong), some I'm sure think I'm a hard ass (they're not wrong), and others have enjoyed my classes.  Who knows what any others think.  Part of me cares and at the same time, part of me doesn't.  Here's why:

It is my job to drag them kicking and screaming into their careers.  

If they enter the workforce unprepared, it is my fault.

How's that for pressure?  Their fate, enjoyment, fulfillment, and overall future in the animal care industry rests on my shoulders.  Okay, part of it rests on my shoulders.  They do have to meet me half way and then go out into the world on their own.  But my biggest fear is that they will get into a clinical setting and their supervisor or boss will say to themselves, "what in the hell were they teaching them at that school?"  It's vain, but I'm hoping they go out there and make me look good.  I'm hoping they figure out what they love to do and follow it.  Perhaps they will even have the same courage I did to change gears at some point to make sure they find their professional love.

I envy my grads.  They have their careers just starting.  They could sign up for charity work with Vets Without Borders.  Maybe they'll form a rescue that will save hundreds of pets in disaster zones.  Some might work their way from a basic VA course all the way to vet school and own their own clinic.  I also hope some have figured out that this isn't what they want to do.  Not everyone is as lucky as I was.  Not everyone happens upon their best job ever right after graduation.  Some have to search a while.  Many never find it.  Maybe it's not even with animals.  Could be with children, could be something completely different.  A student with a knack for creating and building things comes to mind.  They belong in a trades program for carpentry or cabinetmaking.  However, just because you're good at it, doesn't mean you'll love it.  

Nine of the worst students ever! :P  ;)
(That'll teach them to beware what they post on the interwebs!)

Once upon a time, I had to take college English   *ugh*  Symbolism, essays, reading.  (I love reading, but do we really have to dismantle every tome ever written?)  My teacher was a journalist who thought I would make a decent writer for a paper.  I disagreed.  I had no desire to deal with deadlines, paperwork or research.  I took college English because college said I had to.  But I was good at it.  One of my best marks, actually.  My core subjects for being an RVT were a little lacking, but English was fine.  I used that English and a second elective course, Mythology, to boost my grades.  I was good at it, but it wasn't what I loved to do.  

So fast forward 13 years and here I am with my hatred of paperwork, deadlines and research - teaching.  I love teaching.  I love being a vet tech.  I still hate paperwork, deadlines and research, but not enough to give up what I love.  I might not be great at it, but I'm working on it.  If you love it enough, you will work until you are great.

Good luck, ladies.  I hope you find what you love.  (And if you make me look bad out there, I will hunt you down!)

Does Pride Still Exist?

My name is Megan and I'm a Workaholic.  

It's been 24 hours since my last shift, tomorrow is Saturday but I've already lined up more work.  I can't help it.  Money is a bit of the equation, but the work is truly the reward.  Knowing that people need me, that I can do a good job and get recognition for it, and the satisfaction of looking back on a shift or a project and feeling like I've done my best is a drug.  It's... well... satisfying.  

I don't know if people look for that anymore.  Do they look at a task and think, "Damn.  I'm going to rock this!" or "Let's just get this done."?  Is there still a sense of pride?  That confidence and self-worth that can be found in completing a task?  Everyone asks how to boost confidence, self-esteem and initiative.  Positive reinforcement is only part of it.  You can't positively reinforce people all the time.  They'll see through it.  After a dozen "good job!" comments, they'll catch on that you're just blowing sunshine up their ass.

I currently teach about 110 students.  They are all pretty cool people.  Some have got their shit together.  They have goals, they show up to class, they hand in assignments on time, they take notes.  Others surf, text, read, get easily distracted or simply skip the class.  (I have mixed feelings on this, but we'll get into that later.)  By coming to class and then tuning out, they're absent.  They miss things that are important.  Not just because they become test questions, but because they are "life hacks" or "job hacks".  All the stuff you learned in high school brought into context and shown a purpose.  

If it was high school, I would understand.  You have to be there.  Your parents insist and unless you want to dress down on a street corner with a cardboard sign and a cup, your options are limited if you choose not to complete high school successfully.  But this is college.  This is optional. You pay extra to be here.  You forego the chance to bring in a paycheque so that you can spend more time in class.  Ideally, to get yourself further up the food chain later in life.  Supposedly you have selected a course study that excites you.  Supposedly, you've chosen a path.  And yet, they show up and remain absent.  

What I worry about is the aftermath.  Will they spend their time, their money, their lives on a college education only to look back and say, "What a waste.  I learned nothing.  I never used it."?  Will they consider their role in that?  Will they blame the institution, the economy, the "hand they were dealt"?  (How passive is that?)

Maybe they will take responsibility.  They'll understand that they didn't take advantage of what was standing in front of them for 3-6 hours a day trying to fill their brains with information for their future.  Perhaps they will realize that to build a future, you must pick up a hammer and nails instead of waiting for the the future to unfold.  

I can sit on my couch and get another year older.  I can do absolutely nothing and I will still age another year at my birthday.  But I will not grow.  I will not be any wiser, or have any better understanding of the world around me.  It's my job to grow.  It's my job to make my world better and enjoy the life I create.  No one else can do that for me.  

And really, why would I want them to?

A friend of mine completed a major feat this past weekend.  She completed an Ironman triathlon.

Unless you've had your head in video games all your life, you have an idea that this is a hard thing to do.  It's not kind of thing you get up and say to yourself, "I think I'll do an Ironman Triathlon today."  Just to outline what qualifies as an Ironman: 3.8km swim, followed by 180.2km bike ride, and to finish, 42.2km; the distance of a full marathon.  (And yes, the 0.2km and 0.8km tacked on each section make a difference!)

Being a runner, I know that as exciting as the race is it's not about the finish.  Oh, the finish feels good.  Especially when you cross that Ironman line and they say your name followed by, "you ARE an Ironman!"  I'm sure that feels pretty damn awesome.  The real work is getting to the start line.  Getting up in the mornings knowing you have get a run in here, squeeze in a ride over lunch, and may be a quick swim before that bedtime.  It's giving up dinner plans or bar nights because you have to be up early.  Time away from family, partners, friends.  That sacrifice on top of the dedication and work to get your body in shape to finish even one of the portions makes it an emotional journey as well as spiritual one.  It's a commitment.  Almost akin to a marriage, albeit a temporary one.

Now that being said, these people are crazy.  The fastest record is 6 hours.  That's an insane rate of speed for doing all this, especially when you consider how hard it is to get out of a wetsuit and remove the sand from your feet before you put your shoes on.  I think the majority of competitors take the day.  Not 24 hours, but all the daylight.  Up at dawn, start in the morning and finish sometime around your normal bedtime.

She might get mad that I picked the sweaty post-race picture.

Eva did it in 14 hours, 23 minutes and 57 seconds.  And no, I absolutely will not round that up to 14:24.  In fact, I will beat you with a bicycle pump if you do.

I could gush about her history a little and get all sentimental.  She's melted herself in half.  From being very overweight (I don't think she'd get mad if I used the word obese) to getting off the couch and walking into the Running Room for her first walking clinic.  She's swum, spun, run and rode.  She quite literally worked her ass off.  That's enough sentimental.  Eva's squishy, but she'd rather I move on.

The funny and amazing thing about her running that race is that so many people were with her.  She had her own little cheering squad that went, but there were others back home that tracked her online and updated each other on her progress as she went.  (Ain't technology fucking awesome?)  Every so often a text or message would pop up on a phone or online to say where she was and how she was doing and once in a while someone would post to ask where she was on the course.  Happy and vicariously running through her, it was so frustrating when I had no one to high five.  (Hubby wouldn't play along.)

Even though I did nothing but watch a black screen of numbers intermittently throughout the day, I was giddy when she finished.

Good job, Eves.  We are all so proud.

(And for the record, she can get out of a wetsuit and clean her feet in 8 minutes and 41 seconds.)