Books

I worked at a record store in undergrad (Finder's Records for you BGSU alums) and I had several regular customers. One of them was an English professor (whose name I don't remember at ALL) who was relatively snobby about her music tastes. Shortly before I was to leave to study abroad in Spain, she came in and asked me about my upcoming trip. I told her that I was excited but I was looking for some good books for the plane ride. She looked at me doubtfully and asked if I even knew what good books were. I listed some of my recent favorites (including Kingsolver, Smiley, Friedan, Sachs, Ozeki, etc.) and she looked surprised, like how could I - record store employee - know anything about literature? She wished me luck and left the store. The next day I came into work and my boss said that there was a package that had been delivered that morning; it was a bag of books with a note that explained that these were some of her current favorites, including A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley. I sent her a thank you immediately and also sent her some postcards from Spain, but I never heard back. Kindness of strangers....


And may I recommend an addictive website for those book lovers out there.

Start slow and taper

I do love running. It wasn't always that way; in fact, I used to hate it. My mom was a marathoner and she made my brother and me run when we were kids and we were loathe to do it, choosing instead to hide by the docks and eat dry Ramen noodles.

In October of 2003, I started running because I was in a bad mood. Angry at my ex-boyfriend, I decided to blow off some steam and nearly passed out after less than a mile. I went straight home and signed up for a half marathon. The next day, when I realized what I had done, I called my best friend Michael who I remembered had mentioned running before. He enthusiastically signed up for the half as well, and thus, a runner (and her brave friend-turned-coach) was born. I didn't like running for a long time, although for some reason (likely how much I loved the trail where I trained in Austin), I kept up with it. I finished the half (February 2004) in 2 hours and 45 minutes. I decided to sign up for a full. I finished that the following year in 4 hours and 52 minutes. As soon as I crossed that finish line in February, 2005, I couldn't wait to train for the next one. And then I discovered that I actually loved running. And I challenged some other friends to join me for another race in October of 2005. Five of us ran. I finished in 4 hours, 25 minutes.

I'm still going. This Sunday I will run my sixth marathon with my dear friend April (who braved less than optimal conditions with me at the Tulsa Marathon last year), and I am so excited. I've infected new friends with the running bug and reinvigorated those who haven't run in a long time. I strike up conversations with strangers and I could talk about it for hours. I am eternally devoted to my running club and I've not found the peace and comfort that I get running on the Town Lake Trail in Austin. More important than running marathons is just running, pure and simple. Sometimes I do it to blow off steam, sometimes I do it to get invigorated, sometimes to think and sometimes to turn my mind off altogether. Sometimes it's to catch up with old and new friends. Sometimes it's because I feel weary and out of shape. Mostly, it's because it is remarkably freeing and validating because I can do it. And I hope that I can do it until I die. Maybe I won't always be able to complete the 26.2 milers, but getting in that run, even if it's just a 3 miler, is vital to my health and sanity.

Do you want to run? Give it a whirl. You can find a training guide right for you right over here. I encourage you to try it out for more than a few times; as I mentioned, for some people it takes a while to get into it, but I find it's the cheapest therapy available.

"It's a treat, being a long-distance runner, out in the world by yourself with not a soul to make you bad-tempered or to tell you what to do."

-Alan Sillitoe

Painful inspiration

My dear friend Becky and I went to a print fair far, far away on the other side of Cleveland in a mildly depressing office park with a smattering of industrial businesses and empty fields. Despite the strange trek through typical Americana (strip malls and Wendy's), the destination was absolutely worth it. There were prints of all kinds (woodblocks, lithographs, etchings, lino cuts, screenprints) from around the world made within the last hundred years or so, and they were awe-inspiring. Design, color, technique, theme: I kept gasping for air at the same time that I wanted to rush home to draw and create. Most of the prints we saw (that ranged in price from $125 to $5,000, all far beyond my budget) were what I call "hurt-me" pictures: art so beautiful that it gives your stomach that knotted, nostalgic feeling difficult to explain and difficult to contain. Kind of like what you feel on a crisp fall day with winter imminent but the breathtaking colors of the leaves just getting you right there. Becky and I oohed and aahed, making desperate plans to begin our adventures with the linoleum blocks that we bought last winter; we wanted to start making art right then and there.

This was one of the prints that was etched (pun totally intended) in my mind. It's by Helen Hyde and was made in 1912. It's called Mt. Orizaba. Sigh. Let's go make art!