Perhaps I exaggerate, but never having cared that much about what other people put in their bodies, I was surprised to find just how judgmental people are about my recent choice to not eat meat. (I still have trouble using the word “vegetarian” but perhaps I should embrace the term to prove my comfort with the lifestyle.)

Where did the change in diet come from? It is not based in nutritional reasons though I am confident that my personal health will not suffer from this commitment. People suddenly feel concerned about my protein intake. They should put their fears to rest. There is protein in just about everything we eat. Before I became a vegetarian, I ate very little meat because it is both expensive and it takes more time to prepare. For me, giving up meat really just means not preparing shrimp, chicken and scallops at home and finding new Mexican entrée favorites. Aside from eating out, it is not a major change for me.

So again, you may wonder, why become a vegetarian? My husband recently read a book by Jonathan Safran Foer, entitled Eating Animals. The front flap has a review that reads as follows:

The everyday horrors of factory farming are evoked so vividly, and the case against the people who run the system is presented so convincingly, that anyone who, after reading Foer’s book, continues to consume the industry’s products must be without a heart, or impervious to reason, or both.

A past In-N-Out employee, Georgia born, lover of fried chicken, caritas and pulled pork sandwiches, my husband swore that reading this book would not turn him into a vegetarian. He was wrong. Seeing such a meat eater change his tune after reading one book, I was compelled to read Eating Animals as well.  It is interesting to note that the author did not set out to write a vegetarian’s manifesto; his research led him to his own personal conclusions. I will not provide you with a book report here, but the book did make the following facts very clear to me:

1) The vast majority (99%) of the meat we eat is the product of factory farming.
2) I cannot afford to regularly eat meat that is born, raised, and slaughtered in an acceptably humane fashion. I also do not have the time to research which rare businesses actually maintain these high standards.
3) The atrocities committed against animals in factory farming are so horrifically disgusting, disturbing and mind-blowing that even a non-animal lover such as myself cannot support such a system. And yes it is easy for many people to say that they know the system is flawed without really learning exactly how immoral the entire process is and then continue eating blindly.
4) My love for chicken tacos, enchiladas and tamales is not as great as my desire to not consume food that has been plumped up and soaked in feces and other waste. I also hate being sick and would not like to gain immunity against antibiotics as a result of eating meat that is injected with the same antibiotics. This is just the tip of the iceberg here as well. If you want to know more, read the book.
5) I can’t pat myself on the back for buying CFL light bulbs, using canvas grocery bags or driving a fuel-efficient car while also eating meat. Meat production is the number one cause of global warming and fishing for my favorites (the aforementioned shallots and shrimp) has driven oceans past the point where recovery was possible.
6) Finally, labels such as “free range,” “grain-fed” and “organic ” mean next to nothing and hold little veracity.

This little essay has become much peachier than I originally intended. My mission is not to disgust others or shame anyone into giving up meat. I encourage others to continue eating whatever they please. I would not recommend reading Foer’s book if you do want to continue eating meat. Ignorance is bliss after all. I simply would like people to stop rolling their eyes, sneering and passing snide comments about what I choose to consume. What I do or do not eat will directly affect anyone aside from myself.

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Joaquin Miller Park: Sunset Trail

Oh Sacramento, eat my shorts.  If my previous feelings for the East Bay were purely lustful, I have recently graduated to a committed, true-love relationship with our new home.  Why?  There is a gorgeous trail run just 1 exit down from my school, literally on my way home from work.

I full heartedly recommend taking a run through Joaquin Miller Park, off Hwy 13 in Oakland.  The first run I took through this park was with two of my coworkers (we’ve committed to a Monday night run together: run at 5:00 or owe $5).  We were a bit disappointed as we finished a 1.5 mile loop on the fire road on our first trip to the park.  We had started in the Community Center parking lot and didn’t know where else to go.  The fire road was oh so steep and a bit of a death march.  Luckily, we decided to look for a real trail before heading home.

And we found one!  We took the Sunset trail around the side of a hill and found some beautiful views of Oakland and even the big city.  On our way back, we kept control of our bladders despite almost running into a buck (male deer for you urbanites) on a corner.

A week later, I asked Dale to meet me there after one of his rides for another post-work run.  While the first mile of our run was torturously steep, unlike the fire road we had found a gorgeous shaded redwood trail.  After the heart-pumping first mile, the trail evened out and we enjoyed a few more beautiful miles and this time dodged a mountain bike or two instead of deer.

I hit the trail up again last week with sixth-grade teacher extraordinaire, Amy, as we followed the trail up to an equestrian arena.  While we crossed paths with a high school cross-country meet towards the beginning and end of our run, we enjoyed quiet trails for the majority of the miles.

This is my new favorite place to run in the Bay.  Check it out.  Beautiful and easy to get to.

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While reading about the desert and cactuses (cacti?).
Student: “Ms. Byrns! My friend saw those.  When she moved here from Mexico she went through the desert and saw those!”
My response: “Was it hot? Or did you friend come at night?”  (We had been talking about how hot the weather was in the desert….and I admit…I was curious.)

“Ms. Byrns, David went home at recess.  He said he has the fluency.”-student (Too bad he actually has the flu and not very good fluency.)

Christopher: Ms. Byrns, today I was listening to you, so you know, I was watching you and I thought ‘You look pregnant.’ So are you pregnant? Because you look like it.”
Me: Um, no I’m not.  So I guess I should just run more?
Christopher: Yeah.

August 2009

“You can call me Christopher, Chris, Jose or Fat-Boy.” one of my students

September 2009

This one is actually from one of my future students (he’s in 3rd grade right now.)

Principal: Wow! How did your table group win “Star Students” this week?
Student: We did everything Obama told us to. [after Obama's address to students]

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Take Hwy 13 towards Hayward, exit Redwood Blvd and drive about 8 miles East and you will reach Redwood Park.  Beautiful trails for hiking, mountain biking and trail running.  There are also picnic benches and a lovely little stream.

Being on October break, today we headed East, rather than West, and enjoyed a 4.5 mile trail run…well hike.  My lengthy hill run yesterday left me more in the mood for a hike today.  Redwood Park is an excellent spot for trail running and hiking.  While there were larger bike paths (at least partially paved), there were also more narrow trails branching off in a variety of directions. There were some steep sections, but I’ve learned that incline is something that isn’t easily separated from Oakland running.

Redwood Park: Beginning of our chosen trail

While we were on the wrong side of the hill to enjoy any big views of the bay, it is a wonderfully secluded park.  The trails we followed were almost completely shaded with beautiful Redwoods and other trees.  I’m curious about how busy this park gets on the weekends, though I imagine the numerous smaller trails must not get too crowded.  Though the fire road/bike path might see some more action on a Sunday morning.

Redwood Park

As we reached the trail head we saw a quick little lizard with a ridiculously long tail darting about.  Being a boy, Dale had the undeniable urge to pick the little guy up and was rewarded with a big bite to the finger.  Don’t touch the lizards.

Redwood Park

Rating: Beautiful

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Inspiration Point, Tilden Park, Berkeley

It was a hot (well, hot for the Bay Area) day and it didn’t help that we were running at noon with zero shade.  There were a few little side trails but they didn’t really seem to lead anywhere and were mostly just dusty paths through the grasses.  There was a pretty good view about 2 miles out, but I’ve enjoyed MUCH better views after running a mile out my door.  I think perhaps it would be an inspirational spot if it was transplanted into a city such as Danville but for being in the heart of the East Bay, you can do so much better than this.

I do recommend it if you are running by yourself and concerned about safety, as there are tons of runners, walkers and bikers out on the weekend.  I might go back and try it on a rainy, winter day.  The lack of shade won’t matter and the paved path without car traffic should work well in the rain.

Overall rating: OVERRATED

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Oh Oakland, you’re the melting pot of America. Did I say melting pot? I meant chamber pot. Because Oakland is a toilet full of the excrement of society. Thank you liberals. People who work I hope you like it, BECAUSE YOU’RE PAYING FOR IT. So the next time you see an illegal or some welfare slime walking around with their 15 kids, feel happy, you’re paying to raise them. Oh and when they grow up, and rob and murder someone you care about, even if they end up in prison, you’ll pay for that too. I just wonder how much longer the people who work can pay for this exponentially increasing gutter slime.

Brian
Sep. 11, 2009 10:35am PDT

My response was this:
Brian- It sounds like you must not have spent much time with the people of Oakland. Your ignorant, hateful and certainly racist ideas are disgusting and should be embarrassing to you. It is to no one’s surprise that there are tragically high rates of crime and brutal acts of violence in areas of poverty. As someone who teaches in a school less than a mile from the scene of both shootings, I would like you to know that there are wonderful, loving, hard working families in Oakland. When you broadly describe an entire city or population as “gutter slime” you sound strikingly similar to Hitler. Last time I checked, there are some pretty horrific people outside of Oakland and impoverished areas too. Was Bernie Madoff also an illegal or gutter slime with a house in the Hamptons?

Sep. 14, 2009 6:45pm PDT | from Oaklandteacher

What is wrong with people? I know that that there are people with these ideas and beliefs circulating in their blackened hearts, but it continues to shock me when I see or hear it. Makes my blood boil…

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A Day in the Life of a Commuting Teacher:

3:30 am: You get out of bed to go pee. As you stumble back to bed in the dark, you pray it’s some wonderful time like 1:00 or 2:00 am so that you have a few more hours of guaranteed sleep. But as you slide back under the covers, you check the time on your phone and it’s 3:30. Damn.

4:50 am: Cell phone alarm goes off. It really doesn’t matter what ringtone you have chosen. Whether it’s the Blues, Samba, Piano Rift or the iPhone factory settings, it sounds like Death has come knocking. You never actually get up at 4:50; but recently changed your alarm so you can experience the joy of hitting snooze once or twice and still be out of bed and in the shower by 5:10. When a carpool buddy and 27 children are waiting for you, it’s time to get your ass in gear.

5:15 am: You stand in the shower wondering if you have the flu. It’s hard to tell if you’re sick because getting up at this hour, daily, is sick. Even on days you really are sick you go through the entire getting ready process as a test. If you still feel nauseous and headachy by the time you’re ready to go, you might actually be ill and it’s time to call for a sub.

5:30-6:00 am: Make lunch, eat breakfast and get ready while watching the 5:00 morning news with Walt Gray and Deidra Fitzpatrick. No interesting news, but you do need the weather and traffic. You normal routine is to get dressed using only the light of the closet. When your significant other groans and covers his face with the covers because this one closeted light-bulb is disturbing his slumber, you wish to trade places, just for a day.

6:10 am: Meet the carpool buddy. If it’s your day to drive, get the caffeine going. If it’s not, thank goodness! Slip off your shoes and get your feet in there under the floor heater on the passenger side. About a year into commuting, you adapted just like any other animal that has escaped distinction. You extinct is to try and compensate for lost sleep whenever possible. This advanced ability of yours allows you to fall asleep before your carpool companion has driven past 2 exits and you sleep soundly until the wheels hit the off-ramp. This is no joke. The phenomenon of perfectly timed sleep has been observed in many a carpooler. On weekends and evenings, the most advanced carpoolers can even sleep soundly on a five-minute car ride to the grocery store if they’ve roped that useful significant other into playing chauffeur.

7:10 am: Wipe the sleep from your eyes; climb out of the car; and get to work.

7:30 am: Use the bathroom before school starts. While washing your hands, you look into the mirror and realize your shirt is on either inside-out or backwards. Just a symptom of getting dressed in near darkness.

10:10 am: While reading with a small group of students you reach down to scratch your leg and realized you only shaved your left leg. Personal hygiene really works best when you are fully awake and functioning.

4:30 pm: Time to hit the road again. You turn on the radio and since none of the same music stations have signal out here, you resort to the old standby: NPR. “All Things Considered” is interesting two or three days/week, but why can’t “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” air on a Monday afternoon? It would start the work week off right. At least you have all the episodes from the last 3 months downloaded on to your iPhone and can try to play along and remember the news trivia that was big and important during the week of February 12th. That’s not all. You also have about 6 audiobooks on there, but those are hard to get through when you are carpooling. David Sedaris makes a joke about his boyfriend doing “faggy things like picking wild flowers” and all of a sudden you feel uncomfortable sharing a small sedan with a rather conservative 60-year old music teacher. At least he’s not driving and in control of the radio today. Classical music makes great background music, but it certainly doesn’t make 50 miles pass by very quickly. For now, he can deal with some Rhianna or perhaps some Angels and Airwaves.

4:40 pm: The drive home is usually more interesting. You tend to stay awake more whether or not it’s your turn to drive. As you cruise along the scenic Highway 99, you take in the local landmarks. The dilapidated “Chicken Kitchen” just outside of Stockton, the drive-through in Lodi that looks as if it was made of Lincoln Logs and has a sign advertising “Chicken Croissants.” Every time you see that sign you wonder if a comma is missing, but you never stop to find out. Perhaps no one does, as you’ve never actually seen a car in the supposed business. Lodi is a great place to keep your eyes on the sky, as sky divers plummet from an airplane and land what appears to be mere yards from the freeway.

4:50 pm: Ah, a couple of adults are trying to cross 99 on their bicycles. You must be in Galt. Be cautious here. This is a reoccurring phenomenon in Galt. Apparently the bicycle overpass just half a mile down the road is too far for these Galtians. They make it to the center divide before attacking the next two lanes of traffic. You swerve to miss a rotting dog carcass and hope the cycling citizens make there appointment at the tattoo parlor on time.

5:00 pm: If you are taking 5 today, as you sometimes do (depending on the carpool meeting spot), “The Dawn of Civilization” comes into view. This is actually the unimpressive skyline of Elk Grove. If you stop at any of the Elk Grove exits, you will find the civilization here is gray, cement, uninspired and not too impressive. What is so enchanting about Elk Grove is that as you drive North on 5, it magically appears out of nowhere. It doesn’t slowly come into view on the horizon. All of a sudden, it’s just there. Elk Grove is good for two things and two things only: caffeine (there is a Starbucks at every exit) and hope (you know that Sacramento is minutes away).

5:15 pm: You exit the freeway. Praise Allah!! This feels wonderful. Sometimes it feels as if you must have driven from Bakersfield. Other days, few and far between, the drive feels suprisingly short. These must be the days when Ann Taylor has some juicy news from Capitol Hill or Meeeeeshell Norris has a hilarious interview with a plucky old woman living in the Appalachian and complaining about a hive of 4,000 bees living within the walls of her mobile home.

10:00 pm: Shortly before hitting the sack (or passing out on the couch), your significant other complains about “having to get up early.” You know that no words are needed here. Instead, you cast a cold eye on him that immediately puts him in his place. “Oh really?” this look asks, “You have to get up early? Early like seven? Or heaven forbid, early like six-thirty.” Poorly chosen words from your mate. Because God only knows you would exchange him in a second if it meant you could sleep in one more hour.

See it to believe it.

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As a swimmer, I’ve distinguished myself as the one person that doesn’t do a single lap of freestyle throughout an entire swim workout. Despite my best efforts, I’ve found that getting a healthy intake of oxygen and keeping afloat while using this stroke are mutually exclusive tasks. I used to alternate between 6 strokes of freestyle and a couple of side strokes which allowed me to catch my breath. This seems really lame and so I pretty much stick to breast stroke. I can hack my way through the back stroke, but I have a continual flinch at the fear of smacking my head on the cement wall (again).

I only started lap swimming this summer, and with one exception, I never swim more than 1/4 mile at a time. The exception would be the time I swam 1/4 mile, plus 2 laps, just so I could say that I swam more than my usual 18 laps.

Today was my first day back in the pool after a several month hiatus (and given that I only started this whole swimming thing about 7 months ago, well…) Anyways, as I jumped in the pool, I planned on putting in my obligatory 1/4 mile and then heading upstairs for some cardio.

As I struggled through my 18 laps, I watched the lean and not so lean fill up the other lanes in the pool and then glide from end to end with grace and ease. As men with legs smoother than my own powered through their workouts, I plodded along. When the water aerobics ladies aren’t taking up half the pool with their floaties, flippers, and Abba soundtrack, swimming is pretty boring. After a sunny 14 mile trail run yesterday, the views of a swimming pool pale in comparison. My focus rotated between the blue line on the bottom of the pool, my chipped nail polish, and the oh so distant, 3 1/2 feet sign at the end of the lane.

Once I had finished my 18 laps, I took of my goggles and got ready to forfeit my lane. But alas, as Summer Sanders jumped in next to me, I decided to go just two more laps. And then 2 more. And a short eternity later, I did a flipping 1/2 mile! It took forever, was seriously boring and I’m sure I looked like a wounded fish. But I was victorious! And exhausted. I was able to retire to my couch, the Bachelor, Ben & Jerry’s and a project one of my parent volunteers botched and was now time to fix. And finally, I have come to the time I’ve been looking forward to since the alarm went off this morning: time for bed.

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It’s two a.m., and I’ve been lying awake, so I’ve decided perhaps a cathartic letter to you might allow me to sleep once again.

My name is Katy Byrns and I am a fifth grade teacher. I teach in a crappy neighborhood in Stockton instead of somewhere like my hometown of Davis because I want to help those kids do something valuable with their lives and not take the same path that you did. As you probably saw, I’m a runner and live with my boyfriend, Dale. We like our little house here in East Sac. but do look forward to moving to Portland. It’s too bad you couldn’t have waited a few months. You didn’t, and so I thought you might want to know the value of the items you stole from our house today.

The Power Book:
You were probably disappointed to open that baby up and find that it’s a few years old and missing the “M” key. Sorry about that. It was a college graduation gift and has been through some rough times. The M was lost about three years ago when Dale, Mayta, and I were watching something trashy like Laguna Beach while drinking martinis. I should say that Mayta and I chose what was on TV and that Dale was probably drinking a Gin and Tonic. Anyways, Dale leaned over to give me a kiss and knocked my Cosmo into the keyboard. Despite the drip dry, blow dry and key removal, a certain stickiness remained for years. When the weather changed, my keys were slower to bounce back up upon impact and sometimes you would hear a little suctioning noise as the unstuck themselves from the sugary glue in there. Eventually Dale replaced most of the keys, but the poor M wouldn’t budge. It became the wobbly key, until it just straight up fell off. While the key itself is missing, no worries, you will not have to abandon that letter of the alphabet because the little plastic nub works just fine.

Also on the Power Book, you are welcome to have the many stages, drafts and revisions of my Masters thesis. That thing took a year of work during my first year of teaching and darn near killed me. If you choose not to read all 100 pages, at least skim through to appreciate the pictures of the students in my study and the colorful graphs I labored over. While perusing my Word documents I recommend you try the Empanada recipe; it’s excellent.

There are many other things of value (well, only to me) that you will find on that computer. Maybe every sweet educational website I’ve ever found bookmarked in the internet browser. I do hope you get a chance to browse the internet before you sell it. And please, I pray that if there is any justice, you will open iphoto while using other programs and experience the same aggravating freeze that I’ve learned to avoid. All programs will stall as my aging computer goes into overload and you too will curse the “rainbow spinney wheel” that means the Power Book is freaking out. While you’re in iphoto, enjoy pictures of anything I’ve don’t since college. You can see my trips to Georgia with Dale (I think you will especially enjoy the beautiful pictures of Savannah.) Let’s see…there are also pictures of the two Davis kids I used to tutor. I call them “My Brazilian Children.” You can find pictures of their First Communion and dance recitals. I can’t list all of them. I’m sure you will enjoy everything from the bars of Davis, to backpacking trips and vacations in those pictures.

Jewelry from My Dresser:
Most of those necklaces and earrings were given to me by my father or Dale for a Christmas or birthday. While the Power Book might have been a let down, at least that handful of jewelry is monetarily valuable for you. I must say I’m thankful you missed out on the earrings I was wearing today, well yesterday, as they are the ones Dale bought for me with his first paycheck as an urban planner and are my favorites. And my necklace—you probably noticed the signature Tiffany’s pouch, empty. I was also wearing my SF Women’s Marathon necklace, so you missed that one.

Other than that, the items you would find less valuable include a beautiful necklace (complete in banana leaf box) a friend brought to me from Kenya. There’s also a colorful necklace with oversized beads. That one a student of mine made for me.

I could go on, but I think I’ve done enough listing of “goods” for now. I just wonder what goes through your mind as your rifling through my underwear drawer. Sitting on my dresser, staring you in the face are pictures: me as a baby with my grandpa; my sister at age 4, wading in a lake. When you broke into our living room you walked by pictures of Dale and I as well as numerous other “things.” Things we’ve both worked for and earned over the years.

What did you do to earn an old laptop and a handful of jewelry? Break a French door? Time to do something worthwhile with your life. Pull your shit together. I had only two more words for you, but perhaps you can guess what those are.

Sincerely,
The Woman You Stole From

P.S. I only wish I had waited a day before changing my Facebook password so you too could enjoy this letter written from me, to you.

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