neither here nor there

This morning, on our first day back from Winter Break, our class sat in a circle ready to play a game we call “Two Truths and a Lie.” For this morning’s edition of the game, each person wrote down 2 truths and 1 lie about what he or she did over break and then the rest of the class had to guess which statement was the lie. My students know I’ve run several marathons, but I stuck to short and easy runs over the past two weeks, so I was sure my three statements would trick them:

Over break I…
1. Baked a lot of cookies
2. Walked on the Golden Gate Bridge
3. Ran 20 miles

As a my students held up 1, 2, or 3 fingers, Hector, sitting directly across from me on the couch experienced his not-unusual diarrhea of the mouth.

To no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone, he blurted out, “Number three is the lie. Run 20 miles? A woman can’t do that.”

My eyebrows shot a few inches up my forehead while 26 students sucked in a collective gasp (I later reflected upon this and was thankful for their joint shock at the statement.) Rather than rant or rave, I find that a calm seriousness really is most effective and helps everyone to sit up a little straighter in this type of situation.

“Oh really Hector?” I asked. “Women can’t run 20 miles?” At this point I think the class is waiting for some real fireworks. They should know by now, that’s not my style. “I find that interesting,” I continued, “because I myself have done that probably 10 times.”

“Oh…” he sank back into the couch cushions. “Um…is a marathon 20 miles?” he asked, a bit meeker than his first declaration. This is probably when he remembered that I shared with the class that I had run a marathon in Sacramento a month before, one in SF a few months prior, and another when I had them back in fourth grade.

“No. Actually, a marathon is 26 miles. And I’ve done that 5 times.” A matter of fact tone paired with eye contact is really much more powerful than raising your voice.

“And you know, there are women who have run over a HUNDRED miles, at once, without stopping,” I added.

“Oh.” Poor Hector. Maybe the devil is back to speaking to him in his head (see previous note, “Fabulous Student Quotes.”) Or perhaps his parents just need to move a few hundred years forward in time. I suppose it’s better he learns it now from his fifth grade teacher, rather than some teenaged girl that slaps him across the face a few years down the road.

“I guess we won’t be skipping Women’s History Month this year,” I noted. And so we moved on to the week’s spelling words.

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We were listening to NPR while en route from one S-town to another when they began telling a horrific story of the Mexican drug cartel and a recent spike in gang related murders and violence. The story then focused on teachers at a school that had been threatened by some drug cartel dudes. The guys said they would be returning and the teachers would hand over their Christmas bonuses or be killed. As I listened, I was shocked. Teachers in Mexico get Christmas bonuses? Whaaaaat? I want in on that.

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Let’s see if this stuff carries me through the CIM. My first race with music. Shuffle it up. By the way, I’m not ashamed of my musical tastes. Just try and make fun.

Call to Arms————– Angels & Airwaves
Everything’s Magic——— Angels & Airwaves
Breathe—————— Angels & Airwaves
Love Like Rockets———- Angels & Airwaves
Sirens——————- Angels & Airwaves
Secret Crowds————-Angels & Airwaves
Star of Bethlehem———- Angels & Airwaves
True Love—————- Angels & Airwaves
Jumping Rooftops———-Angels & Airwaves
Rite of Spring————- Angels & Airwaves
Heaven—————— Angels & Airwaves
Valkyrie Missile————Angels & Airwaves
Distraction————— Angels & Airwaves
Do It for Me Now———–Angels & Airwaves
The Adventure————-Angels & Airwaves
A Little’s Enough———–Angels & Airwaves
It Hurts——————Angels & Airwaves
Good Day—————-Angels & Airwaves
Start the Machine———-Angels & Airwaves
Doesn’t Remind Me——– Audioslave
Out of Exile————– Audioslave
Get Back —————- The Beatles
Suga Mama—————Beyoncé
Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It) Beyoncé
Shut Up—————– Black Eyed Peas
Anxiety—————– Black Eyed Peas
Womanizer—————Britney Spears
Short Skirt/Long Jacket——Cake
Nugget——————Cake
you got the love———–Candy Stanton
Keeps Gettin’ Better——– Christina Aguilera
Listen to Your Heart——– D.H.T. Featuring Edmée
Up and Away————- Dave Matthews
Lie In Our Graves———- Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds
Eh Hee (Live)————- Dave Matthews Band
Ants Marching———— Dave Matthews Band
O Valencia!—————The Decemberists
The Crane Wife 1 & 2——-The Decemberists
Tell Me——————Diddy featuring Christina Aguilera
Still D.R.E.—————-Dr. Dre
Shake That—————Eminem
I Don’t Wanna Be In Love—-Good Charlotte
Science is ignorant———Jay-Z, Coldplay
Welcome to Atlanta———JD, P. DIddy, St. Lunatics, Snoop Dogg
Sweetness—————-Jimmy Eat World
Futuresex/Lovesound——-Justin Timberlake
Heartless—————–Kanye West
Love Lockdown————Kanye West
All These Things That I’ve DoneThe Killers
Stairway to Heaven——— Led Zeppelin
Like A Prayer ————–Madonna
If I Never See Your Face Again-Maroon 5 feat. Rihanna
Mo Money Mo Problems——Mase, Puff Daddy & NotoriousB.I.G.
Shake It —————– Metro Station
New Low—————–Middle Class Rut
Powerless (Say What You Want) Nelly Furtado
You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid—–The Offspring
Time After Time————Quietdrive
Don’t Stop the Music——–Rihanna
Breakin’ Dishes———— Rihanna
Disturbia—————–Rihanna
Live Your Life————- T.I. (feat. Rihanna)
Hash Pipe—————-Weezer
California Love————2Pac featuring Dr. Dre & Roger

Afterward:
The Shuffle was wonderful; I didn’t have to play all of my usual mind games and could just enjoy the music thoughtlessly. The shuffle also seemed to be very wise and have some good timing. The excellent Killers song came on in the last mile (I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier), and appropriate enough, the very last song was Angles and Airwaves: “It Hurts.”

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Conversation in Sophia’s Bar, Thanksgiving Eve 2008

The group: Dale, Adam, Ali, Matt, Myself

Enter: Two 40-year old women (No descriptors necessary except that I think these women must have handed me a caprisun and an orange slice or two back in my AYSO days and neither one seemed aware of her actual age.)

Cougar 1: Hey what are you guys doing out tonight?
Dale: We all live in the area.
Cougar 1: But what are you doing here?
Adam: Uh, well we are seeing our families for Thanksgiving.

<lots of blah blah from the two women. no one on our side is really responding>

Cougar 2: You know our generation (**I find this part rather ridiculous. We are not of the same generation lady. You are almost part of our parents’ generation. She proceeds to talk about “our” generation for the next five minutes.**), our generation is the ME generation. People our age just always want rewards for everything…blah blah blah
Me: Well wouldn’t that be the product of poor parenting?
Cougar 2: Nah! I just tend to blame the future generation.

Cougar 2: (to Dale) You’re really tall! That’s sooo hot!
Dale: (nods)
Adam: (nods obviously towards door)
Cougar 2: (out of nowhere) You know my girlfriend masturbated to Obama earlier today.
Dale: Uh, you really don’t know us that well.
Cougar 2: What’s to know??

And that was our cue to exit. As a sidenote, I don’t think I know anyone THAT well that I care for those details.

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I gave up coffee about three years ago. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. Coffee and I had some good times together before the months I found myself lying in bed at night and whining about the stabbing pain “in my heart.” Sadly, I had no fast food to cut out of my diet; I didn’t drink soda at the time; and some specialist used the treadmill stress test to confirm that I had no congenital heart failure. The culprit was the bean. Damn.

I would estimate that I only made it through the first year completely caffeine free. I even gave away my loyal coffee maker. I held on to the French press for nostalgia’s sake. But then I started teaching in Suisun (think Budweiser factory), and feeling the bump of the little yellow dots on the lane line jerk my eyes open every morning during my commute caused me to become a regular of the Dixon Starbucks. (I skipped the drive thru since I felt getting out of the car and walking helped wake me up a bit. It is seriously a miracle I made it through that year without getting in an accident.)

Years two and three were all tea, the occasional mocha, and a far too many soy chais. Expensive and inferior. The taste does not compare and the power of the caffeine is lacking. I have no doubt that my Pepsi addiction never would have come to fruition had I not been starting my day with a drink no darker than my skin tone. Obviously I would fade by noon and be scrounging for quarters.

A few months ago, I decided I would try to get back on coffee. I had an iced coffee in May that gave me that wonderful, overly antsy, jittery feeling which I hadn’t experienced since freshman year of college. So good. In the last few weeks, as the mornings got colder, I went for a few real, honest to goodness cups of coffee, black. Prior to today, I was only able to drink down an inch between the hours of 6 and 3. Nevertheless, that stained cardboard cup provided some comfort just sitting there on my desk. Not to mention the smell. I think the moment I pick up that cup from the Peets counter, my nostrils are immediately filled with the aroma and it lingers—no overwhelms me—so that all I can smell until I shower after my evening run is Major Dickenson’s’ Blend.

I’m sure my former barista amigas will concur that when you work at a coffee shop, you need an entire separate work wardrobe, right down to your bra. The smell of coffee is so fully penetrating and lasting that it only takes grinding one pound of Columbian before everything touching your body is forever tainted with the aroma.

Today I was able to drink down 2/3 of the cup. But by 3:00, my gut was in knots and all I could smell was coffee oozing from my pores, clinging to my hair and to my clothes. In my paranoid state, I had asked more than one person (including a student), “Do I smell like coffee?” I had no happy jitter, just an unhappy stomach that felt like it was suffering from a long night of drinking. As I stepped into my car an hour later, I was hit by the stench of coffee that had spilled all over my lovely upholstery that morning.

And that was all it took. I used to drive coffee catering around when I worked for some horrible independently owned South Davis coffee shop and my old Corolla reeked of coffee. I will not let the same thing happen to my Yaris. Good thing gas prices are down. I’ll be squandering my money on soy chais and afternoon Pepsis once again. Oh well. The smell of coffee is so much sweeter when it is something I’m lusting after and not covered in.

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I dedicate this to one Mrs. Rivera. Thanks for sharing your Mexican bottled coke and your quarters.

Pepsi. I used to resist and set limits. ‘Only for Wednesday staff meeting’s turned into ‘only two afternoons a week’. That spiraled down into any day that Amelia and I refer to as a “three-quarter day.”

Three-quarter day n. 1. a day following a bad or sleep deprived night 2. a day involving a two-hour long staff meeting or any type of staff development 3. a day that is rough for whatever reason 4. a day that falls in the same week as some sort of deadline. I am so exhausted; I think this is going to be a three-quarter day.

Seeing as I go weeks without a day-off from work, teach fifth grade and set my alarm for 4:50 am, nearly any day can qualify as a three-quarter day. Naturally, this term originates from the change necessary to get a Pepsi from the vending machine in the staff room.

A few months back, I briefly considered getting this habit under control and returning to the soda-free days of yore. While the intentions were good, I had no real motivation to give up the juice. And today I found my justification.

It seems that all the most interesting and successful people have some sort of struggle or addiction they have kicked. Pepsi will be mine. I just need to give it another year or so to blossom into a full fledged addiction so that when I decide to kick the habit, it is that much more significant. I will toast to my improved bone-density with a glass of red wine and think back wistfully on the days I had with that sweet blue can.

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Finishing a marathon feels pretty damn good. Kicking a little ass along the way makes it feel even better…and it helps you to forget exactly how many people beat you in the great race and just how much pain you are in.

Sweet, cocky, victory is what I felt as I was able to pull out a finish line sprint and pass by my last two targets.

On Sunday I ran my fourth marathon. I hadn’t been planning on running this particular marathon; I was training for the California International Marathon, which falls about 7 weeks later than the Nike Women’s Marathon (this weekend’s event). I ran it last year and signed up for it this year only to learn that my sad little name did not make it through the lottery. This only served to exacerbate my negative feelings towards Team In Training.

Upon hearing of my rejection, more than one person suggested that I join the dark side, “You know, if you join Team in Training you can still get in.” I never pledged a sorority; I avoid being in a room with more than 3 or 4 other women and I do not tear up at Extreme Home Makeover. As I assume these are three requirements for TIT, er, TNT, I chose instead to maintain my dignity and if so inspired, bandit the race. Through a bittersweet chain of events, I was able to get my hands on a real, official bib and decided that despite my lack of planning, I had trained enough and would do the full marathon with my friend, Chelsea.

Miles 1-25 were made of the usual pain, pacing, gu-ing, Gatorade stops and mental mind games. Chelsea and I have done a number of LONG runs, a marathon, and a few halves together and so we have already shared nearly all of our most humiliating, juicy and entertaining stories. Thus, on Sunday we were left filling about 6 miles with the alphabet game: “Okay now name songs starting with letters A-Z,” I commanded on round five. This game lasted until delusion hit and M became just as difficult a letter as X and Z had been from the beginning.

Chelsea is one of those people that gets the race day engines burning and in the last few miles, will blow by you in an effortless burst of speed which I have come to know, respect, and dread. So when I pulled ahead of her somewhere around mile 20, I was determined to hang on to the lead by the skin of my teeth if necessary.

I spent the next five miles cursing who knows what in my head, smiling at the thought of Vanessa taking pictures along the way of her half-marathon, and wishing for my Ipod. While Chelsea’s incoherent rendition of an Angels and Airwaves song back at the start of Lake Merced was amusing, I was in need of some real drive. My sixty-year old music teacher-carpool buddy politely describes the band as “Very forceful, forward moving.” From him I know this is no compliment, but this was exactly what I was in need of.

By mile 25, I had just passed a notorious marathon sight: the lying spectator. Usually these saboteurs are shouting about how “that was the last hill” and “it’s all down hill from here.” Never believe these people. They have no idea what’s going on and are making this stuff up on the spot. “Just two more stop lights and you’re done!” my lying spectator shouted. That was shortly before the twenty-fifth mile. Half a mile later, a second man tried to encourage struggling runners, “Just two more stoplights!” Never too tired to argue, I responded, “The last guy said that two stoplights ago.”

I slowed to walk for a minute, thinking I should preserve enough energy to cross the finish moving at a respectable clip without collapsing, vomiting or bursting into tears. As I walked, I thought about how convincing the U2 cover-band at mile 24 had been. “That guy really looked like Bono,” I thought. As I was pondering why Bono would ever do a gig at a sell-out event like the Nike Women’s Marathon (and I do mean sell-out, not sold-out), my thoughts were interrupted by a crotchety middle-aged woman walking a few feet away.

“Is this your first marathon?” she asked as if it were an accusation. “No. Why, does it look like it?” I replied, irritated. I’m generally a very social race day runner. I will talk for miles with strangers around me partially out of selfishness—it helps the miles pass. No matter how haggard someone looks, “Is this your first marathon?” is not the question. Even if the person next to you is running in Keds, has bleeding nipples and has a pedometer hanging around his neck, the acceptable question is, “So which other marathons have you done?” No need to let someone know they are looking as bad as they feel by implying that they are a first timer.

This woman rubbed me the wrong way and so I broke from my normal routine and tried to let the small talk die. She persisted. “I absolutely HATE this marathon! I’ve done 43 marathons and this is THE WORST!” After a quick once over, I decided that she must not share my hatred for Team in Training and female empowerment bonding events and so I took the bait. I couldn’t guess what she found to be so horrible about this event. “This is a great marathon. It’s gorgeous. What don’t you like?”

“Oh no! It’s absolutely terrible! This is the hilliest course I’ve ever run!” she spoke with the air of one who would like to be considered a seasoned veteran. Now I know she said 43 marathons, but I have three responses that I would have enjoyed sharing with this woman:

1) If I did 43 marathons I would certainly hope that I would look more like I had RUN 43 marathons and not just hit up the food tables at the end of 43 marathons.

2) Where the hell did you do 43 marathons without hills? I had no idea Bakersfield and Stockton sponsored so many events. This is San Francisco lady! If you are from out-of-state and didn’t learn geography in fourth grade, have you not seen one movie depicting this city and its obvious HIlLS? The views of the Golden Gate, Alcatraz, the Pacific Freakin Ocean more than make up for some hills. I live in the great land of Sacramento, which is not known for wonderful hill training workouts, but I do know how to up the incline on the treadmill. So maybe by your 44nd or 45th marathon you can find an overpass or get a gym membership so you too can train properly for a marathon that is held on a fault line.

3) It is mile 25.5 of 26.2. I do not need to hear negative talk from strangers. I have been cursing in my head and trying to ignore my wooden knees and the seizing pain in my hips that occurs every time I turn my head to the right or left. Even when running with good friends, running partners know when to keep their mouth shut if words of optimism and encouragement are not spilling out.

I let this woman pass me by with her rain cloud hovering overhead and gathered my last reserves of energy. Finally I could see the white tents marking the finish line. I assessed the situation in front of me. Immediately ahead was a Team in Training drone who I had been running near for almost an hour. Like all TNT money-makers, this woman had her name puff-painted on the front of her gaudy purple shirt. The Team in Training worker bees stationed along the course every 10 feet had been cheering her name for the past four miles. Now, just short of mile 26, a Team in Training coach (think Richard Simmons without the fro but plus 10 pounds of purple whoo-ha) jumped into the race and grabbed the TNT woman’s hand and began running with her towards the finish. He pumped her arm vigorously in the air while with his other hand he made wide, sweeping motions pointing to the woman he was clutching. It was very much, “Oh roaring crowds, don’t look at me. This is the woman that deserves the cheers. Look at her! Isn’t she just wonderful? And she probably has 5 kids at home to boot.” Perhaps if he wanted the attention directed at her, he might step off the course and let her complete her 26.2 miles without slowing her down.

This sideshow was immediately in front of me and to pass I would either have to squeeze by in a narrow breath of space between the TNT coach and the spectators or run all they way around them to pass on the ¼ of the road which the duo was not consuming with wild arm gestures. For those of you who have run a marathon, you will understand that taking the steps to run around someone is not a viable option. There was no way I would ever let this display of Team in Training beat me. I tapped into my reserves of aggression and turned on a short sprint down the side to cut the two off.

Now all that stood between me and the bagels was about 200 yards and two women, one of which bore a strong resemblance to the Grinch Who Stole Mile 25. I don’t know if this was the same woman, but at this point it was no matter. It was all the drive I needed. As they happily strutted towards the finish, I found it in me to put on a bit more of a sprint and passed them by seconds before I heard the wonderful beep of the chip passing the last timing mat. They may not have known or cared that we were racing, but I beat them, and that was enough for me.

Disclaimer: I know Team in Training has raise about a bazillion dollars for cancer research and has surely motivated thousands of people to get up off the couch and train for something difficult and impressive. That is all excellent. I’m a jerk for hating them, but you try doing this event and not walking away with at least a little residual irritation. I know I may sound a bit harsh, but it’s my own little short story and honesty is sometimes more entertaining.

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I love my students and they say ridiculous things everyday. Here are just a few choice quotes (mostly from a boy we will call “Hector”) from last year (fourth grade) and now this year (fifth grade). Names all changed of course. Expect updates.

May 09
Jordan: This clearly states that I have permission to go.
(While turning in a permission slip)

Feb.09
Olivia: You’re getting married?! And you don’t have any kids yet??

Jan.09

Jordan: Ms. Byrns, the odors coming from my body are killing me. Can I go to the bathroom?

Selections from letters students wrote to me about what they have learned so far this year, what they need help with, and what they are worried about

Jonathan:I am also worried about a few things like homework. I also think we need more interacting skills.

Jordan:I’m glad that you are teaching fractions. Now I know how much water I need to our in order to make my own milk.

Hector:The things I learned in class are that if somebody hits you and you hit him back and the yard duty sees it, you get in trouble instead of the person who hit you…

Me: Does anyone know what “good-natured” means?
Jordan: Oh, oh I know! Isn’t that what Democrats are?

Dec.08

Upon seeing a puddle frozen over on the playground
Hector: This is a happy time for little children.

Written in a book review by Jordan:
I don’t recommend this book because it’s not funny like it said in the front cover. It’s more like opera instead of funny. I think this book was made in 800 B.C. AKA Before Comedy.

Written in a report on homeless people by Jonathan:
To them a garbage house (houses made out of cardboard, old food, etc.), is just a regular house that stinks.
And also… Everyone has hidden intelligence, but homeless people have yet to discover their hidden intelligence.

Hector: “Oh! Ms. Byrns got some skills!” (After I successfully bounced my Vitamin Water bottle of the report tri-fold boards into the recycling from a very awkward angle)

Nov.08

Upon noticing that all the book groups in class are reading non-fiction books on the subject of explorers…
Salvador: Ms. Byrns, why are we only reading in the past-tense?

Hector: My happiest time was when my bunny had babies. They all died eventually and we burried them in the backyard….good times, good times.

Me: Any questions about the field trip?
Carlos: Can my cousin come?
Me: How old is your cousin?
Carlos: 21
Me: No.
Hector: Can Obama come?
Me: Obama? Um, yes, but I think he’s busy…and in Chicago.
Hector: Well than can Obama’s friend come?
Me: I don’t know who Obama’s friend is. So, no.

Hector Announced to me, across the entire class as he enters in the middle of a lesson: Ms. Byrns, I can’t sit down because my buttocks are wet.

Written in a fifth grade career report: People who study for four years in college find it helpful but not always necessary to get a job.

Oct. 08

Jordan: I think you should wear your glasses more. You would look more teacherly.

Jordan: I pay attention to all things dark and mysterious…like this chocolate.

While reading about young monarchs, including Mary, Queen of Scotts
Jordan: “Decapitated…I know what that means! Doesn’t that mean she died because she didn’t have coffee?”

Me: Is anyone going to do anything fun this weekend? Hector?
Hector: I’m going to burn some fat!
Me: And how are you going to do that?
Hector: I’m going to run and burn it.

Hector: Ms. Byrns is FEMA a girl or a group? (after reading an article about Hurricane Ike.)

Sept. 08

Conversation with a girl who won the school spelling bee, is at the top of the STAR test scores and is overall intelligent after she got in trouble for asking a boy if his mom knew that he was ugly:
Annie: Um, Nina said that to me about his mom knowing if he was ugly. She told me to ask him.
Me: And you did? You know, many times people have told me to do stupid things and I don’t because I have my own brain and I can think for myself. You need to think for yourself.
Annie: Well I didn’t know that.
Me: You didn’t know what?
Annie: That.
Me: You didn’t know that you’re supposed to think for yourself and use your brain?
A: No.
M: Well now you know.

August 08

Johnathon: If I had your job and had to drive an hour to get here, I would have called in sick at least ten times by now (on the 21st day of school)

April 08

Hector: Ms. Byrns, how many punctuations and capitals do we need to have in the page?

While on the school bus, driving back from a Sacramento field trip, around Lodi and the cows
Brenda: EEWW, It smells like poop! And not in the good way.

Nov. 07

Hector: Ms. Byrns I need to tell you something I’m hearing.
Me: What are you hearing?
Hector: I’m hearing the devil talk to me in my head.
Me: What is the devil telling you?
Hector: He’s telling me to kill God.
Me: Um, okay…

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I wonder…is Joe the Plumber the same as Joe Six Pack?

I feel bad for all the Joes out there. Their name has been shat upon over the past few months. I now assume that anyone named Joe is an illiterate, uneducated, beer guzzling wife abuser whose one contribution to the country comes every four years when he starts up the Chevy and rolls over to the polls to punch a hole next to the R.

I think surely the name Joe is going to plummet on the list of popular baby names after this election.

And by the way:

That troops to teachers thing sounds like a horrible idea!! Because someone served in the military they get to bypass teacher education and certification? Someone with Post Traumatic Stress disorder, no experience, or preparation thrown into failing school? Serving time in the military does not qualify someone to do whatever the heck they want! This is seriously insulting. You want schools to improve and students to learn? Try holding teachers to a higher standard. Giving someone a “Get of teacher education free. Go straight from army to teaching” pass is counter intuitive! What about being in the army prepares one for teaching? The classroom isn’t a freaking battlefield…well not if you are a good teacher. I have an idea, how about those who serve in the military can return to the states and become doctors? Or do you think a doctor might need some specific sort of education and training? I suppose our physical health is more important than the fact that we are raising a nation of illiterate, uneducated children who can’t name their own state let alone the seven continents. This seriously gets my blood pressure going.

WTF mate? I think Joe sick pack hatched this idea.

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