Keep your head up, kid

Yesterday I did it. 13.2 miles from SW 6th and Taylor, down into the Pearl District, around by Portland's Waterfront, up and over the Terwilliger Curves, down the giant OHSU hill, and back to Pioneer Square.

It took me two hours to run the course, which in short, looked a little something like this:

Mile 1: Brr. Its cold and dark. Did I really pay money for this?

Mile 2: Wahoo! This is fun.

Mile 3: Smile for the camera, give dad my jacket.

Mile 4: Talking to myself quietly, rehearsing the advise given to me by friends: Breathe, pace yourself, breathe, pace yourself, breathe...

Mile 5: Running up the Terwilliger curves, trying to figure out how they are so much steeper than I remember. I hate this, I hate this I hate (take every thought captive)... I can do this, I can do this, I can do this...

Mile 6: Two giant swigs of water. Almost halfway.

Mile 7: Keane's "Can't stop now" plays on my iPod and I feel simultaneously invigorated and resentful. Don't try to tell me what I can or cant do, Keane.

Mile 8: Oh Lord, you search me and know me, you know when I sit down and when I rise up, you understand my thoughts from afar. You scrutinize my path and my laying down, you are intimately acquainted with all of my ways.

Mile 9: A perfect stranger on the street looks me in the eye and, smiling, screams 'you can do it!' Strangely it is his enthusiasm that gives me the boost I need to make it up the last steep incline by Lewis and Clark.

Mile 10: I think seriously about walking. I am staring intently at the ground when a man my father's age passes me on the left. "Keep your head up, kid" he says. I hate him for passing me, and for saying something so cliche. But for the next two miles I can't stop thinking about that his advice. Perhaps by 'keep your head up,' he doesn't mean, smile, even when you don't feel like it. Perhaps he means, more literally, that if I am staring at the ground I might miss something amazing.

Mile 11: The sun is rising over Portland, and I have a front row seat... er... view.

Mile 12: My fan club arrives to run with me for the last mile. Sharaya tells me between deep, deliberate breaths that the only reason she is running with me is because my sister told her I included her on my "Top Ten" list of favorite people. My ensuing laughter is enough to carry me across the finish line.

Finish Line: There are pictures and medals and people and wings and beer (um... who wants wings and beer after running 13 miles?) and I can't feel my limbs. Awesome.

I accept my participation medal with gratitude, and (in my head) am issuing the following speech...

A big thanks to...

• Mom and Dad. You are the most amazingly supportive parents on the face of the planet.
• Sisterpants. I love that you always have crazy ideas, and that you consistently challenge me to come along. My life would not be nearly as exciting without you. Thanks for (this time) playing along with a crazy notion of mine.
• Ryan, Rachael and Sharaya. You guys are the most most hilarious and exuberant fan club a girl could ever ask for. My day would not have been nearly as fun without you.
  
• My dear friend Nate. Although our taste in music couldn't be more different, I would have been hard pressed to run 13 miles with Jason Mraz as my companion. Thanks for sharing the kind of tunes that could carry a girl over the finish line.
  
• Kelly Clarkson. I know people really don't talk about you anymore, and I really am sorry for that. I just have to say: Miss Independent provided me a much-needed adrenaline boost around mile 8.
  
• Random guy on the street. I don't know if you were cheering for me, or for someone else, or for everyone, but I don't care. Your green coat made your eyes look really green. And I just wanted you to know that when you said, "you can do it!" you were right. I did.
  
• Terra Leonetti. You were so nice to give me your last friends and family pass to the Nike employee store. In the pictures I look like a giant Nike billboard. But, hey, at least I was warm.
• Kristen and Tony. You both humored me every time I called you with questions about food or shoes or gear or shin splints or pacing or training... Thanks for never acting like it was less important than it was to me.
  
• Gravy (the Restaurant on SE Mississippi) You make the world's best coffee, scrambles, and Biscuits and Gravy. Thanks for a perfect end to a long, long journey.
  

Walls

I spent a whole day scraping paper
from old walls,
four floral layers
stripped away to green paint.

I spent today standing
where I used to stand
everyday and heard for the first time
that thing they always say

about walls
talking walls
resilient walls.

Its like a re-peat
a re-play
a conversation
with myself, or

with you, who
arrived unexpected
out of

the blue layer curls
around my two-edged tool.
I am covered in ash,
in glue.

Your message arrives at 2:15
and I am smiling. I am listening,
laughing,
priming for paint.

I am thinking about what is old
and what is new.

Running the Race

Okay. I am officially registered for Portland's Run Like Hell half marathon. Race Day: October 25, 2009.

That said, I can almost hear your collective gasps. I am the last person in the world you would have expected to run a half-marathon, right? Especially considering six months ago I couldn’t have even run a full mile without stopping. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really love running (at least not the way a true runner loves running. I do, however, love what running is teaching me about life.

Some lessons that rise to the top…

Plan your route.
I can’t expect to execute a plan unless I actually have a plan. I am most likely to meet my goals if I plot my course before I set out, if I set reasonable but challenging goals for myself. On the contrary, if I begin running without a vision, without a destination, without a mission, I am certain to return home without an accomplishment.


Invite the world to watch.
I talk about my marathon all the time, not because I am trying to promote myself, but because I realize that I am desperate need of accountability. The more people I tell about the race, the less likely I am to bail out at the last minute. Martin Luther once said that, when left to our own devices, all humans are capable of great evil. And while entering into community requires painful honesty, it also provides powerful accountability and asks us to summon the strength we need to meet our potential.

Alone I am nothing.
I am running this race alone, but I am not running this race alone. Each day as I set out I thank God for an able body, for motivation and determination that only He provides, for amazing friends and family members who are on my figurative 'team,' and for the strength He gives me for each new step.

Life is full of surprises.
One day recently I was running through a park near my house and caught my toe on a tree stump, falling face-first into the dirt, smacking my forehead on the ground below. I laid there for a few seconds before I stood up slowly, like a stunned animal, shaking and blinking and covered in leaves and mud. Then I wiped my face of sweat and tears and finished my run. Later, as I told the story I laughed and laughed at how ridiculous I must have looked and thought about what a great skill it is (in life) to be able to take hard falls, stand up, brush off dirt, wipe away tears, and make it to the finish.

We are capable of so much more.
I think sometimes we are ignorant of our potential. I am picturing the look of shock on my student’s face when I hand his essay back to him and say, ‘I won’t even grade this until you’ve given it your best shot.’ Three days later he is standing at my desk again, smiling ear-to-ear, because he didn’t even know he was capable of such success. We feel a great sense of accomplishment when we attack difficult tasks. But in order to do so we must not underestimate ourselves. We must be willing to take risks. We must be willing to fail. We must be willing to stand up again, to wipe away the mud, to finish the race.

It gets easier, but never easy.
I am slowly meeting goals. And certainly, running distance now feels easier than it ever has in the past. But although my joints and muscles and lungs are all in better shape than they have ever been before, there are still days that running feels very difficult. There are days when I don’t want to start, let alone finish, my scheduled run. On those days I am 'digging deep' (as my mom would say), I am coaching myself to the starting line, talking myself through to the finish. Like running, life is hard. Some days we are going through the motions, just talking ourselves through to the finish. Some days its an accomplishment to just show up.


I am never finished.
Yesterday I ran 8 miles in 60 min. My fastest time for 10 miles is 91. Tomorrow I will attempt 12 miles for the first time. Today I am simultaneously pondering the great accomplishments I have realized in the past three months and also the fear I feel about the daunting task ahead. I think about how difficult four miles felt six weeks ago, and about the great sense of pride I felt after running eight. I think about the first time I ran ten miles, and about how great it felt to improve my pace over the past three weeks. I am nervous to try 12 miles, because I am nervous to fail. But I am also exhilarated at the possibility of success. And somehow the delicate balance of fear and excitement keeps me going, keeps me living, keeps me running.

Culture shock and coming home

People always warn you about 'culture shock' when you travel to other countries, but no one ever warns you about the shock of coming home.

It only took me three days to start making lists again. I was in the shower when it happened, minding my own business, and all of a sudden my brain just starting doing this: Groceries (soymilk, almonds, avacados, crackers...). Laundry (whites, colors, darks...). Bank (deposit, checks, atm, cash). E-mail (gmail, mobile-me, facebook). Shortly after my shower I ate breakfast standing up. Again.

My North-American blood runs deep.

After breakfast I climbed into my car to run errands and as I drove along the road to Trader Joe's I passed GAP and Macy's, and I couldn't help it. I started thinking about the job that I was beginning in two weeks and about how I would need some professional clothing to work there, especially since I look (and sometimes act) basically like a high school student, and so clothing might be the one thing that separates me from the delinquent teenagers... and before I knew it I was adding those two stops to the checklist I had already created on my iPhone, which was inevitably growing to look something like this:

Trader Joes

GAP

Macy's

Nordstrom Rack

REI

Yuck. And as if that wasn't enough, later that same day I found myself in a fancy dressing room at a fancy department store, my new best friend Jessica (the commissioned woman who works there) throwing items over the top of my door, raving about how good I looked in the color pink. At one point I looked down at the price tag on the pair of jeans I was wearing and suddenly started to feel very sick, like I was on the precipice of something horrible. I felt like the recovering alcoholic, standing guilty in the middle of a night club; like the dude with a porn addiction sitting in his hotel room, tenderly holding the remote control...

There is a phrase in English that doesn't exist in Spanish. I taught it to Daniella while I was living in San Jose because she was trying to describe the way a person can feel two distinctly opposite feelings both at the same time. I told her that in English we say, I'm torn. She loved those words, and brooded over their imagery. She talked about the ripping of a piece of fabric, about the noise it makes as it tears in half.

Arrancar. Ripping. Chocar. Crash. Collision. That's what it feels like to come home. Like two parts of yourself colliding together, or like one part ripping in half.

I am struck with the notion that as a foreigner people expect you to be foreign. Its beautiful. Yes, people might whisper behind your back or wonder why on earth you would wear a tank top to church, or ask themselves silently if you washed your hair that morning before you stepped on that sticky bus... but for the most part no one really cares. Including you.

And as I ponder that beautifully whimsical feeling of foreignness I think about how Paul calls us all (as Believers) to be foreigners in this world, and about how I had never really understood what that meant before now.

All the things I thought I had learned about holding loosely to 'things,' about minimalism, about generosity and simplicity collided with me that day in the dressing room as I stood surrounded by fancy fabrics and big mirrors and price tags that represent whole months worth of food in Ecuador and Peru.

And now I can't help but recognize that being a foreigner in a foreign country is somehow easier than being a foreigner in your own. At home, expectations are strong. The cost of ignorance is high (ask me later and I'll tell you about the traffic ticket I received my first day driving again in this country). People get nervous when you act differently than they expect (if you don't believe me, try kissing the cheek of the next person you meet, rather than shaking their hand, and see how they react...). And, besides, simply acting contrary to your home culture doesn't really solve the problem. In fact, it sort of misses the point.

As I sit here typing I am trying to think of how to conclude this whole thing to make it make sense. I am trying to think about what the point is, rather than just what it isn't. But I have nothing. And for a girl who likes nicely trimmed edges and happy endings, ending without an ending feels just a little bit difficult. It feels like a stretch (deep breath)...

Apparently people die from this...?

Rosey, turbo-traveling, and my Timbuktu bag

Rosey and I met on the bus because of my Timbuktu bag. The encounter went something like this...

Hey!!!! (that´s Rosey... yelling at me from across the bus.)

Hey!!! (that´s me, enamored with Rosey´s enthusiam on this hot, sticky bus)

Where are you from? (asks Rosey)

Portland... (I answer) you?

I KNEW it!!! (that´s Rosey, not answering my question, moving on to the next subject before anyone has any idea what happened. So she says...) Where are you going? Can I come with?

Her tone is packed with enthusiasm, the way five-year-old kid´s voice sort of overflows with squeakiness when he asks a new friend to come out and play.

And that was how Rosey, in her own beautiful transparency, became my friend. It is also how I came to recognize transparency about loneliness as not such an ugly thing after all. Her accidental honesty is positively ravishing.

I told Rosey that I was going to Mal Pais, planning to stay in the Tranquillo Backpackers Hostel (because some Australian guys I met in Montezuma had recommended it to me... they said there were hundreds of hammocks and free pancakes and a well-equipped kitchen where poor, starving travelers make elaborate dinners each night) and before I had even sat in the seat next to her, I knew that Rosey was from Minnesota, went to school in Boulder, CO and was now living in San Francisco.

This girl moves fast, possibly even faster than me.

We arrived in Mal Pais to find that Australians aren´t messing around when they say hammocks and pancakes. Hung from every level of the hostel, from every roof, in every room there were hammocks. Hundreds! Sufers everywhere. Argentinians everywhere (I have a not-so-secret obsession with the accents Argentinians have when they speak Spanish. I can´t understand a lick of it, but I just like to listen). Free pancakes every morning. Board games everywhere. Hundreds of other people our age. The most incredible beaches you have EVER seen. This place is heaven.

And Rosey and I are bored in two days. We gotta get out of here.

So. We get on a bus. We have no idea where we are going, or for how long, so we spend most of our time arguing about who gets to decide which details. It goes a bit like this:

Okay, you get to choose the location if I get to choose the hostel. Fine but if you get to choose the hostel we aren´t taking the slow bus. But Rosey the slow bus is cheaper. But Ally the slow bus leaves at five in the morning. Five in the morning is not that early! Fine, we can take the fast bus but then we aren´t going out to a fancy dinner.

At one point I look at Rosey and just laugh.

What (That´s Rosey, wondering why I suddenly spiraled into a fit of giggling)

HehehehehehhehehHahahahahhahahah (thats me, laughing almost uncontrollably) I say... I have known you for, like, twenty minutes and already we are fighting like sisters!

Enter: Jon. (says Rosey: Ally... I saw the lipgloss come out, and I knew we were in trouble... I hadn´t seen you put on a lick of makeup the whole time I had known you and then...) Okay, admittedly, I fall rather intstantly in love. Jon is a lawyer from London with an impossibly attractive English accent. Jon is on our bus. Jon and I proceed to discuss (over the top of Rosey, who is sitting between us) everything from English politics to Postmodernism to that crazy Lat¡n American superstar who thinks he´s Jesus. Finally Rosey says (to Jon), would you like to trade me places? Yes, he would.

Somehow, Rosey and I finally settle on a decision to head to La Fortuna... where can hike to a Crater Lake, go rafting, see a v0lcano explode, relax in the hotsprings, and swim in a waterfall, all in the course of 24 hours. Jon, on the other hand is headed to the Pacific Coast. Exit: momentary-love-of-my-life.

In La Fortuna, Rosey and I complete a weeks worth of activities just in time for nightfall. We hike to the Crater Lake in 3.5 hours (apparently it is supposed to take 6...), swim in the waterfall, take a taxi to the viewpoint, watch the lava roll down the side of the volcano in the dark, make a pit-stop at the hotsprings, and then head back to the hostel where me make dinner and enjoy a really interesting and confusing conversation in Spanish with a french guy and two Israeli guys from Korea (no joke). We head to bed around midnight and wake up the next morning at 4am (for the fast bus) to Cahuita.

Caribbean coast, here we come!

We rent an ATV which we use to explore the coast, taking turns driving, plowing through pot holes and jungle and dirt roads and sand. When we return the ATV at sunset, faces dirty, Jen (the kind Californian who rented us the ATV) asks us where we went. We tell her we went South to Manzanilla and then North to Cahuita. She seems surprised. TODAY??? She asks. Yes, we say. In one day???? She asks. Yes, we say... looking at her, and then at each other, and then back at her. Que rapido, she says, shaking her head and smiling a bit.

Hmm... I have heard that before.

Rosey and I eat ice cream and watch the sunset. As we lick our ice cream cones peacefully, we decide that if it were up to us, we would just eat another ice cream cone instead of dinner. I laugh a bit. Then we both look at each other and pause for a moment.

And as we sat on the beach eating our second ice cream cone, Rosey looks at me and says... being an adult is fun.

And we both errupt into a fit of laughter.

Teaching and Learning

I titled this blog the way I did because I wanted it to be a place where I could discuss the process of becoming a teacher. Specifically, I wanted to track the way that learning a language would prepare me for the specific task of language teaching. With this in mind, I suppose I anticipated that this would be a place where I would write quite a bit about about teaching.

How ironic (and appropriate) that what I have to say is far more about learning that it is about teaching. What a grand example of how teaching is mostly about learning, of how learning is a process, of how teaching always involves occupying the space of instructor and learner, sometimes in the same breath.

Some lessons I am learning...

People, places and things. Of the three, I am learning that people are the most important. I sometimes like to think otherwise. But even the most incredible places in the world... the most amazing things you have ever seen... seem dull when you experience them alone.

One more thing about things. I am learning to hold to them loosely. They will probably get stolen, or broken, or lost or dirty or maybe someone else needs them more than I do so I give them away, or maybe I don´t have room in my backpack so I have leave them behind... and in the end I am no less for my loss. In the past three months I have often gone without, but I have never suffered from the defecit. Without fail, my God provides.

Advice and learning the hard way. I am the last person in the world to discunt the power of learning the hard way. I have learned most of my life lessons (and suffered most of my injuries) by this cant-slow-down, I-am-an-expert-at-this, you-dont-have-any-idea-what-your-are-talking-about kind of approach. True. I have always been better at giving advice than taking it. But I guess I am learning that sometimes its best to keep my mouth shut and listen. There is no shame in taking advice from someone who knows. It doesn´t make me weak, it makes me smart. And it sometimes it even saves me something... my person, my luggage, or perhaps an unnecssary trip up the side of a mountain.

The glass. I have always been a glass-is-half-empty kind of a gal. A realist, I like to say, but perhaps a bit of a cynic, too. I was sitting at dinner a few nights ago (nothing special, just rice and beans) and I started musing over the phrase that Tyson always recites before he eats a meal. We live like Kings and Queens, he always says. I love that. And I guess I just started wondering if this trip might be working to cure me of my cynicism. I have certainly encountered enough kindness in this world to balance out the ugliness. And while I am hesitant to admit that the glass is half full, my cup? Runneth over.

Language Learning is nothing like I thought it would be. It is far more complex and organic than I ever imagined. Far more exciting and difficult and frusterating and wonderful than I could have ever predicted. I stupidly hoped I would walk away from this trip knowing exactly how to help my language learners acquire English as a second language. Of course, language learning is too unpredictable for that. But the good news is that I am walking away with something better. Empathy.

Un Espejo. Sometimes we can see ourselves best in other people, like a mirror. I met a girl on the bus about a week who reminded me so much of myself it almost scared me. Her name is Rosey and she´s the only person I have ever met in my life who moves more quickly than I do. Suddenly, I so vividly understood the words that have been spoken to me my whole life... Ally, slow down! Even more, I was saying them to her!

Perfectionism, Organization, and the Type A curse. Just try to live out of a backpack for three months and maintain your Type A tendencies... I dare you. Thank goodness I am learning to let my guard down, to accept less than perfection, to live with being a little dirty, a little disorganized, and to remember that I can´t possibly plan for everything. Life is more exciting this way.

Love. I have always hoped that love would just show up on my doorstep. And, if it didn´t, I had already decided that I would go out and find it. But leaving? What a strange way to learn that I was already surrounded by more love than I could have ever imagined, and to realize that sometimes love is as difficult as it is wonderful.

No place like home. I have been a Porland spokeswoman on this trip, so much so that people often look at me like I am crazy... like I must be lying. But the truth is that, in my mind, there is no exaggeration... Portland is the best! I have been some incredible places, but the truth is, I am ready to come home. I am ready for my bed and my family a cup of french-press coffee. I am ready for Trader Joes and Laughing Planet and Scrabble and microbrews and gardenburgers. I am ready for sister-time and Gilmore Girls (dont mock) and clean clothes and bike rides. I am ready for Solid Rock and Stumptown and that cute little breakfast place with the good pancakes, the one that I can´t even remember the name of because its been that long!

Yes, it is time. See you all very soon. Saturday, in fact.