thinks I'm a crazy, drunken skank.
But I'm not. I actually don't drink that much....probably about twice a month. My usual means of entertainment entails going out with my friends, remaining completely sober, and watching the night unfold into chaos. Sobriety is underrated. For all of you who think "there's no way I can step into a bar sober because I can't stand drunk people"....well, think again. I'm sure you can. And I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised.
Those stories are for another time and place. This one actually IS about my professor.
It's about this morning. The wonderful Monday mornings of college where you reluctantly drag yourself to class if only to swap Friday/Saturday night stories about your crew with one of your "class friends." (We all have them----the people you don't hang out with on the weekend but are basically BFFs with in class so you each only have to do half of the review.....yep.) Well this is exactly what I was doing with one of my "class friends" before my 11 AM Accounting class. We were muttering under our breath, giggling (with a few bursts of laughter), and having a hard time telling the stories all together because they were just that good. I have this huge sneaky grin on my face when all of a sudden my friend goes, "Oh my GOD. Don't look now, but our professor was just watching us." Ok, so when someone goes, "Don't look now," of course you look! So yeah, I looked and he was definitely watching us being all silly in the back row.
As soon as we make eye contact, he starts laughing and turns to the board to start class. I nervously laugh and turn bright red. There's no way he heard, right?! I mean, we are in the back of the class. And he's down in the front....Oh good LORD, I hope he doesn't think I was talking about myself. I comfort myself by thinking, 'Oh, he's been a professor here for many years--I'm sure he's heard worse.' Then I resolve to forget about it and try to understand accounting.
We're doing a problem in class when he tells us to finish it on our own and then discuss our answer with our neighbor. Well of course my friend and I aren't going to discuss anything related to accounting (DUH)--she has a story to finish! So we get all quiet again and pretend that we're talking about amortization until big smiles appear and giggling starts coming out of our mouths. I don't know if you've ever been in an accounting class, but there is absolutely nothing in that class that would make you smile OR laugh....unless you're laughing because the subject is so ridiculous and you can't understand a thing (because I laugh a lot when it comes to that).
It's almost time for us to be finished "discussing" when I look up to the front of class and see my professor watching us...again. The big goofy smile turns to a look of horror because I know he knows what we're talking about. I'm mortified. He begins laughing again--loudly--and catches the attention of the entire front row. "What's so funny, professor?" a few of them ask. "Oh, nothing," he says as he tries to compose himself. My friend can barely contain herself when she starts laughing again and lets out a loud, obnoxious shriek. The entire class turns to look at us, then back to our professor, then back to us. My friend's head is buried in her arms on her desk as she tries to get a hold of herself while I'm a frozen deer in headlights as I meet all the wondering eyes of my classmates. Then they look at each other with intrigue, shrug their shoulders, and turn back to the front of class.
And then I slumped down in my seat and pretended to disappear into the floor. Laughing, my friend mutters, "I guess I'll finish the story after class."
"I think you better."
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Give Thanks for Family
Her name is trouble. My name is trouble. Her sister's name is trouble.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.
We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.
I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.
This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.
Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.
But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.
We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.
I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.
This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.
Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.
But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Stuff Like This Never Happens to Me.
I'm boy crazy. I'm sure you've figured that out by now. I just find the opposite sex so intriguing.
Which brings me to my flight yesterday from Dallas to Kansas City: the best flight of my life. I'm still semi-asleep as I walk up to the gate and am literally looking into a sea of beautiful 20-something males. "WHAT is going on here?!" I wonder. "This is just...fantastic. Now, I must choose my seat wisely. So. Many. Options."
I love flying alone. I usually do because I fly to-and-from school and to-and-from wherever else I feel like going (Europe. Yes, I flew alone and loved it). This has led to many talks with strangers during my flights. I also love strangers--they're interesting as well. And I think it's exciting that you will never again see the person you just spent hours talking to during your flight.
After I go through security and am about to walk up to my gate, I always always think, "Oh man, I sure hope there is a cute boy on my flight and by some miracle from God we get to sit next to each other, fall in love, get married, and have lots of babies. I would be sooooo grateful." And every time I walk up to my gate, I am greeted by disgruntled families, businessmen, and old people. My smile fades as my hopes of meeting my future husband are shattered into a tiny million pieces.
Not this time.
Which brings me to my flight yesterday from Dallas to Kansas City: the best flight of my life. I'm still semi-asleep as I walk up to the gate and am literally looking into a sea of beautiful 20-something males. "WHAT is going on here?!" I wonder. "This is just...fantastic. Now, I must choose my seat wisely. So. Many. Options."
I sit down and listen to my iPod as I wait to board the flight. To an outsider, I look like I'm minding my own business and playing a game on my phone. Wrong. I am scoping out the guys for my future boyfriend. This ensues until it's finally time to board the plane. I'm walking down the aisle when I see two cute ones in the middle and window seats. "Perfect. I'll just plop down in the aisle seat and that will be that. A two-for." Wrong. Just as I have done an imaginary fist pump in the air, a lady with a baby about 7 people in front of me takes the spot. "WHAAAAAAT?! Seriously, lady? You've already got one of those! Don't be selfish." Ugh, whatever.
So I sit across the aisle with a seat open next to me. I'll get sick if I go too far back and I'm not willing to risk looking green while I'm talking to Mr. Right. I'm texting my friend Mary-Kate (one of my twins) about how the lady should switch me seats if she knows what's good for her kid when I'm smiling to myself, look up from my phone, and make eye contact with a blond-haired, blue-eyed babe. Immediately, "Is this seat taken?" Shocked, I reply, "Oh, no it's not. You can sit here." Giggling inside, I let him by and text Mary-Kate, "Gotta go. Destiny awaits."
He graduated from the Air Force Academy, is a pilot, and lives in Texas. He let me try on his ring. He's from Kansas City and played football against my high school a few years back. We had a lot in common.
We talked during the entire hour-and-a-half flight. It was fun. It was magical.
He asked for my number.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Edit
You may have noticed that I edited my personal information to the left.
You may not have noticed because you honestly couldn't care less.**
Luckily for you, I don't care whether you noticed or not; I'm going to tell you why I changed it anyway.
I wish I could take the credit for the idea of changing my profile information, but I can't. A family friend messaged me pointing out some obvious contradictions between the info on the left and some of my blog entries. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed. How could it be so blatantly obvious that I wasn't correctly portraying myself in the box to the left as compared with how honest I was being in my posts? (Again, who really cares anyway? But just stick with me here.)
It got me thinking.
Am I being honest at all? Am I trying to portray myself in contradicting fashions to different audiences? Am I living by the well-known mantra "Do as I say, not as I do"? Unfortunately, I felt the answers were yes.
It got me acting.
I've decided to try this thing called "not-judging-people." I know, pretty novel idea right? Lately, I've been feeling like there's so much drama surrounding me that I shouldn't even be involved in at all. I hate drama. I don't cause drama. I refuse to partake in it. Yet, it still seems to slowly creep in and consume my thoughts and cause immense amounts of anxiety. Therefore, I've made a decision to stop worrying about what everyone else is doing and to ignore them when they come to me with new gossip and scandal. I need to quit critiquing others' decisions because, guess what, it's their decision. And (this is quite shocking as well) they live with those decisions, not me. I'm going to focus on myself and only the positivity in my life. I'm not going to judge others because (this is kind of selfish) I don't want them to judge me or my decisions. We need to highlight people's positive attributes, not dig for their dastardly imperfections and mistakes.
I'm editing myself.
Similarly, I'm going to try to be honest. No, I'm not going to empty my life story onto some complete stranger like the bank teller did to me the other day. I am, however, going to think, act, and speak as me. Not someone I want to be. Not someone I used to be. Not someone I'm going to be. But I need to focus more on being me.
Figuring out just exactly who is "me" is confusing and exhausting enough....so how can I possibly have the time, energy, and imagination to be someone I'm not?
**NOTE: the above entry is a bunch of random thoughts that have been floating around my head as a result of recent events that occurred this past weekend. It's a jumbled mess and I feel really weird that it's out there for everyone and their mom to read, but I suppose this is my first step in being open. I'm admitting my life isn't perfect, even though I always appear to be (HA). I apologize for the deep thoughts as of recent. More embarrassing stories will resurface soon.
You may not have noticed because you honestly couldn't care less.**
Luckily for you, I don't care whether you noticed or not; I'm going to tell you why I changed it anyway.
I wish I could take the credit for the idea of changing my profile information, but I can't. A family friend messaged me pointing out some obvious contradictions between the info on the left and some of my blog entries. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed. How could it be so blatantly obvious that I wasn't correctly portraying myself in the box to the left as compared with how honest I was being in my posts? (Again, who really cares anyway? But just stick with me here.)
It got me thinking.
Am I being honest at all? Am I trying to portray myself in contradicting fashions to different audiences? Am I living by the well-known mantra "Do as I say, not as I do"? Unfortunately, I felt the answers were yes.
It got me acting.
I've decided to try this thing called "not-judging-people." I know, pretty novel idea right? Lately, I've been feeling like there's so much drama surrounding me that I shouldn't even be involved in at all. I hate drama. I don't cause drama. I refuse to partake in it. Yet, it still seems to slowly creep in and consume my thoughts and cause immense amounts of anxiety. Therefore, I've made a decision to stop worrying about what everyone else is doing and to ignore them when they come to me with new gossip and scandal. I need to quit critiquing others' decisions because, guess what, it's their decision. And (this is quite shocking as well) they live with those decisions, not me. I'm going to focus on myself and only the positivity in my life. I'm not going to judge others because (this is kind of selfish) I don't want them to judge me or my decisions. We need to highlight people's positive attributes, not dig for their dastardly imperfections and mistakes.
I'm editing myself.
Similarly, I'm going to try to be honest. No, I'm not going to empty my life story onto some complete stranger like the bank teller did to me the other day. I am, however, going to think, act, and speak as me. Not someone I want to be. Not someone I used to be. Not someone I'm going to be. But I need to focus more on being me.
Figuring out just exactly who is "me" is confusing and exhausting enough....so how can I possibly have the time, energy, and imagination to be someone I'm not?
**NOTE: the above entry is a bunch of random thoughts that have been floating around my head as a result of recent events that occurred this past weekend. It's a jumbled mess and I feel really weird that it's out there for everyone and their mom to read, but I suppose this is my first step in being open. I'm admitting my life isn't perfect, even though I always appear to be (HA). I apologize for the deep thoughts as of recent. More embarrassing stories will resurface soon.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Step One:
Admit you have a problem.
I have a problem.
Well.....it's not so much a problem for me as it is for my bank account. You see, it's actually not causing one bit of chaos in my closet, but it's doing massive damage to my monetary funds and strict budget. It always happens around this time of year. This is the time of year that I become a very special person to myself. (I know that sounds very conceited and selfish, but if you know me well enough, I'm not either of those two things. At least, I hope not.) Either way, the problem begins around the 2nd of November and ends around December 26th.
The gifts just keep coming.
And coming and coming and coming. And coming.
From myself to myself.
My birthday is November 3rd and (obviously) Christmas is December 25th. Therefore, I end up using these two very important holidays as perfect excuses to buy myself presents. I am celebrating mine and Jesus' births, after all. And I'm a pretty good person, so we'll just throw that in there as well.
It all begins (well, I'll be honest) as soon as fall starts. So I guess we're actually talking late September. Whatever. I use the change in season (and change in wardrobe) to buy myself something special. After all, I have absolutely nothing appropriate for fall in my closet. What have I been wearing for the last 20 years?! Therefore, a trip to the mall is absolutely necessary. Later, as I look around my favorite store Nordstrom's, I think, "Well, my birthday IS coming up (still over a month away, mind you) and this IS kind of a big birthday so this will be my birthday present to myself. Alright, that sounds good enough."
I've been using this "big birthday" thing for the past 4 years. And it will probably work for the next few years as well:
18: I'm finally legal to.....not really do anything important besides vote. Oh well, I'm graduating in May so..... yeah, it's still September but this is an early graduation present to myself as well.
19: Last year of being a teenager!!! Let's hold fast to this last year and celebrate at the mall.
20: Finally hit my 20s and no longer a teenager (thank GOD). Let's go buy myself something cute to wear out tonight.
21: Now I can drink and be an adult! Let's go buy something for me to wear to celebrate drinking my first alcoholic beverage!
22: Aaaaaaand now I'm OLD. Let's go buy myself something to cheer myself up.
23: Now I'm just really old and no one cares about my birthday anymore. Let's do some retail therapy. And I can buy myself two things this time: one for each year over the age of 21...sigh...
This could easily continue in a plausible fashion, but you get the picture.
I'm not quite sure when the presents stop being birthday presents and start being Christmas presents, but I'm sure it's sometime after Thanksgiving. Actually, it's probably the weekend after because that's when a lot of sales are going on. So, I kill two birds with one stone and take advantage of all the sales while celebrating the beginning of the Christmas season. "This will look GREAT at the next holiday party. Now I just need shoes, jewelry, and a top to match." Merry Christmas to me.
After Christmas, well actually New Years I suppose, ("I need something black and sparkly to celebrate the New Year in!!") I get my credit card statement and immediately go into cardiac arrest. "I spent HOW MUCH on clothing and shopping for the past two months?! There's no way. There must be some mistake....Oh wait, yeah I remember that one....Ok, yeah, that was a birthday present.....Oh, I wasn't feeling well that day.....Well, those shoes were on sale and they were the last pair so I had to get them....The skirt went with the shoes.....That necklace went with the skirt......Those other shoes went with the necklace.....I could get the shirt for free if I only spent a little bit more....It was the beginning of the Christmas season.....I had a gift card that covered 1/4 of the cost so it was basically 25% off...." and so on.
I then resolve to not buy anything else unless it's absolutely necessary. (NOTE: I subconsciously leave the definition of "necessary" pretty vague to give myself some sort of cop-out). I then work my tail off babysitting everyone and their dog to save up for summer. And by "summer", I suppose I actually mean spring because, let's be honest, I have absolutely nothing appropriate to wear for spring. What have I been wearing for the past 20 years?!
I have a problem.
Well.....it's not so much a problem for me as it is for my bank account. You see, it's actually not causing one bit of chaos in my closet, but it's doing massive damage to my monetary funds and strict budget. It always happens around this time of year. This is the time of year that I become a very special person to myself. (I know that sounds very conceited and selfish, but if you know me well enough, I'm not either of those two things. At least, I hope not.) Either way, the problem begins around the 2nd of November and ends around December 26th.
The gifts just keep coming.
And coming and coming and coming. And coming.
From myself to myself.
My birthday is November 3rd and (obviously) Christmas is December 25th. Therefore, I end up using these two very important holidays as perfect excuses to buy myself presents. I am celebrating mine and Jesus' births, after all. And I'm a pretty good person, so we'll just throw that in there as well.
It all begins (well, I'll be honest) as soon as fall starts. So I guess we're actually talking late September. Whatever. I use the change in season (and change in wardrobe) to buy myself something special. After all, I have absolutely nothing appropriate for fall in my closet. What have I been wearing for the last 20 years?! Therefore, a trip to the mall is absolutely necessary. Later, as I look around my favorite store Nordstrom's, I think, "Well, my birthday IS coming up (still over a month away, mind you) and this IS kind of a big birthday so this will be my birthday present to myself. Alright, that sounds good enough."
I've been using this "big birthday" thing for the past 4 years. And it will probably work for the next few years as well:
18: I'm finally legal to.....not really do anything important besides vote. Oh well, I'm graduating in May so..... yeah, it's still September but this is an early graduation present to myself as well.
19: Last year of being a teenager!!! Let's hold fast to this last year and celebrate at the mall.
20: Finally hit my 20s and no longer a teenager (thank GOD). Let's go buy myself something cute to wear out tonight.
21: Now I can drink and be an adult! Let's go buy something for me to wear to celebrate drinking my first alcoholic beverage!
22: Aaaaaaand now I'm OLD. Let's go buy myself something to cheer myself up.
23: Now I'm just really old and no one cares about my birthday anymore. Let's do some retail therapy. And I can buy myself two things this time: one for each year over the age of 21...sigh...
This could easily continue in a plausible fashion, but you get the picture.
I'm not quite sure when the presents stop being birthday presents and start being Christmas presents, but I'm sure it's sometime after Thanksgiving. Actually, it's probably the weekend after because that's when a lot of sales are going on. So, I kill two birds with one stone and take advantage of all the sales while celebrating the beginning of the Christmas season. "This will look GREAT at the next holiday party. Now I just need shoes, jewelry, and a top to match." Merry Christmas to me.
After Christmas, well actually New Years I suppose, ("I need something black and sparkly to celebrate the New Year in!!") I get my credit card statement and immediately go into cardiac arrest. "I spent HOW MUCH on clothing and shopping for the past two months?! There's no way. There must be some mistake....Oh wait, yeah I remember that one....Ok, yeah, that was a birthday present.....Oh, I wasn't feeling well that day.....Well, those shoes were on sale and they were the last pair so I had to get them....The skirt went with the shoes.....That necklace went with the skirt......Those other shoes went with the necklace.....I could get the shirt for free if I only spent a little bit more....It was the beginning of the Christmas season.....I had a gift card that covered 1/4 of the cost so it was basically 25% off...." and so on.
I then resolve to not buy anything else unless it's absolutely necessary. (NOTE: I subconsciously leave the definition of "necessary" pretty vague to give myself some sort of cop-out). I then work my tail off babysitting everyone and their dog to save up for summer. And by "summer", I suppose I actually mean spring because, let's be honest, I have absolutely nothing appropriate to wear for spring. What have I been wearing for the past 20 years?!
Monday, November 15, 2010
I Died.
Kind of. Almost. Basically.
As much as I joke, this was actually really scary.
It was last Friday. We had a 6,000 meter ergometer test. This is one of the most difficult things I do in my life. This is a test where you push your body to its ultimate limit of exhaustion.....and then beyond that. Literally. You'll see. An ergometer is a rowing machine. I'm sure you've seen it in the gym. Maybe you've even hopped on it and pulled on the handle for a few minutes. But there is no possible way that you have EVER experienced the pain of an erg test. We do these multiple times a year. Stressful and painful, I always feel completely shitty and totally awesome at the same time whenever I finish. I think it has something to do with how crazy I am and the fact that I love pain in my muscles and body. Huh.
Anyway, I prepared myself all week by eating extremely healthy and getting a lot of sleep. I drank tons of water and even counted my fat, protein, and carbohydrate gram intake for a few days. (Crazy, yes.) I made sure I ate enough. But nothing could prepare me for what was going to happen during this erg test.
I started off strong. I was pounding out each stroke. I was so fit. I was flying. I was doing better than I had anticipated. Around the 3,000 meter mark, I started feeling sick to my stomach. Only half-way through and I felt like I was going to vom. It wasn't nausea caused by food; rather, it was the lactic acid that had built up in my legs and had finally made its way to my stomach. This is where you hit your anarobic threshold and your body needs to stop doing what it's doing. "Great," I thought. "Only half-way done and my body is already telling me that it has had enough and I need to stop immediately." But I couldn't stop. I was in the middle of a test. And there was no way I was quitting, even if my body was telling me that it was getting sick.
I'm coming up to the last 500 meters when all of a sudden I get tunnel vision. I can barely see anything in front of me. Yet, somehow, I still keep going as fast as I possibly can. "I'm almost finished with this MOFO test and there is NO WAY that I'm quitting. Even if I can't see." A few of my teammates are cheering behind me to sprint as fast as I can in order to get the best possible time. I'm doing everything in my power to stay conscious and finish the test.
I don't remember the last 200 meters (roughly one minute). I don't remember finishing. I know I didn't pass out, but I don't remember if I fell to the ground, stood up, or what. One of my teammates was there and helped me get off the erg (I only remember this because she was still with me about 20 minutes later and told me). I was so hot. I couldn't stand to be inside, but I couldn't walk either. She helped me walk outside where I immediately began vomiting and fell to the ground. I lost control of my entire body and couldn't talk, couldn't see, and (this is kind of embarrassing) began going to the bathroom. I completely lost control of my entire body as a result of this test. They had to pour water all over me to try to get my body temperature to decrease. But I was still so hot. And couldn't move.
And my heart rate was still at 190. This is 190 beats per minute. AKA, this is your heart rate when you are running/erging/whatever at your absolute hardest. But I had stopped doing any cardio 10 minutes ago. My heart rate should have slowed back to normal within 2 minutes of stopping. Something was very wrong.
I was still vomiting. I was still on the ground. Two of my teammates were looking at me like they had seen a ghost. They had. "Haley, you're so pale. You're as white as a sheet! You need some help. We need to go to the training room immediately." But I still couldn't walk. I could barely keep my eyes open. My teammate had to walk me to the training room, taking 10 minutes for a 2 minute walk.
We are about 100 meters away from the door when my entire arm begins to go numb. I had remained calm and didn't really feel like anything was wrong (weird, I know) until I couldn't feel a part of my body. I immediately begin freaking out. My teammate gets even more concerned. She runs to open the door and I slowly saunter through. We make it down the stairs and I'm on the verge of tears. I don't know what's going on. But I feel so sick. And I'm so hot that I can barely stand it. We finally make it downstairs and I lay down on the ground. I don't have enough energy to remain standing. I was so hot, but I wasn't sweating. My body was on fire. My teammate runs to get more water and begins pouring water all over me in the hallway. My trainer finally comes out to see what's going on and coaxes me into the training room and gets me to lay down and drink some water and Gatorade. I immediately begin throwing it up. My body can't handle anything at this point. She talks to me and helps me relax and gives me some medicine and electrolytes to rehydrate my body and get my blood sugar back to normal. I can finally down some Gatorade.
"Did you eat enough today? Did you sleep enough last night? What have you been doing all week? Did you do anything different before this erg test than other previous ones?"
I did everything normally, if not better than before other erg tests. I don't know why this happened.
The only thing I can think of is that I pushed my body completely and utterly outside of its comfort zone. And past its acceptable point of exhaustion.
Finally, (this is so weird and shows just how crazy I am) but as soon as I was feeling better and was leaving the training room (like an hour after the test), I thought, "Wow, I kind of want to do that again." Not the whole vomiting and "can't-remember-what-happened-to-me" thing, but the whole "pushing-myself-harder-than-I-ever-have-before" thing. You see, my dream is to be a marathon runner. So now, knowing that I ultimately crave this kind of pain and fatigue in my muscles and body, I know that I can and will achieve this dream.
Everything I went through this afternoon was worth it. Not only did I get my season personal record, but I got my all-time personal record!!! I'm so happy!! So welcome. Welcome to the world of college athletics where you put your body through hell just to achieve a certain number. And you do it willingly and happily. Over and over again.
A few weeks ago when I was talking to our assistant coach about running, she said, "Pain: you either hate it and learn push through it or you learn to love it."
And I think I've learned to love it.
As much as I joke, this was actually really scary.
It was last Friday. We had a 6,000 meter ergometer test. This is one of the most difficult things I do in my life. This is a test where you push your body to its ultimate limit of exhaustion.....and then beyond that. Literally. You'll see. An ergometer is a rowing machine. I'm sure you've seen it in the gym. Maybe you've even hopped on it and pulled on the handle for a few minutes. But there is no possible way that you have EVER experienced the pain of an erg test. We do these multiple times a year. Stressful and painful, I always feel completely shitty and totally awesome at the same time whenever I finish. I think it has something to do with how crazy I am and the fact that I love pain in my muscles and body. Huh.
Anyway, I prepared myself all week by eating extremely healthy and getting a lot of sleep. I drank tons of water and even counted my fat, protein, and carbohydrate gram intake for a few days. (Crazy, yes.) I made sure I ate enough. But nothing could prepare me for what was going to happen during this erg test.
I started off strong. I was pounding out each stroke. I was so fit. I was flying. I was doing better than I had anticipated. Around the 3,000 meter mark, I started feeling sick to my stomach. Only half-way through and I felt like I was going to vom. It wasn't nausea caused by food; rather, it was the lactic acid that had built up in my legs and had finally made its way to my stomach. This is where you hit your anarobic threshold and your body needs to stop doing what it's doing. "Great," I thought. "Only half-way done and my body is already telling me that it has had enough and I need to stop immediately." But I couldn't stop. I was in the middle of a test. And there was no way I was quitting, even if my body was telling me that it was getting sick.
I'm coming up to the last 500 meters when all of a sudden I get tunnel vision. I can barely see anything in front of me. Yet, somehow, I still keep going as fast as I possibly can. "I'm almost finished with this MOFO test and there is NO WAY that I'm quitting. Even if I can't see." A few of my teammates are cheering behind me to sprint as fast as I can in order to get the best possible time. I'm doing everything in my power to stay conscious and finish the test.
I don't remember the last 200 meters (roughly one minute). I don't remember finishing. I know I didn't pass out, but I don't remember if I fell to the ground, stood up, or what. One of my teammates was there and helped me get off the erg (I only remember this because she was still with me about 20 minutes later and told me). I was so hot. I couldn't stand to be inside, but I couldn't walk either. She helped me walk outside where I immediately began vomiting and fell to the ground. I lost control of my entire body and couldn't talk, couldn't see, and (this is kind of embarrassing) began going to the bathroom. I completely lost control of my entire body as a result of this test. They had to pour water all over me to try to get my body temperature to decrease. But I was still so hot. And couldn't move.
And my heart rate was still at 190. This is 190 beats per minute. AKA, this is your heart rate when you are running/erging/whatever at your absolute hardest. But I had stopped doing any cardio 10 minutes ago. My heart rate should have slowed back to normal within 2 minutes of stopping. Something was very wrong.
I was still vomiting. I was still on the ground. Two of my teammates were looking at me like they had seen a ghost. They had. "Haley, you're so pale. You're as white as a sheet! You need some help. We need to go to the training room immediately." But I still couldn't walk. I could barely keep my eyes open. My teammate had to walk me to the training room, taking 10 minutes for a 2 minute walk.
We are about 100 meters away from the door when my entire arm begins to go numb. I had remained calm and didn't really feel like anything was wrong (weird, I know) until I couldn't feel a part of my body. I immediately begin freaking out. My teammate gets even more concerned. She runs to open the door and I slowly saunter through. We make it down the stairs and I'm on the verge of tears. I don't know what's going on. But I feel so sick. And I'm so hot that I can barely stand it. We finally make it downstairs and I lay down on the ground. I don't have enough energy to remain standing. I was so hot, but I wasn't sweating. My body was on fire. My teammate runs to get more water and begins pouring water all over me in the hallway. My trainer finally comes out to see what's going on and coaxes me into the training room and gets me to lay down and drink some water and Gatorade. I immediately begin throwing it up. My body can't handle anything at this point. She talks to me and helps me relax and gives me some medicine and electrolytes to rehydrate my body and get my blood sugar back to normal. I can finally down some Gatorade.
"Did you eat enough today? Did you sleep enough last night? What have you been doing all week? Did you do anything different before this erg test than other previous ones?"
I did everything normally, if not better than before other erg tests. I don't know why this happened.
The only thing I can think of is that I pushed my body completely and utterly outside of its comfort zone. And past its acceptable point of exhaustion.
Finally, (this is so weird and shows just how crazy I am) but as soon as I was feeling better and was leaving the training room (like an hour after the test), I thought, "Wow, I kind of want to do that again." Not the whole vomiting and "can't-remember-what-happened-to-me" thing, but the whole "pushing-myself-harder-than-I-ever-have-before" thing. You see, my dream is to be a marathon runner. So now, knowing that I ultimately crave this kind of pain and fatigue in my muscles and body, I know that I can and will achieve this dream.
Everything I went through this afternoon was worth it. Not only did I get my season personal record, but I got my all-time personal record!!! I'm so happy!! So welcome. Welcome to the world of college athletics where you put your body through hell just to achieve a certain number. And you do it willingly and happily. Over and over again.
A few weeks ago when I was talking to our assistant coach about running, she said, "Pain: you either hate it and learn push through it or you learn to love it."
And I think I've learned to love it.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Peace.
My goal for the rest of this semester is to be more peaceful.
And so far, it's working.
I'm happier, calmer, and generally more at peace with how things are going. Nothing in my life has changed, but my outlook on it has. And it's making all the difference.
I had a realization last Saturday. I was sitting at my desk writing about things when I realized that I was doing the equivalent of hitting my head against a wall. Over and over again. And it really hurt. Yet, I couldn't stop doing it. I was convinced that maybe the wall would give in to the force of my head. Surprise, surprise: it didn't. And it never will.
I'm all about control. I need to have control over every little thing in my life. Did you know that it's impossible to control everything that happens to you?! I know--crazy! Who knew?
I used to be so obsessed with school. If I didn't get an A, my life was over. OVER. I had failed. Disappointed myself and everyone I knew. (((See how ridiculous I was?))) After earning my first C on a midterm (followed immediately by my second C), I realized that sometimes you just don't always get what you strive for. Does that mean you're a bad person? No. Does that mean you didn't try your hardest? No. It just means you weren't as prepared as you thought you were. It means that you had other things to do that week that were higher on your priority list. And rightfully so.
School is important, yes, but so is your happiness. And enjoying life. If you spend your entire college career with your head stuck in a book trying to get a 4.0, then you aren't taking advantage of college. It's a time for growing. Changing. Loving yourself and experiencing life. Grades are important, yes, but your future employer also wants a wholesome, confident, and happy person working for them.
Therefore, when I saw my two C's this week, I sat back and accepted them fully into my life. Imperfection. Perfectly natural. (I haven't completely gone granola-girl on you---I immediately took inventory of my other grades to see that my GPA wouldn't suffer too bad.) And it won't. Yes, it's going to take a little hit this semester, but that's the price I'm going to pay for this amount of growth and understanding. And acceptance.
So I've removed my hands from the wall, pulled my head away, and taken a step back. What do you know? The wall is still there. I hadn't made a dent. All I had accomplished was a raging headache and disappointment. So I'm going a different route. I'm walking down the hall and going through that open door. Because, sometimes, you just can't force things. You can't always blaze your own path. Sometimes you have to take the options given to you and make the best decision you can. Does that mean you're being apathetic and letting life lead you? No. It means that you need to relax. Calm down. And accept what life has to offer. Because most of the time (if not all the time) its offer is even better than what you could have planned for yourself.
And now, one of my favorite artists. I am lucky enough to get to see him perform tonight.
Joshua Radin--Streetlight. Official website: http://us.joshuaradin.com/
And so far, it's working.
I'm happier, calmer, and generally more at peace with how things are going. Nothing in my life has changed, but my outlook on it has. And it's making all the difference.
I had a realization last Saturday. I was sitting at my desk writing about things when I realized that I was doing the equivalent of hitting my head against a wall. Over and over again. And it really hurt. Yet, I couldn't stop doing it. I was convinced that maybe the wall would give in to the force of my head. Surprise, surprise: it didn't. And it never will.
I'm all about control. I need to have control over every little thing in my life. Did you know that it's impossible to control everything that happens to you?! I know--crazy! Who knew?
I used to be so obsessed with school. If I didn't get an A, my life was over. OVER. I had failed. Disappointed myself and everyone I knew. (((See how ridiculous I was?))) After earning my first C on a midterm (followed immediately by my second C), I realized that sometimes you just don't always get what you strive for. Does that mean you're a bad person? No. Does that mean you didn't try your hardest? No. It just means you weren't as prepared as you thought you were. It means that you had other things to do that week that were higher on your priority list. And rightfully so.
School is important, yes, but so is your happiness. And enjoying life. If you spend your entire college career with your head stuck in a book trying to get a 4.0, then you aren't taking advantage of college. It's a time for growing. Changing. Loving yourself and experiencing life. Grades are important, yes, but your future employer also wants a wholesome, confident, and happy person working for them.
Therefore, when I saw my two C's this week, I sat back and accepted them fully into my life. Imperfection. Perfectly natural. (I haven't completely gone granola-girl on you---I immediately took inventory of my other grades to see that my GPA wouldn't suffer too bad.) And it won't. Yes, it's going to take a little hit this semester, but that's the price I'm going to pay for this amount of growth and understanding. And acceptance.
So I've removed my hands from the wall, pulled my head away, and taken a step back. What do you know? The wall is still there. I hadn't made a dent. All I had accomplished was a raging headache and disappointment. So I'm going a different route. I'm walking down the hall and going through that open door. Because, sometimes, you just can't force things. You can't always blaze your own path. Sometimes you have to take the options given to you and make the best decision you can. Does that mean you're being apathetic and letting life lead you? No. It means that you need to relax. Calm down. And accept what life has to offer. Because most of the time (if not all the time) its offer is even better than what you could have planned for yourself.
And now, one of my favorite artists. I am lucky enough to get to see him perform tonight.
Joshua Radin--Streetlight. Official website: http://us.joshuaradin.com/
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I'll probably find it AFTER I buy a replacement
This is a silly little story, but I'm going to share it anyway.
I have been looking for my eyebrow tweezers for over two weeks. TWO WEEKS. For two weeks, I have searched through my make-up bags, my desk, dresser, all the drawers in my bathroom, my closet, everywhere. Why, you ask, did I spend so much time looking for something that can easily be replaced for two dollars from your local Wal-mart? Well, it's two dollars, DUH! I'm not about to waste that cash.
Anyway, just as my forehead was beginning to resemble that of the caveman from the Geico car commercials, I decided that purchasing a replacement was necessary. I complained to my roommate, "You just watch; as soon as I buy those freaking tweezers, I'm going to find my old pair. I know it." So I decided having two pairs of tweezers was better than none at all and that I should buy a new pair so I could find my old one.
So I went to the grocery store today, scrutinized a few models of tweezers while comparing prices and structure (haha), and I finally bought a new set. Tweezing your eyebrows in the daylight is the best because it's natural light. Therefore, I got in my car and pulled over into the back corner of the Tom Thumb parking lot so no one could see me. It's kind of awkward when you make eye contact with someone watching you tweeze your eyebrows in your car. (Trust me, I know.)
I finish a some-what professional job and begin to think about where I am going to keep these tweezers so I don't lose them again. "I know! I'll put them in the center console so they'll always be in my car since I always tweeze my eyebrows in here anyway. Easy acce----shit."
I think I know where my tweezers are.
Sure enough, I open up my center console and there are my tweezers! I found them right after I bought a new pair just like I knew I would. A mere FIVE MINUTES after.
So where did I put my new tweezers? Well right next to my old ones, duh. That way I can tweeze my eyebrows in the car in broad daylight. And also so I can buy another pair of tweezers in a few weeks.
I have been looking for my eyebrow tweezers for over two weeks. TWO WEEKS. For two weeks, I have searched through my make-up bags, my desk, dresser, all the drawers in my bathroom, my closet, everywhere. Why, you ask, did I spend so much time looking for something that can easily be replaced for two dollars from your local Wal-mart? Well, it's two dollars, DUH! I'm not about to waste that cash.
Anyway, just as my forehead was beginning to resemble that of the caveman from the Geico car commercials, I decided that purchasing a replacement was necessary. I complained to my roommate, "You just watch; as soon as I buy those freaking tweezers, I'm going to find my old pair. I know it." So I decided having two pairs of tweezers was better than none at all and that I should buy a new pair so I could find my old one.
So I went to the grocery store today, scrutinized a few models of tweezers while comparing prices and structure (haha), and I finally bought a new set. Tweezing your eyebrows in the daylight is the best because it's natural light. Therefore, I got in my car and pulled over into the back corner of the Tom Thumb parking lot so no one could see me. It's kind of awkward when you make eye contact with someone watching you tweeze your eyebrows in your car. (Trust me, I know.)
I finish a some-what professional job and begin to think about where I am going to keep these tweezers so I don't lose them again. "I know! I'll put them in the center console so they'll always be in my car since I always tweeze my eyebrows in here anyway. Easy acce----shit."
I think I know where my tweezers are.
Sure enough, I open up my center console and there are my tweezers! I found them right after I bought a new pair just like I knew I would. A mere FIVE MINUTES after.
So where did I put my new tweezers? Well right next to my old ones, duh. That way I can tweeze my eyebrows in the car in broad daylight. And also so I can buy another pair of tweezers in a few weeks.
Friday, November 5, 2010
I am 20 plus 1 divided by 2
That's right. I am actually 10.5 years old.
Chronologically, I turned 21 the other day. Mentally, I turned 11. Physically, I turned 35.
You see, in order to be 21, you have to be an adult. And you kinda, sorta have to know what you want to do with your life. At least a little.
Me? No. I don't know where the next year is going. I don't know where the past 10 years went. Or the last 6 months (2 of which were in Europe so I know why those months are missing....) But, still. A junior in college. And I'm officially freaking out.
T minus 1 and 1/2 years until I'm unwillingly pushed across a stage at graduation and handed a piece of paper saying, "Here's what you paid for, you're welcome, now kindly see yourself out." I suppose it's not as harsh as I'm making it out to be, but it's still really scary. I can see myself now: I accept the boot in the booty as I walk down the stairs and join the rest of humanity in the corporate world only to see about 100 paths in front of me and not know which one to choose. I run back up the stairs, give my piece of paper back to the Dean, and jump back down the other side.
"I'm not supposed to be a college grad. I'm not supposed to be a high school grad. When did I graduate grade school? Wasn't that like, yesterday?! I'm pretty sure it was. I can remember everything about that day, so it had to be yesterday. How can it possible be so far away?" I was so excited to go to high school and move on and up in the world. Experience new things. Be a cool college student. Become who I wanted to be. I figured I'd have that all figured out by my 20's. Because that's when you become a young, hot, 20-something sipping a cosmo at a cool bar and you're just in love with yourself.
But I'm a year past that deadline and I still don't know that girl. Where is she? Is she coming soon? Will she ever come?
Part of me thinks I need to just chill out for a sec, sit back, and accept things as they come. Part of me thinks I need to get everything figured out right now. Part of me thinks I'll never have it all figured out. Part of me is ok with that. Part of me is incredibly freaked out that that could even be possible.
I'm sure you're wondering where the 35-year-old comes in. (I don't think I'll ever mentally reach that age.....) As a college athlete, your body is torn down, and down, and down. I went to a concert the other night and just from standing for an hour or so, my back felt like it was about to break in half. It would be another story if I went crowd surfing (not a rookie), but this was from performing a necessary and everyday activity: standing up straight. Convinced that if a doctor took a look at my insides, he'd see some major issues. Which kind of scares me for when I turn 40----body of a 65-year-old? I HOPE NOT!
Anyway, this is really freaky. I'm 21. I'm 21. I'm 21. But how can I be? It literally seems impossible. I'm too young to be 21.
Chronologically, I turned 21 the other day. Mentally, I turned 11. Physically, I turned 35.
You see, in order to be 21, you have to be an adult. And you kinda, sorta have to know what you want to do with your life. At least a little.
Me? No. I don't know where the next year is going. I don't know where the past 10 years went. Or the last 6 months (2 of which were in Europe so I know why those months are missing....) But, still. A junior in college. And I'm officially freaking out.
T minus 1 and 1/2 years until I'm unwillingly pushed across a stage at graduation and handed a piece of paper saying, "Here's what you paid for, you're welcome, now kindly see yourself out." I suppose it's not as harsh as I'm making it out to be, but it's still really scary. I can see myself now: I accept the boot in the booty as I walk down the stairs and join the rest of humanity in the corporate world only to see about 100 paths in front of me and not know which one to choose. I run back up the stairs, give my piece of paper back to the Dean, and jump back down the other side.
"I'm not supposed to be a college grad. I'm not supposed to be a high school grad. When did I graduate grade school? Wasn't that like, yesterday?! I'm pretty sure it was. I can remember everything about that day, so it had to be yesterday. How can it possible be so far away?" I was so excited to go to high school and move on and up in the world. Experience new things. Be a cool college student. Become who I wanted to be. I figured I'd have that all figured out by my 20's. Because that's when you become a young, hot, 20-something sipping a cosmo at a cool bar and you're just in love with yourself.
But I'm a year past that deadline and I still don't know that girl. Where is she? Is she coming soon? Will she ever come?
Part of me thinks I need to just chill out for a sec, sit back, and accept things as they come. Part of me thinks I need to get everything figured out right now. Part of me thinks I'll never have it all figured out. Part of me is ok with that. Part of me is incredibly freaked out that that could even be possible.
I'm sure you're wondering where the 35-year-old comes in. (I don't think I'll ever mentally reach that age.....) As a college athlete, your body is torn down, and down, and down. I went to a concert the other night and just from standing for an hour or so, my back felt like it was about to break in half. It would be another story if I went crowd surfing (not a rookie), but this was from performing a necessary and everyday activity: standing up straight. Convinced that if a doctor took a look at my insides, he'd see some major issues. Which kind of scares me for when I turn 40----body of a 65-year-old? I HOPE NOT!
Anyway, this is really freaky. I'm 21. I'm 21. I'm 21. But how can I be? It literally seems impossible. I'm too young to be 21.
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