Tide Pools

For Fourth of July weekend, I went with my parents back to Guilford, CT. In the sweet coolness of October, my blue, suffocating little body was brought into this world luckily through the help of excellent staff at Yale Hospital in New Haven, CT. Thanks to their brilliance, doctors were able to remove the umbilical cord from around my neck and reinflate my lung; and after three days in Intensive Care, I was able to go home and have a stab at life. Maybe this is why I hate Smurfs - blue people are not natural.

I spent age conception through five growing up in Guilford. Since we moved to Cincinnati, I don't get back very often. In fact, I hadn't been back in almost five years. What struck me most, and what had my heart and mind whirling for the entire weekend, was not the patriotism that coursed through the Northeast or the taste of perfectly grilled hotdogs and hamburgers. It was the realization of the little ripples in my early youth that became waves in young-adulthood. I had never realized what trends and nuances of my personality and who I am today were simply an augmentation of things that happened before I even got to the juice-box and nap-time-on-carpet-square phase of my life!

This is a wide shot of Chaffinch Island. My mother used to take me here more often than I can recall, from before cognition (you know, those years that you can't remember), all the way up until we moved to Ohio. In addition, we'd go back here and visit each summer when we came to CT after the move, probably until I was about 14. Chaffinch Island is a park & picnic area on the Connecticut coast that looks out into Long Island Sound, i.e. The Atlantic. There are only two picnic tables, one little grill, and the rest is all natural - no swing sets, land-scaped trees/bushes, rubber walk-ways, or waterfountains. It's a barely touched area. It is beautiful. I can safely say that I was ALWAYS happy here at Chaffinch, and here is what has echoed since those days.

My love for the outdoors comes from here. I simply love being outside, and feel rejuvenated with warm sunlight or a breeze that smells of salt water. It's a reinvigorating experience, as Antaeus must touch the ground for strength or Rogue must bare-hand touch someone to regain power. I am at my most optimistic and energized when outside.

My fascination with animals originates here on Chaffinch. When I would go to this park, I would take a net and a small, plastic, clear container with a handle. With my mother watching from afar, I would run from tidepool to tidepool, lifting up large rocks and collecting the crabs and hermit crabs that would scatter. Watching these little animals scurry around inside the saltwater within, I was entranced by their billowing gills, flickering appendages, and panicked/curious eyes as they moved about over one another. In addition, my attention to fine physical detail (a rip in a shirt, an acorn in the grass, etc.) comes from this, as one must have a keen eye for slight movement in a tide pool to find the rare creatures.

This is also a small shoot-off for my love of collecting things. I am by no means a pack-rat, but as a kid there were collections of toys that I wanted each character of; and I would say at my age now, I am a collector of experiences and photographs.

I think my hidden joy in doing things that scare my mother might originate here. At Chaffinch, I would often times dive behind large boulders where I could not be seen to search for creatures, or swim out too far into the open ocean, where the current was strong and there were no footholds. Of course, these both resulted in my mother screaming my name in this high-pitched terror-tone (which is like nails-on-chalkboards to this day), and me having to slump back into view. Today, I do things like travel really far, run marathons, camp in the woods, and eat at restaurants where they serve things I'm allergic to. It's not really to be mean to my mom, but it does provide some small satisfaction that I do things that scare the crap out of her.

While I would say I'm an extrovert in familiar settings, I greatly value my alone time. Being alone allows me to not only reflect on my experiences and myself, but it allows me to enjoy my various hobbies that I really prefer to do alone - write, read, play certain video games, and nap. Growing up in Guilford, I didn't have any friends my age. My parents were very close with a number of people who all had children my brother's age (13 years older than me), and I spent much of my youth 0-5 around adults. There was a girl that my neighbors babysat named Becca, who was about three years older than me, and I'd see her occasionally. So, I think this is also why most of my current friends are older than me, and that I'm more comfortable and at-home with people anywhere from five years older to three times my age, than people of my own age. At Chaffinch, no one ever came along with me, and I ran around collecting creatures while my mother sat and read at the picnic table. A thirst for adventure, self-reliance, and independence was probably birthed due to this as well - going it alone and discovering for myself.


On a negative note, I think my waning enthusiasm with projects that are no longer fresh come in to play here as well. Or ADD trends, one or the other. After collecting all these little crustaceans, I'd bring them back to our home to leave on the porch. Although entertaining for an hour, they would soon be forgotten as I ran off to watch movies, play with toys, or do something with the dog and parents. The poor things would thus slowly boil in the sun, and end up dying and smelling terrible. I think most recently, I am very excited about new and fresh ideas and events. However, I sometimes have trouble knowing when they've reached their expiration date and letting them go. This echoes in my relationships, work projects, and even when I've become bored with a book or game, but can't seem to stop engaging in it. I'm working on this, trying to get better - I just need to know when to let things free.

But on the morning of July 4th, looking out over the waters that many a whaling schooner and British Brigadier once sailed across, a new realization struck me regarding Chaffinch Island. There I stood, formal shoes slowly sinking into the soft sand from the morning rain, and I looked out over the boulders as the ocean breeze groomed the tall grass and cat-tails, and sung through the cracks between the rock. What one does not realize in urban sprawl is that your view is always blocked. Every direction you look there is a tree, building, bus, or person blocking your view from seeing the horizon - and take that literally and figuratively. But there standing on Chaffinch, I saw something I so rarely see - the line where sky meets water. I find myself in a state of life where I so badly want to get off this chunk of rock called America, and have my adventure in another country, doing anything anyone will hire me for. Why do I want to leave? A sense of adventure, a sense of independence, and sense of discovery because of my own free-will and determination - diving between boulders, as you may say. So looking out over that water, I realized I had come full circle. I had spent my youth with my face in the tide-pools, collecting, analyzing, and discovering. And I found the pools so deep and rich with life and color. But now I feel as if I've picked my head up, looked out over the water, and discovered just how small my tide pool really is in comparison. And I am compelled to go. To find out. To discover. To know.

Today, I Ran

Today at the Lindner Y, I ran 3.1 miles at a 6 m.p.h. pace. It is the first time I have run in almost two months. And I couldn't feel better.

The morning started off with one of the awkward new-employee welcomes. These usually take the fashion of forming a perfect standing circle around a table with bagels, cream cheese, orange juice, and coffee (buy stock in Panera!), and uncomfortably staring at the new employee. This hair-raising event lasts for about 30 minutes, as the ten of us hesitantly grill the new employee, wanting to be polite and learn about her, but also not overwhelm her on day one. However, there is only so long one can endure, "so how bad is your commute", "where did you work before", and "how's your first day", before it simply becomes obsolete and although you're smiling, inside your head you're screaming GET ME THE CRAP OUT OF HERE!!! But there were bagels....and what did that mean for me? Carb loading.....

The day passed as monotonously and yawn-tastic as usual, and after work I went to the gym for my new routine. Since the Flying Pig, my exercise life has drastically changed. From mid-May to mid-June, I was at physical therapy twice a week working to repair my left knee and ankle. When my prescribed month was up, so were my funds to afford said therapy, and the knee was not fully recovered. So I redesigned my entire workout routine. Starting in late May, I was still not able to do any cardio without subtle pains in my left joints; however, a reader of the Pig Blog had sent me a lengthy explanation that boiled down to this: IT Bands hurt because they're making up for weak muscles in the hips, glutes, and upper legs. Strengthen those, and your IT Band pain will go away. So now my routine is 50% core, 50% leg strength training. I miss all the "cool" stuff like bicep curls and bench presses, but I know this is smarter. Life lesson: what is cool is not necessarily smart.

So I went through the usual 40 minutes of strength training, and it came down to the time to do 30 minutes of cardio. I've been easing back in to cardio, and doing it lightly, and I stop the second IT Band starts to feel funny (It Band is on summer break right now, and sleeps 'til about three in the afternoon anyway. But if you pull up the shades in his bedroom, he begins to tussle and then he's grumpy). I went back to the old staple of the elliptical, which hasn't caused much trouble, and yesterday I imagined I was in a spin class and did a 30-minute routine on a bike in the main room of the gym - which I'm sure scared the crap out of people around me. Breathing heavy, dripping sweat, grunting I'm sure (couldn't hear bc of the headphones). Let's just say I didn't have any neighbors......

So today, I stared down the treadmill. There it stood, in all it's cold, plastic, cruel malevolence, and I wondered to myself if I could do it, if I should try. Here's a wonderful curse: once you've run a marathon, the answer to "should I try" is always yes. But what really got me on that tread is this:

My mentor from TEAM in Training is married, and has two wonderful little children, a boy and a girl - guessing about 7 and 9. I only met them a couple times, but on marathon day they followed their mother around from block to block, cheering us on all the way. A couple weeks after the marathon, I received a small, white envelope from the "Nocks" household. Inside was a letter from Randy, congratulating me on my finish. Folded up in his letter was a colored picture, made by his daughter Kathryn. It read "Go Ben Go! Run run run run run, go go go go" and had a picture of me running along the road, with a big pac-man grin. She apparently held it high the entire race, and waved it every time we passed by. I have worked many years in summer camp and educational settings, but it's been a long time since a child made something for me. I took that picture, and hung it above my desk in my office. It's cluttered between a cornucopia of silly things: colorings from Krystina in LA, thank you cards from friends, and even a to-do list by Dwight Schrute. But I look at that picture every day, and it makes me keep going. Just because a 9-year-old told me to. Just because she believed.

I hopped on the treadmill, and with music full blast in my ears, bounded off on my run to "Bleed it Out" by Linkin Park, my old power song. One mile in, and I felt great. Two miles in, and I was dripping sweat and only a slight irritation in my ankle. Three miles in, and sweat dotted the entire treadmill but my joints were holding in there, my heart was racing, my breathing heavy, and a smile from ear to ear dominated my face. As I walked out my cool down, "Mojave" by the Afro Celtic Soundsystem brought my heart to a calm thu-dump, and I came to a stop. No song could be a more beautiful closing to something so big for me.

I have been really hesitant to get back on the treadmill, or to run at all. I've kind of hit a low point with exercise, as I've put on double-digit weight with my lack of cardio, don't do cool arm and chest exercises anymore, and have been a little scared to reinjure my knee. But today I took the plunge, I went for it, because I felt strong in heart and body. Kathryn is probably very artistic. I have a feeling the Nock's refrigerator at home is covered with various drawings and scribbles from Kathryn over the years, and she loves every one of them. I can even picture the Nocks cheering team the night before the race, sitting in the living room together watching a movie, and Kathryn is on the floor doodling away for some man she doesn't even know, but who runs with her dad and doesn't seem scary. It may seem small to her, a fun little drawing to serve a purpose for a few hours. But to me, her tiny act of unselfishness and thoughtfulness, for someone she didn't even really know, means the world. It's a little act, but it's an innocent, child-induced message that I read every day over my desk - Go Ben. To be cheered for, even in keyboard clicking mediocrity, resounds deeply.

So my whole thought about this is that I feel a lot of us have lost touch with these tiny gifts. We have a routine, we stick to it, and don't take the time out necessarily as often as we could to do something for someone else. It doesn't have to be huge - not planning a party, some massive gift, or driving somewhere to visit. But little things - pictures, handwritten letters, or just a little help. If we could get back in touch with that youthful kindness, the ripples really could go from this side of the lake to the other. So, I think I'm going to try and make a conscious effort to cheer others on around me. A 9-year-old girl I barely knew did, and she boosted my confidence to go back and face what took me down. I'm ready to look up to her.