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18 Aug

Remember how I wrote that my post-race injury report only included two blisters and some underarm chafing?

Yeah. Forget that.

A day after the race, I started to notice that my left shin was super sore. As in, my ankle to my knee felt both stiff and warm at the same time. The same hip is also acting up.

I have been getting shin splints intermittently throughout my training. Most people do. Rookies get it from wearing non-fitted shoes (get yo ass to a specialty running store and have them watch your gait). Intermediate runners like myself get it from running too hard or too long on hard, cement based surfaces.

Eventually, all that wear and tear results in painful… um… tears in the front part of your shins. Here’s a helpful medical drawing:


The only way to cure it? Well, dont do anything on it until it stops hurting. Really, there is no way to make this better. No stretches you can do that will make the soreness go away, and frankly, even icing it just dulls it for awhile. It needs to be coddled like a baby.

And then you can run again…

Which means, that I am out of commission this week. It’s lucky because this weekend’s planned 8 miler would have been hell with Air and Water Show traffic along my path. I prefer my runs to be quiet reflections, not adventures in tourism.

And because I’m taking a week off running, I’m taking off a week of exercise- which sounds horrible. (and it is)

To be quite honest, I ran that race with just about everything in me. The little fibers of my body need to rest and recover right along the duly injured shins. I’ve been dealing with lower back pain for about a month now. Thinking that I would be able to afford myself a nice, professional massage after this race, I ignored it and kept pushing it. Now, well, even sitting is making me cringe.

On a side note, if you could spare about 80 bucks for me to go see a professional, I’d be so ever grateful. I’m taking donations.

So, that’s what is happening this week (aka… nothing).

But, in other news, I finished applying for my Master’s program yesterday. So exciting and scary. I really, really wish I would have focused more in my undergrad on my non-music electives. Some of those classes really hurt my overall gpa. Oh, and that Jazz Tech class, which I stupidly took my freshman year before I understood jazz chords. Frack.

The man, the myth, the lengend... Doug Beach. Yet, even he couldn't teach me how to snap my fingers.


The Next Steps

11 Aug

I was having some major dejavu. There I was, again, sitting in my favorite college professor’s office fretting about life- my career path, classes I needed, where I would be in a year, my relationships, etc. This particular professor has a gift at making you reflect and analyze till nothing and everything seems right- all at the same time.

But, I wasn’t his student anymore. I’ve been two years removed from him. In fact, it had been a year since I had seen or even communicated him last. This was just supposed to be a surprise catch up after a horrible interview for what I thought was my dream job.

That dream job was something I have secretly prayed for over the last, classroom-free year. The more and more that I watch old college friends get teaching job after teaching job, my heart breaks a little more. It’s not jealousy, it’s a mix of nostalgia. I truly miss my time as a teacher. It ended too soon.

The last year sans-teaching has been a strange bag. I find myself living with a boyfriend in a better neighborhood and taking the L to my job as a program assistant in a graduate program. I’ve been taking on more and more for my job, becoming oddly comfortable with terms like biomaterials and can easily distinguish between your biology and engineering undergrad courses. Oh, and I’m running a half marathon in 4 days. I could call it a 180, but that would be stupid. It’s more of a 120.

My life, oddly enough, feels as if it should. I’m perfectly content living a little above paycheck to paycheck at a job while dealing with the emotional toll that is my post undergrad years.

But, as I found myself grasping at straws in that interview, I kept thinking… what if? What if I was still teaching? OR What if I got this job? What would my life be like? Would I miss living in the city and utilizing public transportation to read smutty romance novels in the morning? Would B and I be happy, or would I be stressed to the max with RTIs and lesson plans? Could I have a dog, if I wanted?


I gave myself twelve hours to mope over it- to pretend that I was a failure because I wasn’t teaching for another year. And then I got to planning the NEXT STAGE of my life.

This stage includes working on my Masters.

I’ve been hesitant. I wanted to make sure that my job, which provides beyond excellent tuition benefits, was right for me, and somewhere I could continue to work while in school. After thinking over how not getting that dream job wasn’t as depressing as it should have been, I realized that the job I have now is what I make it. I could keep at this for another two-three years. And if I need to, I can explore other options at the university.

So. I’m making it official. I’m looking in to grad school so I can begin phase 2. This is the right time, and I’m ready to make that next step. I filled out the majority of my application this morning with the hope of being admitted for the winter quarter.

I’d normally write that “I hope I’m ready,” but I am. It’s time.