motivation is such a fickle thing.

This post hasn’t been well thought-out or anything.  I’ve just been frustrated a lot lately and felt like ranting a bit.  I don’t think I’m alone, especially with the winter season here now.

I officially moved into my new place in September.  Around that time, I had a TON of unpacking to do and also a lot of planning.  I had just decided I would be flying to Hong Kong in 2 months and I had $2,000 to raise.  Needless to say, I was using my time to scramble.  I had to finish painting so I could at least push my furniture against the wall, then I had to sort through boxes and unpack.  And I’ve lived alone since 2011 so I have quite a lot of things to unpack.

Well, with the trip coming up, my fundraising prioritized slightly.  I was going through my boxes of books and selling things online, setting up an Amazon account and having to deal with issues with my bank to make the thing work out alright.  I went to a few events and raised funds there.  Also, I was planning a trip to Orlando for National Conference (AISES) – and we’re not talking like it was last year when I flew to Denver and just did whatever.  I was just a volunteer that year.  No, this year I was a volunteer, a judge, a presenter, a chapter member, a student chaperone/assistant, and a networker.  Plus, I drove.  And so that also took money, which meant all September and October I was working overtime, then November I was traveling.

So my place is still at least 5 to 10% unpacked.

My kitchen cabinets are 70% finished and have sat like that since September.

And then I put things up and they come back down.  Like my curtains.  I took the time to hang them and my cats took the time to rip them back down again.  Twice.  Or the Christmas tree that was eaten twice before I finally established a “NO!!!” basis with the cats…but that still hasn’t managed to uncover my lost star tree-topper, or the cat collar that somehow vanished in the chasing process…

Oh, and the excellent caretakers….like the ones who drove the plow truck into my garden units and smashed my boards to pieces.  Or the idiots who did a repair to my gutters (which still, by the way, don’t work) and so now my basement still floods and my back porch got smashed by a backhoe.

The people who came to replace a pipeline in my yard, tore up my grass and gardens, and made a mucky mess out of the sidewalk.  Which is now solid ice because someone thought plowing it a little and letting the snow melt in the sun was a good idea.  So I nearly wiped out 10 times last night.

The mailman who doesn’t mail my rent checks, so I find them 10 days later in my mailbox.

Well, at least I finally have heat.  It doesn’t seem to work right, but my place is generally around 60 and I’ve stopped showering at LA Fitness because I actually have hot water now.

All of these little things going on and it’s so hard to come home from a 10-hour work day, walk into a semi-warm house, and say “I’m gonna clean this ALL UP right NOW!”  It just doesn’t happen.  I might sit down on the couch and suddenly find myself waking up, it’s 2am, and I haven’t eaten dinner.  So what about my workout schedule?  Well, that’s been pretty terrible, too.  I used to run all the time and it felt good, but suddenly I was feeling like running was a burden.  I don’t like running on the streets with cars passing or guys whistling or something stupid, so I’ve felt trapped.  I’ll go to the gym at 5:30am, but with hockey most nights now I can’t possibly get home at 1am and expect to be working out in a few hours.

I’ve been lucky lately because I’ve forced myself to try a new thing: Nike Plus “Coach”.  I went for a 3.6 mile run last Sunday while the weather was still decent.  I realized I needed to get back into this running.  5Ks used to be so easy – even 10Ks.  I want to run a full marathon someday and realize I had been close to running it when I did my last 1/2 marathon, so why slack off now?  It’ll be harder to catch up later.

My Coach function allowed me to choose “Marathon” as my training goal.  I’m not saying I’m gonna go through the whole thing and actually run that Marathon when it says I will, but I’m going to stick to it as much as I can for as long as I can.  Partly, I want to do this because it will bring me through this cruddy months when I usually drop my mileage anyway.  I hate treadmills, I hate running indoors unless I’m sprinting on a track.  That’s just by the nature of the sports I did: Fall XC and Indoor/Outdoor Track.  And I always trip on treadmills.  It’s pretty uncoordinated and bad.

With my “Coach” telling me to get out and run, I have logged over 10 miles since Tuesday this week and am about to go to North Chagrin Reservation to log another 5.  Yeah, it’s been icy and in the 20s, but the Coach just wants to see you try.  It’s kind of nice to hear a voice say “Halfway there!’ and “Congratulations!  You finished your goal!”, followed by a recording of an actual star athlete complimenting your work.  And I’ve slowly come to realize that a 3 mile run is really only 20 minutes out of your day.  I could kill 20 minutes just looking at my Tumblr feed and, while Tumblr tends to be my source of “news” considering I follow a very trendy, outspoken friend, it’s not at all as useful as spending that time accomplishing something.

My Coach says I can run a Marathon by May 31st on the plan, so maybe I’ll look into running one this summer. If nothing else, sticking to the plan through the winter is the first inkling of motivation I’ve had for a long time, and just in time too.  These months are rough ones here in the Lake Effect Snow zone.  But I love snow, so I won’t complain.

you’re almost there.

I broke both laces on my dance shoes last night in class.  I’d never broken a single lace in my 16 years of dancing, so it was surprising and also extremely frustrating.  Nonetheless, I took laces from an old pair, restrung my new ones, and got back up to finish class.  Then I stayed after class… making practice about twice as long as usual.

On the drive home, I was thinking about dancing.  How Scottish Highland can really suck sometimes.  You’d think dance is just dance, but I tell ya… First, you have practice.  Long, long practices.  It’s generally the same dances week after week which means you’re working either on stamina, grueling details, or both.  And no matter what, you’ve got to be trying your hardest – even in a practice run.  If you don’t, you’ll either not improve or pick up bad habits or both.

Then there’s competition.  Most competition is done in the hot summer months.  Our costumes are several pounds, namely the traditional kilt.  I’ve got yards upon yards of pleated fabric, knee-high wool socks, and a long-sleeved velvet dress.  You sweat a LOT dancing outside in that stuff and you have to be strong enough to elevate with your weight plus the kilt.  Growing up, that was especially challenging for me because I didn’t wear a dance kilt but instead a heavy military one.

So what’s my point in all of this?

Well, I was imagining practice.  I was imagining competition.  I was reliving that feeling of keeping every muscle tense, every movement precise, every jump as equally high and perfectly timed, even maintaining the right look on your face (performing smile or determined countenance)… and I remembered the mantra that always plays in my head.  I never noticed it before, but I most certainly am constantly chanting to myself while I dance:

You’re almost there.  You’re almost there.  You’re almost there.

But sometimes I’m not really almost there.  I just have to tell myself that.  I get through the first half of Step One and I tell myself, “Excel through the turn!  You’re almost there!  You just have to do it on the other side!”  Step one, I’m saying this.  Then I say it for Step Two.  Step Three.  At Step Four, “You’re halfway done!”  And when Step Six arrives and I just want to drop my heels and lose my form, “You’re seriously almost there!  Pick up your elevation!  Make this the strongest step!”

I definitely hit a wall dancing.  Nearly every time I compete, I get to about the middle or 3/4-point of the dance and I just want to slouch, slack, quit.  I have to talk to myself to make myself pick it up, telling myself I didn’t work all this time and all this dance right now to quit.  I already dressed up and did my hair, too, and that’s a lot of work!  So go!

Then when I finish the dance, I feel horrible.  I’m sweating, I’m sore, I’m panting and I can breathe because my vest is so tight…but I walk off and feel such a wave of relief that it’s done.

And I tell myself, “You’re almost there!  Three more dances left.”

You’re almost there.

That gets me through more than just dancing.  It also gets me through the following:
-a track workout
-a XC workout
-a hockey practice
-a sprint
-a timed mile
-a 5K
-a half-marathon
-a hockey game that my team is winning when the score is really close
-kickboxing
-PLANKS
-basically any kind of physical labor
-musical performances
-driving
-a day with a long, time-sensitive to-do list
-work
-cleaning my room
-essays or reports
-a book, especially if I don’t like it much
-school
-anything checklist worthy
-anything I look forward to and write on my calendar
-etc.

Yes, any time I feel like my strength, endurance, patience, motivation, determination, whatever is being tested, it’s a matter of almost being there, of pushing aside walls, making up checkpoints, and constantly crossing them off as I reach them.

It’s amazing how much You’re almost there can help me get through anything.

Why Journalists are Some of the Lowest People on the Planet

With all of the headlines flying through the newspapers and websites regarding the Boston Marathon and recent catastrophe, I couldn’t help but be appalled by what I saw: Pictures of bloodied-up spectators lying in agony as they received medical attention, plastered all over the front pages of every paper.  All I could think of was, were that me, I would be absolutely FURIOUS and DEVASTATED by seeing myself in the news like that.

I would post an example of the pictures I’ve been seeing but, to be perfectly honest, I don’t support them at all and therefore I refuse to spread them around any further.

Seeing these images reminded me of how common grotesque photos are in the media world.  It made me ask myself, “Why do we publish such things?”  You don’t have to look far to find the answer.  First of all, it got my attention.  Often, the images make me want to cry.  I realized the strategy in this: Seeing the images drew me in to see the article and possibly read it, to maybe even buy the paper.  To make me care more about people I don’t know.  Then I thought, what does that tell us about the media?  About ourselves?

For one, are we such horrible people that we couldn’t take notice or shed a tear for people without seeing with our own eyes their pain?  Is seeing really believing?  Do we really need to ogle over distress, injury, and death to amuse ourselves and remember we aren’t that person on the front page?  Does it ever inspire us to actually change anything or get up and help someone?  Isn’t reading a newspaper often like… rubbernecking at a car accident?

But I think the real question is this: What is wrong with the photographers and the journalists who write these articles?  What is wrong with the person that stood there with a camera over a suffering human being so he or she could snap a photo and continue on to the next disaster?  What is wrong with the person that picked the goriest photo and zoomed in on a victim’s face to accompany a front page article highlighting the worst parts – if not very end – of someone’s life?  These people are doing this as a career for profit.  Is it for anything else?  I hope not.  How can you say “I want to be a journalist so I can take pictures of dying people”?  You don’t.  You say, “I want to be a journalist because I want to write and have my articles selected and make money.”

So you go out and write what it takes to get you that front page article.  You do it at the expense of others.  Meanwhile there are people suffering, medics working undercover, and you get all of the glory for someone else’s death.  It’s dog eat dog.

That’s why I think journalists are some of the lowest people on the planet.