Lets get a couple things straight.
1) I'm a Christian. I believe in God and Jesus. I believe that Jesus died for my sins and was a radical liberal.
2) I'm a Feminist. This means I don't hate men and I don't burn bras (because they're expensive). I simply believe that women should be treated as equals to men. We're different I get that, but one is not superior to the other.
3) I cuss. Not a lot, but enough to add emphasis like "SHIT that FUCKING hurt!" or "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" when I'm really just tired of the day to day bullshit.
My faith in God has probably been the thing that has kept me most even keeled, calm, and OK during some different times in my life. Prayer during my long runs have helped me immensely. I have my doubts about religion and churches, I'm wary of any mass group of people being led by one person. I'm skeptical of men (as in human beings, not as a just men) but I'm not skeptical in God. I often wonder if He looks down at us with face palming all day. I believe the Bible can serve as guide, but I also can't ignore the fact that it was written by us flawed human beings. God talking to us is like pouring the purest water through a janky filter. If we go into the whole sin/original sin thing I think there is some validity to this. There are a lot of things I don't understand, and I accept that I may never understand it. I once had a professor who summed it up perfectly " A person trying to understand God is like trying to look through a stained glass window. You get an idea of what's out there but you don't get a clear picture." I like having something bigger than me.
"when my heart is overwhelmed: Lead me to the rock that is higher than I" Psalm 61:2
2) When the Bible was being written, chances are it was totally being written by a dude. I mean oppression of women isn't something new people, it's been going on since like forever. Machismo and Religion are like homies. Hence why I take some Biblical passages with a grain of salt. The Bible is a reflection of its times. But I digress, I'm a Feminist. I believe in the whole equal pay for equal work. I believe in a woman's right to chose for her body and her career. If you want to stay home, stay home. If you want to work, work. The women's movement has allowed for us to have more options. I also believe that Feminism benefits men, because it allows flexibility in all our roles. So much of roles is tied up with sexuality (no bueno), but it's good for everyone. Equality is a good thing. Equality is sexy. Equality for everyone YEI!
3) Some people say 'cussing is unlady like' but I say fuck it. What does it mean to be a Lady? Who defined that? (Well that's a whole other blog discussion). I try to curb the cussing around kids, because well, no one wants to hear a 5 year old say 'shit head.' I just like to pepper it in, you know, for flavor. Not like, every other word, just a little emphasis.
I felt the need to write this blog because I've had people say "Oh I didn't know you were a Christian" because why? Because I don't memorize Bible verses, or attend church every Sunday. If 10 years of private school education has taught is that the most "Christian" Christians were some of the most hypocritical awful people I have ever met. It was in these Christian schools where I heard racist terms said to me and people were straight up mean because I looked different. If we can get passed the label of "good" Christian to real Christian I think people would probably like us more. We're flawed, multifaceted people. I hate that so many out there associated my faith with hypocrisy and hate with Christianity.
This is me being real: I'm a Christian who cusses and believes in equal rights for women and the LGBTQ community. I'm a Christian who struggles with her faith, who misses a good praise song.I didn't get married a virgin (but mad props to those who did!) . I am what I am, I make no apologize, and to quote the great philosopher 2Pac: "Only God can judge me."
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Unknown Runner
This past weekend I got the chance to experience some serious physical endurance. I completed my first triathlon (A sprint with abysmal results, but who cares, I finished it) and I got the chance to check off the Nike Women's Run series off my running bucket list.
As I flew up to San Fran to meet up with a friend who was also running it, I heard women on the plane talking about it, women on the shuttle discussing nerves, and women carb loading in local Italian joints. I got the chance to meet a woman (my friend's friend) who was making this her first 1/2 marathon. It was exciting to talk about where to put the glide and how to avoid chafe. I remember waking up at 1 thinking "I forgot to tell her not to stop running if she gets tired or else she might cramp!" The waiting in the corral was impressive. I was surrounded by women cheering, dancing to "who runs the world." I saw a few good men there ready to get their run on for a Tiffany's necklace. It was an amazing energy. I felt really empowered as a woman.
I always break down my 1/2 marathons into 3 sections: just get to mile 6, then get to mile 10, then 3 more miles. It helps me mentally. After ascending and descending like a mad woman I turned the foggy corner that would lead me to the .1 of the whole 13.1 affair. I saw that beautiful Tiffany blue finish. I was ready to do my crazy face finish for the cameras, however as I got closer I noticed something was off.
Something was out of place in that place of joy we call the finish line.
I saw a man laying on the floor right before the finish. He was surrounded by paramedics, his friends and/or family, and a stretcher. As I got closer, I saw the awful sight of this runner getting chest compressions. I've read of runners collapsing, having heart attacks, but I've never been close to see the aftermath.
The joyful yells and exuberant faces were such a contrast to the look of worry on the face of the woman next to him. She was wrapped in a Mylar blanket, on the phone. Her face sticks out. It didn't make sense, the whole scene didn't make sense.
The finish of a race is a celebration of life and triumph. It's amazing and exhausting and to see the jarring sight of one of my running family down was hard.
I think about him.
Did he survive? Did he pass away?
Did he make it? Is he recuperating in some hospital? If so, will he be able to run again?
I think about his family and friends. It was great having my mom meet me at the finish line and my friends giving me mad props on facebook. I think about this runner's family, who came to wish him luck and who had to face the possible horror of losing someone. I wonder if instead of celebrating a triumph they are grieving a loss.
I wonder about this unknown runner. If he passed away, did he pass away doing what he loved? I hope he did not suffer. Whenever I meet other runners I feel like we're in a secret insane club that few know about. To see a runner down is to see someone in our secret club down. It hits too close to home, because that could have been any one of us.
To the unknown runner: I hope your ok and you can keep feeling the burn and the shin splints. If you've moved passed this plane into the other, know that I'll think of you on my next run and say a prayer for your family and friends. I'll invent a new memory to replace the tragic one. I'll imagine a man with the fog in his face, getting that runner's high, planning for the next big race.
As I flew up to San Fran to meet up with a friend who was also running it, I heard women on the plane talking about it, women on the shuttle discussing nerves, and women carb loading in local Italian joints. I got the chance to meet a woman (my friend's friend) who was making this her first 1/2 marathon. It was exciting to talk about where to put the glide and how to avoid chafe. I remember waking up at 1 thinking "I forgot to tell her not to stop running if she gets tired or else she might cramp!" The waiting in the corral was impressive. I was surrounded by women cheering, dancing to "who runs the world." I saw a few good men there ready to get their run on for a Tiffany's necklace. It was an amazing energy. I felt really empowered as a woman.
I always break down my 1/2 marathons into 3 sections: just get to mile 6, then get to mile 10, then 3 more miles. It helps me mentally. After ascending and descending like a mad woman I turned the foggy corner that would lead me to the .1 of the whole 13.1 affair. I saw that beautiful Tiffany blue finish. I was ready to do my crazy face finish for the cameras, however as I got closer I noticed something was off.
Something was out of place in that place of joy we call the finish line.
I saw a man laying on the floor right before the finish. He was surrounded by paramedics, his friends and/or family, and a stretcher. As I got closer, I saw the awful sight of this runner getting chest compressions. I've read of runners collapsing, having heart attacks, but I've never been close to see the aftermath.
The joyful yells and exuberant faces were such a contrast to the look of worry on the face of the woman next to him. She was wrapped in a Mylar blanket, on the phone. Her face sticks out. It didn't make sense, the whole scene didn't make sense.
The finish of a race is a celebration of life and triumph. It's amazing and exhausting and to see the jarring sight of one of my running family down was hard.
I think about him.
Did he survive? Did he pass away?
Did he make it? Is he recuperating in some hospital? If so, will he be able to run again?
I think about his family and friends. It was great having my mom meet me at the finish line and my friends giving me mad props on facebook. I think about this runner's family, who came to wish him luck and who had to face the possible horror of losing someone. I wonder if instead of celebrating a triumph they are grieving a loss.
I wonder about this unknown runner. If he passed away, did he pass away doing what he loved? I hope he did not suffer. Whenever I meet other runners I feel like we're in a secret insane club that few know about. To see a runner down is to see someone in our secret club down. It hits too close to home, because that could have been any one of us.
To the unknown runner: I hope your ok and you can keep feeling the burn and the shin splints. If you've moved passed this plane into the other, know that I'll think of you on my next run and say a prayer for your family and friends. I'll invent a new memory to replace the tragic one. I'll imagine a man with the fog in his face, getting that runner's high, planning for the next big race.
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