Thursday, March 29, 2007
I went to an acupuncturist...and she worked on the wrong hand. You might wonder how both she and I didn't know she was working on the wrong hand. For me: I didn't know if she was doing some East-Asian-Working-on-the-Right-Hand-Really-Helps-the-Left-Hand BS. For her: she's just an idiot.
Today, I got a left arm massage. That didn't help. I was told by the masseuse to see another masseuse. Does this ever happen? I don't tell students to go see another teacher...even if they are really, really dumb. And believe me...some of them are.
The thing I notice most about this training is the oddity of it. When I trained for the marathon..my legs always hurt. Always. When I was done with a Saturday long run, I could barely walk up the stairs to my house.
With this bike ride thing...even though I use my legs for much longer periods of time, my legs haven't hurt. Not once. But my fricken arm and hand haven't felt good for weeks.
Yes I understand the impact difference between running and biking. But I am still under the assumption that biking, although annoyingly difficult, is for pussies. Yeah, I said it. Now don't get me wrong...Lance Armstrong is the man. But when you're running, there are no periods of time where you can "coast" or "get off your bike and stretch your legs outs." When you go for a run...there are two options...you are running or you are walking. Riding 100 miles is/will be hard...but at this point I still think running a marathon is harder. Of course, this is me not having ridden over 60 miles yet.
I must say, though. Not at any point during the marathon training did it feel like I was giving birth to a baby elephant out of my ass. Biking has a way of making me feel like an expectant mother.
If I do give birth...I'm going to name it Baby Darron.
Just a little FYI.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
On a end-of-the-semester class evaluation, in response to the question: Review (your initial answer to) what you thought you would dread most about this class and what you were most looking forward to. Did your thoughts or feelings change?
My student wrote: I look forward to understand and explain grammar. I think I'm full of it now.
But, that isn't as good as the following.
After Z- was done interviewing S-, the following conversation happened:
Me: What did you learn about S
Z: S is an excellent fuck dancer.
Z: Yeah...she likes to fuck dance.
Me: Um...can you spell that for me? *I turn to the board to write down what she spells*
Z: Yeah. Fuck is F-O-L-K
Me: *I quadruple underline the 'L'* You REALLY need to pronounce that 'L'
Monday, March 19, 2007
Secondly: Could you MORONS leave a comment? How many times do I have to say it. I need to appear like I have a readership for my now once-a-month blogging. Any comment will do. Even an emoticon. A smiley one, with an electronic tongue sticking out. Give it a party hat. You know what I mean. <=)~~~~
So, as I type this, you should know that I am typing eight-fingered.
Why? Why would you type eight-fingered? Why? Tell me. TELL ME WHY.
Well, I'm not going to tell you with THAT attitude.
Fine...I'll just tell you.
I'm typing eight-fingered because for the past ten days I haven't been able to feel the ring and pinky fingers on my left hand. Now while you think this may just be some subtle ploy to get out of being married (Yeah, so um...I would like ask you to marry me and stuff...but like um, I can't like feel my ring finger, so...I think it's better if we just continue this whole "freedom" and "you pretending you like my farts" thing for a few more years), it's not. I honestly can't feel my freaking fingers...nor, can I move them. And this is from RIDING A BIKE.
It's odd when you can't move nor feel a couple of your fingers. Imagine trying to, oh, I don't know...(un)button your pants without two of your fingers. That shit is hard. And I bet you never thought about trying to...well...wipe...without full use of your hand. I may be raising money and personally growing from this century ride thing...but man...I just want to go to the bathroom normally again.
(Sidebar: I have mentioned poop almost every blog recently. Ideas?)
On my ride last Saturday, I only got to ride about 35 of the 55 miles I was supposed to embark upon. It seems that one of the new wheels I bought were, what we in the biking world call, SHITTY. My tire started wobbling all over the place...and you all know how I feel about wobbling. I don't like it. Never have. Never will.
Anyway, I was PISSED.
I had to be driven back (embarrassing sigh) to the starting point. But wouldn't you know, the guy driving me back was our honored teammate, Ted.
Ted has had a couple of bouts with Leukemia...one of which he is going through right now. He was obviously in a lot of pain while he was driving me home. He was also obviously very, very fatigued. But he was one of the happiest people I have met. He was so talkative and full of life. He told me that between his first and second bout with cancer that he did a number of century rides...and it wasn't until he was training for a 150 mile ride that he realized that he was actually very, very sick again. In fact, the last day he went riding....if he had happened to have gotten even a very small cut, he probably would have died.
I was recently pissed about my tire.
Ted is a big guy. I'd say he's about 6'4"...and he has hair flowing, growing, and needing some mowing all over his face, ears, and nose. Ted had long, uncut toenails and has some weird blotches and cuts all over his hands that were shaking while he drove.
My tire...my tire?
Ted didn't stop smiling for the 30 minutes it took to drive me home. I believe I truly saw, maybe for the first time in my life, somebody...through all the pain, the misery, and terrible heartache...who truly and glowingly is happy to be alive.
This guy is amazing.
I'm asked repeatedly why a marathon, why a century ride? And honestly, waking up early and spending my entire Saturday destroying my body makes me sometimes wonder that same exact thing. I couldn't even hold a pen after my session a few weeks ago.
Ted didn't ask me why as he struggled to manually role down his window to say goodbye to me...and simultaneously grab his surgical mask that he breathes through.
I painfully shook his hand goodbye...my hand, still numb from the day's ride, couldn't feel his hand in my grip. I'm pretty sure he couldn't feel mine either.
I picked up my bike out of the bed of his truck...my fingers still tingling.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
5:15 Wake up. Debate life's meaning...and why God created a 5:15 AM.
5:45 At the gym. Do some light weights before my first ever "Spin" class.
6:00 to 7:00 AM Laugh my ass off at the spin instructor who ends every sentence with a "Whoo" a "Whoo Hoo" or, my personal favorite, "This is why we are here, WHOO"
7:30 to 7:45 "Prep" for work
8:00 to 8:45 Water weight training class. I am totally the alpha male....but mostly because the other class participants are women...60 year-old women. Well, one is 70, I think.
9:30 to 10:45 Teach the first day of an advanced grammar class at SDSU. Just give them a diagnostic, which is cool because I have time to grade the quizzes for my evening class.
11:00 to 1:00 Tutor
1:30 to 3:20 Teach first day of advanced speaking class. During a "get to know you" activity, one of my students creates the question: "Have you ever played wrestling with a member of the opposite sex." God, that cracked me up.
4:00 to 5:00 Manage CATESOL volunteer inquiries. Fun.
5:00 to 6:00 Prep for How to Teach Grammar class at UCSD. Finally finish grading.
6:30 to 9:30 Teach second to last class. During a variation of punctuation lesson planning and two truths and a lie, one student creates the sentence "One time I got really drunk, so I got lost in the forest." I felt a connection with this man.
10:00 to 11:00 Guilty pleasure time. I got to watch LOST.
11:00 to 11:15 Read Darron's blog. Wonder when/why his blog got so straight-laced (for shame).
11:30 to now Try to keep my eyes open while I write this boring-ass blog (which is better than a boring ass-blog).