TTC Hiatus

So, I've decided to take a little hiatus from the blog. It might be permanent, I don't know. I have some other projects I want to work on and will be focusing most of my energy on those. I hope this won't disappoint too many blog stalkers, friends, family, etc. In addition, I'm going to put the vault under wraps, so I'm taking it offline. Don't be offended if you get denied and think you didn't get an invite; I'm not inviting anyone. I just want to have the option of opening it back up at some point without losing all my data.

Thanks for all the support this year. It's been an interesting experiment and one that I might pick back up again sometime. We'll see.

Until then, here's to Tacos!

~Julie

Dear Julie, Dad says take a compass this weekend. Love, Mom.

The title of this posting is what I came home to find on my computer last night.

There are several ... incidents from throughout my life that my family will never, ever let me live down. One is "freshens my breath!" Another is "Freshly squeezed Julie Juice." Another one is "Hey Julie, which way is North?" No matter how hard I try to purge them from memory, they remain in the archives of Bradshaw Family Incrimination Files. The third one on this list, the direction-related one, happened thirteen years ago! Thirteen years. Almost half my life. And my family talks about it like it happened yesterday. And when I say my family, I mean my Dad.

You see, this weekend I'm going to Pennsylvania to bike through Amish country with some friends. That's why Dad is concerned. Sort of. Mostly he's mocking me.

We've always been an athletic family. Heck, we have enough kids for 2 basketball teams plus substitutes. I grew up playing tennis, racquetball, basketball, dodge ball, butt's up, rode bikes constantly, rollerbladed, skateboarded, surfed...you get the idea. One year Dad decided to spend his bonus money and buy the family mountain bikes. We rode those suckers everywhere. There are so many great canyons in San Diego; it was heaven to ride, though a nightmare to drive sometimes. Well, one day during the summer Dad decided for family night we were going to drive to Tecelote Canyon (about 10 miles up the freeway) and bike through it to the fancy-pants mall in La Jolla: UTC. The ride should have taken us no more than 45 minutes. We were going to have ice cream in the food court, then ride back to the car and go home.

It was a nice thought.

My brothers are much faster (read: reckless) bikers than I am and my mom is a more cautious (read: slower) biker than I am. I knew the boys were going to take off and leave me, and I knew Dad was going to stay back with Mom, so I responsibly asked for a description of the trail so that I would have a better idea of where I was supposed to be going. The boys mentioned something about train tracks, some sort of ravine, and the mouth of the canyon. So, I made a mental note of it all and off we went. Of course, they were gone in an instant. I didn't mind - it was the story of my life with them. I started to mind, though, when I got to a fork in the road. Which way, which way? I chose left (I always choose left, which doesn't make much sense because I'm right-handed). Soon I was riding right along side some rail road tracks. Perfect, I thought, I'm right where I should be, because the boys had said something about railroad tracks. Soon, though, I realized that the bay had come into view, which was awfully near home. I stopped and waited for Mom and Dad to catch up to me. I waited and waited. Pretty soon there was a pretty high-pitched noise that started getting louder and louder. Before I knew it, the commuter train was screaming by me, three feet from me (I know, I was really dumb to be standing that close to the tracks, but honestly, I thought they were dead railroad tracks. There are a lot of those in San Diego). It was about then that I started to panic. I was definitely in the wrong place and the sun was starting to set.

I considered riding home from there, but then realized I had no keys and no way of telling my parents that's what I was doing, so I turned around and started riding back in the direction I had come, only when you take a fork in the road, things get a little sticky. I finally got myself out to surface roads and decided to try to get to UTC that way. I ended up on Balboa Avenue...oh dear. I didn't have my license yet so I didn't know my way around driving at all, especially not in that neck of the woods, but I knew enough to know I wasn't anywhere close to the mall. The only thing I could think about was how worried my parents were; I had been gone for over an hour.

I knew I was in real trouble when I pulled into a gas station and asked the attendant which way was UTC. "UTC?" he asked. "What that?" The language barrier made any helpful communication almost impossible. No cell phone, no idea where I was in relation to the mall, no map, no money, I finally started crying outside the gas station. A lady, thankfully, stopped and gave me directions. I was about an hour's ride away. I know, I know. I have no idea how I got that far off course. But I pedaled as fast as I could. I finally made it back to the family at the mouth of the canyon closest to the mall. My Dad had been patrolling the canyon entrances with the truck, my mom waiting at the end of the canyon (sick with worry of course) and my brothers thought it was awesome because when Mom and Dad realized I was missing, they had ordered them to ride as fast as they could back through the canyon to look for me. They came across a homeless man and asked him if he had seen me. When my brothers reported that the only guy in the canyon hadn't seen me, my parents were sure I had been kidnapped or had fallen down a cliff.

After our reunion, we drove to get the promised ice cream. On the way home, as my legs were stiffening from my 2+ hour panicked bike ride, Dad asked me where exactly I had ended up before I turned around. I said, "Down by the bay." Everyone started laughing, some trying harder than others to cover it up. I defiantly asked what was so funny. One of the brothers said, "Julie, the bay is SOUTH!"
"And?" I replied.
"And, dork, UTC is NORTH!"
"I know that, nerd." (I'm not sure I actually knew that.)
"Then why did you bike SOUTH?"
"Because when we started I didn't know if we were north or south of the mall, quagmire."
"But when you saw the bay, didn't you think, maybe I should be going north?"
"Well, that would have been helpful, if I had known which way was north. Besides, I turned around eventually."
"Julie, the bay is to the WEST!! North is not hard to figure out from there."
"Well...I was LOST! And I never get to go camping with you guys anyway. You all get to go to Mt. Whitney and King's Canyon and I have to stay home. It's not my fault! Punks!" (For some reason at that point in my life, camping equalled direction education.)
Mom and Dad put the kabosh on the teasing at that moment, sensing I might start crying (it was the first time I became aware that maybe I should have been embarrassed by what had happened) and I considered the event mostly forgotten. No such luck.

The next morning, as Dad was getting ready to leave for work, I was still being teased by the brothers for the previous evening's escapade. When he walked into the room, he hushed the boys and walked over to me, I thought maybe to comfort me. Instead, he held out his hand and handed me something. It was a mini-compass on a keychain. I was speechless. He burst out laughing. "Don't get lost today, okay?" My brothers came up behind him and said, "Hey Julie! Which way is NORTH?!" And thirteen years later, it's like it happened yesterday. Periodically, when I'm home visiting and am leaving from there on a trip or taking a long car drive to visit a friend, Dad will disappear for a moment and return with a compass in hand, crying he's laughing so hard. One year for Christmas, years after the incident, he even wrapped one up for me all by himself. He got to laugh about that one all day long.

The only problem is, a compass does me no good if I have no idea how to use it.

Dear Daddy, I love you. I'll be safe this weekend, I promise. I at least know which direction is North. Thanks at least for that. ;) Love, Julie.

Abide With Me, Tis Eventide

Abide with me; 'tis eventide.
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on.
Within my heart a welcome guest,
Within my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

Abide with me; 'tis eventide.
Thy walk today with me
Has made my heart within me burn,
As I communed with thee.
Thy earnest words have filled my soul
And kept me near thy side.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

Abide with me; 'tis eventide,
And lone will be the night
If I cannot commune with thee
Nor find in thee my light.
The darkness of the world, I fear,
Would in my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

My favorite hymn. Its words speak to my soul in a way that is hard for me to explain. It makes me think of asking the Savior to tarry a little longer, knowing his presence will drive away any darkness or loneliness...there is a lot of love and humility in that request. It makes me think of coming home from a long, tiring day, knowing there is a fire in the fireplace, two cozy chairs, and a friend waiting there for me. It makes me think of a dream I had many years ago that involved meeting and worshipping my Savior. It was powerful and affected me deeply. I think of my reunion with Him when I hear this song. Some hymns touch me intermittently, but I cannot sing or hear this song without being touched, without feeling a longing to return to Him, without desiring to repent and live more righteously so that at least His spirit can abide with me, even if He cannot right now. I was listening to this hymn on my way to work today (as sung by George Dyer - it is lovely and very moving) and so it was on my mind. The arrangement is so simple and so sincere, which is the way I try to hear and sing this song, the way I try to feel these sentiments, the way I try to feel my Savior's love.

So many confessions, so little time

I have like 10 confessions I want to share today, only maybe 3 of them actually funny. Or maybe none of them are. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to share. And anyway, now that I'm here to write them, they all seem to have mysteriously slipped away from my memory. I should take that as a sign of personal preservation, but never fear! I have such safeguards in place to ensure this does not prevent the TTC from moving forward. Let me pull out my little black notebook (you don't know if I'm serious or not do you? Well let me just put that baby to rest: the notebook is real.) Oh, yes, here we are. They're all coming back to me. Let's start with the metro confessions, shall we?

1. Monday: I got on the wrong line coming home from work. I think I do this maybe once a year. I don't really know how it happened; I must have had a lot on my mind. I didn't realize my mistake until I noticed that we we had gone a long way in between metro stops and weren't coming into the sunlight of Arlington Cemetery. Sure enough, when we pulled into the next station it was Courthouse. Arg! Are you serious?! I hate it when I do this because it takes forever (forever=20 minutes) to get turned back around. The next train wasn't for another 7 minutes. Then I'd have to get off at Rosslyn and wait for the next blue line, all while trying to avoid being seen by any of my Rosslyn-boarding friends so that I didn't have to explain in the very moment of my shame that I took the wrong line after working at the same job for five years. Honestly.

2. Yesterday: Another metro story. I finally found a car on the metro that always has a seat open. I like this because that means I can finish writing in my journal on the way home from work. I was feeling quite contemplative and had taken a moment to pause and think just as the metro burst from the tunnel and into the sunlight of the Cemetery. The effect of the autumn sun through the window was just beautiful and I gazed outward, ready to lean my head against the window and release a soft sigh of contentment. Just before contact I noticed (thankfully - I really can't emphasize that word enough) the only thing that could have interrupted my reverie: a huge grease spot on the window. Where someone probably fell asleep. Sick. My sigh was choked off mid-release and I mentally (and physically) recoiled. Yanked back to reality, I finished my journal entry with a bit of a clearer mind.

End of metro confessions.

3. Last night: I had tacos. The kind you eat.

4. Nearly every day: I take a nap in the park during lunch. I have been mocked by several people for this behavior. To them I would just like to say a few things: (a) I had a very lovely moment with autumn last week that you probably missed. So meh. (b) I was very sick less than 2 months ago. Maybe this is my body's way of coping with my very strenuous job (I can hear you snickering. Stop it). (c) I like napping outside. It makes me less grumpy than napping inside. (Yes, it's true. I'm a grumpy napper. And Tom, so help me, if you post the comment that I know is going through your head...well, I'll send you a snack, because it will probably be the highlight of my day.) (d) I do not look homeless. I look relaxed.

5. Every day: I think in lists. No surprise there.

6. Back to Monday: I told someone that I wouldn't read their blog if I wasn't their friend. It was a mean thing to say. I'm sorry. I really am. I shouldn't be allowed to talk when I'm upset. I also cried not too long after the offending comment. I'm sorry for that, too.

7. Sunday: I ate four cookies to break my fast and only one of them was during the cuddle puddle. The others were closet cookies.

8. Sometimes: I like having my buttons pushed. Sometimes.

9. Last week: I tried to see if I could keep my room clean for a whole 7 days. Success! However, this morning I realized I had been hiding my paperwork in an out-of-sight corner. I dejunked it in record time. We're back to clean. Yay me. I get a "caught you being neat" treat, right mom? Cookies are in the freezer.

10. We were born this way: My two younger brothers (Tom and Brian) and I have occasion-specific laughs, which I only recently began to notice (the pattern, anyway. We've been doing the laughs themselves for years). I tried to explain it to one of my roommates the other day and it just didn't make any sense. However, this morning when I was talking to Tom, I did one laugh (you deserved it, Tom) and he followed up with the usual (read: right) one. We tested it on Brian this afternoon and he did it too. Life with them is nice and simple sometimes.

These are my confessions. There are more, but this is more than enough for now.

Pornification of a Generation

I just read an article in Newsweek entitled, "The Pornification of a Generation." The article offered no surprises, but was a reminder as to what we are facing as far as sex in the media and the way it shapes our ideas of sexual identity and sexual behavior.

The following is a quote from the article that I feel summarizes the problem quite well: "...[P]orn themes have gone from adult entertainment to prime time, seeping into nearly every aspect of popular culture. Sarracino and Scott define "porning" as the way advertising and society in general have borrowed from the ideas and characteristics central to most American pornography: sex as commodity, sexuality as overt, narrow views of women and male-female relationships, bad girls and dirty boys, domination and submission."

The article focuses on how this "porning" of a nation is affecting teens' conceptions of their sexuality and their sexual behavior (including the way they dress and the way they view themselves in relation to the opposite sex), but I think the portion of my generation that remains single also needs to take a good hard look at how it is affecting our view of our own sexuality, how we interact in male-female relationships, and how it affects our ideas of how relationships should feel and be.

I have struggled with my relationship with my body for years. Of course, some of it is the normal female obsession/comparison, but a lot of it has to do with images in print and film media that I have internalized, both consciously and unconsciously. I made a decision early last year to eschew any and all of these images. I came to realize just how harmful they were to my self-esteem as well as the adverse affect they were having on my relationships with men (i.e., not feeling pretty enough to think I had much of a shot with any of them). I decided I needed to detox. I stopped going to certain types of movies, stopped watching television (not that I watched a ton, but I just didn't even turn it on--the commercials are even terribly sexual!), avoided even looking at magazine covers in the grocery store, listened to music conducive to feeling the spirit, and became concerned with just being healthy and being the best person I could be. A lot of changes occurred, one of the most important being that I became much less self-centered. I began to see myself and others in healthier ways. I am sometimes still plagued by the images of airbrushed women and get scared that the men of my association are expecting that unrealistic perfection in a companion (if I had a million dollars, hours a day to work out, and was grumpy from not eating, I could maybe look like that too, but alas, I am solidly middle-class, have limited time to work out, and like to have energy when I run...), but I can't worry about it. I push those fears away and try to have faith that as I try to avoid becoming over-sexed by media, others are making similar efforts.

I guess my point in blogging about this is to encourage us to take a step back, try to cleanse ourselves of these images and these expectations, and to show more reverence for the human body. It is sacred and should be treated with respect. It is not something to be worshipped the way the world worships, but to be worshipped the way God worships it. It is a gift from Him. It is a part of our soul. When we are resurrected our bodies will be reunited with our spirits, never to be parted again; it is part of the process of perfection, but that means so much more than having it look perfect, according to whatever cultural standard we happen to be living in. We should show it reverence through good health and constant care, but that attention should be matched and balanced by the attention we give to the perfection and health of our spirits. It is a balance I find difficult to achieve because I see my body in the mirror every day, and my spirit requires a little more effort to assess, but I believe that if we will heed the admonition to nourish both our bodies and spirits then we will be blessed with feelings of the approval from God as well as a healthier relationship with ourselves and others.

Thoughts?

A Real Confession

I love Kabob Palace. I know this may not seem like much of a confession, so let me explain.

I have lived in Crystal City for five years. For the first three years I refused to eat at the Palace. In my mind it was totally sketch. It's right next to the 7-11 and the only nudie bar around. The place is open 24 hours, so it's a popular spot for cabbies. The whole block it's on is just dirty looking. I just wasn't interested in eating there. Then I went to India.

When I returned from my almost-month-long trip, my visiting teacher wanted to go out to dinner and hear about my experience. I let her pick the joint. She chose Kabob Palace. Since I had let her choose, I didn't feel like I could say no. Plus, in comparison to what I had just come from it suddenly didn't seem so bad. So we went.

And I fell in love. So much so, in fact, that I became a regular, one of the Palace community. They knew my order (#1, no salad, chick peas and spinach), my schedule (Friday nights, usually), and my name (it's on the credit card receipt). Last year during Ramadan, my favorite guy came and sat with me one night to break his fast. It was the moment I knew I had arrived. We sat and talked about India, his mother country, and about his journey to America. I love these men who run the Palace. It's like Cheers, but with ethnic food...and without the bar...

It's been almost two years since India, hence, two years since I started going to the Palace almost weekly.

It's so bad that when I got really sick this summer and was banned from lots of foods, including meat and anything spicy (and, frankly, anything that tasted good), for months, it still didn't stop me when a friend texted to meet at the Palace in 20 minutes. I went...and ordered bread and water. I actually had to sneak out of my house because I knew my roommates absolutely would not trust me to behave in the Palace. But honestly, I was really sick. I actually had no desire for meat or spicy food at that point. I just wanted to go to the Palace and feel normal. I love the eclectic crowd it draws. I love the sense of community. And I love their food.

I love Kabobs. I love the Palace. I ate there tonight. My tummy is full. I'm still a little hiccupy from the spices. It was hot tonight. And I loved it. And that is my confession.

Clothes, safety, pain, and the good old days

Cherie was in town last week, and the one night I actually got in bed on time so I could run the next morning, she asked me what I think about when I run. I've been running competitively off and on for about 15 years and have logged thousands of miles, and months (maybe years) of time on the road, both alone and with groups. Surely I know what I think about when I run, right? But I still had to think about it. I took a minute and determined that if I'm out of shape, I usually can't stop thinking about how gross I feel and how difficult 8:30 mile pace is and shouldn't be. If I'm in shape, I usually make lists in my head, give myself a hard time about how fast I used to be, and check my form out in the reflection of car and store-front windows. We talked a little bit more about it and exercise in general before we hit the lights. Talking about running always makes me feel tough and so I woke up the next morning feeling pretty good. It didn't hurt that it was only the second time that week I'd actually made it out of bed in time to exercise...

Cherie is now gone (boo-sad) and I'm back on my normal schedule. Sort of. I woke up this morning severely undercommited to the cause. Mondays are always hard running days for me, not because I try to do an ambitious workout, but because I always eat badly on Sundays (what?! it's the perfect cookie day!) and inevitably stay up too late. 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning hurts. I will admit, it's usually one of my rest days for the week, but I'm training for a 10k and this is an important week of training (we're only three weeks away!). So I dragged myself out of bed and kept telling myself I will feel better once I get out the door. Plus, I just spent an obscene amount of money on new running clothes this weekend, so I told myself that I wanted to see how the new socks and shirt would work out, and off I went.

About halfway through my run I remembered my conversation with Cherie and scrolled back through my thoughts on the run. I couldn't help but laugh. They were nothing like what I told her! They were ridiculous, and all over the place. I definitely did not make lists...there is no way my thinking is that linear while I'm running. What was I thinking? By the end of my run I decided to record exactly (more or less) what went on during my 42 minutes and 38 seconds of running this morning:

I hate these stairs. I can never run up them this early in the morning. I wonder if there's anyone lurking in the darkness at the top. I hate these shorts. Why did I wear them? Short run today. I can't wear them tomorrow, I'll die. I should have just taken them back. Oh well, it's dark, no one can see just how short they are. Okay, time to start running. [sigh] You know, it's probably not that safe for me to be running in the street. I swear it should be lighter than this. Did I read my clock wrong? No, it's after 6. Why's it so dark? Oh, daylight savings is soon. Is it this month or next month? It might be next month. Halloween is on a Friday. Next month. I wish it was sooner. I don't like it being dark so late in the morning. Is that a person over there? What is he doing lurking....oh, waiting for the bus. "Good morning." Hmm, he looks awake. What's my pace? This is supposed to be an easy day. Slow down. Tomorrow's going to be miserable if you don't--ugh, I hate doing interval workouts in the morning. Maybe I can do it after work. But then Wednesday morning's going to suck. Throws my whole schedule off. Lame, I'll have to do it in the morning. Hmmm, do I want to go up the Ridge this morning or go the long way around? It's two miles around it but I feel pretty good. And I don't really feel like running that hill this morning. Yeah, I'll just go around it. My shins are hurting a little...and my knee. Ugh. I really should be stretching my calves more. I hope they warm up. These socks are awesome. I can't even feel the blister on my foot. I wonder, though, if this shirt was really worth the $35 I just spent on it. I hate spending money on running clothes. How long have I been running? 20 minutes? I should be sweating a lot by now. Oh, I am. Well done, NikeFit! This shirt is awesome! I should get one more. Man, I really need a haircut or for my hair to grow faster. This is driving me nuts. Another dude on the side of the road. What is he doing? Ah, waiting for a bus. "Good morning." Why does that make me so nervous? Arg. I hate red lights. Go green already. I wonder, is it really dumb to jaywalk across Glebe when it's still this dark? Oh well, my shirt has reflectors on it. The trail is still closed? What are they building in the river anyway? I hate running along Glebe. Oh, that truck better not have been honking at me. [sigh] Really, did that cyclist have to pass me on the right? That's really dangerous! Jerk. I hope he was able to see me. I have reflectors on the back of this shirt, right? Okay, how am I going to work more hope into my life? How am I going to make work good today? Can I switch jobs yet? [sigh] I have to choose to be happy. I only get one shot at mortality. Oh, this was a good choice. Look at that sunrise. Beautiful. I love this. Oh, my shins have finally loosened up. Why is my shoulder still hurting, though? [cough!] Did I just swallow that gnat?! Why are they out this early? Oh. Water treatment plant. Nasty. Dude, keep your eyes to yourself. Honestly. These shorts might be too short. I really need to do a little more lifting. Today should be a heavy day since my run is so short. It's feeling better than last week, though. Maybe the lifting is finaly doing something. 30 minutes, less than 2 miles to go. Rock on. I'm getting faster. Maybe I won't embarrass myself at this 10k. I'd really like to be fast again. How was I so much faster in high school? Hmm. More interval workouts...but it's so hard to do a quality one alone. I could join Potomac Runners...but spending that much money just to run with someone...there's got to be another way. Just run harder, Julie. Not today! Tomorrow. Tomorrow is intervals. More lifting. I need more weights. Dude, I used to be so buff. Oooh, is Kabob Palace on fire? Whew! No, the fire trucks are at CVS. Oh sick, McDonald's, nasty, I can smell the grease from here. Another red light? Ugh. So close to home. If I take really good care of this shirt I might not have to replace it for a long time. How old are my oldest shorts? I bought them my senior year of cross country...10 years! No way! Okay, today I need to pay my cell phone bill, credit card bill, car payment, buy plane tickets for Thanksgiving...that's going to be expensive. Man I feel good today. I think I'm finally getting back into shape. 5 miles, 42:38. Not bad for an easy day.

See why I laughed? I'm sure there must have been other productive thinking somewhere in there, but this is all I could remember. Clearly I am most grumpy at the beginning of my run (no surprise there), but I am always so glad by the end that I made it out. I sometimes wish I still had my high school running schedule (1:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.) but alas, I must work for the man. So 5:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. it is! The upside is the sunrises are beautiful.

What do you think about when you exercise, or any other time when your body is active and your mind is free to wander?

Here are some pictures from my glory days. I really want to be this tough again.

1998 Track Season. 800m finals. 2:32. Not bad for a distance runner.

I actually beat my teammate in this race. We went 1-2 the whole season (she was 1, I was 2). The 800 was the only event she didn't wipe the floor with me. She's 4'11". I'm 5'8". It's all about leg length at that distance...)

Central Park Invitational 1996
Huntington Beach, CA

Cross Country Season 1997.
What I wouldn't give to look like that again...

Cross Country Season 1997.
I'm pretty sure I was thinking about winning.