Flip the Switch, Flip the Menu (#ThinkKit Day2)

Flip The Script

What did you change your mind about this year? Was it a big deal – the way you feel about an issue? Or something small – maybe you learned to like Brussels sprouts? What was the moment or series of moments that changed how you felt? How did your friends or family react? Have you uttered the phrase, "I'll never change my mind!" since then?

I'm a little suspicious that #ThinkKit is creeping around in my brain like Donald Duck in MathMagic Land, poking at fragments of thoughts I've had over the past few months. I read today's prompt blearily at 5 a.m. as I was throwing my cat off the bed repeatedly, and I thought it said Flip the Switch. Close enough, I think. Recently a switch flipped for me, and it wasn't like a plastic coated light switch. It was more like one of those heavy metal fuse box switches, the kind that slide into place with a satisfying bang. Like when Chevy Chase's wife in Christmas Vacation flipping the switch and the whole house lights up and blinds the neighbors.

The switch I flipped at the end of September was going vegan. I've written about it before, so I'm not going to go into the reasons why. I'm more interested in the process of going vegan, or really, my lack of a process. One night, I saw a film that convinced me to go vegan. And the switch flipped. I no longer wanted eggs, or dairy, or butter. And it stuck. I kept waiting for the cravings to come - the kind I had when I gave up my daily Mountain Dew and had the urge to snatch cans out of unaware bystanders' hands as they walked by. But I haven't had any wild cravings, and passing up the holiday plates of cookies has actually been easy. My brain doesn't even really seem to see that stuff as food anymore. I think that's incredibly weird. I became a vegetarian way back in high school, so I don't have a lot of clear memories of it, but I do remember that for a time I really missed tuna fish sandwiches and Steak 'n Shake steakburgers. But this time, nothing, nada, I'm A-OK.

This is only a small portion of the awesome food at veggie Thanksgiving.

So where does that switch live in my brain? And, how can I use it for other things, like motivating myself to put the clean laundry into the dresser instead of just getting dressed straight out of the basket until it's time to do laundry again? I have no idea, but if I could patent and replicate it, I'd be a millionaire.

The reaction of my friends and family has been generally supportive. It's more casual acquaintances that have a stronger reaction when they're told what I eat, or rather what I don't. Most people widen their eyes and tell me they could never do it. That's fair enough, I don't have a problem with that reaction. It was how I felt up until recently. Some of the more amusing, or just odd reactions, have included;

• An acquaintance who, after being told I went vegan, said to me that it was a very first world thing for me to be able to do. I thought that was a strange reaction but I thought about it. I suppose it does show a touch of socioeconomic advantage that I can choose what I eat, instead of having to eat whatever is at the local convenience store. But in terms of the first world versus the third, when I traveled to the Philippines after college, it was considered prestigious to eat as much meat as possible, and as few vegetables. Vegetables, I was told more than once, were what poor people ate. 
• A date that seemed incredibly freaked out about what it was that I could possibly eat, even though she kept picking the edamame off my giant salad and eating them. When she asked what I ate, I just responded, "mostly plants," and attempted to change the subject. I could tell it mattered way more to her than it did to me. While she was perfectly nice, we didn't go out again. 
• The same date's coworker (yes, she brought three coworkers on our date as a last minute surprise, but that's a story for another day) who proudly told me that she doesn't eat much red meat. I always think that's a funny response, although if I were vegan for health reasons I guess it would make sense. But since that's not the case, it seems odd to me that someone would be proud that they eat legions of chickens (yes, a whole chicken army) but not that many cows. To me, it's all pretty much the same, although viscerally I do admit that a cow makes a more sympathetic figure. They are cute little buggers. I'm actually not criticizing, though. Anything people can do to eat healthier sounds good to me. And I do get that she was trying to find some common ground. I appreciate that, even when I think it's funny.

The fun part of my new diet is all the new foods I get to try. Some friends hosted a vegan Thanksgiving and there was more food than I could fit on my plate, all delicious. And meeting new people has been fun too. I even joined a team of vegan runners for a relay race in the spring. I don't know most of them yet, but at least we'll have a few things in common from the beginning. Just don't tell them I sometimes still eat honey. Everyone has their line, and that's inside the one I've drawn, because I think more people should raise bees. There's a bee shortage, doncha know, and if people can raise bees and responsibly harvest their honey without replacing it with sugar water, then I don't have a problem with that. I've learned, mainly from the passionate online vegan community, that that makes me a bit of a heretic. I respect the people who disagree with me. Oh, and I actually really do like Brussels sprouts. 

The Unphotographed Life: ThinkKit Day 1

First off, a quick explanation - I'm doing Smallbox's Think Kit month of blogging. Every day, they send a prompt, and we all blog on that topic. Unless we hate the topic, or we just don't feel like using it, and then we have backups to choose from. So I'll be posting something most every day this month. If you want to join in, you can sign up any time, its not exclusive in the slightest. Just sign up, blog away, and share what you've written with the world so we can see all the many ways people react to and interpret and branch out of the kernel of instructions we're given. Ok, ready? Go.

Today's prompt is:

A Thousand Words

Nothing like a strict word count to kick off our month of blogging...just kidding! Share your year in photos. Was there a moment of unrestrained happiness? An unexpected encounter? What role do photos play in your life – were you more selective with your phone (er...camera) this year? Or are you the King of Selfies? Dig into the deeper meaning of a moment frozen in time.

I've been thinking a lot about photos this year, about how we communicate nearly as much in pictures as in words these days. We share photos online of what we cooked for dinner, of our scenic vacations, anything we can think of. I do this too. I don't know if people want to see the bread I baked or my attempts at vegan cuisine, but I put it out there. We communicate in emojis (ok, my little sister just showed me how these work last month, so I am a little late to the party, and I don't really understand why a smiling turd icon exists). We have Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, to instantly share photos with the world, the text shunted off to tiny type below it. We text and email instead of speaking, so even when we use language, it's still more visual than verbal.

It makes me think of the Socrates quote "The unexamined life is not worth living." (And no, I don't typically quote Socrates. I had to google who the quote actually came from. For all I knew, it could have been from a Kylie Minogue song.) Maybe we should adapt that quote to life today by changing it to "the unphotographed life is not worth living". We examine our lives, and the lives of our friends, through images, constantly displaying the best (or at least the most photogenic) parts of them to the world.

It seems like everyone is photographing everything they do, all the time, so that they can share it with their friends on Facebook. But are we really in the moment when we're documenting it at the same time? I'm not criticizing - I really do wonder. I have friends who take selfies constantly, and they're always having a blast. But I haven't figured out how to take that photo without getting out of the moment. And god forbid someone catch me taking a photo of myself. I would melt down to the ground in embarrassment. Basically, I need to figure out how to be Solange so I can be effortlessly fabulous while sharing images of my elegant life with the world.

When I'm happiest, I don't usually think to pick up a camera. Later, I wish I had captured an image of the event, or the people I was with, or the amazing scenery that will now live only in my scattered brain. I try to memorize it, so that I can keep the memory forever, but it fades like all memories do in the end. But maybe that's all right. Maybe I need to embrace my inner Zen Buddhist and accept that the moment is in the moment and we never can really capture it. A photo is a representation, not the event itself, but it does anchor the memory. Looking back at an old photo, the scene springs back to life full force. But I'm not skilled at finding the balance between capturing the moment and experiencing it.

I can think of a few moments this year where I felt total happiness: hiking alone in the woods, the moments after finishing my first marathon and realizing I actually did it, getting the phone call that I was being offered the new job I was so excited about, hearing that same sex marriage was finally legal in Indiana. The only one of those I took a photo of was while hiking, and that photo could not capture the beautiful woods I walked through in any just way. And more than that, I've had many moments of happiness from the totally ordinary. This morning while driving my car and singing loudly along to one of the songs I'll play over and over again until I can't stand it anymore, a huge flock of birds flew overhead. As I watched they dove and did impressive acrobatic loops all in one huge group. I smiled, and for a few moments, I was totally happy. There's no picture to prove it, or to show the world, but I'll hold it in my head until I forget it, until the next perfect moment comes along.

Catching Up On #Read26Indy Books 16-18

When I started the #Read26Indy challenge, I thought it would be absolutely no problem to read 26 books in a year. I love reading, why would it be difficult? But I didn't count on starting a new career, moving, running a marathon, and doing a number of other time-intensive things that kept me from reading. Well, no more! I have just over a month to read 8 more books, once you count the three I'm posting about here. Can I do it? I guess we'll see. I do like a big crazy goal. But first, I need to get to these three.

Book 16: Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson

Then he met Herakles and the kingdoms of his life all shifted down a few notches.

They were two superior eels

at the bottom of the tank and they recognized each other like italics.

Autobiography of Red came highly recommended over the summer by a friend of mine. It took me a couple months to actually crack it open, but when I finally did I was hooked by its hazy beautiful haunting world. Our hero is Geryon, a reimagined version of the Greek monster. Our Geryon is red and has wings, loves photography, and lives with his chain-smoking mother and a brother who does terrible things to him in the dark. One day Geryon meets Herakles and falls in love. In the Greek stories, Herakles is the hero who kills the monster Geryon. In Carson's story, Herakles leaves Geryon with a broken heart. Years later, he meets Herakles again, with a new lover. But the story is less about plot, and more about the feeling of what is missing in us, and finding our way. 

Book 17: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl. Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. 

Before I get into Gone Girl, I would like to take this moment to rant about my dislike of movie covers on novels. I know, this is the rant every book-lover goes on when a book they love, or even one they haven't read but think that they may someday, is stacked up in the bookstore with the cover displaying Ben Affleck looking angstily into the distance and a sticker announcing "Soon To Be A Major Motion Picture." I wonder how many people select a book because they are lured by this promise that at some point in the near future they will have the opportunity to sit down in the theater and complain that the film isn't faithful to the book. Would a shopper still buy a book with its original artwork? Or does good old Ben convince them to put the book in their shopping cart? I suppose it must work - there must be some solid market research that determined this definitively boosts sales, just like putting candy at the eye level of a child sells more Skittles at a grocery store checkout. 

Coming down from my soap box, Gone Girl really is a well-written book. It's one of those rare books that manages to be a page-turner, while also containing smart writing. So thank you, Gillian Flynn, for that. I appreciate some nutrition with my sugar.

We learn about married couple Nick and Amy as we read Amy's journal. It goes from happy boy-meets-girl to the struggles of any relationship to something darker. One of the reasons I wanted to read this book was because a writing teacher used it as an example of a story with an unreliable narrator, so maybe I was predisposed to expecting a twist. It's a neatly plotted story, but to be honest, I was less interested in seeing where the plot goes, and more interested in Amy's editorial asides, my favorite being the Cool Girl rant. I identified with that rant - the idea that so many women are these crazy, clingy, needy harpies, and so we need to show that we're the "cool girls", that we don't care if you can't come support us at an important event because we're so self-assured that we don't need the validation, and that we're totally happy just watching the game and eating cheeseburgers, while at the same time looking gorgeous without needing to spend any time to get that way. I found myself agreeing with Amy when she wrote that women have embraced this idea of the cool girl, convinced ourselves that its who we really are, and then stuff down anything that is not in the job description of "cool girl" so that we don't contract that image. Of course, as anyone who saw the Gone Girl previews knows, Amy is not to be trusted and is not particularly sane. So does that mean her words are untrue, or is it a case of sometimes crazy people can say incredibly sane things? 

Book 18: Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein

But does Man have any "right" to spread through the universe?

Man is what he is, a wild animal with the will to survive and (so far) the ability, against all competition. Unless one accepts that, anything one says about morals, war, politicians--you name it--is nonsense. Correct morals arise from knowing what Man is--not what do-gooders and well-meaning old Aunt Nellies would like him to be.

The universe will let us know--later--whether or not Man has any "right" to expand through it.

In the meantime the M.I. will be in there, on the bounce and swinging, on the side of our own race.

Other than the few pages from which I excerpted the above, Starship Troopers bored me to tears. It took me over a month to get through this short novel. It's the opposite of the "show don't tell" rule they teach you in writing classes. Heinlein gives us a very detailed description of the military of the future. But he fails to make any of his characters seem more than one-dimensional. Even our hero, Johnnie Rico, is ill-defined. I know this may be a heretical opinion amongst sci-fi lovers, as this book has quite the cult following. I looked up articles about the book, and found it lavished with praise. I really wanted to like it. Maybe it reminded me a little too much of other sci-fi books I've read over the years, like Anne McCaffrey's The Rowan and Damia, which, who knows, may have actually been influenced by Starship Troopers. 

In the future, service in the military is optional. Most people don't do it. (That sounds familiar, hmm...) Our hero is from a fairly upper-class family, and he decides, along with his best friend, that he's going to join up. In this future, the only citizens allowed to vote are those that have served time honorably in the military without being kicked out or quitting. Rico's father is so upset by his decision that he stops speaking to him. It's been a fairly peaceful time as mankind has slowly grown out over the universe, but now there is a new enemy - the Bugs. They have a hive mind, and no sense of the individual. They can't be reasoned with, but they are trying to take over our worlds, so we have to fight them. Rico takes us, in detail, through his training as a soldier and up through his training to become a leader. But not a whole lot happens, until we finally see a showdown with the bugs. And even then, its not a high-stakes battle. Sure, Rico and the men he is commanding could die, but it has no major ramifications outside of the battle itself. 

This may be a case of the hype ruining my enjoyment. That's fairly common - like seeing the movie Bridesmaids after hearing for weeks how hilarious it was. It was funny, but it couldn't live up to the hype. I probably assumed Starship Troopers was a classic for a reason, so I was looking for a little something more. Or maybe I'm just not "cool girl" enough to enjoy it. 

And now - I'm up to 18 books read. 8 more to go, in a little less than 6 weeks. So if you're looking for me before 2015, you might look behind a stack of books. See ya next year! 

Running to Somewhere

I ran a marathon. An effing marathon! I'm just going to start with that. Because 5 months ago I wasn't a runner at all.

My running loot thus far

It's been a weird year for me - a heavy mix of challenging, and sad, and awesome. This year I gave up my secure government job, which I'd held (in various roles) for the past nearly 8 years, so that I could take a job running a very small non-profit organization. So small that I'm the only staff member. And, it's not quite full time, so I would have to work some odd jobs to completely make ends meet. But I knew that if I was going to try something completely different, to really see what I'm capable of, that I had to do it now. It was a little intimidating, moving to a job with no real benefits, where if I succeed is completely up to me, but it was also an amazing opportunity, because I have so much latitude to try new things and bring in new ideas. It felt so strange to go from an environment where everything was laid out and measured, to one where there were few rules. My mind was still adapting to that when the second big change hit - my two year relationship ended, which led to me needing to find a new place to live right away. All that change at once left me feeling a bit... unmoored. An odd word, but that's the one that fits best.

I spent the next couple months moving into my new place and figuring out my new patterns. It's funny how where you live really changes how you go about your day. One of the huge benefits of my new place was that it was less than half a mile away from the Monon Trail, but I didn't realize that quite yet.

I started trying new things, and signing up for most anything that looked interesting. Not so different than what I normally do, but now I had more free time to do it all. And one of the things I did was sign up for the Indy Pride 5K in June.

I intended to do some running in advance of the 5K, but you know how it is. I went out running a couple of times, but only a couple. It's just a 5K, I figured, I can do that. I convinced a friend of mine who has run many marathons to do it with me. "I'll just run with you at your pace," she said. I figured we would go slow. I wasn't worried about it.

We got to the race that day and lined up along with everyone else. The race was about to start, and as I looked around, there was my now ex-girlfriend, just parallel from us. It was startling. I hadn't expected to see her there. She wasn't a runner. But then, neither was I. The race began, and I took off like a bat out of hell. It wasn't rational, I just had to GO. But it wasn't just that - it was also my roller derby training. It's been years since I've played, but back then I was a jammer, and I guess I still have a jammer's mindset. When there's a pack of people, my brain tells me to find the holes between them and GO GO GO. That's how you get through and score the points. I had to remind myself not to smash into people as I passed by. I assume that's frowned upon outside of the derby track.

My friend easily kept up with me, but she warned me that I was going too fast. I didn't care. I just had to go. It was ok until about mile two. And then my legs, and my lungs, let me know that they were pretty pissed off about what was happening. I struggled through that last mile plus. I even had to walk for around 30 seconds a couple times, but then I got back to running and I pushed myself as hard as I could. My body was angry. But the moment I crossed the finish line, something happened - there was a feeling of elation, of pure joy. "That was amazing," I said. "Let's do it again." My friend eyed me skeptically and said, "Let's get lunch." I agreed that was a better idea, but for the next couple hours as we rode our bikes back and got lunch, I was on cloud 9. That was the day I became a runner.

At lunch that day my friend joked that soon I'd be running marathons. I told her that was crazy talk, and that I had no interest in that. Famous last words, right?

But I did want to do more running, and right away. I looked around online for my next 5K, but instead found the 5 mile 4th of July run. I convinced my sister to sign up with me, and I started running most every day. I didn't really have a plan, I just ran. Until my knee decided to quit. It was alarming - one day it just locked up. After looking through some running books, I self diagnosed it as runner's knee. The derby girl in me didn't care about the injury, I just wanted to keep running. I was afraid that my new habit of running would be destroyed by sitting around for more than a few days, that I wouldn't be able to get the rhythm back. But the more rational part of me knew I had to let it rest. Some runner friends suggested it could be partially from my shoes, and they were right. I'd been running in some old sneakers I'd bought a few years back at JCPenney. So I went to BlueMile and bought some actual running shoes, after they videotaped me running on a treadmill and analyzed my stride. The price tag hurt a bit, but they did the trick. After a couple weeks of taking it easy and running less distance and at a slower pace, the knee pain gradually went away, just in time for the Firecracker 5 mile run.

By now, I was convinced I was going to leave my sister in the dust, since I had been running semi-regularly for the last month and she had not. She does a boot camp class a few times a week, but I assumed since it didn't include running, other than some sprints, that I would totally show her up. I should give you a little background here - I tried going running with my sister once about 8 years ago. And I made it less than a minute. I don't think we even made it out of the parking lot before I gave up. So when I started running this time, my family thought it was hilarious and unexpected.

The day of the Firecracker run came, and neither my sister or I have any sort of running watch, so we just figured we would run and hope for a good time. As we got going, we noticed a lot of people passing us - so we sped up. And up. And my sister and I ran together the whole time. I kept thinking she would tire out, but nope, she was right there. When we finally saw the finish line, I bolted for it, trying to beat her at all costs. I crossed the finish line about two steps before her. And then we went to check our times, and they were the same. Exactly the same, down to the second. She must have hit the start line just before me and it evened out. Not having been tracking our pace, we ended up going much faster than we would have otherwise, and we finished the 5 mile run in 53 minutes and 19 seconds, just shy of a 9 minute pace. Not bad for only my second month of running.

Of course, after having done a 5 mile race, there was nothing to do now but sign up for a half marathon. I started looking around online for a race to do, and for what to eat as a vegetarian runner. That's when I found No Meat Athlete. And I was going to download the half marathon training guide but... right next to it was the full marathon training guide. I thought on it for a couple of days. Signing up for a full marathon was a crazy idea. I'd only been running for a couple of months, and even a half marathon was a big step forward. But I needed a big, crazy goal - something that seemed daunting and possibly impossible. I believed that I could do a half marathon if I trained for it, but a marathon? I really wasn't sure. So before I could think about it much more, I downloaded the full marathon training guide. I decided to cut out the first few weeks of the training plan, since I'd successfully run a 5 mile race, and I gridded out how long it would take me to be able to run a marathon based on the plan. That put me into November, which by fate was exactly when the Monumental Marathon would be held.

Now, I'm not completely crazy. I knew I should run a half marathon before I ran a full one. So I checked out the running calendar and found the half marathon that fit into the plan. It was an odd one called Boom Shakalaka - held at night, and running four loops of the same course instead of one long course. Not exactly ideal, but I was sticking to the plan. A couple runner friends, who met each other at a running group and got married, had invited me to come to their running group on Tuesdays, which I'd started doing regularly. They offered to run the half with me, at my pace, as a support team. They're awesome people. They are also really fast. It drove me to go a little faster than I probably would have on my own, and they distracted me with funny stories each time we had to go up the horrible hill. That's the drawback of doing four loops of the same course - you get to know it well. You know you're going to have to climb that hill again, and then again, and again, before you're done. You memorize where the potholes are, because you know your last loop is going to be in the dark and you didn't want to wear a head lamp. And that last lap, each time you pass a turn, or a climb a hill, you think: At least I'll never have to climb that awful hill ever again. I got a little grumpy during that last loop, but my friends took it in stride. "All you have left is a 5K!" they said encouragingly. "So what you're saying," I grumped, "is that I still have to run a 5K." But they were good sports, and when we crossed the finish line I felt... tired. I was out of fuel and exhausted, but still so glad that I did it. I've never felt that elusive runner's high again after the first time. But I'd finished a half marathon! That was something that the me of 6 months ago could never have imagined.

The day after the half, I officially registered to do the Monumental Marathon. When I finished my registration, I took a deep breath, and felt my nerves jangling. I was a little afraid. The half had been hard - really hard. And here I was signing up to do it twice in a row. Like hey, let's do that whole insane thing again - IMMEDIATELY. It was crazy, but I needed some crazy. I needed something to strive for that I wasn't really sure I could do.

That crazy goal, and my drive to meet it, was what motivated me to get up at 6 a.m. and go running - to spend 2-4 hours on a Sunday morning doing my long runs when I could be in bed getting that weekend sleep. I'd never been a morning person but now I was. I was up with the sun, or even before sunrise. I actually used the words, "I get to run 12 miles this Sunday," instead of "I have to run 12 miles this Sunday." I'm sure it sounded obnoxious, but I was in love with running.

Running was where I could get my thoughts together, or not think at all. I looked forward to it, and to each time I got to add miles to my long run. Not that every run was great. The August heat was terrible and sometimes I felt like I wasn't making any progress at all. But still, I rarely missed a run, and when I did it really bothered me. I started meeting new people through my running group, and reconnecting with people I'd been acquaintances with for years who were also runners. It was incredible - the sense of community in the running world. It was something I didn't even know I was looking for, but I'm incredibly grateful for it.

And then finally, last week, it was time. I drove to the Convention Center to pick up my marathon packet, and the moment it was in my hands, my heart started beating faster. It reminded me of how I used to feel right before a derby game - a heady mix of excitement and nerves that I learned how to use as my fuel.

I felt that feeling again as I was dropped off race morning. It was cold - it had even snowed a few flakes the night before. I'd had to make some last minute wardrobe changes, and I'm so glad I did, but I was nervous about running in clothes I'd never worn before. I was going to run in capri leggings, but when I saw the forecast I thought better of it and went to Target for some full length ones. My runner friends told me to go to Goodwill and get a sweatshirt that I could wear for the first couple miles until I warmed up, so that then I could throw it off and not feel bad about it. I ended up all in various shades of blue, like a Smurf. But I thought hey, if you can't dress in crazy colors and patterns while running a marathon, when can you?

We all stood in the chute, shivering and dancing to keep warm, waiting for the official start. And then, it was there. As we all slowly made our way out, I realized - I was running a marathon. I was there.

The first few miles, I was incredibly happy. There was nowhere else I'd rather be. My mom and sister surprised me on one of the downtown streets - I hadn't expected to see them until we were up in Broad Ripple. It felt fantastic to have them there, cheering me on. I passed an old co-worker and her husband, in huge inflatable Halloween costumes, and they gave me quick hugs as I passed by. I loved all the signs people held up along the route, "Smash this race - like the patriarchy" and "Worst parade ever" being my favorite of the day.

I never really hit "the wall". For me, it was a more gradual feeling of misery. A little past the halfway mark, I started to really feel it. I was finally warm enough to ditch my vest, but my legs were starting to protest. My first goal was just to finish the marathon, but my second goal was to run the whole time. Or "run". I didn't care how slow, I wanted to run it. Around mile 18, my body started suggesting that we should walk for a while. My brain disagreed. So we argued for a while. I did walk through water stops, because I'm not coordinated enough to run and drink water (I tried it at an earlier race and ended up wearing most of the water) but I started running again immediately after getting rid of my cup.

Around mile 19, just past the IMA, there was a rooster. Just a random rooster roaming around on the side of the road. I thought it was hilarious, and I laughed audibly. The runner next to me shot me a concerned glance. For a moment I was afraid I was hallucinating this rooster, but I wasn't that far gone. I swear, there really was a rooster. On that leg of the race, someone had posted a number of funny and sarcastic signs, reminding us that "Hey, you paid to do this," and "I bet this seemed like a great idea 4 months ago!" It was funny, and true.

The last 8 miles were brutal. It felt like I was swimming through cookie dough, but it wasn't nearly as delicious. My longest training run had been 20 miles. That's where my training plan stopped. It said a runner was more likely to injure herself on longer training runs, so I would just do those last 6 miles for the first time during the marathon. No problem. Ha. During that last 8 miles my body battled my brain. I wanted to walk, more than I'd wanted anything in a long time. I started negotiating with myself - after the next mile, maybe I could walk a bit? But my brain shut that idea down, and I didn't walk. I kept running. Very slowly, but I think it qualified. Sure, I got passed a few times by speed walkers but those ladies terrified me with their determination. Finally, I got down to the last two miles. I knew there was no way I would give up during the last two miles, so I kept "running". And then it was the last mile. Then the last half mile. And that's where I threw it into gear, and switched from "running" into actual running. I gave it all the fuel I had left and turned the corner to that very last leg. I could see the end, and I ramped it up as fast as I could. My mom and sister were right there waiting for me, and I felt tears threatening to pour out of my face as I crossed the finish line. I did it. I effing did it. I ran a marathon.

I can't really explain the sense of accomplishment. I set a plan, and I did something that seemed nearly impossible. But it's not just about setting a goal, and doing it. Running has been so much more than the physical act of running. It's been about friendship, and kindness, and it makes me a little teary-eyed (whatever, shut up) just thinking about all the people that have encouraged and supported me over the last 5 months. The running community is full of good people. Everyone is willing to offer advice if you want it, or they'll encourage you in whatever you're putting your mind to next. There were a few raised eyebrows when I decided to run a marathon in a relatively short period, but no one tried to talk me out of it. My family and friends sent their encouragement the morning of the marathon, and I wish everyone could feel that level of support. I received phone calls, texts, messages from a friend living in India, from my dad, from runner and non-runner friends, and even from my ex-wife, all at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning when they all would normally be asleep. Seeing my mom and sister in three different places along the race route made me smile and hunker down to run more. They spent their entire day being there to support me.

I wasn't sure what I was looking for when I started running. I never really could put it into words. But whatever it is, I know that I found it, and then some. I don't know what's next. But I know that whatever it is, I can do it too.

Gone Vegan

"I'll never be vegan," I said. "I couldn't give up cheese. Besides, I think that's just too far."

That's how I typically responded when veganism came up in conversation. I've been a vegetarian since high school. First I quit eating veal, once I really thought about what it was. Then I gave up meat altogether. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but the idea stuck in my head after watching an episode of The Simpsons where Lisa connects a lamb with the food on her plate. My parents thought it was odd, but they told me to go ahead, as long as I was willing to cook my own food. That's when I decided that chips and salsa was a food group. 

It's been 17 years and I've never looked back. Overall, it was easy. Sometimes I'd be at a restaurant where the only options were a veggie burger or a grilled cheese sandwich, but at least there was always something. I never had trouble finding at least something to eat. My family would even buy turkey-shaped faux meat for me at Thanksgiving.

I really didn't have to think much about it. Well, other than when I traveled to the Philippines after college. Because of language and cultural barriers, it was difficult to communicate my diet to my host mom. After trying a couple times to explain it, I more or less gave up and just focused on eating the most plant-based foods I could. One day my host mom came home, after having visited with another host mom, chastising me, "Why didn't you tell me you were a vegetarian!?" I didn't mention that I'd told her many times before. I was just happy that we were finally on the same page.

That night at dinner, I finally felt relieved. And then - she served me a pork chop. With green beans on the side. Because vegetarians are people who enjoy vegetables, in addition to their meat. Who wouldn't eat meat? She watched me closely, so proud of the meal. And so, I ate a little of the pork chop. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn't want to be rude. I was the only one at the table with a pork chop. My host mom fed me better food than she served her own children, because I was the guest. That's when I determined my dinner strategy. I ate all the vegetables, and a couple small bites of the pork chop. Then I declared the meal delicious, and that I was so full. "Busog na!" I said, having learned that the only way she believed I was really full was to say it in the local dialect. Then I turned to the kids and asked them if they wanted the rest of the pork chop. Their eyes lit up, they were so excited. That's how I ate at dinner until I moved across the country to my next host family, who better understood. There I happily subsisted on rice, eggs, and veggies. 

But I never, not even once, considered being vegan. Vegetarian to me seemed normal. Vegan, to me, said "extreme". It reminded me of the kids with their vegan table in the high school cafeteria railing against the evils of Skittles because they had gelatin in them. It reminded me of the hardcore straight-edge vegans who were angry and passionate, and judgmental and unforgiving. I associated veganism with PETA, an organization that, in general, I find embarrassing, tone-deaf, and attention-seeking. In college they plastered our campus with posters showing a woman's crotch, with lots of hair coming out of her bikini briefs. "Fur trim is unattractive," it declared. They seemed more interested in creating billboards featuring nude models and celebrities with the slogan "I'd rather go naked than eat meat." No matter that some of those models ate meat, or modeled fur. The PR, and the shock value, was the most important thing. I conceded that vegans had some good points, but it was like any number of good causes I agree with in theory but don't align myself with. And that's where I left it.

But. 

Last month, a friend invited me to see a documentary called Cowspiracy. While I secretly hoped it was a movie about a secret conspiracy of super-intelligent cows who run the world, I assumed it would be a film along the lines of Food, Inc., talking about the influence of the cattle industry and the ways in which our food system is really messed up. I assumed it was one of those movies that had good information for the uninitiated, but which wouldn't really tell me anything new. I was prepared to be unimpressed. 

But it got me. Because the film began by talking about climate change. Cowspiracy is framed like an expose - with the goal of revealing that the heads of major climate change nonprofits know that animal agriculture is the single biggest cause of climate change, and that they are hiding that fact and choosing to do nothing about it. I was less interested in the conspiracy part of it, and more interested in the facts. Thinking about the sheer amount of land it takes to raise the food for animals, and to graze and raise animals, and thinking about the fact more and more meat is needed to meet demand all the time, it completely makes sense that there would be massive environmental effects.

That's not to say that I wholly love the film. Kip Anderson, the filmmaker, started off the film reminding me of Michael Moore. That's not a good thing. I have very much enjoyed parts of Michael Moore's documentaries. But only part. The smugness, the sanctimoniousness of Moore always makes me feel dirty. Moore actually made me feel sorry for George W. Bush when he showed the clip of Bush being told about the World Trade Center while reading a book to children, and then Moore's voice broke in mocking him. Even the head of a country can have a moment of shock when receiving news like that. In that moment, he looked human, and I pitied him. But just for that moment. I'm getting off track here. 

I didn't realize that this was a film about going vegan. It was a bit of a sneak attack. The film starts by investigating the impact of animal agriculture on climate change, but then pivots to promoting veganism as the solution. And it worked. Several things hit home with me:

• Of course animal agriculture impacts climate change - I'm not sure why I didn't make the connection before. 
• A doctor described milk as "baby cow growth fluid," a material meant to grow baby cows into full size cows as quickly as possible. Since that's its intent, what effect does it have on our bodies? And why are we the only animal that drinks milk after adolescence? 
• One part that affected me strongly wasn't even a focal point of the film. It was something that was on screen for only a few seconds, and not even center stage. It was at a dairy operation, one that seemed to be better than the usual ones. And I saw a cow walking back out to pasture after being milk, with her udders bloody. That image wouldn't leave me alone. 
• The clincher. I've felt confident being a vegetarian, but not vegan. By being a vegetarian, I was saying no to killing animals for food, since there are thousands of other non-meat foods available to eat. If something doesn't have to die for me to eat, I like that option. If animals were mistreated during the production of eggs or dairy, I thought, that was the fault of the producer. It wasn't required to mistreat animals to get those products, so I didn't feel any responsibility for poor conditions (and yes, as I get older I see how economics forces farmers into the cheapest options, which are the factory farms, but let's leave that aside for now). Somehow, what didn't connect was that to produce eggs, you need laying hens. You don't need roosters. If each batch of chicks born are half males and half females, and you only need the females, where are the males going? Either to be meat, or to be killed immediately because they're unnecessary. Dairy cows need to have babies regularly to keep up milk production and the same goes for them - where do the male cows go? Where do the animals past their productive years go? I realized, as I sat there in the movie theater, that I couldn't divorce my beloved cheese from killing animals. It's all part of the same.

I left the film knowing I was about to go vegan. And that felt... scary. I'm not a radical. I consider myself to be a liberal, but I'm not an in-your-face kind of person. I prefer working from behind the scenes. I think it takes all kinds of people to make change. The radicals shift the center to one side or the other, making the slightly off-center folks look like the more reasonable option. It's incremental change, not a revolution, which we could debate, but I won't here. I don't like being the difficult one. In restaurants, I'd rather just order the salad instead of asking the server to go check and see if the soup has a beef broth. I prefer to fly under the radar. 

I knew veganism was going to seem extreme to a lot of my friends and family. So instead of declaring I would be vegan from this day forward, I decided to be more moderate about it. I decided to eat vegan for the month of October, and then to see how I felt. 

Vegan Mac & "Cheese"

It's nearly the end of October, and it's been an interesting month. I've tried all kinds of new recipes - some of which were delicious, a few of which didn't turn out so great. The vegan mac & "cheese" was really good - the cheesy sauce included cashews soaked overnight and blended with nutritional yeast, among other ingredients (the key is to not expect it to actually taste like cheese, but to appreciate it for what it is). Eating at home really hasn't been a problem. It's eating out that's a challenge. During the first couple days after seeing the film, I went to a work lunch at a place that had nothing on the menu that could easily be made vegan - so I caved and got a cheese-filled dish, but I couldn't enjoy it. I've been to restaurants this month who tell me there's no butter or dairy in the sauce, but when it comes I can taste it. 

I've had some pleasant surprises at restaurants that offer explicitly vegan dishes - Broad Ripple Brew Pub had breaded tofu with vegan tartar sauce - it's always the sauces I've missed, not the meat. They had so many options that sounded good that I'll have to visit them a lot. The Sinking Ship has great vegan bar food, and of course Three Carrots is all-vegan. Some things were just confusing, like Yats' vegan white chili - from what I've read, the rice that comes with has butter in it, and the bread is super buttery. So I'm still figuring some things out, but it's overall good.

Veggie Pot Pie

People ask me if I feel any different after eating vegan for a month, and my answer is no. They seem surprised. They assumed I would feel better. My hope was simply to feel the same, and not worse. I didn't go vegan for health reasons. Vegan doesn't equal healthy. There are plenty of unhealthy foods that are vegan (oh Oreos, I'm so glad you're still my friend). It's harder to eat fresh fruits and veggies than stuff that's already prepared and packaged, and I'll admit that this month I didn't eat as many fresh foods as I wanted. But I still ate well. I've been training for my first marathon, and I still feel good, and healthy, without meat, dairy, or eggs. 

 I've noticed friends sometimes get defensive when I mention, quietly, that I'm eating vegan. It's like they're bracing for an attack, like they assume I'm judging them for not eating like me. I'm not. I wasn't eating like me even last month. I don't assume I know what's best for other people, and I don't stare at their plates thinking angry thoughts because they don't look like mine. If people want to talk about it, I'm open to it, as long as they're not going to try to argue me into submission. But really I'd rather talk about the last episode of Nashville, or Katniss dating the Coldplay guy.

Chocolate Chip Cookies!

I'm planning a vegetarian and vegan-friendly Thanksgiving meal with friends, and I'm really looking forward to it. I feel good about eating vegan, and I love trying out new foods and new recipes. So I'm sticking with it. I'm happy with the choice. I feel pretty darn healthy, and I just feel good about it. And I'm happy to make you some (vegan) chocolate chip cookies. Trust me, they're delicious.

#Read26Indy Roundup: Books 12-15

I've been so incredibly behind on posting about the books I'm reading for #Read26Indy. It isn't that I haven't been reading - I've been on a mission - but life has been so crazy busy that blabbing about what I've read didn't seem particularly important. I'm rounding up the four books I've read over the last couple of months in one mammoth posting.

Book #12: Art & Fear: Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles & Ted Orland

I originally intended to read a mix of fiction and nonfiction for #Read26Indy, but this is the first nonfiction book I've read all the way through this year (others I've just read particularly chapters that interest me). This slim little volume was fascinating. It's all essays on the creative process and the making of art, and the uncertainty that comes with attempting something creative. There were so many moments where I found myself saying "Yes!" because a passage made so much sense. One in particular stuck with me, discussing why artists get so frustrated halfway into a piece:

"The development of an imagined piece into an actual piece is a progression of decreasing possibilities, as each step in execution reduces future options by converting one -- and only one -- possibility into a reality."

This explained exactly why I get so frustrated writing stories. In the beginning they can be anything! But as you write, as the story progresses, it becomes what it is - there is only one place to go and its frustrating to push through and get to that now-determined outcome, even when its where you want to go.

I'd recommend this book to artists, writers, anyone doing something creative. I loved it and burned through it quickly.

Book #13: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

This book was recommended by my friend Sarah, and then I set it on the shelf with my other to-read books for a few months. I was supposed to start reading The Corrections for my book group, which in hardcover is a large book, and I looked over at this novel and decided to read it instead for a while. And then I couldn't put it down. I read too late into the night, I got up early and read it while drinking my morning coffee, until I finished it within a couple of days.

The story centers around a writer named Juliet Ashton who, after having written a popular newspaper column in WWII, is looking for her next novel idea. She receives a letter from a man from the island of Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands, located between England and France. In the letter, he mentions the existence of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. From this letter, a correspondence between Juliet and many of the denizens of this island begin, and they discuss the occupation of the island by the Nazis during the war, and the book group that began as a ruse to hide a pig.

The entire novel is written through letters. Much of the book seems light and airy, but out of nowhere will come a story of something truly horrid that happened during the war, and it cuts to the quick. Because of the levity people inject into their stories and their letters, its easy to forget for a moment the terrible things that truly happened, which makes this book both enjoyable and effective. I came to truly care about the characters, which is a mark of a good novel.

Read this one.

Book #14: If I Stay by Gayle Forman

I read this one on the bus up to Minneapolis. I'd seen the previews for the film version when I went to see The Fault in Our Stars, and I was curious. It's important to read the book before seeing the film so that you can be judgmental throughout the film regarding how faithful it is, instead of simply enjoying the film.

One thing I found upon opening the book was how short it really is. They've tried to disguise this by using large type and including long excerpts from two other books at the end. It's more a novella than a novel, which is not a bad thing, but I was surprised. It's a young adult (YA) book, and I've been trying to read more of those since I'm attempting to write one.

The majority of the book takes place after the main character, a cello-playing Juliard-bound eighteen year old named Mia, has been in a terrible car accident that takes the life of her parents. The central question of the story is this: does she choose to live or die, knowing that life will never be the same? Through flashbacks we learn about her parents - her rocker dad turned schoolteacher and her badass biker chick mom, her younger brother, and her boyfriend Adam, a musician who is on the verge of making it big with his band.

There are no major twists and turns here, and sometimes a good straightforward story is all you need. I won't say that it's amazing writing, but its an interesting concept for a story, and I look forward to catching the film version on Netflix at some point in the future.

Book #15: The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen

Oh god, how I hated this book. It was chosen by my book group, and the person that picked it said, "I really don't like this book, but I want to discuss it." Red flag, people, red flag. Going into it, my expectation was that it would be well-written and possibly controversial. I don't really know if it was either of those things. My only real prior knowledge of this book was from the kerfuffle around it being named an Oprah book and the author getting all hoity-toity and saying something in the realm of not wanting those kinds of people reading his book because they wouldn't get it. Based on that, I was predisposed to assume the author was a douchebag. That impression did not change upon completion of the book.

This is a book about flawed characters stemming out of a suburban, relatively well-to-do family. Two parents and three (now adult) children. We are first introduced to Chip, a former professor who has lost his job because of the stereotypical reason of having an affair with his student. He is now living wretchedly, barely making ends meet, writing a terrible screenplay and wearing leather and earrings to make himself feel edgy. Chip's parents come to visit him as they are about to embark on a cruise that departs nearby, and his successful chef sister comes to visit them as well.

We get to know the parents - Alfred and Enid, both of whom are dull and miserable in their own ways. Alfred is beginning to lose control over his body, and his mind as well. Enid just thinks he's being difficult. As we learn more about them and their pasts, we don't like them any more.

We also get to know the oldest of the three children, Gary, who is married with three children of his own. Gary cares about appearances and nice things, and wants everyone to recognize that he is better off than they are. He mopes about feeling unloved and not included in his family, with his wife being close to the children and more or less excluding him. He believes that he is depressed and that he must not let on to his wife, lest she have the upper hand.

We don't learn much about Denise, the sister, until later on, but she is equally messed up, having a thing for older, married men. She is a driven, successful chef running her own restaurant. But because Jonathan Franzen needs everyone to be wretched, she too blows up her life.

Everyone in this book is miserable. No one grows. I'm not sure exactly what we are supposed to learn from this book, except to analyze the expectations and flaws of the nuclear family and the mundane lives we all live. Parts of this book reminded me of Gravity's Rainbow, which is not a compliment, but which the author would likely take as one.

Much of this novel seems devised as a way to show us just how intelligent the author is. The first 20 pages were so pretentious that I wondered if it was meant as an effect to show us how pretentious the character of Chip really is. I learned in my book group that apparently the author based the character of Chip on himself, and now I wonder if the author was self-aware enough to be mocking his own pretention.

Our book group was divided on this one - a couple people thought it was extremely funny, and others (me included) thought it was just sad and depressing. People whose opinions I respect love this book, so I will leave it at the idea that just like people can taste foods differently, we can all read books differently. I will not likely follow Mr. Franzen's work in the future, but it sounds like he has a following so large he doesn't need my help anyhow.

This Book Is A Bit Of A Bummer (#Read26Indy Book 11: The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter)

The fellow was downright uncanny. People felt themselves watching him even before they knew that there was anything different about him. His eyes made a person think that he heard things nobody else had ever heard, that he knew things no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human.

- The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers

I've been way, way behind in my reading over the past few months. Life has been a bit of a whirlwind - new job, new place, new pretty much everything in life. Reading fell a bit by the wayside but now that I'm all unpacked (well, mostly) I'm eyeing my unread stacks of books again. 

I actually read this book, Carson McCullers' The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, for my book group while all the craziness was unfolding, but I wasn't sure quite what I wanted to say about it, or how I felt it as a story or a classic work of literature. I chose this book for our book group to read because it had been on my shelf waiting to be read for some time, but I knew nearly nothing about it other than that it was considered a classic. 

This novel is set around a distinctive collection of characters, set in the 1930s in the south, but the central one is John Singer, who is a deaf mute. When the story begins he lives happily with his friend, Spiros Antonapoulos, also a mute. Life seems fine, until his friend's personality changes and he starts stealing minor items and causing trouble. Antonapoulos is then sent away by his cousin to a facility, and Singer is left alone and bereft in this town where he has no other friends or family. 

Singer takes to spending his evenings at the local 24 hour tavern, where our motley crew interacts. The tavern is run by Biff, who is listless and unhappy, but still going through the motions, along with his wife Alice. Biff has taken an interest in Jake Blout, a vagabond with vague communist leanings who came into town and has been drinking, eating, and sleeping at the tavern, without much ability to pay for it all. Blout is an odd gentleman, prone to drunken ranting at whoever happens to be around. One evening, Blout begins talking to Singer, not realizing for some time that Singer is not speaking to him in return. Blout is fascinated by Singer, becoming convinced that he is the only person that really can understand him. 

Singer has this effect on people, becoming the sounding board for everyone from Mick, a teenage girl who wants nothing more than to be a musician but who is too poor to afford an instrument, to Doctor Copeland, the highly educated black doctor who believes his mission in life is to share his idea of the great work with his community. We follow these characters as they experience misfortunes and their lives deviate from what they believe they want them to be. It's a downward spiral for everyone involved as they slowly succumb to the inevitable, including our central character, Singer, who wants nothing more than to visit his good friend Antonapoulos and have back a small bit of the happiness they once had. 

This book is a bit of a bummer. I suppose I should have inferred that from the cover, with the author looking lachrymose in a field. I wanted someone - even just one - of the characters we come to care for to have a minor victory, escape the snares of everyday banality and the sadness of what could have been. Maybe its the inescapable realism of this book that refuses to give us that - to give us that fiction of a happy ending. Our characters struggle against racism, poverty, a community that does not care about their radical ideas, but in the south of the 30's they cannot win, no matter how much we want them to. And maybe that's more revolutionary than the false hope of a character that triumphs above all odds.