Hire Me! (Please?)

Guess what? Your favorite blogger has a summer job!

If you had asked me about a week ago what my summer plans were, my answer would've been "a whole lot of nothing." I wanted to enjoy my summer, dammit. But then I spent an entire Saturday doing absolutely nothing and realized that if I tried to spend the whole summer that way, I would be stir-freaking-crazy. Not to mention the fact that I would blow through what little savings I have managed to accumulate since coming home from Europe.

So I decided that I might want to be employed this summer after all.

First, I thought of jobs I'd previously held: the last two summers, I worked as a campus tour guide and answering phones in the admissions office at Towson. But since I'm no longer a student, neither of those is an option anymore. My next thought was returning to the daycare that I worked at for the two summers prior to the tour guide gig. But since I'll already be working with children nine months out of the year, doing so in the summer was extremely unappealing. And I've heard so many horror stories from friends who work in retail or restaurants that I had to rule those two sectors out as well.

I might be getting a job, but I'm not getting one that will make me miserable.

Around the time that I was brainstorming possible not-life-sucking summer jobs, Evan and I were planning to do the "treetop adventure" course where his sister works. Serendipitously (is that a word?), she mentioned that they were hiring. So I sent in my resume, and within five days, I was hired.

Trust me, I'm a professional.

I feel like I'm getting used to the whole interviewing thing. Which isn't to say that I don't still get nervous; of course I still get nervous. But it's no longer the debilitating, burst-into-tears-in-the-hallway-beforehand brand of nervousness. Now it's just a little bit of tension; once I actually start answering the interview questions, I'm actually fine. Fake-it-till-you-make-it: surprisingly effective!

As for my school-year job prospects: I've been on about eight or so interviews, but so far...nada. The typical timing for a new teacher getting hired is sometime in July. As in next month. As in five whole months after I sent in my application.

So. Much. Waiting.

I just want to know where I'm going to be and what grade I'm going to be teaching, that way I can start planning lessons, getting things for my classroom, and--oh, I don't know--figuring out where I'm going to live starting this fall. *sigh*

I know it's all going to work out. I'm not worried, per se...I just feel very in limbo at the moment, not having any of that figured out.

Hopefully the employment gods smile upon me soon.

What's the Opposite of a Green Thumb?

Answer: Jess's thumb.

My track record for gardening is rather grim: I kill pretty much every plant that I attempt to grow. Sometimes I forget to water them for days at a time, but usually what happens is I water them too much, worried that I forgot to water them the day before.

Cause of death: an excess of love.

Because you always want what you can't have, I want SO badly to be a successful gardener. I have this mental image of myself wearing a floppy straw hat and overalls, carrying baskets laden with homegrown fruits, veggies, and flowers as I walk barefoot through neat rows of flourishing plants.

I know. I'm ridiculous.

I think part of it is that I love productive hobbies. I took up knitting while I was traveling partially because it was something to do on all of the trains, buses, and planes I spent hours on, but also because I had something to show for it around Christmas time.

See the scarf my aunt is wearing? Yeah, I made that. (No big deal.)

Gardening is another one of those productive hobbies: you put in the work, you get yummy food and pretty flowers. Bam.

My great-grandfather had a substantial garden, which my grandparents and great-uncle still maintain. When I was younger, we would spend a few days there every summer, and we would be put to work, pulling weeds, watering, and harvesting the produce. Each night, we would eat the fruits (and vegetables) of our labors.

My family has a decent-sized backyard garden these days. More often than not, it's been kind of an overgrown mishmash of squash, bean, and tomato plants, all of which produce far more than we could ever eat by ourselves. We've also had a few incidents of accidental gardening: the seeds from something in the compost heap sprout in the garden, and the mystery plant thrives amidst all of the intentionally-cultivated plants.

To me, there's just something so appealing about growing your own food. You're so connected to the process: you know exactly what went into the food that you're eating. Fruits and vegetables from the grocery store are always a bit of a question mark in that respect.

Homegrown foods also just taste so much better than mass-produced, sat-on-a-truck-for-500-plus-miles, grocery-store produce. (Saving money is just an added bonus.)

So I'm giving this gardening thing another shot. I'm currently attempting to grow carrots, sunflowers, peppermint, spearmint, and wildflowers in my family's garden. The sunflowers are doing the best so far (they're fairly hardy plants, thank goodness), but the mint isn't doing too bad, either. The carrots, well...too soon to say.

Stay tuned to find out whether I can break the curse of the non-green-thumb! Feel free to share any gardening tips or stories that you have. ☺

Run, Jess, Run

Well, that was fun.

I can say that now, because I'm done. At the time that I was running, especially the last mile, "fun" probably would not have been my first choice of word to describe my 5k.

The morning dawned overcast and humid. It wasn't too hot, though--thanks for sparing me that much, Momma Nature. I got up at 6:00 to eat some eggs and toast (breakfast of champions!), and then went back to bed for another half hour or so of shuteye.

I arrived at the course at 7:45, thirty minutes before the start. Twenty minutes of that were spent in line for the bathroom (of course I forgot to go before I left the house), and then I did a quick little warm up and some stretching before taking my place at the start of the course.

Not having done a race in over two years, I kind of forgot how much of an effect the race-day vibe has. It was exciting! The music at the start, all of these people running together...it was great!

Here we go!

The first two miles were on level ground or downhill, so I was feeling pretty great. I was passing people pretty easily. My running app clocked my pace at 8:20/mile, which was a bit faster than I'd been aiming for--which I partially credit to race-day adrenaline--but since that pace was feeling good, I went with it.

I sort of regretted it when I started the final mile, which was ALL. UP. HILL.

I mean, on the one hand, I'm glad that I pushed the pace a bit when it was still feeling good, but maybe I should have saved a little bit more so I could tackle those hills. Instead of passing people, I started getting passed by a few.

By the last quarter mile, I was breathing none too quietly, and I'm sure my face was none too pretty. But as the finish line came into view, I decided that I was going to chase the guy about 25 yards ahead of me, and beat him to the finish. Which I did, before promptly flopping down on the grass in the shade of a large tree.

Post-race bagel: essential.

Evan met me at the finish and took on the role of my unofficial photographer as I got my race results, and my medal.

That's right, I got a medal.

1st in my age group (females 20-29), 8th out of 40 females overall, and 35th out of all 96 5k-ers.

Bam.

Time to start training for the next race!

T-Minus 2 Weeks to 5K

There are 6 days of school between me and summer...and two of them are half days. #icandothis

Thank you, small child. Never grow up to be a 5th grader. 

Teaching has kind of been my entire life for the last few weeks, hence the lack of new blog posts. (Sorry...I know you all LIVE for the witty, detailed accounts of my numerous and varied daring deeds.)

But now I'm training for a 5k, my first race in approximately forever, so I feel like I have something worth writing about again.

I've been trying to get back in shape ever since I got back from Europe. (Sure, I walked several miles a day while adventuring, but I also ate a LOT of croissants.)

For a while, my post-Europe exercise regimen was going well: I was hitting the gym at least 4 times a week, and I could feel my body slowly starting to return to its pre-macaroon fitness level.

But then I fell into a rut. My gym habit became more exercise routine than exercise regimen. If my progress were a geographical feature, it would have been a plateau. And all that was before I even started my job.

Corralling first through fifth graders into learning all day--on top of writing lesson plans and learning all the ins and outs of a new school--left me with very little energy by the end of the day, and the last thing that I wanted to do was hit the gym or go for a run.

All of these factors added up to a bit of an identity crisis for me; I've always been "the fitness nut." The freak who got up extra early before her 8AMs every morning to hit the campus gym the minute it opened at 6:30. The crazy who ran a half marathon and then drove 3 hours to play in a Kronum tournament. The nut who always took the stairs instead of the elevator, even when the elevator was right there.

The fact that I wasn't running six days a week, wasn't doing any strength workouts, wasn't doing yoga at all had me questioning whether "fitness" was still part of who I was.

Deep stuff.

So I got good deal on a Fitbit and headed off to the beach for Spring Break. And it helped: I got my butt out of my beach chair and took long, romantic walks along the beach at sunset...just me and my Fitbit.

Once I felt like I had an obligation to get up and move (those 10,000 steps aren't going to take themselves), I actually did it. The whole obligation thing also worked for soccer: I joined two teams, which gave me a social obligation to show up (can't let the team down), as well as a financial one (I paid $60 bucks for this league...I HAVE to go to the games). Not to mention, soccer is more fun than weightlifting.

Still, something was missing. So I applied the obligation tactic to running and signed myself up for a 5k, my first race in almost three years. I even coerced Evan into signing up too. Then he (conveniently?) broke his toe last week, so there goes my running buddy.

Running became part of my identity about eight years ago. I started running in high school, at first just to get in shape/stay in shape for soccer. But then I joined the track team my sophomore year, and I was hooked. I found myself running extra miles after games and practices during the soccer season, that way I would stay in racing shape for the next track season. (And yes, my soccer teammates gave me crap for that. Every. Single. Time. Yay, petty high school drama!)

I attempted almost every event a track meet has to offer (including long jump, to disastrous results) before I settled in as a mid-distance runner, usually running the 2nd or 3rd leg of the 4x800 relay. But once I went off to college, I--inspired by my fellow running addict and best friend--decided that I wanted to run a marathon. I started by training for the Iron Girl half marathon, and then forked over $90 to register for the Baltimore Marathon in the October of my sophomore year of college.

On the morning of the race, I got up at 5:00am, Sharpie-tattooed my mom's cell number on my arm (just in case I collapsed mid-race), and headed for M&T Bank Stadium, where the race would begin.

Silly pre-marathon Jess. So much pain ahead of you.

The 26.2 miles are a hellish blur in my memory, but a few details stand out: seeing my mom at the halfway marker (luckily I was still able to smile and wave at that point, because she snapped a picture); stopping by the water stop at mile 20, which supplied runners with Baltimore's favorite beer (Natty Boh), and tears of pain streaming down my face as I ran over that colorful bridge by MICA (the sight of which makes me flinch to this day). I have a vague memory of running the last .2 miles through Camden Yards, and crossing the finish line with legs that I could no longer feel.

Halfway there!

I don't think the post-race pictures of me with my tinfoil blanket and my medal quite capture the sheer exhaustion--both mental and physical--that I was feeling. The pride doesn't show either...that came later, after my 5-hour-long recovery nap.

The last race that I ran was another half marathon the following spring (the one that I finished and then road-tripped to New Jersey for a Kronum tournament, nut that I was). Since then, I haven't raced, but I kept running fairly regularly, and I still hit the gym up until I graduated last spring.

Going to Europe shook up my whole life (which was kind of the point). But it meant that when I got back to the States, getting fit was a struggle. So I'm excited to be finally getting back into it (tough as it is).

Any fitness tips? Recommendations for yoga videos? (That's next on my to-do list.)