Tech Your Way to Fitness

A week ago, I stumbled across this article on the NY Times website. I will confess I was almost immediately inspired. As many readers know, I've devoted a huge portion to this summer working to develop healthier eating habits. For the most part, that work has been successful. I've managed to incorporate significantly healthier foods into my diet. I've become mindful of what I put in my mouth and still not go to the crazy extreme of completely banishing foods that I love. This week, I began working out again at a local fitness center. It was hard seeing how out of shape I've become compared to what I used to be able to handle at the gym a couple years ago, but I've felt amazing over the course of the past several days feeling muscles coming to life and burning those calories.

I have kept coming back in my mind, though, to the NY Times article. I like the sort of accountability this author created -- a sort of "check in" where he (and others) could watch his progress or see his stumbles. If I have the Twitterverse to account to, will I be more likely to pass by the French fries and grab that side salad instead? Will I go to the gym so I can report it to my followers?

I've decided to experiment with it, so I created a Twitter account called "GettingMelFit." Feel free to follow me and watch my progress. The more followers I have, the more incentive I'll have to keep it up.

I'm Still Here

Friends, the 2010-2011 school year is officially underway. It's been a long week as I've struggled to get back into the swing of things. There have been a lot of changes in room 207 this year. I have more sections of my English Fundamentals class than ever before. We've completely revamped our English I curriculum. There were a lot of things that I was really a bit concerned about as I walked back into my classroom.

So far, though, so good. Despite the fact that Fundamentals students tend to be on the lower end of the academic scale (in other words, juniors and seniors who are not particularly stellar students), my classes have been responding well to the first week of lessons. My freshmen are crazy about The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. The biggest challenge I've faced this week is time management. After a summer of a pretty lax schedule, it takes a little time to get used to balancing prepping for three different courses, particularly when I've added more work for myself through the introduction of journals into all my classes except Speech.

I am also hosting a student teacher for the first time ever. She's a terrific young woman from my alma mater -- eager, enthusiastic, and full of incredible ideas. I'm almost jealous of her getting to stand on the threshold of this career path and that optimism and hope that envelopes you at that stage in your career. I'm still passionate about my career, but there are definitely some bruises on that passion after having been battered about by apathy and hostility during the ten years of my career. There are days when I have to work harder to see the good in some kids and when my patience appears to have taken the first coach outta Dodge.

But I'm still here.

This week has been full of reminders of why that passion still burns inside me, though, despite the bruises. There is the exhilaration of having your students remember even the most trivial details from a presentation. Or having a student come running in to class to tell you how much he loves the book we're reading in class. Or getting emails and phone calls from former students to tell you how wonderfully they're doing in college.

And then there was my day's end today. Yesterday, we had our first Drama Club meeting. Forty-two kids packed themselves into my classroom to get audition information for the fall play, cheer loudly when I announced the spring musical (Grease), and elect their officers. After school today, a young man (let's call him Antonio) came into my room to get audition information. I'd seen Antonio at the meeting last night, and I have to admit I kind of thought he was maybe there with a friend.

A little background.... when he was a freshman, Antonio was in my English I class. In the entire year I had Antonio, I don't think I heard him say even one word. He was so quiet and shy, very insecure. A lot of that stemmed from the fact that English was not Antonio's first language, and he was struggling mightily with school because he lacked the basic vocabulary teachers took for granted he would have. Many teachers worked to help Antonio, providing alternate versions of tests with an easier vocabulary, after school tutoring, et cetera. Antonio managed to work hard and pass English I, and I only saw him in passing last year as he headed down the hall to his English II class. I heard through the grapevine that he was working hard and doing well.

And now, here was Antonio asking for audition information. He looked at me with these amazing big brown eyes of his (he's kind of a little guy but cute as a button) and said so earnestly, "I want to be an actor!" He went on to ask me questions about the play -- would he have to sing? Did any of the characters have accents? His enthusiasm and earnestness floored me. If I hadn't known better, I would never have believed this was the same Antonio who was a virtual mute his freshman year. I nearly wept after he left and I explained to my student teacher why Antonio's presence was such a total shocker.

Now, I'm not claiming any responsibility for Antonio's transformation. I haven't been his teacher for over a year, and clearly the people he worked with last year guided him through some pretty amazing stuff. But I love the fact that Antonio sees art as a pathway for him, a way for him to become more engaged in life at our school, and I love that I get to maybe help him take those first steps, even if it's just getting him up onstage for an audition next week.

Because of Antonio and the dozens of other kids like him who walk into my room every single day, I am most definitely still here.

You Go, Girl . . . Eat that Pasta!

Ah . . . summer! It's a time filled with cookouts, fresh fruit, and summer blockbusters. The past few years, Hollywood has seen the value in what you could call "counterprogramming" during the summer -- releasing movies that don't involve explosions or robots or any of the mindless stuff we usually have shoved down our throats. One bit of "counterprogramming" that seems to have caught on is the release of movies geared towards adult women. I think of these films as literary chick flicks since they are based on books and feature women as their central characters; my sis refers to it as "You Go, Girl" cinema in that she says that is the response she imagines the audience is supposed to give when watching these tales. Last year, we had Julie and Julia, where Julie Powell and Julia Child found fulfillment through food and writing. This year, we get Eat, Pray, Love. If the audience I was part of this afternoon is any indication, the Vera Bradley-toting women of America are flocking to theaters en masse to gobble up one of the few films made with them in mind.

The film is based on a memoir by Elizabeth Gilbert chronicling her post-divorce quest for healing and enlightenment. This quest finds Gilbert spending a year in Italy, India, and Bali (funded by a healthy book advance) where she does exactly what the title implies -- eats a lot, prays a lot, and eventually finds a way to love a lot.

I read Gilbert's book earlier this summer. I quite liked it. I found Gilbert's voice completely engaging; at times, she reminded me a lot of my best friend. I could relate to Gilbert's quest for some sort of spiritual fulfillment, and I appreciated the sort of holistic approach she took to spirituality. She wasn't advocating a particular faith, just describing what worked for her. I loved the people who populated her adventures and the warmth with which Gilbert seemed to approach life in general. I looked forward to the film if only to see the places and people Gilbert described so beautifully brought to life.

In many respects, I quite liked the film. Ryan Murphy created a lovely film to look at -- incredible scenery and the way the food was filmed makes it a must-see for fans of "food porn." (I went home after the movie and immediately made a huge plate of pasta with fresh herbs.) He keeps the most memorable characters and manages to keep things moving along at a decent pace. The film clocks in at over two hours, but it felt like a pretty quick two hours. The third act did feel a bit rushed compared to the other segments, though, which is unfortunate in that it is during her visit to Bali that Liz finds potential love with a handsome Brazilian, played here by Javier Bardem. Bardem's Felipe is so charming and richly portrayed that I wanted more of him. (Well, when isn't more Javier Bardem a good thing??) I would have preferred to see the opening scenes with Liz and her ineffectual husband (Billy Crudup) and her young actor lover (James Franco) cut down more to allow for more Bardem.

My real issue with the film, though, was Liz herself. I loved the Liz Gilbert of the book -- wry, intelligent, and conflicted. I rooted for her and identified with her. In the film, though, Liz takes the form of Julia Roberts. I'm not one of those people who rolls my eyes at the mere mention of Julia Roberts. In fact, I typically like her. When she's firing on all of her acting cylinders, you remember why she's the biggest female movie star of the past twenty years. There's a joy she brings to the screen, a glint in her eye, that can be infectious. The problem is that it's hard for Julia to become lost in a character the way that other actresses are. You never, ever forget that you're watching Julia Roberts because she rarely if ever strays from that Julia Roberts formula -- that smile, that laugh, that vocal inflection never change whether she's playing a hooker with a heart of gold, a crusading legal aide, or a writer on a spiritual quest. She's ALWAYS Julia Roberts. Because she's always Julia, you never really worry about her because Julia always pulls through and wins the guy, defeats the evil corporation, or finds peace. With another actress in the role, perhaps Liz's angst would have seemed a little more real and silenced the critics who are writing the movie off as the tale of a self-centered yuppie whiner. Because no one can ever believe that Julia has any significant problems (and certainly would never have any issues with her conscience), it's hard to believe in Liz's crisis as portrayed by Julia. There's also the fact that Julia is about a decade older than Gilbert was when she went on her own journey. For some reason, the existential angst that Liz faces seems more realistic coming from someone in her early-to-mid 30's than in her 40's. The part would have worked better in the hands of, say, Amy Adams or Jennifer Garner, but Amy and Jennifer can't open a movie like Julia can, so there you have it -- Julia Roberts as Liz Gilbert whether it works or not.

I don't want this to sound like I didn't like the movie; I really did. Unlike many who've criticized the movie, I didn't find Liz self-serving or lacking in sympathy. I could relate to her need to work out a new definition of who she was and who she wanted to be. While most of us couldn't afford to take a year off to explore foreign lands (or be lucky enough to wind up in Javier Bardem's bed), I refuse to begrudge Liz because she did. Take the film for what it is -- entertaining escapism -- and leave it at that, and you'll find yourself vicariously living a pretty cool adventure through some beautiful terrain. What more could you want on a summer afternoon?

The Lazy Days Are Numbered

This time of year is always a bittersweet one for me. Today, I began my last full week of summer. Next week will be packed with unpacking my classroom, meetings, and getting things ready for another school year. On the one hand, I love this time of year. I truly love my job, and I miss my students during the summer. I love the anticipation of this time of year, wondering what the year will hold, what my new freshmen will be like, and how classes will go. I already know some new and different challenges lie ahead. We're adding two new books to our English I curriculum this year -- Elie Wiesel's Night and Sherman Alexie's awesome The Absolutely True Diaries of a Part-Time Indian. I'm adding Catcher in the Rye to my English Fundamentals class. I will also be hosting a student teacher this fall for the first time ever. She's a student from my alma mater. We've exchanged some emails, and I am meeting with her next week. I hope I'm a good mentor!!

On the other hand, there's also this part of me that is devastated to see the summer end. Because nine months of my year are so packed with teaching and directing and coaching, these months of summer are a welcome respite of blissful nothingness. I do love sleeping in and staying up late to read. There's also this sense of disappointment in that I often start the summer with such high hopes and plans, and then I get to these last days and realize I've not done much of what I intended. Did I paint my storage shed in the backyard? Nope. Did I undertake the Herculean task of organizing my library? Not a chance. Today, I did break down and spent two hours in the kitchen cleaning and organizing cabinets. I'm hoping later this week to tackle my linen closet which threatens to bury me under towels and sheets every time I'm brave enough to open it. I have to admit, though, that a lot of what I thought this summer would involve has not come to pass . . . and try not to beat myself up too much over that.

The Philosophy of Time

I grew up, for all intents and purposes, on a college campus. Before you get images of a six-year-old Mel wandering around frat parties in a toga and learning how to tap a keg before she even learned cursive, let me explain. My dad worked for a small liberal arts college in the Midwest, his alma mater and what would become my alma mater as well. With a small school like that, a community of sorts builds around the faculty, staff, and their families. Many hours of my youth were spent at college sporting events or playing hide and seek among the maze of filing cabinets in my dad's office or visiting my dad for lunch during breaks. Many of the professors knew me in diapers and were called "Uncle" by my sis and me. When I became a student there myself, there were professors whose classes I "boycotted" because I just felt awkward taking classes with people I knew so well. When my dad died, the first people to arrive on our doorstep to offer comfort were people from the college. My love for that institution runs deep because it is my home -- emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.

Since graduating and starting my career, the time I spend on campus is admittedly little even though it's just located across town. Part of it is the fact that my career consumes so much of my time. Part of it is that it's a tough place to be without my dad. Just driving by the building where he worked for the majority of my life can give me a bit of a lump in my throat, and there's a small part of me that still expects to see him bouncing out the door. The times when I do tend to go back are usually to see a play or, lately, for a memorial service.

You see, those professors I grew up idolizing and eventually learning from are growing older, and despite what I may have suspected as a kid who would beg Dad to let me come have lunch with him and his friends in the Gizmo (the campus snack bar), they're proving to be mortal. In the past two years or so, three of these men who were fixtures of my youth have passed away, prompting the hosting of memorial services on campus. I always go to these services partly to pay respect to people who helped shape me but also because I kind of imagine it's something my dad would expect of me -- to go as his family representative.

I attended such a service today. As I looked around, I saw all these familiar faces -- people I've known longer than just about anyone outside of my family. There was my faculty adviser; there was the professor who taught me everything I know about writing (and grading writing); there was the woman who'd worked across the hall from my dad for decades; there was the professor who was the first one to tell me that I would be making a huge mistake if I didn't go into teaching. The thing is that these people are now, well, old. Hair is grey that didn't used to be. Weight has been gained or lost. Canes are present that weren't there before. The characters remained the same despite the betrayal of the outer shell. And then the thought occurred to me that I'M older, too. There might be grey hairs lurking under the ginger. Weight has most definitely been gained or lost (depending on when they last saw me). The little girl or saucy co-ed that exists in their memories is no more ... on the outside. It led me to ponder the very nature of time and come to the startling conclusion that time is a bitch.

As I listened to the stories that these people shared about their lost friend, I felt a profound sense of sadness. I'd lost a family friend, someone I'd never even had as a professor in class (largely because the thought of taking a philosophy class in college just intimidated the stuffing out of me). These people had lost a buddy, a partner, a friend. The stories they shared so vividly are now just memories, and the figures who populate those stories are slowly disappearing. This is a community that has been rocked by the loss of paragon after paragon, and the campus I grew up on is not the same one that some precocious little kid would grow up on today and it seems so weird to me that there are students attending the school who wouldn't understand the stories that my friends and I have of certain professors and their classes. How lucky we were to get on campus when these legends were still in their prime, before they succumbed to retirement and loss. I thought of how bonded in time my classmates and I are with classes before us in ways that younger students will never understand. And I felt sorry for those younger students. Even though I know their experience is a rich one, they are deprived of some incredible times -- both in the classroom and out.

Deeply philosophical for a Thursday afternoon in July, no?

A Recipe I'll Share

Earlier this month, I said that, while I've spent the summer trying a wide variety of healthy recipes, I am reluctant to blog about them since very little of what I've been cooking has been original but rather recipes I've found on a variety of websites. I'm relenting tonight to share a recipe that's quickly become a favorite Chez Mel. This is a recipe that I feel like I've modified significantly enough that I don't feel like a plagiarist sharing it with you.

This is a super filling meal and really takes little to no time at all to put together. I suspect it'll become a regular when school starts because I can make it quickly when I'm tired after a long day of teaching, coaching, and directing.

Black Bean Wraps

Ingredients:
1 can of black beans, drained
1 large tomato, diced
1 avocado
1 tsp of lime juice (roughly)
1/2 cup of shredded cheddar cheese
4 whole wheat tortillas
cilantro
garlic powder

-- Heat the black beans. Add a couple dashes of garlic powder according to your taste.
-- Put the avocado, cilantro, lime juice, and about 1/4 cup of the diced tomato in a food processor and blend. (Yeah, you're making guacamole. If you're looking to save even more time, buy a jar of pre-made guac.)
-- On each tortilla, put a tablespoon or two of guacamole and spread. Then add beans, tomatoes, and 1/8 cup of cheese. You can also top with a little sour cream if you're so inclined.

At my house, we each eat about 2 and are very satisfied. I've toyed with using salsa in lieu of the tomatoes just for a little extra kick of flavor. These are relatively low in calories, full of protein and "good fats", and super tasty. They've been a great, light dinner on hot summer nights. Give them a whirl and see what you think.

Wii Be Jammin'

This has been the summer of getting healthy again. About five years ago, I lost a lot of weight through healthy eating and an obsessive workout regimen. Five years later, I've put on a large portion of that lost weight and completely fallen out of the workout habit. I got lazy. I got complacent. And I've got a closet full of clothes that bear witness to that. My goal is to get back into those clothes. I began the process this summer with a renewed focus on what I eat and how much I eat. I've revolutionized my eating habits, introducing more fruits and vegetables and cutting back on unhealthy, processed junk foods. I could count on one hand the number of times I've eaten fast food this summer -- and those three times found me ordering a grilled chicken sandwich or a salad rather than a greasy burger and fries. (I've not eaten french fries since early June. Seriously!)

The result of this healthy eating is that I just feel better. I've lost roughly 15 pounds in about six weeks. What hasn't happened in that six weeks, though, is a renewed focus on exercise. I've talked about rejoining a gym, but I am worried that I will struggle to find time to go to the gym and will essentially be pouring money down the drain. I wake up every morning and think, "Oh, I should go for a walk" but it's too hot; "Oh, I should ride the exercise bike" but I don't feel like putting on shoes; "Oh, I should do yoga from On Demand" but I'm too lazy. I've been really disappointed in myself.

At the same time, my sis and I have been talking for about six months about buying a video game system. My motivation was initially two-fold: I wanted to be able to live stream Netflix onto my tv and I wanted to be able to play Rock Band. (That would allow me to realize my long-held dream to be a rock-n-roll drummer!) After reading and researching and talking to friends, I settled on buying a Wii. It gave me all that I wanted with an added bonus -- it would force me to get off my fat ass and be active. (And before you ask, no, Wii Fit is NOT on my wish list right now. I am just not ready to have a video game tell me how fat and out of shape I am. Maybe once I'm fitting into those clothes in the closet I'll be ready for a snarky video fitness trainer.)

I bought the Wii last week. It came with Wii Sports and Wii Sports Resort. I will admit that we spent the first day or so of Wii ownership watching stuff on Netflix. I was excited to be able to watch first season episodes of Saturday Night Live; my sis was excited to find old school 90's Nickelodeon cartoons like Angry Beavers and Aah! Real Monsters. Slowly but surely, though, we've found our way into the game discs. I spent Friday afternoon while my sis was at work playing 18 holes of golf . . . and going a stunning 36 shots over par. My sis has found a talent for bowling with a score pushing 200. She also is, apparently, quite a basketball prodigy. Yesterday before we went to the movie, I played about a half hour of tennis -- and did the same this morning upon waking up.

While playing tennis yesterday, I realized I was breaking a sweat -- like pretty seriously. I did a little research and found out I'd burned close to 100 calories in that half hour. Not too shabby.

I know that the Wii cannot be my only source of exercise and that eventually I need to motivate myself to pursue some more serious outlets for fitness. But at least the Wii is putting me one step closer to those elusive clothes in the closet and making me feel a little less like a lazy slug. And if I can have a little bit of fun at the same time, how much cooler is that?