Oh yah. That reminds me...

Sometimes I have to sit with an issue before I can put my words together. Sometimes I think I'm through with an issue, I've moved on, and then a post on social media, a passage from a book, a casual comment made in passing gets me questioning my stance on something. I love it when that happens. I enjoy self-reflection (especially on a long, hot run). 

This time, it was a line from an audio book. I'll get to that (although there may be some rambling first). 

I recently wrote a post on FB about Congresswoman Ocasio-Cortez's speech to the House of Representatives after being called a fucking bitch by Congressman Yoho. I was surprised that so many reactions to his actions centered around her. People were criticizing her to justify his actions. 

And then someone made a reply to the post that basically said, "Well to be fair, she has said some pretty disrespectful things about our president in the past." That is not a direct quote. The actual comment was longer, and I can't remember it or go back and check it because the reply was deleted. 

It was a prime example of sullying her so that his gross actions are easier to stomach.

But here's the thing. I hadn't intended the post to be political. My first thought wasn't politics (even though obviously this incident involved two politicians). 

I don't care about her political affiliation. I don't care about his political affiliation. I don't give a rat's ass what either of them think of our president. Nope. My thought was simply...

NO MAN SHOULD SPEAK TO A WOMAN THAT WAY.

Let me say it louder for the people in the back. 

NO MAN SHOULD SPEAK TO A WOMAN THAT WAY.

Now, obviously there are people who are fine with a man speaking to a woman that way. Or maybe they're just fine with a man speaking to a woman they don't like that way. I don't know. You'd have to ask them. But when your reaction to HIS behavior centers around HER shortcomings, you are indeed fine with it. 

Maybe it's a double standard. OK. Guilty. I'm placing an expectation on men that I don't place on women. I don't care. And there's no need to argue that point because you won't change my mind.

NO MAN SHOULD SPEAK TO A WOMAN THAT WAY.

But you can help me with this notion that I've been batting around ever since I started down this path.

Is a double standard still unacceptable (for lack of a better word) if it is in response to a double standard? 

Or is it like using double negatives in the world of grammar? Or math?

Two negatives equal a positive. 

Women have been bred, raised, and trained for generations to uphold the status quo. Men have not. Women have been taught to speak when spoken to and to only do it politely and quietly. Men have not. Women have been taught to look pretty while remaining silent. Men have not. We have undoubtedly had double standards for the lessons taught to our daughters and our sons in the past. They had different norms and social expectations. A double standard plain and clear. 

Now, we live in an age where women and young girls are breaking that mold. They are speaking out against the status quo. Current generations of women have found their voices and in doing so are often labeled mouthy, disrespectful, and yes, fucking bitches (thank you Congressman Yoho for making my point). 

When a man speaks to a woman that way, it feels like a throwback to the days when we were expected to cower to a man's wishes, do as we were told, and in general shut the fuck up. It reeks of intimidation.  Maybe that's why I don't care if it is a double standard. 

NO MAN SHOULD SPEAK TO A WOMAN THAT WAY.

Oh, and for the record, I don't have a problem with profanity, so don't come at me with my love of the word fuck as if that is also a double standard. Men and women alike can throw around all the profanity they want in certain situations. I say fuck more frequent than I take breaths when I run, and I've greeted many friends with, "Hey bitch." It's not the same.

NO MAN SHOULD SPEAK TO A WOMAN THAT WAY.

_____________________________________________

I haven't forgotten that this reboot of reflection started with a line from an audio book. Here it is. 

It comes from the chapter titled "Gatherings" of Glennon Doyle's Untamed. In that chapter, her teenage son and his friends are watching a movie when the author peeks in and asks if anyone is hungry. The boys continue watching the movie and shout YES! Then she watches the girls look at one another, polling the face of each other girl, refusing to answer until they know the acceptable response. She comments on how obvious it was that the boys were able to look within to know what they needed. The girls had to look to others. She describes the phenomenon much more articulately than I am doing, and then she writes,

"We forgot how to know when we learned how to please. This is why we live hungry." 

Now that's a line!

Women like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez have learned how to know. Women like my friend Ashley, standing up for her daughter's right to love and marry whomever her heart desires, have learned how to know. Women who are raising boys who don't speak to women the way Congressman Yoho did have learned how to know. 

And they're teaching it to future generations. 

Well done, you bunch of fabulous fucking bitches! Well done!

_____________________________________________

But I'm here.

While on my way to a solidarity march on Monday, I was listening to an episode of the Running Rogue podcast. It's one of my favorite running podcasts, but host Chris McClung (of Austin, Texas) didn't start episode 185 talking about running. He started with his thoughts on George Floyd's murder, the state of affairs in our country, and racism in general. He made the following analogy for his efforts to make a difference.

He likened it to attending a funeral for a person you didn't really know but who was a loved one of someone you care about. You're not experiencing the mourning first hand. This person's death didn't really affect your life, but you want your friend to know...

I'm here. I see you. I love you.
I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.
But I'm here.

___________________________________________________

In my journey to improve myself in regard to race relations and to openly speak out against racism, I've noticed three common themes in the discussions (both online and in person), and I've been reflecting a bit on all three.

1. What about reverse racism? 

Scenario: What about the black guy who hits on me in a bar and says, "It's because I'm black. Isn't it?" when I turned him down?

Yah. Not reverse racism (whatever that is). Because much too often that has been the case. It has indeed been because he's black. It's all fun and games until someone's sweet white daughter is dating a black guy. 

Like my family member who once told me he would disown Ryan if he married a black girl.

1. We weren't discussing Ryan's dating habits because he was like 10, but thanks for the heads up.
2. It was Easter. Who the fuck randomly says (or even thinks) that in the middle of Easter dinner? 

And because that scenario is not uncommon (at all), we've produced a generation of angry young black men who sound like assholes spouting off, "It's because I'm black, isn't it?" It's called self-preservation. I'm going to be a jerk and accuse you before I find out it really is because I'm black.

Scenario: What about groups like Black Girls Run? People would lose their minds if we started a running club called White Girls Run.

Yah. Still not reverse racism. Groups like this exist because of underrepresentation, and while the group is open to everyone, it's sole purpose is to encourage black girls to run (thus the name). Because when you show up for a 5k or a 10k in a diverse city like Houston and see that 90% of the runners are white, you know that the black population needs to be invited and welcomed and embraced in the running community. It's not necessary to have a White Girls Run running club to invite us in. We're there.

2. Racism doesn't exist anymore.

It's a thing of the past. It's media hype. It's just being exagerated. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I've never seen a million dollars, but I know it exists. Just because you get along great with the people of color in your neighborhood doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just doesn't. Your world isn't THE world. You've gotta let that one go.

One of the most interesting discussions of race I've ever had was with a teacher I worked with in another district (we'll call her B). The first time B remembers experiencing racism was when she was in middle school, when a friend told her she didn't act black. She couldn't remember the context of the conversation or how she took it (as a compliment or not), but she does remember mentioning it to her mother who taught her the concept of a backhanded compliment and told her to never let anyone tell her that ever again. The next day B told her friend what her mother had explained to her. "It just wasn't a big deal," she said of the conversation that followed. The friend admitted that she really didn't know what the phrase meant, but she had heard it from her own mother (who liked B very much and told her daughter that she didn't mind them being friends because well...she didn't act black). B has been told she doesn't act black. B has been told she doesn't sound black. B was once told she doesn't walk black.

The expectation? Take it as a compliment. Be happy we don't think of you as black. Because what if we did? Think of you as black. What would that say about you?

And no, it's not because those were the old days. B is 7 months younger than my son.

If you've heard (or said), "You don't act black," or, "She doesn't act Mexican," or any version thereof, stop saying racism doesn't exist. You know it does.

3. We've all had hard lives, and you don't hear us complaining about it.

Stop. Listen to yourself. No one said you had it easy. But being white didn't make your life harder. It just didn't. People get offended by that word privilege, but that's not what it means in this context. Read up on white privilege if you are so inclined. You may have struggled while being white. But you didn't struggle BECAUSE you're white. 

   

On Monday we walked from Brazosport High School to stand in front of the Freeport Police Department. We walked for unity and peace and equality and solidarity. We listened to speakers and applauded the pastors and police officers and community officials who both acknowledged and spoke out against racism.

#useyourteachervoice (we are)

That short walk, those chants, and that heat were a small effort on my part, but it was something.
That's all I've got, small efforts, but I'm open to suggestions for more.

In the meantime...

I'm here. I see you. I love you.
I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.
But I'm here.

Breakfast with a Side of Racism

On March 1, 2020, my view of myself changed. 

At breakfast.

In a crowded restaurant. 

Halfway through our meal, a man at our table referred to the neurologist trying to save his life as his nigger doctor. And I said nothing. The third time he said it, I put my hand up (albeit only at table height as to not draw too much attention), and I quietly said, "Stop." He did. And someone quickly changed the subject.

On the way home from breakfast, someone asked me what I gave up for Lent. And I heard him say, "You should have given up niggers."

For Lent.

Let that sink in.

I simply replied, "What a horrible thing to say," and once again, the topic was quickly changed.

That was it. He suggested I give up human beings for Lent, and all I said in return was, "What a horrible thing to say."

That sentence (mine, not his) started me on a deep, dark journey from which I have yet to recover.

I spent the rest of the day thinking of smart, pithy things I could have said. But I hadn't. I could have called him a racist. But I hadn't. That was phase 1: everything I should have said rolling through my mind for the rest of the day. But all the while knowing that all I had actually said was, "What a horrible thing to say."

Then I slipped into phase 2. I ran through all of the racism I've seen in my past (all that I can remember anyway). There has been a lot, in both my community and in my family. I don't mean murders or beatings or crimes. I mean comments and subtle snubs. The things that often get overlooked. And that last part, the overlooking part, is exactly what became my focus.

I could count on one hand the number of times I responded to racism by speaking up, by saying something directly and in the moment. One hand. What I couldn't count were the number of times I had quietly walked away. Maybe said something later. To another person. Appalled. But in the moment I had remained silent. There were times I didn't want to appear rude or be disrespectful to someone I knew. There were times I didn't want to butt in to a situation that I thought none of my business. I scrolled through as many of these instances as I could remember and tried to come up with the myriad of reasons I hadn't said anything.

Ahmaud Arbery had been hunted down and shot for the color of his skin only one week before. He was doing something I consider part of my identity, and that incident rocked me more than I knew at the time. I spoke out about it on social media. I ran my 2.23 miles and posted my hashtag. And that was that. Life went on. But I don't think I was the same.

I think Ahmaud Arbery gave me the courage (although I don't think that's really what it was) to say, "What a horrible thing to say." And while I know that that phrase wasn't enough, at least I said it. That same day, I made a conscious decision to no longer be around that man in the future, and then I questioned that decision as well. Why not stand in his presence and speak my mind instead?

Because on March 1st, when I returned home from breakfast, I went down a personal rabbit hole that showed me that I may not be racist, but I don't have a great track record of being anti-racist. I don't have much of a history of speaking up. In the moment. In person. And that realization was devastating.

It took me 46 years to come to terms with the fact that it's OK to be disrespectful when no respect is deserved. It's OK to speak up. Over and over and over. It's OK to be rude in response to racism. And in my case, it's OK to be seen as the liberal snowflake who "just won't shut up about it."

Maybe now I'm speaking out too frequently for your taste. And that's OK too.

I remained silent too long for my own.

Let's Take a Stroll

Let's take a stroll down white privilege lane. 

My white privilege lane.

I'll start with a runner's perspective.

Here is one friend's story. He is one of the nicest people I know and a much better runner than I will ever be. But he is a black man; he doesn't run with my white privilege. When he goes to the track, he gets "watched" very closely. Sometimes people leave. And once (god, I hope it was only once), a woman stopped running, turned around, and held up her pepper spray as he approached and passed her (from two lanes over). Running. In running clothes. On a track. Where people go to run.

That just wouldn't happen to me. And you can say it's because I'm a woman all you want. It doesn't happen to my white male runner friends either.

• I don't fear taking out my cell phone for fear it may be mistaken for a gun.
• I don't worry that someone might assume I'm a criminal because I'm running. 
• When police pass me at night, they wave; they don't stop me for questions (same friend...multiple times). 
• And if I am EVER fast enough to pass another runner from behind, I doubt very seriously they will feel the need for pepper spray. 

Seem insignificant? 

How about a mother's perspective? 

Here's another story. This time, my son's.

He's had his fair share of run-ins with the law. You don't need all the details to see the point, so here is a rough outline of his experience.

Strike One

Deferred Adjudication: Just stay out of trouble for one year.

He didn't.

Strike Two

Probation: Just stay out of trouble for one year.

He didn't.

Strike Three

House Arrest: Just follow these rules for one year.

He didn't.

It wasn't until strike four that he finally saw the inside of a jail cell.

Find me a black man who was given four strikes before he was put in jail.

I'll wait.

I appreciate every mercy and every kindness shown to my son. With my whole heart I appreciate every police officer and every judge he ever came in contact with. They saved his life. How many black mothers can say the same?

My son came out the other side of this story a good man. 

Because of the compassion he was shown. 

How many black men come out the other side of this same story angry men? 

Because of the injustice they are shown. 

White privilege doesn't mean your life has been easy. 

It doesn't mean you haven't struggled. 

White privilege means your life wasn't made harder because of the color of your skin. 

Three Minutes

Today I watched my 76 year-old father start off on his first 5K.

It's odd wording to say I watched him start. Most people would say they watched him finish his first 5K. But I didn't. I didn't see him finish because he was three minutes ahead of me.

Three minutes!

He killed it. He has been walking three miles a day almost every day for over a month now. And he is killing it.

He placed 2nd in his age group, and he teared up a bit after the race when I told him how proud I was of him. He put his head down and said, "So am I."

I walked the course with my brother and sister. We talked and laughed and huffed and puffed and complained about our aching calves while we got our collective asses kicked by dad. It was a fun morning.

And everyone agreed to do another one. Here's to a new family tradition that just might kick all of our butts into gear.

I Recently Fell Back In Love

At some point last year, I fell out of love with running. Well, to be honest, even when I loved it, I hated it. But I had loved it nonetheless. I started lifting more, even dabbled in powerlifting as a sport, and running just became a chore. And I stopped doing it.

And then I took a birthday vacation centered around running the Four Corners Quad Keyah. Four half marathons over four days in four states. Doesn't everyone plan their birthday vacation around running 52.4 miles? No?

I was incredibly out of shape (remember I had all but stopped running). It was incredibly painful. It was incredibly beautiful. And it was just what I needed to fall back in love.

And fall back in love I did.

So I started up again. I was slower than before (and I was already really slow). My breathing was tortured, and my hip was protesting, but I began to remember what I had loved about the hobby I hate so much.

I love this passage from John Bingham's The Courage to Start;
"Beginners can experience the same feelings as veteran runners. It isn't a matter of how long you've been a runner, but of how running can inform your life. If you are open to the lessons of racing, every starting line can be a seminar in becoming yourself.
These lessons can occur at any distance. A 5K race is more than long enough to discover the truth. A 10K race doesn't guarantee twice the revelation, but it gives you time to reflect. And distances beyond the 10K - 15 and 20K's, half marathons, the full marathon - are out there if the answers are buried to deep within you that mining for truth takes longer."

I don't get lost in my thoughts when I run. I don't spend the time in deep self-contemplation.

I listen to music and podcasts and audiobooks. I listen to other people talk (even though I can't talk in return for fear of dying). I fall down. I take pictures. I run into trees and fall down some more. It's not a time of deep reflection.

But this passage did get me thinking about the lessons I have learned from running.

Here are a few  (OK, a few more than a few):

1. I am stronger than I once believed. Slower too. But also stronger.
2. Slow and steady does not win the race. That fucking tortoise lied to us. Slow and steady comes in last or, at minimum, back of the pack. 
3. The back of the pack is where you meet the really fun runners. Seriously, we are the cool kids.
4. The cops who pull me over when driving aren't the only amazing officers out there. The ones who stop traffic for runners and cheer and tell you you're doing a good job even when you look like you're dying are pretty amazing too. 
5. Trees hurt when you run into them. Don't run into them. Really. Don't.
6. Every step in your last mile means you have that much less than a mile to go. The last mile is my favorite mile.
7. They say the first step is the hardest. It's not. Putting on your running shoes is the hardest. Running shoes. I love buying them. I hate putting them on. It is, by far, the hardest step. 
8. You do have to walk before you run. And then walk a little more. And then you take off running. But then there's always more walking. Just embrace it. 
9. Pee happens. Embrace that too.
10. I am a runner. And if you run, you're a runner too. Your pace doesn't matter. Your distance doesn't matter. If you run, you're a runner. Embrace that most of all.

Well, that's it. That's all I've got. They're not deep and philosophical, but at the end of the day, neither am I. 

"Standing at the beginning of a race, alone but united, you can find the quiet peace that comes in knowing that your uniqueness is shared by others. Surrounded by other runners, waiting for the race to begin, you can find a calm confidence in knowing that your individual odyssey is actually just one stone in a mosaic of self-discovery. a mosaic crafted by all those who, like you, have accepted the challenge to overcome the distance set before them, using only their bodies and their will." 

And that reminds me...

      11. Medals are cool. 

      12. I like medals.

      13. A lot. 

That's Not What Hate Looks Like

I was recently accused of hating our president. Well the exact wording was, "Just admit that you hate your president and be done with it." I take that as an accusation, and I can only think of two reasons why it might have been made:

1. This person does hate people he disagrees with. See, the conversation was about something our president had done that I disagreed with (I'll get to that) and so clearly (in this person's mind) I must hate him. What a sad way to go through life, hating anyone you disagree with. That makes me sad for him.
or
2. Maybe he doesn't hate everyone he disagrees with, but he felt comfortable assuming that about me. Again, what a sad way to go through life, assuming hate in others. That too makes me sad for him.

Bottom line, the conversation made me sad. It's not the first. It won't be the last.

The topic of discussion (and I'm referring to an online discussion) was about President Trump's tweet tirade in regard to Greta Thunberg being named People's Person of the Year. The original post was a very nice and even handed statement about the media's impact on the craziness of today's political climate, specifically the current topic of climate change (sorry to the poster if that doesn't seem like an accurate summary).

And I chimed in: "Politics aside, Thunberg is just a sixteen year old girl speaking out for what she believes in. She didn’t change the world or stop climate change. But she did go after something she is passionate about. He is a grown man who pitched a cyber fit and bad mouthed her because she got an award he thought he deserved. Whether he agrees with her or not, politician or not, that’s ridiculous."

I stand behind that adjective, ridiculous. That behavior is ridiculous (no matter who it comes from). It's not OK for a grown man to engage with an autistic child, or ANY child, in a public forum even if she has put herself in the public eye. It's just not, and that's just my opinion. Be the grown up. In this case, that grown up happens to be an elected official who represents ME. My president. The president of the United States of America. On Twitter. Telling a 16 year-old autistic child that she needs anger management and that he definitely is the person of the year. I find that embarrassing (which I also stated in the conversation).

Not long before, public comments had been made about President Trump's son and Melania, who has been a very private, very quiet first lady, spoke out saying children should be left out of politics. Yah. She's right. She just forgot to tell her husband. Shame on the people who made disparaging comments about Barron. And shame on President Trump for doing the same to someone else's child.

In pointing that out, let's not forget, I got, "Just admit that you hate your president and be done with it."

And that has been a large focus of my political lense for the past three years. You see, I'm not a particularly educated person when it comes to federal policy. If it doesn't have to do with education or women's rights/equality, I probably can't chime in to your over-my-head-conversation, and those two topics are really states' issues. So federal policy? I can't tell you much.

Has President Trump's presidency negatively impacted me directly? Not that I know of. Neither has any other presidency in a concrete way I can name. I work in a field with fairly good job security and am a middle class single mom who always gets a decent tax return (but then again any return is enough to make me happy). Now governors? I can go off on a few of them, but like I said, I can't tell you much about federal policy or any president's direct impact on me. That is something I am neither proud nor ashamed of. It's just an area where I can't keep up with some of my smarty friends and family.

Politics, policy, legislation isn't my issue (if you can call it that). President Trump isn't my issue. It is how people respond to him that I often find gross. And often makes me sad.

You're going to think this is a stupid example, but it is one that has stuck with me. It goes all the way back to the time of the debates, when President Trump said, "Look at her face. Who would vote for that?" Now, if any of my family (very devout Republicans) are reading this, they have inevitably come up with at least three smartass comments about Hillary's face, but he didn't say it about her. He said it about Carly Fiorina, the only woman on the Republican ticket at the time. The only woman in his own party who had stepped up to the plate to give it a go. He didn't make disparaging comments about the looks of any of the men in the running. What were there, five of them at that time? It was only for the only woman standing that he chose to focus on her looks instead of her ideas.

But remember, I said he isn't my issue. He is just one man who made a crappy comment about a woman's looks. They're a dime a dozen. The issue was the response, at least in my little corner of the world. I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Well, at least he doesn't care about being politically correct." "He's just keeping it real." "I like that he tells it like he sees it." "Awwww, come on, he's just being a guy."

And that is the problem.

I imagine my nephew running for student council in a couple of years and pointing at the little girl next to him and saying, "Look at her face. Who would vote for that?"

Would those same people be so proud of him and respond, "That's our boy! We just love that he's not politically correct. He just tells it like he sees it." I hope not, but I don't know any more. It seems to me, and it's just my perspective, that President Trump has empowered the worst in people. He's made it OK to say things like that (and many others) because if we can celebrate it (or even tolerate it) from a president, we're giving it our seal of approval.

And therein lies my sadness. Not in him but in the reactions of people I know and love.

Like I said, many of you will think that is a silly example, but remember, I take women's equality to heart, and making a political campaign about looks, but only the woman's looks, struck a chord with me. And the fact that it was during the debates struck a chord with me. It was during a time when candidates put their best foot forward and try to convince us of WHO THEY ARE.

He did.

And we liked it.

Why is it not OK to say that a particular behavior is bad? Why does that have to mean I have hate in my heart? Or am unamerican? Have we become so divisive that those are the only options? It's all or none. Support every word and every action or you're a hater (that word was also thrown into the discussion) who needs to leave the country. I've actually been asked that: Well then, why don't you just leave?

Really? Leave the country I love because I disagree with a particular statement, idea, or behavior? Is that a serious question?

I've been guilty of bad behavior many times. Soooooo many times. And those who love me and support me have told me to cut that shit out, also many times.

Not because they hate me. That's not what hate looks like. They criticized me because my behavior was ridiculous. So was President Trump's. Stop tweeting about children, for Pete's sake. You're the fucking president.