Grateful, and international streaking…

When I started run streaking, I made a commitment and a promise to myself I would complete 40 days. Prior to starting the run streak, I had run quite a bit of high mileage the prior year, and completed several races, including a half marathon. I have previously admitted and detailed in other posts, I became a bit obsessed with the streaking accomplishment. And so 40 became 400…then 1400…and by early May 2023, 2,000 days of run streaking.

Day 2,000 at home in DC, May 2023

When I committed to go to Kenya in August of 2023, I had a conversation with my sweet Trephene that I wanted to try to not break my streak. I wanted to truly “run the world”. I wanted to do what I could to keep my streak alive thru international travel and time changes…flights and new places…

In the nearly 6 years of my run streak, I have ran in every condition and circumstance. I have ran thru two moves across country, literally…on every vacation and waking up place, thru a global pandemic, in sunshine and winter’s chill, snow a time or two, rain more than I like, in all hours of the day, and night. I was committed to running on this epic adventure.

Early on the morning of August 10th…about 1AM early…I went out into the dark, and ran in my neighborhood. After two full years in my neighborhood, my streets are familiar. I know most of the lips of raised sidewalk stones, where the street lighting illuminates best in the predawn dark, where I am unlikely to need to wait for the light to change, and how many streets I will need to hit before turning back on the 1 or more mile loops. So, after my early streak run on the 10th, I went to bed…a few short hours, and I would be up, and headed to Reagan for a flight.

Early morning, August 10th 2023, at home in DC.

Arriving in Nairobi, Kenya on Friday, August 11th, I was tired. Flying internationally requires a certain kind of patience…I am not that great at being still. I don’t sleep well on planes. And I’m perplexed at the amount of food served on international flights. So, the last thing I wanted to do after arriving to our hotel was sit, or eat. The very natural choice was to run. I was not sure if I was ready to head out into the streets…I was a lot tired, and not oriented to my surroundings. I headed to my room, changed into shorts, a bra, and slipped a shirt on…so unlike me…and headed to the gym at the hotel. Treadmill running…

At the Boma, Nairobi, Kenya on August 11th, 2023.

I learned to run in my early 40s on a treadmill. The first time I ever ran double digit mileage, it was watching a Carolina basketball game on a treadmill at my gym in Billings, Montana. I learned to run on a treadmill, but I learned to love running outside…in the streets. I am at the point in my running journey when treadmill runs are a last resort or by necessity only.

For the remainder of my time in Kenya, I would have some incredible highs, and a few more treadmill runs. One morning, I would run with a Massai protector as a partner. One morning, my sweet Boo Boo, and world class marathoner, Trephene would join me for the back and forth of the Zebra Plajns encampment. I would run with the elephants and zebra in the distance, between me and Kilimanjaro. And, for a few runs, I would greet the sun over the Indian Ocean, the sand on my toes and the salt on my lips. And, I would have a few more treadmill runs, due mostly to the predawn dark of the southern hemisphere and early start times…5AM runs mostly.

Pre Dawn, Zebra Plains.

With Trephene, in the Mara.

In Amboseli, in the shade of Kilimanjaro.

On my final Sunday in Kenya, I woke up early, knowing the sun would be rising about 6:25AM local time. I had been up the night before, until the wee hours, celebrating my dear Trephene, and soaking up every minute of Kenya I had remaining. Getting myself dressed quietly. I set out with my shoes in my hand, and no headphones. I just wanted to hear and feel the ocean. I didn’t care about how fast, I didn’t care about my pace, I just wanted to soak it all up. After finishing a run that took about an hour, I knew my running in Kenya was coming to an end. And I was proud…but also, sad. Running for me is therapy, but it is also release and adventure and exploration and curiosity…so knowing that I was nearing the end of my adventure was a very bittersweet moment.

On the beach at Diani, Kenya, August 20th, 2023.

After a long several hours of travel, I boarded a late night flight on British Airways, destination eventually…home, to Washington, D.C. Unlike my initial journey to Kenya, where I traveled with the group, I was flying home solo…just me, and the couple hundred other people on the huge plane leaving Nairobi. The remainder of the beautiful, joy filled women that had carried my heart for the last several days were returning to New York. When I booked my return home, it was two fold…one, I wanted to come home to D.C., instead of arriving in New York, and two…this way gave me another opportunity for running adventures.

My flight home included a nearly 10 hour layover in London. I understand for some people, a 10 hour layover sounds like misery. But for me, it sounded like opportunity. I was so excited at the possibility of being able to RUN IN LONDON, and I planned accordingly.

On Monday, August 21st, I arrived at London’s Heathrow Airport about 6AM local time. I stopped in an airport bathroom and took a “whore bath” in the sink. I washed my face, my armpits, and my parts…freshened up, put my contacts in, brushed my teeth, and changed into my running clothes I had stashed in my carryon backpack.

When packing for my trip, I had packed two pairs of older running shoes, shoes that had seen lots of miles, and better days…most runners have a rotation of running shoes…and I have several pairs in rotation, or waiting in the wings at any time. So, I packed two pairs to take, knowing both would not necessarily return with me. Before I left the beach, I dusted off the pair that had run several treadmill runs, and a few walkabouts, and left them in the hotel room. Perhaps the service threw them away, perhaps someone said…these would fit someone I know…I don’t know. But, in London, I had the remaining pair. They were dusty, and pretty used up, but I knew they had another run in them.

After some investigating, I found that I could get a train from Heathrow to central London, to Paddington Station. So, clearing customs, and leaving the airport, I headed to the Heathrow Express, and about 20 minutes later, I was standing in the train station. (Internally, I was bubbling with joy.) I located the luggage storage spot, paid to leave my backpack, stashed a few important things into the small cinch bag I had for this purpose, and headed out. My first stop was some coffee…and after finishing that, I headed off to run. This would be streak day 2,100. (I have been streaking for almost 6 years…)

In Hyde Park, London England, August 21st, 2023 Streak Day 2,100

Consulting the map, I was close to Hyde Park. So, I took off, and eventually hit the park. Running thru the beauty of the green and cool, seeing so many bikers, and people moving about their day, I was filled with joy. After hitting my first mile, I stopped to consult a map, and realized I was very close to Buckingham Palace. So…of course, I ran there.

From there, I would continue to run to Big Ben, and the Thames, crossing two different bridges, running past the iconic red telephone booths, statues and streets, wending my way thru and around the morning commuters and the throngs of tourists. I would stop to admire the flowers and the foliage, to take a second look at a particular building or street. I kept thinking, I am RUNNING IN LONDON.

After about two hours, and several miles…my watch battery was dead, and I needed food. For the life of me, I don’t understand the amount of food served on international flights, and had picked at most, eaten very little, and found myself ready for real food.

It was about 11AM local time, and I had been awake for getting close to 32 hours. I found a pub, and after ascertaining that I could get both food and beer, I ordered fish and chips, and a local beer. The server was a sweet young woman named Geraldine. (That connection was not lost on me.) She directed me to a bathroom, and a table near an outlet to charge my watch. When Geraldine brought out my breakfast, or lunch, or snack…who knows what I should call it…I couldn’t help but laugh. I hate peas. Who in their right mind would have thought a garnish for fish and chips was PEAS??? (I could hear my mom laughing…)

Finally, after a second beer and lots of water, it was time to head back to Heathrow. Retrieving my backpack at Paddington, I boarded the train, wended my way through international security, passport screening, and finally to the correct terminal. After arriving back to the airport, I went back to a bathroom, repeated the process, and changed once again, putting on clean bottoms and a bra, washing, brushing, taking my contacts out, and throwing away both the socks and shoes I had on. Fresher, with clean running clothes on, and a long sleeve to fight the airport chill, I logged into a work meeting, accomplished some things on my work stream, and eventually boarded a plane headed home. I read a book, watched two movies, and was finally landing at Dulles, about 9:30PM local time.

After clearing customs, retrieving my suitcase, and getting home, I showered and fell into my bed about midnight. I had been up since 6AM Kenya time on Sunday, which is 7 hours ahead of DC time. I was tired, but set my alarm, because I had an 8AM work meeting, and a full day of teacher in-service to lead.

When my alarm went off at 6AM on August 22nd, I would be lying if I said I wanted to get up. But, as my mom would have said, if you can play all night, you can work all day…so, I got up, got dressed, and went for a thirty minute run. And, then…I worked.

Run Streak day 2,101, Home in Washington, DC on August 22nd, 2023.

In three calendar days, in three time zones, I ran on three continents. How fucking cool is that??? A runner friend of mine sent me a message that said “…you are a world class streaker…” and, while I don’t take myself too seriously when it comes to the sport of running, I do take my commitment to my streak pretty seriously.

A few days ago, a friend and colleague asked me what did I think would be the reason to stop streaking? The best answer that I could come up with was I would need a better reason to stop than to continue. So for today, I will run…

Streak on, Streakers.

Grateful for the pain of losing the First Day jitters…growth, and new opportunities…

Waking up this morning, and knowing that the calendar reflects that it is already August of 2023…I realized that this will be the first August since 2001 that I won’t have to think, worry, stress, or prepare for my “first day of school”, for in-service, nor that first day with students. For nearly all of my adulting life…when I was a nervous, unsure brand new teacher at the home of the Bearcats in Lavina, Montana at the age of 26, to August of 2022, where I was starting my 22nd year in teaching…I have had a “first day of school” come August. But, that all changed this summer.

Everytime I sat down near this one, she would grab my phone and take at least three pictures.

For the life of this blog, I have thought deeply and reflected about changes, both chosen and inevitable. And in finding how to be GRATEFUL for the ways that my life will, or should, change.

When I think back to what turning 40 felt like…that there was this shadow of doom on the edge of the horizon, out of my control and power, but prescient, I knew that I needed to change. And, for those of you that know, or been adjacent to the last several years, changes flooded in. I made big decisions, like leaving relationships that mattered to me, moving away from Montana, being more intentional about my body and my health, and committing to my happiness.

When I left Montana to move to Houston, so many things were changing. But, I reminded myself although I was new to Houston, and the school I would be teaching at, I was NOT new to teaching. I went to bed in August of 2018 in a bedroom of a new place, with new people, new roads to learn, and grocery stores to discover, telling myself: “This isn’t your first rodeo.” And, indeed…even with the bumps and bruises, students, learning, teacher colleagues and grading papers, planning and instruction…it was familiar. I wouldn’t go so far to say that thru the COVID pandemic, and moving to Washington, D.C., that it has been a simple rinse and repeat. But, even for the Augusts and first days…it was familiar.

I love you, but go to class….

However, this morning, the realization that I upended that familiarity hit me. I don’t have at worst, the August scaries, the end of summer dread…or better, the excitement of new classroom supplies, a first day outfit, or getting to know and love new kids, while getting hugs and high fives from last year’s kids as they walk in that first day. In June, when I accepted my new job as a Manager of Social Studies with the District…I didn’t think about how I wouldn’t have a first day of school. I don’t think I had fully grasped yet what changing jobs would look like. And, honestly…every day, I learn more things.

My transition out of the classroom was not abrupt. I would call it a slow burn. I have always said that if someone had told me twenty (plus) years ago I would stay in classroom education for 20 years…I would have laughed aloud. I never made it my goal to be the “old” teacher in the building. I have always said…I won’t retire from teaching. I didn’t see myself as being long to the profession, I feel that is a combination of fatal thinking, and not knowing if it was a fit for me when I started.

When I started teaching, I wasn’t great at it. I didn’t have a bag full of tips and tricks. I spent the first three years learning how to be a better teacher, all the while, finding real ways to make connections to and care deeply for my students. I think I hit my stride in my “teen years” of teaching, even with all the professional challenges that I faced along the way. (No matter what, no teacher ever wants their name on the front page of a regional newspaper for the reasons I appeared there…) In the years that I was teaching and coaching in Billings, I felt accomplished and competent. I also left what remains as the best school I ever taught at, (Go Career Center, Go Education), in those years, seeking something different for my personal life.

A thank you card at the end of the year from one of my Social Studies teachers.

At my best, I was a good teacher…I hope that some would think a great teacher. But, since the “pandemic year”, where my teaching changed because of proximity, I have not found that joy again. I have struggled to want to shoulder the burden of preparation, planning, grading, late nights for meetings, duty responsible lunch, never finishing a warm drink while it was still warm, and begging another adult to cover your class for a minute while you make a mad dash to the bathroom between classes…all the things that teaching in a physical form is. But, bigger than that…I have not felt an immense amount of joy. It has felt more like work, and less like love. When I pair those feelings with the ways that education has not changed to respond to culture and society, to inclusivity and empowerment…I didn’t have it in me to continue to stay.

Nearly a year ago, in September of 2022, a colleague here in the District reached out to me, and said…there is going to be an opening in the Social Studies Leadership Office, and your name came up of possible people who might be interested. I was shocked. I also felt a rush of hope. The process was not easy, partly due to the regular red tape of hiring, but other factors that had nothing to do with me or the job. And, so, after a school year where I felt accomplished in the work I was doing with my teachers, after seeing some real change happen for the students at Johnson, after a really long emotional year of wins and stumbles….I interviewed for, and was eventually offered, my new job.

In one of the three interviews that I had for the position, I was asked a question about “timing”. The questioner framed that “we” (the Social Studies department in the District) are embarking on a three year process for adopting new curriculum standards, and developing new curriculum. They asked if I saw myself “committing” to that process, of course saying, “this isn’t a contractual commitment…”. I sat up a bit in the chair, laughing, made eye contact with the people in the interview and said…”I’m not padding my resume. This job is not a stepping stone for me. I am getting to an age where I don’t see myself working for the next 25 years…so, yes, I am committed.” Everyone laughed, but I was serious…

I am four weeks into my new role. I am learning new things everyday, and I know as the calendar continues, and school resumes for teachers and students in late August…I will have even more to learn. But, I have embraced this change, and this challenge. My new role gives me the ability to further my impact as an education leader, to support more teachers, to support change for all public school students in Social Studies in the District. It looks a little different…office buildings and Metro commutes, a team of like minded incredible, passionate educators, and a year round work schedule…but, it also means I can take a lunch “hour”…or use the bathroom when I need to.

And, as I head into this August…I am embracing the excitement of “Back To School” for others, but wow…does it feel different right now, and I am so grateful for the chance to continue to grow, and lead in education.

My office sits to right, just up this street. Isn’t it lovely?

Sometimes, it’s the gratitude that comes in the precious and unknown…

• 

Today, I did laundry. I washed sheets and pillowcases. And thru the whole experience, I had tears. Not of frustration. Not of weariness. But joy. Tears…of…joy…about laundry.

Two seemingly insignificant things happened today. One…I got my new identification card for my new job, and two…the power got turned on to my new apartment in Washington, D.C. (Holy Shit…I live in Washington, D.C.). I mean…I LIVE IN Washington, D.C., and I have a lease on a lovely, fourth floor apartment, with beautiful hardwood floors, and a kitchen that by apartment measure is massive, and light streaming in from every window (of which EVERY room has a window or two…).

In October of 2020, I found myself truly struggling. Teaching remotely was nearly killing me. I was struggling to see any type of future for me in my job at the time. As some of you know, or have caught on to…I took a job in 2018 teaching in public charter in Houston. In an effort to not devolve into a lengthy rant about that shit show…I will just say this: I didn’t fit there. I struggled from the outset to see how I fit in this system that thrives on uniformity. I stayed the first year because of my students…and of course, in the spring of 2020..in the midst of a global pandemic, it felt super irresponsible to try to leave a job and find a new one. So, I stayed for the third school year. In my whole career, I had only ever taught at one school for one year…and that was not because I hated the job. But, in this case…I truly hated my job. I loved and love still, my students. I met and made friends with some amazing colleagues. And, living in Houston was full of good things. But, I truly hated the system and structure that I was working in.

I knew in October 2020 that I was desperately unhappy. Like, can’t quite breathe or catch my breath unhappy. I was running and walking for hours a day, as an effort to numb my brain. I couldn’t stand sitting at a computer and talking to silence all day, with an occasional student or two to break up the monotony. I had lost the one thing that made me the most effective as a teacher…that face to face connection. And, I absolutely hated it. I knew that I had to do something, I didn’t know what, but I knew something had to change…to save my own life.

• 

• 

• 

• 

When the 2020 election passed, and the results were in the favor of humanity and goodness…I saw a glimmer of possibility. What if…D.C.? What if I didn’t just change jobs? What if I changed cities…locations…regions? What if I took ANOTHER big leap…and moved 1900 miles away from the south to the east? Of course, it wasn’t going to happen in November…but, I had some thoughts. I decided that in order to make it happen, I better get moving in a direction other than neutral.

Of course, here is the interlude…where I thank some people, like my sweet Donna Love, who let me come get my feet wet on the east coast, and my sweet Peep who assured me that I had a place to come back to in Houston…and my friends who didn’t say…this shit is crazy.

Just over two months ago, I was offered a position in leadership with DC Public Schools. I cried. Tears of absolute relief. And joy. I was so ready to walk away from my previous job. To re-awaken the joy that I have long had for my profession. To embark on this journey, make a new home, and find new unexplored running trails. After 20 years in classroom teaching, I am moving into a different role…one that focuses more on how to help and support other teachers in my building. I will spend the majority of my day supporting and helping improve the practices of other social studies educators. I will still be teaching, one period…which I am very excited to stay in a classroom role, but will be able to lean more on the strengths I have built in 20 years of classroom teaching to really impact other educators. I am so beyond excited. In the last month, I have spent numerous hours online in leadership training, and now have even MET in PERSON some of my new team. I am so excited to work with these amazing humans, and I know that they will make sure that I am well taken care of in my new role.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I have now been in the “DMV” for nearly three weeks. And, tomorrow I will sleep in my lovely new apartment, with windows that look both east and west, that sits on the corner of 16th Street Northeast and Constitution Avenue, just a little more than one mile east of the nation’s Capitol. And, I have four days of work next week, officially starting in-service for teachers’ on August 20th. Students return on the 30th. And…I am here for it. On Saturday, I will pay to run a race with some of my favorite east coast Run Fam, including my Pink Sus…and when I get up on Sunday….I will head out for my run, and to have coffee with Joe at his house…with a trip up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to see if Madame Vice President is out running

A few days ago, in some reading that I was doing for a training, I read this sentence: “Of all that we value, what’s really most precious and what’s expendable?” It is sticking with me. What’s most precious…my joy, my heart, and my people. What is MOST precious? The brave. The scary. The trust that I have to put into courage. And, the precious love and support that I have had from so many of my people.

Last week on Thursday night, after an absolutely amazing day of work, I laid in bed in the Airbnb that I had rented for two weeks…and officially, I had neither a job, nor a place to live. I didn’t really sleep last Thursday night. I ran over and over the possibilities of what would happen if I didn’t get “clearance” from DCPS, if I didn’t get an “offer letter”, if I didn’t have a place to live…what was my plan? And honestly…I didn’t have good answers. But, on Friday morning, in less than 15 minutes time, both of those things changed…I was approved for an apartment in the Capitol Hill East neighborhood, and I received my offer letter from DCPS. I was out running when I got the call about the apartment, and sat down on a curb looking towards the Capitol, to pull up an email to send to the leasing office…and there was my offer letter. Real, true sobs washed over me. Relief and joy, true real emotions of joy that I had done it, married to relief for the fact that I was not going to be “homeless or jobless” much longer.

Nearly one week later, I am on the verge of spending my first night in my new home. And, waking up at my new address. And I couldn’t be more excited. (Any housewarming gifts would be gladly accepted…laughing emoji here…)

So, that most precious adventure…I’m taking it. And I am so, so grateful that I was brave enough to say…what I had was good, but what if there was something better? I know that there are going to be some bumps and bruises, because change can be difficult, and this new role will be a challenge. But, what I also know is that deep inside of me, there is a true feeling of home. I wake up in the morning, and know that I am home, in my heart and in my head.

Cheers to the precious things that I will protect and continue to protect, I will keep you posted on the challenges and the wins.

Much love.

Grateful for the “L’s”

Losers never win, right?

How many times growing up did that trite phrase get repeated? On the playground, in the classroom, on the court…nothing worse than being a loser. Having grown up as the chubby girl, the one often picked near to last, with glasses, and too much fear…I was often a loser. My competitive nature belies the number of losses that I have taken. And at the same time, my winning record, at things like coaching…well, that tells yet another side of the story of my losing legacy.

In the last year, “we” have lost so much. So. So. Much. For some of us, we have had to say goodbye to people we loved, say goodbye to routines, to status quo, to the things that define us, or at least we thought defined us. We have lost, both true, wrenching, difficult losses, and losses we will continue to process for years to come. But, there is one “loss” I need to process and reframe, and that is what is being called “The Lost Year”.

In the last few weeks, I have read several articles being published, tweeted, blogged about, shared, etc., about the “cost” or “toll” of the global pandemic on education. Studies are being done, numbers are being crunched, test scores are being calculated, and across the board of administrators; and pundits, some education connected, some not…there seems to be a consensus: the cost of the pandemic for students was steep…and “we” (read teachers and paraprofessionals/educational support staff) are going to have to work twice as hard to recover the time lost. Some plans call for starting the 2021-22 school year earlier, some are advocating for longer instructional days, some for extended school years.

But, I am not a believer in the “consensus”. I refuse to accept that the last year, the last ten months of planning, teaching, zooming, phone calls, emails, reteaching, late nights and early mornings, Sundays, and even several Saturdays….should be calculated as a loss. In my 20th year in education, I worked harder than I ever have….for no more pay, no more time off, no more “free lunches” or “t-shirts”, and the intrinsic rewards…well, those were few and far between this year. It was just hard. Hard. And sad. And frustrating, and incredibly lonely.

• 

• 

• 

But, it wasn’t a LOSS. I had moments where my students worked harder, with more focus, and more clarity than in previous years. I have students who showed up every day, cameras on, asked amazing questions, tried hard to be better writers, better analyzers, better….humans. I have students from the senior class of 2021 who will head to universities this fall on full academic scholarships, places like Notre Dame and…Duke. (GO Heels….) I watched my students intensely study things like voting behavior and varying state laws in an election year; sat with my students as we watched the attempted coup at the nation’s Capitol in real time, returned messages late nights and weekends about the “what if’s” as an unhinged maniac took to twitter in the waning hours of a presidency….all while navigating the emotional, financial, physical and mental toll of the pandemic on their families, their communities, their own persons. I can’t count the number of times in the zoom chat, on any given day, I would get a “Love you, Collins”, “thank you, Miss”, “I really love this class”….THESE ARE WINS.

• 

• 

I know, not every teacher is going to agree with me. And that is okay. But, I cannot just sit by and be okay with the framing of the year being one of deficit and loss. I cannot. Because there were wins. This year’s students learned how to LEARN on platforms never seen before, learned how to manage deadlines and times, without ever touching a single piece of paper. Learned how to do difficult things with difficult circumstances. Learned how to juggle multiple responsibilities for academics while also in some cases, caretaking, working or being the help to a sibling. This year’s students…they are resilient. They are winners. They are prepared for things that we could not have envisioned 18 months ago.

During a late in the year staff meeting, while listening to an administrator wane on about the lost instructional time, and why the region was opting to start the 2021 school year on July 26th….I finally had to come off of mute in an effort to lend an alternative perspective. I said to my colleagues, and my administrators….in 1939, Germany invaded the country of Poland, plunging most of Europe, and eventually the world, in to a world war…in the next 6 years, millions of people died in systemic genocide, and millions others in war and it’s affects. I went on to remind those on the zoom call that learning, and formal education essentially stopped in much of the world, and for entire populations of people. But, it was what happened next that bears remembering….those same young people, who’s lives were turned upside down, who in some cases…lost nearly everything…went on to be the thinkers, the learners, the teachers, the scientists, the doctors and nurses, the professors, the builders, the pilots, the parents, the leaders…of their generation. And they did it ALL in spite of having LOST SO much.

I know that much of what I had to say fell on deaf ears, when it comes to administration. But, I need to say it…my colleagues worked hard. My students…almost overwhelmingly…worked hard. We learned, and grieved, and grew, and laughed, and sometimes, just smiled, happy to see someone without a mask on….but, we didn’t lose. I won’t take this year as a loss, and I won’t sit silent while the story of the year of the pandemic is framed as a loss. I will remind others of the wins. I will hold on to the wins that I had with my students, and my colleagues.

So, if the story persists, the one in which teachers are the problem, and students lost….I will be the voice in the corner saying…you don’t speak for me. Here’s to the one that we lost….

Back to drinking and paddleboarding, with my eyes on the 2021 school year….looking for some more wins….