Back to it
12:40 PM |
1 comments
Ah, the small pleasures of simple living. I alluded to them last post, and one has led me off on a tangent in my life I think would only be possible in the Yukon. Or in my Yukon life.
I’ll take this and back up a bit.
When I was “training’ for my 10k race last year (meaning, doing what all runners do: run with some regularity while sloooowwwly upping my distance), I remember getting so down on myself about ‘only’ running 3 or 4 times a week. That sounds lame, I know, but hear me out. It just seems like it was something to try really hard to fit into crazy journalism school schedules and interviews, work events and interviews, family visits, and the obligatory ‘we’re almost done!’ weekend drinkfests. Its a rough life, and busy.
I knew I could be doing more to reach personal limits and test myself. Granted, huffing and puffing and sweating and cursing were indicators that I was working hard on my runs, but I always knew I wasn’t really pushing it. I did my 10k and honestly, I didn’t feel like dying or collapsing afterwards. I just remember thinking how I had totally had it in me to get a better time. Competitiveness with myself? Maybe, and maybe my upbringing in a competitive, consumeristic, pressure-filled world is to blame. Maybe not?
So, anyway, I half-assedly brought running with me to the Yukon. First, I complained that the elevation change was too dramatic to keep at my regular running schedule and so I stopped. Or I’d run on the gym treadmill once a week and be satisfied I’d done something. It was a poor excuse for a fitness regimen. Granted, I’m not pudgy or jelly-ish (Destiny’s Child!), and it’s not like pounds were starting to pack on. But that’s not REALLY why I run, either. Its good for my heart, certainly better than sitting around not exercising my heart, and I wanna be a healthy old fart one day.
I went home for the wedding though, and had the whole, dramatic, I-don’t-fit-into-the-dress fiasco. That was the first time ever I didn’t fit in something. I used to be the stick-skinny girl people started bulimia rumours about, for crying out loud. I don’t GET bigger!! Well yes, I do. And I did. So I got back to running in Ottawa, and I fit in my dress and all was well and good.
I ran on my honeymoon, even leaving new husband alone at the hotel to run the Kelwona waterfront. I was so dedicated. We returned to the ‘Horse and I was still all ‘Ya, I’m totally for sure gonna keep up my running’ and thinking it wouldn’t even be hard because I’d already been running the last month regularly.
But then it got cold. Like, gross cold. So I didn’t run outside. And getting to the treadmill took some effort,.Like, the effort required to decide to go, pack stuff, run and come home. Exasperating! I’m not sure when, but ‘too cold’ and ‘too treadmill-y’ became solid reasons to return to the butt indentation on my couch and stay put.
For Christmas, my Dad got me a subscription to a women’s health magazine, which was really what I needed. In glossy, pretty pages, the message to me became clear: You are lame. Get up and do something. Wanker.
So I signed up for their online save your body or die program (although their name is more suitable and less scary) and began by logging what I eat to see how many calories I’m taking in a day. This was relative to little to no physical activity at this point. Baby steps.
That part turned out OK. I was eating enough. I don’t want to lose weight or anything so that can stay as is and I can stop logging calories for everything I eat, which is relieving. I don’t know how many calories are in Lindor chocolates but I don’t want to either.
This week, I got a gym membership at the Canada Games Centre, this awesome facility with an indoor track (real running! no cold!), a pool (I could so get back into that! And do aquafit hahaha!) so there’s step one. I replaced my broke-down old iPod with this tiny one the size of an eye shadow compartment so I had something to listen to on my runs besides the sound of my laboured breathing.
And my magazine web site thingy tells me what to do. When to run, how long, how hard. I can add in all the other fitness-y things I’m making myself do, like hikes with the puppy, yoga and well, that’s it for now. But soon swimming! I promise!
So the long and short of it is (if you were smart and skipped down to the bottom to avoid reading all of that) is that the simple pleasure of my magazine subscription has re-inspired me to get into running and being active, with a little bit of accountability involved.
I even signed up for pole dancing for fitness at the games centre. I wonder what I am supposed to wear to that? Anything? Anyway, I figure I’ll keep things interesting by switching things up, logging what I do, and planning in advance when I’m going to do it. Yukon time gives me a whole lot more to my day, even with the full-time j-o-b, so I know I can do it.
This is totally the year of seeing how far I can go. There are some extreme races here in the summer, so I’m excited for the chance to push myself and see where these legs can take me.
Labels: Journalism School, running, Yukon
2007: The road to hugeness
11:01 AM |
0 comments
2007 was clearly my year of hugeness. 2008 must feel bad, like getting the spot in the talent show right after the beautiful girl who sings “The Sound of Music” with perfect falsetto, and all you have in your hand is a dinky recorder!
2007 started with seeing my man off to live in Regina for 6 months. That day, all I remember thinking was how I wasn’t going to see him for another half a year. Three days later I broke down and bought a ticket to see him in April over Easter weekend. That was the best weekend ever, but I was SO SAD to fly back home afterwards, I’ll tell ya!
I laboured through my last semester of journalism school. The end of the long haul. The process of doing things just to finish them, not for the grades or with hopes of re-activating my first-year scholarship. I lived with a fabulous new roommate who did not set things on fire, and who let me laugh at myself on a daily basis.
I ran my first 10k alongside my bestest girl friends in May(minus C who was traveling the globe!) and we all did it in time we could be proud of. Crossing the finish line was an incredible high.
A few weeks later I crossed a stage, signaling my transition from regular student to esteemed alumnus woman with bachelor of journalism, high honours, major in law, minor in history degree. Standing on the duct-tape X marker and hearing them read that out, I couldn’t find my family, or recognize any audience faces, because I just stood there and beamed and let my eyes well up. That was the single proudest moment of my whole life and I’ll never forget it.
Another graduation brought my family and I to Regina to see the dude become a full-fledged Crown copper. He looked so cute!! And of course, he was so impressive. A whirlwind next couple of days saw us fly home, oversee movers pack up and cart off all of our stuff, as we said goodbyes and got on a plane that took us early in the morning from Ottawa to Vancouver to Whitehorse. The northern adventure began!
We lived in cop’s quarters while we waited, and waited, for our stuff and our truck to arrive. My my mum and sister came up to visit, originally to help us move in but since our stuff was somewhere in the prairies, they stayed in a hotel and toured around.
I got some reprieve in August with a pre-planned family trip to Turks and Caicos where I supremely got my dive on, sometimes three times a day! Saw my first sharks, and was treated to numerous sea turtles...my favourite!
The biggest and best event of my life took me back home in October to plan Operation:Matrimony. It was actually easy and fun, because with my mum’s work beforehand and our pre-planning, lists, schedules and calendars, we had everything done in time to enjoy it all.
I was away from my dude again for a month, which was a bittersweet bummer. The next time I saw him was five days before we made it legal! The wedding was a blast, went by really fast, and I can’t wait to see pictures and videos soon so I can start recollecting what all happened.
We had our first married/first Yukon Christmas with visiting brother-in-law and cousin, which was a nice touch of family.
And that was 2007. I was away from my husband a lot, and I hope we never have to do anything as crazy as be apart 7 1/2 months out of the year. That stinks! But the way things are looking, it’ll be he and me in the Yukon until work allows us time to go away somewhere...if that actually happens! 2008 should be quieter, I mean, I don’t know what would make it bigger than 2007. And that’s something to look forward to for sure.
I think my resolution last year was to be healthy or something vague like that. This year it's to wear sunscreen everyday on my face. I don't want to regret not doing so when I'm like 40 and realize all those nuggets of wisdom people offered me in my twenties were actually worthwhile.
Labels: Journalism School, nostalgia, Whitehorse
"Here we are now, entertain us"
11:51 AM |
3 comments
It has been one day since I officially ended my job contract, two weeks since I wrote my last exam, and 20 minutes since I had something to do. I slept in because I could, took my sweet time making myself a fresh berry smoothie and Facebook creeped my friends to see what they were doing with their time off. I find myself in a rut, but it’s a rut I dreamed of during my late-night paper-writing sessions and deadline-taunting interviews. It’s a rut of having nothing to do.
I go for my runs and stick to my training schedule because the girls and I have a 10k to run in May. That’s like an hour, an hour and a half tops of my day. I have my meals which I now make super-slowly. I walk to the store rather than bus whenever I need something and I find myself just waiting for things on screens to entertain me. The Internet, MTV shows, television movies, even solitaire. And that takes up most of my day. When I think about it, the carpe diem fairy in me laments and slumps over her seize the day scepter at what a couch potato I am. This, I tell you, is not a dream come true. I feel gluttonous and slothful at how lazy I am! I have just spent an intense four years working my butt off for something, and now is the time when I’m supposed to find out what that something is. I am supposed to be figuring out how to fill in that blank, and instead I am following along on the 30-minute journeys of bratty teenage girls planning coming-of-age parties that are nearly 20 times the size of my wedding budget.
“Enjoy this,”
I go for my runs and stick to my training schedule because the girls and I have a 10k to run in May. That’s like an hour, an hour and a half tops of my day. I have my meals which I now make super-slowly. I walk to the store rather than bus whenever I need something and I find myself just waiting for things on screens to entertain me. The Internet, MTV shows, television movies, even solitaire. And that takes up most of my day. When I think about it, the carpe diem fairy in me laments and slumps over her seize the day scepter at what a couch potato I am. This, I tell you, is not a dream come true. I feel gluttonous and slothful at how lazy I am! I have just spent an intense four years working my butt off for something, and now is the time when I’m supposed to find out what that something is. I am supposed to be figuring out how to fill in that blank, and instead I am following along on the 30-minute journeys of bratty teenage girls planning coming-of-age parties that are nearly 20 times the size of my wedding budget.
“Enjoy this,”
“You’ve earned it,”
“This will only happen once in your life,” people tell me. Yes, that’s all true. I am waiting until fiancé and I move to find my job, THE post-graduate job that will be my first foray into full-on grownup mode. That’s two months from now. Until then, should I get entrepreneurial and start a car washing business (services completed in a bikini for an elevated price?) Should I read as many books as I can so as to become well-versed in the sorrows and celebrations of human existence, at least in my mind? Should I volunteer for the next two months and fill my days with work? Should I continue with a daily schedule that varies up the following: run, sleep, tan, eat, TV?
I feel like I’ve won some sort of lottery and don’t know what to do. It can easily become a curse and a guilt-tripping burden. I’ve done nothing to “earn” a two-month life of gluttony, have I? And yet, people tell me that I am so lucky to have so much free time, two whole months of weekend! It sounds kind of cool when I say it like that, doesn’t it? Hmmm, but Looney Toons reruns and eating Froot Loops on the couch is only a thrilling experience because it happens so rarely in the real world.
I feel like I’ve won some sort of lottery and don’t know what to do. It can easily become a curse and a guilt-tripping burden. I’ve done nothing to “earn” a two-month life of gluttony, have I? And yet, people tell me that I am so lucky to have so much free time, two whole months of weekend! It sounds kind of cool when I say it like that, doesn’t it? Hmmm, but Looney Toons reruns and eating Froot Loops on the couch is only a thrilling experience because it happens so rarely in the real world.
Labels: carpe diem, Journalism School, rut
What journalism school is really like
12:13 PM |
4 comments
It struck me today that we have never been formally introduced. We know names and places, but what comes next in the standard procedure introduction.
“What do you do, are you in school?”
“Yes, actually I just finished my journalism degree last week and I graduate this spring.”
“Well, congratulations, was that at Carleton?”
“Yes it was.”
“Wow, that’s a tough program to get into, and they’re quite well known for their journalism aren’t they?”
“Yes, and it’s every bit as tough as it’s cracked up to be.”
But now that we’ve gone through what every relative, coworker and acquaintance and I have gone through, let me tell you what journalism school is really like.
First of all, many of the reporters you see on TV and whose byline you read in print do not have journalism degrees. I agree: you totally don’t need one. Today’s college programs and one’s independently acquired journalistic aptitude are fine tools to be equipped with when harassing a news agency for a job. My brain is best suited to learning in an academic environment, so I chose to go the university route to learn more about law, history and alcohol consumption en masse.
My journalism class started with something like 250 avid note-taking, newspaper reading keeners who scored some of the top grades in their high school. At our graduation ceremony this spring, something like 75 will receive journalism degrees. Many dropped out, many more were kicked out for not maintaining the requisite grade cutoffs. We went through news quizzes that ask questions like, “What is the name of the Colombian government rep in town this week?” and “Who is the Sens’ goalie?”
Reading newspapers and watching newscasts was a requirement, we were told at the beginning of every semester.
“Read six papers a day, listen to CBC radio every morning, memorize the CP style guide like it’s the Bible.”
This never happens. Yes, I read the news online and sometimes put on the 24 news channel. But it wasn’t until I developed and honed a curiosity, a need to have my questions answered, that I was motivated to meet my prescribed news absorbing quota. (The New York Times and BBC online are my favourites)
I did something different than many of my fellow J-Schoolers. I worked in media. I interned at the Hill newspaper and developed a love affair with federal politics, Hill gossip and poll results. I freelanced to city papers and earned a few dollars. More importantly, I learned how many more people were willing to answer questions when you prefaced them with, “I’m from the Sun,” as opposed to, “I’m calling from Carleton journalism school…” (Which inevitably leaves one ready to poke one’s eyes out when no one calls back and a deadline is looming.)
I got national coverage for stories, I informed people, I became a mini-expert in a few topics for short periods of time. When discussing current events with older family members, I gloriously became the authority who could say, “Well, I was there and…” or “Actually, I talked to the former prime minister, and he said…”
I went to journalism class with confidence to know not just how to make phone calls but how to make phone calls that reach the right people and warrant interview results.
Some of my classmates competitively clawed their way to the top. I was too happy to stay in the middle, make friends, cooperate, ask questions when I didn’t understand, because it meant I didn’t want to shoot myself with stress overloads. There was enough inherent stress in the program’s tight deadline structure and balancing requirements with other classes and real jobs to meet my personal quota, thankyouverymuch.
Now, I’m on the other side of the program, done the degree. I found passion in writing about seemingly mundane things. I have developed a trained eye for the engaging and the ultra boring stories. I genuinely am thrilled to tell people about what I find out via my exclusive pass as a reporter, and appreciate the responsibility inherent in said pass for explaining things fully and without my own two cents stuck in there.
This program has given me an appreciation for what can be done in a compressed amount of time, what I can possibly learn about an issue when I actively seek out the information for myself, a complex about proper grammar use bordering on insanity, and the pride at looking back at what I can achieve when I work really, really hard.
“So what are you going to do now?”
This question is attacking all of us journalism graduates from all fronts. For part II of this conversation, hold tight, I’m still working on my answer to that one.
“What do you do, are you in school?”
“Yes, actually I just finished my journalism degree last week and I graduate this spring.”
“Well, congratulations, was that at Carleton?”
“Yes it was.”
“Wow, that’s a tough program to get into, and they’re quite well known for their journalism aren’t they?”
“Yes, and it’s every bit as tough as it’s cracked up to be.”
But now that we’ve gone through what every relative, coworker and acquaintance and I have gone through, let me tell you what journalism school is really like.
First of all, many of the reporters you see on TV and whose byline you read in print do not have journalism degrees. I agree: you totally don’t need one. Today’s college programs and one’s independently acquired journalistic aptitude are fine tools to be equipped with when harassing a news agency for a job. My brain is best suited to learning in an academic environment, so I chose to go the university route to learn more about law, history and alcohol consumption en masse.
My journalism class started with something like 250 avid note-taking, newspaper reading keeners who scored some of the top grades in their high school. At our graduation ceremony this spring, something like 75 will receive journalism degrees. Many dropped out, many more were kicked out for not maintaining the requisite grade cutoffs. We went through news quizzes that ask questions like, “What is the name of the Colombian government rep in town this week?” and “Who is the Sens’ goalie?”
Reading newspapers and watching newscasts was a requirement, we were told at the beginning of every semester.
“Read six papers a day, listen to CBC radio every morning, memorize the CP style guide like it’s the Bible.”
This never happens. Yes, I read the news online and sometimes put on the 24 news channel. But it wasn’t until I developed and honed a curiosity, a need to have my questions answered, that I was motivated to meet my prescribed news absorbing quota. (The New York Times and BBC online are my favourites)
I did something different than many of my fellow J-Schoolers. I worked in media. I interned at the Hill newspaper and developed a love affair with federal politics, Hill gossip and poll results. I freelanced to city papers and earned a few dollars. More importantly, I learned how many more people were willing to answer questions when you prefaced them with, “I’m from the Sun,” as opposed to, “I’m calling from Carleton journalism school…” (Which inevitably leaves one ready to poke one’s eyes out when no one calls back and a deadline is looming.)
I got national coverage for stories, I informed people, I became a mini-expert in a few topics for short periods of time. When discussing current events with older family members, I gloriously became the authority who could say, “Well, I was there and…” or “Actually, I talked to the former prime minister, and he said…”
I went to journalism class with confidence to know not just how to make phone calls but how to make phone calls that reach the right people and warrant interview results.
Some of my classmates competitively clawed their way to the top. I was too happy to stay in the middle, make friends, cooperate, ask questions when I didn’t understand, because it meant I didn’t want to shoot myself with stress overloads. There was enough inherent stress in the program’s tight deadline structure and balancing requirements with other classes and real jobs to meet my personal quota, thankyouverymuch.
Now, I’m on the other side of the program, done the degree. I found passion in writing about seemingly mundane things. I have developed a trained eye for the engaging and the ultra boring stories. I genuinely am thrilled to tell people about what I find out via my exclusive pass as a reporter, and appreciate the responsibility inherent in said pass for explaining things fully and without my own two cents stuck in there.
This program has given me an appreciation for what can be done in a compressed amount of time, what I can possibly learn about an issue when I actively seek out the information for myself, a complex about proper grammar use bordering on insanity, and the pride at looking back at what I can achieve when I work really, really hard.
“So what are you going to do now?”
This question is attacking all of us journalism graduates from all fronts. For part II of this conversation, hold tight, I’m still working on my answer to that one.
Labels: Journalism School, life on the other side, work in media