Yoga

Beyoga

| cheriarmour

Okay, so first off, I am not at all unbiased when it comes to Beyoncé – I know that.  However, what does the woman have to do to win album/record of the year at the Grammys? I’m not in any way demeaning Adele’s talent.  She is talented, and I bought hard copies of both 25 and Lemonade, but Lemonade was the better album from start to finish.  The committee did her dirty, and Adele agreed, according to last night’s speech.

Ok, we’re done with that.  But it kind of ties in to what I did this weekend.

I mentioned this a few posts ago.  But a really sweet girl who works at the Y bought me a gift card to a yoga studio I’d mentioned wanting to try out, and so once a week or so, I will actually trek down to Durham, and take a class there.  It’s good for me.  The drive is nice, Austin gets to do some dad duty, and I get a really good practice in.  We all win.  (Plus it takes 20+ minutes to get there, so I get to listen to podcasts on my way.  It literally is so good for my mind to get down there once a week.)

So anyhoo, a few weeks ago when I was taking Angela’s class, she mentioned a Beyoncé- themed yoga class.  The class was still like three weeks off, but I went ahead and signed up so that I wouldn’t have an excuse to not go (like I’ve done with getting my nails done every single week since the day before he was born). I signed up, and really didn’t know what to expect.

Sunday afternoon, I got to class about 15 minutes before, set my mat up in the corner, but close enough to the mirror so I could see myself, and watched as the room filled with women, some young, some older, super excited to take the class.

The instructor, a tall, thin, and beautiful dancer-type with mermaid hair was piddling around the room, setting up her mic, and helping folks get set-up while one of Queen Bey’s live tours was playing.  I was pretty impressed – usually the live stuff is reserved for only the biggest fans.  I chatted with the instructor for a second before the last of the nearly 45 women poured in about the Formation world tour, the one during which we’d been evacuated due to bad weather before the Queen re-entered and finished out the show.

So the class started with a talk.  Where I started crying immediately.  Gah.  But Brady, the instructor with the mermaid hair, began to talk about the class, what it meant that we were all women, the fact that the class would have some dancing, and some singing, and would be unlike any class we’d ever taken before.

Ok. I leaned over to the woman sitting next to me, and whispered, “this is gonna be insane I feel like.”

And off we went.  We started with ‘Drunk in Love,’ and began in tabletop.  From there we did dancing lion, a moved I recognized from the pole fitness studio I sometime teach at, and back into downward facing dog, which morphed into a more twerky version of itself at some point, more bouncy and ass-ish.  At the top of the mat, in mountain pose, things started to get different in a great way.  We strutted up and down the mat, waved our hands, sang at the top of our lungs, and between of all this, managed to throw in squats, work on our calves, pushups, and some core work.  I was drenched in sweat 20 minutes into this, and the class was 90 minutes.  I took a few moments during the class to take a mental snapshot…

mental-snapshot

…and it was so neat. It was kind of cool to take yourself out of the place where you criticize any and everything about yourself and someone else for dancing around like a fool, and just go with it.  There were some women who were really cute, perfect-looking lulu yogis.  There was me, in running shorts and a tee, still trying to lose those last few pounds of baby weight.  There was the mom next to me who’d been married for over 17 years as I found out.  There was Brady the mermaid.  There was the cute girl, barely out of college, singing her lungs out in the front.  And we were all just enjoying sweating with one another!

Anyways, so now, I’m feeling really energized.  A little sore.  Inspired.  And totally ready to do some more creative programming and host my own themed classes.

How have you gotten sweaty this week? 

 

Field trips and something random.

| cheriarmour

Hey hey hey!

So before anything else, if you’re reading from anywhere in the southeast, or from my island of Haiti (fun fact: I am a delightful mix, 50/50 of Haitian and Trinidadian), I hope you’ve managed to stay safe.  Please keep Haiti in your thoughts.  Haiti doesn’t need this in the least, but the storm has managed to cause some major fatalities and wipe out crops according to major news sources.  Please check on any relatives you may have on the island.  Social media is an excellent tool at times like this!

*******

I promised a little something at least once a week while I’m still recovering.  I’m officially four weeks out from when Liam was born, and by the time you read this, he will be one month old.  One month since I met the little guy.  It’s really hard to believe, and since we’ve come home, I can’t say we’ve fallen into very much of a schedule, except that he likes to go to bed by 1 am, and he’s been that way pretty much since he was born.

Before I went out on maternity leave (I’m taking a full 12 weeks, not sure if I’ve mentioned that, but I’ve gotten that question a fair bit), I wondered what I might do all day.  I didn’t think maternity leave would be a vacation, but I wondered if I might have some free time to write letters to grandparents, catch up on emails, in addition to getting to know baby Liam and things, but my time has been allocated a little differently than I thought.

What we do during our day.  

Keep in mind, we are still figuring one another out.  This will change I’m sure.  IMG_0096.JPGSo we start our day around 5:45-6:00am.  That’s kind of when he does his first big day nursing session, and when the first light hits.  Usually while I nurse him, I’ll watch some Hulu, eat a quick protein bar, try and drink some water because I’m usually thirsty asf, and depending on how he’s feeling, we’ll either go back to sleep for a second, OR he may want some snuggles until he eats again around 8:30 or 8:45.  He’s been doing this thing lately where he kind of wants to hang out with me, see dad off to work, and poop a few times.  (I’m being so serious, I’ve never met a human being who can poop more.  Apparently breast milk goes through the little ones quickly, so that’s why they’re ready to eat an hour and a half to two hours after they’ve started to eat the last time.)  So after this, usually I can get him to sleep, and I can sleep again for just a pinch.  He may fuss, and again, a few diapers usually are in there.  I’ll try to get in the shower and put on some fresh clothes, because it makes me feel somewhat attractive to wash ick off of me.  I’ve managed to shave a few times (big deal at this time!), and by the time I get some fresh clothes on, it’s usually time to nurse again.  I’m usually starving at this point, but every other day or so, I plan a field trip for me and the babe, whether it’s something we need to research or pick up, and I try to tack a quick lunch somewhere onto that so that we can get out and see some grownups.  The favorite the past few times has been Whole Foods, but we managed to squeeze in BOGO sushi with a friend yesterday which was a big deal.  By the time we get home from our field trip – say we went to the paper store for a wedding present, then to the baby store for some nipple cream, then to Whole Foods, it’s usually almost dinner time, and usually baby Liam likes to fuss for a little while before he starts to get sleepy, and snoozes until pops gets home from the gym.  Nurse somewhere in there.  Usually, we throw something quick together for dinner (which has been made infinitely easier by the kindness of family, friends, and Y folks who’ve dropped off salads and casseroles), and we head out for a walk around the neighborhood so I can get some steps, and Austin can get a little cardio in, especially on a day where he’s skipped it at the gym.  I’ll nurse him one more time, and usually this is the last time for the evening, around 10:30pm.  I pump after this feeding to store just a teeny bit of milk for the following night, and we make up a bottle for Austin to do the final feeding around 12 or 12:30am.  Sometimes, while Austin’s doing that, I’ll do some yoga down on the ground right next to the bed, and focus on some really, really, gentle stuff, and I always finish up with some pelvic floor work.

It’s crazy.  I just wrote this massive paragraph detailing what we do.  We do so much, and yet, sometimes at the end of the day it feels like we’ve done so little.  You’d think I would actually get something done, but most days, I feel like I barely have time to brush my teeth!  The field trips are good because it give me a reason to put a clean shirt on and pull my hair back into an acceptable top knot, but it’s so weird to not put on a dress and go to a meeting.  Right now, this is our normal, and it’s so interesting how hard and how natural it’s seemed at the same time.

Okay, now that I’ve rambled on and on and on…

Tell me something random! 

-I found a 48-oz bottle of kombucha for consumption on our field trip yesterday.  I may save the bottle for if I ever get around to making my own home brew.  It seems kind of tricky, but another instructor at the Y does it, and I’m thinking about asking her to see her lab.  Maybe I’ll make that one of my next field trips?

-I finished Breaking Bad again.  I maintain that it is one of the very best shows I have ever seen in my  life.  Todd is the most bizarre character I think a writer has ever created.  I may write a post just to discuss BB here in a few weeks.

-I am always, always hungry, which is apparently a thing when you breastfeed.  I am desperately shoving anything in my mouth that’s high in fat and protein, and guzzling liquids.  But it’s CONSTANT!

“Yoga Porn”

| cheriarmour

First, please allow me to thank all of you who sent your kind thoughts and prayers my way for my dad and his heart.  My father is feeling much better, and the stents are doing their job – he has been able to sleep through the night (for the first time in a long time) without chest pain.  Thank you, thank you!

“Yoga Porn”

I’m starting to question why I ever started to follow Yoganonymous on social media.

Admittedly, I’m not as regular with my yoga practice as I should be – I really enjoy getting some quality time with my yoga mat, but often times, when I’m trying to quickly squeeze in a workout between teaching classes and scheduling for the following month, my first thought is to jump on the treadmill really quickly rather than to get down to the mat (that I purchased from Craigslist when I was too poor to afford one a few years back).

But at any rate, I feel that yoga, like many forms of exercise, prayer, or meditation, is an important and valuable practice that does a lot of good for a lot of people.  So why this hate?

There was this a while back, I Don’t Do Yoga and It’s Because of You.  And then this, End Yoga Porn: Focus on “Real People and Stop the Selfies.

[Please allow me to point out that that quotation mark in the second title was part of the title, and not a typo on my part.  I think it was for emphasis?]

So, let me break it down for you.  “Yoga Porn” refers to those photos that you’ll often see on Instagram and Facebook, the ones of your healthy friends and sometimes your fitness inspiration in various yoga poses.  Sometimes the women are professionals, long-haired lithe beauties like Laura Sykora, and sometimes, it’s some chick with a lot of tattoos from Cary in a bikini.  Either way, typically I look, will watch videos, check out their alignment (which is not always perfect, but I’m certainly down to learn something,) and move along.  Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I’ll check the yogi in question out, and take mental notes on how great her (usually) body is, and remark to myself, that though I certainly don’t look like this when I do yoga, I hope that I look like this some day.  And that’s the extent of my feeling.

But these articles that Yogaonymous is guilty of circulating on more than one occasion are, for lack of a better word, silly.  To succinctly sum up their arguments, the authors assert that:

  • Yoga selfies are indicative of an ego issue (the person in the selfie has a big fat head).  The selfier (stay with me, I had to make that word up), only cares about looking good.
  • Yoga selfies are discouraging to folks who want to do yoga because of…
    • The beautiful people that they feature.
    • The beautiful people that they feature wearing bikinis.
  • Yoga selfies aren’t “real” yoga.
  • Yoga selfies are a competition to see who can outdo whom.
  • And the most troubling and sad assertion, that “I don’t do Yoga and it’s because of you [selfier]”

::deep breath::

Typically, you won’t catch me posting a ton of yoga selfies (or selfies in particular) because I’m awkward, and I don’t practice a ton of yoga.  However, I snap pics of my running shoes, trails I’m running on, and foodstuffs I create.  Not because I have an ego problem, or because I feel like I’m in competition with anyone else, but because these are the things that I do on the daily.  And I’m willing to bet the perps of this “porn” are doing the same.  They spend a lot of time with their mats, and if they happen to be in bikinis?  Guess what, they probably spend a lot of time in bikinis as well.

To the authors of these articles, or to people who see these yoga selfies and snarl, please don’t try to get into the yogis head and parse out what their intention is.  Take the selfie for what it is.  A FRICKIN SELFIE!  And not something that should have the power to make you feel bad about yourself, discourage you from practicing, feel “less than” about your body or your form of exercise, critical of whether it is “real” yoga or not, or in any way, impact your mood or well-being.  In fact, I might even suggest that you look at it, and perhaps feel inspired.  Heck, I can appreciate a pretty girl in a bikini with some decent alignment in a downward dog, and pray, that one day too, I might not look like a lost bison in my yoga classes.

As an aside, I will say, the one area of merit that came from one of the authors was when she mentioned poor alignment in a lot of selfies, which can be concerning, especially for someone who is a yoga pro, like she is.  I would caution folks who like to scroll through yogsperation on IG not to try to imitate those poses or recreate them without first warming up or asking your yoga teacher for appropriate cues – it’s a good way to end up hurt.

So, fitness friends, tell me.  What do you think of yoga porn?

Spoiler alert:  I kinda like it.  Who doesn’t appreciate beautiful people doing beautiful things, right?

 

Fabletics Clothing Review!

| cheriarmour
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via Shape Magazine

So, I wish I could have a subscription to every workout publication that’s out there, but usually, I limit myself to purchasing them when I see someone on the cover whom I love, and Kate Hudson definitely falls into that category for me.  She’s funny, she’s Goldie Hawn’s daughter, and I was particularly intrigued by this cover cause didn’t she just have another baby?

At any rate, Kate Hudson teamed up with Fabletics, which is her new, affordable brand of activewear.  I’m sure that you’ve started to see all the commercials for things like JustFab, FabKids, Stichfix, and Runnerbox, all subscription programs that you can enroll in, and Fabletics is a similar program, and I was super thrilled when they sent me a few pieces from their spring line to try and tell you guys all about.

The way it works:

You go to Fabletics, and you start by taking their Fit Quiz, which determines what sort of activity you’re engaging in.  From there, there are a few options, a VIP membership option, which will allow for more discounts and a full outfit option, and a regular membership option which still allows you to shop, but at a less deep discount.  But basically, after selecting your option, you’ll receive a new set of active wear (from a wide array of bottoms, tops, bras, jackets, and all of that), and If you hate anything, or you want to skip a month you’re totally welcome, but the basic premise is that you’re paying less for active-wear that’s pretty good quality, as opposed to a $90 pair of tights, which you can easily do elsewhere (and I’ve done it!).

The stuff. 

DSC_0012

P1160278

 

DSC_0014So the pieces that I have are:

The Kingston Hoodie, which I’ve been wearing nonstop since it came in the mail a few weeks ago.  Seriously, I wore this and the tank top like 3 times to work last week with different bottoms, and wore them to my race last Sunday.

The Extension True Tank, which is kind of like a muscle tee, and seems like it would be really good for hot yoga if you don’t want to run around without a bra on.  I also wore this in my race Saturday, and it moves really really well with you, but I probably would go down in a size personally, and…

The Lima Capri, which is truly one of the most beautiful colors I’ve ever seen.  The tight is really really comfortable and warm, and I’d probably do shorter runs in this one.  This one is a little tricky in the sizing – I felt like I’m in-between the small and medium, and when I was down on the floor stretching, I felt like it was pulling in the crotch a little bit, fit that makes sense.

The verdict:  I’ll start with some improvements so that we can end on the good stuff 🙂  This seems really dumb, but the tags inside of the clothing are really stiff and crunchy, and in a piece of active wear, that’s a big no-no.  I don’t like taking scissors to my tags, because sometimes that makes it worse, so I’ve dealt, but I don’t love that aspect of the clothing.

The good stuff is very good.  The clothing comes in the most stunning colors I’ve ever seen, and the photos don’t do it justice.  The clothing is comfy and extremely easy to wear or pair with regular pieces to make it more “street-ready”  and it translates easily between activity.  I taught a Zumba class in them last week, hopped on the treadmill after and ran for a while, and was able to run a full half-marathon in the tops pictured above with ZERO chafing and that says something.  At the very least, check out Fabletics, give them or month or two, and let me know what you think about your new (and affordable) digs!

[Full disclosure:  Fabletics hooked me up with the beautiful clothing, but these opinions are 1000% my own]

 

February Mini Goals

| cheriarmour

A few bloggers have done this thing where they set goals for each month, and I think that’s absolutely wonderful.  Cause you like, set your goals for the year and a month in, you’re like WHAT WERE THEY!!!  So maybe if I make monthly, like achievable ones, by the end of the year, I will be a total wonder-woman with  all the ridiculous goals I’ve achieved.   That sounds cool right?

Mini Goals for February

  1. Compile all the addresses for the wedding invite list.  The weeks are starting to slip away from me and I don’t want to end up like 4 months out with nothing done.
  2. In that same vein, get stuff together for the save-the-dates.  That has to happen this month.  We’re about 6 months out, and I have a ton of out-of-town people coming.  That said, I am so pumped to get married.  I cannot wait for how much fun this about to be.
  3. Get to yoga at least once a week.  I haven’t been in longer than I’d like to admit, and I need to get back into class.  It helps me with my running, and my body loves it.  Plus my abs look killer when I do it.  Added bonus.  Bikinis are out in Target from what I hear, so it’s good to get that stuff in check.
  4. I’ve been really afraid to say this out loud, but this is serious.  I want to wake up early at least one day a week so I can work out.  Ugh.  And I get a latte every time I achieve this goal.
  5. And finally, I need to do this this week, but I need to clean my car.  Like a straight up vacuum and Autobell situation.  

Okay, so I kept this one short and sweet.  What are your goals for February?  

I think I’m done being mad at Lululemon now.

| cheriarmour

I walked into Lululemon yesterday for the first time since this gem, in which the CEO and co-founder of Lululemon, a high-end specialty retail store that caters to mainly young women, yogis and runners, implied that ::ahem:: some women’s bodies were not made for his yoga pants.  Read:  the founder just called us too fat to wear his pants.

I mean, I don’t pay nearly $100 for your pants for you to insult me and call me fat.  Plus I get all my running and yoga apparel for the most part from Fleet Feet, so it wasn’t a huge deal to quit paying Lululemon visits.

But yesterday, I decided I was over being mad at Lulu, especially since they put the gag on the co-founder, and now, former CEO, and stopped in to see what was going on.  I made a few observations, that I adored!  For one, the girls who work there are adorable, which I forgot.  I don’t ever remember being that cute when I was working retail, so color me jealous!

Yin

These sweatpants which felt like heaven.  

And I decided I need a gym bag.  I real one.  I’m tired of shoving my planner next to sweaty tights and sweaty pairs of underwear – it’s time (now that I’ve been working out consistently for like 4 years), that I graduate to a real gym bag with real pockets for the dirty clothes and pockets for my phone and for my sneaks and stuff.

So the iPhone went into selfie mode, and I took a selfie with my two favorite by the most glorious full-length mirror the store had to offer.

gym bag

So the real question here is is…

Are you still mad at Lululemon?  Why or why not?

Which gym bag do I get out of the two pictured above?

I cried in Hot Yoga yesterday.

| cheriarmour

It’s fiiine, the teacher told us we hold a lot of tension in our hips, so it’s not uncommon to get emotional.  Luckily, at that point, it was like pitch-black in there, and the sweat was running in rivulets down my face, so it all looked the same.  Right?  That’s what I keep telling myself anyways.  Having a better time of it than this guy, who posted his mat for sale on Craigslist….

Yoga mat for sale. Used once.

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows: 

11:45a
Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself. 

11:55a
Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date. 

11:57a
I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her. 

11:58a
The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning. 

11:59a
Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don’t exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us. 

12:00p
Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed. 

12:02p
Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class. 

12:10p
It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other’s body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don’t worry, I’ll mention them later.) 

12:26p
It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond. 

12:33p
It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I’m in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, “for better or worse” is what we committed to so we press on. 

12:40p
The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him. 

12:44p
I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.

12:52p
It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see. 

12:55p
This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok? 

1:01p
140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don’t get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!

1:09p
150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed. 
I lose consciousness. 

1:15p
I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can’t really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out. 

1:17p
I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it’s voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It’s like juice and cracker time, ok? 

1:20p
It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something? 

1:30p
Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and ‘cool down’ in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up. 

1:34p
My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level – probably by 15 degrees. So let’s conservatively say it’s 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door. 

1:37p
The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day’s turmoil and mental scaring. 

1:47p
Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein — effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir. 

3:47p
Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the “shakes” consume my body. 

4:29p
Note to self – check car for missing wet yoga towel in am. 

  • Location: Bellevue
  • it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
the yoga mat returns!  
   

Job Search.

| cheriarmour

Running came to me at a really….tumultuous time in my life.

I graduated from NC State University in 2011 with my Masters.  I was a Social Worker!  Werk, right?  Wrong, kinda.

I spent the next like, year, searching high and low for a job that would apply, even vaguely, to what I’d spent years studying.  And thus, began the infamous job search, and by default, how I became a marathoner.  Running kept me from tearing all my hair out, one loc by one, each time I went through the following process, one that would take you from hopeful -> despondent in a matter of weeks.

The black hole.

I started, like any job-searching dumbass, by applying for jobs using those online forms.  Then I’d get really, really, really upset when I never heard anything for like 100 years from whatever agency it was.  It completely escapes me why any agency/company would utilize these forms when it’s pretty clear to me that a million people apply using these things, and not a single one of them gets a call back.  The key, I found, was filling into the form, exactly what the form wanted to hear.

The courtship. 

Once I started figuring out the system, there was these incredible awkward experience called “the phone interview” that would befall me.  Here’s how it would go down.  You schedule a time with an interviewer, usually over email, to do the interview.  Say it’s like at 8:30 am.  You’ll do what you’re supposed to, find a nice, quiet place, and sit with your phone, waiting on this call.  Usually the interviewer won’t bother to call until 8:36.  This means that you will have been staring at your phone, on high-alert, for 6 minutes.  The phone rings.  And your heart jumps out of your chest.  Usually, at this point, you’re all, how the eff am I going to answer this, and sound professional?  I know!  I’ll use my racially ambiguous voice for this one!

“This is Cheri!”

So I’d chirp through the entire phone interview.  I’d usually fly through this part.

Froyo

The in-person.

After I’d nail the phone interview, it was time for the in-person interview.  Stress city.  This was the tricky part.  What do I wear.  Ugh, is my natural hair a little too “ethnic” for the position?  Too late, it’s nearly 10 years in the making.   What if I don’t look like what my voice sounds like? Have I done enough research on the company?  What might they ask?  What do I say when they ask if I have any questions.

The Break-Up

This, by far, was one of the most emotionally damaging parts of the entire search process.  You’d do the interview.  And you never really know how you did.  There’s the wait.  And then you sense that you’re about to be broken up with. There’s the email break up, days after you’ve sent your stupid thank-you note.  And the email reads like this.

Cheri,

I wanted to let you know how AWESOME I think you are.  You’ve been such an asset to this company in the capacity that you work in, and you’re SO good at what you do, we want to KEEP YOU THERE!  That’s right, we went with this other guy for the position that you interviewed 3 times for! (Sorry about the humiliation!)

I know it seemed like the interview went really well, and we even showed you where your future office was going to be to tease you, but we really really, really wanted to fool with your emotions, that way, when you open this email, you’re absolutely sure to burst into tears.  Hope to embarrassingly see you around the office!

Awk

Oh. Gonna drink anything that’s a liquid now.

This happened to me really too many times for me to recount, and in the most painful, and humiliating off ways.  I’m not lying, once I was interviewed like three times for a position, and I didn’t get it.  Once, in a lunch interview, one of the guys interviewing me asked me how I do my hair when I run.  I believe he was just intrigued by my locs.  I didn’t get that job, and I found that out when I called the woman in the interview back after she’d left me a chirpy sounding email.  I was pumped! She’d called, all happy, to let me know that they’d given the job to some guy, who ended up resigning a few months later.

The Resolution

All of this was eased by a few things.  I never really accepted the situation, and it would be a lie to claim I had.  That might have made things a little easier, but my parents are successful, my friends are successful, and I compared myself to that.  Plus I have student loans to pay off.  But what did make it a little easier was Fleet Feet, running and generally working off the jobless anxiety, and eventually finding a job in my field.

I’ll leave you with the one and only Job Search Tip that you’ll need.

You guys know all the tips.  Your resume is top-notch, you have degrees, and you’re qualified,  In the time when you’re unemployed or underemployed, be good to yourself.  Work out.  You’ve got more time than most working people, so take advantage of it.  Go the the gym.   Do some yoga.  It’ll render you a little more ready to take on your situation, plus, you’ll have a 6-pack and look like a friggin supermodel when you actually do get an interview.  It’s tempting to sit around and gain 1000 lbs while going through this, but don’t let this process win.  And when you do experience rejection, and you will, chalk it up to another frustrating experience.  You know there are better things out there for you. 

Be kind to yourself.

| cheriarmour

Hey, I need to follow my own advice.  I’m sometimes horrible to myself, and I’m on the more confident end of the confidence spectrum.  I’d be lying if I said I don’t stand in front of the mirror and kinda turn, and assess what’s going on.  More often than not though, I wink at myself, do a little dance, and conclude that I’m pretty boss.

But at yoga last week, the sweet, kind little teacher reminded us to “be kind to yourself. Be kind to everyone you meet.”  And I was so glad she’d reminded me of that, because I can use a little help in this department.

Zumba

One evening, earlier in the week, I taught an evening Zumba class.  Two of my regulars, loyal faithfuls who keep me on track, were present, and totally ready to go.  When the blonder of the two started.

“What’s wrong with these mirrors?”

“Girl I know!”

And the whole while, I’m standing there, completely puzzled. What were these two even talking about?

“The mirrors over here! They make you look bigger.”

“I know!”

They turned to me. Shit.  What did I do?

“Except for her.  They don’t ever make her look bigger.  I been coming for over a year and I ain’t never seen her look any bigger.”

I was stunned.  Let’s do the math.  So, according to these women, the mirrors in the studio are selectively choosing folks to make look bigger?  I don’t think so.

So ladies.  And gents, really, I don’t discriminate.  Be kind to yourself.  Spend the next week choosing your words wisely.  And the very second you’re tempted to poke at your tummy, frown at your skin, or pinch your butt, say something nice instead.