Tis the season

It's that time of year. I don't mean Thanksgiving or Christmas. I mean a different kind of season: Football season.  It's the time of year when one of my most hated phrases gets tossed around like candy at a parade: Football widow. I know this is supposed to be funny, at least I think it is. But you and I know it also is couched in a little bit of truth or in some cases a lot of truth. And because I'm and because I'm an asshole, I of course, can't really see the humor.

Having made the decision not to marry a man crazy obsessed with men running around and tackling each other, I first encountered this term in Afghanistan. There was a guy there who was not ashamed of admitting that during football season his family knew where to find him if they wanted to see him: watching the games. I have seen it thrown around on Facebook recently and instead of inspiring laughs, for me, it inspires disgust because of what it stands for. From what I have gathered, the term us used by wives when their husbands or significant others absent themselves for five months out of the year to watch football.  So I dont have a problem with enjoying a good game. I don't have a problem with having a favorite team or being a fan. I think these games exist for our enjoyment. However, when you get down to it they simply do not matter. Nothing changes in our respective lives if our team wins or loses. The world doesn't transform into a better place if the Pack gets the W. Yet, we have groups of men who spend so much time obsessing about these games that we have developed a tongue in cheek term for the phenomenon: Football widow. 

I could not be married to a man who absented himself from my life for five months out of the year for a game. I could not be married to a man whose mood would be dictated by whether his team performed well.  Again, it's not because I'm a raging bitch who doesn't want her husband to have hobbies, but because the logical part of me just doesn't understand why it matters. And this may hurt a few readers' sensitivities but it really doesn't matter. I think our country's obsession with football is somewhat pathological. The time, money and resources invested into a game that is supposed to be fun is astronomical. What if we put those resources into our families? What if we put those resources into bettering the planet? What if we fact checked the outlandish claims of politicians to the same rabid level we devote to football stats and our fantasy football teams? Wouldn't we all be better for it?

I get it. We all need hobbies. And unless you're an Alesch you probably can't analyze and over analyze to the maddening extent that we do. But if you are a wife who is using the term football widow then I encourage you to take a stand. You shouldn't have to put up with handling the majority of the child care, house cleaning, dinner prep, etc. just so your man can watch football. Enabling this behavior is just a damaging for what you are teaching your daughters about how their lives should look. I know for a fact I don't want my daughter becoming a football widow when she is married. I would rather she be single for the entire year instead of for just five months because a man's decision to devote his time and energy into football instead of his marriage is disrespectful and stems from an out of balance power dynamic that permits a man to turn his wife into a football widow. I don't want that for anyone and definitely not for my daughter. I don't model that behavior for her and thankfully neither does my husband. Hopefully, my son also won't be an entitled white male because of the role model he has. It is a two-sided coin. We have to teach our daughters to be strong but we also have to teach our sons to be real men. And in my opinion, a real man doesn't act like a child and throw a tantrum when his team doesn't win. A real man doesn't choose football over his family. And the converse is true as well. A real woman doesn't accept being a football widow as her lot in life. A real woman demands more and understands that deep down a man's refusal to change or listen to those valid concerns stems from sexism and mysogony, neither of which should be condoned, accepted or even passively aggressively  joked about on Facebook. #sorrynotsorry for not being able to see the humor in this phenomenon.

Bumbling and Beating the Drum to Boston

I qualified for the 2017 Boston Marathon! I am so happy and proud and excited about this accomplishment and I have been wanting it since I ran my first marathon (2000). I want to tell the story of how I bumbled my way to Boston and why I am beating my own drum about my accomplishment...because, as any good Alesch sister knows, no major (or minor) event can go unparsed (#aleschproblems #aleschblessings). Reflecting on my training period for and running the 2015 IMT Marathon, a few things pop out at me...as they say, life is a marathon, not a sprint, and I felt like this particular marathon, for me, epitomized and illuminated many things I have worked on, struggled with and learned to laugh at to this point in my life and I'd like to share those joys with you.

Not only did I qualify for Boston, I qualified in all women's age groups, not just my own. I ran my personal best marathon time. I am telling you these things because I am proud-it is not in my nature to be vocal about my accomplishments and it's something I have had to deliberately practice-celebrating myself. I'm also mentioning these things because this was the least I've stuck to my marathon training schedule...but it was the most I've listened to my body and lived my life while marathon training. I started training "late" because of RAGBRAI...so I think I missed what should have been the first week or two of my training. Throughout the next three months, there were two full weeks that I didn't run at all, except to get the long training runs in, and I even missed one of those. I missed those weeks because I was living and enjoying my life-going on vacation, exploring and resting. My last long run I pushed back two days because I could feel my body was tight and I would likely sustain an injury if I ran on the scheduled day. Amy Sue from any other marathon (this was my seventh) would never have done any of those things...and yet this is the best one I've run. I know it was because I listened to my body and was happy. My body felt strong, not abused. I felt happy because I cared more about experiencing my life than sticking to a training schedule and I know those two things made my body strong and light and excited the day of October 18, 2015.

Another first for me was that I asked two of my sisters, Anne and Jill, to be there for me the day of my run. In the past, I've had friends or significant others accompany me...and to be honest, I was nervous about asking them. I was worried about the imposition (early start time, traffic, blowing an entire Sunday morning to see glimpses of me four times) and if I'm honest, I was probably worried neither of them would want or be able to come. They both came and were there for me the entire run. Jill brought my nephew Trevor and niece Brooklyn and I cannot tell you how happy it made me and how much energy it gave me every time I saw them (especially when I saw them all hoola-hooping in Water Works park). I felt so thankful and blessed that my sisters would do that for me and all I had to do was ask. It might seem so obvious but it was such a stark realization for me-these ladies are here for me and happy for m no matter what and I still get tears thinking about how much this means to me.

This leads me to the bumbling portion of my blog title...Anne got there early to take my extra clothes and gear from me before the start. It was really cold that morning but was going to warm up during the 3-4 hours of running. I had shorts on under Under Armour running tights and a long sleeve Under Armour shirt on under an Under Armour jacket (yes, I like Under Armour). I asked Anne if I needed the jacket and tights and she first looked at me like I was crazy and then kindly said that she got hot on the way over and I probably didn't need the jacket. I (foolishly) chose to leave the tights on and as soon as we got outside of the Marriott lobby, I knew I had to take the tights off (because those babies would be a bitch to take off during the marathon). So, while the national anthem was playing, I'm sitting on the cement taking off my shoes and tights and putting my shoes back on as I heard the national anthem finish. I ran over to try to get into the marathon start, barreled into a spot where people were pulling the barricades open to let people in and got in just in time to notice that I was at the 3:15 pacer spot...just as the starting gun went off. I told myself it didn't matter because those people could just pass me and at least I made it in right in the nick of time (I would have put myself at the 3:50 pacer spot).

But I ran with those people. I ran with them and the 3:20 people for at least half of the marathon. I noticed the voice in my head telling me I was going too hard too soon, that I should slow down. And then I noticed the more confident voice telling me I felt strong, I was doing this and it felt good and that's what we were going to go with this time because, "I got this". So I ran...and I saw Jill, Anne, Trevor and Brooklyn and I kept feeling good. I'm not going to lie...around Mile 23 my feet started to go numb but by then I knew I had a chance at Boston and I pushed through. I didn't know how well I'd done until later in the week. But I say I bumbled into Boston because I honestly don't know if I would have started out at the pace I did if I wasn't bumbling around with my clothes and shoes and Anne's sage last second clothing advice in the beginning and gotten in the wrong pace time!

And now for the beating the drum part of my title...with this blog, I am celebrating my accomplishment, which is very dear to me. I am celebrating not only the physical accomplishment and the fact that I get to go run the beloved Boston Marathon in April 2017, but I am also celebrating the culmination of so many life lessons and wisdoms that I feel contributed to this proud moment as much as any physical training (listening to my body, living my life to the fullest, asking for what I need/want and feeling vulnerable, laughing at my continued bumbling, listening to the confident voice). The fact that I am celebrating is, in itself, one of those lessons. In past years, I would never have written about this or publicly celebrated it. Growing up in my family, we were just expected to be good at everything we did-accomplishments weren't celebrated, they were expected. Through the work I've done on myself, I've realized what an unhealthy, withholding, damaging way of being that is and I've worked hard to be joyous and celebrate others' accomplishments...I'm better at that, celebrating others. This blog is an attempt to celebrate myself and something that is important to me, that I worked for and that I'm proud of. It is my celebration of not only the physical accomplishment but every life lesson I internalized to this point to make this happen. So here's to bumbling and beating my drum all the way to Boston 2017 and to hoping I do the same there!

I Wanted to Call This Blog “Self Love,” But Thought Better of It

Hello all! I’m Ali. I am not an Alesch sister—more like an Alesch sister groupie of sorts. They have been kind enough to let me post here on any topic I wish, so settle in for some unsolicited Ali wisdom.

When I was thinking about what I wanted to write, I went to the old adage “Write what you know,” and lately I have been getting to know how important it is to have things about yourself that you wouldn’t give up for anything. Sound a little fluffy and dorky and like a lesson I should have learned during middle school? Maybe, but bear with me.

There are plenty of Pinterest-friendly quotes out there that tell us to “love ourselves.” Look! I will even put one here (I found it in literally two seconds):

(Hey, pssst . . . Do you think this thing wants you to love yourself?)

Here’s me eating like I love myself, moving like I love myself, speaking like I love myself, and acting like I love myself, and after doing all of those things, I actually do love myself more. Not so much because the quote is mystical and deep, but because I love that I am a complete dork who just took a half hour of her life to make those videos for her own weird little entertainment. To quote Amy Poehler, “I don’t care if you like it,” because I do. Very much.

Let me go deeper into this seemingly unimportant thing. People put up funny little videos all the time, and in fact, Buzzfeed has made a business around it. However, those videos are for people to share, and the creators are probably looking for a little validation of their hilarity as well as some ad revenue. What I think is important about my love of being a total goon is that I can sit and heartily laugh at, and with, myself. As an extreme extrovert who likes making people laugh, I think it’s interesting that these are the moments that I want just for me. After making those videos, you can bet that I sat alone at my kitchen table and giggled gleefully for several minutes. This post makes it sound more and more like I have multiple personality disorder, but—perhaps paradoxically—I think some of the happiest and healthiest moments I have ever had were when I was by myself and did something funny, and I just thought “Classic Ali.” Yes, I refer to myself in the third person in my head.

These moments are especially important when I have gone through a particularly tough or stressful time and I am almost clammy with the feeling of not being myself. I will be going along and stewing about something that perhaps will not matter (I do that), and I will have a thought that will make me stop and laugh out loud. It’s in those moments that I will re-center, pull my head up, and think “There’s Ali. If she’s still here, everything is going to be fine.”

I have had stretches of literally days or even weeks when most of what I think about is a problem that I am trying to solve. “What will be my next job?” “Am I doing enough to advance my career and better myself?” “Am I giving enough time to the people in my life?” “Why am I having so much trouble not feeling bad about my last failed relationship?” “What’s next?” However, that one little moment to myself can suck me out of a vortex of worry and anxiety so fast, it’s incredible. Sure, the comedic element helps, but it’s not just that it’s humor, it’s my humor, and it reassures me that I am still the person I value underneath the worry.

Along with this ability to hold on to my personal brand of humor, I really love my ability to care about and for others. I am fortunate to have a lot of people I love in my life, and I hope I make them feel special and cared for every time I’m around them, as they definitely make me feel that way. Perhaps naively, I always thought that the things I value most about myself—my care and my humor—would be the things that would help me find and keep a romantic partner. Who the hell doesn’t like care and humor?? Well, apparently the only two people I’ve dated seriously in my adult life, according to my single status.

Instead of the things I love about me drawing in the people I fell in love with, I was left standing confused when these boys (I am using the term “boys” very explicitly) told me that they wanted someone more like the people they fell in love with in the past (re: emotionally unavailable people who cheated and left them in melodramatic shambles). They also said that I am a good person, but am sometimes “intimidating.” Let me tell you something: when you strive to make someone feel cared for and they say that to you, it hurts. A lot. Also, when you are getting back into dating, and people who have only interacted with you briefly during the whole resume, get-to-know-you talk are also continuously using the term “intimidating,” it starts to make you wonder if you should change. You might wonder if you should be quieter. Talk less. Act less intelligent. Hide your passion. Stop being such an open book. And after wondering that, this is what you should think next: Click here!

If I leave you with one thing today, it is this: don’t just love yourself, KNOW what you love about yourself and cherish those things. Nay, cultivate them. If you feel happy and you know that you’re being your best self and some wienie ass tells you that you are “weird,” or “crazy,” or even “intimidating,” guess what? I love weird people, crazy is a term used to make people feel bad about having ideas and feelings, and even if you are intimidating, it simply means that you’re conveying power and that fool doesn’t want you to have any. So what do you do? Say it with me now: Click here!

We’re all getting older all the time, and any age is too old to spend time worrying about anything but your happiness and the happiness of the people who actually matter to you. So I want you to think about those things that you love so much about yourself that they simultaneously pull you out of a funk and give you the renewed vigor to get out there and do what needs to be done. And please share them here! Shout them from the rooftops (I mean, you don’t have to, but it is encouraged). 

Sending all my care and goofy happiness to you,

Ali

Grungy, Gypsy New Orleans

Hey ya’ll! Sorry for the delay in the post. The life and teaching are kind of hectic for me right now and let’s face it, sometimes being an adult is just straight up hard. For those of you that have never taught before or never taught during the month of October, the month of October is one of the hardest months to be a teacher.

 No one can exactly express why it’s so hard because you kind of just have to live it, but basically October is the period month of teaching which means that your students are off the chain and moody, you’re also emotional aaannnnddd the best part is is that Thanksgiving is a long way off from the end of Fall Break to the end of November. Life just sucks during this time period.

But anyway, October is over and November is still difficult because teaching is always difficult, but now there is a light at the end of the tunnel J. So here I am writing to ya’ll. Despite the shittiness of October, I’m actually not going to blog about that. I spend 80+ hours working on school work so when I get a free moment in time to NOT think about school I’m all over that lol.

I was fortunate enough to be able to spend last weekend, Halloween weekend, in the great city of New Orleans or NOLA as many like to call it. I went with a group of teachers that work at my school and a couple of their individual outside friends. We left Friday afternoon and got their around 9:00 p.m. Friday evening. We rented a 3 bedroom house for the weekend which came in clutch on the nights we may have had a little too much to drink and wanted to just plop onto a nice bed.

This was my first time going to New Orleans and honestly, it was fucking amazing. I don’t mean it was amazing because of the booze, good company and care free environment I was in (although those things definitely contributed). It was amazing because it was so free. Free with a little bit of grunge, but a very good grunge. We spent our day walking around the French Quarters where there were so many people outside enjoying the scenery and perks of the city and honestly we spent a total of 20 bucks that day (10 for food and 10 for the infamous Hurricane one must get in NOLA). You could honestly walk around for two days straight between Bourbon and Frenchman Street because there is just sooooo much going on. We saw a random group of men breakdance for free, we saw a man swallow two, I repeat two, swords and we also walked into a strip club called “Barely Legal” in broad daylight which had no strippers in there. Roaming around the city without an organized plan was one of the most fun days I’ve had in a while and it was simply because we were enjoying what we had and where we were in that moment in time.

Oddly enough though, I think my absolute favorite part of the trip was an experience was a new perspective I gained. While two of my guy friends and I were walking to the French Market, which has a bunch of barters and flea shops, we saw a bunch of people our age just hanging out, drinking beer and playing their own music. They looked as if that was a lifestyle they were accustomed to. A part of me was a little jealous of the gypsy lifestyle they appeared to live. No bills, no stressors of work, no expectations to live up to other than those of the land and your own. But then, as we continued to walk toward the French Market, we saw female wearing tattered clothes and a dreaded head of hair, reach into the garbage can and pull out a to go box with a little leftover bit of food. I gained so much respect for her in that moment when she fed her dog first before herself.

She then proceeded to eat what was left of the scraps of food from the to go box. Seeing this woman literally get her meal from the grungy trashcan of New Orleans where all of the rich tourists throw the food they didn’t have any more room in their stomachs for just really made me feel some type of way. I felt depressed, I felt angered, I felt confused and I felt grateful. Grateful that that wasn’t me. I felt confused. Confused with the idea of how that woman got to that point in her life where she was literally living off of people’s leftovers. Angered and depressed because there isn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Seeing this woman and her dog sparked a whole philosophical conversation between my two guy friends and me. We came up with multiple scenarios and possibilities of why this woman had to dig her meal out of the trash. We wondered if she had any education or family members to support her. We also concluded that after being in that situation it would be very very difficult to get out while there is an entire system sucking you in and dragging you down just to keep you at the very bottom where you’re intended to be. As my friends and I talked about the problems of society we cannot fix and of all the “what ifs” to real life possibilities, it was in that moment that I felt completely and utterly satisfied. I felt satisfied knowing that I was not the only one that gave a shit about other people and the good of mankind, but also satisfied in knowing that other people enjoy critically thinking and over analyzing every situation to the very Tee.

As we continued to walk around the grungy, gypsy city of New Orleans, it hit me that this is what life and in particular your early 20’s are about. Walking around aimlessly, trying to find your way, yet enjoying the confusion and getting lost along the way. Simply enjoying the journey, no matter how big or how little, because on your way to the destination (whether you know the destination or not) you gain a whole lot of perspective and live a whole lot of experiences. You live, simply live; trying to create your own, unique and societally deemed successful life and along the way your life is actually creating YOU.