Hurdling For A Cure

I don’t think there is one person whose life has not been affected by cancer. You may be a survivor, currently fighting or know a loved one who has struggled with the disease. Cancer continues to take the lives of millions each year.

My Relay team of 8 years. We were superhero's fighting against cancer
(I'm superwoman). This was from the summer of 2008. 

Tonight, I went to the Relay For Life on campus. Since I was in 8^th grade, I have participated in Relay. I have walked hundreds of miles with strangers by my side in the hope of finding a cure. I have shared tears with young and old with a common goal of saving lives. I have helped raise thousands of dollars to help fund research to beat this disease.

In 2008, 7.6 million people had their life taken away by this devastating disease. The World Health Organization estimates that deaths from cancer will continue to rise and in the year 2030, over 13 million people will die from cancer. That is 13 million families losing a loved one. It’s 13 million people not able to graduate from college, witness their child’s wedding, or play with their grandchildren.

I think sometimes we’re in denial. Cancer is a hurdle none of us plan on facing. We think, “It can’t happen to me.” Cancer does not care who you are, what age you may be, or how amazing of person you have always been. Cancer doesn’t care how much pain it puts you or your family through. Cancer takes lives and leaves those mourning the death with emptiness in their hearts.

Relay For Life brings communities together, where people can share their stories, their struggles, and their fears. It is a celebration of life and most of all it is raising money to save lives. There is a cure and we will find it. We will not reach 13 million people in the next 17 years because we can all come together to fight this. Cancer should never be a battle for just the patient and the family, but a battle between the entire population against cancer.

I am tired of hearing about people dying from cancer. I am sick of seeing people suffer because the disease as taken them over. I don’t want another person I know to be affected by this disease. I will do my part to face the hurdle and continue to fight for a cure, just like those who are currently fighting for their lives. Please take part in the fight and never give up hope. 

The What-If Hurdle: My Heart Goes Out To Boston

I heard it from a colleague. He was shocked I hadn’t heard of the news taking over the TV, Twitter, Facebook, and the rest of social media. I thought the most devastating part of the day was that I hadn’t slept in 36 hours, trying to finish a paper. In the time I was sitting there complaining about how tired I was, three innocent people lost their lives and over a hundred obtained life-changing injuries.

Every person faces hurdles during their day, week, and life. Some are small, some intimidating, and some seem like they could consume you or as many people put it, some hurdles are “the end of the world.” We face these hurdles differently. Perhaps it depends on our previous experience or maybe some of us really are stronger or weaker. I’ve faced my share of hurdles and I’ve confronted those that seem like the end of the world, but then I hear about what others are going through, I wonder how I can even complain.

Six days ago, during one of the most incredible events nationally and internationally, two bombs went off killing three and injuring over one hundred. The Boston Marathon is an event to bring runners and spectators together for a common goal and to share their experiences. For the runners, the main obstacle was to finish the race. For the spectators, it was cheering the loudest and hoping those they cheered for would get the personal bests they trained for.

The hurdle no one could imagine was two bombs placed near the finish line of the race meant to hurt and kill people. My cousin qualified to race in the marathon, but an injury prevented her from going. My other cousin and best friend were spectators at the race watching the finishers near the finish line. They made it out safely, but many other friends and family members are mourning the death of their loved ones as I write this blog. The injured our trying to recuperate from burns, shrapnel injuries and amputations.

My back hurts and it always hurts. I have injured it many times and now it’s kind of a constant pain. I can still stand for long periods of time, walk and even run. Those who had to receive amputations after the bombing will have to relearn these skills while using prosthetic legs. They will never live a life exactly like the one they live before that day. Each minute of each hour of each day, will turn into one hurdle after another.

How can I complain about a pain in my back, when many of these people will never recuperate from their injuries that they had no choice over? I could have prevented my injury, but these spectators and runners were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems like such a simple phrase to sum up such devastation. Any of us could be in that wrong place and exactly the wrong the time. We then wonder…what if? 

Bounding Through Senioritis

I’ve never waited until the last minute to do an assignment. I’ve never disregarded a deadline before and I’ve never not cared about schoolwork. The term senioritis always baffled me. I thought as a senior I would just want to get my work done and graduate, but I have discovered the true meaning of the word.

Even now as I write this blog post I am committing a “senioritis act.” My 25-page thesis is due in six day. I have sat in the library now for six hours staring at articles hoping that the paper will write itself. I am actually excited and interested in the topic, but have lost all desire to actually physically write the paper.

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, senioritis is “an ebbing of motivation and effort by school seniors as evidenced by tardiness, absences, and lower grades.” Well, they have the lack of motivation correct, but luckily my grades are doing just fine and I somehow have perfect attendance for all my classes (that doesn’t mean I’m mentally always there). Is there a cure?

My cure is finding something more interesting to do. I would prefer writing a blog post about procrastinating my work than actually do the work I am procrastinating by writing this post. I know I will regret not using this time to actually do my work and yet right now I could care less. I want to care about it, but I don’t. I think I am finally burnt out. It never hit me until now that there really is a stage where students can be burnt out. I thought it was a term simply thrown around for those students who were lazy and careless. No, it’s real and it’s a terrible position to be in while work begins to pile up.

Then again, maybe I have become a lazy and careless student myself. Now that does worry me. Graduation is less than 42 days away. Each hour has become valuable as deadlines inch closer in anticipation to being completed so I can wear the ugly black gown and receive the piece of paper I’ve paid thousand for from a stranger who doesn’t know how to pronounce my name.

Even now, as you read this post you can tell that I am rambling on and procrastinating the inevitable fact that I will soon have to face that unfinished 25 page thesis that is mocking me from the computer screen. I guess there’s nothing else to say. Good luck to all my fellow seniors. I hope this post helps you procrastinate your dreadful assignment for a while. Happy senioritis to all!

Long Distance Hurdling

As his silhouette began to disappear in my rearview mirror, the lump grew in my throat and tears crept to the surface of my eyes. I put my sunglasses on as if to hide, but there was no one to hide from. I was alone in my car, heading back to my now empty apartment. It had finally hit me; I was officially in a long distance relationship.

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for two and a half years and for almost two of those years, we have lived together. For two years, I have been coming home everyday to him. Every night we would have dinner together, curl up on the couch and talk to about our day. When I’m stressed, I always give him a hug and snuggle my face into his chest. It’s my safe place and where I always feel accepted and loved. Sometimes I just end up yelling at him when I’m stressed and upset, but he never takes it personally and always knows how to calm me down.

After being with someone and living with him or her for two years, you find yourself relying on them more than you realize. It’s a strange feeling sitting here in my empty apartment. The television is turned on to a show I’ve never heard of just so it’s not so quiet. This new hurdle in my life has turned into quite a difficult barrier. I’m just glad Skype was invented, that is a long distance relationship savior. Now I’m waiting for that whole teleporting thing.

It will be two weeks before I see my boyfriend again and I know that doesn’t seem like a lot. I have many friends who haven’t seen their significant others for weeks or months, but I’m not comfortable yet with this new hurdle. I’m hoping with time that it will get easier, but I don’t think leaving him after a visit will ever get easy.  I wish I could offer advice to other couples going through this experience, but honestly, I’m hoping for the advice.  The chick-flicks I watch never show how hard a long distance relationship really is and some how it all always works out for those couples.

 

My relationship can be comparable to the movie “Like Crazy.” If you’re not familiar with the movie, here is a quick run down. A British girl falls in love with an American boy well attending college in the United States. Unfortunately, the British girl over stays her visa and in banned from the U.S. A barrier they have no control over separates the couple. Luckily, my boyfriend didn’t overstay his visa, but as a Canadian citizen, his visa did run out. Unlike the movie, there is no ocean separating us, but it’s still a barrier.

We’re both figuring everything out, but while some couples are trying to figure out what city or state they want to live in, we’re trying to decide what country we will live in. While some couples might be thinking about moving in with once another, we have to figure out how we’re going to be able to live with each other again. There are many hurdles presenting themselves to my boyfriend and I, but we’re learning to jump over them and grow as a couple.

Hurdling Depression: Zane's story

He will be 29 on Monday. I never know if I should say will or would. It’s been almost seven years since the last time I heard his voice and saw his flashy, dark blue eyes that resembled mine. His name is Zane or should I say it was his name.

I’m 14 without a care in world except for the big race the next day. It’s the sectional meet tomorrow. I’ll be racing the 4X100m and 100m hurdles, my specialties. My team is set to win.

That night, I folded up my uniform and placed it into my duffle bag beside my lucky underwear and racing spikes. I was nervous already and couldn’t get the image of myself tripping over a hurdle out of my head. I tossed and turned for hours, not knowing what was on his mind. Not knowing that he had come to a hurdle that he was unable to conquer.

Zane was the wild child of my family. He was a daredevil, a clown, and my big brother. He went through some dark periods in his life, but we never knew about all the demons he hid.

As I lay awake that night before my race, Zane was making a decision, one that would change the course of his life forever. I wish he had lost his keys. I wish someone had given him a call and calmed his fears. I wish I were there to tell him to stop.

I woke up, still jittery thinking about my race. My dad’s ragged voice called for me to come down stairs. There was something wrong. Puffy eyes and hands filled with damp tissues greeted me at the bottom of the stairs.

“Zane took his life last night.” My uncle tried to catch my hand before I raced upstairs, but I couldn’t feel a thing. I needed to go back to sleep so I could wake up from this nightmare.

 

I never raced at sectionals that day. My team lost by 2 points and I faced the highest and most terrifying hurdle of my life at 14.

It was real. My big brother committed suicide. I never thought this would ever happen to my family. I went through all the stages of grief: denial, sadness and even anger, but the hardest for me was being able to talk about his death. I was almost ashamed to tell people that he died from suicide.

I was angry with Zane because he took his own life, while others got their life taken away by cancer, heart attacks, and murders. How could you take your life while others fight so hard to keep theirs? It’s been almost seven years since his death and I have come to terms with the fact that Zane was depressed.

Depression is a disease, like any other disease, without help and possible medication, it can be life threatening. Zane never received help. My family didn’t see that he needed help, no one could have seen it. I miss him and every year around this time I picture what he might look like at his new age. Zane is my big brother and on March 11, he will be 29.

For more information on suicide prevention please take a moment to look at the websites below:

http://www.afsp.org/ - American Foundation of Suicide Prevention
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ -Suicide AwarenessVoices of Education

Hurdling for Change

Recently, I attended a lecture on campus where Lilly Ledbetter was the keynote speaker. If you’re not sure who Ledbetter is, here is her life story in a few paragraphs.

Ledbetter grew up in a working class family and she wanted more for herself. In 1979, Ledbetter was hired as a supervisor at the Goodyear Tire Plant in Gadsden, Alabama. In a position mainly occupied by males, Ledbetter faced daily discrimination.

After 19 years working for Goodyear, Ledbetter received an anonymous letter revealing that she had been making thousands less each year than men in her position. When Ledbetter filed a sex discrimination suit, Ledbetter lost her case when the court ruled that she should have filed suit within 180 days of her first unequal paycheck.

            Since then, Ledbetter has been hurdling through Congress, pushing for change and advocating for equality in the workplace. In 2009, Ledbetter’s work paid off when President Obama and Congress passed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act. This new act now allows anyone to bring suit against discrimination up to 180 days after any paycheck that shows unequal pay.

            As a female about to enter the workforce, this was an eye opener for me. Inequality in the work force is far from gone and it doesn’t stop at sex, it’s also an issue for minorities. Ledbetter showed us all that anyone, in any position, could truly make a difference.

            This week, the hurdle I want everyone to try and jump is the hurdle that prevents us from making a difference. We may all want change, but we get caught up in life and expect others to do the work for us. Let’s make an effort to push for that change. Write that letter, call up that congressman, vote in the next election and know your surroundings. Learn the issues and understand them. 

The Unexpected Hurdle

The commands are said and the blast of the gun sends a shock wave of energy through every inch of your body as you bolt forward towards the first hurdle standing in your way of crossing the finish line. Your form is perfect as your leap and bound. Nothing will stop you now, that is, until the person to your left doesn’t make it over the hurdle. As the person trips, the hurdle is catapulted right in front of you. With not enough time to react, you land on the extra hurdle tossed in your way and find yourself staring up towards the sky flat on your back.

The snowboarding accident three years ago was a lot like the image you’re picturing now. I took a trip up to Killington Resort in Vermont with the ski and snowboard club from campus. I was an experienced boarder and had taught as a snowboard instructor for some time.

It was college weekend so the mountain was crawling with individuals’ at all different levels. Some had never been on skis or a snowboard before, while others were doing back flips off the half pipe. I wasn’t at the half pipe level yet, but I carved with ease.

The first day out was hectic with hundreds of skiers and snowboarders racing across the mountain. I reached the top of the mountain, strapped in and was playing Pac-Man with the others in no time. I was confident in my skills so at that point I was worry free. Even the icy conditions didn’t faze me.

I should have been paying more attention, especially knowing what I knew as an instructor. There were too many people on the mountain that had no clue what they were doing. The next thing I knew a woman completely out of control was barreling towards me on skies. She side swiped me from the left and down I went on the hard icy surface.

Next thing I knew, I was staring up at the sky, and flat on my back with excruciating pain coming from my tail bone. The pain took my breath away and left me stunned for about 30 seconds until my friends raced over to see if I was still alive.

The girl that had hit me was already up and gone without an apology. I rolled over to my side, hoping to relieve some of the pain, but it was unbearable. The ski patrol thought I fractured my tailbone, but lucky I did not. The bone was just severely bruised and took several months to heal.

Since that accident, my biggest hurdle has been overcoming my fear of falling while boarding. It’s been three years and I have finally started boarding again. At first, I was extremely timid, but it’s slowly getting more comfortable. I have to keep telling myself to relax or I tense up and that’s when I fall. Last weekend, I visited Bristol Mountain and hit my first jump since the accident. I landed it with ease. It’s still nerve racking to snowboard when it’s icy, but I am gaining my confidence back while going heal edge (back edge).

Tonight I’ll be testing my skills at Song Mountain, I let you know if I do any back flips or 360’s.

Painful Scale

            Have you ever had to experience a deposition before? For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, a deposition is an oral testimony taken outside of court by the defendant, plaintiff or witness. Lawyers are present and both parties are allowed to question the opposing side. It’s nerve racking, intimidating and beyond frustrating.

            I’ll try to give you a little insight on a case that I am familiar with and the reason I am actually writing this for a blog post. Over three years ago someone I know was in an accident (nothing serious, just bumper hitting bumper). We’ll call the someone Jane for confidentiality reasons. The individual Jane was in an accident with, decided to sue her. The individual will be named Sam. I would classify this as a rather large hurdle. Unfortunately, Jane was at fault because she had the stop sign, but crazy 18 year-old her just didn’t see the individuals car and they went bump.

            Now, back to the present, Jane got to experience her first deposition this week. She met with her lawyer and walked into a rather friendly looking room with bright green cups filled with water for everyone to drink. Despite the cheerful cups, Jane was sweating profusely and I could actually see her heart beat through her sweater (honestly, her sweater was moving). Of course she forgot to put deodorant on to top her day off.

            As Jane faced the miserable looking individual from the accident, she almost choked on her gum. Jane took her seat and decided to just swallow the chunk already moving down her throat. Jane’s lawyer began asking the plaintiff, Sam, questions about the accident, injuries, doctors, etc.

           

            Jane’s lawyer had already concluded that Sam was in it for the money. As Sam described her “injuries”, anxiety, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that was caused by the accident (or should I say bump), Jane just let her head fall into the palm of her hand as her elbow rested on the arm of the chair. Sam began describing her pain on a scale out of 10 as a five on some days, eight on other days and 10 on most days. Jane heard this pain description and immediately began thinking of the short story, “The Pain Scale” by Eula Biss.

            How can Sam truly describe her pain as a 5, 8, or 10? Has she ever broken a bone, been starved for days, fell from a five story building, been shot or stabbed, lost a leg to a bomb or had half her body burned? Jane sat staring at the individual from the accident in disbelief. Does Sam even know what pain is?

            This one time I watched a girl face plant after tripping over a hurdle in a track meet. As this poor girl fell down, her face broke her fall first. The girl stayed on the ground for a while, but I could hear her scream in pain. The left side of her face smeared with blood and small pieces of the track. I would call that severe pain, but I couldn’t give it a number.

            Is having half your face peeled off by a track more or less painful than Sam’s injuries? I wonder how that girl classified her pain. To make a long story short, thank you Eula Biss for helping Jane through the deposition and for confusing the rest of us about the pain scale. 

Hurdling 101: The skin scrapers

On the starting line, they look more intimidating than they really are. The 10 barriers line up neatly in columns stretching across 100-meters. Each hurdle waits for a shin or knee to hit it, causing the poor sucker hopping over them to bruise or possibly even face plant into the ground.  

I used to hurdle for my high school track and field team. I have to admit; I was pretty damn good for someone who is only 5’4”. The 100-meter hurdles stretch up my leg and reached the top of my hipbones. Despite the fact that the hurdles were more than half my size, I could fly over them race after race, but I had my share of tumbles.

I began hurdling mid-season freshmen year against my will. Those stupid, awkward metal and plastic things scared the crap out of me and I had no interest in face planting. I was a 100- meter sprinter not a hurdler. Eventually, my coach gave me no choice in the matter. At a track invitational, my trusty coach placed me in the 100-meter hurdles. With no practice and zero clue on how to hurdle, I sprinted and jumped all the way to the finish line. It was a strange feeling, but I actually enjoyed scaring myself every 10-meters.

My first real tumble resulting in blood and pain happened during practice. I had just gotten used to leaping and hoping for the best when suddenly I smacked down a hurdle. As I fell, I somehow got wrapped up in the hurdle. The edge of it scraped across my right leg pealing away a perfect line of skin. As I lifted myself off the track, I looked over to the grimacing hurdle and saw a four inch long piece of skin dangling from it. I look down and the blood rushed across the surface of the fresh wound.

One would think this incident would be enough for me to say “peace out hurdles,” but instead I wrapped my leg up and wiped off what blood I could. I fixed the crooked hurdle and stepped back up to the starting line. Although I lost a bit of my pride, I couldn’t be defeated by the gawky, twisted piece of metal.

I just started an internship this semester. As a senior journalism major, I’ve acquired my own style of writing. I like hard news and pushing the boundaries with my reporting, but my internship is all about public relations. It’s lighthearted stories on promoting events and committees. I’ve written two articles that have been ripped apart. My style of writing, which is usually praised, is not good enough. Talk about a blow to the shins. This hurdle jumped at me from the sideline and smacked me down.

At first, I was angry and my pride was bruised. The comments scrawled across my article in red pen cut deep under my skin. I could feel the blood rush to my face and my jaw begin to clench. No one criticizes my writing like that. I am obviously far too good for this internship. This hurdle not only tripped me up, but also left me lying on the ground for a while. Finally I figured I should get back up because the race wasn’t waiting and neither were my deadlines. I sucked it up and took the critiques as a free lesson in public relations writing. I mean, I have another 12 weeks left of this internship, might as well make the best of it.