No Philadelphia sports fan denies the infamy of his or her reputation for the out-of-towners. It's a tough town in which to be an athlete - any 76er, Flyer, Eagle, or Phillie knows that they have to earn our love. But, at the same time, it's a zeal worth having on your side, and its something for which no Philly sports audience is apologetic.
Of course, it's much easier to put down Philadelphia fans than to find the silver lining in our tough love. In fact, I think that is precisely the reason behind Jimmy Rollins' recent acerbic comments about his most ardent supporters. Finding himself in a season with numbers far from his previous MVP year, Rollins no doubt has been frustrated with his significant offensive slump. What easier way to live that down than to put the national spotlight on the infamous Philadelphia fans for whom the general public has little sympathy? Certainly Rollins was shrewd in making comments that few could disagree with (does fan action affect athletic performance? yes; do Phillies fans boo you if you don't do well? yes;), but he did nothing more than defend himself to those to whom his performance matters the least. Rollins has been with Philadelphia for eight years - his entire career. His fans have always loved him and even more than that - he knows and has always known just how Philadelphia fans are. I think the fact that he chose to speak out against us when his own performance was weakest shows who the real front-runner is. What hurt the most is that he made his comments during an away game, across the country in opponent territory, to media strangers.
I won't ever boo Jimmy Rollins because I love the Phillies and I support our reigning MVP. But I also know that his slump was on him, and I don't believe that Phillies fans have anything to be apologetic for. This is a city that still gives Jim Thome and Aaron Rowand standing ovations after other cities have claimed them. Maybe now that Jimmy is hot at the bat again he will rethink his comments. I hope he does, because it will be the closest he comes to taking them back...at least to this fan.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Bun, Run*
*You'll get this if you're Chris Canary or John Updike, respectively. Maybe you have to be both? Whatever.
I officially exercised for the first time in over two years today! I’m home for the week in Rockville, and at my mom’s request I went jogging with her in Rock Creek Park (or as I like to call it, “Murder Park”), which happens to extend right into her own backyard. Having not been in touch with the physical condition of my body for a while - in fact, avoiding it, I was picturing a very embarrassing kind of worst case scenario in which my 50-year-old mother was going to show me up by running the length of the path to Aspen Hill while I was still catching my breath 20 steps from our front door. I opened our excursion with several disclaimers to my mom (who has a tendency to get on my case about my couch-potato way of life) about how I would probably need frequent stops and how she should feel free to jog on without me should I lag behind...you know, in the tradition of “Can’t...make...it!! You...go on... ... ...without me!”
My trepidation was not helped by the fact that I am slightly hypochondriacal. I completely freak out at anything out of the ordinary with my body, including any kind of tiny bumps or indications of pain. Again, worst case scenarios present themselves when these abnormalities appear, and I end up arguing with myself over whether or not I have early stages of cancer. (Somehow it’s always the Big C. My medical lexicon is quite limited - probably to my advantage in this situation.) When the occasional bumps or pains disappear on their own (and they always do), my more sensible side feels tremendously vindicated, and yes - there is a huge feeling of relief.
So the image I had of my heart as I began jogging was not a pretty one. It’s huge, bloated - I envisioned it slumping lazily in my chest cavity (padded with pillows of smooth yellow lard), barely able to keep itself upright by its own volition. It beats erratically, struggling to keep pace with the not-that-demanding physical activity of its host. If my heart had a face, it would have that uncomfortable, awkwardly desperate look of constipation. It looked forward to the moment when its forced servitude came to an end. I thought of my childhood friend, Kaity, who I knew (through Facebok) to be an avid runner and a frequent participator of races and marathons and the like. According to a recent blog entry of hers, she had just run 17 miles. I thought about the way her heart must look when she runs. The discrepancy was not encouraging.
Whether or not this was actually the case, I was greeted with the pleasantly surprising sensation of...normality. Jogging felt the same as the last time I did it (which I do not remember). There was no melodramatic heaving of breath nor odd, searing pains in expected places on or in my body. Instead, the unusually cool air felt good on my skin and the primordial and refreshing smell of the surrounding woods enveloped me. It was very quiet and peaceful, with a small handful of occasional passerbys (none of them rapists or murderers) who smiled as they passed us. I became aware of the thoughts in my head - always a good feeling. Mostly, I missed my students very much.
By the time we turned around to head back home, my mom and I had slowed to a brisk walk. She showed me the dance and yoga moves she’d been learning in her classes. (She could definitely show me up in any physical activity.) She told me that our outing was really nice and made no mention of the couple of times that I stopped running and needed a break. She was right - it had been an enjoyable experience.
So I guess my heart is okay, considering my appalling lack of exercise. I’m secretly thankful that bodily organs aren’t capable of spite. Now that I know I won’t die from putting on an exercise bra, I’m more motivated to make myself healthier. I won’t be joining any races anytime soon (unless it’s MarioKart), but maybe I’ll start moving enough to associate exercise with feeling good, and having the time to gather my thoughts for writing. So far, I’m one for one!
I officially exercised for the first time in over two years today! I’m home for the week in Rockville, and at my mom’s request I went jogging with her in Rock Creek Park (or as I like to call it, “Murder Park”), which happens to extend right into her own backyard. Having not been in touch with the physical condition of my body for a while - in fact, avoiding it, I was picturing a very embarrassing kind of worst case scenario in which my 50-year-old mother was going to show me up by running the length of the path to Aspen Hill while I was still catching my breath 20 steps from our front door. I opened our excursion with several disclaimers to my mom (who has a tendency to get on my case about my couch-potato way of life) about how I would probably need frequent stops and how she should feel free to jog on without me should I lag behind...you know, in the tradition of “Can’t...make...it!! You...go on... ... ...without me!”
My trepidation was not helped by the fact that I am slightly hypochondriacal. I completely freak out at anything out of the ordinary with my body, including any kind of tiny bumps or indications of pain. Again, worst case scenarios present themselves when these abnormalities appear, and I end up arguing with myself over whether or not I have early stages of cancer. (Somehow it’s always the Big C. My medical lexicon is quite limited - probably to my advantage in this situation.) When the occasional bumps or pains disappear on their own (and they always do), my more sensible side feels tremendously vindicated, and yes - there is a huge feeling of relief.
So the image I had of my heart as I began jogging was not a pretty one. It’s huge, bloated - I envisioned it slumping lazily in my chest cavity (padded with pillows of smooth yellow lard), barely able to keep itself upright by its own volition. It beats erratically, struggling to keep pace with the not-that-demanding physical activity of its host. If my heart had a face, it would have that uncomfortable, awkwardly desperate look of constipation. It looked forward to the moment when its forced servitude came to an end. I thought of my childhood friend, Kaity, who I knew (through Facebok) to be an avid runner and a frequent participator of races and marathons and the like. According to a recent blog entry of hers, she had just run 17 miles. I thought about the way her heart must look when she runs. The discrepancy was not encouraging.
Whether or not this was actually the case, I was greeted with the pleasantly surprising sensation of...normality. Jogging felt the same as the last time I did it (which I do not remember). There was no melodramatic heaving of breath nor odd, searing pains in expected places on or in my body. Instead, the unusually cool air felt good on my skin and the primordial and refreshing smell of the surrounding woods enveloped me. It was very quiet and peaceful, with a small handful of occasional passerbys (none of them rapists or murderers) who smiled as they passed us. I became aware of the thoughts in my head - always a good feeling. Mostly, I missed my students very much.
By the time we turned around to head back home, my mom and I had slowed to a brisk walk. She showed me the dance and yoga moves she’d been learning in her classes. (She could definitely show me up in any physical activity.) She told me that our outing was really nice and made no mention of the couple of times that I stopped running and needed a break. She was right - it had been an enjoyable experience.
So I guess my heart is okay, considering my appalling lack of exercise. I’m secretly thankful that bodily organs aren’t capable of spite. Now that I know I won’t die from putting on an exercise bra, I’m more motivated to make myself healthier. I won’t be joining any races anytime soon (unless it’s MarioKart), but maybe I’ll start moving enough to associate exercise with feeling good, and having the time to gather my thoughts for writing. So far, I’m one for one!
Monday, August 11, 2008
My First Adult Think-Aloud
Is it acceptable to be your own inspiration? I don’t know if this is too egoistical to admit, but I really get off on reading my own writing. I brag about what I’ve written on this blog a lot...primarily to myself, but I really do believe every word I say (it’s witty, it’s incisive, it’s relevant, etc. etc.). And while I’ve been meaning to jump back on the horse and blog regularly again, I wasn’t quite sure when to go about it until I read an article in a back issue of The Washington Post Magazine in which Terry M. Shine delivers a self-deprecating, funny, and painfully honest narrative of being laid off (“Terminated”, May 25, 2008). What really reached me about the piece was...how much it reminded me of my own writing. (Surprised? Or just disgusted?) So voila, here I am again, trying to recover my voice and make it simultaneously louder and more mellifluous.
Erm...so...like anybody trying to be brought back into the fold, I suppose I’m a little bit rusty, not to mention lost about what or whom to commentate on. I’m not feeling particularly witty, incisive, or relevant right now, and I’m anxious to know what I’ll be doing to get over that feeling. It’s been about a year since my last entry, and in rereading my previous pieces I’m reminded that that was the time when I pretty much had the Phillies, and only the Phillies, on the brain. Now I’m not quite so single-minded, but that comes with its own difficulties when it comes to blogging...how do I tackle a year’s worth of developments in a sitting? Do I even try? Or do I just start anew?
I’ve got another year until grad school, and so far, no plans for the year. Tentative plans, but that doesn’t really mean anything. The only thing I knew I wanted to do in this interim year was to write, and write a lot. And even though that has been my only sure thought, I know I’ve already lost sight of that at times; I’m also looking for a job, trying to figure out how to parse out my summer salary from Teach For America (of which I have one more paycheck), wondering how long I can go unemployed and still pay the bills. Maybe I need to become single-minded again - and this time, not about baseball.
Check in to see how it goes. If it's an incentive, I probably won't be so egoistical and self-assured. At least for a little while.
Erm...so...like anybody trying to be brought back into the fold, I suppose I’m a little bit rusty, not to mention lost about what or whom to commentate on. I’m not feeling particularly witty, incisive, or relevant right now, and I’m anxious to know what I’ll be doing to get over that feeling. It’s been about a year since my last entry, and in rereading my previous pieces I’m reminded that that was the time when I pretty much had the Phillies, and only the Phillies, on the brain. Now I’m not quite so single-minded, but that comes with its own difficulties when it comes to blogging...how do I tackle a year’s worth of developments in a sitting? Do I even try? Or do I just start anew?
I’ve got another year until grad school, and so far, no plans for the year. Tentative plans, but that doesn’t really mean anything. The only thing I knew I wanted to do in this interim year was to write, and write a lot. And even though that has been my only sure thought, I know I’ve already lost sight of that at times; I’m also looking for a job, trying to figure out how to parse out my summer salary from Teach For America (of which I have one more paycheck), wondering how long I can go unemployed and still pay the bills. Maybe I need to become single-minded again - and this time, not about baseball.
Check in to see how it goes. If it's an incentive, I probably won't be so egoistical and self-assured. At least for a little while.
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