The Race: Bare Bones

“Let’s do it. You can do it! It will be fun.” These words uttered by my 20-something colleagues are how I found myself running across the Cooper River Bridge to celebrate my 35th birthday. This was incidentally the first race that I have ever run in. Running 6 miles to celebrate my birthday with friends sounded like a great idea at the time, an easily maintainable goal, months away. I didn’t take into consideration a traveling husband, busy toddler, tumultuous school year and bronchitis.

“The first step is to set up a committed training schedule”, my running buddy said. This voice rang in my head while I was packing to go to Charleston for the big race. I hadn’t trained as much as I would have liked/should have and was really worried about making a fool of myself.

My alarm went off at 4:15 am. to catch the shuttle to the race. As we wound through the dark, other runners were chatting, some were singing. My friends and I sat in a stupor. It was cold! As the bus crossed the city of Charleston and wound it’s way through neighborhoods, I started to panic. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. What if I couldn’t finish? What I was last? What if I had to go to the bathroom on the bridge?What were the chances of the bus driver letting me ride back to the parking deck with him. Surely I could stand at the finish line and cheer on my friends. 10k? That was 6 miles right? If some of these people could do it, then couldn’t I? What if I come in LAST?

As the bus finally pulled up to the drop off I point, I thought I was going to throw-up. We got off the bus silently in the dark and proceeded to walk to our starting point. One of my friend’ s broke the ice and said, “ We drove the round about way to get here, right? That’s not the actual route, right?. I felt a little better. Apparently we were on the same page. We pushed our way through the crowd to get our place in line.

The race started in waves. We were in the second to last corral. We could hear the cheers get louder and louder as each wave of runners took off and we got closer to the start line. Bands were playing and announcements were being made. The crowd was pressing ahead. I could feel the panic rising again as the people started to rush ahead. I didn’t want to get separated from my friends. I grabbed onto the arm of my husband. “Breathe”, my friend said. “You can do it.” As we got up to the starting line, I could feel my pulse getting faster. And we were off. I had no choice but to run. I told my husband that I could not come in last! The voice inside my head said “ Come on, you can do it.”

The first mile felt okay. We dodged and weaved in between strollers and walkers. The second mile came and went. The cheers of the crowed energized me. “Okay, I thought, this is getting harder.What if I have to go to the bathroom”. My husband informed me that the beginning of the bridge was coming up.







My foot started to go numb as we got to the top of the bridge. This had been consistently happening to me between mile 3 and 4. 3different pairs of running shoes had not fixed this problem. I informed my husband that I needed to walk for awhile. The walking made it worse. Forget it. I need to run and get this race over with. We ran across the top of the Cooper River Bridge and made our way down the incline. A local band greeted us at the exit ramp as we ran down.


“Let’s sprint the last part. There is only one mile left.” I blindly agreed to this plan, running to the brink of nausea. As we passed mile marker number 5, I came to a halt. “You lied!”, I cried.

Critical Citzenship

"Critical Citizenship" is a term that I keep coming across in my research for my social inquiry project. It's come up in the book that I read "Reading and Writing for Social Action" by Randy and Katherine Bomer, and in the work of Ernest Morrell. The more I come across this term, the more I think about what am I personally doing? What do I stand for? What do I believe in? What matters to me? How do I make a stand for what matters to me within the constraints of a state funded public institution that mandates teachers not to give personal opinions?

The Development of a Writer

Two Voices

Whew! Day 3 down and demo completed. I feel as though as weight has been lifted off of me. I can see back and enjoy the rest of the ride. I arrived today with butterflies today but Sally was reassuring. Writing into the day with poems with two voices spoke to where I find myself at this place in time. Two voices in my head that are really loud when I am tired or my son is frustrated that I am not looking at something that he wants me to see. They are the professional and the wannabe stay-at-home. I leave here everyday, my head spinning from information and possibilities. I more tired than I have been since my son was born, I think. I'm trying to find a balance between wanting to do my best at home and at work.



Tonight, I'm going to decompress and storify! Perhaps with a glass of wine.

Zip Zap Zop

Zipping...Zapping...Zopping...Yes! What a busy day! I see the impact of responding to student work and how it fits in writing for social action. Lil's rule about making sure what we say to students should keep them committed to their ideas and their exploration connects with me. I look around at all the middle school students that I work with vs. the elementary students that I come into contact with ,and wonder where the disconnect come from with these students when they lose their joy/passion for things. Even with my own son. He has so much joy and passion for the smallest things. That seems to disappear to with age. I don't want that to disappear. I want to make a committed effort next school year to encourage their commitment to their ideas and exploration.

First Day Under My Belt

An interesting point was sparked today during my group's Murray Card discussion. Who determines what an expert is? How are they are an expert? Does experience vs. knowledge weigh more in being an expert? I also came across this though in my inquiry work. How can I as a teacher encourage my students to be socially active and care about issues if I'm not socially active? This made me think about what is important to me? How do I want my students to see me? My son to see me?

Who knows...my social action inquiry may lead to actual social activism.