tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-236204342024-03-12T19:30:36.812-07:00The Thought ChroniclesJaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-75720206427913274502016-09-14T10:22:00.001-07:002016-09-15T09:30:24.534-07:00Sitting, Seeing Petra<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A peek of "Al Khazneh," the Treasury, from the Siq</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Swirling red sandstone walls are eye-candy every step of the way</span></div>
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<i>We all see what we want to see,</i><br />
<i>A small shift in perspective changes reality;</i><br />
<i>At first, I just paid the entry fee,</i><br />
<i>But then, I sat to learn; to be.</i><br />
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It was our second day in Petra, Jordan. The morning sun was just starting to peak over the canyon walls. Swirling red sandstone, shaped by millions of years of erosion and mother nature was illuminated by the new day's light. We ambled through the Siq, the slot canyon that leads to the iconic "Al Khazneh," or Treasury, in awe; with each twist and turn the walls became more vibrant. Not until the canyon narrowed to a couple meters wide did the building appear through the slit in the rocks.<br />
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The Treasury, though it was really a funerary temple which got its popular name because bandits supposedly hid treasure in the urn above the entrance, is the first of many structures, tombs, temples, and facades you encounter as you make your way through the ancient city. As far back as 7000 B.C., the area was inhabited by Neolithic villages. Nabataeans arrived from Arabia in the 6th century B.C. and began carving the famous city into the rocks; they transformed the quiet canyon into a thriving center of trade. By 1st century A.D. Petra had become part of the Roman empire; though it underwent changes and additions in architecture, it still was a thriving area of commerce and was known all over the world for its natural beauty. After it was mostly destroyed in 3rd and 5th centuries A.D. by earthquakes, the local Bedouin tribes (Bdoul) remained in the area. Not until Petra was re-discovered in 1812 by a Swiss man, Jean Louis Burkhardt, did it regain attention outside Arabia.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The "High Place of Sacrifice"</span></div>
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After its "discovery" by an outsider, Petra was thrust into the world's consciousness once again. Over the last 200 years people have been fascinated with this magical place. Around 1985, the local Bedouin tribes were forcibly resettled en-masse to neighboring villages to make way for the onslaught of tourism. Soon after the resettlement of locals, Petra became a UNESCO World Heritage site. Twenty-two years later it would become one of the new "Seven Wonders of the World."<br />
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Each year, almost half a million people visit Petra (www.petranationaltrust.org). My friend Emily and I joined the throngs to see the wondrous place as well. Our intention was to take in the beautiful rocks and walk on the trails; we wanted to learn about the place firsthand.<br />
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We left the Treasury and made our way towards the Monastery; it was a quagmire. We gazed at ancient buildings carved into the sandstone, all the while talking with local Bedouins, smiling at the various animals, dodging other tourists, and stopping here and there to chat and have juice, coffee, or tea at cafes.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Camels on the path in front of the Royal tombs</span></div>
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Eventually we made it to the end of the canyon and headed uphill towards the Monastery. We had been walking for about twenty minutes when two little girls and one boy rode up to us on their donkeys and asked if we wanted a ride up the path. We smiled and told them "La, shukran," "No thanks," and kept climbing the steps. Though locals had approached us about every hundred meters along the route already, this encounter was unique; most Bedouin families leave the managing of animals (as far as tourists go) to the men, so seeing two girls doing business was a treat.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mr. Donkey takes a rest near some facades and ruins</span></div>
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But my happiness about these empowered girls was short-lived.<br />
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Three minutes later, we saw one of the girls we had just met, galloping down the steps with a boy on his own donkey, hot on her tail. He was yelling at her, and she was crying, trying to get away from him whacking her with the stick he used to prod his animal. As I watched the siblings fight, a European man set up in a stance to take a picture of the two Bedouin teens.<br />
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About 15 meters from the family's jewelry stand, the man crouched down and focused his camera. As the girl rode towards him and made it to lower ground than her brother, the European man came into view of the Bedouin boy. The boy shouted at the photographer:<br />
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"No photos! We are NOT A MUSEUM! The museum is at the visitor center."<br />
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I watched with a broken heart as the girl jumped off the donkey and ran to her mother; the boy explaining what had happened, while us foreigners found ourselves intruding in this private moment.<br />
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My friend and I looked at each other a felt sad. We felt sad for the girl, for the boy, for the tribes who had to adjust their lives to cater to tourists. We also felt sad for the European man who didn't feel sad at all.<br />
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<i>We see what we want to see.</i><br />
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Tourists come to Petra to experience the natural beauty of the place and to observe the people, the culture, and the rhythm of life. But just as any well-intentioned observer interrupts the flow of that which they are observing, so do they affect the lives, land, and people that they came to enjoy.<br />
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Petra is home to thousands (if not millions geologically) of years of history, yet with each passing day we disrespect the place by not leaving it alone. We have moved the inhabitants out of their homes for the pleasure of preserving the land to see it for ourselves.<br />
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How are we to enjoy Petra, but still respect the people who live around there?<br />
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It is a good question, and one I have struggled with quite frequently while working in developing countries. I'd like to learn as much as possible about the land, its people, and the culture, yet I don't want to intrude; I want to make the people's lives better. Sometimes though, I must admit that I can't give anything.<br />
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Emily and I made it to the Monastery. We enjoyed the quiet moments at higher altitude, drank some juice, then headed back down the mountain.<br />
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As we walked at a leisurely pace, many of the local women wanted us to join them for tea, so we did. The first lady was with her husband and he left when we came into their space. We sat with the lady and talked for a moment about life and what we were doing in Jordan. She told us "thank you for being teachers" and taught us that the tea we were drinking was called "chai bedu" Bedouin tea.<br />
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We continued down the path.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">View of Petra from a trail-side stand</span></div>
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When we were almost to the bottom of the canyon, another family urged us to drink tea with them. They were a family of three women and two little boys. We had seen the youngest boy earlier riding his donkey in circles, not yet able to control the animal. He had offered us a ride.<br />
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Sitting down to drink tea with this family was my favorite part of the day. They spent time talking to us about Eid; telling us traditions and asking us questions about our teeth (how are they so white?), my husband (where is he?) and California (is it hot?). When we were done talking, we left them a bag of pretzels and 4 hard boiled eggs. They thanked us and we continued on our way.<br />
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As we finished our visit to Petra, I reflected on my question above. I know that at first I went to Petra and wandered into the Siq feeling annoyed that I was bothered so much to buy things. I ignored the people and rushed past all of the sights. The second day though, I decided to just be. Putting my camera away and becoming one with the flow of the place made it better. Actually seeing the people for who they were, and learning from them was much more enjoyable than rushing past everything.<br />
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All that I encountered, the aggressive sales tactics, the swirling sandstone, the skinny dogs, the ancient structures, the sibling fights, the unaware tourists, the families crowded in shady trail-side stands, the hospitality and the chai; this is what Petra has become. <br />
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At first I bought the ticket and saw what I wanted to see...but when I sat and listened, I saw Petra for what it is.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking down on the Monastery from the hills above</span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-5179370136021502622016-08-25T22:14:00.002-07:002016-08-25T22:26:13.764-07:00Exploded Stars and Pabst Blue Ribbon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">The stars are the trees: Sespe Wilderness, Ojai CA</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;">She is made up of stars too: Arya dreams of food</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;">Mountains are stars, stars are mountains: Mt. Rainier, WA</span></div>
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My college boyfriend had a gloriously huge heart and a mind filled with dreams. A hopeless romantic, he seemed to not worry much about the serious things in life; student loans, grades, bills, the future. He used to read a lot of philosophy and at night, sing songs with his friends until dawn. Since I had to wake up for swim practice most mornings around 5 a.m., I unfortunately didn't participate in his nocturnal forays. </div>
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Bless his heart though, he'd sneak to my window in the wee hours, "tap, tap, whisper whisper...J, wake up..." most nights I wouldn't hear him; he'd tell me later that he had come to visit. It so happens that one night, he left me a little present: a cut-in-half can of Pabst Blue Ribbon filled with wildflowers, a note taped to the side. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"J, we are all exploded stars. You're me, I'm you, Iraq is Afghanistan, Afghanistan is America. Be good to everyone, they are all you and me." </i></span></div>
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I had no idea what he meant, but I knew it had to be philosophically important or something, so I kept that note for a long, long time trying to figure it out.</div>
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After 15 years, this weekend I did.</div>
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It was a smoldering hot afternoon, so my friend Holt and I took a walk to Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles. Exploring the exhibits, we gave thanks for the air conditioning. When we got to the star display, my mind literally blew up. There on the signs explaining the origin of the universe, it said what my college boyfriend had written so many years ago, that we are all made up of exploded stardust. Technically, "...carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen atoms in our bodies, as well as atoms of all other heavy elements, were created in previous generations of stars over 4.5 billion years ago. Because humans and every other animal as well as most of the matter on earth contains these elements, we are all literally made of star stuff..." (thanks Carl Sagan). </div>
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I have to admit, I had figured out that we are all interconnected a while ago, but when past and present weave together so seamlessly in one moment, it feels good!</div>
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So what does this mean to me and you today?</div>
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It means that there are really no divisions between humans; that we are all the same fundamentally and that helping others, understanding differences, and doing good in the world benefits everyone.</div>
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Though the world has always been precarious, volatile, beautiful, and confusing, to me it seems as though the last decade has been even more so. In light of all that is going on today, abroad and here in the good 'ol USA, I've had to rationalize why, when our own country is in need of a kind heart and strong mind, am I choosing to leave it behind for Jordan?</div>
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In taking a step away from the metaphysical, it really boils down to the fact that any effort to enhance human lives, any effort to understand those that are different than ourselves helps everyone.</div>
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Einstein once said, "The world is a dangerous place to live in; not because of the people who are evil, but because of people who don't do anything about it."<br />
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I choose to do something about it.</div>
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I choose to leave my comfortable life behind and see with my own eyes the affect that war and civil unrest has on people, on nations. Working with nomads, foreign nationals, and refugees will be my life for the next year or two. I hope to learn, explore, love, and tell stories about all that I see so that you can see it too.</div>
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Why?<br />
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Because exploded stars, of course.</div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-38801078064128757202016-07-19T11:09:00.000-07:002016-07-19T18:52:25.370-07:00Self Arrest: Slowing Down to Train for Selection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm a minion on Mt. Rainier!</div>
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Larry about to show me how it is done.</div>
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Arresting myself.</div>
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Self-arrest happens on flat land too.</div>
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And then after you stop yourself from tumbling, life catches up to you.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">As Larry plunged backwards head first down a steep icy slope, I watched nervously hoping he could stop. Flipping over quickly and orienting himself properly uphill, he plunged his ice axe into the snow. </span></div>
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He laughed and said, "I'll try that again, cleaner this time." </div>
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I giggled nervously and said, "You want me to do that? On purpose?" </div>
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He smiled and told me, "Yes, you need to be able to do this under any circumstance in order to not die on the mountain, and to save your partner if he falls into a crevasse."</div>
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Um, shit just got real.</div>
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In mountaineering, "self-arrest" is the ability to stop yourself from sliding down a slope, or to stop yourself from getting pulled into a crevasse if someone on your rope team falls into it. To be able to save yourself directly affects your ability to save your partner and/or members of your team.</div>
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As we practiced fall after fall on the packed snow that morning, my thoughts turned philosophical to life on flat land. </div>
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Three years ago, I was not good at self arrest.</div>
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When I started training for Selection I was full on in beast mode. I rucked more than 15 miles every time I put my pack on with no less than 55#, did 5-7 gym workouts a week, and generally over trained.</div>
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Going into my first GORUCK Selection I had acquired plantar fasciitis, a strained rotator cuff, and was at a precarious point in my relationship with my now ex. Selection was the only thing I thought about. I read articles and watched videos about it every free moment I had. Constantly, I brought it up in conversations. I dreamt, lived, and breathed the event. I had a vague sense that I was not healthy, and that my relationship was suffering, but I didn't care. Selection was really the only thing that mattered.</div>
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I was tumbling headfirst down a slippery slope without even trying to stop myself.</div>
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Then I failed Selection.</div>
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I was crushed.</div>
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Going back to training after failing Selection the first time was easy. This time I would train harder! I immediately signed up for the next one. I put in more miles, did longer workouts, and generally ramped up the volume, more than I had the previous training year. At one point I fasted for a week then did the PT test after not having eaten for five days. I annihilated that test, in starvation mode no less. </div>
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Looking back I cringe.</div>
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I went from quickly sliding down a steep slope to careening; I wasn't even aware that I was tumbling out of control.</div>
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Before that second attempt at Selection, life wasn't rad. That training year I had re-injured my shoulder, broken a toe, strained a groin, aggravated my plantar fasciitis, tweaked my back, pulled a tendon in my hand, and the relationship I was in had come to an end. The month before Selection I had lost ten pounds and dropped below 10% body fat. I was a wreck, but told myself I was ready for the event.</div>
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Then I failed it. Again.</div>
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But this time I wasn't crushed; I was relieved. </div>
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At some point, my fall lost momentum and I came to the realization that if I didn't help myself, I would never be happy, let alone finish Selection.</div>
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After Selection attempt #2, I decided things had to change if I wanted to go for a third try and complete the event. So, I didn't sign up for Selection right away. I decided to not even think about it for a while. Instead of getting right back to high volume and private coaching, I joined CrossFit group classes (for the first time in 5 years) at my gym. I had fun being part of a community and not having a training goal.</div>
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In September I did an endurance race with friends and completely enjoyed it.</div>
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October came and I spent most of it outside, camping, hiking (with no weight!) and rock climbing with my love Larry.</div>
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November arrived. Larry and I traveled, ate whatever food we wanted, climbed, went to movies, and laughed.</div>
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My body was healing; I didn't wake up sore every morning. Nothing was injured.</div>
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December came and I felt healthy. I threw my ruck on (this time with some weight) and dashed into the hills. After I had walked a few miles, I decided it was time to commit to Selection again. This time I felt in my heart that I was ready; that I would train in a different way and remain grounded and healthy.</div>
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Things went smoothly for a few months, then in March I severely sprained my ankle on a training run. </div>
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10 weeks later, I went on my first run since the sprain. It was May.</div>
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Though the sprain was a major setback, it gave me time to work on a piece that I had been missing throughout years of high volume and insane workouts. I started to look inside and work on my mental game.</div>
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These days I am focusing on nutrition, breathing, and thought processes. I'm learning how to brace properly with my core, to eat food when I'm hungry, and to tell myself what I know will become reality. Don't get me wrong, hard physical work has not fallen by the wayside, but life balance has become more important.</div>
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In slowing myself down, not over training, and listening to my body, I feel the strongest I have ever been. The strength is not physical, however; it is in my head. There is a belief in myself that only I could build by taking some focus off of the physical (thanks to a sprained ankle), and placing it on balancing life and training. </div>
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Yesterday I woke up and thought, "I'm ready for Selection." </div>
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The funny thing is that I've said that hundreds of times before and didn't believe it. But this time...this time it resonated in my head, body, and heart. </div>
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This time, it is true.</div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-86032489696873714892016-03-27T16:16:00.000-07:002016-04-21T09:17:44.421-07:00Song of Arya<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wake to the chirping of midnight crickets. Your head is pressed against my shoulder; we breathe together, in and out, in and out. We share a bed and I sometimes move to the floor to give you more space because I love you, more than a good night's sleep...I smell your fur, pines commingled with salt water and cow poop; your whiskers brush my cheek and I cry, it is our final weekend together. I know you aren't dying, but I will never see you again, so my heart dies a little each time I think of you, my lazy, loving, majestic Arya.<br />
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Before I knew you, I didn't want a dog.<br />
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I thought, your hair will get on my clothes,<br />
You will ruin my social life, my training, my sleep.<br />
I'll be allergic to you;<br />
You may not like me.<br />
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The day I went to see you, I didn't want a puppy.<br />
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Puppies had to be trained,<br />
mothered,<br />
fed more,<br />
trained again,<br />
hugged...<br />
and I didn't have time for all that.<br />
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Then you walked into my life, sat at my feet, stared into my eyes, and loved me.<br />
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Now...<br />
You are a song to me Arya; the rhythm of your moods are etched in my mind.<br />
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I know when you want to play; you chomp the air and chuff like a tiger.<br />
I know when you are tired; your neck gets shorter and shorter as your head rests heavier into your chest, then you struggle to keep your eyes open as you drift off.<br />
I know when you are feeling scared; you curl into a tiny ball of 100# of fur and push your nose into your tail like there is an imaginary snowstorm on the way.<br />
I know when you are hungry; you sit in the kitchen and stare at the refrigerator, or the magic food box, as I imagine you call it.<br />
I know when you are nervous; you tuck your tail between your legs and refuse to let anyone pet you.<br />
I know when you are happy; you smile huge and jump around all floppy like an oversized rabbit.<br />
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You are a song to me Arya, the beat of your life plays in my heart.<br />
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You hate bikes more than fish hate dry land.<br />
You think you are a cat.<br />
You want to eat all the birds.<br />
You love dog friends more than you love humans.<br />
You rarely look into cameras.<br />
You sit for dried mangos,<br />
Bananas,<br />
Berries,<br />
CHICKEN!<br />
Lizards!<br />
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Eating grass is your diversionary tactic;<br />
Being off-leash is your way of living the FREEEEEEDOM scream that echoed at the end of Braveheart through everyone's souls...<br />
Chasing big "chuck-it" balls, especially ones that aren't yours, is definitely your cup of tea.<br />
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As you fall asleep your nose drips onto the ground from atop your perch on the bed.<br />
Your breathing slows.<br />
You start to twitch.<br />
You dream those doggie dreams...<br />
Maybe you have caught the bird?<br />
Maybe your are the bird?<br />
or the cat...<br />
YOU are flying, running, barking; ingesting all the ice cream in your perfect doggie dream world; you are the predator, the stalker and catcher of all the rabbits.<br />
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You are a song to me Arya; everything you think, all you do, all you love and hate, I know it and breathe it too.<br />
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Before I knew you I thought I didn't want you; today I cry knowing that our time together is over.<br />
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Now that I know you...<br />
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I like your hair on my clothes because it reminds me of your silly lean; that lean you do when you are tired and just need a little help standing up.<br />
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I love taking you to the gym; you always lick me during the hard sets and make me smile<br />
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You are the only one who camps and rucks with me consistently; and appreciates stopping for snacks and watching the bugs fly by.<br />
You've made me a better athlete,<br />
more patient<br />
more loving<br />
I'm not even allergic to you!<br />
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I thought you wouldn't love me, but I know you do because you sit on my feet when I'm going to the bathroom and lick my face in the morning and run right next to me in the woods and fart in my face when I'm sleeping and stick your head between my legs on walks and bark at me when I try to walk away and put your paw on my hand when we sleep and dig holes with me at the beach and lie on the ground with me when I am crying and lick my tears away and you are my copilot and you plank with me even though it is hard and you always want to sit with me even though you are as big as a horse...<br />
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You are my silly friend, my workout partner, my rucking buddy, my camping companion, my co-pilot, my doggie love, and no, I was not planning on eating that, you can have it A-dog.<br />
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You are a song to me Arya, always in my heart, forever.<br />
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-38763625272093773212016-03-13T12:40:00.002-07:002016-03-13T13:02:18.110-07:00Rekindling an Old Flame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: xx-small;">Sunset over Wadi Rum, Jordan, 2007</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The light from my headlamp threw the shadow of a lurking lizard onto the wall and made him 100 times larger than his actual size. His silhouette bobbed up and down and chirped loudly, trying to attract the lady lizard who was hiding in the dark. Though I couldn't see the female, I knew that he'd find her eventually and some lizard mischief would go down that night. I was all too familiar with this reptilian dance; I'd listen and watch every night as I went to sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was 2003 and I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Yap, Micronesia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before wireless Internet, there was lizard sex and the reading of books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was sick of partaking in the observation of the former, so I wrote a letter to my father requesting the latter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When my dad asked me what I'd like to read, I suggested that he send me Queen Noor of Jordan's book, <i>Leap of Faith: Memoirs of an Unexpected Life</i>. I had been reading a lot about Middle Eastern politics while I was in Peace Corps; I wanted to move to the region after my service and learn more about the Palestinian and Israeli conflict. I did not yet know much about Jordan, but understood the country played an important diplomatic role in the region, so I chose to read a book that would further educate me about the complexity of the place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As it was, I first fell in love with the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan as I huddled under my mosquito net trying to ignore a plethora of lizards reproducing in my midst. Stories of Queen Noor and King Hussein speeding through the deserts of Wadi Rum on the back of a Harley pleasantly distracted me from all of the chirping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Not only did I admire the royal couple's relationship, but I also respected their politics. King Hussein was a great diplomat, bringing together countries in conflict, and building trust in the region. At the same time, Queen Noor was working on women's rights, education, and environmental policy within Jordan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Politics aside, I became obsessed with Queen Noor's love story, American-girl-turned-Arab-Queen, and thought there was a slight chance that I could emulate her. Maybe if I played my cards right I could become a Queen too? Hey, I was lonely on a lizard and mosquito infested Pacific Island and I had no boyfriend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For many years after I left that island of lizards behind, I still dreamt of Jordan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It wasn't until graduate school that I finally had the opportunity to travel there. At that point I was volunteering with<i> <a href="http://globalmajority.org/" target="_blank">Global Majority</a> </i>a non-profit that promotes peace through non-violent conflict resolution<i>. </i>The organization was planning an international course focusing on conflict in that region; it would be held at United Nations University in Amman, Jordan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Come summer, I found myself sipping mint tea and eating hummus with friends at "Matam Hashem," King Abdullah's favorite restaurant in downtown Amman. We were all attending <i>Global Majority's</i> seminar together, Israelis, Palestinians, Jordanians, one Iranian, one Kurd, Americans, Europeans, and Asians. During the day we simulated peace negotiations for the region (even in our simulations there were pre-conditions!); at night we danced, ate, and became friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From Amman, I traveled to Israel, then the West Bank, Palestine. Though the summer of 2007 was a volatile one for the region, Fatah and Hamas were locked in a civil war in Gaza, my heart opened to this land; I felt at home there in the beautifully terrifying twisting volatility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'd return again in 2008 as a trainer for the same seminar. In 2010 I'd take a break from a teaching fellowship in Afghanistan to visit friends and spend Christmas in Jerusalem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is difficult to explain, but each time I set foot in this region, I feel like I am cliff-jumping. If you know me, you understand that is a good thing. My heart rate increases, my senses heighten, and my mind opens to all that I will learn. My soul sings desert songs and I am never the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every. Single. Time. I fall in love with the place over and over again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And so, as fate has it, I will get another chance to rekindle my love for Jordan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This time, I will be returning not as a selfish dreamer thinking I may become a queen, or as a wide-eyed student unaware of the complexity of the place, but as a teacher, attempting to contribute some small thing to a country I have loved most of my adult life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On the same Department of State Fellowship that brought me to Afghanistan, <span style="background-color: #45818e;"><span style="background-color: #45818e;">I will head to Jordan in September 2016. </span><span style="background-color: #45818e;">I will be living in Amman and working with the <i>Hashemite Fund for Development of the Jordan Badia</i> for a year, traveling around the country training teachers. I'll also work on coordinating a three-state English Language Teacher's conference for educators in Jordan, Israel, and Palestine.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="background-color: #45818e; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In addition to working with teachers from the region, I hope to work with the Syrian refugee population. With hundreds of thousands of refugees who have moved to the country, I hope that there is some small way I can help them, and the Jordanians, deal with the crisis.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
And I will not be alone. Larry will be with me, learning, taking photos, working on his own projects, and trying to figure out how to be useful in this gorgeously complex place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The final detail I needed to iron out before accepting the position was this; As I finished my interview with the American Embassy in Jordan, I asked:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Is it okay if I take a leave of absence from the project for 10 days in October?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The project manager asked me why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I told her, "There is an athletic event I have been training for, for three years and...my entire life...to complete, so it is important that I not miss it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Guess what the manager said?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Do it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And so I will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the next six months, as I set my sights on Jordan, I will continue to train my little heart out for that one event I will do in Bellbrook, Ohio in October. I'll study Arabic tirelessly, contact all of my friends in the region, and do my best to understand the situation in the Badia, the country, and the camps. I'll head to Jordan with a full heart, strong body, and with determination to do what needs to be done, and to learn all that I can along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Guess where we are moving?!</span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-51136620904657366212016-02-25T14:07:00.000-08:002016-02-25T20:23:51.385-08:00Being Bigger than Tiny<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2aHdAE1oQk/Vs9mgORwwMI/AAAAAAAAAwk/0Qfkf0Sk11c/s1600/sc%2Brace%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2aHdAE1oQk/Vs9mgORwwMI/AAAAAAAAAwk/0Qfkf0Sk11c/s320/sc%2Brace%2B1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Running around at a healthy weight.</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7mqJbHQ4qDc/Vs9mx1RXQrI/AAAAAAAAAwo/pC-gCErEZ7Q/s1600/IMG_5522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7mqJbHQ4qDc/Vs9mx1RXQrI/AAAAAAAAAwo/pC-gCErEZ7Q/s320/IMG_5522.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not tiny; fortunate for these muscles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">He loves me for everything that I am, and all that I dream of being.</span><br />
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Thinking about how I needed to be bigger, I stood in line at Trader Joe's with a basket full of meat and vegetables that I had no appetite for; I looked at the row of chocolate bars and added a few to the basket. At the same time, a lady in line tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I wish I had your metabolism, you are so tiny, you look great!"<br />
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As soon as I heard the word "tiny" I felt a fit of sadness welling up inside of me; I was about to start crying. I wanted to tell that lady to be quiet and keep her nasty thoughts to herself, but I knew she was just trying to be nice. I put my basket down and walked quickly out of the grocery store, holding back tears.<br />
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It was two weeks before GORUCK Selection 017, one of the toughest endurance races around, and I was the smallest I had ever been in my adult life.<br />
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This was not a good thing.<br />
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Not only was I physically small, but I was a shadow of my own self emotionally. I had just gone through a major break up, moved, was losing my business, and was trying to be ready to punish my body for 48 hours straight. I was afraid that weight loss associated with the stress I was going through would adversely affect me at the event. I had two weeks until the start, so I was attempting to eat anything I could get my hands on. I needed to gain weight fast!<br />
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After sitting in my car for a few minutes, I became angry at that lady who complimented me. I was angry because she thought that "tiny" was great and told me so. I was pissed that I, at my most reduced, small, weak, self was considered beautiful. I desperately wanted to be bigger in every way and was trying really hard to put on some physical and emotional mass.<br />
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After the tears stopped, I went back into the store to pay for my food. After all, I still needed to eat.<br />
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Over the course of two weeks, I gained a few pounds. It didn't matter though, in the end my tiny ass froze in a pond in Bozeman, MT. Rightly so. When I came to and realized what had happened, I decided it was all good, I'd leave all my tiny parts, ass included, behind in that pond.<br />
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Six months later, I am not tiny anymore.<br />
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Literally.<br />
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I am strong, and healthy, and am a larger version of my once reduced self. I also understand that tiny is not good, and that when a woman is commended for being cute and small, we take something away from the strength that she has.<br />
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So how did I get bigger?<br />
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Well, it sounds a bit silly, but being surrounded by love, encouragement, and positive people has helped me gain not only some much needed weight, but perspective too. I purged negative people and places from my life and relied on the love and support of my friends to lift me up.<br />
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My love Larry put it into perspective for me a couple of weekends ago when I told him about my day...<br />
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I was trying to coax my shy, horse-sized dog onto a grain scale at the pet store so I could see how much she weighed. Because she is afraid of shiny things, flat things, strangers, and well, all things, I stood on the scale for a second to encourage her to follow me.<br />
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Whilst I was standing there, my weight registered on the meter. A store employee looked at me and said, "Wow lady, you weigh more than you look! Must have some muscles in there!"<br />
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A bit embarrassed, I hopped off the scale quickly and got Arya to take my place.<br />
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When I told Larry the story, I explained that I sarcastically thanked the guy for being surprised at the number on the scale. Larry laughed and said, "I think that guy was trying to compliment you for being strong."<br />
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He was right. I instantly felt proud that I was no longer seen by strangers as a reduced, small thing. It finally felt good to be bigger than tiny.</div>
Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-80856576473488819932015-12-23T21:20:00.001-08:002015-12-23T21:20:22.156-08:00Failure...F*** that!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Training ruck...</div>
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Zoom in; this is what it looks like to stare failure (or my I-phone) right in its dirty face!</div>
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Let's talk about the "F" word. No, not the one you are thinking about. Well, okay first we will talk about the one on your mind...</div>
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When I was a kid, I had a pretty bad potty mouth. It was so bad, that one day at school, my friend Tiffany pulled me aside during recess to talk to me (it must have been fourth grade). Tiffany was a good Catholic girl and was concerned about my language. She told me that sometimes when she sinned, she would visit church and go to confessional.</div>
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"Everyone sins Jaala, there is no reason to be ashamed of it." She stated.</div>
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I listened intently.</div>
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Tiffany told me, "As long as you confess your sins to God you will be forgiven."</div>
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Considering the information, I asked "So swearing is a sin?"</div>
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She looked at me and smiled sweetly, "Yes it is."</div>
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I asked, "But what if I do it, just when I really mean it and need some strong words?"</div>
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"It is still bad Jaala." She explained.</div>
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"Okay." I said softly.</div>
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Thinking she had convinced me, she asked, "So will you go to confessional?"</div>
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I paused for a moment, then replied, "F*** that!"</div>
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Yes, it may have been completely inappropriate that I had such a sailor mouth at ten years old, but I was a precocious girl with an analytical mind. I didn't want to be like everyone else, and I sure as hell (see what I did there) did not want to stop swearing.<br />
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Luckily, everyone around me let me be the tenacious person that I was. My attitude, as expressed by my words, was that I would never let someone else tell me what I could and could not do if I was passionate enough about it. Apparently at age ten, I was passionate about using explicit language.</div>
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Over the years, though I've tempered my mouth (well, not really but in public at least) I have not lost my determined spirit. I refuse to do what others think I should do; I live life hard and choose the tougher route 9.9 times out of ten. Life is much more exciting this way. </div>
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So what am I getting at?</div>
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<u>This: <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Thanks Adele)</span></u></div>
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<i>Hello?</i></div>
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<i><b>SELECTION?</b></i></div>
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<i>Its me.</i></div>
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<i>I was wondering if after all these years</i></div>
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<i>You'd like to meet.</i></div>
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<i>To go over...</i></div>
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<i>Everything....</i></div>
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<i>They say time supposed to heal...</i></div>
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<i>And I'M DONE HEALING; LET'S GET THIS SHIT DONE!</i></div>
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After not finishing GORUCK Selection two years in a row, many people may think that it is time to move on to something different, but me, I am not done yet.<br />
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To paraphrase my friend Grant, he says:<br />
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"If you are not failing, you are not setting tough enough goals."<br />
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I believe him.<br />
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But, I also believe that if you fail at a tough goal and you learn from that failure, you do not have to reset this goal or adjust it lower. On the contrary, you <i>must</i> move through the failure and use it as a tool to succeed at that once unattainable goal. Because if you actually learn from failure, you grow. Then scary things become less scary, tough things become easier, and before you know it you've hit your mark.<br />
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So, though I have erred, my methods have changed and I am smarter now. I have not adjusted downward, things will not get easier, but I will not lose sight of what I want to achieve; I keep driving forward toward that goal of finishing GORUCK Selection.<br />
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I'm staring failure right in the face and, in the words of my youth saying:</div>
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<b>Failure...Fuck that.</b></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-78818654138850282502015-12-17T09:17:00.002-08:002015-12-17T09:19:16.009-08:00In Afghanistan, Predictions Come True<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Me checking on students in writing class; Kabul Education University 2011</div>
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Award ceremony Kabul Education University (me in the green chadar!); 2012</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Three and a half years ago, before doing my last teacher training in Afghanistan, I wrote about my expectations in the coming years. Many of the teachers I worked with have since completed their master's degrees, the country has become more volatile, most troops have left. These predictions came true. On the other hand, I never started my doctorate, but took on other endeavors. Life goes on and takes twists and turns; it is nice to look back and see what was, and what can be.</span></i></div>
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<i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">June 24, 2012</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It starts as a low drone. Echoing baritones in the distance, haunting the morning. After one mullah starts the call to prayer, all others follow. One mosque, far away begins the wave of all other mosques in town singing Allah’s name until the mosque across the street from my apartment joins into the chorus. The loud speaker faces my window; I cannot ignore the song. Though I am not Muslim, the call to prayer is in my heart. Every time I hear it, I sing along and know that at that moment, I am probably singing with thousands of others, about to get down on their knees and offer their prayers to God. Here, the holy is in the air; I breathe it in everyday and wonder what affect it has on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is my third time in Kabul and I am still amazed at the place. Each day I encounter the kindest people, the friendliest and most devout hearts. Though poverty abounds, people offer anything they can to make me feel at home and comfortable. My friends are happy and my students are ever curious. At the present, life is good in the city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But when you dig a little deeper, you can see that it will not be this way always. Most of my friends and colleagues agree that as soon as ISAF forces draw down, the country will become much more violent. Though I know that the troops will not completely withdraw, I feel worried for my friends; I feel like their future is so uncertain. I know that the U.S. has to leave some time, but I wish that stability could be created by the people and by the ANA before the US and other nations leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also think that this will be my last time in Afghanistan for a while. Though I love coming back here and teaching my friends, with the addition of the MA program it seems as though I am no longer needed here. This is great for the Afghans. It means that the educational infrastructure is developing and that things are getting better. I no longer need to come back to do teacher trainings because now the faculty is being trained in a new degree program. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also will not come back because I think it is time for me to move along with my life. I want to stay at my home in my country and make my own life in America better. I don’t want to have to come to Afghanistan to make money, I want to make money for myself in my own country. I want to go back to school and get a doctorate. I don’t know when the best time will be, but I am sure that will be revealed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am hoping that this time in Afghanistan goes well, and that the teachers are satisfied that I have dedicated a small part of my life to being here. I hope that they are appreciative of what I could offer. Though it wasn’t much, it was part of my heart, some of my skills, and a little love.</span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-50266188581458147972015-12-01T16:36:00.001-08:002015-12-12T19:12:06.014-08:00Fire, Then Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6283" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">At the same time over 12,000 acres of land was on fire in the Sequoia National Forest last summer, my life was burning too. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6372" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">As flames threatened the Giant Sequoia National Monument, headlines proclaimed that many of these trees that had lived thousands of years were in danger. If we didn't take action, these pieces of natural history would be lost. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_7106" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"We must stop the onslaught of this natural disaster!" Shouted reporters.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_7107" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Eventually the fire subsided and something amazing happened. The trees that were actually injured by the heat and flames of the fire were able to produce "stump sprouts," new life from the very place that the fire touched. Instead of being destroyed by the disaster, the Sequoias were able to produce life and grow.</span></div>
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<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6029" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_7108" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I took this to heart and told myself to look at my crumbling life as an opportunity to create something better.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6286" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">After being in a long-term relationship with a good person who was wrong for me, we ended it and decided to move on. As we broke up, we changed the structure of our small business into a silent partnership (I becoming the silent partner, he becoming 100% manager). We also decided to split time taking care of our lovely dog 50/50. Things seemed to be amicable. I breathed a sigh of relief…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">…Until the fire started.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6290" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">The fire came in the form of love; not only did love ruin a pleasant ending to my previous relationship, it created something new in my life that has enhanced and rejuvenated me beyond anything I could have imagined. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6291" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">The thing is, I fell in love with someone on the heels of a broken relationship.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6308" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"How can love happen that fast? You must have cheated on me." Reasoned my ex.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">True, it seemed to have happened quickly in his eyes, so when he read my e-mails and saw that I was in love with another man, he reacted. His reaction was the spark that started a fast-burn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">As it was unfolding, I shouted alarming, sometimes opposing things in my mind; I was on offense, then submitting, questioning my worth, then on defense:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"Attack and fight!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"You must stop this from gaining ground!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"Give in and concede!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"How could you let this happen?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">"Defend yourself from this disaster!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">In the end, all I could really do was wait and let the fire burn itself out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">What happens after everything that your life </span><b class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6119"><i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6121">was</i></b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">, is gone in the end?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">What happens when the man you once loved, the gym you once spent hours a day training and coaching at, is no longer part of your daily routine?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">What happens when you disappear from countless people's lives without an explanation?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">This.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6692" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I have mourned, gotten mad, felt extremely sad, asked countless questions, felt sorry for myself, felt sorry for my ex, cried, felt relieved…and done it all again, and again, and I still do it all; sometimes in the same night. </span></div>
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<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6151" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_7164" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">But all of those feelings have burnt themselves out to some degree too. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6666" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Giant Sequoias reproduce best by becoming "injured," by losing a limb or getting burnt by a fire. They create something new from what many see as a natural disaster.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449016157552_6285" style="font-family: "garamond" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Now in my life there is space where disaster once was. I, like the Sequoias, take these losses and use them to create something new. The love that has sprouted from a disaster has made me grateful for all that can come from an ending…a beginning.</span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-7252920865228469812015-09-28T11:28:00.003-07:002015-10-12T09:25:53.726-07:00Marked by Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Can you see all that I've done, all that I am? Just look at the marks life has left...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Before she noticed the sun's signature on me...</span></div>
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Last spring, after an amazing day playing on Coronado Island with my brother's family, we crammed ourselves into a rented Prius to head back to the hotel for dinner. Happy to be with my family, I sat in the backseat between the kids and felt the warmth of their sun-tanned bodies against me. Emory, my niece, picked her nose and wiped it on my leg. Nolan yelled with excitement and told Em that friends don't wipe their snot on other friends. I giggled and left the boogers there.<br />
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We drove slowly, through mid-day traffic, across the bridge towards downtown. Em and I laughed at the wind blowing our hair all crazy this way and that. I tried to fix my hair as Em watched me. Then she said something that surprised me. She said, "Aunt Jaala, why do you have a mustache?"<br />
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I thought, "Oh shit. Why do I?"<br />
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But instead of saying that, I asked her what she meant.<br />
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Emory said, "...your skin, it is darker by your lip, it looks like a mustache...and a beard!"<br />
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A little taken aback, I considered my answer carefully.<br />
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I thought about how I could explain to young Emory that although I'm a little self-conscious about my skin, it shouldn't matter that much.<br />
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I said, "Em, this is not a mustache, it is called sun spots. When people get older, sun tans go crazy and sometimes go darker in some places than in other places. Because I am always outside playing in the sun and enjoying nature, the sun leaves its mark on my face. This mustache is part of me, it shows where I have been."<br />
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Emory thought about the answer.<br />
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Then she said, "I like your mustache, Aunt Jaala."<br />
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And my happy heart melted a little.<br />
<br />
Though this is a sort of superficial interaction about flaws and what we make of them, lately it got me thinking about flaws and weaknesses on a deeper level.<br />
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There are moments in each of our lives when we realize our flaws and weaknesses, and decide to do one of two thing: We either deny them or accept them. In denying the flaw or weakness, time waits for another opportunity to present this thing we have denied, and the Universe waits for the time we can accept the lesson it offers. In accepting the flaw or weakness, we learn a lesson; hopefully it enriches our character and we become better at life. We evolve, we reflect, we move forward.<br />
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This year has been tough and enlightening; I've experienced things that I never envisioned I would, but I try to take each experience in stride.<br />
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Though it wasn't so serious at all, Emory's comment about my skin was the tip of the iceberg, a moment for me to see that outer beauty in life, something me and so many women are obsessed with, is fleeting. We grasp tightly this form of beauty and sometimes forget that the beauty is in the flaws, the ones that we never intended to acquire.<br />
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What do the spots on my face mean?<br />
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Well, to me my skin reflects my life.<br />
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It shows that I live life hard and fast and appreciatively. I throw myself at life (with not enough sunscreen apparently) and I expect it to throw itself back at me.<br />
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I fuck up.<br />
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I get selfish and greedy.<br />
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But I always try to learn from my own flaws, from my mistakes, from my self-indulgence.<br />
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This year has stripped me bare and maybe added some spots to my aging face. But I accept each one of those spots as a mark of experience; of living. I know that these outer indications of a life lived are attached to my inner self. A growing, thriving, ever-changing light lives within me. Maybe it is just trying to get out via my face? I don't know, but I'm willing to accept whatever the reason is that I change and become more weathered each day. It is an honor to be marked by life.<br />
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-10218298229868573282015-09-14T14:56:00.002-07:002015-09-14T15:06:15.962-07:00Coming out of the Night, choosing to Fight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Reflection of the smoked out sun; Murphys, CA</span><br />
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<i style="text-align: left;">Out of the night that covers me,</i></div>
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<i>Black as the pit from pole to pole,</i></div>
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<i>I thank whatever Gods may be</i></div>
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<i>For my unconquerable soul.</i></div>
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We all brought our own demons into the night. Some of us feared getting lost in the moonless, starless expanse of the forest, some of us were already lost in the dark when we arrived.<br />
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The <i>Endeavor Team Challenge</i> was more than halfway over when we set out on the "night land navigation" course into the actual night. Smoke from the <i>Butte Fire</i> blotted all light from the sky and filled our lungs with pieces of everything that had burnt before that moment. As we headed out onto the course, compass and maps in hand, I thought, "Maybe I'm breathing pieces of exploded stars?!"<br />
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I probably should have been thinking about pace counts instead, but off we went.<br />
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Moving through space with zero illumination and a dim headlamp is challenging enough. Add a treacherous jeep track filled with loose boulders, air thick with smoke and dust, and the skill of navigating and you have quite a task on your hands. Thank God for smart friends! My partner Paige is a navigatress (queen of navigation); finding points, for her, seemed second nature so we were able to find the mandatory points assigned to us, plus a couple more.<br />
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While Paige was focused on navigating, my mind was wandering in and out of lucidity, battling with itself to think about the terrain and my pace count, to trying to ward off dreamy dreamland thoughts. Since I wasn't superbly amazing at warding off fantasy land, the dreamy dreamland thoughts often filled my head. Every so often, our head lamps would illuminate large black spiders (about the size of our palms) resting on the trail. At that point, the deep black skin of the spider would remind me of the darkness of the night, which would in turn remind me to recite the first stanza of <i>"Invictus,"</i> a poem by <i>William Ernest Henley</i>, that we were tasked to memorize and repeat upon command (we had not yet been required to recite the poem).<br />
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Whenever I saw those spiders, I'd say: <i>"Out of the night that covers me..."</i> and mess up the rest of the stanza with my own lines: <i>"Black as..."</i> that giant spider on the ground...holy crap, that thing is huge...I hope it doesn't jump...or crawl into my mouth while I'm sleeping...I should not step on that spider!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Practicing land navigation sans nighttime...and spiders...and fire smoke</span></div>
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<i>In the fell clutch of circumstance</i></div>
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<i>I have not winced nor cried aloud.</i></div>
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<i>Under the bludgeonings of chance</i></div>
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<i>My head is bloodied, but unbowed.</i></div>
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After hours and hours and hours of walking among dust, smoke, spiders, mutes (aka Tim and Grant), and through silent moments that went on for longer than the time that accompanied them, we finished the night navigation task. It was three in the morning, and both Paige and I were sleepy enough not to be completely in control of our capacities. Of course, this was the moment we were asked to recite <i>"Invictus"</i> from memory. We were told that until we could recite the poem perfectly, we would not be able to rest.<br />
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Though I didn't know the second stanza completely, we had been practicing the poem all day so I knew enough to help Paige through this part.<br />
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Earlier in the day, Paige mentioned that the poem was taking on meaning as we went over it more. I agreed with her; though I already had it written on the wall in my kitchen (REALLY!) it was taking on meaning out there in the woods as we repeated it over the course of the day.<br />
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Listening to Paige recite those words, in the middle of the darkest night I had ever seen, I thought that this poem is a metaphor for this event, and our lives, of course.<br />
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Though we were beaten down at that hour, we were still moving forward...we recited the poem and accomplished the task.<br />
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Though I've been beaten down at times, more recently than ever before, I've fought and continue to move forward.<br />
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Rhythmically and deliberately, Paige said the third stanza:<br />
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<i>Beyond this place of wrath and tears</i></div>
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<i>Looms but the Horror of the shade,</i></div>
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<i>And yet the menace of the years</i></div>
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<i>Finds and shall find me unafraid.</i></div>
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Though I was listening to her, I was inside of myself, telling myself that there would be so much more after this night; so much more to experience, do, and see in life and that I should not forget this pain, but appreciate it and move through it; I should not forget this moment, in this place, because this is right where I was, and am, supposed to be.<br />
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The event was not yet over; but it was time to sleep...<br />
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We woke to a smokey, quiet morning.<br />
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Our final task was upon us.<br />
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Paige and I grabbed our bricks (we were each given one to carry throughout the event) and water bottles and got ready for our final movement.<br />
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<i>It matters not how straight the gate,</i></div>
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<i>How charged with punishments the scroll,</i></div>
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Ambling through the forest, scrambling up rocks, swimming across Lake Alpine, Paige and I caught up to our friends, Chris and Leilani. As we all walked through the forest, Chris and I talked about what it means to accomplish something in this type of racing. He mentioned that as long as you are giving it your all, as long as you finish and at that point know that you had nothing more to give, that you tried your best and enjoyed the experience, then you have won and should be happy.<br />
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This, I know is true:<br />
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At <i>Endeavor Team Challenge</i>, and in life, those of us that gave our all, and give it everyday, are right.<br />
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<i>I am the master of my fate,</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
Whatever situation I find myself in, I have a choice to make. Whichever decision I take, whether to fight, and work, and help, and give 100%, or to ignore what needs to be done and be weak, is up to me. I can choose to be lost; I can choose to crawl into the darkness and let it consume me. But I won't. I choose to fight.<br />
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<i>I am the captain of my soul.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leilani, Chris, Jaala, Kent, Tim, Grant, Paige; people who choose to give 100%.</span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-78062412166627961932015-08-31T21:32:00.001-07:002015-09-06T16:57:42.326-07:00A Universal Conspiracy: Afghanistan, Selection, and a little Fate?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5243" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5245" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5247" style="font-size: xx-small;">No I did not have a camera in the bathroom during Selection. I returned a few days later to take this picture</span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5249" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">.</span></span></div>
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<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5253" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5255" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5257" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5259" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5261" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">On September 12, 2001, I sat in a field at University of New Mexico and thought about my life. I wondered if I was headed in the right direction and if what I would do later down the road would have an impact on the world, and help prevent 9/11 from occurring again. I felt an extreme </span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5263" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">sadness and confusion about what had just happened, but what was clear to me on that day was that somehow I had to learn more about Afghanistan. Someday I would go there.</span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5265" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5267" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5269" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5271" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5273" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5275" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Ten years later, after a lot of living, I went to Afghanistan to teach. The twisty turning road of my life took me to many different countries as a teacher; I went through highs and lows with sports; was married and divorced; and eventually had forgotten about my earlier need to see and live in Afghanistan. When I was offered a fellowship there, however, all of those feelings resurfaced.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5277" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5279" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5281" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5283" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5285" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5287" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I wondered, "Will I die there?"</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5289" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5291" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5293" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5295" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5297" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5299" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">It turns out that most of my family and friends thought of that too.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5301" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5303" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5305" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5307" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5309" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5311" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">A few days before I left for Kabul, my friend Nick asked: "Jaala, are you ready to die teaching in Afghanistan?"</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5313" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5315" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5317" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5319" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5321" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5323" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I took a few seconds to consider this question and said, "Yes. I am." </span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5325" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5327" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5329" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5331" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5333" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5335" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">He asked me to explain.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5337" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5339" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5341" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5343" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5345" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5347" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I told him that ten years ago I knew that I would go to Afghanistan someday to learn about the place and to teach. I knew that I would be such a small piece in the larger picture of what was happening in the world with regards to the war and the fighting and the danger of the place. But I was willing to go there because it was right to me. Not only would teaching affect maybe one person and make a small change, but my heart had called me there years ago, so I would listen.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5349" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5351" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5353" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5355" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5357" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5359" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">In the book <i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5361">The Alchemist</i>, Paulo Coelho says, <i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5363">"</i></span></span><i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5365"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5367" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not ready.</span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5369" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"> The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny."</span></i></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5371" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5373"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5375" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5377" /></span></i><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5379" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5381" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Ironically, it took me about a week to accept the job.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5383" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5385" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5387" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5389" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5391" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5393" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Then...</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5395" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5397" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5399" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5401" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5403" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5405" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I went, I lived, I thrived, I saw, I taught, I learned...and I returned many more times.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5407" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5409" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5411" /></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5413" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5415" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">My life changed in a multitude of ways before, during, and after my time in country. I'm still not sure If I have uncovered all of the lessons therein. </span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5417" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I'm still learning day by day what being in that place means to me, and what it means for my future. Even though I am not there anymore, pieces of me remain.</span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5419" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5421" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5423" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5425" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5427" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5429" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">My friends have grown, changed, gotten more education, expanded their families, and I've gotten to see it all happen. My Afghan "sister" </span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5431" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">becomes more beautiful everyday; I want to hug her and tell her I love her, because part of her spirit lives in me.</span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5433" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5435" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5437" /></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5439" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5441" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">And now friends that were lost have been found again, and live in me here in the states in the strangest of ways. Just when I need them the most, little signs appear showing me that their love follows me on my journey through life. </span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5443" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5445" />
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5447" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Though this was not going to be a story about Selection; the event is woven into the fabric of my life, so what isn't a story about Selection these days?</span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5449" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5451" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5453" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5455" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5457" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5459" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">During Selection in Bozeman, in between the 5 mile run and 12 mile ruck march, I had a chance to use the public bathroom. I ran into the stall, focused and tried to move quickly. When I was doing my thing, I looked up at the door to the bathroom stall and saw lyrics to an old Beatles song, "Blackbird" written there.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5461" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5463" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5465" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5467" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5469" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5471" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">At that moment I knew that I would be okay, no matter what happened during the event. To me that song reminded me of a special person in Afghanistan; I had already been singing the lyrics that weekend, and to see it scrolled there on the bathroom wall in the middle of Montana in a public restroom, I knew that I was moving in the right direction.</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5473" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5475" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5477" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5479" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5481" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5483" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I'm not sure if I fully understand life yet, but I do know this is for sure: When something is right, when something is meant to be, just like Coelho said later in The Alchemist:</span></span></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5485" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5487" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5489" /></span><i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5491"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5493" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"> "</span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5495" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">... todo o Universo conspira para que você realize seu desejo.</span></i></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5497" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5499" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">...all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."</i></div>
<div class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5501" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5503" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5505" /></i><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5507" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I desperately want to live a life full of challenges, love, and </span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5509" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5511" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">growth. I want to constantly be moving forward, yet serenely taking in all that this time and space has to offer me. I want to meet the challenges as they come, inspire others to do the same, and have a positive affect on the world.</span></span></div>
<div class="" dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5513" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5515" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5517" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5519" /></span></span><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5521" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1441081377935_5523" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">These days it seems to be that the Universe agrees with my wishes.</span></span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-57258222089174044682015-08-24T15:19:00.001-07:002015-08-31T13:37:06.953-07:00Meeting the Challenge: Fields of Flowers and Selection 017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RC6JCyTBJao/VduEHQ7Pa1I/AAAAAAAAArM/H0LJbtkHO9w/s1600/11219547_10206371513981690_382143479284631559_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RC6JCyTBJao/VduEHQ7Pa1I/AAAAAAAAArM/H0LJbtkHO9w/s320/11219547_10206371513981690_382143479284631559_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Calm before the storm; getting ready for the PT test at GoRuck Selection 017</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30poFiNAMsA/VduFOJK095I/AAAAAAAAAro/pUZIu3etdlw/s1600/hypothermia%2B017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30poFiNAMsA/VduFOJK095I/AAAAAAAAAro/pUZIu3etdlw/s320/hypothermia%2B017.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Why am I here?</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QiqlRBaA55M/VduEjbRgGsI/AAAAAAAAArU/ncc0WSGMAug/s1600/IMG_0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QiqlRBaA55M/VduEjbRgGsI/AAAAAAAAArU/ncc0WSGMAug/s320/IMG_0239.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Story time; the after party</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bmw1BDPdnyk/VduFHfFSnBI/AAAAAAAAArg/MxxCZBZlZvY/s1600/IMG_0227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bmw1BDPdnyk/VduFHfFSnBI/AAAAAAAAArg/MxxCZBZlZvY/s320/IMG_0227.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My buddy, Jason</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
It was 2003 and I had claimed my very own seat on a city bus in Chengdu, China. I had already won a small battle; this was the first time I wasn't stuck under some sweaty shirtless man's armpit standing pressed against another 100 people trying to see the street from the fogged up windows.<br />
<br />
Even before I landed the seat, I was feeling quite proud of myself for being able to <i>read</i> the sign that said <i>this</i> was the bus that would take me home. Though it was headed in the wrong direction, I thought that since the roads in the city ran on a ring system, and I was on the other side of the ring from my house, it didn't really matter which direction the bus was traveling; I'd get there eventually.<br />
<br />
I was a bit wrong about this. Careening through Chengdu City on that gray afternoon, just before my usual stop, the bus took a sharp turn off of the main road. I yelled at the driver to stop, but he smiled and had no intention of pulling over. The next stop was 20 minutes away, through rapeseed fields and on the outskirts of the city. I had no control of the outcome; we finally arrived at the city bus depot.<br />
<br />
Sitting in the back of the bus crying, not understanding anything anyone was saying, I was literally lost. I had no idea where I was and no idea how to get back to where I was going. The bus driver dragged me off the bus and told me to go away. I stood in a dirt parking lot, wondering what to do...<br />
<br />
<b><i>This is what was on my mind for a moment when I was sitting in a truck, recovering from hypothermia at GoRuck Selection 017. </i></b><br />
<br />
Just moments before, I heard someone yelling in my face "Stop f'ing SHIVERING!"<br />
<br />
I remember rolling back and forth in the freezing water, doing some inch worms, getting farted on in the face, standing up, pressing my ruck over my head, then...nothing.<br />
<br />
Later the cadre would tell me that we were taken out of the water to run around and get warmed up. However at the end of the run, I stumbled in a different direction than the remaining 8 candidates. The cadre chased after me, basically carried me to a truck, then tried to warm me out of my stupor; they wanted me to go back out there and rejoin the welcome party. It was't meant to be. After 45 minutes, I finally was aware of my surroundings.<br />
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But by then it was too late. The welcome party raged on and I found myself shivering and eating a chocolate chip cookie in a 100 degree truck cab. I cried.<br />
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How did I get there? Where was my ruck? Why were my boots on the dash?<br />
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This reminds me of that time on the bus in China...<br />
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I looked through the windshield and saw fields of yellow flowers. I was a bit confused as to why I was back in China.<br />
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I brought myself back to reality.<br />
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The fields of flowers were actually street lights on the other side of the pond in Bozeman, Montana where we were doing our welcome party. Finally, I understood that I was done with Selection 017 and didn't even have a choice. This outcome was out of my control; just as the outcome of that bus ride through Chengdu city was.<br />
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<b><i>After it was all said and done, I reflected on what Selection meant to me, and what I could have learned; this is what I saw:</i></b><br />
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Though the end came swiftly, the prologue was much more extensive and interesting. Though the result seems sudden and certain, it wasn't a result at all.<br />
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This Selection meant more to me than any other event I had ever trained for.<br />
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I spent two years honing my body and mind to handle the stresses I would undergo during the 48 hour Selection event. My life changed drastically; I both gained and lost immeasurable things, all of which were necessary to become who I am today.<br />
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And so I see that the journey is not over.<br />
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Though I took a sharp turn away from what I saw was the initial end point, that turn was out of my control. What lies before me, and the choices I make to deal with it are all up to me. I can be disappointed for not finishing Selection, or I can see this experience as more training to finish the next one.<br />
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Will I be at Selection again?<br />
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Well, I like to think about a conversation that my good friend Chris Holt and I had about mountaineer George Mallory and why he climbed Mt. Everest multiple times. Mallory said:<br />
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<b><i>"The first question you will ask and that I will try to answer is this: What is the use of climbing Mt. Everest? and my answer must be: it is of no use. There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem nor any coal or iron. We shall not find a single foot of earth that can be planted with crops to raise food. It's no use. So if you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go."</i></b><br />
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In thinking about all that lies ahead, I'd like to meet the challenge. I'd like to meet it because my heart calls me there, not because of what I'll get when I have reached the goal. So will I be there again?<br />
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How can I not?<br />
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-44813985030248390822014-10-27T11:40:00.003-07:002014-10-27T11:40:41.719-07:00A Scar Etched by Sand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>A Scar Etched by Sand</b></div>
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It happened so quickly.</div>
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One second I was face down in the sand, crawling back through the water towards the other candidates telling Cadre Bert “NO WAY, I WILL NOT QUIT!” The next second I was walking towards the dunes, tears mingled with salt water and hiccups of defeat.</div>
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GoRuck Selection 015 came to an end for me around 14 hours when I voluntarily withdrew. To most, it may have looked like I quit because I couldn’t drag dead weight through the sand. But to me, there was more to it: years of preparation, life experiences, and reflection were tied up in that moment. </div>
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Before explaining the end though, I’ll have to explain the beginning.</div>
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It was seventh grade and I had just injured my elbow arm wrestling. The doctor made a joke that I’d be fine, but I could kiss my career as a Navy SEAL goodbye. Not liking limitations, I asked my swim coach what a Navy SEAL was, and if I could be one. Always encouraging, my coach told me that SEALS were elite warrior swimmers, but that no women had yet become one. I told him I’d have to be the first; he smiled and agreed.</div>
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Life unfolded for me in other amazing and challenging ways and I followed the path of competitive swimming and teaching. I travelled all over the United States in my youth racing other water babies and ended up swimming in college. In adulthood, I chose a civilian life over a military one and travelled the world learning and teaching. All the while, I never forgot my athletic ambitions; though I was done with college sports, I believed that my best days were ahead of me.</div>
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After college, I taught in China, Micronesia, Jordan, Israel, Palestine, and finally Afghanistan. During my sojourns as an expatriate, I lived in simple villages and huge cities. I lived under monarchies, communist regimes, socialist and coalition governments, and chiefdoms; I lived in police states, places at war, and areas that hadn’t seen fighting since World War II.</div>
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No matter where I was, I searched for competitions so I could continue to test myself and push my body. However, the places I lived had better ideas. Many times I tried to compete, women were completely barred or when I showed up, an excuse was given as to why I could not be there.</div>
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I opened my eyes and learned hard truths, that women were by no means equal to men in most places in the world. During those times, I took everything as a grain of salt, adjusted, and knew that I came from a place where women could be and do anything they pleased. I was thankful that I was born an American and vowed to never take for granted the freedoms I enjoy everyday of my life, because life could be so much worse.</div>
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Back in the states, when a friend told me about GoRuck Selection, I immediately wanted to do it. “My standards would be the same as the men?” I asked. “Yes, definitely,” he said. “I get to run and hike and do stuff in the water all night?” I asked. “Yep,” He said. My friend tried to warn me that I should probably do a “Light” first to see what GoRuck was all about. I told him that anything with the word “light” in it was not for me. </div>
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After reading all of the Selection after action reviews and basically anything that was ever written about Selection, I knew it was for me. I admired the cadre for their service to my country and the finishers for their determination. I wanted to be a part of that group of people whom I respected. </div>
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Before I actually entered, I thought about this endeavor deeply. Why was I doing it? If not to make amazing friends and hear their stories, it was to test myself and feel alive. I wasn’t afraid of the physical tasks at hand. I was afraid that by not doing Selection I would never know all of the people tied up in it; I would never know if I could have finished. How would I ever know what could break me if I never was in a situation where I might be broken? I figured the cadre were professionals so they would do their best to teach me this lesson.</div>
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In the end they did.</div>
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But it was not the end yet.</div>
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During our 12-mile ruck march, a blood moon rose over the Atlantic as I quick-stepped to the song in my head. My steady breath mingled with the waves knocking on the shore; run, walk, run, walk, runwalkrun, runrunrunrunwalk. Though I had practiced this many times before, still I doubted my speed and forced myself to run, crunching shells, dodging waves, and passing others, knowing that this was just the end of the beginning. I was in the zone and barely noticed when I ran upon green lights and the cadre lining the beach.</div>
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We had finished the PT test.</div>
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After that, our “welcome” was warm.</div>
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This is what it looked like:</div>
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Water.</div>
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Sand.</div>
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Water.</div>
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Sand.</div>
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During the “party,” this is what I was thinking:</div>
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Keep going. You are strong enough. You trained for this. Whose legs are those? Keep going. Nothing they say can stop me. I’m the girl who chose the baritone saxophone in sixth grade because it had the biggest case. I’m not afraid. Holy shit, I’m afraid. They have weaknesses too. Whoever has his foot on my pack has no weaknesses. Keep going. I can do any of this all night, forever. Put me back in the water. Keep going. There are shells in my ears. Keep going. Get me out of the water. Keep going. Life could be so much worse. I like this sand. He has nice feet. Keep going. Am I ripping his armpit hair out? Run! Keep going.</div>
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Then something unexpected happened…</div>
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I couldn’t keep going.</div>
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When I came to a task that was a bit too difficult, and the cadre said something that really got into my head, I stopped to think. I forgot to tell myself that I was good enough, and that I should just keep going. I forgot that life could be worse, and that this was an opportunity to test myself. At that moment I let my mind wander to the philosophical side of things; I lost focus. By the time I was done thinking, I had uttered the words I never thought I’d say, “I’m done.” The end had come.</div>
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Two weeks later, there is a scar on my hand, etched by sand. Though there are other scratches and bruises that linger, they will go away and only these lessons, and most likely the scar, will remain…</div>
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I learned that if I give my 100%, it may not be good enough for someone else. This is true in physical events and in life. No matter what we do, it may not be good enough for someone. The choices we make, however, should have reason and behind that reason there must be a drive to follow thorough, carry on, and keep going. </div>
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When I look at the scar on my hand, I remember the lessons I learned at Selection 015 that I could never have taught myself. I thank the cadre, selection finishers, and the candidates for helping me become a better person. Know that I am not done yet; know that I will keep going, and know that the scar on my hand is the shape of Montana.</div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-77647099628137482912014-07-17T18:19:00.003-07:002014-07-17T18:44:09.468-07:00That is not Palestine; That is not Israel...THIS is!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is Ramallah, Palestine; 2010</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Jerusalem; 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Jerusalem; 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Ramallah, Palestine; 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Tel Aviv, Israel; 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Ramallah, Palestine; 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is Hebron, Palestine; 2010</span></div>
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Today I walked into the coffee shop to buy my morning cup and glanced at the front page of the New York Times. I saw a picture that at first, looked pretty. With my terrible eyesight, I saw a few kids on a beach. It could have been any beach...the white sand looked rocky and the water was glistening. It was uncrowded and serene.<br />
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"That is nice" I thought.<br />
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Then I got closer. I noticed that the child laying upon the sand was dead. His legs were splayed about his body in an unnatural way. Behind him, a man was carrying another dead child, looking at someone or something I could not see. <br />
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I instantly knew this had to be Gaza. I felt like throwing up; I felt like yelling to the other customers, "Can you believe this!?" I wanted to shout, THAT IS NOT PALESTINE! THAT IS NOT ISRAEL! But it is. It is the abhorrent reality today. The murder of innocent children, the constant fighting; an eye for an eye. That is what is happening now.<br />
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Instead of shouting at strangers, I cried a little and headed to school. When I got there, I showed the picture to students. The reaction from the teens whom I teach ranged from sadness to confusion. One 17 year old Chinese girl said, "It sounds like a terrible argument and someone should tell them to stop." Yes child, I agree.<br />
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The situation is complex, the history is deep, everyone has a good reason why they believe this or that...but I think we can all agree that children dying over the matter is too much. Can't we all decide to lose a battle, or to concede something so no one else has to die needlessly?<br />
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This morning I I wanted to talk to all of my friends in Palestine and Israel and tell them to keep living their meaningful lives, and not to give in to this violence. I want them to know that although this is the reality right now, I know THAT IS NOT PALESTINE and THAT IS NOT ISRAEL...My friends and their families are better than what is being portrayed. They all live meaningful and purposeful lives and do not condone this violence. To all of them, I send my love.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> This is Hebron, Palestine; 2008 </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is East Jerusalem; 2010</span></div>
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<style class=""> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --</style><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">The end was in sight; the last few hours of our GoRuck Challenge was upon us. As we bear crawled towards the water in synchronization, then did push-ups and 8-count burpees in the sand, we knew a few things: </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">1. It was morning, so our class had made it at least 10 hours through the night</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">2. We were back on the beach and our start point was about a mile and a half away</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">3. The event would probably get harder before it was over</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">By then we were thinking and moving like a team though; we all understood that we could take whatever would be thrown at us because we were a unit.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">But we didn't start like that.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Ten hours before we found ourselves crawling on the beach as one, we were a bunch of individuals, crowded under the hazy streetlights east of the Santa Barbara pier. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Illuminated by the light of the full moon, our cadre had us line up so he could check our bricks. The first lesson learned was a quick one: pay attention to detail. If you hadn't read the event instructions thoroughly, you wouldn't have known that you should have written your name and phone number on your bricks. Those who had not followed instructions immediately went for a swim.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Since we were not allowed to wear watches, there is no way to know how long our "welcome party," the first physical training (PT) session, lasted. It looked like this: water, sand, rolling, push-ups, sand. We were a strong, but stupid class.<span class=""> </span>We got "stupid prizes" because we played "stupid games," i.e. we weren't working as a team or using our brains.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">A stupid game looks like this: Rolling to the left when we should be rolling to the right. Rolling too many times. Crushing the person next to you when rolling over. It took us a couple of hours to figure out how to roll properly. It took us almost as long to figure out how to low crawl efficiently. Lesson number two was not easy to figure out: work as a team.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Sandy and wet, we set off into the night on multiple missions. Though each mission was difficult on its own, things started getting really interesting when we found ourselves back in the crisp Pacific Ocean for another PT session. Already cold and sandy, it felt nice to rinse off during those exercises. However, the nice feeling was fleeting.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">For the next long chunk of time, we had to first bear crawl, then backwards crab walk up the Mesa staircase; a set of about 250 stairs. This would not be our last "stupid prize."</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">After the stairs, our night slowed down in time, but sped up in effort. We found a giant log (I estimate it was 300-400 pounds) and had to carry it as a team a few miles. We started down Mesa Lane carrying the log on our shoulders. No one was communicating well, and we kept on shuffling into each other. We were 16 people speaking 16 different languages going 16 different ways. It was a mess.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">By the time we got out of the neighborhood, our cadre knew we needed a talking to. He told us that we looked like a bunch of kindergarteners and we had better get it together. After our pep talk, we decided to carry the log with straps. This proved to be about 100 times easier than shouldering the log. We also counted cadence and were able to walk together. Devising a system of switching sides also helped us immensely. Though we missed our time hack by about 45 minutes, we ended the log-carrying portion as a team.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">There would be many other challenges set before us as the night went on. We'd get lost in a canyon, narrowly avoiding falling off of hills and running into cacti. We would pick up a large PVC pipe, fill it with water and carry it for miles. We'd have "casualties" and have to carry team members for miles. We'd walk with our packs over our heads and without a shoe. We'd get more "stupid prizes."</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Back on the beach, we could see the pier in the distance. We had just finished another PT session in the ocean, and we were getting what would be our last mission. We'd have to make it back to the pier with five "casualties" and the empty PVC pipe. With 16 people, four of them women, and two people (at least) carrying the PVC, a bunch of people would have to step up and carry more bags and each other.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">As we made our way down the beach, everyone did their part and more. Some of the women ended up carrying bags and men (at the same time), others carried three bags and flags; others carried a couple of bags and the PVC.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">After we crossed under the pier (the finish?), we had no rest and went straight back into the water for another PT session. It could have lasted five minutes or five hours, but when it came to an end, we all knew. Facing south towards the Channel Islands, the pier to our left, we were told to turn around.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Standing in the water, the American Flag over his shoulder, waving in the wind, Cadre Mickey shared some words with us. Though I can't remember everything that was said, I do remember the feeling I had: sheer pride and happiness. I was proud of who I knew Cadre Mickey was, a warrior and a leader, proud to be part of a group of hard-working people, proud to be standing on the shore of my home country, among friends.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="">When it was all said and done, our Cadre said it best: "You started off as a group of individuals…but in the end…in the END, you were a team of napalm-pissing, t-rex-hunting, bad-ass mother f'ers. I'm proud of you all."</span></span></span></span></div>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-28164432859980478622013-09-21T17:48:00.001-07:002013-09-21T22:17:01.433-07:00Endeavor Team Challenge: The Decision and Prepartion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm the sort of person that sees videos of, and reads books about Olympians, Navy Seals, Base Jumping, Army Ranger challenges, people fishing in 100 foot seas, climbing Mt. Everest, surfing giant waves, Special Forces training, scuba diving caves, riding bikes thousands of kilometers, running hundreds of miles through deserts, lifting insane amounts of weight, and performing any other type of physical or mental challenge and I say, "I want to do that!"<br />
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Some people may think that wanting to do risky things is crazy, but all of my life I have been compelled to push my physical limits. I find pleasure in testing my body, in seeing just how far I can go. Setting a challenging goal, working to get there, then rising to the occasion is rewarding; being a sportswoman makes me feel alive and happy.<br />
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Usually the barrier to doing things like jumping from planes, reaching the summit of Mt. Everest, or diving in caves is lack of money, or a life choice (I became a teacher, not a member of the military or a professional athlete/water woman). However, when the opportunity arose for me to compete in the Endeavor Team Challenge, none of those barriers existed. I immediately recruited a partner and entered the race. This would be my first ever endurance race; a 30+ hour challenge over 45 miles in the high Sierras. <br />
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After deciding to do the Endeavor Team Challenge, my partner, Mike Harding, and I had about four months to prepare for the race.<br />
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How do you prepare for a race that consists of so many skills? The simple answer is that my life up to that point had already prepared me for the race. The events in the race would cover running, hiking, swimming, kayaking, mountaineering, obstacle courses, strength events, and mental challenges; all things that both Mike and I had done at some point in our lives.<br />
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For the months leading up to the event, I continued to train CrossFit four times a week, lift weights three times a week, do a long, weighted hike at least once a week, run intervals twice a week, and mix swimming, rowing, rock climbing, and skills work (like tying knots) into my program here and there.<br />
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Preparation became a key component in the success that Mike and I would have when the race came around. Because we did hikes together frequently, Mike and I encountered most of the problems that many people would have to face during the actual race. Some of those problems were fueling and foot care. Though caloric intake and feet don't seem to be at the top of the list for training for an endurance race, eating the wrong food or not taking care of feet could very well take us out of the race.<br />
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During our first 20-mile test hike, both Mike and I got blisters on our feet, suffered stomach problems, and became dehydrated; not the scenario that we were hoping for! By the end of the hike, I could barely walk because my feet had become so painful; I had blisters on the balls of both feet and on the tip of one toe. Besides the blisters, my stomach was bloated and tender from all of the power gels, bars, and other sugar-laden food I had consumed.<br />
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Mike wasn't fairing so well either. About halfway through our hike I had run out of water (!) so Mike had to give me some of his, which made both of our intakes wane. Being that it was about 90 degrees outside, we had to consume more, so we quickly ran out of water. With about 5 miles to go, we found a swimming hole, cooled off, and drank some of that water. When we had finished and arrived at the car, we both had the feeling that our first long training hike was quite a disaster! We planned to do the same hike in 5 weeks to try and improve on our performance.<br />
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In between our 20 miles test hikes, my training intensified a bit. I added in shorter, sprint-style hikes in which I'd wear a 20# weight vest and hike at about 90-100% uphill for about 30 minutes. These hikes built my capacity to work at a higher output over an extended period of time. In addition to those sprint hikes, I added a couple of double days during which I would do Olympic lifting or other heavy lifting and a short metabolic conditioning session in the morning, then another metabolic conditioning session at night. On some days I'd swim or row in the morning, either as intervals or as a long, slow distance. One day I put in 13.2 miles on the rower at about 80% effort; another day I swam 24 x 25 meters underwater with 20 seconds rest in between each 25 meter swim. The days were varied, but I was always trying to build my work capacity in some way.<br />
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When it was time for our second 20-mile tester, Mike and I were better prepared all the way around. Instead of leaving mid-day in 90 degree heat, we left the parking lot at 6 am in 55 degree heat. We brought an extra 3 liters of water, and had refined our nutrition plan. I wore wool socks and had some "hike goo" on my feet so as to prevent blisters.<br />
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As far as nutrition went, for the second test hike my strategy had changed to whole foods with no added sugars or preservatives. Because I normally eat whole foods, I figured that I should stay the same for long events too. For fast sugar (a good balance of glucose and fructose) I brought squeezable "Ella's Organic" baby food (both fruit and vegetable mixes). This was both pure and easy to digest; it took the place of energy goos. For a fat source, I brought squeezable nut butter, mostly macadamia nut butter because I did not want to overload on the PUFAs in almond butter. In addition to the nut butter as a fat source, I also brought squeezable coconut butter and oil. A protein source that was easily digestible was a little harder to figure out, but I settled on making myself meatballs and meatloaf. The recipe was simple as to not upset my stomach: salt, pepper, olive oil, and organic green chiles.<br />
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Besides those primary sources of fuel listed above, I also brought along baked green beans, or baked zucchini for an added carbohydrate. As far as electrolytes went, many drinks like Gatorade, nuun tablets, and other energy drinks bug my stomach too (surprise!), so instead of drinking my electrolytes, I took "salt stick" salt capsules. The capsules are composed of magnesium, potassium and sodium, so they take the place of sugary electrolyte drinks. I took one pill every hour.<br />
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This hike went better! Mike and I took shorter breaks, didn't get blisters, and avoided dehydration. I also recovered faster and did not feel spent and tired for days following our effort. <br />
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After this hike, Mike and I had a few more weeks until the race, so we continued to train various modalities and skills and lift heavy. Some Sundays Mike and I practiced the CrossFit portion of the event since that was one of the few "knowns" in the challenge. Practicing the CrossFit portion gave us the opportunity to see how we would lift the log/railroad tie, and how we would break up reps. It proved to be valuable information when we had to do the challenge at 3 am during the race!<br />
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All in all, preparation set us up for an easier race. By no means were we great at everything, but we did not have any doubts going in, that we were weak in any one area. <br />
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Four days out from the race, we arrived at altitude (7,000+ feet) to try and adjust before the start. Three days out from the race we were doing sprint repeats, swimming easy, and walking in the hills. Two days out from the race I did a long hill run, some bouldering with Chris, and some swimming. The day before the race I ran and swam again. Because we took a few days to get used to the thin air, come race time we felt no ill-effects due to altitude.<br />
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After four months and a life time of training, Mike and I were ready to go!<br />
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-2988962427348457042013-04-29T18:21:00.000-07:002013-04-29T20:53:24.920-07:00Truth's Blessing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Would I have ever found out that American spaghetti is terrible had I not taught a class full of Italian girls who made me the best spaghetti of my life? Probably not.</span> </div>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>Truth's Blessing</b></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">In life, is knowing the terrible, dirty, truth and being sad about it, better than knowing nothing at all?</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br />This afternoon, as I was walking out of my classroom and into the sunny Santa Barbara afternoon, a student stopped me and asked an interesting question. </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Mei Lun, a student from China, asked me, "Teacher, why is it that American education is focused on telling students what is wrong and evil about society?" </span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">She continued, "In China, we always learned great things about our country. We learned about our long history, our dominance, our great abilities in art and science. We learned about innovative thinkers and artists. We learned about the value of communism and hard work. We were happy at school." </span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">She added, "Here (in the U.S.), I am afraid for my son to go to school, because I am worried that he will only hear terrible things. He will be afraid of the world instead of excited to be in it. He will become cynical."</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br />After Mei Lun told me her opinion, and asked me that tough question, "Why does the American education system focus on what is wrong with society?" I had to stop and think.</span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Here is what I said:</span>
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<span style="color: yellow;">"I think that the American education system reflects our culture. In America, we (the people) want to know what the problem is so we can fix it. In the most perfect Democracy, the people have the power to fix their own problems, so this system is reflected in the best educational settings. In China, I think the education system also mirrors the culture. There, the government deals with the problems, the people are not entrusted with that responsibility. So, I think systematically people are told the highlights and the problems are kept secret." </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Though this is a pretty simple analysis of two models of education, I think it conveys what, idealistically happens in both countries. Since I am not an expert in the Chinese system of education, I'll add to my thoughts on the American education system (the unbroken version).</span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />First, I think that the best schools and teachers in the American education system do not focus on what is bad and wrong with society, but they focus on the truth, and what students can do to make our society better. </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />In my classes, I tell students about issues that are important and eminent. I want students to know what troubles they will face, what issues are pressing, and what needs fixing in society. But I do not stop at educating students about problems. After I present these problems, I often try to go a step further and let students know what they can do to improve society. I want students to know that problems exist, and that they have the ability to create solutions and foster change.</span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Second, I think that in an ideal classroom/ educational setting, it is the responsibility of the educator to show students that life is not always perfect, and that they should have the skills needed to deal with a sour situation. </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />The reason why social studies and humanities classes teach about terrible things is because people need to know that these things happen so that they can stop them from happening. Educating people about the ills in society makes them part of those ills, for better or worse, and they must choose to do something (or not do something) about those things. The beauty in education is knowing what is going on in the world, and choosing what you want to do about it. </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Third, I'd like to think that by educating students about abhorrent occurrences, they will prevent them from happening in the future. </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Students are entitled to know what is going wrong, and what has gone wrong before in this world so that they can learn from those things and not repeat them. </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Though Mei Lun is long gone (I won't see her again until Wednesday), I want to tell her this: </span>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I hope that students have teachers who explain sad and difficult situations with thoughtfulness and courage. I hope that teachers do not shelter students from reality, but give them tools to deal with it, and then to make it better. I hope that students realize that truth is scary and sad, that the world is difficult, but that knowing this is true and knowing that reality is changeable, is a blessing.</span><br />
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-66616779471501345992012-07-08T09:08:00.001-07:002012-07-18T13:32:37.014-07:00Ever Changed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ever Changed</b></div>
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This morning I awoke to the call to prayer at 3:45 am and a dusty stream of light filling my room. The birds were chirping as the mullah sang, "Allah u AKBAR," into the mosque's loudspeaker. I thought, "how does that mosque always have electricity for that loudspeaker when most buildings around here have no power at all?" As I sat up in bed on my final morning in Kabul, and yearned for the cool California coastal air, I realized that Afghanistan has changed me forever.</div>
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Leaving the country this time, I understand that over the past two years, I have grown and experienced life in a way that makes it impossible not to be deeply affected by the things I have experienced, the things I have seen, the people I have met, and the things that I now know.</div>
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Splitting time between my country, America, and my second home, Afghanistan, has constantly reminded me of the beauty and luck that life holds. I didn't choose to be American, yet I was born into the privileged life that is mine. I am eternally blessed to be an American, to be a free roaming, freethinking, wild spirit and to be able to choose my own life, my own path, my own love, and my own home. I am blessed to wake up each day to a stable, war-free, clean-aired, organically farmed, absolutely beautiful country where I can drive myself anywhere I choose. I was born into a culture that accepts I am an independent dreamer, a woman who has no limits. I can do and be anything that I want to because I am an American. </div>
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After living here, I know that I will never be the same.</div>
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I will never take for granted those that love me. During my first year here I was lucky enough to meet Chris, my love. I was not looking for him, but I met him among the dust and concrete of his military base; we were both lifting weights. He is my match; my dream partner and I will never forget how he changed his own life to be with me. </div>
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Throughout my time here, my father and Cheril, my mother, brother and Aubrey, sister, Julie, Kat and Matt, Steph and Mike, Donny, Anne, Colin, and countless others continued to stay in contact with me; they never let me forget that my home is in America, that my life in America was waiting for me to return, and that I had a network of amazing family and friends who I could always count on. I will always love each and every one of them for their dedication and support.</div>
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Though my body will never be the same, though I come away from my time here having a much weaker immune system due to the constant exposure to unclean water, food, and air, I have never felt spiritually stronger. Though I know that I may get sick more easily, and that it will take time for me to regain the total health that I enjoy in the states, I would never trade my experiences here for that which I have gained. In giving up a tad of physical health, I have gained the mental strength to always be honest and true to what I believe in. I am tougher and more determined to be the best person that I can be, to take advantage of all that I have access to because I know that there are people far less fortunate than I am that will NEVER be able to live the life that I do.</div>
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I will also never forget the amazing people that I have met here. My friends here have taught me that even though life may be hard, even though life may look hopeless and desolate, there are people, and places to love in Afghanistan, there is the hope for a better future. Even in the most dire circumstances, Yosuf, Hadi, Nasir and their families, Parwiz, Ehsan, Rabia and her family, all of my friends at Eggers, Steve and Tara, Noor, Aisha, Sohaila, Muzhgan, Mustafa, and Aziza and many others have shown me that making the most of life, and continuing to fight for what you believe in is important.</div>
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There are countless realizations I have had, countless lessons I have learned, but now I must catch my flight to Dubai. Today, I leave this place behind and move on knowing that I will never be the same.</div>
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</div>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-70637067968645230242012-06-30T05:15:00.001-07:002012-06-30T05:25:13.451-07:00Beyond the Barbed Wire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "Raiders" fan in the heart of Kabul</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Students at Kabul Education University working in the new Student Access Center; an English Library.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palestinian dress, Kabul garden. Jaala enjoying the afternoon beyond the barbed wire.</td></tr>
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<b>Kabul: Beyond the Barbed Wire </b></h2>
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Kabul is a place full of contradictions. It is a land framed by barbed wire, filled with security forces, police, guards and guns; littered with trash and poverty, dusty from deforestation. Widows and homeless men beg in the streets, poor children sell tissues and ask for money as they wave incense in front of cars to ward off the "evil eye." Students rush through traffic to make it to run-down schools, most lacking libraries, computer labs, books, even running water. Sheep and their herders weave in and out of cars blocking the motorcade full of hummers rushing to get to their next base. Boys play soccer among the ruins of Darulaman Palace; girls cook at home, behind the protective compound walls.</div>
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But beyond the obvious police state, beyond the poverty and dust lies the most important things which cannot be seen upon first glance. Working beyond the barbed wire, the educated, the critical thinkers, the youth, the people who yearn and work for freedom and economic development are laying the ground work for a better reality. Beyond the gray skies and polluted water, there are clean ornamental gardens and thriving farms. Beyond the homelessness and abuse, there are non-profits, schools, and businesses run by Afghans who are all trying their best to educate the youth and give people a chance to become players in their own lives.</div>
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Being here for the third time in two years, I can see that although contradictions exist, my Afghan friends and colleagues are working hard to stamp out the negatives that pervade daily life. My former students and colleagues at Kabul Education University are a great example of this.</div>
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Two of my senior students from last year have obtained jobs in their own English Department as professors. They are trying their best to use new teaching methods; to be good examples for the pre-service teachers and students from other departments whom they are currently teaching.</div>
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Four more of my former students are going in to the final round of the Fulbright Scholarship process; they are all trying to go to the United States for two years to study for master's degrees in Education or Teaching English so that they can bring back the knowledge that they have learned and further educate their students here.</div>
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Many of the professors in the English Department at Kabul Education University have become involved in the first ever Master's degree program in TESOL (in Afghanistan), taught in English. Four of the professors are students in the program while many others are professors in the program. They all know that the more knowledge in their field they can obtain, the more effective they will be in making the education system better in Afghanistan. The current department head said it best, "Facilities can be blown up, computers can fail, paint can peel off, but the knowledge our students and teachers are getting can never be taken away."</div>
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Though the first thing that you see when you land in Kabul, Afghanistan is barbed wire wrapped around a dusty military complex, what you don't see beyond the barbed wire is what is most important. Each day, international civilians and military members work to re-build Afghanistan from the ground up. They do this by offering training to Afghans who can then extend their knowledge to others; this is the most valuable action being taken in the country.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy teachers ready to spread some knowledge at KEU</td></tr>
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Beyond the barbed wire the situation is improving; hopefully one day the walls and wire will come down, so the view of this promising country will not be obscured any longer.</div>
</div>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-32645650885440678472012-01-07T01:01:00.000-08:002012-01-07T02:02:07.528-08:00Cheers! Kabul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSlBm3_X-lE/TwgTjAeUXII/AAAAAAAAAg4/VDEnD8uGJrg/s1600/DSC09831.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSlBm3_X-lE/TwgTjAeUXII/AAAAAAAAAg4/VDEnD8uGJrg/s400/DSC09831.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694823220953504898" border="0" /></a>New subject, same students. Many of my old students are attending my new class; I guess they have missed me!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eln-hym08Ww/TwgS8Wu51tI/AAAAAAAAAgs/xIith8Cm8Bc/s1600/DSC09753.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eln-hym08Ww/TwgS8Wu51tI/AAAAAAAAAgs/xIith8Cm8Bc/s400/DSC09753.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694822556913751762" border="0" /></a>Graffiti on crumbling buildings with no plans for reconstruction.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4MMy_29f08U/TwgSMWwYV_I/AAAAAAAAAgg/QQeig0pwCwk/s1600/DSC09745.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4MMy_29f08U/TwgSMWwYV_I/AAAAAAAAAgg/QQeig0pwCwk/s400/DSC09745.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694821732286224370" border="0" /></a>Haven't I seen this guy somewhere before?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Being back in Kabul after a 4 month long hiatus is interesting. During this trip back, I have had many bouts of Deja Vu; the guards at my old apartment are the same, my driver is friends with my former driver, so he knows that I like to lift weights, the policeman at the gate at school remembers that I don't eat bread, so he didn't offer any to me when it was lunch time and I walked by (he offered chick pea soup instead), the old beggar lady in burqa outside of the grocery store told me she hasn't seen me in a longtime, the biting cold is still unbearable, the walk to Camp Eggers still haunts me, I can still smell the wood stoves burning across the street from my place, my students ask me how Chris is, and the azan (call to prayer) still shakes me from my slumber before dawn.<br /><br />Through all of these encounters, I can't help but think that I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."<br /></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">For those of you who are too young to remember, "Cheers" was a television show in the 80's about a bar in Boston. Norm was a regular at the bar and whenever he walked into the place, everyone would yell his name "Norm!" to greet him.</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /><br />The theme song to "Cheers" went like this:</span> <div><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br />Wouldn't you like to get away?</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /><br />Sometimes you want to go</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br />Where everybody knows your name,</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br />and they're always glad you came.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /><br />You wanna be where you can see,</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">our troubles are all the same</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br />You wanna be where everybody knows</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">your name.</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /><br />As funny as it may seem, I have been singing this song in my head ever since I got here. Though I didn't necessarily want to "get away" from the happy life that I live in the states, I did want to come back here to remember how wonderful my life really is. Just as I have written before, I think it is necessary for us to leave behind what we love in order to realize how amazing the things that we have are. So, I have gone away to Kabul to remember how lovely my life is in America.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">It is ironic that the place I have to go where everybody knows my name is Kabul. Afghans are awesome like that. They have the best memories of any people I have ever known. If you tell an Afghan something, they most likely will never forget it. But you have to be careful, Afghans expect the same from you! I remember that one student told me how many siblings she had, and what all of their names were. She felt bad later on when I asked her again about her siblings and what their names were. Testing her, I asked if she remembered all of the things I had told her about my family, and she proceeded to repeat all of the information I had mentioned the week before. So this, it ends up, is the place in the world where everybody (who has met me!) remembers my name. Go figure!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">And finally, here, everyone's troubles are the same. It is true, our troubles are all pretty similar in Kabul. From the poorest person on up, we are all cold, we all are hoping for clean air, clean water, and clean food, we are all hoping for peace. Though the foreigners here have all of these things outside of the country, temporarily they have to live alongside their Afghan counterparts and experience a fraction of their suffering. We all worry about suicide blasts, inclement weather, illegal checkpoints, and kidnappings. We all worry about money and time. We all go to sleep hoping to wake up to a better day tomorrow.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">So, as I wander through these familiar streets, consistently being greeted by people whom I know, always seeing things I have seen before, I can't help but think: I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."</span><br /></div>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-29771781536337508492011-12-05T13:21:00.000-08:002011-12-06T13:45:02.125-08:00Altitude Training<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVG7WGSRM48/Tt6Lg4PKakI/AAAAAAAAAgU/IM_nPH3jKro/s1600/DSC07483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVG7WGSRM48/Tt6Lg4PKakI/AAAAAAAAAgU/IM_nPH3jKro/s400/DSC07483.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683133176756202050" border="0" /></a>View of the hills from Babur Gardens, Kabul.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hR_wtCfpQmE/Tt6KqB1zsgI/AAAAAAAAAgI/BACRdFseicA/s1600/DSC08247.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hR_wtCfpQmE/Tt6KqB1zsgI/AAAAAAAAAgI/BACRdFseicA/s400/DSC08247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683132234441404930" border="0" /></a>Hanging out at Afghan Culture House, Kabul.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">With the absence of oxygen, a human will die. But, strangely, with just a little oxygen the human body will become stronger.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Ever since the 1968 Olympics, which were held at about 7,000 feet altitude in Mexico City, Mexico, people have been curious about what competing at or training at altitude does to the body of an elite athlete. Many people were worried that the decrease in oxygen available at such heights would adversely affect the performance of endurance athletes, but that the thin air would cause less air resistance and help out anaerobic (sprint-oriented) athletes. The hypothesis was roughly true; many records fell at the shorter distances during those games.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">After the Olympics though, the curiosity about altitude's affect on athletes did not fade. People began to realize that there are definite and measurable benefits to training at altitude and competing at sea level. While training at altitude, an athlete's red blood cells increase, VO2 max is heightened, and EPO also has been proven to increase. All of this means that an athlete's body adapts to working with less oxygen. When people who train and live at high altitudes return to sea level to compete, they are able to use the abundance of oxygen at lower altitudes to their advantage.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Though it happens slowly and for better or worse, an amazing characteristic that all humans possess is the ability to adapt to challenging circumstances.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">In two weeks, I will be doing a little altitude training of my own; I will be returning to the beautiful, yet tumultuous city of Kabul, Afghanistan.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Returning to Afghanistan is altitude training at its finest. Not only will I be pushing my athletic limits in the thin air of this 6,000 meter high land, I will be navigating the politically tense and economically depressed reality of daily life in a city that has been at war for three decades now.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Why am I going back to Afghanistan when I have just recently returned from a 10-month long teaching fellowship there? The short answer is, to teach. I have been awarded a grant by the Department of State to return to the University to conduct a teacher training workshop.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Another answer is, How can I not?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">How can I not return to a place that is in desperate need of education, when I have the skills to help, and the means to go there?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">How can I not return to a country that is at war, partially due to the fact that an uneducated and illiterate majority were strong-armed and conned into believing that the Taliban would rule them with a fair and objective hand, when I know that the education I can offer them will chip away at the ignorance which has landed them in this situation?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">How can I not return to a city that welcomed me with open arms, and asked me to be part of their family, part of their history, part of their lives as if I was their sister or daughter?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Being back in Kabul will be challenging. Not only will it be harder to breathe, but it will be harder to ignore the poverty and injustice that is rampant in that land. It will be a strain to feel the dust in my lungs, to see the bombed out buildings, to hear the widows begging for a cent or two, to listen to the sad stories of my friends. It will be a test of both the body and the spirit.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">But I welcome this experience with an open heart and mind. Just as the absence of oxygen will make me a stronger athlete, so will the testing of my spirit make me a better person. Being with my friends in Kabul, living their lives, knowing their hardships and their happiness, reminds me why life is so special. Without challenges, how would we ever know how good life is; without adversity, how would we know how strong we are?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">This is "altitude training" at its best. This is why I am returning to Afghanistan.</span>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-44395466403660981662011-10-19T21:19:00.001-07:002011-10-19T22:07:11.783-07:00The Passage of Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YIJRdeHwRVo/Tp-qRVcVzzI/AAAAAAAAAf0/koKVJd5pa9c/s1600/J%2Bbeach%2Bcarp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YIJRdeHwRVo/Tp-qRVcVzzI/AAAAAAAAAf0/koKVJd5pa9c/s400/J%2Bbeach%2Bcarp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665434071045885746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Wondering where all of the time went; Carpinteria, CA (2011)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8NKjKEJ-3Hg/Tp-phwOinhI/AAAAAAAAAfo/OuTvhyE7sd4/s1600/jordan_palestine_israel%2B008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8NKjKEJ-3Hg/Tp-phwOinhI/AAAAAAAAAfo/OuTvhyE7sd4/s400/jordan_palestine_israel%2B008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665433253602041362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sunset over Wadi Rum, Jordan (2007 with Global Majority)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Time is sneaky. One minute a watch breaks and the next minute you realize two months have gone by. One minute you are a ten year old girl riding a banana seat bike through the streets of a quiet neighborhood at dusk with your friend behind you grasping tightly to your shirt, and the next minute you are peeking through the curtains of an apartment building in downtown Kabul, wishing you were a ten year old boy flying a kite outside. One minute you are desperately hoping for the freedom you once had, the next minute you are remembering the endless hours of free time you loathed.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Time is sneaky like that. You never know when it is going to fly by or drag on. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">If I have learned anything in my life, it is that I can't forget to cherish time because each moment is precious in its own way, then it is gone like the sweet smell of rain on newly wet pavement as it disappears in the afternoon sun.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Yes, time is sneaky.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Though I don't remember quite when it happened, both of my watches ceased to work shortly after I returned from my one month jaunt in Italy. Panicked, I quickly figured out how to set my alarm clock on my cell phone. Thinking I would get a new watch battery as soon as possible, I forgot about my watches and went on with my life.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Shortly after both of my watches broke, I competed in my first triathlon since being back in the states. The morning of the triathlon I woke up (to my cell phone alarm, of course) and realized I had no way of keeping track of my pace during the race. A little worried, I took a deep breath and decided that it did not matter; I would do my best to keep my pace above an 85% effort. Listening to my body would be my goal.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">My body listened to the time, as it turns out.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Not only did I feel great during the triathlon, I managed to get a personal record in my 10 kilometer run at the end! After swimming 1600 meters in the ocean and biking 40 kilometers on the road, I ran the fastest 10k of my life (42:40). Instead of constantly glancing at my watch and feeling stressed about keeping pace, I just relaxed.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Time is funny like that, when you forget about it, it works in your favor. When you don't mind the passage of time, it seems to slow down.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">On the other hand, as soon as I start to worry about time, it speeds up.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">I have been back in the states for two months now, and I can't believe how the time has flown by. Each day I am busy with life here, going to one of three jobs, training for the Crossfit Games season, 2012, eating healthy, staying in touch with friends, enjoying the sun, ocean, and mountains of the central coast, spending time with Chris, trying to make time slow down.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Sometimes I worry that I will go to sleep one night, a young healthy 32 year old and wake up the next morning an older, healthy 72 year old. I worry that as the days pass by so quickly here, somehow time will sneak right away from me and I'll miss life.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-family: courier new;">Yes, time is funny like that. One minute you are sitting in a musty room in downtown Kabul, waiting for the sun to go down so you can justifiably go to sleep without feeling guilty for beating the sun to bed, the next moment you are frantically trying to complete work before the sun rises. One minute you are caged, stir crazy, going insane with so many empty days, the next minute you are glancing at a broken watch, wondering where the time went...</span>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-63687650176345077562011-08-27T12:35:00.001-07:002016-02-24T12:40:54.036-08:00Secrets of Naples<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PNwjlSMWcXI/TllSOIwv3-I/AAAAAAAAAfg/lfyY4mxdxpE/s1600/DSC09158.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645634010709221346" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PNwjlSMWcXI/TllSOIwv3-I/AAAAAAAAAfg/lfyY4mxdxpE/s400/DSC09158.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>The cliff is in the foreground. It is the shorter one, but make no mistake, it was really high!
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsDmRP25wf4/TllRynq5ctI/AAAAAAAAAfY/4ySXocmFzgs/s1600/DSC09162.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645633537969844946" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsDmRP25wf4/TllRynq5ctI/AAAAAAAAAfY/4ySXocmFzgs/s400/DSC09162.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>Why yes, I love to jump off of very high things!
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g18SHyu2TSM/TllRevJldPI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/Os3Da8sACMw/s1600/DSC09159.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645633196380222706" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g18SHyu2TSM/TllRevJldPI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/Os3Da8sACMw/s400/DSC09159.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Crowded much?
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">As the children chanted,"coward, coward, coward," and I watched with a disjointed glee as the last boy stood on the edge of the cliff, I floated on my back and gazed up at the sky. The boys treading in the water next to me stopped chanting and turned to give me multiple thumbs up...and then...with a, "AFANCULO!" that echoed off of the cave wall, the final boy flew like a cursing angel through the hot Italian afternoon and, PLOP! landed right next to me in the crystal clear water. I watched his bubbles precede him as he kicked to the surface and listened to all of the other boys shouting with joy. They couldn't believe they just jumped off that cliff. I couldn't believe I just jumped off that cliff! So, together, we swam around to the other side of the rocks, climbed up the front, ran along the top of the cave and...wooosh! Plunged over the 20 meter tall cliff again!</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">This is one of the secrets of Naples. Cliff-jumping.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">Upon entering Miseno Beach, also known as the NATO beach, a feeling of suffocation came over me. First of all, it was crowded. There were hundreds of people, umbrellas, beach loungers, ice cream and cafe stands, and pieces of trash. There was music blaring through the speakers (everywhere!); a samba line to the left, screaming parents slapping their kids to the right, an old hairy man in a thong speedo laying in front of me. It seemed as though I had entered a hell of my own making. An Italian beach.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">Regardless, with my eagle eyes (okay, I am blind, but I heard the screams...), I scouted out some cliffs about 1000 meters out in the water; there were people jumping off of them! I'd have to swim to get there; everyone had paddled out there in boats. Gauging the distance, I knew I could get there pretty quickly, so I went for it. I swam straight out to sea towards the boat buoys, then I turned left towards the cliffs. As I got closer and closer, I could see that the front side of the cliff wasn't too high. A lot of teenagers were climbing up the face and jumping off the rocks, so I did the same. I didn't understand why I had heard screams all the way from the beach, because this 10 meter tall cliff was not currently producing any screams. Then, just as I thought, "okay, I have had enough," I looked up and saw that some boys were standing higher up on the rocks. Were they jumping off the back side?!</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">Without thinking much, I followed some speedo-clad Italian teens up the rocks. There were about 10 or 15 teenage boys standing on the edge of the cliff, peering over. I walked towards them and immediately got butterflies. There was a cave down there; it looked to be about 20-25 meters below us. All of the boys were looking over the side and muttering to each other in Italian. I looked over the side and lost my breath. I thought, "The water looks deep, so I probably won't hit the bottom if I jump." I walked away from the side of the cliff laughing nervously.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">I reasoned with myself.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0); font-style: italic;">I couldn't jump! I just jumped off of some rocks on the Adriatic Coast a week before and hurt my ankle because the water was too shallow. Did I want to make it worse? I can't jump. Am I crazy? I don't know how deep the landing area is...I don't know how close I'll come to the rocks. I can't jump. None of the boys are jumping, they must know that it isn't deep enough down there. I could kill myself! I can't jump.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">Then, the breeze blew through my hair, the sun shined down on my face, the boys stopped talking, and all I could hear was the water lapping against the cliffs.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0); font-style: italic;">I am free to do whatever I want; I am going to jump.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">Breathing in deeply, eying the edge of the cliff, and looking towards the gap in between the boys standing in front of me, I started to sprint. As I got closer to the edge, I could see the cave below...then...air above me, water below me...I was flying! And screaming...loudly! I screamed that scream all the way out of my lungs, took another deep breath, thought about the lightness of my being at that moment and then..."crack!" I hit the water. I went deeper and deeeper, slower and slower, then the bottom greeted me; the sand was soft. I pushed off the bottom, broke the surface and screamed again. Looking skyward, I started giggling as boys were now plummeting over the cliff all at once. Boom, boom, boom!!! Three boys jumped right after me and joined me in the water.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">We all looked up towards the cliff where the other boy remained. With a little coaxing, he too became an apparition, flailing through the air and eventually smacking down in the warm, wavy sea. Once all of us were in the water, we swam around, climbed the rocks, and jumped again.</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0 , 0 , 0);">After I had gotten my fill of the cliff, I swam blissfully back to the crowded beach. At that point, I didn't care about the chaos surrounding me. At that point, I was free.</span>
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Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23620434.post-82125962168508991782011-08-07T08:00:00.000-07:002011-08-07T08:46:52.626-07:00Welcome to Naples<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5qE1w7nh2s/Tj6xwudhBhI/AAAAAAAAAfI/mKJmlZ1KZeU/s1600/DSC08500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5qE1w7nh2s/Tj6xwudhBhI/AAAAAAAAAfI/mKJmlZ1KZeU/s400/DSC08500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638139234178106898" border="0" /></a>Sunset over Naples<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R2kKwVGcRMY/Tj6w11bAtaI/AAAAAAAAAfA/__hAHxaHrUw/s1600/DSC08486.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R2kKwVGcRMY/Tj6w11bAtaI/AAAAAAAAAfA/__hAHxaHrUw/s400/DSC08486.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638138222434366882" border="0" /></a>Just trying to fit in!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BrCFITlYuAg/Tj6uHsZSIfI/AAAAAAAAAe4/QkU2qMjmXto/s1600/DSC08455.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BrCFITlYuAg/Tj6uHsZSIfI/AAAAAAAAAe4/QkU2qMjmXto/s400/DSC08455.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638135230713962994" border="0" /></a>I am sweating with anticipation.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEuAOCAVTII/Tj6p_6tBRbI/AAAAAAAAAew/fKzmnCGQUxs/s1600/DSC08482.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEuAOCAVTII/Tj6p_6tBRbI/AAAAAAAAAew/fKzmnCGQUxs/s400/DSC08482.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638130699069375922" border="0" /></a>Neghombo Beach, Ischia Italy<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Startled last night by an earth-shattering boom, I woke up smiling because I knew that I was not being stirred out of slumber by a possible Taliban attack or suicide bombing. Tossing my legs over the side of my bed onto the cool, clean tile of the apartment floor, I ambled over to the window and rolled up the garage-like shutter door and glanced over the water towards Naples proper. When I opened my sleepy eyes, I saw a fireworks display more elaborate than the fourth of July in any American town; apparently this is an everyday occurrence in this part of Southern Italy. With a sigh of satisfaction, I thought, "Welcome to Naples!"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The past few days have been an exercise in extreme opposites compared to my life about two and a half weeks ago. Here, it is strange to see a women covered by more than a stringy bikini on the beach, or wedge high heels, shorts (or a mini skirt) and a tank top in the city. Topless little girls ride their bikes in the street; their curly, sun-bleached hair blowing in the breeze, screaming with glee as they remove their feet from the pedals and let gravity take them where it may.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The grown-up ladies are strong, beautiful, and loud, and nobody gives them trouble about it. American women can take a lesson from the Neapolitan women, no matter what their shape or size, the women of Naples can all be seen letting it all hang out on the beaches. My friend Jess and I agreed that there are probably very few eating disorders and body image issues in this area. Why?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Reason one: the food is too good to care!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">From amazingly rich, yet light pastries, every flavor of gelato your heart may desire, to "mozerella di buffala," the pizza, OH! the pizza!, amazingly smooth olive oil, and mouth-wateringly-cooked meat of all varieties, all of it is too good to resist. Combine that with the crispy fresh produce and juicy summer fruits and you would stop restricting your diet too.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Reason two: the beaches are too good to care!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">As you can see by the picture above, it is absolutely beautiful here. The water is clear and warm; the fish curious; and the beaches clean. Though beach guards (or are they beach salesmen?) attempt to charge you for everything from your chair and umbrella to the sand where you put down your towel, being on a beach in the surrounding cities and islands near Naples is a little slice of heaven. There is no time to think about your butt rolling out of that thong bikini, you just slap on some tanning lotion (or oil?) and run for the sea, pizza in hand.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">That is what I will be doing!</span>Jaala Thibaulthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03125147589185552781noreply@blogger.com2