Anne the Vegan

Quotable Quotes for $100 Please, Alex!

Einstein edition

This is one of my favorite quotes:

“All religions, arts, and sciences are branches of the same tree.”
Albert Einstein

At the heart of humanity, we all have this deep craving to understand our world. We have so many questions that need answers, like why do bad things happen? Why do good things happen? Why is the sky blue? How do I make myself feel better?

The questions are as Infinite as the answers. But which answers are correct?

These questions indicate a curiosity that must be satisfied. Without avenues to reach an understanding and comprehension of our world, life as a human is, well, boring and unfulfilling. One only needs to read a book like Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury to empathize with this type of misery. We as humans are destined to be lifelong learners.

So exactly how do we explain our world?

We learned in school that Greek and Roman gods were created to explain certain unexplainable phenomena. After all, it’s easier to blame bad outcomes, natural disasters, or illness on a deity rather than yourself. Understanding this aspect of their culture was an essential part of understanding world history, I suppose. But I remember wondering why we spent so much time discussing this in school, especially when I learned in church that there was only one true God. (See, the indoctrination starts early in religion.)

Our overwhelmingly Judeo-Christian culture in the West certainly has this same flavor as the ancient Greek mythology. The Bible contains multiple tales where God punishes his people for something. Furthermore, some modern religious leaders manipulate the scriptures to support the hatred of certain marginalized communities and even ourselves. We are even taught that if bad things happen to us, it’s because we are not in God’s favor. We aren’t faithful enough or praying hard enough for Him to bless us.

As religions evolved, so did our expression of it. Art, music, and sermons can all be expressions of faith. In some modern religious sects, this is the only approved means of artistic expression; that is, if your creative notions are done in praise of the Lord. Sigh.

But other art forms can help us process grief or joy, convey information, or communicate desires or needs.

I’m a big fan of art. I love wandering an art museum, perusing local galleries, and drawing inspiration from the crafts of others. My artistic life has endured multiple phases: photography, scrapbooking, embroidery, tie dye shirt making, and mixed media. I enjoy them all.

Music, likewise, is a big part of my life. I loved singing in the choir in church when I was younger. I was even considering majoring in voice at one time. And my life’s soundtrack is based on the music of my teenage years and always will be.

But science is where I’ve found the most satisfaction in exploring my curiosity.

Science is exact. It’s factual. It can be proven.

The scientific method is an ideal way to approach all problems in life. You begin with a hypothesis, which is basically a guess about why a certain phenomenon exists. You are putting a question out into the universe, but with a plan, an experiment, to prove if it’s true or not. Then via quantitative or qualitative analysis, you can hopefully resolve the question.

As a student of biology and medicine, I feel most comfortable defending the world through the scientific method. It makes sense to me.

For many, however, science isn’t trustworty. It can be a topic that is not easily understood. And those who fail to grasp the basic concepts of science are more easily duped by the blind faith of religious teachings.

I was raised Southern Baptist by a father with a master’s in theology who was almost a pastor and a mother who was a biology major at a time when women were not supposed to be studying science. It was certainly an interesting mix of teachings, but my father taught me that the Bible was largely full of parables to teach the reader lessons about life. It’s not supposed to be taken literally. Thus, I was able to reconcile my knowledge of science with my faith.

One of my final questions on my final exam in undergrad was for my evolution class. Our professor asked us if we were religious, then how do we explain what we learned about evolution and our faith? My answer was, “It’s simple. Evolution is God’s will.” And this is what I believed for many years before I deconstructed from religion. But evolution is science.The story of Adam and Eve is a parable.

Our curiosity is the tree. We can root our knowlege in several ways: Art is a fun way to explore our world. Science is real. Religion exists to explain the unexplainable until we know better (at best) and is a tool for manipulating society (at worst). But all exist to help us understand and process life more easily, these branches reaching out stronger and longer the more we explore and the more answers we seek. This is Einstein’s tree in a nutshell.

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Thank you for reading about one of my favorite quotes. I will continue this series!

Do you have any favorite quotes? I’d love to hear about it!

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Top Ten Lies I Tell Myself About Marathon Training

Do you do this, too?

I’m training for a fall race. I don’t yet know what that will be, but since I help coach a novice marathon training team, I will be trained for a marathon or 50k distance.

This is my 10th marathon training season. I can’t believe it! I’ve learned a thing or two, and so now I’m sharing with you the lies I’ve told myself during training:

The first mile went great. This is going to be an amazing run!

If you learn anything from running big mileage runs, the first mile is a liar. It could totally suck, and then you end up having an amazing run after all. Or your entire run could fall apart for one reason or another.

My run only sucked because it’s too hot/cold/rainy/humid.

The weather isn’t the only reason that your run sucked. Could it have anything to do with not getting enough sleep? Or your nutrition? Or the beers you drank last night? Hmm…

I’m going to lose so much weight running all these miles!

Except that in order to train at this level, you must consume a copious amount of calories. Your body will not let you starve. You will literally start thinking about all the things you will eat after your run before you are even halfway done with that 16 mile training run!

At the end of a snatch lift. Olympic lifting is a fun way to strength train! Photo from author’s archives.

I can squat heavy the day before a run and it will be just fine.

Want to have some idea of what running the last 10k of a marathon feels like? This is how.

I don’t really need to break in these new shoes. They are the same as my last ones, so I should be good to go for my twenty miler today.

I’ve made this mistake once, and only once!

I can rely on whatever hydration and nutrition they have on the course of my big race. It will be fine.

Again, I’ve made this mistake once, and only once. The electrolyte replacement on the course of the Chicago Marathon in 2015, my second marathon ever, did not settle well at all! I now either train with what is on the course or bring my own.

If I’m still running this pace when I’m 80, I’ll finally qualify for Boston!

Note to self: I will not be running this same pace when I’m 80, I’m sure. Sigh.

My runner’s tan is super sexy…

Just ask my husband! I’ve had permanent tan lines from a racerback tank, bike shorts, and my Garmin running watch for about 10 years. Makes time on the beach really awkward.

My obvious line from my bike shorts I normally run in. Photo by author.

This little pain that started during my last run will magically go away once I get about three miles into my next run.

Ah, yes. The “I’ll just run it off” theory. Works every time!

Three miles on the trail equals five road miles.

My friends and I all tell ourselves this lie. Although technical trails require more effort and skill, it’s still not THAT much different.

We tell ourselves these little fibs to make us feel better about our training.

If you are training for a fall race like me, I hope it’s going well! Just remember to fuel your body nutritiously, sleep enough, and listen to your body. Remember your “why,” and picture yourself crossing that finish line! Cooler temperatures and crisper air are just around the corner.

Running with my team in 2019. Photo courtesy of Bill Draper.

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Lead photo is of some of my marathon medals. Photo by author.

What are some of the lies you tell yourself about your training? I’d love to hear about them!

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Is It Weird to Talk to Your Car?

Because I had to tell my old one goodbye

We went on many adventures in our twelve years together. But, alas, my girl had become incontinent of oil, and repairing the leaks would have cost more than she was worth. We had officially reached the “add oil every week and pray” stage of her life.

She was tired. And as much as I loved her, it was, sadly, time to say goodbye.

She was my first Honda. A CR-V. Highly inconspicuous, as there were so many of her kin running the roads. Anywhere we went, we’d see her twin. I made her more recognizable as mine by emblazoning her with stickers identifying me as a runner.

Yes, I’m one of those runners who brags about the races I’ve run and their distances. Of course, there was a 26.2 sticker. And thanks to a friend, there was a very special, chrome-laden 50k medallion as well. But her outward decor allowed me to quickly spot her in a parking lot.

I was heartbroken when she first showed symptoms of her struggles. I had just left an 18-mile run, proud of my accomplishment, but physically spent. As I accelerated onto the interstate, the dashboard suddenly erupted with multiple warning lights, kind of like a Christmas tree. The engine sputtered, and I knew we were in trouble.

We inched our way home as I crossed my fingers that she would actually make it.

“Come on, girl. We can do this!” as I coaxed her along the last few miles.

Shit. I was not expecting that. Especially since I’d just spent $800 nearly six months before on a new starter. The diagnoses of her new ailments cost nearly as much.

Sigh. It was time to concede: I needed a new vehicle.

This caused me great distress. Not only do I dislike change, but I also dread the investment in a big-ticket item that will certainly depreciate faster than I pour money into it.

In this market, buying a used car is just as expensive as buying a new one, it seems. And even though I have a friend in the industry, she struggled to find me something decent and affordable.

It killed me to drop so much money on a used car already out of warranty. I almost bought a Toyota in this category, but driving it felt like I was in a foreign country. It just didn’t feel like home.

The universe understood my predicament. Before I’d signed the paperwork, a million things went wrong with the safety features. The sale was canceled.

So, I didn’t settle for an outrageously overpriced used car. I spent less on a new one, and still a Honda.

Sure, the wait was long: nearly three months. But it was worth it. And when she arrived, I had to have a talk with my old car.

“Honey, you’ve done a great job. Your work is almost done, and then it will be time to rest. But first, I need you to make it to Alexandria with this nice man. It’s a two hour drive. Sure, they may end up donating your organs to other cars, but you will be giving life to worthy vehicles. And then you can rest!” I spoke to her as I gently stroked her dashboard.

She didn’t respond. I wonder if she was as sad to go as I was to see her leave.

For all of the quirks she’d developed over the years, she was a part of my life for over a decade, and I was going to miss her.

I was quick to point out my car’s funny little personality traits to my salesman.

“So, she vibrates a bit as you are accelerating from 50 to 60 miles per hour, so don’t be alarmed. And she doesn’t like tight turns. She vibrates with those, too. Also, she’s incontinent of oil. I just checked it, and you should be good. But there’s oil in the trunk just in case. But, hey, her AC works, and you’ve got a six-disc CD changer! And I also left you with a full tank of gas.”

The salesman was stunned that I’d filled it up. But my friend who was helping me find this car insisted that it would be really nice of me to do so. He was very appreciative.

Wherever she is, I hope that she is well. I still miss her, especially my CD player, but I’m finding things to love about my new car, too. For example, it has a functional key fob, it talks to my phone, and it has a backup camera. Oddities in my old life with my CR-V.

I especially miss not having a car payment.

Oh, well. Living in rural-ish suburbia, you must have a car to get to work. And you must work to be able to afford a car. It’s quite the conundrum.

My new car and I are bonding. We haven’t quite reached the relationship level of my prior vehicle, but we’ll get there. I enjoy the song she greets me with when I close the door and get ready to drive. I give her an approving tap on the dashboard when she accelerates well. She gives me feedback when I stray from my lane or get too close to another car. My only complaint is that her horn is a bit too timid for me. It’s way too polite, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. For now, she’s void of decorations. I’ll probably keep her this way for a while. And I’d like to think that she is already a fan of my iTunes collection! Even so, I still miss my old car.

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Have you ever had to say goodbye to a car you’ve had for over a decade? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Did Your Family Have a Cure All Remedy?

Mine definitely did

If you saw “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” you may recall that the grandpa used Windex to fix everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. What an odd remedy, right?

My family had a secret remedy, too. But I had no idea that families were defined by these.

In the Deep South, there are many divides based on cultural differences, and wound care was no exception:

Sweet tea vs. unsweet. (I was raised in an unsweet tea family. Scandalous!)

“Ant” vs. “Aunt.” (I have “ants,” while my husband has “aunts.”)

Coca-Cola vs. Pepsi. (My dad was born and raised in Atlanta. I’m from a Coke family by default.)

And the one that I didn’t discover until I met my husband:

Apinol vs. Campho Phenique.

I grew up in a Campho Phenique family. My husband? Apinol.

What are these strange, brand-name products, you ask? They are Mom’s answer to all skin irritations. Got a cut? Clean it with this liquid concoction, slap a band-aid on it, and carry on. Mosquito bite? Bee sting? HIves? All better with this stuff. Perhaps you bear the emotional scars from these yourself.

I imagine some old-timey medicine man in a traditional five-and-dime claiming to be a pharmacist came up with these remedies, much in the same way cocaine was once in the formula for Coca-Cola. It’s definitely got some snake-oil vibes.

Neither one smells very good. The camphor of Campho Phenique is unmistakable. And Apinol gets its antiseptic qualities from the power of pine oil. You might as well live in the forest wearing these scents.

My husband and I both have memories from childhood about these dreaded miracle liquids. I think our mothers still have the original bottles bought sometime in the 1970s when we were toddlers, still carefully tucked away in the medicine cabinet. They are so old that there are no expiration dates. It seems that these little containers could spontaneously regenerate their contents, as the bottles last forever. It’s a wonder that these companies are still in business because of this amazing quality, but they are!

My husband still shudders at the thought of his mother cleansing many a scrape with Apinol. Apparently, it stings so badly, it brought tears to his eyes. He tells stories about running from his mother every time this dreaded bottle appeared. I don’t remember Campho Phenique burning in the same way, but I’m sure it did.

Astonishingly, my mother-in-law never used Apinol on herself. Once, long after my husband and I were married, she cut her finger in the kitchen. My husband happily offered to clean her up and bandage it, using her trusty Apinol. She finally appreciated the burning sensation of the pine oil concoction for herself. She apologized to my husband for not believing his misery for all those years!

My memories of Capho Phenique are usually connected to mosquito bites or bee stings. I’m so sweet that our unofficial state bird of Virginia loves me more than the average human. And at least once a summer, I stepped on a bee as I ran barefoot through the unmowed clover. Minor traumas, but significant.

Sadly, or not, the use of these traditional ointments stopped with our children. But they listened to many a story told by us and their grandma about them!

The other favorite remedy that lived in our medicine closet was Aspergum. As the name implies, this was actually chewing gum with aspirin in it. It had a super tart orange flavor. I remember at least once faking a headache so I could have some.

These remedies are old school now. Not only are they out of trend, they may be dangerous! (More so in reference to aspirin disguised as candy!) Nowadays, we have grape-flavored children’s Tylenol and Motrin, sophisticated, no-sting wound care sprays, and Neosporin (even some formulas with lidocaine for pain relief). And these come with expiration dates! We even have cute band-aids emblazoned with favorite cartoon characters.

Wound care is so fun now, my kids used to fake boo-boos just to wear those super fun bandages. This generation will never understand the trauma of surviving mom’s snake oil remedies, and the faking of injuries is proof. But I suppose this is progress. After all, there’s no real pride in telling the stories of being terrified of medicine that stings.

Advances in medicine are welcome.

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What’s your family’s cure-all remedy? And what memories do you have of them? I’d love to hear your stories!

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Has Menopause Cursed My Sleep?

This is my midlife crisis

Oh, sleep. Where have you gone?

I’m exhausted. Each night I go to bed ready to sleep, and even despite the occasional accidental pre-gaming nap on the sofa, I usually fall asleep just fine. It’s when my bladder rudely awakens me or a super weird dream disrupts my peaceful slumber that I can’t go back to sleep.

Suddenly, it’s 4:00AM, and my brain wants to solve all of the world’s problems. But instead, it spins around in circles, anxiety swirling and taunting my thoughts. Somehow these made-up crises that I catastrophize never seem as important in the light of day.

All night I seem to switch positions like a rotisserie chicken, rolling from my back to my side, to my stomach, to my other side, and then all over again. Except I’m never done. A comfortable position is never found.

I spin so much trying to sleep that my nightgown usually gets tangled around me and becomes so claustrophobically uncomfortable that I have to consciously rearrange the garment.

Sure, I could sleep without one, but what would I do when a hot flash erupts? Instead of sweat being wicked off by my nightgown, I will drench my sheets. And then I’m cold, trying to rest in a wet bed for the rest of the night. It’s much easier to change my nightgown than my sheets…

And then there are the weird dreams. So. Many. Of. Them.

I dream about impassible highways, ripped up and exposing pipes, or a bridge that isn’t exactly leading anywhere, and I’m lost.

I dream of my husband having a trist with a super hot, twenty-something tart whose devotion to him includes making him a modern-day version of a mix tape. (I was mad at him for this for days in real life. He was impressed that I thought he could actually attract a twenty-something at nearly 50.)

I have nightmares about being trapped on an amusement park ride, surrendering to the nauseating spinning and torture, only to be rescued by my dad who passed away last year.

Other terrors involve adults leading experiments where children are performing dangerous surgeries on each other, with blood spattering and procedures with instructions like, “Ok, children. Now replace the human eyes with rabbit eyes!” and seeing the wide eyeballs of toddlers peeking out from under a drape, the sheer terror evident in their expressions.

I dream of being in another body, yet still me, and feeling exquisitely gorgeous enveloped in my new, chocolate brown skin.

Sometimes I’m the subject of another man’s affections, and I don’t want the dream to end, yet my alarm rudely awakens me.

I’ve always had vivid dreams, but my brain has reached peak creativity lately.

If it’s not dreams or my bladder waking me up, it’s my itchy skin. Yes, this is a sign of menopause, too. And since the sensation of itching travels on the same pathways as pain, it’s no wonder how annoying a sensation it is. No amount of lotion or anti-itch cream seems to alleviate the discomfort. I succumb to taking a Zyrtec every few days to manage it.

It’s apparent that my midlife crisis is a lack of quality sleep. And I’m not alone. It’s pretty well documented that perimenopausal and menopausal women have trouble catching zzz’s, as many as 60% of women have this problem.

Despite this documented issue, there seems to be little actual research about the hell that is menopause or what to do about this sleep problem, other than the normal advice given to anyone suffering from insomnia.

Sleep hygiene. Blah, blah, blah. Don’t drink caffeine or alcohol. (Seriously, what of life’s guilty pleasures are left?)

I even heard an OB-GYN complain on social media about how little time they spent learning about how to manage the end of our reproductive years. Comforting, for sure.

The lack of research seems to imply that once our uteruses are spent, women aren’t valuable anymore. Not surprising given the sudden interest in regulating our wombs. Apparently, it’s not worth trying to figure out how to make our lives more bearable as we age. We’ll be dead soon, anyway. But, please, let’s spend some more money on figuring out how to improve the erections of old men. Now that’s a project that definitely deserves a hefty budget (insert eye roll here).

My waning estrogen levels are causing me great distress. Between my hot flashes, anxiety, itching, and super freaky dreams, it’s a wonder that I sleep at all. But something really needs to change!

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Are you besieged by menopausal symptoms, too? How are you managing? I’d love to hear about it.

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus: Book Review

It’s a must-read!

The first of my reads on a rare vacation, I was lucky enough that one of my colleagues loaned me a copy of this book. I typically read a popular book long after the hype about it has died down. But not this one.

To say that I loved this book would be an understatement. It’s simply one of the best pieces of fiction I have ever read. Intelligent, funny, and engaging are just a few of the words I would use to describe this novel.

I read all 390 pages in three days.

Elizabeth Zott is a character every woman can cheer for; the heroine you didn’t know you needed. Fiercely and unapologetically independent, Bonnie Garmus uses her story to comment on the patriarchy. But not in a woe-is-me aspect. As in a taking-the-world-back-from-those-who-choose-to-silence-women way. And she is extraordinary.

There is so much about this book that I found relatable. As a scientist myself, I can appreciate the explanations of chemistry and the logic of science, as Elizabeth is a chemist. As an assault survivor, I can relate to her personal trauma. As a mother, I can appreciate the way Elizabeth approached raising her own daughter. As someone who has recently deconstructed from her religious upbringing, her honesty about her unreligious nature is refreshing. And yes, there is an unlikely love story as well.

Garmus’ writing is hilarious, and there were numerous times when I laughed out loud and had to repeat a passage out loud to my vacation companions.

I loved Garmus’ approach to storytelling. We were inside the minds of each character, witness to their internal dialogues, including one very intelligent dog named Six-Thirty who somehow amassed a fantastic vocabulary of over 600 words. To have an author respect the family dog in such a way warms my vegan soul.

Ladies, if you have ever felt held back by a world created to favor men, this is a must-read. Men, if you’ve ever wondered why women seem so disgruntled much of the time, this is a must-read for you, too.

Run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookstore and buy this book. I will definitely purchase one for my personal library.

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Have you read this book? What did you think about it?

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

What’s Old to Americans is New in Europe

How old is old, anyway?

One of our tour guides in Oxford scoffed at our group’s idea of old, as she casually pointed out that one of the buildings we were standing beside was built in 1249 and was a stunning example of Gothic style.

What do you consider old?

I’m an American. When I think of something being old, my memory is drawn to a visit to Colonial Williamsburg, where the Wren Building on the campus of William and Mary is the oldest academic structure in the United States. It was built in 1695.

My husband is an avid relic hunter, and some of his discovered pieces of history date back to colonial times, including Spanish coins and English shoe buckles.

In my recent travels to England, I was prepared to see old things, but the fact that some structures have been in existence since the 1200s seems unfathomable. Yet I witnessed them with my own eyes.

I was lucky to pick up some English relics for my husband in Stratford-upon-Avon, including a coin from the 1200s during Henry III’s reign, and a Roman coin from the 6th century discovered in town. Now that’s old!

A modern high-rise building stands tall next to the London Tower Bridge. Photo by author.

Traveling to the more cosmopolitan city of London means observing the stark juxtaposition of highly modern, sleek high rises next to staunchly traditional government structures like the Parliament.

Almost everywhere we went in England, there were scars from World War II. Whether it was generational stories passed down from loved ones or actual puncture wounds in bricks from the scatterings of bombs and bullets, the evidence was clear. Europe is still in recovery from this trauma.

As Americans, I doubt many of us can appreciate this fact. The only wars waged on our own soil were really during the Revolution and against each other during the Civil War. Of course, some people here still think we are fighting for the Confederacy, proudly waving their flags as if the South won, but they are delusional.

My recent visit to England was a theater-themed trip with a travel group and was booked through my daughter’s school. Their theater history is vibrant.

The number of fires suffered by multiple theaters is astounding, and it was usually from stupid things like lighting fireworks inside for special effects during a show. I guess that lesson wasn’t learned the first time, as it happened numerous times in many theaters!

I won a trivia question when we were shown the largest door in the world. It happened to be to the backstage of a theater. I knew from my own education as a drama nerd that the colossal opening was to allow for backdrops to be installed easily. The young adults on the trip were mildly impressed with my knowledge.

The tallest door in the world. In the theater district in London. Photo by author.

Connected to theater history here is the birthplace of Shakespeare in Stratford-upon-Avon, which was my favorite small-ish town visit of the trip. We also got to see Mrs. Shakespeare’s childhood home, that of Anne Hathaway.

The guides here taught me so much about where some of our common names for home structures and some table manners arose. For example, the threshold got its name literally, from “holding” the “thresh,” hay used to line the slate floors in winter to keep the home warmer. The rule of no elbows on the table came about because early dinner tables were simply a slab of wood set upon a platform, and if you leaned on it, you’d end up wearing your meal! My mind was blown.

The childhood home of Anne Hathaway (Mrs. William Shakespeare, not the modern actor!) Photo by author.

During our ventures, I got the sense that Europeans take pride in their history, how old some of their buildings are, and even sharing the scars of enduring world wars. They like to point out how “young” America is. Old to us is yesterday for them, considering the depth of their history.

If you look at the oldest structures in America, many of them were actually created by Native Americans, and yet we still look to those built by Europeans and their slaves as what qualifies as old here. I often have difficulty reconciling my feelings about being a descendant of original colonizers. The fact that the United States was colonized by Europeans means our history has some ugly parts to it, indeed.

I do feel very lucky, however, to have grown up in Virginia, a place with much history, a place where our Founding Fathers once walked, and also to have been able to visit the birthplace of my ancestors, the country from which my people immigrated.

I loved seeing the old and traditional mixed with the sleek and new in Europe. It was unexpected. But I also appreciated the difference between European “old” and American “old.” It’s a lot to digest and consider, but it is amazing and beautiful.

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Have you ever traveled to another country and been struck by societal norms of “old” and “new”? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Yes, I Run Without a Shirt Sometimes

Modesty, be damned!

Ugh. It’s another hot summer day, and I need to fit in a training run. But the great debate continues to be: do I wake up super early and run when it’s warm and extremely humid, or do I take my chances on the sun and wind to burn off some of that stickiness and wait until after work to run, even if it will be hotter?

Neither sounds very appealing. Am I right?

Some mornings, the humidity is so thick that it seems like with each breath, you are knitting a new row of a sweater lining your lungs. These are the days that you sweat, and it can’t go anywhere. Where the only appreciable breeze is the one you create yourself as you try to swim (ok, run) through the swampy air.

But afternoons can be humid, too, and blazing hot. Running into dusk is better than midday, for certain, but that sun can still be brutal. At least by this time of day, some of the humidity is gone. Even moving down from 97% humidity to something in the 70 percent range is a blessing.

Maybe it’s that climate change suddenly feels extremely real this summer with the record heat and humidity, or perhaps it’s just that in my old age, I don’t care what people think anymore. Still, I’ve become pretty comfortable running in just a sports bra and shorts on hot days.

You might be thinking, “Oh! How can you expose yourself like that?” Eh. Well, I’m still wearing more than most people wear at the beach.

Maybe your concern is, “But you are almost 50! Aren’t you too old to dress like that?” Have you ever heard of menopause? Sometimes I get overwhelmingly hot when I’m not even running. Imagine how hot I get when I’m exercising! And I’ll refer you to my earlier statement: I’m just too old to care anymore.

The other day I went for a run in my neighborhood. One of my male neighbors was sitting out on his porch, hanging out with friends and family and drinking a beer. He yelled, “I wish I were doing what you’re doing!” I yelled back, “No, you don’t. It’s not worth it!”

I brushed off his statement, choosing to take it as a compliment instead of a heckle. Surely he wasn’t commenting because of my attire, as I was in my sports bra and high-waisted bike shorts.

Besides my perhaps unappreciative neighbors, I also tend to run by a church that happens to be very fundamentalist. I keep waiting for the pastor to come out and say something to me about my lack of modesty. He never has, but I have a speech ready for him.

If someone doesn’t like what I’m wearing, they can look the other way. I am dressing for comfort, not for attention, and certainly not to be sexy. I just want to be a bit cooler when I run!

Modesty is a social construct. Climate change is a reality. And if men can go for a run with no shirt on to beat the heat, women can, too.

So, ladies, if you are more comfortable in your sports bra, do what you need to do to beat the heat. Because it doesn’t look like it will be cooling down anytime soon.

With my friends at my one and only Ragnar trail race. It was brutally hot and humid! And, yes, I was just in my bra and a skirt! Photo courtesy of the author.

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Are you a female runner who is struggling to beat the heat? Do you run in just your sports bra when you need to? I’d love to hear your opinion.

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

Can We Blame Ayn Rand for the Selfishness of Americans?

I had no idea the author was so controversial

My daughters and I are avid readers, so taking multiple books on vacation is a given. For my recent trip to London, my older daughter suggested that I read one of her favorite books: Anthem by Ayn Rand.

Of course, I waited until the last minute to find a copy before my trip, but I was pleasantly surprised to find it in my local Barnes and Noble. The associate who helped us seemed a bit surprised that someone was searching for that title, but she did manage to find a copy in their bargain fiction setting.

This should have been a clue that I may not like this book. But since it’s a favorite of my daughter’s, I really wanted to read it.

In the first part of my trip, my reading was occupied by the first in the Bridgerton series. Whoo! What a book. But I managed to finish Anthem during the flight home.

The juxtaposition between the historically fictional (enjoyably smutty) romance of Bridgerton and the stark and desolate dystopia depicted in Anthem is not lost on me. I went from a world of privileged lovelies and hot sex to something more like Divergent or The Hunger Games.

Since my daughter is also a fan of these series of books, I’m not surprised by the appeal of Anthem, a tale of a communist society where people are separated into categories of jobs, and all traces of modern life are absent. The “old ways,” including electricity and practicing individual freedoms, were gone.

The protagonist did not fit in the mold of this society, questioning everything. And even though he wanted to be assigned as a scholar, he was relegated to being a street sweeper.

His life was destined for monotony until he found a secret underground tunnel with traces of the modern “old” ways, and he also fell in love. These two things give him hope, which we all know is a dangerous drug in dystopian fiction.

The pronoun used in the book is “we.” There was no “I” until the end when the protagonist broke free from the shackles of his society.

I think my daughter’s love for this book comes from its similarities to her other favorite dystopian novels and the sense that we could root for a hero to escape.

Apparently, though, the focus on individualism and self-interest are common themes for Ayn Rand, with titles like The Fountainhead and The Virtue of Selfishness among her works.

Do you remember that one scene in Dirty Dancing when Baby confronts Robbie, the creepy rich waiter, and she asks him to help Penny pay for her abortion of his fetus? And he pulls out a copy of The Fountainhead to justify his unforgettable line, “Some people matter. Some people don’t.” That’s about all l knew of The Fountainhead before reading my first book by Ayn Rand.

Scrolling my news feed the other morning, I came across an interesting article by a clinical psychologist about Ayn Rand, and it was a bit shocking. It’s definitely worth reading, especially if hearing about sordid love triangles is intriguing to you.

The author accuses Rand of convincing many Americans that selfishness is justified, going as far as to blame her for our current state of affairs politically. Some conservative politicians have even referenced her books as sources for their philosophies on governing, justifying a love for capitalism and a lack of altruism.

I wonder if those who are getting their panties in a wad over book banning would let hers remain? My guess is that since the great Ronald Reagan claimed to be a fan, they would.

Lucky for me, I had a nice long run with one of my running partners right after reading this article, and she is likely one of the few people in my circle of friends who could have had a serious discussion about Rand for over two miles!

My curiosity is piqued. I’m not going to go out of my way to pick up my next copy of one of Rand’s books, but if I come across any of her other titles while thrifting, I’ll have to buy it and read for myself.

For me, the jury is still out on whether or not Ayn Rand is responsible for the selfishness of America and the justification of greed. It’s most interesting that Ayn Rand was born in Russia and immigrated to the US when she was twelve. How compelling that a feminine, atheist, Russian voice could be so influential on the conservative movement in America. That clinical psychologist certainly makes a worthwhile argument in favor of this opinion.

Ah, the power of books.

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Have you read any books by Ayn Rand? What did you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.

I’m Addicted to Skittles!

But will tasting the rainbow kill me?

My addiction began innocently enough.

“Taste the rainbow!” a school aged girl urged as I passed her on the course of the One City Half Marathon in 2020. Ooooh… Skittles! They sounded delicious. I took two fun-sized packs.

Over halfway into the race at that point, I was grateful for the sugar rush. And, wow, tart and chewy candy never tasted so good!

I’ve never hated Skittles, but they were also never on my radar as a must-have candy until that race, even though I love fruity, chewy candy. I took to eating these during my races as a backup source of glucose.

I suppose I can blame this relatively newfound addiction on that kind little girl.

It didn’t help that these are handed out at one of the aid stations during the Blue Ridge Marathon. I look forward to getting cups of these every time I’ve run the race!

My run club, the Richmond Road Runners, also hands these out on the Richmond Marathon course at around the halfway point. The promise of these is a great incentive for me to run out to their tent and hang out for a bit as I coach my team through to the next stage of their race.

When I began working at my current place of employment, it was part of the office candy that was ordered for us, along with M&Ms. Except that milk chocolate isn’t vegan. But Skittles I can have!

We also periodically have a snack cart that hospital administrators take around to employees to cheer us up. And, yes, full size bags of Skittles are on the cart, and one of the few vegan things they include as choices.

Recently I’ve taken to munching on these as I type my notes. It really seems to help me get through this tedious process a bit faster.

Are these healthy? Absolutely not! Any candy is really a waste of calories. But there was some recent controversy over the chemicals used in the candy, some of which are deemed toxic to humans. Lovely.

Titanium Dioxide is the main culprit, used as a whitening agent to make the rainbow of Skittles colors brighter. It is a known carcinogen.

Even more notable is that this food additive has been banned in Europe. One of my few regrets when I was in England was not trying the Skittles there!

In the US, however, titanium dioxide is a common food additive in many processed items on the shelves of our grocery stores. It seems almost unavoidable in our food supply unless you only eat whole foods.

I broke myself of the habit of eating Skittles for a while, but I was recently tempted and bought a big bag during my last grocery store trip. Sigh.

There is no doubt that consuming ultra processed food is not good for you. But I do eat plenty of very healthy foods! Skittles definitely isn’t on that list. But they are one of my few food vices, especially when documenting at work or while running long distances!

It seems I’m destined to be addicted to tasting the rainbow for now.

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Do you have any foods that you seem to always crave? I’d love to hear about it!

Lead photo by author.

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.