Bordentown's St. Patrick's Day 5k in Review

This was not one of my best races. In terms of my training cycle, I am just coming out of my winter hibernation – fattened and slow. February is a tough month to run for maintenance, much less to gain new ground. There was no doubt in my mind that I was coming into this race cold. Jon was registered to run a 5k that morning in his local. I was without my friendly competition.

Take away my training. Take away competition. What’s left? Answer: apparently not much. However, this is a hometown race and tradition takes priority over my shortcomings. The only answer was to make this the best race that it could be, despite these obstacles.

They say that a race is 10% perspiration and 90% inspiration. This certainly proved to be the case back in November, when I shattered my 5k record with a little speed training and the right attitude. Just push past that zone of comfort and go for it. This was a game of the mind. Following the new tradition, I positioned myself toward the front of the line. I was going to pace myself with the front-runners for the first mile, and run with guts through to the finish.

On that bitter March morning, the starting gun crisply ignited, reverberating through the leafless tree-lined city streets. Instinct – I push through the crowd not wanting to get caught up in a snag of runners. Then it all hits me within the first block: my lungs loose wind and right-shoulder cramps. To make matters worse, I get a side stitch within the next block. My running stride turns askew, as I lob side to side trying my best not to agitate my condition.

It is times like this that ditching one goal for another becomes a wise move. I am no longer worried about running for time; rather, this becomes a fight just to stay in the race. There is beauty in pushing yourself beyond the imaginable limits… on a good day. Today I am miserable – cold, in pain, knowing that I haven’t even hit the one mile marker. It takes guts not to quit, not to give up, especially knowing that you are running one of your worst races in recent history.

There isn’t much to say for the run itself. I tried all my running tricks: visualizing, pacing with another runner, breathing techniques, water breaks. Nothing could cure my ailments. I wobbled toward the clock, running with all the courage I could muster inside. I crossed the line at 24:50, clocking about an eight-minute mile.

Tags: Bordentown, 5k, race, running

MySpace - Private as Public

I’ve attempted my best to segregate my social online persona, “Janalon”, from my professional identity. My Janalon profile is sparse at best- no personal contact information- only a short list of books, movies, and interests. I Googled my real name and Janalon username a half-dozen times to verify these two identities don’t intersect; thereby keeping my public life private.

Wake one morning to discover a half-dozen of my students stumbled across my Janalon MySpace account requesting to be my friend. Somehow, someone triangulated enough information to connect me with this alter-ego. With a blog and personal email account associated through MySpace, I went berserk. This wasn’t a matter of privacy. If I wanted private, I would have stayed offline. It was the fact that these students requested to be my “friend” in a social, and not professional, setting.

They crossed a fine line. Is it appropriate for students obtain my home phone through the phone book and call me? NO! How about locate my home address, and then visit my house? NO! There are clear boundaries that dictate what is and is not appropriate behavior. Just because my phone number or home address is listed in the phone book is not an invitation for them to contact me outside of school.

My moral reflexes immediately responded. I shared the incident with my wife. Spoke with the school guidance councilor. Contacted the school principal. The students were declined and banned from further contact. In turn, filed a report with our school police officer to document my response if any further questions should arise. Not a problem, situation was handled. What shocked me was how my colleagues responded.

The thirty-plus crowd questioned why I was on MySpace in the first place, especially in light of recent news reports and flyers sent home about Internet predators. They strongly suggested that I delete the account. The thirty-and-under crowd shared with me a similar incident, and questioned why I went as far as filing a police report. They supported my right to participate in legitimate online communities. The contrast was startling between these two crowds.

Consider this dilemma. My I took necessary precautions towards privacy, and drew a fine between personal and professional online personas. If I delete the account, I rescind all of the privileges of using the Internet to my social benefit. There go my discussion forum accounts, my blog, my IM, my multiple email accounts. If I stay, I risk surveillance by students and parents alike. Not to mention that many others in that under thirty crowd also have MySpace accounts. I can't be the online one to experience this.

For now, I am making a compromise. I will retain the Janalon MySpace account; however, it will be stripped of all information: friends, interests, favorite music, etc. It will stay dormant until I’ve thought all this through.

Tags: MySpace, Internet, education, teachers, students, privacy

Good Luck is the Result of Hard Work

A classroom motivation poster read, “Good Luck is the Result of Hard Work,” and I wholeheartedly believe it. During the past few years, I’ve worked myself to the bone, and some great opportunities have availed themselves along the way.

This year I applied to the Computers & Writing Online Conference with success. Now I aim for two more accolades: a scholarship to finish my graduate program, and teacher of the year. These awards require a combination of applications, reflection essays, nominations, and letters of recommendation.

I spent roughly 20 hours writing essays during the last ten days. At an average of 2 hours per day, this doesn’t seem like much. However, take into consideration two nights are reserved for grad school, and another night for music lessons / band practice. The writing task was completed in four or five marathon writing sessions.

Right now I am mentally exhausted. Unfortunately this essay-writing spree replaced the time it would take me to read 200 – 300 pages of my graduate work. There are only so many hours in my day. Considering that I work until 9 or 11 at night (both weekends and after work), there is little time for anything else. I even have to set aside work to get other work done. I’m sure that my wife is (im)patiently waiting the day I graduate.

For now- two out of three isn’t bad. Several other quality teachers were also nominated for teacher of the year. I wish them the best. The nomination in itself is reward enough. I have my fingers crossed on the scholarship money, as every last dollar helps. Until then, I’ll wait with my hopes set on the things to come.

Tags: good luck, work

The Moral Life of the Cafetorium

On paper, lunchtime lasts exactly 29 minutes, with five minute of locker time before and after. Thirty minutes seems like reasonable amount of time to eat lunch, chat with a few friends, and enjoy some downtime. Anything looks good on paper.

Minutes before the lunch bell rings, students slide to the edge of their seat, packed and ready to go. The posture of the class suggests they are ready to steal home base. Bang- the bell tolls and students take off. They race out the door, head first into hallway congestion. With no discernable traffic pattern, the collision of students better resembles the final battle scene in Henry V. Lockers are approximately three feet wide, with one row of lockers stacked upon another row. Students push and shove, vying for position. Those that either arrive late or don’t assert their position wait on the sidelines until a space opens. The hallways finally begin to clear out, five minutes into the lunch period.

The aggressive students dart down through crowded halls and inevitably arrive first to the lunchroom. Teachers monitor the hallways the best they are able. A few students are given verbal warnings as the majority stampedes their way to the cafetorium. At best, this game is survival of the fittest. The faster students arrive to the cafetorium first.

First to the lunchroom means first in lunch line. The benefits are plenty: shorter wait time, fresher food, and more availability. After all, who wants to find strands of shredded lettuce in the chocolate pudding, or find all the forks are gone? First in line means first to be seated, and, therefore, have more time to eat and chat. Stragglers mosey into the lunchroom; the later they arrive, the slower they walk. Tardiness means standing in long lunch lines for as long as 10 minutes. Considering these students were already late to lunch, there may only ten minute left in the period before they have the opportunity to eat.

The school lunch provider is privately owned and run for profit. They cater lunch offerings based on what turns a fast dollar. Pizza is the first item in line, immediately followed by French fries. The “salad bar” is Spartan: shredded lettuce and tomatoes. Cookies, chips, and novelty ice cream are the last station in line. A carton of milk comes with the lunch fare, but many students opt for Snapple. Amazing, the cafeteria company sends a menu home every month via backpack express. This document shows a balanced and planned meal every day, and professes the benefits of healthy choices. In contrast, cafeteria workers allow the students to purchase a triple serving of French fries and a sugar drink for lunch. This is more the norm than naught.

The cafetorium visually appears as awkward as the word sounds. It is a multi-purpose room: gym, stage, and cafeteria. Every day, three lunch periods a day, 900 students cram into that room. In the larger lunches, there are hundreds of students monitored by a dozen teachers and lunch aides. Even if every student were only to whisper, their voices still chorus into a roaring noise. The size of the table doesn’t help. At six feet in diameter, it is nearly impossible to converse with the person seated directly across from you. Rather, they must shout to be heard by their neighbors. It is no wonder the students try to get up out of their seat and sneak over to talk with their friends. It is in vogue to sing happy birthday at the top of their lungs, and it seems like someone has a birthday each and every day.

The lunchroom monitors police the cafetorium, ushering students back to their seat. Occasionally the situation will get out of hand, and a teacher will take a microphone to take control of the students. They must thoroughly clean their immediate area before dismissal. The monitors dismiss one table at a time to stagger the amount of students that pour back into the hallway. Some students are left behind to finish their meal or clean the messes they made.

There is the implicit curriculum of the lunchroom- what isn’t directly taught, but can be implied. The physical environment and explicit rules communicate morality to the students. What does it mean that students learn about the food pyramid in health, only to be provided junk food for lunch? Or to learn about propaganda techniques of the advertising companies when brand names like Doritos and Snapple are sold in the lunchroom. What message do we send about downtime, social conversation, and civility when the lunchroom demonstrates otherwise?

Tags: education, cafetorium, cafeteria, junk food, morality