I’m lying here in a hotel room in the historic district of Montreal, Ontario, Canada staring at the “Mazda Lifestyle Drive” mascot or character and trying to figure out what to name him. Chris, the man behind @MazdaUSA and @Mazda2USA, declared at dinner that I could suggest a name for him but all I can think about is how I’m going to turn him into the roaming gnome of Travelocity fame.

What am I doing in Montreal anyway?

I have been invited by the amazing folks at Mazda USA to take part in the “Mazda2 Lifestyle Drive.” Tomorrow morning (Saturday), they’re unleashing a team of nontraditional media (bloggers, forum moderators, and other influencers) into the streets of Montreal with fresh-from-the-factory 2011 Mazda2 cars.The goal is to be one of the first people in North America to drive and experience Mazda’s new product and share the details with you, some will have to be withheld until after the press embargo is lifted on June 25th. Rumor has it there’s a photo contest between the participants and the details will be shared with us tomorrow morning before being introduced to the cars. Accompanying me on this experience is my husband and writing partner who has already published a brilliant prologue to this event on his blog.

So stay tuned!

There’s a lot of fun in store for us in the next 24 hours. We’re going to try and keep you posted via Twitter, so be sure to follow me and John over there, or the conversation #Mazda2.

Zoom-Zoom, my friends!

Full disclosure: Mazda USA is providing travel and accommodations for this trip, The Mazda2 Lifestyle Drive Experience. Thoughts, reviews, and opinions are still my own.

At some point in their life, everyone has had the desire to fly, but rarely do they get the chance, and take it.

On March 25th I had the chance to learn to fly as part of the Twestival Seattle which was appropriately held at Emerald City Trapeze. One of the sponsors donated about 60 spots for “air time” and rumor on the trapeze floor was only about 20 people signed up. The event itself was amazing―the Seattle Social Media community came together to raise money for Concern Worldwide, an international humanitarian organization dedicated to working with the world’s poorest people to transform their lives. In one night, we raised about $10,000 dollars!

Back to the air trapeze, especially an abbreviated lesson like this one, was closer to swinging than actual flying except for the fact that I was dangling by my arms and hanging in the air (this is where all of those CrossFit workouts come in handy). The scariest part was climbing up the ladder and standing on the perch which was the width of a bleacher seat. Let’s just say that cold steel is a little hard to grip with nervous, sweaty bare feet (TMI?). I could indulge in more details about how nerve-wrecking it was to trust that the instructor really had a hold on the leather belt I was wearing as she strapped on the safety lines and I reached out to the bar, but I’d rather invite you to try it for yourself.

Eleven weeks ago I started a new habit of going to CrossFit 3-days-on, 1-day rest, which meant I was working out 5-to-6 times a week, showing up to the evening classes during the week, and somehow making it to the 8am classes on Saturday and Sunday. My non-gym social life was on probation, but my gym life had never been better.

Learning how to do a handstand in a skirt, however, is extra. (Struting my stuff at “Goin’ for Broken” 24 Hours of LeMons at Thunderhill Raceway in California)

Last weekend was the CrossFit Regional Competition, which was the reason for the crazy workout in the first place. I didn’t make the affiliate team for my gym, but here’s what I got out of the competition:

How to establish a goal, and meet it

A year ago I met a woman who competed in a weightlifting competition in Canada, which technically made her an international competitor. This woman was probably twenty years older than me and did not have the body of a stereotypical athlete by any means. But she was strong and humble about her accomplishment. I don’t know if she placed, ranked, or even finished, but she showed up and competed (in spandex nonetheless). At that moment, I had a fleeting thought―I, too, want to be a weightlifting competitor. I race cars, so why not add this to the list?

Granted this was an in-gym competition, but it was a competition all the same. So I think I’ll check that one off my list.

How to become part of a community

From showing up at Local’s under this schedule I became a regular. I received Facebook and text messages whenever I missed a class. We would encourage each other to lift more and work harder. We pushed each other when running 800 meters, 5 rounds, with a 1 minute rest in between because we all hated running but needed to finish the workout and record our times. We became social and went on a hike in the woods after a squat-intensive workout. We started a new tradition of doing handstands whenever, wherever, just because we can.

There’s a lot of love at my gym and I swear it has to do with the kind of bonding that happens during a CrossFit workout. And this love was shown last week during my birthday when I had 3 birthday workouts spread across the entire week. Nothing says “Happy Birthday” like letting the birthday girl choose the workout.

Strength & permission to love your body, a lot

Working out 5-to-6 days a week is grueling only after the first week. The trainers did a great job programming WODs that would work different muscle groups. After week two, I woke up for the 8am Sunday class, stretching and feeling how strong my back was. I could feel the muscles in my body and it was incredible.

I have come to love my body for what it is―something I have worked hard to craft and create. Since I started going to CrossFit, I have gained 10 pounds and dropped a pant size. For the first time in my life my waist has decreased in size. I have amazing shoulders and trapezius muscles that beg for razorback tank tops. My thighs have turned into triangles and I have a six-pack that is starting to peek out from behind my tummy.

And the best part is I have tickets to my own private gun show and tend to flash them when we go out. Just ask to see them, and I’ll show you.

That there’s always room for improvement

I have come a long way in my training, but I’m only 70ish days in. Now that the competition is over I need to maintain this momentum, continue going to the gym on a regular basis, and figure out which side of the Zone/Paleo diet I need to jump on.

I had no illusions that I would make the team―heck, I’m still working on unassisted pullups―but I wanted to do this competition to give myself commitment and results, and that’s exactly what I accomplished.

But I didn’t do it alone, it was my friends Kari, Kevin, and Ed who made sure we all showed up. And Jesse, Abi, and Diedra who kicked our asses in gear and kept things easy (even under the premise of “easy days”).

I want to thank, Kari, especially, for helping me push the “go” button. She planted the idea of jumping into the 40 WOD Challenge as an idea without any peer pressure involved, and that’s exactly what I needed. She helped keep me accountable and our similar strength encouraged healthy competition.

Thank you, Kari, for making sure that I showed up and followed through.

Photo Credit: Doug Chase

Back in the day, a friend tried to change the phrase “let’s hang out” to “let’s play.” We were teenagers and pushing our way into adulthood, yet we latched on to selective sentiments of simplicity and innocence.

The term “let’s play” didn’t stick. We moved on. We grew up.

As an adult, we get pulled in so many directions. But when was the last time you just played? And I’m talking played in the sense of silliness. Playing in the way that it’s not for professional development or a hobby, but for fun. Because you want to, because you need to? Played to the point where you laughed at your own laughter?

A few weeks ago I met a friend and her daughters at a playground for coffee, vitamin D, and some much needed friend time. As, we, the adults sat and chitchatted, I watched the small one climb a large rope-ladder and finish with the largest smile I’ve ever seen. I listened to her powerful giggles as she slid down the slide.

Energy in kids is electric. If you could convert one child’s laugh into electricity, how much power would it emit?

I believe adults can produce a similar amount of energy but most are too scared to open up and enjoy themselves. Too scared to feel, to receive, to turn that energy into something larger than themselves.

I’m one of those adults. I get self conscious about my feelings way too often. I may be at a movie or event that’s supposed to entertain and help me escape reality. I may feel happy. Really happy, but then look around and no one is as openly happy as I am. So instead of embracing those feelings and enjoying them, I’ll “dumb” them down based on how I’m gauging everyone else is feeling. And that’s stupid. Going with the flow is really stupid.

Even as I write this, I’m torn. The mature side of me knows that people need to monitor their feelings so that they don’t self-destruct and offend others. While the other part of me wants us to find the balance between embracing our feelings and turning them into actionable passion.

I’m an emotional person and I let my emotions rule me way more than they should. My “feelings” encourage me to bite off more than I can chew and perform better than I ever have in my life. It invites heartache, stress, and give me an excuse to do something that only the momentum of feeling amazing could.

The ability to feel is a strength. And learning how to turn those feelings–of glee, of excitement, of curiosity, of anxiety, of stress, of anger–into energy that drives the flow of my work forward is important.

Kids feel what they feel, when they feel it, because they feel that way. I want to follow the lead of my friend’s girls on the playground: embrace feeling as a good thing and put an end to feeling socially awkward and apologetic about it. And dedicate more time to play.

Photo Credit: Balakov

If you were to find me six months ago and say the same thing, I wouldn’t believe you either.

But I am.

At the end of February I volunteered at the 2010 Washington Sectionals for the CrossFit Games. Spending the weekend watching elite athletes in action changed my entire outlook on CrossFit.

This is what I saw:

2010 Washington State CrossFit Sectionals from Jeremy Grubaugh on Vimeo.

Claim to fame: yours truly makes a split-second appearance 16 seconds into the video.

The 40 WOD Challenge

Last week, the fearless leader announced a spicy new experiment: the “40 WOD Challenge.” (For those who don’t speak “CrossFit,” WOD means workout of the day.) Over the course of eight weeks, each workout will be scored how much we lift and how long it takes to complete the workout. Scoring is based on a reverse curve and the goal is to get the lowest score overall.

At the end of eight weeks, the six people with the best scores (at least 2 men and at least two women) will create the affiliate team representing Lynnwood CrossFit at the regional games in May. Pretty exciting.

What are the CrossFit Games?

The CrossFit Games are the ultimate test of fitness. It’s a grueling two-day competition in which the world’s fittest athletes compete in a variety of workouts. What are the workouts? Each year they change, and the details of them are not announced until a couple days before the event. This means that all year long, the athletes are training for a competition whose format is almost completely a mystery.

The Backstory

I have been going to CrossFit off-and-on since Fall 2008. Though, in May I took six months off when I couldn’t focus on the workout due to real-life stress. In November I came back to CrossFit and started working out 2-to-3 times a week. If we start the clock then, I’ve been CrossFitting “hardcore” for four months now, and it’s time to step it up. My body and core strength have changed dramatically in the past few months, but there’s still a ton of room for improvement. And I want to improve.

There are a ton of amazing, strong women at my gym who are way more athletic than I am. I highly doubt that I’ll make the affiliate team, but I’m going to try.

The Escalation

When I was 13-years-old I tried out for the volleyball team. I didn’t make it. I didn’t even get chosen to be the manager.

The next year I joined the swim team. It was a no-cut sport. I was one of the slowest swimmers but had a rockin’ freestyle. I quit after that year because the idea of trying to figure out the butterfly overwhelmed me.

I was never into PE or sports as a kid (just ask my husband about my hand/eye coordination…or lack of). But after finding CrossFit and after climbing that damn rope–wanting to climb the rope–I dig lifting. A lot.

The Goal

Part of the challenge entails working out 3-days-on/1-day off. Repeat.

• I want to be strong. Really strong.
• I want to be an athlete because that’s the last thing I ever thought I would be.
• I want to surprise myself.
• I want to do this for myself.

And if not now, when? I don’t want to leave this until “someday,” I want that “someday” to be today.

Why not.

Last night I met up with one of my closest friends from college. She’s in town and we haven’t seen each other in about a year. Yes, it’s that kind of friendship.

As we talked, caught up, and jumped forward in each other’s lives, I was reminded what attracted me to her and made me want to be her friend–her strong, sometimes brash personality. This is a woman who speaks her mind and has no fear of letting it be known. She lets you know what she’s thinking when she thinks it and you’re either on the boat or a really intense conversation begins.

I admire people like that.

We met during our first term at Portland State. This friend’s college career started at a community college. She dipped her toes in the water then took time off after landing a pretty decent office job.

That lasted for a few years before she decided that she was tired of waking up each morning and hating that job. She wanted to be happy and not “just get by” in life. So she stepped it up and went to the university. But she didn’t choose an easy liberal arts degree (like, oh, yours truly), she chose structural engineering. Engineering. This chick wanted to go play with the “the big boys,” and play she did.

It was not easy. She worked herself through school and piled on the student loans to help make her dream possible. It was hard. But she never quit. Not this time.

I admire determination.

After five years in school, this friend graduated last spring and scored a pretty sweet job in her industry. Her career has started. And last night at dinner, I could see the hardness soften a bit on her. She was proud of herself. And I was proud of her, too.

Sure, there’s other stuff going on in her life that’s not all unicorns and rainbows, but in this one aspect of her life she is happy. She’s still bullish, strong, and her personality can be overwhelming, but it’s so fucking exciting to see someone I care about actually make it–see someone dream big, build goals, and make it happen.

I admire results.

Over at The Squab this week, Shane Mac wrote a powerful post about enabling others to meet their dreams. Enabling in a good way. He asks you to:

Stop letting people talk about stuff and actually enable them to do it. Help them tackle the fear of just starting. Eliminate all the cant’s, no’s, and wont’s before you even tell them to do it.

I like to think that I helped this friend meet her goal. And after I finished the most amazing rainbow sushi roll of my life, I let her know that I’m still here. Still available if she needs a place to vent, a shoulder for support, or someone to let her know that new decisions she’s about to make on are okay. That the next change she makes in life–whatever it may be–as long as it’s right for herself, I am here to support here.

That’s all I can do. That’s what friends should do.

I want to encourage my friends, not zap their dreams. And I hope, expect, require that my friends do the same for me. Obviously, however, if I’m on a path of self-destruction, please let me know (gently).

So as I pat myself on the back and wear a “gold star” of friendship today, I want you hear from you–how have you enabled your friends? Or how did you get rid of a dream zapper?

Last night I climbed a rope. And today it’s still a big deal.

In January Josh Hanagarne, of the World’s Strongest Librarian, met his 2010 goal on the second day of the year. After watching that, I decided I wanted a goal too. So I marched into the gym and declared to my coach that I wanted to learn how to climb a rope. I’ve never climbed a rope in my life. Never.

The fact that I wanted to climb a rope and even go to CrossFit is a big deal.

Growing up, I hated working out. I was never the girl who played sports (only non-cut sports, thank you very much). Never loved gym class. I swear I was the only girl in school who sweated during class and whose face was beat red after running “the mile.” You’re already self-conscious enough when surviving middle school, so why the heck to they add physical education on top of it? (for the love of the education system, do not answer that). I also hate gyms. My friend Lindsey recently wrote about the culture of gyms in Paris. And while most adults in the U.S. don’t dress up to go to the gym and workout, I still felt unwelcome in the 24HourFitness-es of the world.

So the fact that I enjoy this crazy thing called CrossFit is an extreme accomplishment on it’s own.

Like most great things in life, I was introduced to CrossFit by a friend. He kept talking about how much he loved the people at his gym and the workouts that they did. Alright, I thought, I’ll try it.

My first trainer was Fran, who just opened her own affiliate gym. She showed me how to squat, what a kettlebell was, and how to clean, jerk, and thrust the damn thing. She made my body hurt in ways I didn’t know it could and that was only the beginning. Fran was enthusiastic about CrossFit. Passion was flowing out of her and it was contagious. I caught it and I kept going back for more.

I feel in love with lifting. I fell in love with the people at my gym.

We all sweat. We all turn beat red in the face. We all push our bodies so hard that collapse when we’re done. We strive for personal records. We encourage each other to “push” and to “pull” and, goddamn-it, you can do this, just one more. We are a community of people who are psychotic about fitness. I was hooked.

I never thought I would love lifting or that this would be me.

And then, on a quiet Thursday night, we decide to do something crazy like learn how to climb a rope. And then we actually do it and have the burns to prove it.

As I left the gym last night, my coach slapped me on the back and said that I made huge leaps with my personal fitness. And he had a huge grin on his face.

Thanks, Jesse.

The Mighty Mazda after literally taking a "bite" out of an Oldsmobile (for the record, the insurance company ruled in favor of the Mazda)

The best car in the world is a 1989 Mazda 323 SE, 5-speed manual, with a 1.6 liter engine and it’s share of 100,000 miles. It was discovered in the suburbs, parked in a ditch, with a “for sale” sign awkwardly taped to the window. It had a sun-faded hood and plastic chrome hub caps that sparkled in the July sun. It had four doors and a trunk that was deep enough to sneak multiple teenagers into a drive-in movie. It was the perfect first car, purchased with hard-earned cash, split 50/50 with my sister.

Our first upgrade was the radio, or lack-of. We opted for a period-correct Mazda radio that was rescued from the dash of a dead 323 in a junk yard (may it rest in peace). The radio featured a tape deck, a rarity in the era of CDs and the birth of the iPod. The tape deck perpetuated the illusion of coolness that every high schooler strives for. That is, unless one surpasses that status by racing.

The Mighty Mazda, as it was christened, was fast. And by fast that is to say it sounded fast but was not. The stock exhaust did nothing but give the facade of speed. There was no tachometer. You had to shift according to the roar of the engine, which came in handy when focused on the finish and not the gauge.

In the car overflowing with teenage ego, I’d pull up to a red light, sneak a peak at the driver in the car next to me, wait for the green and floor-it. Believe it or not, the 105 horsepower would usually launch the 323 across the intersection and secure a victory. A victory, of course, that was made possible by the fact that the other car didn’t know he was a competitor.

I was 16 and ripe with ambition. The Mighty Mazda helped me escape heartache and discover strength. It fueled innocent shenanigans and the most random road trips. It kept me out of trouble and was the hub of my existence. The 323 had a personality of its own, one that only a new driver and her first car will ever know.

What was your first car?

Photo credit: bopuc

[cue Star Trek: The Next Generation theme song]

That’s right, kids, these are the voyages of an ever evolving enterprise known as artistic inspiration, authorship, taking creative license into your own hands, and, well, owning it. I come from the school of thought that every story has been told before and there are no new stories. I think this skepticism was instilled on me from my first creative writing professor (thanks, GVB) and it’s why I had a hard time appreciating “Avatar” as a stand alone-movie and not as a rehashing of “Pocahontas.”

In literature and in life, “you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.” Everything that you have ever thought of, want to do, and will do has been done before. The difference is in the details―the how and the way you tell your story.

I believe that I have become the person I am in life because of the people I met along the way. If we have had a conversation or shared an idea or worked on a project together, chances are it left an impression on me. I have incorporated your influence into the make up of who I am and who I will become next. I believe that inspiration is everywhere and everyone has the opportunity to be my muse. At our core, we are all “intertextual.”

Going back to Ms. Miller’s article, here’s what lit my fire:

Intertextuality

Wikipedia puts it simply:

Intertextuality is the shaping of texts’ meanings by other texts. It can refer to an author’s borrowing and transformation of a prior text or to a reader’s referencing of one text in reading another.

The author, Helene Hegemann, who’s under scrutiny, is quoted as defending her use of the stolen text:

I myself don’t feel it is stealing, because I put all the material into a completely different and unique context and from the outset consistently promoted the fact that none of that is actually by me.

I do appreciate the fact that Hegemann is owning up to the fact that she took the work of another author (a German blogger named Arien). However you spin it, that’s something to admire, or at least I’m trying to. And according to the poststructuralist definition and the art of literature itself, she was in her right to take “inspiration” from another author’s work. What has me bent out of shape, however, is that she cut-and-pasted an entire page. Where do you draw the line?

She’s Been Nominated for a Literary Prize & the Judges Know about the ‘Borrowed’ Text

One jury member of the prize said:

Obviously, it isn’t completely clean but, for me, it doesn’t change my appraisal of the text [...] I believe it’s part of the concept of the book.

Wait a minute, what? I understand that it was one-page and maybe some ideas, but really? Maybe I should be admiring the judge for being able to separate their own views of authorship and are viewing the novel as a stand-alone piece of work, because obviously I am unable to separate the two.

I am a fan of footnotes and giving credit where credit is due. I actually just bought The Annotated Lolita so I can fully understand the text and Nabokov’s intentions. I only read T.S. Eliot if there are footnotes. When I published my graduate portfolio I included a “Publisher’s Bookshelf” in the back matter listing all of the books I read throughout the publishing program, more for my reference than for anyone else.

One article did mention that Hegemann didn’t understand “the process for acknowledging borrowed material and this [has] been changed for the second edition.” I guess a group hug is in order?

I think Miller sums the controversy up best:

If Hegemann intended to enter into a dialogue with Airen, she took pains to make it look like a monologue. If she viewed the writing itself as collaborative, she suppressed any urge to share those handsome royalty checks.

Ideas are one thing. You cannot copyright ideas, but you can copyright words. Intellectual property is a beast and as a writer, it’s in your best interest to credit your fellow writers and support your community. As expected, this whole escapade is working in a bizarre way for Hegemann and book sales are on fire. Publicity is publicity. And who can show me a book publisher in the digital age who doesn’t appreciate book sales?

What is your stance on this? When are you just inspired and when should you give your muses credit?

More to Chew On

• If you’re interested in the concept of authorship, you could indulge yourself this heavy read: Authorship: From Plato to the Postmodern, A Reader, edited by Seán Burke.
• Or, for fun, Meg Wolitzer does it brilliantly in her book, The Wife (it’s fiction, baby).
• Who’d like to collaborate on a book proposal with me where we create a story from other great works of literature? I think it’d be fun and we could get shortlisted, too. We’ll include a page of rights that say “inspired by…”
• Shout out: Does anyone knows of an IP lawyer who enjoys these kind of topics? I’d love to connect with them!

Full disclosure: I have not read Hegemann or Airen’s books. The ideas I’m trying to digest are coming from second hand sources (intertextuality at it’s best!). I’m just chewing on the concept of authorship, ownership, and what it all means. (Woah, is my English lit degree showing?)

At the launch party, a fancy dinner hosted at a private home overlooking the Columbia Gorge, I meekly held a glass of wine and admired the A-list authors in attendance. The authors I invited. The authors whose agents and publicists I spent months talking to and negotiating as to why it would be an awesome idea to send their talent to this brand spanking new festival. This festival that was filled with promise and about to be revealed.

I was eavesdropping on stories of these great literary minds and I was afraid to put my hand out and say, “Hi, we’ve spoken before.”

When you’re afraid, usually someone will step in. That someone was the founder of the festival, a man saw how hard I worked. He pulled me into a conversation he was having with some of his fellow authors, sang my praises, made me blush, and ended by saying, “Can you believe she’s only 18?”

That’s when when all of the strength inside of me shriveled up and died.

I was 18 and I helped launch an incredible event and I was scared. Scared that I would lose credibility with one of these authors who I had an email and phone relationship with. Scared that someone would say that I was too young and that I shouldn’t be involved at this level. Scared that someone would think less of me because of my age. And, let’s be honest here, scared that someone would take that glass of wine out of my hand.

I have spent most of my adult life fearful that someone would close the door on an opportunity because of my age. A big part of that is because my life has been on fast forward since I was 16.

When I was a junior I left my high school and started taking classes at the community college through a program called Running Start. For anyone who’s attended a community college, you know that the demographics range from 16 to 60+, and so do the professor’s attitudes towards Running Start students. Some professors embrace the early-achievers and some think they should stay at the high school. It’s all about confidence, performance, and blending in.

So I blended in.

I graduated with my bachelor’s at 20 and began my Masters the next term. At 21, I finished with the requirements for the program, moved to Seattle, and was the first of my friends to get married. I defended my thesis at 22 and can now slap an “M.A.” at the end of my name. I move through life on fast forward.

Over the past two years as a full-blown “adult” working a full-time job, finding new hobbies, and building new friendships I have not been proud of myself and I have not embraced who I am—a dreamer, an achiever, an ambitious young woman. And that’s probably the worst thing to admit to myself.

And I am tired of it. I am tired of being ashamed of everything I have worked hard to achieve and everything that has made me who I am. I am done with pretending. I am finished with trying to blend in. I do not want to be embarrassed about anything that I’ve achieved “so young” in my life. I do not want to be afraid that someone will “slam the door” on my face when they learn about my age.

Because no one has before and no one ever will.

I am ready to own it: my achievements, my failures, and my dreams. I need to believe in myself and know deep down in my core that this is who I am and this is who I am supposed to be. I have accomplished a lot over the past six years since standing at that dinner party and I want to do more. Much more.

After recovering from the dinner party and the festival in itself I opened up to the Director, my manager, about how much I loathed when the Founder would tell people my age. In response, he said something along the lines of this:

Remember that he’s a writer and all of these people are writers, too. They love stories and you are a great story. Someday, maybe one of them will write about you.

I am a great story, dammit. And I’m going to be the one to write it. Welcome to my blog.

Photo Credit: maria.see photography