#'swim from tomorrow to yesterday without freezing to death'

[marlynnofmany]

If that doesn't have potential for some fairytale nonsense, I don't know what does.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

[deeptimesjournal]

Surrender to Wild Entropy

Beloved Descendant, Mandala 2160 Surya Brahmana Arhaant III “flow like a forest of kelp through cycles of time with faith in your ancestor’s bones roar more; unleash your full force!” ﹣ Arunima I, of the Storm. Change is a force / kills false impressions / dances tandav on graves. Invites us folly to surrender to the wild indeterminacy of her powers. When you’ve received a colonialized education, you’re used to finding comfort in knowing enough. If our world were to flood, they would have us think that to survive means to be prepared enough, to possess enough, have enough / control over these ecosystems of death. Let us take flight from this. Let us ask instead, how will change possess us?

* * I. Journey: to grieve with courage. I was living by the waters of Pacific Island Aotearoa. Certainly secure that we were on solid ground. The security of material and economic privilege is so strange / you become a frog comfortable in increasingly warm water / Did you know that powerlessness is taught and learned? When womxn bodies sense a threat, we can freeze dead in our tracks: we are nervous systems. This is not a system failure: preventing the leaking of energy / this is how we persist. How have we arrived? You and I are millennia old. 202 years ago, the white man took on the burden of civilizing our families, our elders, our babies. Now, our survival has come to depend upon systems of learning created for earning, instead of learning to learn. We’ve been told that if we cannot / stop “producing,” we will perish. So we have become the best race at designing new technologies, efficiently utilizing our minds to labor for capital and accumulation. But Beloved, our liberation, foreign to these foreigners, lives beyond the patri-colonial designs of modernity. Our Poorvaj have learned by // travelling // wailing. When colonial certainties collapse, the ruins of this structure expose the rotting, necessary. Modern citizens put a lot of faith in the four walls of concrete buildings. Our territories will protect us from the danger of / that which is / stranger. This is a false and comforting impression. * * A few minutes after I say “they wouldn’t risk sending us home,” our leaders announce that we have four days to leave the island country. While Aotearoa is one of the safest places in the world right now (and to come, as we shall see) College authorities do not know how this crisis will unfold. Borders are rapidly closing now. We used to have “countries” back then and “going home” from abroad meant usually crossing borders. Everyone else in my group called “the United States” / the name colonists gave Turtle Island / home. Lesson I: Corona has little trouble flowing through bodies. Our group is atop a blue ice glacier when our program gets shut down. The rush of our departure from Aoraki Glacier slows me down: this inertia will soon haunt me, too. A few hours.. or days.. pass as if a strange dream. A few of the Americans in our group have prepared to leave as soon as we get word. Of course, they are nothing if not efficient. Whereas, swimming in ambivalence and strong attachments, I am currently unaware of how fierce high tides are. After a 10 hour bus-ride to the nearest airport, 6 hours on the airport floor, and 2 hours in a propeller plane journeying to the capital, we arrive in some hostel. Sharing bunk beds / I am once again in inanimacy and strangely unpleasurable intimacy with these strange white cyborgs and their deadening / claims to occupation of space. * * II. Entropy: What lies beyond conquest Where do we go from here? The Government of India has barred all passenger planes. Chaotic change is here and I have no safehouse to retreat to. Aotearoa is fast approaching national lockdown. I call the embassy and a disembodied voice indifferently says, “ask your university to arrange accommodation until further notice. We have no information from the government at this time.” They managed to say, “we couldn’t care enough to get you home.” without uttering one word. Keep working. Our International Scholars office buys me a 36-hour flight departing.. tomorrow. I look up the airline to confirm flight details. As of yesterday, the airline is bankrupt. This flight was to refuel in Australia; the country is not allowing any travellers to leave or transit through its gates. Maa and I decide to try an Air India ticket. I should’ve booked these quicker. There’s one flight going to Mumbai! And just as I try to click buy, she’s gone. Faster than I am.**Chaos is holding my hand now. Inviting me to cultivate a relationship with change and her ruthless grace. Aims for my belly button / rams her horns into gut / piercing pain / I’ll wait / I want to go home and home is family.. South Asia / A pool of my blood is collecting. Still, beside myself / managing this unfolding / I’ll prepare to wait it out until they allow flights to run? Yes.. what else could I..? / Oh god.. My insides are cracking open. It hurts to keep fighting for control.** We remain very ill equipped for the reality of change.Focus. try to / see clearly. This crisis is as much about a crisis as it is about continuing to dwell in colonial imaginations of crises. It is time to exorcise this all-consuming exercise for control.Beware. Be less certain that you will always have the walls of your home to protect and serve. Seas of people among us who had homes yesterday are turned into refugees today, held by strange lines / limits borne of men’s imaginaries / What shields from the indeterminacy of chaos? What you deem / hoarded / yours, may become a burden, you stand to lose when change comes.Security will mean bodies in / us / in / voluntary cages. To control is to possess security only until wild times rage. When walls built for protection turn to asphyxiate us, revolts will come. “the natural order is disorder.”﹣ Zaheer, Book Three: Change Episode 10. Long Live the Queen. The Legend of Korra.Change takes off. Her pauses do not allow time for the kind of painstakingly deliberated replies, which it is our colonial gift to provide, in the interest of stability / “in control” / pretenses of remaining unaffected, unchanged by her departure. How will we stay alive? The floodgates open.

**

III. Surrender: care flow tending

My entire being shakes. Finally. Let go. Relief arrives when you stop trying / struggling to float. I invite hands to hold me as grief flows. I am honest about the uncertainty of my situation with conspirators / a comforting outpouring of messages / con-spirare, to breathe together with. Multiple offers to stay in houses. A kindred settler spirit says, “do not worry, dear. If you choose to return to Turtle Island, you will be cared for.” We are all in the business of caring, tending to. So what if this body becomes the first terrain to call my home? There is security in their, too, in the sense that dimming, darkness, forces of death are supreme / they render bare all uncertainty. The Black officer at LAX’s Immigration, Border Patrol and Customs entrypoint has a beautiful smile. I tell him so. He blushes, and we are both pools. Soon after I arrive, I begin training. In the arts of undoing / preparing to receive death / the chaos that has only just begun. There is no planet-saving, no more civilizing conquests here. My queer water-body is an ancestral reverend / learning to harness the limitless imaginaries that our poorvaj’s prayers breathed into us. Learning melanin-richness, she holds / this infinite pluriverse / matters of love / dying matters / with grace and agility. As changes reap a late spring harvest of death, we dance wild with grief. We must. Care for those patriarchal, colonial, capital’s designs do not consider: all beings, more or less.we survive, through intimacy with force: chaos, we thrive in. with care: we prepare for chaos.Our bodies transform. We are sacred forms. our desires are ascetic; we exorcise domination and relinquish his narratives of control. We are sacred seeds.And we take root among the stars, Beloved. * * Arunima Singh Jamwal (Pronouns: A and all, fluidly, 21 yo) In Sanskrit, Arunima means first ray of sunlight and red glow of dawn. Arunima considers their creative path a gift from Creator and their Scythian ~ Suryavanshi ~ Sikh ancestors. As an animist and affective anthropologist, Arunima writes both to visibilize unseen presents and weave liberating visions for Life. Arunima’s purpose is to bring healing and balance to cultures and communities suffering from colonial-capitalism, intergenerational traumas, and cycles of social violence.Presently a settler-immigrant on the Cowlitz’s lands in Portland Oregon, Arunima loves to listen to plants and podcasts. A’s favorite spiral would have to be the Māori koru that represents our return to the point of origin and a state of calm harmony amidst chaos and change. Besides coordinating projects for Lewis & Clark’s Sustainability Council, she leads on-demand, intimate circles to center the ethic of healing justice in your lives, and creates community through their Instagram account, The Gurh Life.

@ Arunima Singh Jamwal (Pronouns: A and all, fluidly, 21 yo) In Sanskrit, Arunima means first ray of sunlight and red glow of dawn. Arunima considers their creative path a gift from Creator and their Scythian ~ Suryavanshi ~ Sikh ancestors. As an animist and affective anthropologist, Arunima writes both to visibilize unseen presents and weave liberating visions for Life. Arunima’s purpose is to bring healing and balance to cultures and communities suffering from colonial-capitalism, intergenerational traumas, and cycles of social violence.Presently a settler-immigrant on the Cowlitz’s lands in Portland Oregon, Arunima loves to listen to plants and podcasts. A’s favorite spiral would have to be the Māori koru that represents our return to the point of origin and a state of calm harmony amidst chaos and change. Besides coordinating projects for Lewis & Clark’s Sustainability Council, she leads on-demand, intimate circles to center the ethic of healing justice in your lives, and creates community through their Instagram account, The Gurh Life.

[safasaf2018]

Day 14 - 6/15/18

12:24 PM

Woke up at 9:30, went down to breakfast which was closed, but Kimberly had grabbed a plate of fruit and a gluten free roll with brie cheese for me - love of my life. Now we’re all sitting by the pool tanning, swimming, I’m catching up on my blog, our professor jumped in the pool at one point, it’s surreal. I wonder about the wealth distribution in Marrakech - I know it’s a huge tourist city and they built their economy off of that, but I wonder if locals drive by this resort and hate it because it brings in so much money and it’s filled with such privileged people. It’s hard to remember that not everywhere is like this, it’s hypnotizing when you’re in it - the staff is SO incredibly nice, doting on us wherever we are - as I was writing this at a table outside just now a man came up with a silver platter in a suit and asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink. It’s wild. I’m so grateful to be here, i’m just very aware of other people right now. And at the same time I never EVER want to leave this resort. I could be very happy just living here the rest of my life. Ramadan is finally over!! Iskandar, the student who was fasting, ate breakfast with us this morning! And now we have to go to McDonalds one more time because he wants to try it in Morocco, but I don’t think anyone minds much. The three days after Ramadan are also holy, so no drinking, but also no more fasting. We’re waiting for the professor’s family to get here and then we’re off! I’m not entirely sure what we’re doing today but I wasn’t sure what we were doing yesterday and that turned out all right so I think I’m just gonna close my laptop right now and go back to the pool.

6:18 PM

We left the resort at 1:30, and went to downtown Marrakech to see an old Sa’adian dynasty family tomb. It was without a doubt the most beautiful tomb or tribute of any form to someone’s death I’ve ever seen (keep in mind I still haven’t been to the Taj Mahal yet). It was laid out, there were about 60 people buried there, each marked by a rectangle mosaic in the ground. The members of the royal family were buried under the most intricately carved out rooms of marble, plaster, and cedar, and the servants or other people living in the house were buried outside in the grass. It was such a light and colorful space for burying the dead. The carvings were absolutely incredible, with arabic calligraphy usually spelling out “allah” (god) up and down the sides, or something religious. After a quick foot tour there led by our professor, we went across the street to a café called Kasbah Café where we actually met up with a girl from Maine! She’s a high schooler and she and I have mutual friends and have been following each other on social media for about 2.5 years now, and oddly enough this was our first time meeting! Our professor allowed her to eat with us so her dad dropped her off and she got to join us. Today is Eid, the end of Ramadan, which is the biggest holiday for Islam, so she’d been eating all day (her mom’s family is Moroccan) and wasn’t that hungry, so she and I just split a meal, but that was really cool to be able to do. Afterwards I walked her downstairs to meet her dad and bought a gelato for myself while I waited for the others. Now we’re in the bus on the way to Essouaira (spelling ah), which is where we’ll be until we leave back for campus on Sunday. Most everyone is sleeping or just sitting quietly listening to music. We picked up the professor’s wife and 3 daughters and an airport in Marrakech so they’re all with us now as well. Alright I need to do some of the class readings.

2:13 AM

The hotel we’re staying at right now may must be my favorite place I’ve absolutely ever stayed. We arrived in Essaouira at around 7 pm, and walked through the medina (market square) to get to our hotel. Our professor and his family were staying in the hotel right next to us because our hotel didn’t have a big enough room for them, so he got us all checked in, introduced us to the staff, and left us until Sunday morning. So first off, this hotel’s owner is a GORGEOUS young man from Paris, so that definitely added to the aesthetic. but more importantly, the hotel used to be a classic Roman house, so the middle has a beautiful fountain with floating lily pads, with 4 stories going up around it, all open in the middle. Danielle and I are on the top floor, and everyone else is on the second or third floors. Every room is decorated differently - our room seems to have a red bird theme - and one of the rooms has two floors! One bed is downstairs and the other is up a staircase in a loft. We all get settled in at the hotel (threw our stuff on the beds) and then went downstairs to decide where to eat. In the lobby was an older woman named Vicky who had started a conversation with Carolina, and slowly drawn in every single one of us. This woman speaks ten languages, has a ton of different degrees from the US, Africa, and Europe, went to Columbia at 8 and a half years old, trained with US olympic figure skating team that all died on that plane, but luckily was 6 months too young to compete so she wasn’t on the plane that crashed, has been working for the UN forever, and is recently retired and traveling (she doesn’t own a house anywhere she just travels - she’s been to 5 countries in the past 3 weeks), but the UN and other NGOs keep getting her to teach seminars (she’s taught at Stanford, Berkeley, and a ton of other schools I’ve forgotten), she recently deleted her Facebook and changed her name and wiped Google clean of herself because she doesn’t want anyone having her information, especially her half brother who would track her down and tap into her bank accounts to steal money. She was amazing, no one really believes her but Carolina and I do. Oh she also broke her pelvis in 2 places and healed on her own within 3 weeks because she had people from all over the world sending her energy, and she taught the doctors reiki. Anyways that was fun. So we finally left for dinner. We were told to go to a popular restaurant called Taros, but we wanted to walk around and look at other restaurants first. We went down curving alleys, seeing different shops we locked in our heads to go to tomorrow, went in a few restaurants, and ultimately settled on Taros. One man brought us into his small restaurant with live music and opened the rooftop seating just for us, leading us up a spiral staircase behind the musician. We chose not to eat there in the end, but that’s the Moroccan spirit. Taros was a huge restaurant with multiple floors, the most popular of which was the roof, where we went. The roof had a kitchen, a bar, and stairs up to even higher levels with tables. We all sat at a table and enjoyed the live music while we ate. I got a Pizza Reine which is a classic French pizza, and it absolutely melted my heart it was so good. We all got drinks while eating, a few of us got beers on tap which is the first time I can say I’ve done that! The food took an extremely long time which for some reason didn’t really bother anybody at all, I thought it honestly added to the atmosphere, gave us more time to talk and enjoy our drinks and the music, some of the students went downstairs to dance and then came back up to eat, it was a great night - reminded me of those looooong French dinners. After we were all done eating we went down to the bar, got another drink each, and started dancing. We made a couple friends there (especially when the girls needed a lighter for their cigarettes) but for the most part stayed within the group which I was grateful for. We formed a dance circle and just made fools of ourselves, screaming the lyrics to Spanish songs that only a few of us understood, and we always went with each other to the bathroom or to the bar to get another drink, just in case. It was a great group feeling night. Shortly before the place closed we all left, at around 12:30 or 1. Most of us went back to the hotel, but Kimberly, Carolina, Iskandar, and I wanted to walk around town. It was so empty, this is the first night post-Ramadan so people aren’t awake eating. There were some people of course, but much emptier than during the day. We walked through alleys and lanes of stores and said hi to every cat we saw. At one point we stopped into a small convenience store to buy a lighter for their cigarettes. They didn’t have any lighters, but the owner of the store offered his lighter, and when that didn’t work two customers offered theirs - again, the Moroccan spirit. We kept walking until we left the downtown area and came to the bigger roads that lead to the high way. We found a 12 year-old couple walking and asked them where the beach was. They walked us far enough to where we could see it and then left us to go for ourselves. There were maybe 3 other people on the whole beach. We all kicked off our shoes and walked into the very shallowest bit of the water which was freezing to the bone - we didn’t stay long. After that we came back to the hotel, and Kimberly and Iskandar left again to get crêpes but Carolina and I stayed in, I’m exhausted. So far I love Essaouira, but I haven’t even seen a fraction of its liveliness yet, so I’m beyond excited for tomorrow when we have an entire day to do whatever we want.

[mrmarioallman]

Thankful for Running

Now that I’m back running, I’m so thankful that I’m able to do something that I love.  I was thinking about how good I was feeling during my 30 minute run yesterday that I felt myself tearing up.  And yes, you did read that right.  I ran 30 minutes straight with no walk breaks.  When coming back from an injury, I like to celebrate every single milestone.  Next step?  Back to back days of running.  I’m ready!

10 Reasons I’m Thankful for Running

1. It makes my legs strong and muscular. I’ve always had muscular legs.  In fact, in high school I would sometimes wear boys jeans because they fit better.  I hated my legs then.  But now, I purposely squat heavy weights and do ALL the glute and hip exercises to leave my legs strong and muscular.  These legs can carry me up mountains and through many miles without complaining one bit. Except for the occasional injury, but we won’t think about that right now.

2. It gets me outside. The more time I’m outside being active, the more sane I am. I love to see the world around me on a run. Whether it’s a sunrise, the fall leaves, a trail that takes me over rocks, roots and rivers, the ocean, or cute little neighborhoods, it’s all better while seen on my run. Even when I’m freezing my ass off, I’m thankful to be able to get out there.

3. It gives me a sense of accomplishment and pride. To hear a non-runner exclaim, “You ran how many miles???” always makes me stand up a little taller. Yeah I did that. And I’ll probably run farther tomorrow. Every runner likes to feel a little bad ass.

4. It keeps me focused. When I don’t run, I’m distracted. I forget to pick up my kids from school. Or my To-Do list never gets shorter because I’m all over the place. With it, I can sort, plan and just think out any problem. I may not always have the solution, but at least I can quiet the other noise in my head and focus.

5. New shoes, clothes and gear. No explanation needed, right? Except who came up with the idea that running was a cheap sport?

6. It’s always there. I can run anywhere, anytime. It’s never closed. I don’t need a membership card.

7. It’s opened up new opportunities. Did I ever think that I would run the Honolulu Marathon? Or run the Boston Marathon with Team Stonyfield in 2015? Or do a photo shoot for Competitor Magazine? All far fetched dreams that became a reality.  It’s also opened up new opportunities to take me out of my comfort zone.  Ten years ago did I think I would run a marathon?  Nope.

  8. It makes me feel alive. The moment in a 5k when every muscle in your body is burning, pleading for you to stop. The moment when your lungs are screaming as you run up, what seems like, the 10,000 hill repeat. The moment when you are so drenched in sweat from a run that it looks like you went swimming. My body is functioning and healthy. I may look like death but that’s when I feel the most alive.

9. It’s taught me life lessons. Set goals, work hard, dedication, persistence, patience – you get what you put in. It’s that simple.

  10. It’s brought new friends to my life. With each year that I’ve been a runner, I’ve been blessed to have found some really great running friends. Our runs have been a time to get together, chat nonstop, laugh and just sweat it out. There really is nothing better than bonding over a run.

I’m also thankful for each and every one of you! I can not thank you enough for being a part of my little section of the internet every week. I appreciate it!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Thanks and gratitude for what running brings to my life. #runchat #thankful #gratitude Click To Tweet

How has running changed your life?

The post Thankful for Running appeared first on Happy Fit Mama.

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Crazy, fairytale nonsense...

If that doesn't have potential for some fairytale nonsense, I don't know what does.