Buffalo Half Marathon

As I crossed the finish line, arms raised in the air, I reflected on the emotions of the previous 1:54:08 and the journey that took me to the starting line....

Anxiety. Nervousness. Determination. Frustration. Pain. Focus. Anticipation. Strength. Humility. Camaraderie. Inspiration. Motivation. Exuberance. Confidence. Exultation. Exhilaration. Joie de vivre.

My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. on the morning of May 24th. My hand crawled out from under the cozy warmth of the comforter, up the nightstand, and reached over to my cell phone to hit the "Dismiss" button. I carefully shimmied out from the cocoon of the bed and stumbled off to prepare for the big day. After getting dressed, I carefully tiptoed down the stairs as to not wake up my dad and brother, made myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and poured a glass of milk, and sat in the relative darkness of the kitchen to ponder on my game plan. While waiting for my friends Bryan and Jen to pick me up, I went over the day's weather forecast and attempted to decode the route that I was supposed to run. Showers at 11 a.m. Hmmm, no big deal, I thought, at least I will be done by then. Some online reviewers of the course said that adjustment to avoid construction would take us over some overpasses, negating the reputation of the route as fast and flat. I am not a big fan of hills, and still blamed the overpasses for slowing me down and knocking the wind out of me during the Suffolk County Half Marathon nearly two months earlier. Before the mental games set in, I quickly exited the house and sat on the front stoop, took deep breaths, and looked out at the lightening sky as the sun began its long ascent above the horizon.

Just after 6 a.m., my ride arrived. I reacquainted myself with Bryan and Jen, whom I hadn't seen in almost 5 years, while we zoomed through the empty streets and highways of Western New York, still sleeping on this fine Sunday morning. The conversation was a blur, as I was still waking up. We found a parking spot not too far from the parking line, and strolled along the street to the Hyatt Regency. It was not yet 6:30 a.m. and the place was teeming with several hundred runners. Weaving through the crowded lobby of the Hyatt, I spotted the concierge and asked him to store my bag, which he graciously did. I rejoined Bryan on the other side of the lobby, where he introduced me to Safiyya, a teammate of his from University at Buffalo. While she sauntered off to the starting line, I realized that I needed to use the facilities. I was discouraged by the long lines, and with 15 minutes left, I thought that the urge to relieve myself wasn't pressing, and that I could hold it for a couple more hours. I crossed my fingers and headed outside to join the now bulging crowd heading towards the base of the parking garage at the intersection of Pearl and Huron Streets. While fumbling with my MP3 player and armband, I ran into Safiyya.
"I wish I brought my iPod," she said.
"Don't worry. There are a few thousand people here. You could chat with some of them," I responded.
"True."
The announcer told the crowd to push back further up the street to allow the stragglers room to squeeze into the mass of humanity. Then he extolled on the virtues of the perfect weather of the race day, the perfect elevation of the course, and that we were going to see the beauty of downtown Buffalo. He reminded us to drink water and Gatorade at the stations spaced apart every two miles. He then finished by saying that above all, that we should go out and have fun. Then a singer, who sounded a bit half-awake, croaked out the Canadian and American national anthems. Kudos to her for coming out at 7 a.m. though. The announcer started the 60 second countdown. I quickly wished Safiyya good luck, plonked my sunglasses on my nose, plugged in my earbuds and turned on my MP3 player. I set it to "Stand Up and Be Strong" by Soul Asylum, which always gets me moving, whether it be a short training run or a long race.

Stand up and be strong
It won't take long
You can't go wrong
Stand up and be strong

At 7 a.m. the gun went off, and the runners let out a jubilant roar. 3,222 pairs of feet and 2 sets of wheels thundering down the sleepy streets of Buffalo. We were on our way, and whatever obstacles I might encounter, I was going to finish these 13.1 miles strong. We headed down Pearl Street, and I saw the recently-demolished Aud, with only one wall remaining standing. While it didn't evoke any memories, since I became a fan of the Buffalo Sabres a year after it was closed, I was sad to see it torn down, since I heard so many tales and legends about the old arena. We drifted right towards Niagara Square, around the obelisk and courthouses, and up north on Niagara Street. I was telling Safiyya not to burn herself out and to keep a steady, comfortable pace. "Are you kidding me? I'm just going to take it easy." At this point, there were a few bystanders cheering on the runners, and quite a few gawkers staring on, trying to fathom the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. After a couple miles, Safiyya took off, and I continued on at my pace, vowing to conserve my energy for the strong finish. We rounded into Lasalle Park, and Lake Erie drew into view. Ah, the sight of water re-energized me. I had been wanting to run along the waterfront, and finally it was happening. At the 3-mile mark, and I sighted the first of the water stations. I grabbed a cup of water, drank most of it and tossed the cup away. I then formulated a plan whereby I would alternate water and Gatorade every two miles, since I found that Gatorade really helped me recover faster after each of my training runs. A runner that I passed was wearing a shirt that declared, "In my mind, I am Kenyan." I smiled, recognizing that the race was more a grasp of our inner confidence and mental stamina rather than a feat of physical endurance. We squeezed onto a winding bike path, two abreast, in front of the Lakefront Apartments. A few residents were watching us, but those on the balcony of the last apartment were hollering and cheering and waving noisemakers. I was already starting to like this race.

We then merged onto Erie Basin Marina Drive, and I kept an eye on the oncoming traffic for my friends from middle school, high school, and college who I thought might be running a bit faster than me. As we approached the 5-mile mark at the base of the observation tower, I grabbed a lemon-flavored Gatorade. Going in the opposite direction of that we came from, I once again tried to spot my friends, but couldn't, and just forged ahead. A bunch of runners ran into the restrooms at The Hatch, but by this point, my bladder wasn't sending signals, so I just continued on. Turning near the Naval Park, I heard my name yelled out and saw Bryan standing on the median. I waved to him and ran on, elated that at least someone recognized me among the multitude of runners. Just in front of me, someone was wearing a shirt requesting donations to the Matthew J. Schnirel Memorial Fund. I flashed back to my few memories of Matt, a classmate at Sweet Home Middle School, who passed away in a plane crash in late April 2008. I was glad to know that some of participants were running in his memory. Finally I saw a roadside timer for the 10K mark. 53:20. Not bad, I thought. While it wasn't as good as my 10K time 3 weeks prior, 51:25, I was staying on pace. As we hopped over the above-ground subway tracks and towards HSBC Arena, "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" played over my earbuds. How coincidental, I thought. And ran on.

As we turned onto South and Louisiana Streets, we encountered blaring stereos and cheering spectators, raising a racket with their noisemakers and cowbells. Just before South Park Avenue, we passed a Polish pastry shop, and I thought of paczki ("paunch-kee"), the ubiquitous sugar dusted doughnuts on Fat Tuesday. Running into the store to grab one for the road would be so tempting at this point, but I had to save my indulgences for later. Finishing was my task right now. We zoomed along and merged onto Peabody Street, the eastern boundary of our long route and just after the 9-mile mark. Just after the I-190 overpass, there was a Franciscan friar, in his brown garb and chastity belt, and the head monk in a white habit high-fiving runners as they passed in front of the church. While I was on the other side of the street, I could help but feel a boost of energy. Here were two of God's servants encouraging us to live out our passions. Today was indeed a blessed day. At this point, it started to drizzle. Oh no, I thought, the rain is going to come 2 hours early. Why does it always have to rain when I race? There was nothing I could do except hope that I wasn't going to drench, and perhaps run a bit faster to escape the brunt of the showers if we got caught.

As I crested the Seneca Street bridge over the train tracks, the Lion King song, "Circle of Life," piped through my ears. Perfect! I felt like I had just conquered another mountain and was raising a cub over the plains. I may not be Kenyan, but I was certainly feeling like one now. On and on I ran, water droplets gently whizzing by. Several more bridges and overpasses. It was clear now that this course wasn't going to be run without a fight. I switched to my energy conservation mode, running faster uphill while others slowed down, and running slower downhill as others let their legs go wild. The industrial-looking businesses along Exchange Street looked gloomy in the darkening skies, but I couldn't let them bring me down. I focused on the road ahead. By mile 11, my legs were starting to feel like jelly, but I cleared my mind and pushed on. I very nearly slipped on a train track rail, but steadied myself and continued. I noticed that two of the runners about 30 yards in front of me had been at about the same position since mile 4, but I was slowly falling behind. But I was determined to conserve my energy for the strong finish. I was thankful to them for helping me maintain my pace, but now it was all on me to finish on my own. As we headed down Michigan Avenue towards HSBC Arena, the steady drizzle finally let up and a few rays of sunshine peeked from behind the lifting clouds. Rounding the corner and crossing the train tracks, I spotted a friend from University at Buffalo, walking along the opposite side. "Go Courtney," I yelled. "Hey!," she yelled back. Down Erie Street I went. Four kids were lined up on the curb, hands outstretched. I stuck out my right hand and high-fived them all. "Pas de Problèmes" by Kana played over my MP3 player.

Ne laisse personne t’indiquer
Le chemin que tu t’es tracé
Ne t’en détourne pas, écoute moi
La vérité est toi

(Do not let anyone tell you
The path that you have traced
Do not worry away, hear me
The truth is you)

"Looking good Jawaad!" I lifted my head. Bryan was cheering me on again, about 100 yards from when I first saw him about 50 minutes earlier. I passed the 20K timer. 1:49:35. This was looking like an even better finish than my previous half marathon. One more hill under the Skyway bridge. As I broke onto Franklin Street, I pondered on how I was going to finish. Jump across the finish line? Raise my arms high above my head? Do a funny dance? Spin around? I picked my move and kept a lookout for the finish chute. Crossing Church Street, I sighted it. I could hear the booming announcer clearly: "Bring it. Bring it. BRING IT! Strong finish! STRONG FINISH!" I responded and broke into a sprint, pushing harder, pushing faster. "Here's 1! Here's 2! Here's 3! Looking good! PUSH IT!" I whizzed by the two runners in front of me, finding my second wind, and reached out for the finish line. So close...I could taste my personal victory. Arms raised high, I crossed the finish line, head pounding, feet pounding, but feeling a sense of joy I had never felt before. I did it!

I glanced over at the clock. 1:55:10, more than 4 minutes faster than my previous half marathon, and I wasn't even feeling tired or in pain. Truthfully, I may have been able to go 3 more miles, but this was all about self-control and living in the moment. I got a finisher's medal, a heat blanket, and scooped up some water, orange slices, and a banana, and exited onto the sidewalk, disappearing into a sea of sweaty runners and cheerful spectators.

I took a few deep breaths and crossed over to Pearl Street, where the full marathoners were speeding by, hoping to catch a glimpse of friends who I knew were running as well. It was my lucky day. I called out to Alyssa, from middle school, just as I reached the sidewalk, and spotted John and Paul, who were creating a racket with cowbells and noisesticks. I hadn't seen these guys in more than 11 years, but it sure felt good to meet them. After a few minutes, Jen jogged by, and I had seen nearly everyone who I wanted to meet. I quickly crossed the street, picked up my belongings from the Hyatt, went to the bathroom (yes, two and a half hours holding it in was long enough), wiped away the sweat streaks on my face, and made my way over to Franklin Street, just in time to see Jason Lokwatom of Kenya winning the marathon. If anything, I felt a secret satisfaction that I finished the half marathon before the Kenyan won the whole thing. I was still hoping to see my former boss from the UB Bookstore, Greg, who was cheering on his brother. After a few circuits of the finish area, I finally found him, with his family, right at the end of the full marathon course. We chatted for a while and he introduced me to his brothers. Now, Elena Orlova of Russia finished as the fastest female runner, and more impressively, 3rd overall. I bid my adieus to Greg and his family, went off to the side, and did some stretches.

Josh, a dormmate from college had promised to treat me to coffee. I gave him a call, walked over to the benches on the other side of the Buffalo Metro tracks from the Hyatt, and sat down to enjoy my Gatorade. "Yo!" I looked around. It was Safiyya, my starting line neighbor. She was sitting on the sidewalk, shoes and socks off, enjoying her Cheetos and yogurt. Seems like I had missed the post-race goodies in the Convention Center, but after hearing about pizza, I was satisfied with my Gatorade. She had blasted off after 3 miles, but hit a wall at 10 miles. But she still finished in a respectable 2:03:00, and especially impressive considering that she only started training about a week before. After a bit of chatting and encouraging her to run the half marathon again, I made my way over to the benches to wait for Josh. After a few minutes, he arrived, and we went to Spot's Coffee on Elmwood. I took a coconut-flavored slush and we talked about how life had changed (or not changed) for us since 2003, since we last lived in the same dorm. As we were sitting outside, I saw a few marathoners running by, forced to run on the sidewalk since Buffalo was now awake, and traffic was returning to normal. After about half an hour, Josh dropped me off at UB's South Campus, where I waited for my dad and Nabeel. Then it was time to wind down and enjoy the rest of beautiful Sunday.

Word of the Week 4

Ax∙o∙lotl \ ak-sə-,lä-t^əl \ n:

Any of several salamanders of mountain lakes of Mexico and the western United States that live and breed in larval form without metamorphosing. [1]

Where first seen or heard: Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee

When: May 28^th, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “That axolotl is one cute-looking amphibian.”

(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GR-vGwEqPuyS4GiBX92zOq_gyhwrvLL3g7IrwtjUHZ7rVN9284xQaRNuf5WpMaHgn-AX3A_5xHaQGnXwRIEuYEHJefUtKamc33e-35-WJyhl2ysm_FK9tA8T2GyEEFzNXckArRpRsyo/s400/axolotl.jpg)

[1] http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/axolotl

Quote of the Week 3

"In my mind
I am Kenyan"

-On a T-shirt, during the Buffalo Half/Full Marathon, May 24, 2009

Videos that quicken my pulse...

Word of the Week 3

Cam∙ber \ kam'bər \ n:

1. A slight convex curve of a surface, as of a road, ship’s deck, or a beam. Sometimes referred to the cant of a surface.
2. In automotive wheel alignment, a slight tilt given to each of a pair of wheels on an axle. [1]

Where first seen or heard: Complete Book of Running [2]

When: May 18^th, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “Be careful when you drive in residential neighborhoods, or the streets’ camber will cause you to jump the curb and wreck someone’s lawn.”

[1] http://www.yourdictionary.com/camber

[2] Burfoot, Amby, ed. Complete Book of Running. Emmaus, PA: Rodale, 2004.

Melkam Megeb!

After a brisk 15 minute walk from Canal Street in Chinatown, where I had visited my "favorite store," I was exhausted, thirsty, and my stomach was crying out for nourishment. Luckily, I was outside Awash, ready for my dinner rendezvous with my monthly dinner group from Stony Brook. I went inside, and the rest of the group arrived within 10 minutes of our agreed upon time. After sharing tales of our Sunday pre-dinner adventures, we settled down to the business of looking at unfamiliar Amharic dish names and their English descriptions. I had never had Ethiopian food before, but my palate was up for a new culinary challenge, and three friends over the previous week had recommended trying Awash out. Not being able to eat the meat dishes due to dietary restrictions (halal), I busied myself with the vegetarian section, and between sips of water, tried to decide on a single dish. I settled on the vegetarian combination platter, but came the tricky business of picking 5 of the 7 items in the relevant section. A waitress came around, and five of us ordered the meat combination or meat/veggie combination platter, while a couple picked the veggie combination platter for 2. The waitress, in authentic Ethiopian dress, asked for my five choices:

"What two don't you want?"
"Ummm....gomen (collard green with onions, garlic, and green peppers) and....yatakilt alicha (cabbage, carrot, potatoes sauteed in peppers, onions, and garlic)."

After complimenting my passable Ethiopian accent, my friends asked why I didn't go for the gomen.

"Oh, I'm not a big fan of collard greens. I don't like anything that tastes green (chuckle)."

We then got a couple plateloads of hot, steaming towels. My quizzical look turned to horror and then to anticipation when I realized we would be eating with our hands, my favorite mode of eating as a child. The only disturbing thing was that the towels smelled of bleach...which I hoped wouldn't disrupt our gastronomical endeavor.

Whiling away the time and whetting our appetites, we did small talk about lab shenanigans, upcoming plans, and travel arrangements. The latter made for interesting conversation. A couple in our group is planning a big move to the West Coast to write a new chapter in their lives, but the transition involves two week of cross-country driving. They're adventurous when it comes to food, though they prefer staying with the names they recognize. While discussing mapping out Chinese and Korean restaurants along the way, the conversation took a wild twist...and I mean wild. One of us brought up the story of a grizzly bear chasing humans, then Chinese and Korean food (i.e the couple chasing each other if they can't find food along the way), and then Kansas barbeque. Finally, the conversation took a life of its own when I mentioned Roadkill Cafe (it really exists!). Before we could indulge in dreaming about eating turtles, deer, snakes, and desert foxes, our food arrived.

The plates were big, with 5 heaps of vegetables on a large serving of injera, a pancake-like bread, and centered with dressed salad. I picked the red heap to attack first. Turns out it was yemesir kik wat, split red lentils in berbere sauce. Pretty good I must say! Recognizing the folly of folding over the edge of the injera, I unrolled one of the extra ones we got and dug away at the yemesir. Next up was a yellow heap called yater kikalicha, split peas, almost as good as the yemesir, though I still gravitated towards the soothing taste of the former. I scooted along to the shiro, crowned chick peas, and gobbled them up. Now I was really motoring along, with the gentle spices of all the dishes warming up my esophagus and stomach. I bounced around the injera plain, and climbed the mountain of string beans and carrots. But this really slowed me down...I was starting to fill up. And then something stung my tongue and I instinctively reached for the water and took a big gulp. Turns out I had swallowed bits of green chilis, not my favorite food. Not wanting to get an upset stomach, I decided to pass on key sir alicha, beets, carrots, and potatoes, though it was tempting. By this time, my diners-in-arms were done or almost done with their generous portions and were showing looks of satisfaction on their visages. We quickly paid the bill, a very reasonable $17 per person, including gratuity, and headed out for dessert.
Red Mango was our destination, and I opted for the novel Tangomonium frozen yogurt, without toppings, much to the consternation of one of my fellow diners. "I like to try unadulterated flavors," I said in my defense. It had a light citrus flavor, both slightly tangy and slightly sweet, a perfect antidote to the green chilis I had accidentally consumed. Concluding a wonderful night of Ethiopian dinner and frozen yogurt dessert, we bid our adieus and headed our separate ways. I headed down to Chinatown and hitched a ride back to Long Island.

P.S. I enjoyed both the places I went to. Be sure to check them out at http://www.awashnyc.com/ and http://www.redmangousa.com/default.html

Quote of the Week 2

"be the Change you want to see in the world"

- Mahatma Gandhi, spotted on a mailbox

The Spanish Barbershop

My locks had become too long and unmanageable, especially over my ears, and I decided to go for a much-needed haircut. I would have gone to my old hairdresser, except that at $15, was a bit too much. After asking around, I ended up with two suggestions: either an Italian barbershop or a Spanish barbershop. The person who suggested the former said they do a good job and is cheap, at $10, but that the owners' son was a bit racist, directing his rants at "Pakis". On the other hand, the Spanish barbershop was a bit more, at $12, and the barbers take their time, "about 45 minutes," according to Adnaan, my brother.

Finally, Saturday dawned, and after my long run, I decided to go for a mane-trimming. I went with my brother's suggestion. Nunez's Barbershop was located in Port Jefferson Station, right after the train tracks. I pulled into one of the public parking lots and headed down Main Street. On my 40 yard walk, I encountered a homeless man, sitting in the windowsill of a store, cursing at no one in particular. "Interesting," I thought, and continued on. I entered the barbershop, walked down about halfway, and took a seat on the long blue vinyl bench running along the length of the wall. A Spanish ditty was playing over the stereo system, and the Jetsons, muted of course, was playing on the TV hanging in the far corner. There were about 4 or 5 customers, of all different ethnicities, seated around me, and 7 barbers busy humming or chatting away in Spanish, in no apparent hurry to let their customers go, while the customers on the bench waited patiently. 45 minutes sounded about right.

I took a longer look around the store. The walls were painted sky blue and mirrors ran along the front wall. Barbershop certificates were displayed proudly above the mirrors, and green Mexican peso and American dollar bills were taped to the mirrors. On the wall behind me was a large flag from the Dominican Republic. The soothing smell of talcum powder and aftershave permeated the air, and the ambient sound was punctuated with the humming of trimmers. Occasionally, the guy down at the far end would chime in with the conversation, passionately making his point. The song changed, the conversation ended, and the barbers joined in on the chorus blaring from the radio. Every so often, a barber would finish with a customer, a payment would be made, and the deal would be sealed with a handshake. Cool.

After about 10 minutes, it was my turn. My barber was a beefy guy, about 5'10", with a generous midsection and a chinstrap beard, wearing a black-and-white shirt showing common toiletry items. I sat down in the chair, he turned around to arrange his tools, wrapped a bit of a paper towel around my neck, and then covered me with a bright red drape. He took a brush and straightened out my hair, front to back.

"What do you want?," he asked quietly.
"About this much on the top and this much on the side," spacing my fingers about a half inch and eight of an inch apart.

He put a clip on his trimmer and then proceeded to shorten the sides of my overgrown mane, buzzing back and forth as he moved around my head. He glanced every so often in the mirror, checking the eveness of the cut. Once he was satisfied, he placed the trimmer back on the counter, picked up a towel, and draped it over my right shoulder. Then came the foldable safety razor. I gulped. Gently, he trimmed away at the edges, at the temple, below my sideburns, over the ears, and at the nape. While my head was down, he tapped on my shoulder.

"Huh?"
"Round or square?"
"Round please."

The gentle scritch-scratch of the razor continued. With a trimmer, he edged away the area between the top and sides, and then with a brush, arranged my hair in perfectly straight rows. He took the water sprayer, sprayed some on his hands and wiped down where he had previously applied the razor, in gentle circular motions. After weeks of clamoring for a massage, this felt pretty good. Sure, it wasn't for the muscles in my neck, which was slowly healing, but a massage is a massage. I found my eyelids closing, but then quickly forced them open again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the customer in the chair next to mine drifting off to sleep. By now, more customers had come in, including a 1-year old baby with his mother. The tempo of the song changed, and mother started waving baby's arms around in sync with the rhythm.

By now, the barber had taken the trimmer to the top, punctuating every so often with a pair of scissors. He made eye contact with me, I nodded satisfaction with the chop job, and out came the brush again. More neatening of the rows, back and forth. More massaging for me. Then he tilted my head down, unbuttoned the red drape, and scritch-scratched one last time. Off came the drape, and I hauled myself out of the chair, taking a few glances in the mirror. Happy with the job the barber I did, I handed him $22 and got my change back. Sealing the deal with a handshake, I headed out to the street. Muy bueno!

Videos that make me smile =)

Word of the Week 2

Ho∙mun∙cu∙lus \ hō-mŭng'kyə-ləs \ n:

1. A diminutive human
2. A miniature fully formed individual which adherents of the early biological theory of preformation believed to be present in the sperm cell. [1]
3. In neuroscience, a distorted human figure to represent various body parts’ usage of the cerebral cortex. Also known as the ‘little man inside the brain.’ [2],[3]

Where first seen or heard: From Nabeel, my baby brother

When: May 14th, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “If you have an Extra Sour Warhead, your homunculus would have a really enormous tongue.”

(http://www.juergenhaenggi.ch/Bilder/Homunculus.png)

[1] http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/homunculus

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homunculus

[3] http://faculty.washington.edu/chudler/flash/hom.html

Quote of the Week 1

"The trick is in what emphasizes. We can either make ourselves miserable or we can make ourselves happy. The amount of work is the same."

-Carlos Castaneda

The Facebook Test

Question: Can I survive without Facebook?

Motivation: Over a two-day period, May 2nd to 3rd, 2009, I found my Facebook usage out of control. My average daily usage, irregardless of whether it is a weekday or weekend, is approximately 20 minutes. However, on the two days mentioned, I must have spent almost 4-5 hours in total on Facebook. I spent a small fraction of the time chatting with friends. However, most of the time was spent looking at friends’ updates, browsing group pages, and checking out people’s profiles. As a result of this unusual behavior, my productivity was diminished during the weekend and I didn’t accomplish my academic-related goals. Therefore, I decided to take a leave of absence from the popular networking site, even though it’s my lifeline to the rest of the world.

Interestingly, in April 2009, a study by Ohio State University doctoral student Aryn Karpinski appears to show that Facebook usage is linked to lower grades and diminished study time [1]. However, other examinations of this issue found that quite the opposite trend was true, where Facebook served as a medium for students to study [2]. To segue into my little experiment, apart from determining whether I can do without Facebook, I also want to see if there is any impact on my productivity, since what I do now doesn’t really impact my grades, apart from completion of the tasks, and I don’t have papers, assignments, or exams that are graded, so there is no studying per se.

Hypotheses:

1) I will be able to do without Facebook until Sunday, May 10th, 2009

2) My productivity, namely work on my doctoral proposal and other school-related work, will increase significantly compared to prior weeks.

Observations and Results: I logged off Facebook at approximately 8:30 P.M. on Monday, May 4th and did not log back in until Sunday, May 10th, at 8:00 A.M., or nearly 5 and half days. I left a status message that said “Jawaad is taking a break from Facebook for the week. Call, text, or e-mail him if you need to reach him.”

Messages posted on my wall or inbox are forwarded to my e-mail account, so I was able to see if anyone noticed and responded. The first wall post was received about an hour after I logged off, asking “Why?”, and the second message was received about 12 hours later asking “Call, text, or e-mail…can I knock on your door? :p”.

The first 24 hours were a challenge. I had to physically restrain myself from logging in, and I found myself wondering what was going on. I also regretted not wishing an early birthday to friends whose birthdays I was going to miss during the course of this “experiment.” I knew that wall posts and inbox messages would be forwarded to my school account, so I caught myself checking my e-mail more often than normal during this time. I usually only check about 3 or 4 times a day, but I must have logged into my e-mail 10 or more times. So far, my productivity had not increased, though I attribute that to watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs online (Monday) and being exhausted from a long day and a 5-mile run (Tuesday).

On Wednesday, I had recovered a bit from the urge to check my school e-mail an abnormal number of times, cutting down the logins to 5. However, I was still left wondering what was going on in Facebook, asking one of my colleagues, “Anything interesting going on in Facebook?” Early Thursday morning, just before I woke up, I had an unusual Facebook-related dream. I saw condolence messages posted to the grieving friends and family of a classmate of mine who was recently killed in a plane crash in Ohio, as well as pictures of a dinner held in his honor. It’s interesting how news that unfolds in Facebook can affect one’s psyche even in offline mode…and I didn’t realize how deeply this tragedy has affected me, even though I barely knew the deceased.

Thursday and Friday were uneventful in terms of thinking about Facebook, although a friend mentioned checking Facebook if I need to find out how her conference/trip to Seattle was going. I did sign back onto AOL Instant Messenger after a two week hiatus. This and MSN Messenger were the two modes of communications that Facebook Chat usurped. I did talk to a couple people who I hadn’t talked in a while.

Saturday was the first day I didn’t even think of Facebook. Sunday dawned, and I was anxious, excited, scared for what I would see when I logged in, which I did at approximately 8:30 A.M., 5 and a half days after I last was on the site. I was disappointed. Apart from the two messages I mentioned earlier, I had received one event invitation and a couple causes request. So it turns out nobody really missed me. Either way, I was happy to be back on after my self-isolation experiment.

Conclusions: I successfully stayed off Facebook for more than 5 days, indicating that I do have the ability to cut down on an addiction. However, I felt lost. The only people I could keep in touch with were those who were connected via phone or those who I physically met almost every day. I joined Facebook in April 2005 for the purpose of keeping in touch with current friends, making new friends, and rediscovering old friends from my childhood. There was time I used it for adding applications and playing games, but that fascination was short-lived. Yes, spending too much time on Facebook is a bad habit, and I have to watch that, but my reasons for being on Facebook are sound. Therefore, I can stay away from Facebook for a short while, but it definitely is my lifeline, and in the long-term, my best way to be connected to the rest of the world.

As far as my productivity is concerned, it did increase, but not as dramatically as I had anticipated, or to put in other terms, it wasn’t due to the fact I wasn’t on Facebook, but more so to my better time management and motivation to get things done. I figured that my nemesis was really the plethora of audiovisual distractions online, such as live streaming hockey, Hulu, and Youtube. However hard I try, I really can avoid these, since my brain needs to be entertained every so often.

The relative lack of responses did leave me a bit down, but then again, the very way I phrased my status update showed I wasn’t really seeking attention and implied that people should only respond if they needed to get in touch with me….my mistake. I think the other reason is I may have created the impression that I’m able to hold my own fort and there is no reason to suspect something is wrong, which is the correct assumption. Though I’m not the type of person to let my feelings be known in public, if there was something seriously wrong, I would be sure to let at least some people know. Finally, the objective of this “experiment” wasn’t to judge people’s response or the lack thereof, just if I could control myself with regards to Facebook.

One major positive outcome of this “experiment” was that I started blogging for the first time ever. I was never one to keep a regular diary, much less share my thoughts with more than a select few, but motivated by blogs kept by friends and family, I decided to construct my own little niche on the web. I am rediscovering my long-lost creative side, piled under layers of dust and strung with cobwebs, hidden in the recesses of my brain. I’m not big on sharing things on Facebook, but I hope this little project really serves as a way for others to see a different dimension to me.

[1]http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/2009-04-13-facebook-grades_N.htm
[2]http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/8033466.stm

Why I Run

Why I Run...

I run to keep fit
I run to get moving
I run to be inspired
I run to inspire others
I run to look and feel good
I run because I'm motivated
I run to boost my immune system
I run because it sparks my imagination
I run because it increases my creativity
I run because God gave me two feet, and walking just doesn't cut it
I run to practice for the day I may have to outrun a cheetah
I run because it gives me peace of mind
I run to get a breath or two of fresh air
I run to clear my thoughts and reset
I run because it makes me stronger
I run to enjoy the great outdoors
I run to increase my endurance
I run to get motivated
I run to relax
I run because I can

Word of the Week 1

Car∙bo-load∙ing \ ‘kärbō-lōdiŋ \ n : a strategy employed by endurance athletes such as marathon runners to maximize the storage of glycogen in the muscles [1], and involves the decreasing of activity and increasing of carbohydrate consumption to about 70% of daily calorie intake about 3 to 4 days before the event [2].

Where first seen or heard: MarathonRookie.com’s Half Marathon Training for Beginners [3]

When: May 2^nd, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “About 4 days before the Buffalo Half Marathon, Jawaad is going to reduce his runs to about 2 miles each and begin carbo-loading.”

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carbohydrate_loading. Accessed May 7, 2009.
[2] http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/carbohydrate-loading/MY00223. Accessed May 7, 2009.
[3] http://www.marathonrookie.com/half-marathon-training.html. Accessed May 2, 2009.

Welcome!

Welcome to my blog! I've never had a blog before, so bear with me while I get used to sharing my thoughts online. I've always thought of having a diary, but was either not motivated to write my thoughts in a little book or never really thought I would like to read my thoughts again...I mean, if I'm enjoying life so much, I'm living in the present and not really thinking about the past or looking forward to the future.

Well I finally realized it would be cool to go back in time 10 or 20 years down the line and see what I was like and what people thought of me, and how I have changed since then. Well, this is my living history, and I hope you enjoy reading my musings as much I enjoy writing them!

Ah...before I forget: why the "Perpetual Student" tag? It's a play on my continuous schooling since age 3...22+ years and counting, but also the realization that no matter how old or experienced I am or will be, I'll always be a student. A student of life!