Some of you may have noticed that I've gone from "decent local bike racer guy" to "who is that guy who is already off the back?" in the last year or so. Allow me to explain.
I've always had minor pain in my lower back and hips. I've never been able to stand in one place for a long time without pain, and my hips have always popped and cracked. For a long time, I chalked this up to being tall—I'm 6'3"—because tall folks all have back pain, right? In early 2013, though, the pain became significantly worse.
I began to wake up in the middle of the night with sharp pains in my back and right hip. The pain was so intense that I would sometimes wake up gasping. Something wasn't right.
I went to my doctor, and he referred me to an orthopedist. The orthopedist did some x-rays and told me that I had large bone spurs on the heads of both femurs (the balls in the ball-and-socket joint of the hip) that had probably destroyed the cartilage in my hips. According to him, I needed at least one new hip.
I didn't like that diagnosis, so I found another orthopedist who specialized in hips. He looked at my x-rays and more or less agreed with the first guy, but told me to go see Dr. Jon Hyman a "surgeon to the stars" who specialized in hip arthroscopy, a new type of hip surgery that was far less invasive and would likely allow me to get some more mileage out my hips.
Dr. Hyman had a long waiting list, but when I finally got an appointment, he told me that I was a "pretty good" candidate for the surgery. Due to the locations of the spurs, it would be a challenge to get good blood flow to the parts that would need to heal after the surgery, but Dr. Hyman said that my good health and youth would likely tip the scales in my favor.
By this point—March 2013—I had stopped doing anything longer than a criterium, but I was still able to sneak into the front half of local P/1/2 races. When Dr. Hyman and I agreed on a timeline, I decided that I would race until the pain became too much. I had a few good rides, culminating in my final race (the cat 2 race at Sandy Springs) in which I even spent a few laps off the front solo. After that, I couldn't even complete a pedal stroke without sharp pains in my hip.
I had surgery in June of 2013, and it went well. Dr. Hyman said that there was more damage in the hip joint than he had expected but that he was still optimistic. He prescribed twice-a-week rehab and six weeks of no weight bearing on the right side.
That six weeks sucked, but I got through it. In September, my very supportive sponsor, Atlanta Cycling, set me up with a top-of-the-line Cannondale 'cross bike, and I came roaring back to life. Over the next few months, I began to feel like my old self. The surgery, it seemed, had been a success.
At the start of the 2014 road season, however, I knew that something was wrong. I had pain again. It was not the severe, sharp pain that I had pre-surgery, but it was still pain. I trained and raced through it, and I even eked out a couple top tens in local races. In my heart, though, I knew that something wasn't right.
When 'cross season rolled around, I was optimistic. I knew that my handling skills would help me mitigate the effects of my janky hip. But that wasn't the case. I didn't notch a single result that I was proud of. I even got lapped in a couple local races.
Nevertheless, I put in a solid training block before nationals in January. This would be my first time to do the 30-34 race, and I was very excited. I expected to be top 15, even top 10 if I had an exceptional ride. I don't know where this confidence was coming from, but in my head, I was still the Mark Babcock of 2012, pain-free and fast.
Long story short, I finished 30th at nats, just off a group of eight or nine guys who were racing for a spot in the low 20s. I had a fifth or sixth row start, got caught behind all the first-lap crashes, blah, blah, excuses, blah. I rode well technically, but the top end just wasn't there. My heart and lungs were in top shape, but my hip just couldn't match them. I hobbled up the run-ups, and every other out-of-the-saddle effort caused my hip to pop painfully.
Since nats, I've had plenty of time to think about my future as a bike racer. I've talked to Dr. Hyman, and he told me that I "would always be active, but maybe not with the hip I was born with"—he was telling me that the surgery was not a success and that I would need a new hip. I'm starting to fear that he was right. The nighttime pain is back, and now my left hip is acting up too. I have struggled to keep up on our local Winter Bike League rides whenever the pace has gotten anywhere near racy. I can't lie flat or stand up straight without pain. I'm starting to think that it's time to face the facts.
I will always race bikes, but it might be time to accept that I am an entry fee donator rather than a real competitor. And maybe that's ok. It doesn't feel ok yet, but maybe it will one day. I could go ahead with the hip replacement, in the hopes that it would allow me to get back up to speed, but my racing "career" isn't worth that risk. I'm going to ride as much and as hard as my busted hips will allow and deal with the pain until it gets to be too much. I'd like to put hip replacement off at least until I'm 40 (I'll be 31 tomorrow). The 40-44 field at 2025 nats had better be on their toes.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Get Home Safe
On Thursday, cycling lost Amy Dombroski, an American
professional cyclocross racer. She was hit by a truck in Holland. On January 3rd
of this year, we lost Burry Stander, a South African professional mountain bike
racer. He was hit by a taxi in South
Africa.
When a rider like Amy or Burry is killed by a motor vehicle, I feel shaken. We don’t expect that to happen to people who know what they are doing. Because of this, I felt that I should add my two cents to the bike safety dialogue.
When you ride your bicycle, you are responsible for your own safety. Drivers are not responsible for your safety. Your riding buddies are not responsible for your safety.
Also, your new Rapha kit may look sharp, but black and gray aren’t terribly easy to see. I’m not saying you shouldn’t wear Rapha or the like, but maybe pair it with a high-viz helmet. There’s a reason that road workers wear neon.
Ride leaders, be smart about route selection for your weekly rides. Is there a stretch of road on which you always seem to have trouble with drivers? Pick an alternate route. In the 4,000-lb. car vs. 18-lb. piece of plastic argument, we don’t win.
Know when to ride single-file. Yes, you have the right to ride two-abreast, but sometimes it’s not appropriate. If you’re going to ask drivers to “share the road,” you must do the same. A little common sense can go a long way.
Remember that your actions reflect on all cyclists, not just you. If you smack a car’s hood or needlessly hold up traffic, you make all of us look bad. Chances are that someone else will pay for what you did.
When I ride on the road, I take comfort in the knowledge that I can hop a curb to get on the sidewalk or insta-turn into the grass without crashing. I can look over my shoulder without veering into the road. I can ride over train tracks, gravel, potholes, etc. These skills should be part of every cyclist’s repertoire.
When a rider like Amy or Burry is killed by a motor vehicle, I feel shaken. We don’t expect that to happen to people who know what they are doing. Because of this, I felt that I should add my two cents to the bike safety dialogue.
When you ride your bicycle, you are responsible for your own safety. Drivers are not responsible for your safety. Your riding buddies are not responsible for your safety.
Be visible.
There is no reason to ride without a rear-facing flashing
red light. They are cheap, widely available, and lightweight. Get one. The
brighter the better.
Also, your new Rapha kit may look sharp, but black and gray aren’t terribly easy to see. I’m not saying you shouldn’t wear Rapha or the like, but maybe pair it with a high-viz helmet. There’s a reason that road workers wear neon.
Be predictable.
Don’t swerve. Stop at stop signs and traffic lights. Signal
before turning.
Be careful in a
group.
People often say that there is safety in numbers, but where
there are large groups of cyclists, there are angry drivers.
Ride leaders, be smart about route selection for your weekly rides. Is there a stretch of road on which you always seem to have trouble with drivers? Pick an alternate route. In the 4,000-lb. car vs. 18-lb. piece of plastic argument, we don’t win.
Know when to ride single-file. Yes, you have the right to ride two-abreast, but sometimes it’s not appropriate. If you’re going to ask drivers to “share the road,” you must do the same. A little common sense can go a long way.
Remember that your actions reflect on all cyclists, not just you. If you smack a car’s hood or needlessly hold up traffic, you make all of us look bad. Chances are that someone else will pay for what you did.
Know how to ride your
bike
If you are not a technically skilled rider, you should not
be on the road. Cycling in America is dangerous. Cycling without proper skills
is even more dangerous.
When I ride on the road, I take comfort in the knowledge that I can hop a curb to get on the sidewalk or insta-turn into the grass without crashing. I can look over my shoulder without veering into the road. I can ride over train tracks, gravel, potholes, etc. These skills should be part of every cyclist’s repertoire.
Know when to get off
the road
At certain times of day on particularly dodgy stretches of
road, I hop on the sidewalk or ride in the grass. I know that cyclists are not
supposed to ride on the sidewalk, but I also know that I’m not supposed to be
hit by a car on Johnson Ferry. If a quarter mile of sidewalk riding is what it
takes to get home safe, do it.
Just
yesterday, I felt uneasy on a stretch of road, so I road in the grass for half
a mile. I was able to do this because I have the necessary skills and I ride 28
mm flat-resistant tires that will stand up to a little “off roading.”
I know that
a lot of people will take issue with this section. I have had good friends tell
me that it’s our job as cyclists to claim our space on the road. I understand
the sentiment, but I have two jobs that supersede that job—being a husband and
a father. Making a point is not worth my life. It’s not worth yours, either.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Work Phone Call
Whenever I give a work contact or client my phone number for the first time, I feel obliged to "warn" them that I stutter. I do this to avoid an awkward or unpleasant first contact that might sully what could otherwise be a good relationship.
Every time I do this, my pride takes a hit. Admitting your flaws to a stranger hurts. Doing it every couple of days hurts even more. That said, I know it's the right thing to do. I can't let stuttering sabotage my business.
I thought this post would end in a question, but I can't really think of one. Any comments, dear reader?
Every time I do this, my pride takes a hit. Admitting your flaws to a stranger hurts. Doing it every couple of days hurts even more. That said, I know it's the right thing to do. I can't let stuttering sabotage my business.
I thought this post would end in a question, but I can't really think of one. Any comments, dear reader?
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Exit Speed
The day after the house fire, I raced in the Roswell Criterium, a 90-minute, high-speed circuit race run through the closed streets of downtown Roswell, Georgia. Over 100 of the country’s top criterium racers fly around the racecourse at about 30 mile per hour. It’s a feat just to stay in contact with the group.
My head was still swimming from the house fire. I wasn’t sure where my family was going to stay that night, and I didn’t know how much of our stuff had made it through the blaze. I wasn’t in a bike racing mindset.
As soon as the race started, I was struggling. I had to sprint out of every turn, only to slam on the brakes to slow down for the next turn. I did this for about ten laps before I heard a familiar voice.
“What are you doing?” It was coach, friend, and professional criterium racer Adam Myerson. He had seen that I was in trouble. “It’s all about exit speed. Follow me.”
I did as I was told. As I followed his wheel around the course, I noticed that we were moving up the field, but my heart rate was down. Instead of braking hard into turns and sprinting out of them, we stopped pedaling well before the turns. Initially we would lose ground, but when other riders began to brake, we coasted past them. Because of the speed we carried out of the turns, we didn’t have to sprint; we just started pedaling again to resume race speed. By backing off a little before each turn, our exit speed was substantially higher than it would have been after hard braking. We were going faster with less work.
This way of racing went against my instinct, but it worked. My gut told me that professional criteriums involved brute force and reacting to what those around you were doing, but Adam taught me how to “surf” the momentum of the field.
Recently, I have gone back to speech therapy (I’ll cover my decision to go back in another post). Over the past few weeks, I have been mindful of speech in a way that I haven’t been in years. This mindfulness has made me realize that I have been approaching stuttering the same way I used to race criteriums. I’ve been struggling through every block only to “sprint” into the next. It’s exhausting.
This awareness of my speech was initially very painful for me. I hate stuttering. It doesn’t jibe with my image of myself, and it doesn’t jibe with the life I want to lead, so I hate to think about or deal with it. As I strive to let go of my hatred for stuttering (this will be another blog post), the pain is beginning to subside, and I have been able to approach speaking with a new perspective. Like Adam in the Roswell Criterium, Tim Mackesey, my speech therapist, is helping me figure out how to “coast” through blocks and carry my speech momentum.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
CX Nats 2012
The 2012 Cyclocross National Championships were this week in Madison, WI. I was there. Here's my story.
Monday, January 2, 2012:
I left Marietta with two bikes, six wheels, two boxes of spare parts, a tool box, a stationary trainer, a gigantic plastic tub of cycling clothes, a suitcase with regular clothes, my computer, three helmets, three pairs of cycling shoes, mud boots, tennis shoes, Whole Foods honey roasted peanut butter, rice cakes, and a good attitude. I drove to Evansville, IN and spent the night with my cousin Lindsey, her husband Brian, and their children: Kaden (human), Bella (canine), and Bentley (canine). They fed me lots of good food and took great care of me. Thanks, Blanchards! I love you guys!
I also made a quick stop to see one of my biggest fans - Grandmommy.
I woke up early Tuesday morning and drove to Madison. The drive from Evansville, IN to Madison, WI is boring.
When I got to Madison, I went straight to the course and rode a few laps. It was frozen and terrifying. I went to bed feeling a bit freaked out about Wednesday's single speed race.
I woke up extremely early on Wednesday and went over my bikes. After I had them both dialed in, I headed to the course. I was happy to find that course had thawed quite a bit. By the time the single speed race started, the sheet ice had turned into ice/mud. I can ride ice/mud.
I only did one single speed race this season (which I won), so I had to start in the back of 56 guys. I spent the first lap and a half escaping a scrum of crashes and bottlenecks. When I reached the front of the pack, the leaders were already well up the road, so I set the throttle to cruise and rolled in for 15th. I was expecting top ten, but considering my start position, I was satisfied.
After the race, I had a beer and a salad at a local brewpub and then headed back to my hotel, where I washed my bike in the shower. It was a pretty good day.
On Thursday, I did a few more laps of the course and then drove to Plainfield, IL (near Chicago) to stay with Joy and Aaron and their fantastic two-year-old daughter Emma. When I got there, I found that my thermal skinsuit had shown up. It was supposed to show up before I left Marietta, but when the company called me to tell me that it wouldn't ship until the day I was to leave town, I told them to ship it to Joy and Aaron.
I wondered out loud if there was a screen printing company nearby, and Joy immediately picked up the phone and got the number of Rocket Imaging from her brother in law! I mocked up a quick jersey design in preparation.
Sarah flew in that night, so we picked her up at the airport. I was unbelievably happy to be reunited with my other half.
Friday morning, I awoke to unseasonably warm temperatures. I dropped my skinsuit off at Rocket Imaging and then had some coffee and breakfast. After that I headed out for a ride... in shorts... in January... in Chicago. I found some great bike trails and XC ski trails and spun the cobwebs out of my legs. On the way back to the house, I stopped by and picked up my newly customized skinsuit. I think it turned out pretty good.
For dinner, we had Chinese at the house. Another good day.
We spent Saturday touring Chicago. It was awesome!
I went to bed early Saturday night.
We left Joy and Aaron's at about 8:00 and headed to Madison. We got there around 11:30 (pregnant wife + lots of coffee for me = lots of rest stops).
I took my time getting dressed and looking over my bikes. I finally started riding around about 12:30. My A bike, that had felt fine on Saturday, suddenly wouldn't shift. I turned around to head back to the van, and the chain broke.
I pushed the bike over to the expo area to find a chain. All of the SRAM guys were busy in the pits, so I stopped at the Shimano trailer. I asked a Shimano tech if he would sell me a chain. He said no. The largest bicycle component manufacturer in the world would not sell a chain to an elite rider sixty minutes before the start of nats. Shimano, thank you for making your customer service policy clear to me.
I jogged back to the van and asked Sarah to head to the local bike shop for a chain. When she got back, I put the chain on, and the bike shifted fine. I hurriedly changed out of my warm-up clothes (without ever having warmed up) and into my new skinsuit and headed over to staging.
I was called up in the last row. There were around 100 guys in the race. Before Wednesday's race, the largest race I had ever done was 40 guys. No problem, right?
The gun went off, and I passed a few guys right away. As soon as the group hit the grass, people started crashing and getting tangled in course tape. The bottlenecks were amazing. I spent an unbelievable amount of time completely stopped with nowhere to go. After the first lap, I had moved up about 15 spots and crashed four times. As I started the second lap, I thought now the race starts.
I was wrong.
When I hit the grass again, I could tell that something was wrong. Every time I hit a rut, I could feel something moving that shouldn't have been moving. When I picked up my bike to run around an especially slick 180 turn and my rear wheel fell off, I identified the source of the problem. Somewhere in the first lap, my quick release had been flipped. In twenty plus years of riding bikes with quick release skewers, I have NEVER had that happen. In addition to my wheel falling off, my chain had derailed and wedged itself between my chain guide and my frame - another first. In my semi-hypoxic state, I fumbled with the wheel and chain for what felt like half an hour. I moved over to the side of the course and struggled with my bike while all the guys I had passed flew by. When I finally got my equipment together, I put my foot on the gas, but I must have forgotten to put my hands on the steering weel. I crashed about a million times.
The 2012 Cyclocross National Championships taught me a few things:
1. If you know that you will be called up at the back of a 100 person field, don't get your hopes up. Unless you are EXTREMELY gifted, you're not going anywhere.
2. To be good in mud, you must race in mud. Grass crits and mud races are ENTIRELY different beasts. I can fake it well, but at the top level, faking it doesn't work.
3. I'm sure more stuff will come to me as this experience sinks in.
After the race, I was not a happy dude, so Sarah and I got dinner and hit the road. Planning to drive through the night, I drank a sugar-free NOS after dinner. After 200 miles, Sarah became very uncomfortable in the car (remember - she's 27 weeks pregnant), so we stopped at a motel in Bloomington. Due to the NOS, I'm up at 2:oo am writing this blog post.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Stuttering in the Classroom
Have you seen this?
Elizabeth Snyder, a college professor, asked 16-year-old Philip Garber, a stutterer, not to speak in class "so we do not infringe on other students' time."
Are you kidding me?
I do not advocate giving stutterers special treatment, but the classroom should be a safe place for all students. It is where today's students develop the confidence and skills that they need to become tomorrow's professionals. If this student has something to add to the class discussion, he should be allowed to do so.
As a stutterer, I would tell Snyder to show kindness and patience. If Garber's experience is anything like my own, he gets knocked down enough without his professor adding to it.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
In Spite Of
A few days ago, Sarah and I stopped by my parents' place to see their new furniture, and we sat down to chat. I was having a noticeably difficult time with my speech, so I said something like "stuttering is kicking my ass lately."
Everyone agreed with my assessment and said encouraging things, but my dad said something that made me think:
"People always tell me that they are impressed with what you have accomplished in spite of stuttering."
In spite of. That phrase stood out to me. I began thinking about the accomplishments of which I am proudest, and it hit me that most of them were done in spite of something. For example, I have only won bike races in bad weather or with some kind of mechanical problem. When the sun is shining and my bike works perfectly, I can get second or third, but I have never won.
Last weekend, I drove four hours to a cyclocross race in Fayetteville, TN. There was a prime (cash prize) on the first lap, so I took off at top speed. I quickly got a small gap and poured it on. I was going to get the prime easily... or so I thought. I overcooked a turn and landed on my right shift lever. It broke off and left me with one gear and no control over my rear brake. To make matters worse, I was using a different front wheel than I had planned to use, so my front brake was not set up properly and barely touched the rim when I pulled the lever.
While I assessed the damage to my bike, the whole field passed me. By the time I got going again, I was at least half a lap down. I rode easily to the start/finish line where I planned to pack it in and head home, but when I crossed the line, something clicked in me. I didn't drive four hours to do one lap. I was going to finish this race, and I was not going to get last.
I began to pedal like a man possessed. I couldn't brake going into turns, so I would unclip my inside foot and try to slide. I was riding "tape to tape" with a good amount of speed and little to no control. Things weren't going well - I was in my element.
As the laps ticked off, I made steady progress. The crowd was great and cheered me on every lap. In spite of three more crashes (due to my lack of brakes), I managed to finish in fifth place. Right after I crossed the line, the race promoter handed me some cash even though I had finished out of the money. "You put on a good show," he said. "You got back up and kept racing in spite of a disabled bike."
There are many afflictions that are far worse than stuttering, and I don't pretend that my life is any harder than anyone else's. In fact, my life might be easier because stuttering has taught me how to succeed in spite of.
Now, if I could just figure out how to act when things go right...
Happy Tuesday, everybody.
Everyone agreed with my assessment and said encouraging things, but my dad said something that made me think:
"People always tell me that they are impressed with what you have accomplished in spite of stuttering."
In spite of. That phrase stood out to me. I began thinking about the accomplishments of which I am proudest, and it hit me that most of them were done in spite of something. For example, I have only won bike races in bad weather or with some kind of mechanical problem. When the sun is shining and my bike works perfectly, I can get second or third, but I have never won.
Last weekend, I drove four hours to a cyclocross race in Fayetteville, TN. There was a prime (cash prize) on the first lap, so I took off at top speed. I quickly got a small gap and poured it on. I was going to get the prime easily... or so I thought. I overcooked a turn and landed on my right shift lever. It broke off and left me with one gear and no control over my rear brake. To make matters worse, I was using a different front wheel than I had planned to use, so my front brake was not set up properly and barely touched the rim when I pulled the lever.
While I assessed the damage to my bike, the whole field passed me. By the time I got going again, I was at least half a lap down. I rode easily to the start/finish line where I planned to pack it in and head home, but when I crossed the line, something clicked in me. I didn't drive four hours to do one lap. I was going to finish this race, and I was not going to get last.
I began to pedal like a man possessed. I couldn't brake going into turns, so I would unclip my inside foot and try to slide. I was riding "tape to tape" with a good amount of speed and little to no control. Things weren't going well - I was in my element.
As the laps ticked off, I made steady progress. The crowd was great and cheered me on every lap. In spite of three more crashes (due to my lack of brakes), I managed to finish in fifth place. Right after I crossed the line, the race promoter handed me some cash even though I had finished out of the money. "You put on a good show," he said. "You got back up and kept racing in spite of a disabled bike."
There are many afflictions that are far worse than stuttering, and I don't pretend that my life is any harder than anyone else's. In fact, my life might be easier because stuttering has taught me how to succeed in spite of.
Now, if I could just figure out how to act when things go right...
Happy Tuesday, everybody.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
No more small talk
Sorry it has been so long since my last post. I've been busy. Hopefully you have too.
Last week, I was at the start line of a cyclocross race, and I noticed that a fellow racer was running very narrow tires, so I asked him what size they were.
Me: Are th-th-th-th-those t-t-t-t-tw-tw-twenty eights?
Him: No, they're th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-thirties.
About half of the racers started laughing, and I turned my gaze toward the ground. When the race started, I decided to go all out for the first lap to "get back" at the guy. I must have been fast, because after the first lap, there were only three of us at the front, and he wasn't there. After the adrenaline wore off, the wind went out of my sails. It hit me that the one place I was safe from stuttering (my bike) was no longer safe. I rode the rest of the race halfheartedly and finished third - last of the selection that I had created.
After the race, I didn't hang around for the podium. I just rode back to my car and drove home. I felt like an inhuman shell. I was not a bike racer. I was not the guy that rounded out the podium. I was the guy who couldn't talk.
I guess that's what I get for trying to make small talk with strangers.
Last week, I was at the start line of a cyclocross race, and I noticed that a fellow racer was running very narrow tires, so I asked him what size they were.
Me: Are th-th-th-th-those t-t-t-t-tw-tw-twenty eights?
Him: No, they're th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-thirties.
About half of the racers started laughing, and I turned my gaze toward the ground. When the race started, I decided to go all out for the first lap to "get back" at the guy. I must have been fast, because after the first lap, there were only three of us at the front, and he wasn't there. After the adrenaline wore off, the wind went out of my sails. It hit me that the one place I was safe from stuttering (my bike) was no longer safe. I rode the rest of the race halfheartedly and finished third - last of the selection that I had created.
After the race, I didn't hang around for the podium. I just rode back to my car and drove home. I felt like an inhuman shell. I was not a bike racer. I was not the guy that rounded out the podium. I was the guy who couldn't talk.
I guess that's what I get for trying to make small talk with strangers.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Ouch.
My wife and I picked up lunch for my family today. My mom and dad wrote down their orders on a piece a paper, and Sarah and I went to Subway.
When we got there, I took the piece of paper up to the counter and began to read. My mom had requested a six inch turkey sub on whole wheat with everything except hot peppers. As I stuttered through the list of ingredients, the woman behind the counter strained to make out what I was saying. It was touch and go for a moment, but the sandwich was completed.
Next, Sarah ordered her sandwich: tuna on wheat with lettuce, tomato, pickles, vinegar, salt, and pepper. I caught myself feeling jealous about her effortless delivery.
I was up again. I began to recite my father's order, but the woman behind the counter could not understand me. She apologized and seemed genuinely upset that she was unable to decipher what I was saying. I tried again... and again, but as my tension level mounted, my stuttering became worse. I did something that I never do.
"Sarah?" I looked to my wife, and she immediately knew what I was asking. She gently took the piece of paper from me and read it to the patient sandwich artist. I looked down at the floor in shame. "It's OK, baby," Sarah said.
I couldn't go out like this. I began my own sandwich order, and I stuttered like a fool, but I got the idea of a chicken-salad-on-flat-bread across to my friend the sandwich artist. She smiled sweetly and made my sandwich. That was the worst part.
When someone makes fun of me, I can choose to let it go, or I can choose to get angry. If I let it go, I am not bothered. If I get angry, I can deal with it. On the other hand, when someone is sympathetic, I feel crippled. I feel like someone for whom people should feel sorry. That is hard to let go. I haven't had to ask someone to speak for me since I was a child. Today, I felt like a child.
After a hard ride (and one or two adult beverages), I feel OK, but today hurt.
When we got there, I took the piece of paper up to the counter and began to read. My mom had requested a six inch turkey sub on whole wheat with everything except hot peppers. As I stuttered through the list of ingredients, the woman behind the counter strained to make out what I was saying. It was touch and go for a moment, but the sandwich was completed.
Next, Sarah ordered her sandwich: tuna on wheat with lettuce, tomato, pickles, vinegar, salt, and pepper. I caught myself feeling jealous about her effortless delivery.
I was up again. I began to recite my father's order, but the woman behind the counter could not understand me. She apologized and seemed genuinely upset that she was unable to decipher what I was saying. I tried again... and again, but as my tension level mounted, my stuttering became worse. I did something that I never do.
"Sarah?" I looked to my wife, and she immediately knew what I was asking. She gently took the piece of paper from me and read it to the patient sandwich artist. I looked down at the floor in shame. "It's OK, baby," Sarah said.
I couldn't go out like this. I began my own sandwich order, and I stuttered like a fool, but I got the idea of a chicken-salad-on-flat-bread across to my friend the sandwich artist. She smiled sweetly and made my sandwich. That was the worst part.
When someone makes fun of me, I can choose to let it go, or I can choose to get angry. If I let it go, I am not bothered. If I get angry, I can deal with it. On the other hand, when someone is sympathetic, I feel crippled. I feel like someone for whom people should feel sorry. That is hard to let go. I haven't had to ask someone to speak for me since I was a child. Today, I felt like a child.
After a hard ride (and one or two adult beverages), I feel OK, but today hurt.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Disappointment
Last week, my wife and I drove 1000 miles to a pair of bike races in Pennsylvania and D.C. We arrived at our hotel on Friday night, and we were so tired that we left my bike locked on our car and went straight to sleep. After a wonderful nine hours of sleep, we made coffee and walked down the stairs to the car. Much to our surprise, we found that my bike had been stolen.
A police officer came and took our information, but he made it clear to us that the bike would not be found. It was gone. I was supposed to race that night in a race for which I had trained for months, but I did not have a bike.
A wonderful company called SRAM allowed me to use a bike that night, but it was not a good fit, and I finished anonymously in the pack. The next day was even worse. I borrowed another bike from SRAM, and I was involved in a crash. I hurt my knee pretty bad and got a concussion, but I managed to get back into the race and finish anonymously in the pack once again.
If it weren't for bad luck...
People often tell me that I have bad luck. They might be right. Within the last twelve weeks, my house burned down, my bike got stolen, and I crashed bad enough that I have to see an orthopedic surgeon. Sarah and I seem to go from one crisis to the next, but it never seems to affect me. I deal with disappointment well. Stuttering strikes again.
Life as a stutterer is a series of small disappointments. I picture myself telling a joke to a rapt group of friends who laugh hysterically as I deliver the punchline, but in reality, I stutter so bad that they lose me halfway through the telling of the joke. I picture myself ordering lunch without having to spell out my chosen menu item four times, but in reality, I end up getting extra onions instead of no onions or two kinds of cheese instead of no cheese because the server just can't understand me. I pictured myself saying my wedding vows clearly and loudly, but in reality...
All of these little disappointments have taught me that there is light at the end of the tunnel (if only so another tunnel can begin). No disappointment lasts forever, and I only lose when I stop trying.
A police officer came and took our information, but he made it clear to us that the bike would not be found. It was gone. I was supposed to race that night in a race for which I had trained for months, but I did not have a bike.
A wonderful company called SRAM allowed me to use a bike that night, but it was not a good fit, and I finished anonymously in the pack. The next day was even worse. I borrowed another bike from SRAM, and I was involved in a crash. I hurt my knee pretty bad and got a concussion, but I managed to get back into the race and finish anonymously in the pack once again.
If it weren't for bad luck...
People often tell me that I have bad luck. They might be right. Within the last twelve weeks, my house burned down, my bike got stolen, and I crashed bad enough that I have to see an orthopedic surgeon. Sarah and I seem to go from one crisis to the next, but it never seems to affect me. I deal with disappointment well. Stuttering strikes again.
Life as a stutterer is a series of small disappointments. I picture myself telling a joke to a rapt group of friends who laugh hysterically as I deliver the punchline, but in reality, I stutter so bad that they lose me halfway through the telling of the joke. I picture myself ordering lunch without having to spell out my chosen menu item four times, but in reality, I end up getting extra onions instead of no onions or two kinds of cheese instead of no cheese because the server just can't understand me. I pictured myself saying my wedding vows clearly and loudly, but in reality...
All of these little disappointments have taught me that there is light at the end of the tunnel (if only so another tunnel can begin). No disappointment lasts forever, and I only lose when I stop trying.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sorry I haven't called...
So... it has been a while.
I could give a whole slew of excuses for my lack of posts, but I will not. I will just say that much has happened since the fire and leave it at that.
I'm back. Will you have me?
Good.
The last two months have made up what I like to call a "bad speech cycle." My speech has been garbled and strained, and I have endured more than my share of awkward encounters. For example:
I leave on Thursday for a pair of races in Pennsylvania and DC, and my bike needs a new bottom bracket bearing. This specific bearing is a little bit hard to find, so I had to call every shop in my area on Saturday. Almost every single shop hung up on me or told me that I was "breaking up." Each time, this made me a little angrier. I would call back and say "hi, I just called looking for a bearing and you hung up on me. I stutter. Please stay on the line."
Each time, the person on the other end of the line would say something along the lines of "I'm so sorry" or "I didn't mean to offend you." They didn't mean any harm, but damn - a new bearing for my bike shouldn't cost me my dignity.
I have experienced countless other similar encounters recently, and I'm starting to lose my sense of humor. I mean, yeah, I can be quite a spectacle, but is stuttering really so rare that people just don't know how to respond?
Enough bitching - time for some good news:
Sarah and I are finally about to move into an apartment, so it looks like we'll have greater stability. That means I'll be back to blogging. Let me know if there is a specific topic you would like for me to discuss.
I could give a whole slew of excuses for my lack of posts, but I will not. I will just say that much has happened since the fire and leave it at that.
I'm back. Will you have me?
Good.
The last two months have made up what I like to call a "bad speech cycle." My speech has been garbled and strained, and I have endured more than my share of awkward encounters. For example:
I leave on Thursday for a pair of races in Pennsylvania and DC, and my bike needs a new bottom bracket bearing. This specific bearing is a little bit hard to find, so I had to call every shop in my area on Saturday. Almost every single shop hung up on me or told me that I was "breaking up." Each time, this made me a little angrier. I would call back and say "hi, I just called looking for a bearing and you hung up on me. I stutter. Please stay on the line."
Each time, the person on the other end of the line would say something along the lines of "I'm so sorry" or "I didn't mean to offend you." They didn't mean any harm, but damn - a new bearing for my bike shouldn't cost me my dignity.
I have experienced countless other similar encounters recently, and I'm starting to lose my sense of humor. I mean, yeah, I can be quite a spectacle, but is stuttering really so rare that people just don't know how to respond?
Enough bitching - time for some good news:
Sarah and I are finally about to move into an apartment, so it looks like we'll have greater stability. That means I'll be back to blogging. Let me know if there is a specific topic you would like for me to discuss.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Fires, Criteriums, and Dogs
Some of you may have noticed that I haven't posted anything for a while. There is good reason for that.
Last week was Speed Week (a series of criteriums in the southeast that draws the biggest stars of the American cycling world), and I was lucky enough to earn a place on the start list of the series. The first race was last Saturday night (April 24) in Athens. I had planned to update this blog as usual because all of the races were at night, so I had each day free. It was not to be.
On Saturday morning, I woke up to some bad news: my family's house had been struck by lightning and caught fire. My parents were there, and they and all the dogs got out unharmed. The house did not fare so well. We have spent the last week in a hotel (with four dogs), and Speed Week was pretty much a wash. (A little back story - my wife and I are living with my parents while we look for a house).
I was only able to race in four of the seven races, and the races I did start were marred by mechanical problems and lack of focus. I couldn't get my head in the game. I realized how much I take for granted this week. There is something to be said for having a home and "stuff."
I hope that each of you has had a better week than I have! Thanks for all the support. Check back tomorrow for a new post about stuttering.
Last week was Speed Week (a series of criteriums in the southeast that draws the biggest stars of the American cycling world), and I was lucky enough to earn a place on the start list of the series. The first race was last Saturday night (April 24) in Athens. I had planned to update this blog as usual because all of the races were at night, so I had each day free. It was not to be.
On Saturday morning, I woke up to some bad news: my family's house had been struck by lightning and caught fire. My parents were there, and they and all the dogs got out unharmed. The house did not fare so well. We have spent the last week in a hotel (with four dogs), and Speed Week was pretty much a wash. (A little back story - my wife and I are living with my parents while we look for a house).
I was only able to race in four of the seven races, and the races I did start were marred by mechanical problems and lack of focus. I couldn't get my head in the game. I realized how much I take for granted this week. There is something to be said for having a home and "stuff."
I hope that each of you has had a better week than I have! Thanks for all the support. Check back tomorrow for a new post about stuttering.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
No Grad School for Mark
UGA's Sociology Department recently informed me that I was "not recommended" for their PhD program. When life hands you a lemon, what should you do?
You should kick life in the crotch.
Since UGA has no use for my letter of intent, I figured I would post it here:
My name is Mark Babcock, and I am a severe stutterer. I don’t just repeat a word here and there, and I don’t just “have a little trouble when I’m nervous.” I struggle to put my thoughts into words. In my head, my thoughts are clear and concise, but they come out garbled and truncated. When I talk, I sometimes contort my face and run out of breath. My head often jerks uncontrollably. My listener usually breaks eye contact, and I follow suit out of shame. I feel like I make quite a spectacle.
You should kick life in the crotch.
Since UGA has no use for my letter of intent, I figured I would post it here:
My name is Mark Babcock, and I am a severe stutterer. I don’t just repeat a word here and there, and I don’t just “have a little trouble when I’m nervous.” I struggle to put my thoughts into words. In my head, my thoughts are clear and concise, but they come out garbled and truncated. When I talk, I sometimes contort my face and run out of breath. My head often jerks uncontrollably. My listener usually breaks eye contact, and I follow suit out of shame. I feel like I make quite a spectacle.
I used to say “I don’t know” in school when a teacher would call upon me to answer a question. I did know. I always knew, but the knock to my pride was easier to deal with than the shame of stuttering in front of my peers.
I do not tell you this to gain your sympathy. I tell you this because my “affliction” has made me a natural sociologist. Let me explain.
When I talk to someone, I get two reactions. The first is the person’s response to what I say. For example, they might say “eleven fifteen” if I ask for the time. The second is the person’s response to my stuttering. Some people give a look of shock or confusion. Some laugh or make a joke. Some try to finish my sentence for me. Others give a sad, sympathetic smile.
As a child, I began to notice patterns in these responses. Men tended to be less sympathetic than women. Older people were more patient than younger people. As a teen, I found that the “popular” kids would make fun of me in a group but not in a one-on-one encounter.
In my head, I began to catalog people into types based upon the reaction that I expected from them. I used these types to avoid confrontation in my life. If I went to the grocery store and had the choice between a male cashier and a female cashier, I would always choose the female. If I encountered a pretty girl, I would not talk to her when she was around her friends. The list goes on and on.
Without realizing it, I was “doing sociology.” I developed an interest in why people from similar backgrounds or with similar character traits tend to do similar things. I never had a name for this interest, but it was always there. It was not until well into my college career that I found sociology.
I began college with high hopes. I was going to UGA where I would get a degree in math or chemistry, meet new friends, meet the girl of my dreams, and graduate in four years with my life planned out. The reality was different. My first year at UGA was difficult for me. I was going through an especially bad stuttering cycle, and I failed to meet friends. I endured a very public disappointment with the SpeechEasy device. [To make a long story short, I became the poster child for a device that was supposed to cure stuttering. I went on Good Morning America and The Oprah Winfrey Show to promote this device. The device “cured” me for a few weeks, but then my stuttering came back.]
This series of events led me into a long depression. I began to work full time at a bar and nearly failed out of school. I just didn’t care. For the next few years, I bounced from major to major making B’s and C’s when I was capable of A’s. I began to manage a bar and toyed with the idea of dropping out of college. I loved learning, but I felt that my stuttering would keep me from doing anything useful with a college degree. Somewhere in my head, I knew that I was settling for less than I was capable of, but like I said, I just didn’t care.
After two years of this, I met Sarah, the woman that I would eventually marry. She helped me see that I was more than just a stutterer. She helped me get my college career back on track and urged me to look into psychology or sociology. When I took my first sociology class, a light bulb went off in my head. This was what I had been doing my entire life! As I sat in that crowded auditorium listening to Dr. Beck explain the basic tenets of sociological thinking, I felt like I knew what he was going to say before he said it. I went home that evening with a sense of purpose.
There is much more to me than stuttering. I am a semi-professional cyclist, I love music (I play the string bass and the guitar), and I have a soft spot for animals (especially dogs). I am a dedicated husband, a devoted son, and a reliable brother. I only focus on stuttering for this letter because I feel that it is the best way to convey to you why I am a good candidate in “1-2 pages.”
Thank you very much for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mark Babcock
Stuttering and the Bike
Bike racing is my passion, so in honor of Speedweek, today's post will be about stuttering and the bike.
There has always been a bike in my life. When I was young, I jumped curbs on a bmx bike. In high school, I explored the woods on a mountain bike. In college, I found road racing.
At the top levels, bike racing is a hard sport. It makes no allowance for weaknesses. To be anything more than pack fill, you need to put in 15-25 hours per week of saddle time (depending on the time of year). Simply put, if you are not prepared, you can't play. Success is hard to come by, and failure awaits at every turn. High speed crashes are common, and lycra doesn't provide much protection. Why do I do this?
I love it. I wouldn't put myself through seven hour rides in the rain in January if bike racing didn't have a piece of my heart. I wouldn't pass on pizza, beer, and ice cream for eleven months of the year if I didn't dream of crossing the finish line solo with my arms raised above my head. That said, there is a secondary reason for my dedication to the sport: bike racing is the great equalizer.
At a bike race, it doesn't matter that I stutter. At the start line, I'm not worried that someone is going to make fun of me or that I'll miss out on an opportunity because someone thinks I'm "not right in the head." During a race, I can let my legs do the talking (even if they don't always have much to say). The best part? The benefits of bike racing don't end when I cross the finish line.
The bike disposes of bad stuttering energy. I leave for a training ride with the weight of stuttering on my shoulders. Somewhere along the way, that weight turns into fuel, and when I get home that fuel is spent. The memories of rude comments have lost their sting. The tension in my facial muscles has drained away. I feel physically tired, but my mind is quiet, and I am at peace.
If you happen to be in Athens this Saturday, look for me at the start (and hopefully the finish) of the Twilight Pro race. There will be a lot of things going through my mind, but stuttering will not be one of them.
There has always been a bike in my life. When I was young, I jumped curbs on a bmx bike. In high school, I explored the woods on a mountain bike. In college, I found road racing.
At the top levels, bike racing is a hard sport. It makes no allowance for weaknesses. To be anything more than pack fill, you need to put in 15-25 hours per week of saddle time (depending on the time of year). Simply put, if you are not prepared, you can't play. Success is hard to come by, and failure awaits at every turn. High speed crashes are common, and lycra doesn't provide much protection. Why do I do this?
I love it. I wouldn't put myself through seven hour rides in the rain in January if bike racing didn't have a piece of my heart. I wouldn't pass on pizza, beer, and ice cream for eleven months of the year if I didn't dream of crossing the finish line solo with my arms raised above my head. That said, there is a secondary reason for my dedication to the sport: bike racing is the great equalizer.
At a bike race, it doesn't matter that I stutter. At the start line, I'm not worried that someone is going to make fun of me or that I'll miss out on an opportunity because someone thinks I'm "not right in the head." During a race, I can let my legs do the talking (even if they don't always have much to say). The best part? The benefits of bike racing don't end when I cross the finish line.
The bike disposes of bad stuttering energy. I leave for a training ride with the weight of stuttering on my shoulders. Somewhere along the way, that weight turns into fuel, and when I get home that fuel is spent. The memories of rude comments have lost their sting. The tension in my facial muscles has drained away. I feel physically tired, but my mind is quiet, and I am at peace.
If you happen to be in Athens this Saturday, look for me at the start (and hopefully the finish) of the Twilight Pro race. There will be a lot of things going through my mind, but stuttering will not be one of them.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Whose Problem is Stuttering?
Before each new school year from kindergarten through eighth grade, my parents would call a meeting with all of my new teachers. My mom and dad would introduce me to the teachers and tell them that I stutter. I would answer questions when asked. We would come to the agreement that I would not be called upon in class unless I volunteered. I would feel less scared about starting school.
We did this every year until high school. Around my 14th birthday, I came to the realization that at some point, my mom and dad would not always be there to pave the way for me. I had to be my own ambassador. This realization had been coming for a long time, but its arrival was sped up by a visit to the National Stuttering Project convention.
The NSP convention took place in Atlanta that year. For three days, my parents and I drove to the convention hotel and listened to lectures and met with stutterers of all ages and backgrounds. It was an eye opening experience. I met stutterers who were almost completely fluent, and I met stutterers whose afflictions were profound. I met stutterers who held high profile jobs, and I met stutterers who worked in whatever job required the least amount of talking, regardless of their qualifications. It was nice to meet the successful people, but it was in meeting the downtrodden and beaten that I found the most value.
These people were victims of their stutters. They felt helpless to change their situations, and many of them looked to the NSP to change the world for them. The NSP was their version of mom and dad calling a meeting with the teachers. The NSP taught that if we, as stutterers, educated the public about stuttering, the public would accept us, and It would be o.k. to stutter. The NSP's way of thinking did not make sense to me. The way I saw it, people were still going to laugh and make rude comments unless I wore a sandwich board that read:
CAUTION
I STUTTER.
IT IS NOT NICE TO FINISH MY SENTENCES, LAUGH, OR MAKE FUN.
The logical parallel was that if I continued to let my parents fight my battles, I would be unprepared when "the real world" hit. I was going to have to leave the nest and bulldoze through life on my own. It was going to be scary and painful, but I had to do it.
Stuttering is not the listener’s problem. A person with no experience with stuttering should not be expected to react perfectly the first time they talk to me or any other stutterer. I have reached the point that I can forgive an initial misstep on the part of a listener. Some of my closest friends laughed at me when we first met. They weren’t being mean; they were just unaware. Stuttering is not incredibly common, so it is possible to go through life without encountering it. Furthermore, there are no visual cues associated with stuttering. When someone sees me, they expect me to talk they way they do. SURPRISE!
Stutterers, keep on bulldozing. You’re going to get made fun of, and it’s going to hurt. Try to give people a second chance… but maybe not a third.
Before I get any angry comments, let me clarify a couple of things:
1. I do not blame any of the “downtrodden and beaten” for feeling the way they feel or making the choices they make. Stuttering affects everyone differently. Given different circumstances, I may have ended up downtrodden myself.
2. I realize that the National Stuttering Project (now known as the National Stuttering Association) has changed its views. They now discuss the rights of the listener. This is a very positive step. The NSA must deal with both sides of the equation, and from what I understand, they now do.
We did this every year until high school. Around my 14th birthday, I came to the realization that at some point, my mom and dad would not always be there to pave the way for me. I had to be my own ambassador. This realization had been coming for a long time, but its arrival was sped up by a visit to the National Stuttering Project convention.
The NSP convention took place in Atlanta that year. For three days, my parents and I drove to the convention hotel and listened to lectures and met with stutterers of all ages and backgrounds. It was an eye opening experience. I met stutterers who were almost completely fluent, and I met stutterers whose afflictions were profound. I met stutterers who held high profile jobs, and I met stutterers who worked in whatever job required the least amount of talking, regardless of their qualifications. It was nice to meet the successful people, but it was in meeting the downtrodden and beaten that I found the most value.
These people were victims of their stutters. They felt helpless to change their situations, and many of them looked to the NSP to change the world for them. The NSP was their version of mom and dad calling a meeting with the teachers. The NSP taught that if we, as stutterers, educated the public about stuttering, the public would accept us, and It would be o.k. to stutter. The NSP's way of thinking did not make sense to me. The way I saw it, people were still going to laugh and make rude comments unless I wore a sandwich board that read:
CAUTION
I STUTTER.
IT IS NOT NICE TO FINISH MY SENTENCES, LAUGH, OR MAKE FUN.
The logical parallel was that if I continued to let my parents fight my battles, I would be unprepared when "the real world" hit. I was going to have to leave the nest and bulldoze through life on my own. It was going to be scary and painful, but I had to do it.
Stuttering is not the listener’s problem. A person with no experience with stuttering should not be expected to react perfectly the first time they talk to me or any other stutterer. I have reached the point that I can forgive an initial misstep on the part of a listener. Some of my closest friends laughed at me when we first met. They weren’t being mean; they were just unaware. Stuttering is not incredibly common, so it is possible to go through life without encountering it. Furthermore, there are no visual cues associated with stuttering. When someone sees me, they expect me to talk they way they do. SURPRISE!
Stutterers, keep on bulldozing. You’re going to get made fun of, and it’s going to hurt. Try to give people a second chance… but maybe not a third.
Before I get any angry comments, let me clarify a couple of things:
1. I do not blame any of the “downtrodden and beaten” for feeling the way they feel or making the choices they make. Stuttering affects everyone differently. Given different circumstances, I may have ended up downtrodden myself.
2. I realize that the National Stuttering Project (now known as the National Stuttering Association) has changed its views. They now discuss the rights of the listener. This is a very positive step. The NSA must deal with both sides of the equation, and from what I understand, they now do.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Mindfulness
Stuttering and frustration are a volatile mix. When I’m having a difficult day, one bad block can make me break down. It is the proverbial insult added to injury. Let’s take yesterday for example. I ride my bike for two hours to a training race (I race bicycles – more on that in a future post). I planned to do the race and ride home. My chain breaks when I get to the race, and I have to sit on the sidelines while I wait for my wife. I go to my local bike shop and ask for a chain. I stutter, and the sales guy laughs. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it stings. I’ve been on my bike for three hours, so I’m tired and lacking patience. I want to go home and relax with my wife. Instead, I get home and find that I have made a mistake on a work project. Now instead of relaxing with my wife, I have to stay up late and fix it. I go to tell Sarah and find her on her computer with her back to me. I start to talk and launch headlong into the mother of all silent blocks. I dance a silent jig in the doorway while I try to force the words out, and she doesn’t even know that I’m behind her. When I finally get the words out, they sound angry. Now Sarah thinks I’m mad at her. Crap. I call my dad/business partner to discuss the work issue, and by now my stuttering is on ten. Thankfully everyone in my family is a certified stutter translator, so my dad magically understands every word I say. Even so, I get off the phone even more tired. I end the day feeling worthless. All I can think about is stuttering. The point of this story is that a broken chain and an error on a work project are easy things to deal with. Stuttering makes little annoyances seem monumental.
Now that I am done whining, let’s get positive. I’m probably going to have problems to deal with tomorrow, and I am probably going to stutter tomorrow, so I need to figure out how to handle these things.
I recently found a quote from Jon Kabat-Zinn that stopped me in my tracks:
Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way; On purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally.
Mindfulness? This might be the tool I have been looking for. I get so caught up in the effects of stuttering that I let myself be a passenger to it. If I could pay attention “on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally,” I might be able to take back the reins. I might be able to stop the snowball effect that stuttering has on my life. I might even overcome shame and fear. This is exciting stuff.
I wish I had more to share about this topic, but this is a brand new journey for me. I’ll keep you updated.
Now that I am done whining, let’s get positive. I’m probably going to have problems to deal with tomorrow, and I am probably going to stutter tomorrow, so I need to figure out how to handle these things.
I recently found a quote from Jon Kabat-Zinn that stopped me in my tracks:
Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way; On purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally.
Mindfulness? This might be the tool I have been looking for. I get so caught up in the effects of stuttering that I let myself be a passenger to it. If I could pay attention “on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally,” I might be able to take back the reins. I might be able to stop the snowball effect that stuttering has on my life. I might even overcome shame and fear. This is exciting stuff.
I wish I had more to share about this topic, but this is a brand new journey for me. I’ll keep you updated.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Famous stutterers
There are a lot of famous stutterers. A list can be found here. So what?
It has never made me feel better to know that famous people stutter... until now. I just found out that Bill Withers, who is responsible for such songs as Lean On Me, Lovely Day, and Use Me, stutters.
Click here.
It has never made me feel better to know that famous people stutter... until now. I just found out that Bill Withers, who is responsible for such songs as Lean On Me, Lovely Day, and Use Me, stutters.
Click here.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Stuttering and Grammar
I am a corrector. I cannot tolerate grammar errors or mispronunciations, and I often point them out in casual conversation. "Me and Jim?" I believe you mean "Jim and I."
This anal retentiveness has not always endeared me to those who play it "fast and loose" with grammar, but it has served me well in my job as an editor. I clarify dangling participles. I use commas to keep the parts of a sentence where they belong. I acquaint subjects with verbs of the proper number. I hack through confusing verbiage and bring forth the point of a story. When things get confusing, I'm the language hero.
I have always understood how language works. I used to wonder why we had to cover grammar in school. I thought that everyone had my intuitive grasp of language. As I grew up, I realized that this was not the case. There were smart people, people I respected, that didn't know when to use "its" and when to use "it's." I began to wonder why I seemed to have been born with an English teacher on my shoulder.
As I discussed in an earlier post, the beginning of college was a tough time in my stuttering career. Stuttering became the defining factor of my life, and I grew more cynical by the day. A high level of cynicism leads to excessive correcting of others. I was all over people. Nothing got by me. I had turned into a true grammar nazi. My brother, a frequent target of my wrath, finally called me on it.
"Why do you care?" he asked after I had corrected him yet again. "You know what I meant. You're kind of an asshole sometimes." This made me think. Why did I care? Also, why did no one else seem to care as much as I did?
I figured it out while sitting in my freshman writing class. The teacher, a grad student, was handing back our most recent paper. He gave me mine, and I noticed that under the grade - which was an "A" - there was a comment: "No more papers on stuttering." It hit me that every paper I had written for this class was in some way related to stuttering. Was I obsessed? I gave this a lot of thought that day, and I never came to an answer. I did, however, realize why I was such a stickler about language.
Stuttering had made me value language above almost anything else. I have to work for every little bit of communication, so if I am going to say something, it is certainly going to be worded correctly. When I see a fluent person speak with no regard for grammar or pronunciation, I feel like a starving man watching someone throw away food. "Your words come automatically," I think. "You haven't blocked, jerked your head, drooled, stomped your foot, bit your tongue, or even run out out of breath, yet you still end your sentence with a preposition?!"
Targets of my wrath, let's make a deal. I'll ease up on you if you'll realize what I have always known: language is a valuable tool and deserves to be used with care.
If you see any grammar mistakes in this post, feel free to chastise me. I deserve it!
This anal retentiveness has not always endeared me to those who play it "fast and loose" with grammar, but it has served me well in my job as an editor. I clarify dangling participles. I use commas to keep the parts of a sentence where they belong. I acquaint subjects with verbs of the proper number. I hack through confusing verbiage and bring forth the point of a story. When things get confusing, I'm the language hero.
I have always understood how language works. I used to wonder why we had to cover grammar in school. I thought that everyone had my intuitive grasp of language. As I grew up, I realized that this was not the case. There were smart people, people I respected, that didn't know when to use "its" and when to use "it's." I began to wonder why I seemed to have been born with an English teacher on my shoulder.
As I discussed in an earlier post, the beginning of college was a tough time in my stuttering career. Stuttering became the defining factor of my life, and I grew more cynical by the day. A high level of cynicism leads to excessive correcting of others. I was all over people. Nothing got by me. I had turned into a true grammar nazi. My brother, a frequent target of my wrath, finally called me on it.
"Why do you care?" he asked after I had corrected him yet again. "You know what I meant. You're kind of an asshole sometimes." This made me think. Why did I care? Also, why did no one else seem to care as much as I did?
I figured it out while sitting in my freshman writing class. The teacher, a grad student, was handing back our most recent paper. He gave me mine, and I noticed that under the grade - which was an "A" - there was a comment: "No more papers on stuttering." It hit me that every paper I had written for this class was in some way related to stuttering. Was I obsessed? I gave this a lot of thought that day, and I never came to an answer. I did, however, realize why I was such a stickler about language.
Stuttering had made me value language above almost anything else. I have to work for every little bit of communication, so if I am going to say something, it is certainly going to be worded correctly. When I see a fluent person speak with no regard for grammar or pronunciation, I feel like a starving man watching someone throw away food. "Your words come automatically," I think. "You haven't blocked, jerked your head, drooled, stomped your foot, bit your tongue, or even run out out of breath, yet you still end your sentence with a preposition?!"
Targets of my wrath, let's make a deal. I'll ease up on you if you'll realize what I have always known: language is a valuable tool and deserves to be used with care.
If you see any grammar mistakes in this post, feel free to chastise me. I deserve it!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)