British London 10K

From my fundraising website at http://www.justgiving.com/medotoole:

"In June 2011, I was fortunate enough to run a 10K in Paris while studying abroad. I had never run a full 10K before, but I beat my PR 5K time during the first half of the race, and again on the second leg.

I have never been more proud of myself in my whole life, and from the moment I crossed the starting line, I was hooked. The atmosphere of the race, the enthusiasm of the other runners--and yes, the French can be very nice people--and the comradery among everyone present was awe-inspiring.

Now, just over a year later, I aspire to run another 10K on my second study abroad trip to London.  On the eve of the 2012 Olympics, it is my hope to pound the pavement--or should I say cobblestones!--in another of the world's largest and oldest cities. After my running experience in Paris, I felt a true sense of 'community' with those who lived and worked in my arrondissement. Although I will be living in and studying at Oxford(!) and not directly in London, I still expect to find a connection with the 25,000 other runners at the race in sharing a true "local" experience. For more information on the British London 10K, please see their website at: http://www.thebritish10klondon.co.uk.  Be prepared to be (very) jealous; the race route is unparalleled for its famous sites.

In addition, running the British London 10K will give me an opportunity to give back to the greater London community. STUBS, the organization for which I am fundraising, gives back to service men and women injured in Afghanistan by sponsoring their attendance at various sporting events. Athleticism is an enriching and rewarding part of my life, and sharing this joy with some of the UK's finest is a very worthy cause."

Written over a month ago, this passage explains my experience running in Paris last summer and my enthusiasm at the prospect of running in London.

Today, that dream became a reality.

This morning, I joined 30,000(!!!!!) other runners on the streets of London to raise money for over 35 different charity organizations. I'll have to admit that the crowd was, at time, a little overwhelming (the professional runners finished the race before I even started!), but I also felt that there was a sense of camaraderie among the runners. I actually met a woman from the States who's mother lives in Myrtle Beach! What a small world... 

I also met some lovely British runners. As it turns out, many of the people on the 6:10 bus from Oxford to London were also running the race. It was really neat to see how smaller communities join together to take part in a large event, such as this race. There were also many running teams who flew in from all over the world to participate in the race. 

The event was somewhat poorly organized--they almost ran out of metals!--and we waited in line for over an hour to start the race. (For future events, I wish Nike would consider start waves, where you start with other people in your timing bracket.) Nevertheless, the London scenery made up for the confusion. Big Ben, Parliament, the London Eye, Westminster, Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, Marble Arch, and the Thames provided a first-class backdrop for a race, and although it was 60 degrees and raining virtually the whole time, I had a great run.

I now feel like I know my way around at least one corner (albeit a very important corner!) of London, and I feel as if I've built some history with the city. I'm not just another tourist. In running for STUBS, I really do feel as if I was able to give back to the greater London community. It made me proud to run for a great cause, vs. running purely for self-interest. Grant it, fund-raising wasn't something I was initially prepared for, but I was SUPER fortunate that my allergist--Dr. Mark Schecker of Coastal Carolina Allergy--agreed to sponsor me for the race. 

Now that I've run both for an organization and as an individual runner, running for charity adds a whole new dimension to the race. One of the teams supported Saudi Arabian Women's Rights. Another team was to help prevent male suicide. It was eye-opening to see the variety of organizations represented at the race, in addition to other runners' personal connections with the charities. There were many Alzheimer's signs that read "Running for Nana. We miss you." and many runners with a picture of a cancer patient and a message attached to the back of their shirt. Thinking about these patients, the wounded STUBS soldiers, and special olympics athletes (one of the other charities) during the race made me all the more grateful A) for my good health and general well-being B) being able to physically participate in the race. There was one man participating in the race who walked the whole thing leaning on a cane. There were several other autistic runners, as well as those who weren't in the best physical condition. Seeing those others on the course was an inspiration to not only keep running but to never give up. If they don't have an excuse to quit, I don't either. (Not that I was looking for one, but still. A reality check never hurts.)

So, thank you to Dr. Schecker and STUBS for helping me become a part of this great event. Who knows where I will run next! Regardless, I am now a 2x international runner!

I did it!

There's No Place Like London...or Milton

I took a day trip to London on Saturday, 7 June, the day before I was to run the British 10K.

Turns out there was no race exposition like I originally thought, but there was a festival hosted by Nike...only I didn't find out about it until too late.

O well. Didn't need Nike marketing junk anyways!

Regardless of missing the festival, I saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace (I was up against the barricade at one of the gate entrances, so I got a close-up view of the band!), ate lunch in St. James's Park, visited Westminster Abbey (naturally, the High Quire was my favorite part. It made me appreciate--and miss!--my RSCM days), found the baggage drop-off for the race, walked to St. Paul's (where I sang a bit from Mary Poppins's "Feed the Birds"), and visited Milton's birthplace and place of burial.

At Buckingham after watching the changing of the guards.

My High Quire picture. Makes me miss my RSCM days!

At Parliament Square

St Paul's! Toppins a bag, anyone?

In front of Milton's birthplace on Bread St.

Yes, that's right. Milton. You know, the one I've been obsessing over for about a year now? You know, the Paradise Lost guy? Yeah, him. (Oh, and I also saw where Charles I was beheaded--for which Milton was a big, even huge, advocate--at Whitehall Palace.)

Needless to say, it was a very emotional moment, seeing Milton's statue in St Giles-without-Cripplegate  (weird name for a church, huh?), holding a copy of none other than Paradise Lost. (It's good to know someone else looks after Milton, too...)

I'm not sure I've ever been so fascinated--or more intrigued--by another author. Milton wrote Paradise Lost blind (he dictated it to one of his daughters), not to mention that it is one of the most epic works--and yes, I do mean epic...muse and all--of all time. I love the ways he plays with language and gets readers to look at his work vertically and horizontally. I love how sly he is. How clever. How ingenious. (It also helps that I had a killer professor for my Milton class. Wish I could study under him for a Ph. D...)

Frankly, Milton is my literary idol, and seeing his statue standing there in front of me still gives me chills. I must've spent over an hour in that church, photographing his statue and his burial spot in the nave.

I left a piece of my heart beneath that London church floor.

The church was once just outside the London city walls and is very old. Now there is a BEAUTIFUL residential courtyard with the old London wall remains, in addition to a girl's school, that surround the church. Since there is no room to add Sunday school rooms or anything of the sort, they hold Sunday school in the side aisles (there was a mock igloo and reading loft) and use the would-be narthex for storage. In there other aisle is a small church library and gift shop comprised of mostly pamphlets. Needless to say, it is a very small church, but I think Milton would've been happy spending his days there. It felt homey, like it had a sense of warmth and unity about it. I also like to think that he would've liked how the parish adapted the old church to fit its new needs, rather than sticking to more traditional methods of running a church.

St Giles-without-Cripplegate: Milton's burial place

Some very esoteric group was rehearsing for their evening concert while I was there, but their sound guy took a picture of me with Milton. We'll have to see how it turned out, but it's possible I've found my photo to be immortalized in the Holmes basement.

Across whatever time and space boundaries may exist, I think Milton and I are kindred spirits of a teacher eager to teach (his audience anyways) and a devout pupil eager to learn. I ate my dinner of baguette, croissant, and the last of my Paris camembert outside of the church to savor my last bit of Milton time. Yet I feel sure we will meet again, for all I have to do is open one of his books, and it will be as if I never left St. Giles.

Milton and Me
"Of man's first disobedience and the fruit of that forbidden tree..."

An Oxford Initiation

On Monday morning (1^st day of class and Bod Card day!), I jumped out of bed, anxious to start the day and then….

No hot water.

After turning the shower on (rather after figuring out how to turn it on), I stood there. And stood there. And stood there.

And no hot water.

I was all set to pull my hair back and sponge-bathe in my room when I realized that we had our first Formal Funday Monday that night and, thus, I had to look (and smell) lovely.

Just lovely.

I ended up just washing my hair in the shower (avoiding the cold water as much as possible) and sponge-bathing in my room, yet as the cold (and I’m talking ice cold) water surged through my hair, I had to laugh.

This was my Oxford Initiation. No robed tutors knocking at my door. No bench-pressing books (although I’m pretty sure lugging my Shakespeare anthology across Paris would’ve done the trick). No scavenger hunts in the cloister (this would be a great ice-breaker!). Just a simple, very cold—very short—shower. (The cold water was, of course, unintentional and fixed in two days, but at the time, I wasn’t so sure…)

It also occurred to me that my ice bath was the literal manifestation of the rebirth I was expecting while at Oxford; I just hadn’t expected to be baptized on the first big day. Nevertheless, I pretended that the water was a ceremonial cleansing for receiving my Bodleian Library Card that afternoon, in addition to attending my first High Table dinner.

The Bodleian Library Card is, undoubtedly, the best library card in the world. No joke.

Affectionately known as the “Bod Card,” it gives its reader access to not only one library, but to a network of libraries: The Radcliffe Camera, the Bodleian Library, and the New Bodleian Library. Although readers are forbidden to remove books from the library, the Bod Card gives its holder access to over 10 MILLION volumes.

Yeah, be jealous. It’s literally a bookworm’s dream-come-true.

In order to receive a Bod Card, the reader must solemnly swear not to injure or remove any books from the library: "I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library, or to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document, or other object belonging to it or in its custody; nor to bring into the Library or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library; and I promise to obey all rules of the Library."

(I've always been very concerned about 'injuring' books; it took me a long while to get used to writing in them for class. In general, I always try to have one clean copy—in addition to a 'messy,' annotated copy—of the books I love, in order to preserve their original, perfect state. This oath, as you might imagine, tugged from every at my perfectionist, bookworm heart.)

(Here’s a really awesome blog post from another Oxford Student about the Bod Card I stumbled upon before my Oxford adventures began: http://www.rabbitroom.com/2012/01/the-oxford-chronicles-bod-card/) Note to self: visit the Rabbit Room as much as possible.

Needless to say, receiving my Bod Card was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Instead of a white and neon pink(!?) photo ID resting in my hands, I saw a key. A key to unlock any book I could imagine. A key to canonical texts. A key to philosophical works. A key to books I’d never even dreamed of.

And it was in my hand.

Never again will I look at a library card the same way. Now, every time I hold a library card in my hand (yes, even my well-worn Tiger1 card), I will imagine that I am again holding my Bod Card for the first time.

And I will smile. For every time I hold that seemingly normal library card, I know that it, too, possesses the power to unlock a Narnia of literary wonders.

This, with a baptismal shower, a Bod Card in hand, and High Table ritual, I became a student at St. Peters/Magdalen College, Oxford University.

Reading the oath to myself before receiving my Bod Card,
otherwise known as basking in Bookworm Heaven.

View more pictures from Monday, 2 July (First day of class, Bod Card, and High Table) here. (Link is currently out of order...will be repaired shortly!)

An Oxford Introduction

Oxford.

Where do I start? (Here, it might be a good idea to follow Julie Andrew’s advice to start at the beginning. It is, after all, the very best place to start…)

First of all, this is not the first time I have been to Oxford. I was here for a brief three days in 2007 while on a choir tour. (We performed at the Sheldonian Theatre!) As it turns out, I didn’t remember as much of Oxford as I thought I did. What I remembered as High Street is actually Broad Street, and I have virtually no recollection at all of High Street. In fairness, the Sheldonian is on Broad, so I would’ve seen more of that part of the city, anyways.

Over the course of the summer, I’ve had some time to reflect on the upcoming five weeks. To some extent, I feel as if I know exactly what to expect while here (after having questioned former Duckenfielders to near death), yet in another sense, I feel quite the opposite. I feel sure of the academic work yet not the academic structure. I know what it is like to visit Oxford, but not what it is like living there. I know I will have life-changing experiences and self-growth opportunities while here, yet I have no idea what form these changes will take.

One thing is for sure. I will walk away from Oxford a more confident and inspired young woman, but almost more importantly, I will be a more academically confident and inspired young woman. While I experienced major personal changes last summer, I feel as if this summer will fine-tune my academic sense of self and move towards a new, more professional me. (I also hope to gain a sense of direction for post-undergraduate careers while here…) After studying for five weeks with a tutor (Benjamin John Morgan) in one of the oldest and richest academic centers in the world, I expect that I will approach my work with an enhanced appreciation and understanding of A) literature—the work itself—and B) of academic life. After living here for 5 days, it already feels as if I am partaking in a great lineage of tutors, fellows, and students, with our succession linked to this very place and all of the great work and individuals who have passed through Oxford. C.S. Lewis once lived in New Building (my dorm, if you can call it that with a fireplace and deer for neighbors), and I eat my meals surrounded by portraits of Queen Elizabeth and important fellows in Magdalen College’s history. It is as if the air is charged with inspiration and the buildings haunted with former students and tutors rooting for my success.

In fact, I think the Oxford traditions are at source of its magic. After our first champagne reception in the cloisters, followed by a concert and a formal High Table dinner,—otherwise known as Formal Fun-day Mondays—I felt like I finally understood (at least to some extent) the traditions at the heart of the university and, more specifically, Magdalen itself. When Dr. Addison, the program director, said grace in Latin at High Table, I felt as if I was being inducted into the line of Magdalen scholars before me, partaking in the unique Magdalen ritual that make both Magdalen College and Oxford University unique.

It doesn’t hurt, of course, that the walls of the dining hall are lined with larger-than-life portraits of past tutors, bishops, and Queen Elizabeth herself. I mean, who gets to eat 3 meals a day with one of the most fascinating monarchs in global history?

This gal!

As a member of the Harry Potter generation, I find myself surprised that the portraits don’t move, that they remain stationary, frozen in time. (For those of you who haven’t seen pictures, imagine Magdalen as a smaller-scale, more quaint Hogwarts graced with gardens instead of forbidding, mountainous terrain. You won’t be far off.)

I finally had the time on Friday to walk around the college and take pictures. After promising to myself that I would catch up on blogging Friday afternoon, the pattering rain on my windows soon persuaded me to take a nap. It literally rained for 12 hours on Friday (6am-6pm. Trust me, it did; I was up reading the Merchant of Venice), but the sun broke through Friday evening and cast a warm glow over campus.

Naturally, as a (some would say born) and bred photographer, I grabbed my camera and spent my evening wandering campus instead of watching a movie with the rest of the group. (Again, I invite you to think of a quaint Hogwarts.) I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful evening to roam Magdalen and the neighboring Addison’s Walk, a beautiful nature trail on the edge of campus. It was as if the photography gods (Nikon via Nike?) pushed the “perfect weather/lighting” button, a nice reprieve after so much rain.

For me, photography is a sort of celebration of people and places. I like to think that through my lens, I can appreciate the fine details of a particular setting or capture a moment in someone’s life. Either way, I feel as if I can stop time for an instant and preserve exactly what I saw when I took the photograph. It is as if pictures, then, become a sort of pensive (again, for the non-Harry Potter fans, a pensive is a liquid in which you can store memories) into which you can look years later and re-visit your memories as if they happened yesterday.

Although I enjoy writing, I find that it is sometimes easier to tell a story with a picture, to paint visual lines rather than horizontal lines of text. Rather than an Intro, Body, and Conclusion, photos have a Foreground, Middleground, and Background, all three of which are required—as in an essay—for success.

As such, please forgive me if I tend to do a lot of my story-telling via pictures. (I had 600 pictures from Wednesday alone…) Yet for all of my photographic enjoyment, sometimes there are things better expressed in words (or perhaps the visual and the verbal are interdependent, enhancing the others’ aspects that fall short of the mark) and so this blog will remain a journal of my internal musings and academic endeavors of life at Oxford.

********

See pictures from my arrival and 2nd Day at Oxford. (Went to a pub with Dorothy to watch the Spain vs. Italy Euro Cup 2012 final!)


See pictures from Magdalen College (the ones with awesome lighting) here.


See pictures from our Wednesday excursion to Wells Cathedral, Glastonbury Abbey, and Glastonbury Tour (Tower).