Twitter

I just joined Twitter.

I've been considering it for a while...but, to be honest, the tipping point was the free Costa Vida pork burrito for anyone who starts following Costa Vida on Twitter. I'm a sucker for those sweet, cheesy, smothered heaps of goodness.

Within five minutes of creating my account I had received 69 tweets from the 11 people I was following, and three people had started following me. In another five minutes, I had posted three tweets and another person had started following me. And two people had sent me personalized messages.

Next I installed twhirl so I can twitter from my desktop.

Then I installed Twitterrific on my iPhone so I can twitter from there too.

And if that wasn't enough, I then installed the Twitter app for my facebook page so that my facebook status automatically syncs with my Twitter feed.

I've been bombarded with a constant stream of twitter updates and new information. All in less than 15 minutes.

And all because of a Costa Vida pork burrito.

Welcome to the Revolution.

Job Hunt

Enter.
Inquire.
Apply.
Submit.

Wait...

I've been through this process several times now. Most times I don't get past the inquiry part because no one is hiring. But in the rare case that someone is, I'm all over that application.

But now the application is out of my hands, and in the hands of the employers. Hopefully the Kellie that is portrayed in "application" form is impressive enough for them to want to interview me in person.

New Year's Resolutions

Some of my loyal blog readers have pointed out that I've been slacking on my posts. This is true. I was just shocked to find out I still have loyal blog readers. So, in honor of the new year (though it's already a month and six days old), I've resolved to be more consistent in posting the Stuff of my thoughts...

Speaking of New Year's resolutions...I've set a few for myself. However I fear I was not very committed to some of them throughout January, so I'm re-resolving them for the month of February:

1) Clean my room - I'm not talking about just straightening it up from time to time. I'm talking about a full-blown attack on all the junk I've accumulated over 3 1/2 years of living in Provo. I'm no longer saving every sheet of notes from Physical Science 100. I'm not keeping any more boxes from old cell phones I don't use anymore. I'm getting rid of all those sweaters in the back of my closet that I keep thinking I'm going to wear and then never actually do. Oh, and all those packet readings from American Heritage? Gone.

2) Exercise - Yes, I know that seems overbroad. Perhaps I should specify that I want to improve my cardiovascular fitness. Looking at me now, you probably wouldn't guess that I've run two marathons. I've let my endurance slip to virtually zero. This became dreadfully apparent on Monday when I decided to go out for a little jaunt and found myself walking after only a half mile. I knew my condition was bad; I just didn't know it was THAT bad.

Previously, my excuses for not running were these: a) the cold air hurts my throat, b) I need new running shoes but can't afford them, and c) I don't have time. One by one, those excuses have been eliminated. Because I'm done with school and have not been successful in finding a job yet, I have plenty of time to get out and run. And in conjunction with this, I now have the option of running in the afternoon when it's warmer, therefore I can run without feeling like I'm swallowing a razor blade every time I inhale. And just last Monday, I bit the bullet and bought new shoes.

See? No excuses.

So I've started running again. It's a love-hate relationship for me right now. I can't say that I've been fully re-converted to the sport. But something inside me won't let me stop. Not to mention people outside of me won't let me stop, either. Every time I walk out of my room in the morning and see my sister's running shoes sitting by the front door, I know she's been running and I think to myself, "If running is good enough for my sister, it's certainly good enough for me." Every time I want to give up and just admit that running isn't "my thing," my boyfriend starts talking about the run he did at the gym earlier that day and how good it makes him feel to get that exercise. And I think to myself, "I want to feel that post-exercise satisfaction, too." And now, every time I see my new red-and-white running shoes sitting by the front door, I think to myself, "I'm the only one who can determine whether or not I enjoy this. I might as well make the best of it."

Some Reflections on Ghana

Last month I spent a week and a half in a very foreign country. I was there helping with a documentary. We got a lot of work done, I saw some amazing things, and I learned a lot about filming and interviewing and organizing and planning.

But I also learned some valuable life lessons from the people living in little mud huts, in tiny little villages.

Our very first day in Ghana, we visited a village about an hour outside of Accra. We went to the school and met the kids, who surrounded us and shook our hands with big smiles and repeated, "You are welcome, you are welcome." I felt like a sort of celebrity.

We took a walk through the village to film some of what life is like there, when suddenly it started to rain--hard. One of the men we were talking to invited us into his hut to stay dry. On his floor in the entryway was a small scrap of marble-patterned linoleum. We complimented him on it--to his great pleasure. He invited us to sit on his bed, and pulled some old chairs in for us, too. We talked for a while, just waiting out the storm.

I was impressed with the graciousness of the people in the villages we visited. They have almost nothing, but they take care of what they have. The dirt floors inside their huts are neatly swept...even the dirt "yards" in front of their huts are swept and clear of any trash or clutter. They make use of everything they have. Many of the kids' school uniforms were threadbare and had tears and bursted seams, or were entirely too big for the kid because they were hand-me-downs from older siblings.

One little boy we met in a village did not attend school. We sat next to the head school teacher Richard as he talked with the boy. He asked the boy why he didn't come to school, and the boy said that he did not have a uniform. In Ghana, if you don't wear your uniform to school, you can be punished. Richard asked the boy if he would come to school if he had a uniform. The boy said yes. They were talking in their native language, so when the boy ran off to play, we asked Richard what they had been talking about. Richard explained the story, and Matthew, a BYU student working as a social analyst in Ghana, asked how much a uniform cost. Richard said it cost 8 cedis (roughly $7). Matthew pulled 8 cedis out of his wallet and handed it to Richard, and told him to make sure the little boy got a uniform.

That was on a Wednesday. The following Monday, we went back to that same village and saw the little boy walking to school wearing a brand new uniform! It was his first day of school. It was experiences like those that really touched me. 8 cedis is not that much money, but for this little boy, it means he'll get a basic education.

After seeing the contrast between the villages and the city, I would MUCH rather live in a mud hut, far away from the dirty, ramshackle city that is Accra. It is a more westernized city, but it's crowded, buildings are in disrepair, and the living conditions are so poor. In the villages, things were peaceful and simple, and although life wasn't easy for the people--they worked hard in their fields to make a living--they were happy. They never asked the white Americans for money. In Accra, we were constantly being badgered for a handout. It made me sad, because the people in the city could see affluence, they could see rich people with their fancy houses and nice cars, so they knew the state of their own poverty. In the villages, everyone lived on the same plane. They didn't know what it was like to have a two-story house, or a car, or even electricity. They just valued what they did have, and took much better care of it than any American I've seen.

It certainly made me a lot more grateful for what I have.

...just some of my thoughts. I'm sure I'll write about this again. And include a few pictures.

Ghone to Ghana

Well, I'm outta here. Be back in ten days.

Ghana

I'm leaving for Ghana next week. I'll be gone for ten days, filming stuff for a documentary I'm co-producing for KBYU. I've never been to a third-world country before...but as I've been doing some research, I've noticed there are a lot of things I take for granted.

Here are some interesting stats I pulled from the World Factbook.
- Ghana has roughly twice the per capita output of the poorest countries on West Africa.
- main exports are gold, timber, cocoa
- subsistence agriculture accounts for 35% of GDP and is 55% of the workforce
- 2007 GDP per capita was $1,400
- Labor force - 37.3% agriculture, 25.3% industry, 37.5% services (2006)
- unemployment rate 11% (2000) - the 2008 estimate is 20%
- Electricity production by source - Hydro 95%, fossil fuel 5%, Nuclear/other 0% (2001)
- life expectancy: total population 59.49 yrs, male 58.65 yrs, female 60.35 yrs (2008)
- literacy (age 15 and older can read and write): total population 57.9%, male 66.4%, female 49.8% (2000 census)

Compare that with the current U.S. stats.

Wow. We certainly have a lot to be thankful for.

A very long, soggy 26.2

On October 4th I ran the St. George Marathon with my dad and my sister.

Or perhaps I should say I ran the first two miles with them before they took off ahead of me...

At any rate, it was a good experience, though not one of my better memories. It was my second time running this marathon, so I was pretty sure I knew what to expect. We arrived at the starting line in a little place called Central around 4:45 a.m., anxiously anticipating the 26.2 miles of road that separated us from ice cream, finishers' medals, and leg massages. It was cold, and 6,500 runners huddled around fires to keep warm. I had heard reports that it was supposed to rain that day, but I'd been told that it wouldn't start raining until later in the afternoon.

That was false.

About 30-45 minutes before the race started, the rain started. It was just a drizzle, but it came down steadily. People started rushing to the aid station to get garbage bags to keep dry, but by the time my dad, my sister and I got there, they had run out. Almost everyone was dripping wet before the race even started. Nevertheless, we crossed the starting line in high spirits, cheering and pumping each other up for a good race.

We ran together for the first two miles or so before Lauren and my dad took off ahead of me and I lost them in the sea of garbage bags and short shorts. I had planned on this happening, so I settled into my marathon pace and kept going. I was fairly optimistic about my pace; perhaps the rain would keep things cool and then let up after the first five miles...

It became obvious to me that was not going to be the case by mile six or seven. I was freezing, and the rain was still going strong. I didn't realize until attempting to unwrap a Clif bar on the go that I had lost most of the motor skills in my hands. I could do little more than hold a section of a banana and rip off the peel with my teeth to eat it.

At the next aid station I grabbed a stick with a glob of vaseline on the end and smeared it over the backs of my hands to protect them from windburn. It helped, though I still couldn't use them for much more than holding a banana or a cup of gatorade.

Around mile 16 a sharp pain shot through the sole of my left foot and slowed me to a very painful walk. I started cursing myself for not buying new shoes before the race. I knew that these shoes were getting near the end of their life, and it didn't help that they were soaking wet and squished every time I landed on them. Ten more miles to go, I told myself.

That ten miles seemed like an eternity, especially since I was trying to do it with plantar fasciitis in one foot and a growing case of tendinitis in my right leg. You should've trained better, Kellie.

By mile 19, I was barely shuffling my feet to move forward. I might have started crying, but I couldn't distiguish the tears from the raindrops that kept sliding down my face. I entertained the thought of waving down the medical shuttle at the next aid station and riding the rest of the way down. But then I thought of all the people who knew I was running this race, and they all expected me to finish. I expected myself to finish, though I already knew I was not going to beat my finishing time from last year. For some reason, my pride wouldn't let me quit.

When I made it to the outskirts of the city with only three miles left to go, some sort of animalistic determination kicked in and, though I was limping, I ran. I'm sure I looked quite fearsome with my teeth clenched and my eyes fixed like lasers on the course ahead of me.

Coming down the chute to the finish line was amazing. It was still raining, but I knew I was almost there. I yelled and waved my hands in the air as I crossed the finish line. I walked over to a lady who was giving out the finishers' medals, and gave her a hug (even though I was soaking wet). It was a bittersweet experience, because I came in 13 minutes slower than my previous marathon time, but I had finished nonetheless. My dad and Lauren were there at the finish line waiting for me. None of us could walk very well, so we shuffled around the park to grab some food and pick up our clothing bags, shuffled out to where our car was parked, and drove home.

By the way, it was still raining.

I think I'll try to do it again next year.