Born to Run, Not to Deconstruct

Just the other day, I was completing a nine-mile recovery run. Despite having completed a hard long distance run the previous day, and despite suffering yet another of Washington, DC's unspeakably hot summer afternoons, I felt great--strong, confident, assured that I'll break my PR in the upcoming Army Ten Miler. Heck, it even seemed like, finally, my chronic painful struggles with posterior tibial tendinitis had subsided (for now).

Then, mere meters from the front of my condo building, I was shoved off of the sidewalk into a lane of moving traffic. The pedestrian who shoved me did so accidentally. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a group of his friends, facing the opposite direction. He was chatting with them about something--plans for dinner, plans for the weekend, whatever--when he suddenly turned around and quite forcefully stepped right into me. He didn't have time to see me coming, nor did he, for whatever reason, anticipate that by clogging up the middle of the sidewalk, he would force other pedestrians to walk around him and his friends. Even though I was dutifully passing on the left, he still wound up walking into me, and the result was that he propelled me out into the street.

(On a sidenote, this kind of thing is precisely why I loathe people who walk with their cell phones, iPhones, iPods, etc. pressed firmly and, it seems, permanently against their heads. This is also the reason that I particularly loathe shopping at this place. On any given day, a solid 85% of the store's patrons are walking about sealed off from the outside would via some form of auditory stimulation. In more simple terms, no one pays attention to where the eff they are or what the eff they are doing. And the store just isn't big enough for that kind of aloofness. The same goes, obviously, for most city sidewalks. Folks, it's dangerous to other pedestrians when you, as a pedestrian, are not paying attention. Get it? It's sort of like driving. But then, why do I suspect that you drive just like you walk?)

In any case, the gentleman who knocked me into the street was apologetic. At the time, I was a bit stunned, and a bit annoyed. I was also concerned because I was a sweaty mess, and I knew that I smeared myself all over what appeared to be his relatively nice outfit. So much for those dinner plans. In any case, I didn't respond to the man in any meaningful way. I merely got up, brushed myself off, and finished my jog. Sir, if you are reading this post, no worries. It was an accident.

It wasn't until later in the evening--perhaps not coincidentally, as I was walking home from a typically far-too-long shopping experience at my favorite supermarket--that I realized I could have been seriously, seriously hurt had there been a car or bus in that particular lane of traffic. As I thought back to my actions, I was pretty sure that I would not have attempted to pass that gentleman had there been cars in the street; in fact, I knew that the lane was empty when I made my move to the left side of the sidewalk. Nevertheless, the thought that, in an instant, I could have ended up in the hospital with at least several broken bones (at best) left me quite cold--and I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I was really lucky yesterday afternoon. Honestly, I don't like being lucky. I like being safe.

Perhaps what is more troubling to me is the thought that I would have been deeply upset had my running career been compromised. In all likelihood, given the speed at which cars and buses and trucks can travel on that particular street, my running career would have been permanently compromised, because a direct hit by any of those automobiles would have likely left me paralyzed to some degree. The man literally knocked me into the middle of the street, so any kind of hit would have been a direct one, right against my back.

Now, I suppose that it's completely natural for me to feel this way--for me to be simultaneously shaken by that experience while also feeling like I'd be really, really pissed if I couldn't run anymore. Not to mention, no one likes being hit by a car. Still, it's hard for me to reconcile my professional interest in, and passion for, disability studies with my longer, more ingrained (and frankly, more successful) stint as a competitive runner.

See, I've been running competitively since I was in the sixth grade. I was born to do it. It's the only activity for which I have any glimmer natural talent. Also, I love it. I love the aches in my legs the day after a brutal speed workout. I love blasting around a track, my lungs sucking in oxygen like some enormous carburetor. I love wandering around the city on elongated leisurely distance runs, finding my way home, stumbling on forgotten trails and tiny, hidden parks. Moreover, I love the competition--the pure unadulterated competition--of the sport.

Yes, I know I sound like an evil capitalist here. Honestly, that doesn't bother me too much. Heck, running, for most of us anyway, pits people against a clock of all things. The whole sport is about efficiency, productivity, and the like. It's also a sport that emphasizes rugged individualism. There aren't many people who want to run 13+ miles at a given time, which means that many of us--not all, mind you--end up running on our own. "What do you do when you're out there for all that time?", I am often asked. Typically, I respond snarkily, "I don't like people very much. Long distance running allows me to leave them all behind--literally." I'm not entirely joking when I say those kinds of things.

Despite how horrible all of that might sound to some, I'll defend it rigorously until arthritis sets in. And even then, I'll still probably defend it. That kind of thinking is hardwired into my consciousness, and I doubt that much of it will change as I continue aging. Granted, I know that not every long distance runner thinks this way. But I do, and that's fine with me. (Also, for those of you who loathe capitalism, you might ponder the significance of countries like Ethiopia and Kenya--places well outside of the "first world"--absolutely dominating this sport.)

The point is that had something disabling happened to me, I would have been angry--for a long, long time. I just started racing ten milers a few years ago--graduate school held up my racing career for a bit--and after just a handful of them, I've whittled my time down to 1:00:26. The goal is to get under that hour. I think I can do that in the fall. I've been working hard to do that since last fall, and if my training were permanently altered because of a car accident, I don't know what I would do with myself.

It's for this very reason that running is a perfect case study for disability theory. Runners of virtually any distance are terrorized by the thought of injury--let alone actual injuries. We spend a good portion of our athletic lives worrying about injuries, performing all manner of preventative exercises--from regular icing to stretching and core strengthening--to prevent injuries, and, usually, treating injuries. The great thing about running is that it is a sport in which people can engage well into their adult lives because it only requires a pair of shoes. One of the downsides to that longevity is that the further runners get away from formal institutionalized performance spaces--organized official teams, training facilities, etc.--the less access we have to the kinds of resources, like trainers and physical therapists, we need to maintain the kind of consistent running that is required of any training program. And believe me, paying for those services out of pocket, or even convincing your primary care physician to write a referral for physical therapy, is just about as painful as being injured.

The point is that running and injury are largely intermingled. They are not, as it would seem, mutually exclusive. Though, disability writers like Alex Lubet have started to look at the ways in which professional musicians are similarly terrorized by the threat of injury (and the difficulty of receiving dependable, affordable treatment for those injuries), from what I have seen--and, of course, I haven't seen it all--disability studies has not looked extensively at athletics in this way. The bulk of disability scholarship that I've read tends to pathologize athletes, contending that athletics prioritize able-bodiedness, while marginalizing the disabled to the denigrating realm of "special" competitions. These claims certainly have sizable teeth. However, I think a more nuanced approach, one that looks at how most (able-bodied) athletes already understand themselves as disabled, is necessary.

Moreover, I've always felt that disability studies moves too quickly to a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it-? position. Since the field was born out of absolutely necessary social activism that needed to contend for access and civil liberties of virtually all kinds, I absolutely get that position. 1990 was far too late in America's history for these matters to come to the forefront. In that light, it's absolutely necessary to force the powers that be to answer the question: what are you going to do about it? Nevertheless, I've consistently maintained that disability studies needs to leave room for mourning--that it needs to leave room for disabled people, particularly those who become disabled at some point in their lives (which is, of course, one of the central claims of disability studies--we'll all be disabled if we live long enough), to mourn the loss of their bodies. It doesn't particularly matter how illusionary the wholeness of any "able body" might be. The point is that the loss of a particular kind of embodiment, and the daily activities that go along with that kind of embodiment, can be painful, perhaps even more so than the event that caused the disability. In my case, for instance, I know that the elongated trauma of having to let go of my ability to run would far outlast the physical pain of the potential car accident I almost suffered. There has to be some way for disability studies to validate that position.

As I was pondering all of these imagined scenarios, and certainly as I've been typing this post, I knew that one obvious response would be the following: "Well, you said you always wanted to race ten miles in under an hour. Even if you were paralyzed, you could still reach your goal." Believe me, I know that. Yet, I still can't seem to blend comfortably the thing that I was born to do (run) with the thing that I learned how to do (deconstruct). (Also, as I've already mentioned, I'm better at running than I am at deconstructing.) All of which is why there is a handy comments section below. That's the place where all of you can run your mouths on this matter.

Beauty and the Wheelchair...

Beauty and the Wheelchair

First of all, the fact that we have a Miss Wheelchair America, and the award has been going on for nearly 30 years is astounding! I did not know that at all! That automatically brings up the question, do TV companies not feel the show is worth a televised event because there wouldn't be a market/audience for it? Are able-bodied women the only ones who can be objectified on television by a panel hosted by Mario Lopez? Nigeria disagrees.

The article notes that this pageant is not a beauty pageant, and the contestants are judged on "their achievements since the onset of their disabilities, their projection and communication skills, and their abilities to successfully advocate for over 20 million Nigerians with disabilities." Now although I see a hint of Marxism in the commoditization of the "beauty pageantry" but this specific event seems less of an excuse to see women in bikini's and evening dresses, and more of a feel-good marketing technique to spread the word "disability", "wheelchair", and "normalcy" around.

I don't mean to sound harsh, but as Joe brought up yesterday in class, there is hardly a doctor out there who doesn't believe that the human mind finds the disabled repulsive. I'm about to geek out, but I waited on line 8.5 hours last night for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. In the movie, Voldemort says "Professor Burbage believes that Muggles and Wizards are no different. She even advocates that we should mate with them." Voldemort and the Death Eaters strongly believe that the Muggles, or the disabled, do not deserve to live, let alone co-exist with the wizarding world. It's seen in the new statue in the Ministry of Magic, where Muggles are crushed by the "Magic is Might" monument.

Not to steer away from the Miss Wheelchair Nigeria, but in some respects, their plight is related to that of the Muggles in Harry Potter. Both are ostracized from society, because of a disability. My grandfather is a man of many wheelchairs. He has had 7 since I was born. Not because they break or rust, but because he likes to add knick-knacks, toys, and whizzing sounds to his wheelchair. At first I felt he wanted the image of himself in a wheelchair to look much more grand than it was, but I now know that he has realized that he will be in a wheelchair for life, and if he can't have fun standing, he sure as hell will have fun sitting!

I know that my week of blogging is coming to a close, but I couldn't resist posting about our reading for next week from Lennard Davis' Enforcing Normalcy: Disability, Deafness, and the Body. As I was doing this reading, I kept thinking about one of my favorite artists, Jenny Saville. She is a part of the "Young British Artists" movement which counts among its stars Damien Hirst and Dinos and Jake Chapman, among others. (Sorry, I am a bit of an art nerd!)

I'm actually writing a paper on Saville's work for my Aesthetics class this semester, and some of what I will be discussing is relevant to this reading. Saville is known for her huge canvases of the female body, with a twist. "Her published sketches and documents include surgical photographs of liposuction, trauma victims, deformity correction, disease states and transgender patients." Her paintings are difficult to look at, but they are truly beautiful, masterful works of art.

This one is my favorite, and the subject of my Aesthetics paper. It is entitled "Hypen," and is supposedly an image of Saville herself with her sister. I think that this plays directly into Davis' Venus and Medusa concept...although I'll leave that discussion up to you!
Here are some more of Saville's works for you to enjoy (or revile):

Saville's works

So You Think You Can Judge?

By my humble estimations, America, and every other place in the world with access to American cable television, is about six or seven seasons too many into So You Think You Can Dance, a show that, we're always assured, is the most popular dance show on television. That there are enough dance shows on television to merit such a comparison still mystifies me, but I'll save that rant for another day.

Anyhoo, last night's audition episode aired footage of deaf dancer Jarrell Robinson's performance for Dance's esteemed . . . [wait for it!] JUDGES! After completing what appeared to be a perfect performance, Robinson, of course, had to subject himself to the assessment of the panel of "experts" convened to determine whether or not FOX would be flying him to Vegas. Watch the following clip to see the whole thing play out before your very eyes:



Now, before I continue, I know that I should just simply ignore spectacles like the one above. That mainstream American television has yet to figure out how to represent the disabled should no longer shock me. Nevertheless, last night's commentary on Robinson's audition was one of those WTF moments that I just could not let go, and here's why:

Setting aside Adam Shankman's awful, enormously condescending description of Robinson as "incredibly special" and "inspiring," and completely forgetting Stacey Tookey's deer-in-the-headlights-how-do-I-diplomatically-remind-this-guy-that-he-can't-hear-the-music-? blather (gotta' love that "vocabulary of your steps" comment--pun anyone?), we are left with saintly Nigel Lythgoe's fair and balanced commentary to lead us: "How do you feel the music? Is it through the vibrations?"

Deep, deep sigh.

Robinson responded diplomatically, emphasizing the force of the bass and the way that the low end vibrations help guide his dance steps. I smiled at this response because, from a technical standpoint, it was precisely the way that a dancer should respond. Also, I couldn't help but chuckle at the difference between Robinson's answer and what mine would have been. Below is what I would have said:

"Yes, dear Nigel. I feel the music through the vibrations, much like you do. Or did you not know that you too feel music through vibrations." I probably would have spiced up the response a bit with a few choice expletives, but I don't want to offend my legions of readers . . . just yet.

Again, we're talking mainstream television, so this kind of aggressive ignorance to, well, the functioning of the human body should not be surprising. (It should be noted here that given the recent Sarah Palin-Seth McFarlane dustup, I'm not entertaining tired, simplistic arguments about FOX being all conservative and corporate--though I would grant you that SYTYCD is a conservative show.) Regardless, what mystifies me is why shows like Dance continue to trot out people with disabilities only to kick them off in favor of tweeny-looking contestants who ramble on and on about all manner of tragedy--dead mothers, estranged fathers, lost dogs--and about how they have only one shot to make it, of course, on this bloated television show. Granted, many of these contestants get cut, too, but I still can't help but wonder what kind of catharsis Dance is supposed to be peddling.

Moreover, I know that Robinson was supposed to have appeared to be cut in the name of objectivity: His dancing, disability aside, wasn't right for the competition, as Nigel kindly put it. Again, though, we need to be generous here, because we are never really told why his dancing wasn't right for the competition. Also, dancing, as this show configures it, is an entirely visual medium. There's no singing, and there's little talking, so in many ways, Robinson was not at all disabled in that context. In fact, given all of the godforsaken finger spelling that the contestants do when Cat Deeley encourages viewers to call in to vote, Robinson, as someone fluent in sign language, would have been better than everyone else. Maybe that's why he was cut?

FOX palyed a similar "objectivity" card a few years back when The Big Toe band, fronted by Mark Goffeney (a bass player born without arms), was cut from the short-lived reality show The Next Great American Band because their music lacked hooks, as judge Ian Dickson noted after "closing his eyes" during the performance. Again, the basic premise here is that if the able-bodied limit their senses, attempting to block out the context that reveals the performers as disabled, then some form objective judgement should reign. (It's funny, though, how when I close my eyes during the music of The Clark Brothers/Sons of Sylvia, the show's winner, I can't hear any hooks, either.)

In Robinson's case, though, that gesture toward objectivity is utterly wrongheaded because the fact remains that all of us experience music though vibrations. Robinson's disability had nothing to do with anything last night, yet he remained, in the judges' eyes, "special," "inspirational," and "unfit for a dancing competition in which he feels the music better than the other competitors." If only his pet cat had been run over on the way to the audition.

I'll grant FOX credit for at least attempting to air programming that represents the disabled more regularly than many other mainstream television networks. But, as we know, they have missed the point over and over again. At best, the network is deploying poster-child like representations; at worst, the network is just clunky and is scared of "taking risks"--which is most likely the case.

And so as I sign off for the day, I'll leave all of you--and especially Nigel--the following clip of Mogwai playing "Mogwai Fear Satan" live. FF to around the 6:45 mark to feel the deafening vibrations. Punctured eardrums have never vibrated so gloriously.