Yesterday, I ran the infamous Bay to Breakers 12K. It was an amazing event and the energy level was off the charts! There were tons of costumed runners (and un-costumed ones as well, if you get what I’m saying), the weather was beautiful and everyone was just so happy and excited to be there. Including me. I will never get bored of running the city.

My official finish time was 1 hour and 17 minutes, which is pretty awesome. Especially when you consider what was going on in my life leading up to race day.

For the past few weeks and even months, I have been bombarded with finals and papers and work and group projects, all of which didn’t allow me enough time to properly train. I mean, the last run I did was a 2-mile warm up the week before. And my last run before that? [Crickets.] I honestly can’t tell ya. As I lined up yesterday morning to run, I felt completely unprepared. In fact, I even woke up late (don’t ask). My body was in full stress mode just moments before embarking on this 7.45 mile race.

I crossed the finish line (go me), but as soon as I did, I knew the day would be painful. Like, really painful. No one’s body can take that sort of stress without being properly trained! I ended up walking another 3-4 miles that day (why not?) and when I got home, I passed out. I woke up feeling like an old woman, with body pains everywhere (including places I didn’t even know existed). Between my lack of training before the race and my lack of proper stretching after, I was completely tense and, in all honesty, a total mess.

And that’s where today’s life lesson is comin’ in: the post-workout recovery. It’s important. Really, really important. Even if you feel totally fine after a trying workout or a long run, your body needs to recover. And you need to allow it to do so. With these 3 steps: Read More »

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My friend called me her favorite Oreo.

“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes. Read More »

I know what you’re thinking: between class, work, boyfriends/girlfriends, and going out, there’s not really any time in your schedule for training to run a 5k or some other race. And hey, you may be right—you know yourself way better than I know you. But if you think you can find a spare 30 minutes on most days and you have a hankering to rid yourself of that muffin top or boost your health in general, read on.

I ran a half marathon a couple of weeks ago. Before you judge and call me a hardcore athlete, consider these facts: I wear Coke-bottle glasses and have the grace of a newborn ostrich. I like to sit inside all day and sip coffee and write articles. The idea of walking across town for take-out tacos makes me seriously doubt whether the walking part is worth the tacos part.

So if I can run a half marathon (13.1 miles), you can definitely run a 5k (3.1 miles).

There are so many great reasons to challenge yourself to a 5k race (or any run, for that matter). Obviously, it’s a great way to get back into shape. It’s also a fantastic way to bond with friends, make new friends, feel accomplished and give back to people who really need it. Lots of 5ks are organized for charity, so you can feel good about your soul and your body if you run one. They also happen to be really fun. For real!

I urge everyone to try a 5k run at least once and you’ll see what I’m talking about.
If you don’t think you have what it takes, you’re wrong. Just follow some basic training tips and you’ll be crossing that finish line in no time. Read More »

[It's pretty obvious that the average CollegeCandy reader has some very strong opinions. Opinions that she likes to share with everyone on the site. We love a strong woman, so we thought we'd give her a real forum to discuss her thoughts, feelings, and perspectives. Every Friday I'll be featuring a hot topic (like lowering the drinking age!) and leaving it up to you, the readers, to duke it out. So, read it and get your debate on in the comments section below!]

Let’s get one thing straight: here at CollegeCandy, we accept all colors and creeds – and we are not talking about race here (a girl from Jamaica and one from Kenya might share a racial group, but have totally different cultural heritages). In fact, it was my multi-ethnic group of friends who got me thinking about the issue.

Because I have no real cultural heritage, I never really considered issues like this, at least until my Indian friend mentioned that she only dates inside her ethnic group. A part of my brain automatically said “that’s racist!” But then she started talking about how the culture she grew up in is important to her and how she would rather be with someone who can understand and share that background with her, and maybe their kids, one day. And I have to admit, I can see her point of view.

I’ve spent most of my dating life with white Christian guys because they’re who I grew up with, but now that I’m dating a Jewish guy, I have to admit, sometimes I feel like an outsider. And likewise, I’ve wondered what would happen if we had kids? After all, the way that I ended up without a cultural heritage was that my ancestors didn’t bother about their cultural differences. These are questions that had never occurred to me before, but suddenly, they seem important.

On the one hand, there are a lot of great things to be said about inter-cutural dating. After all, isn’t looking past the surface, seeing everyone as equal, something we’ve been aspiring to for a long time? All of the mixing helps us learn and understand about other groups – and let’s face it, you make more of an effort to understand something if someone you care about is involved in it (Manishewitz would not have been on my “to try” list if not for my guy). Also, I certainly wouldn’t want to give up my relationship, or expect anyone else to, just because of something like background – it sounds silly to even consider it. Read More »

My friend called me her favorite Oreo.

“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I gaped at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes. Read More »

Yesterday some guy followed me up the stairs on a subway transfer (that it turned out he wasn’t taking, just creepily following me like a creepy creep creep) and after the requisite come-on line (which I won’t burn your retinas with), he instantly whips out the line I’ve grown so accustomed to hearing: “What’s your heritage?”

Here’s what I don’t understand (well, here’s one of many, many, many things I don’t understand):

Why does every guy in New York who approaches me want to know my ethnicity?

And I’m serious about this. Because, look. I live in New York City. There are more Jews (such as moi) here than like everywhere ever. I should not be so unidentifiable.

For me, there are two varieties of these guys. The guy cited above fits into the first category: guys who guess. And they always guess Italian, Puerto Rican, or Greek. Seriously. And I am pale like the squishy underbelly of a cabbage.

The other category of guys are guys who want to know if I’m Jewish. These guys are usually Muslim or Israeli and nothing in between. I don’t know why either group bothers–I’m too Jewish for the Muslims and not Jewish enough for the Israelis. So it goes.

And why, friends, why oh why for the love of all that is good and not annoying, why do they need to know my heritage in the first place? When did this become an acceptable thing to ask a stranger? Read More »

Yes, I’m not ashamed to say it: I loved Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, and I am really really excited for the release of the sequel, Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantánamo Bay.

I’m not a stoner, and I don’t really find big boob jokes/pot jokes/fart jokes/beer jokes particularly funny. So why the heck did I like this film? Well, besides Neil Patrick Harris (fantastic) and White Castle (yum), I think the creators, Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg, are on to something here. The New York Times reviewed the new film recently, calling it a “stoner protest film”, due to the combination of drug humor and sharp political satire–what’s more, the review was actually quite positive.

For those of you who don’t know, Harold and Kumar’s first film involved two stoners determined to make it to White Castle in order to satisfy their munchies. The second film, however, as the name suggests, involves the ultimate stoner vacation (Amsterdam) gone horribly wrong. Harold, a Korean-American, and Kumar, an Indian-American are thrown off their flight after trying to light up in the bathroom. An overzealous Homeland Security officer draws the conclusion that North Korea and Al Quada have teamed up, and throws both of them in Guantánamo Bay. Hyjinks ensue, of course, but so does a very interesting treatment of race in the post-9/11 era. Read More »

Spring fever affects everyone differently, but personally, I’m filled with a dread for bikini season. I love summer, but the process of getting in shape for it is always terrifying until I’m about a month into it. I can’t motivate myself to start moving again and take advantage of the weather, and come June, I’m not quite where I want to be.

A friend of mine decided it would be fun to sign up for a race in Central Park, nothing “too serious,” just over three and a half miles. It’s far enough in advance where we all would have the opportunity to start “training” and whatnot, and so she worked her salesperson magic and spun it as a great, fun, healthy bonding activity. We could all run outside together when it got warmer, we could do it for ourselves instead of an actual win, it’d be great.

And it sounded stellar via email, so sign up I did. And as I printed my registration form, complete with runner number and team captain name, I calculated how long it had been since I had even seen my gym. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to get to it. Sure, last time I’d been I could run almost four miles on a treadmill, no problem… but that had been in January-ish. And there may have been an exceptional soundtrack to guide me.

The last time I ran outside I lasted fifteen minutes without falling over dead, and I willed my roommate my new pumps (even handed her the receipt so she could return them for her size). Read More »

When I stepped onto my college campus fresh-off-the-boat (or FOB, as they call it) from some-obscure-country that I call home, I had no idea of the social niceties of dating in the states; my encounter with the opposite gender consisted of couple of weeks with a classmate in high school, who thought that drawstring shorts were most fashionable when paired with topsiders and gold jewelry.Needless to say, we broke up when I decided that the smell of his pineapple scented hair gel was overpowering the amorous odor of hamburgers and onion rings from burger king, which was our usual joint.

My freshman naivete wasn’t helped by the fact that I had that desperate urge to become the “IT” girl, something I had never been able to do in high school. I had lost 20 lbs. over the summer in anticipation that I would rise to a new social status at my east coast school, stocked my wardrobe with skin tight jeans and bling-encrusted baby Ts and headed to college.

So when I didn’t immediately become the most popular girl on campus, I was a little surprised. And taken aback. Moreover, my pre-college fantasies of hooking up with hot blonde-haired guys sporting surfer bodies wasn’t quite satisfied by the fact that NO ONE in the opposite gender seemed to want to talk to me. But I wasn’t giving up: I was willing to give it another shot two weeks later…and another one another two weeks later…but no action.

I then appealed to a friend who I shall call Courtney. Court listened to my problems, nodding along and making the occasional “uh-huh” as she listened to my ranting about guys not liking me and not being popular enough. At the end of my litany, she spoke a couple of words that seemed to make absolutely no sense at all.

“Honey…that’s because you’re Asian.” Read More »