Well, I guess I better let the cat out of the bag. … Not that I would ever keep a cat in a bag, of course. I mean I love cats, so I would if I could, but….

You see I am totally stalling for a few reasons…

First, this news that I am breaking still feels a bit unbelievable to me.

Second, it is really hard for me to tell my students and colleagues that I will be away not just for the spring semester sabbatical that I am currently enjoying, but also for a new opportunity that I have accepted.

So, here it is:
For the academic school year 2018-2019, I will be the Fulbright Danish Distinguished Chair at the Center for American Studies, University of Southern Denmark in Odense. This means, I will not be teaching at UMA during the academic school year.

I will, however, be teaching for UMA this summer and next summer, so there’s that.

Despite that I applied for this Fulbright back in August, the news that I was selected was a bit of a shocker. With each application update I was sure that I would receive a rejection at any time. I was kind of looking forward to rejection because it would make my life far less complicated.

But I also told my dean, colleagues, family, and friends that of course I would get this Fulbright because I feel so completely unprepared for it at this current juncture in my life. But, I guess that we are never fully prepared for the opportunities that life throws at us. So, to add to my sabbatical list of projects: I will be getting prepared to spend next year living, teaching, and researching in Denmark.

Thus, my adventures (and blogging) will continue beyond my sabbatical project/adventure and into my Fulbright year abroad. … But until then, there is much to explore!

One of the women in my YogaFit Warriors training wore a tank top on day two that said: “Peaceful Warrior.” She said that she had found it in her closet and it seemed appropriate. A veteran in our group said: “No one loves peace more than a warrior.” In my American Studies courses, with a diverse cross-section of veterans and civilians, I would have to agree.

In my work as a professor of American Studies, I teach about state violence—war, the prison industrial complex, poverty, structural racism—and the ways in which individuals and communities (and our nation and our world) are impacted. In my introduction to American studies this last fall, one of the students had a particularly difficult time with this material because her husband was currently deployed. It is not easy to read about the lies, the history, the patterns, and the hypocrisies of war, let alone when a loved one is on the front lines.

And, yet, the veterans I have had in my classes over the years have been some of the most critical thinkers and some of the quickest to see through the propaganda and lies—not only about war, but about American history, culture, and society.

Veterans need tools to help them reintegrate into society—to heal the wounds of war. In addition to tools for personal transformation (like those provided by YogaFit for Warriors), tools for critical thinking are also important. It might not be easy to face the truths of American war; it is certainly not easy to face the realities of American war. And America does not do enough to take care of its veterans, which is why we so need programs like YogaFit for Warriors.

It holds true here as much as anywhere else: we have to deal with our own shit before we can help other people deal with theirs. We have to deal with our own daemons before we might feel ready to fight the daemons with power. Healing the body and mind must happen before we can heal the nation.

Last year, thinking I would never get a break from my arduous job, I took an “unauthorized sabbatical”—a two-month trip across country, which included some work (sometimes a lot of work) with a lot of play. Not long after I returned, I was awarded an actual sabbatical—a semester of paid leave (and a research project).

For some people, the idea of walking away from work (and being paid while doing so) sounds easy. Further, walking into what might be perceived as “vacation”—the fun and selfish part of work—is certainly something to be jealous of. (I would be too.) But, it is not so easy.

What exactly is a sabbatical?
A sabbatical is an opportunity to take a break from teaching and committee work and crisis counseling and advising and all of the little things that add up to a lot of time and a lot of work throughout the semester, every semester, year after year. The sabbatical is an opportunity to focus on research—the part of our work that is so often marginalized by the “have-to” work.

At more elite institutions, faculty get an automatic sabbatical that does not necessarily have a significant research project. At UMA, faculty propose projects and compete for three sabbaticals per academic year. I did not expect to get one.

It is an honor and a privilege to be granted a sabbatical. I am excited to focus on my research. Because my research-related release time has been focused on developing Interdisciplinary Studies and the INT program and major AT UMA, I am trying to be selfish in choosing what I spend my time working on during my sabbatical.

I already have a long list of projects, and many are carry-over research-related projects:
Any time now (or later) I will receive my proofs from McFarland for my forthcoming book, Girls on Fire: Transformative Heroines in Young Adult Literature. I will proofread and index my book. This work is a total nerd fest and I have done it in the past in the midst of hectic semesters. Now I can give it singular attention.

In January, I will receive feedback on an article I submitted about teaching American Studies through Octavia Butler’s work. I will have to revise this article for publication.

And some are projects that have been a long time in the making: 
In March, I will complete the last of my 200-hour Registered Yoga Teacher certification (RYT-200). I took my first training in March of 2005 and have chipped away at the training while also teaching countless yoga classes as well as workshops and retreats.

Some projects are the things I don’t usually have time for (namely, writing):
I will also be doing yoga-related research and blogging about my yoga research and training, as well as my other adventures.

I may re-write and re-imagine my Women and Fitness in American Culture book along the lines of my original idea, and with the support of my students—as a feminist fitness memoir and manifesta.

There will certainly be other projects and variations of projects.

So, clearly a sabbatical is exciting and rewarding and a privilege I cannot refuse. But it is not easy to walk away from the responsibilities that shape my days and nights, occupy my mental and emotional space, and reward and exhaust me. This work goes home with me; it makes me who I am.

But I tell my students how important self-care is, and a sabbatical is the crown jewel of self-care. And I am making the most of it—extending it before and after the spring semester, so even though I am not working, I will be working.

But, I will sabbatical. I will read and write. I will play in the snow. I will hike miles and drive miles. I will take yoga classes and commit to a daily yoga practice. I will finish projects and imagine new ones. For a few months I will try to avoid email as much as possible; I will try not to worry about the details left undone, the work left to my colleagues.

I will return rejuvenated and ready to dig back into the trenches, but I will take my time getting there.

I’ll be posting on Facebook and my website/blog: www.cultureandmovement.com.

Intersections and Beginnings
Years ago, at my first job interview I was asked which aspect of race, class, gender, and sexuality I paid the least attention to in my teaching and research. I was not prepared for this question. My go-to answer, probably like most candidates’ answers, was that I really worked to be sure that I covered all of these aspects in my teaching. Each time I named one, I would second-guess that answer and talk myself out of it--my rambling process made awkwardly verbal. Race was central. So was gender. Class cannot be separated from race. I think I finally settled on sexuality, but I didn’t really have a good explanation for why. I could say out loud that I didn't focus on sexuality because I was not ready to be "out."

There were many reasons I did not get that job. One of those reasons could have been my lack of development as a scholar. I had not yet written my dissertation. I was still trying to figure out exactly what I should concentrate my work on, exactly which sub-field I should seek employment in. I was also naïve about politics and appearances. Because I was a white woman seeking a position in African American studies, I was immediately discounted by most of the students and potential colleagues that I met. The political climate--and the students' raw need for a professor of color--created a pretty tense situation, and understandably so. My intersectional approach, my commitment to diversity and social justice, my excellent teaching record, my published book and many conference presentations, the respect I had earned among my colleagues at my home institution--none of these mattered.

I was only what my appearance reflected, and my discount-store suit, untamed frizzy hair, and overall lack of polish didn't help. As much as I wanted a job, I knew that this job was not for me (and I was right; it was a failed search). I could not be the person they wanted and, in fact, each constituency--the students, the faculty, the administration--wanted a different person. The students wanted a black person who could understand where students of color were coming from. The faculty wanted a scholar who understood intersectionality within and beyond African American studies. And the administration wanted a person of color that they could parade around as a symbol of diversity. I was only one of these people, and I wanted my work to speak for itself.

Through my work, I have matured as a scholar and have come into my own; I feel (mostly) confident, especially in my abilities as a teacher, and especially in my interdisciplinary/intersectional approach. My work has grown from my educational foundations in American studies, women's studies, and comparative ethnic studies, and has given me the tools to write about Hip-Hop, literature, television, pedagogy, and so much more. I have also had the privilege to reconcile my personal and political interests through my work related to my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture, and my current research project about young adult dystopia.

I have found that my specialization is in the connections between and among all of the areas that I (am forced to) work in, but it is not easy to navigate the spaces between and among. As I have continued to teach, research, and write about race, class, gender and sexuality, this interview question--and my inability to answer it--has been at the back of my mind and I have worked hard to be sure that I am doing justice to each tenant of intersectionality, especially in their interlocking/intersecting/overlapping. This is not easy work. But it is work that I am passionate about.

The sexuality aspect of my work has not developed at the same rate as the race, class, or gender components. My radical ideas about sexuality have mostly stayed at the fringes of my work and the edges of my life. I have been afraid to engage with sexuality as a component of intersectionality for a variety of reasons, mostly because it is difficult to come out as something specific when I am still struggling to understand myself. I have not engaged this vector of intersectionality because I have the privilege to ignore it.

Just like my whiteness dictated how I was perceived as a candidate for a job teaching about race, my assumed heterosexuality means that I don't have to worry about being judged, belittled, or dismissed because my gender and sexuality are queer. I can stay silent and let people assume what they want to. Many times in the past people have assumed I am a lesbian (or so I have been told). I don't wear a wedding ring. I teach women's studies. I talk about my dog but not my partner/husband. I must be a lesbian, right?
 
But the beauty of the work that I do is that I have the freedom to explore my personal and scholarly interests from a variety of angles. I can rework the pieces and fill in the gaps. Recently I decided—for personal and professional reasons—that I need to bolster that sexuality piece of the puzzle. So, being the academic nerd that I am, I selected a number of books and started my own little reading/research/writing project.

I find time to read these books in the spaces in between my other work and they have already begun to inform my teaching and my thinking. They have already helped me to know myself better, to feel more confident in who I am, to feel less shame is being queer. So, when I have some spaces, I will share some of these books and the interesting intersections they push and pull. I am not sure exactly where this project will lead, but I am excited for the ride.

I have tried many names and many incarnations of my particular "brand" of fitness dance: Pleasure, Power, and Movement; Feminist Fitness; Just Dance; Organic Dance (the biggest failure); and, most recently, Mind/Body Fitness Dance.

During the fall semester I previewed Mind/Body Fitness Dance at UMA-Bangor. I had positive feedback to this fitness class, and I decided to offer it this spring as a two-part series. While I have struggled to keep consistent attendance at this kind of fitness/dance class at the YMCA, I think that teaching this class on campus allows me to more fully share all of the nuanced aspects of this fitness form.

Starting this Thursday I will be offering Mind/Body Fitness dance on campus, Thursdays from 5:15 to 6:15. I have created a pamphlet that explains a little more about this form of fitness and dance, but it is really something that has to be experienced and embodied.

People are often afraid to dance, afraid to move outside of culture’s strictly draw boundaries of body and space. This is especially true of women and girls. We are taught to take up as little space as possible and we fear judgment and doing things wrong. I know this because I used to feel this way too.

I found confidence in fitness classes that allowed me to follow directions--and to give those directions when I became an instructor. In both cases, movements were rigid, linear, contained. In group exercise classes we generally know what to expect and the rise of manufactured fitness classes (like Zumba, Les Mills, and MOSSA) make for consistent, predictable workouts. While not everyone enjoys classes, many find safety in proscribed movements.

Invitations to try Mind/Body Fitness Dance are met with: I can’t dance. I only dance when no one’s home. I have no rhythm. I can’t follow directions. I need to be told what to do. I am so out of shape. These are excuses I hear often.

I also hear the unspoken reasons. I am insecure about my body (too fat, too thin, too something wrong). I am uncomfortable trying new things. I’m scared. I have anxiety. (I have made all these excuses too.) But all of these discomforts are exactly what Mind/Body Fitness Dances offers to alleviate.

Movement helps us let go. Music gives us a landscape. Structure and freedom help us feel safe while we also have literal and figurative space to explore.

Mind/Body Fitness Dance has changed my approach to fitness and has helped me to find more confidence, wellness, balance, and joy in my life. Sharing this movement--my art--with those who are brave enough to try something different is scary and rewarding. I share Mind/Body Fitness Dance as a tool of self-care; it is my gift to my community.

Eastport 124, on a Thursday afternoon, is private and the environment is conducive to freedom of movement. Music fills, but does not overwhelm the space and the play of light and dark enhance the dance fitness experience.

I want to invite students, faculty, staff, and community members to try this form of mind/body fitness dance. When we step into the dance, we leave these roles and become movement. Lose yourself. Find Yourself. Move and Be Moved.

From the first few notes of Spearhead’s album Home, I was hooked on Hip-Hop. This isn’t the origin story that most Hip-Hop heads tell, and it certainly fits with my demographics. As I am reminded any time I am in Hip-Hop spaces: I do not look Hip-Hop. I do not speak Hip-Hop. I do not move Hip-Hop (well kind of, sometimes). But I am a part of Hip-Hop.

I feel Hip-Hop—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, politically, pedagogically. I am Hip-Hop because Hip-Hop is so many different things. I have published and presented at academic conferences on the subject of Hip-Hop. I teach a multivalent vision of Hip-Hop to my students in a variety of academic classes and I choreograph “freestyle” fitness routines.
My teaching in both these spaces brings Hip-Hop to populations that might not otherwise engage with this culture and art form.

I love Hip-Hop for its power, its depth, its edge, its truth, its flow.

But it is easy to get distracted from the things that I love. I have too much to do, and I am spread too thin. I am interested in too many things, and I have too many commitments. When I have time to listen to music, I am often memorizing Group Groove choreography and I listen to the same ten tracks over and over again. I repeat a song over and over until the music and choreography are a part of me.

But this is also how I listen to music that I enjoy. I get obsessed with a song (or an album) and it haunts me and follows me, and the songs that resonate most with me often becomes a part of one of my fitness classes. Hip-Hop is part of this obsession, but to keep up with the Hip-Hop that isn’t most readily available--on TV, on the radio--takes work.

I stumble upon new songs. I circle back to favorites. I rediscover. And my friends and students send me links.

Last semester, I noticed that something felt off. I was busy (as usual). Generally happy (as usual). I was stressing over the details of life and feeling frustrated. I felt disconnected and disconcerted. I was reminded of the power of Hip-Hop when the BreakBeat Poets visited campus; I witnessed (again) this power of Hip-Hop through my students and colleagues. I realized that what was missing was my connection to life through Hip-Hop.

On my next long drive, I listened to Lupe Fiasco’s album, L.A.S.E.R.S. I was transported, pulled into that swirl of love, and politics, and beat, and flow, and soul. I felt renewed and reminded about what is important in life and why I love what I do. In the past I had connected with "Letting Go," "Words I Never Said," and "I Don't Wanna Care Right Now" but this time new songs on the album stuck out to me. I was haunted by "Beautiful lasers (2 Ways)" and “Coming Up” became a regular on my rotation and a part of my fitness classes.

Lupe Fiasco explains in his album notes: "Lasers are shining beams of light that burn through the darkness of ignorance. Lasers shed light on injustice and inequality. .... Lasers act and shape their own destinies. Lasers find meaning and direction in the mysteries all around them. Lasers stand for love and compassion. Lasers stand for peace. Lasers stand for progression. Lasers are revolutionary. Lasers Are The Future."

Lupe Fiasco’s words resonate beyond his music. It’s easy to pass by the moments, to let our lives run out in our responsibilities, obligations, distractions. Hip-Hop brings me home in ways that no other form of art and culture can. Hip-Hop saves my life over and over. It reminds me who I am and who I want to be. It reminds me that I am still coming up.

The first year I got involved with my university's colloquium theme was the year that "revolution" was chosen and I was asked to speak on the theme at our annual convocation event. It was exciting to explore this theme in my classes and to share an American studies take on revolution. The next year I found the food theme to be at least as fruitful in the classroom, and the excuse to focus on food meant that we could nourish our minds as well as our bodies. I was less excited by the bioethics theme that followed, but I found myself learning new things and expanding the tried and true topics that have made my classes engaging and challenging.

When our committee settled on "innovation," I wasn't really seeing how "innovation" was anything more than a tool to promote the idea of a linear path of progress that pushes forward in attempts to fulfill mainstream definitions of success, weaving--and sometimes challenging--myths along the way.

But, the theme of innovation nagged at the back of my brain. It got me thinking, and, ultimately this is the point of having an academic theme. Taking innovation out of these obvious contexts of science, technology, and business only makes room for further innovation. Somewhat obviously, innovation in the arts and humanities is coveted. We celebrate innovative filmmakers, innovative artists, innovative writers, innovative thinkers.

I never think about my work as being innovative; I think about it being flexible, dynamic, engaging, challenging, tireless. But seeking new ways of looking at old ideas is certainly innovative (as James Cook confirms for me in his framing of the theme at Convocation), and this is at the heart of my interdisciplinary teaching and scholarship. Interdisciplinary studies are studies in innovation, finding connections in spaces where strict boundaries are drawn, creating new methods and new forms of knowledge.

The innovation theme invites us to think about what we teach and how we teach it, and part of the point of such a theme is to approach it from a variety of angles. A quick search reveals ways of teaching innovation that coalesce with interdisciplinary approaches, like this Mind/Shift list of ways to teach innovation.

While there is a long list of innovative pedagogies, and maybe even a short list of innovative technologies, at play in my teaching, what is most immediately on my mind are my ongoing explorations of fitness in humanities and interdisciplinary contexts. In our AME/WGS 306: American Fitness class this fall, we will consider fitness in a variety of texts and contexts and through an interdisciplinary lens.

We expect to see fitness as a topic in the sciences. Bodies are measurable. Time, distance, expenditure are measurable. And in the social sciences--attitudes, behaviors, and demographics are measurable and comparable and surveys and interviews provide qualitative analyses. Interdisciplinary fields like women's studies considers strong women and women who break gender norms in sports and physical education as well as the ways in which gender is portrayed in magazines, for instance. These approaches produce important insights and a foundation for innovation.

Innovations in fitness are often met with the rigid resistance of minds and bodies trained in certain kinds of movement--linear, purposeful, exacting. People drawn to the linear, competitive aspects of running might be threatened by the choreography and hip movements of a Zumba class. People drawn to dance might resist the regimented movements of weight training or the aggressive nature of kickboxing.

Innovations in scholarship meet similar kinds of resistance. Interdisciplinary inquiry threatens definable boxes and known quantities. Certainly Luddites push back against innovations in technology, ethicists push back against innovations in science, activists push back against innovation in business. When innovation meets at the intersection of fitness and academia, push back is often stillness, a lack of engagement, a quiet anger, a refusal or inability to embrace change let alone the possibility of transformation.

I detail, analyze, and extrapolate many of these fitness innovations in my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture. I also continue to highlight the work of my colleagues in this field through resources on my culture and movement website and features on my blog. My students' blogs and projects this fall will help to make this class--and interdisciplinary inquiries in the realm of fitness--more dynamic and innovative. Those interested in such innovations can join our Google+ Community.

My initially limited view of innovation in business, science, and technology left me with an underdeveloped idea of what innovation means. Innovation challenges norms, disrupts comforts, and shapes expectations. Innovation is now a conscious hammer in my toolbox and I look forward to sharing this tool with my students this fall.

I meant to write this blog some time ago, inspired when Be Steadwell (B Steady) performed at UMA in connection with my Hip Hop class and sponsored by our Women Invigorating Curriculum committee and a Presidential minigrant. I have so many passions that it can be difficult to balance them all, and Hip Hop is one of those passions that is a common thread through all I do.

In the academic classroom, across disciplines, I use Hip Hop to talk about all kinds of issues from poverty to power to portrayals of women. In my fitness classes I use Hip Hop to inspire movement including two of my favorite Hip Hop yoga tracks: "Yoga Mat" by Stic Man and anything by MC Yogi. Hip Hop was what inspired me to dance outside the fitness box when I combined it with belly dancing.

But Be Steady's performance reminds me how important it is to promote women in Hip Hop by sharing knowledge of artists who don't get noticed in the narrow halls of mainstream Hip Hop. A recent interview with a graduate student working on a Master's thesis about women in Hip Hop rekindled my desire to share a few artists and observations about women and Hip Hop. But first things first...

Nicki Minaj and Monsters in the Mainstream

Whenever I teach about Hip Hop, students often argue adamantly that Nicki Minaj is an "empowered" female rapper, and she is often the only example, besides Beyoncé and Rihanna, students can cite. I am not here to argue that Minaj is or is not empowered (especially since empowered can mean many different things); instead, I want to use her as an example of the problems with mainstream American culture and Hip Hop culture. It is no secret that the few women who have found marginal success are conventionally attractive and often use sex to sell themselves and their work (like American culture demands as much as Hip Hop does). My students overwhelmingly cite Nicki Minaj as "proof" that women can succeed in Hip Hop. Many of my students find her to be "strong" or "successful" or "powerful."

Even in a song like "Monster" (Kanye West featuring Jay-Z, Bon Iver, and Rick Ross as well as Minaj), a song that is blatantly misogynistic and highly disturbing, she is seen as holding her own and being empowered. I even had a student post a video on a social media site with only the verse that Minaj contributes and with a very long analysis of the empowering lyrics supported by the image of Minaj's split personalities. When I asked her to contextualize her analysis within the song as a whole, she declined because she didn't think that the bigger context (a video where the only other women are dead, hanging from meat hooks and being dragged around or used sexually) really mattered because of how "empowered" Minaj was in this one part of the song. Later, when her mother asked her not to post such disturbing things because grandma might see, the student removed her post.

Women who want to achieve mainstream success also have to fit stereotypes and so sexual confidence can be exploited just as much as sexual exploitation. For instance, when Nicki Minaj adds her voice to songs by popular male artists, many women see this as positive. They see her as empowered, as playing the game with the big boys, as holding her own. But this empowerment is all in a context where she has to play their game to find a place for herself. For instance, as I was writing this I came across an article where a quote, "I have bigger balls than the boys" is featured in the headline. If the headline doesn't say it all, then the tagline does: "She has a body like Marilyn and a mouth like Eminem. No wonder Nicki Minaj is the hottest female rapper in the world." No matter how big her balls, she will only ever be a female rapper.

Female artists who play this game gain success. Those who don't will stay at the margins or will achieve success only in limited and limiting ways. So, maybe it is actually a positive that women don't gain mainstream success. Maybe this means that female artists aren't willing to play a game that makes them a victim, a margin, a window dressing, a receptacle. Because Hip Hop is a powerful and empowering art form, because it is a form of social and cultural criticism, because it gives voice to the voiceless, maybe mainstream success is not what female rappers should waste their time trying to achieve. Women rappers are already challenging mainstream conventions by their mere existence; their messages do so even more. Women with a voice, women of color with a voice, are a real threat to mainstream America. So, I share these examples because they shatter mainstream perceptions of women in Hip Hop.

Angel Haze

A student in my classes introduced me to Angel Haze. Her covers of "Same Love" and "Cleaning Out My Closet" take two popular and iconic songs and twist these songs to meet her experience as a black, pansexual female artist. Certainly the mainstream success of "Same Love" has exposed many people to Angel Haze since someone who is searching for Macklemore's song will inevitably find Angel Haze's version. This provides opportunities to educate--in and out of the classroom. When I show students Angel Haze's version of "Same Love," most remark that it is more real, more meaningful then the original. But, the original exploded Macklemore's career for a variety of reasons that speak to the politics of the mainstream. He is white and not gay, so the song is safer and can have "anthem" status. When Angel Haze adds her story to his message, she is exposing the limitations of the mainstream. Her identity, sexuality, and experiences with oppression are in the forefront, amplified with her talent for words.

Mainstream America is not ready for Angel Haze, and yet she recently recorded the theme song for the film 22 Jump Street. Another contradiction--this recording features Ludacris, lending it mainstream validity. In this song, she is singing for most of the song, and when she does rap she is rapping about the film's characters. She isn't seen anywhere in the videos I found for the song and no one listening would guess that she was anything but a "lesser" Nicki Manaj. So, again, mainstream success is limited. But it might be a start!

Invincible

This picture of Invincible is a powerful statement about women in Hip Hop as well as queer women. When I first saw this picture, it brought tears to my eyes. I bought Invincible's Shapeshifters album, a title that is exactly in line with my passions for flexibility, interdisciplinarity, and transformation. "Shapeshifters" and "Sledgehammer" are my two favorite tracks and I use them in academic and fitness spaces often. Invincible opens "Shapeshifter" with: "Music's not a mirror that reflects reality/ it's a hammer/with which we shape it." Taking this popular revolutionary phrase and adapting it to her purpose speaks to the power we have to shape culture if not also reality.

Her politics are clear through her lyrics, but more so through her community activism and the larger picture of the projects in which she collaborates. A co-founder of Emergence Media, she produces her own music as well as videos about topics like women in Hip Hop and gentrification in Detroit. She's also involved with Detroit Summer, "a multi-racial, inter-generational collective in Detroit that is transforming communities through youth facilitative leadership, creativity and collective action" and other such social justice work. Her music plus her activism only strengthens the hammer.

Eekwol

I don't remember how I came across Eekwol, an indigenous artist whose songs speak to experiences of colonization, violence, and freedom. Her songs "Too Sick" and "I Will Not Be Conquered" provide perspectives that "represent the truth." As her ReverbNation profile notes, "she holds a lifelong background of Plains Cree Indigenous music and culture, and invites the audience into a space of experimental hip hop unique to her land and place while respecting the origins of hip hop." Eekwol's work raises consciousness and connects communities.

She also speaks to the roles of women in mainstream Hip Hop in this interview/video that was created as a part of a seminar/presentation and a teaching tool for use in high schools. In educational settings, these artists can be used to make connections to our communities as much as they can be used to raise individual students' consciousness. Artists like Eekwol and Invincible combine art and politics in powerful ways.

Be Steady

Which leads me full circle to Be Steady, an artist I discovered via Words Beats & Life. I started watching her videos and songs and fell in love with her. I didn't really imagine that I would be able to bring her to UMA to perform. I was almost surprised when I booked her so easily. At first she seemed shy and humble, so when she started singing, and her voice filled our little event room, I was speechless. The first few minutes of her performance and her first song "Worthy," hooked the audience. (Fast forward a couple of minutes through my awkward intro and movement of the camera!) I often play this haunting song over and over.

From there, the performance unfolded with songs combined with commentary about her music--the art and the subject matter. She fielded questions from the audience and wove her answers into her performance. She addressed everything I hoped she would address--including questions of identity and sexuality. (Click here for part two of Be's performance). My students were so energized by her visit and shared her music with other students and through social media. Be Steadwell was an amazing performer, but because she was a down-to-earth person, her work reached students even more. Will she gain mainstream success writing songs about her love for girls? Probably not. Will her fans continue to love her music? Will she continue to evolve as an artist, to connect communities, and inspire people? Outside the mainstream, such growth and transformation are possible.

Hip Hop cannot be contained by the mainstream as much as mainstream representations limit what people know about Hip Hop. Our heroes circulate in different spaces. None of these women have messages that mesh with mainstream American expectations let alone the narrow confines of women and Hip Hop. But they are changing Hip Hop as much as their work is transforming minds and lives. All we have to do is listen... and pass it on.

My newest research venture is, by default, YA Dystopia. And "by default" I mean because I am completely obsessed with dystopia in general, but I am particularly addicted to YA dystopia with female protagonists. I call these my "crack books" because I quite literally cannot stop reading them. I can't stop reading without concerted effort and when I put down one and pick up another. Life isn't the same without being engaged in this other world for part of the time. And so of course that obsession extends itself into a kernel for teaching and research.

My real interest in dystopia came via Octavia Butler's novels and Star Trek fantasies (next Gen, of course!). My YA obsession began, predictably, with the Hunger Games. Before I was a third of the way through I ordered the next two books because I didn't want to have any interruption in my reading experience. I read straight through. And I had to find more. I worried I would never find another  reading experience like HG. While I read plenty of books that did not fall into this "narrow" category, some related and some not, I read books like the Birthmarked trilogy and the Chemical Garden trilogy and my less favorite works that focus more on boys: the Maze Runner Trilogy and the Ender's Game series. But there is so much more!

When I began to find monotony in the plot and characters/characteristics of the protagonists, I was floored when my friend forwarded me a link to a blog via Bitch Magazine. This was exactly what I had been looking for, hoping for, longing for--books that had protagonists who were girls of color. Visions of the future that consider how race, ethnicity, and identity are factors in the future. This discovery is what sparked my interest in looking at YA Dystopia as more than just an obsessive fan. There is way too much to explore (and that's exciting!).

In the spring of 2015 I will be teaching an online topics course called "Girls on Fire: Gender, Culture, and Justice in YA Dystopia." When I proposed this course one of my colleagues suggested I spell out what "YA" is. Half joking, I told him that anyone who doesn't know what YA is, I don't want them in this course! There are so many other  readers out there who are interested in this genre and read just as--or almost as--voraciously as I do. I know this class will be in demand.

This interdisciplinary course is cross-listed between American studies, English, and Women's, Gender, and Sexuality studies and will consider the topics in the title as well as race, community, power, sexuality, technology, the environment, politics, etc. I am excited about the projects that we will engage with to explore this rich body of work. I'll be teaching online and developing resources related to the genre, including a guide to the best books.

Inevitably I'll be working on a book project related to this work as well. In many ways it mirrors the body of work that I explored in my first book, Pictures of Girlhood: Modern Female Adolescence on Film. YA Dystopia has many of the same themes--coming of age, absent parents, violence, limited representations, etc.--but it also has the context of the future and the bigger picture of the fate of the world (or at least a little piece of that world). These "girls on fire" give us hope in the present for the future.

Whenever I finish a project, when what I've written/birthed/sweated out goes off to the publisher, I start to find more sources that would be "perfect." I lament not finding them before I was finished even though I could not have included another source. In fact, the last of my writing process for my last book--and most things I write--is cutting out the excess, polishing the product.
 
There was a lot to cut from Women and Fitness in American Culture. It went through many incarnations and there was so much "perfect" evidence. But that doesn't mean that there weren't sources that would have been helpful, insightful, even key to the crux of my argument. The fact that there are always more examples to add to the mix speaks to the flexibility of interdisciplinary studies as well as the subject at hand.
 
Red Nails, Black Skates: Gender, Cash, and Pleasure On and Off the Ice is a book I not only highly recommend, but also wish I would have discovered before my book was written--for my own personal and professional reasons.
 
It is really quite ridiculous that I did not discover this book during my extended research process. In fact, as I scratch at the reaches of my brain, I am pretty sure that I clicked right past it. At one point I decided that I needed to narrow my scope of research, to only tangentially consider "sport." I wanted to consider sport mostly as it stood in for "fitness," as it narrows the overall quality of fitness to an athletic/competitive activity that relies upon the mastering of a set of specific skills. I remember scrolling by thinking "skating" is not "fitness." And it's not, but I didn't imagine at the time just how relevant skating is, at least in the context of Rand's work.

Since author, Erica Rand, is practically my neighbor and is a friend of a colleague of mine, and since I am pretty sure said colleague mentioned this book to me at one point, it is simply a travesty that I did not pick it up. Her arguments about pleasure, social justice, and queer bodies and queer approaches and spaces would have been helpful to round out some of my less developed arguments. For instance, while I write about the term "pleasure" scaring away participants, Rand boldly writes a whole chapter on the connection of skating and pleasure titled, "Skating Is Like Sex, Except When It Isn't" and in the first paragraph she proceeds to provide the best definition/description of sex I have ever read:

        For me, skating is a lot like sex. It's at once hot, intense, smooth, and sweet. It involves control, in ways that mix taking         and yielding it. It's rhythmic, you can improve with practice, little things can make all the difference, it can feel like flying,         and when it really works it's intensely in-body and out-of-body at the same time (46).

While I apologize, Rand embraces.

But the biggest reason I lament my oversight is that Erica Rand's book is so much like mine at the same time that it is so different from mine. It would have been helpful to have her book in a kind of role model/mentor kind of way. So many things that I was afraid to do with my book--tell my story (even the personal details), use myself as a research subject, put my body on display beside the product of my brain--Rand does with confidence, poise, and insight. She owns her work in a way that I want to own my work.
 
Even the structure/approach of my work has similarities to Rand's book. When I read her "Introduction: Skate to Write, Write to Skate," I felt like we had parallel projects. The thoughtful subtitles, the process laid bare, the personal narrative, the connection between the spheres of academia and physical embodiment/engagement, and the desire to reach audiences beyond academia, are all qualities that our work shares. She lays it out with confidence.
 
I lay it out with trepidation--a different language, a less-definable subject (skating is more concrete, fitness is diverse and abstract), an exploratory method, a distilling of theory, a weaving of less defined voices and more abstract ideas. I am still in the process of understanding how to do critical interdisciplinary work; and interdisciplinary theory and methodology will be one of my next research projects.

But, ultimately, for both of our works, transformation is the impetus. In conclusion Rand writes about "the principle of ethical fieldwork: Don't take from communities you study without giving back" (261). This is a principle that is embodied in my dual spheres of fitness and academia; for both of us, "fieldwork" is also life. She also reminds me that "there is not one single way to effect change ... in the rink only" or "to participate in anti-oppression struggles across categories of race, gender, sexuality, economics, and nation" (261). Academia and activism, pleasure and politics do not have to be binaries.
 
Our endings are even similar. She notes, "we need to get out there and do the work. And still, then again . . ." (261), while I note "if we are willing to do the work(out)." But neither of us can let that be the last word. I turn to final relaxation/rejuvenation. She turns to correcting a myth (that I perpetuate)--that Emma Goldman never actually said: "If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution." But, Rand argues, she did express this sentiment. And to this sentiment, Rand adds, "And sparkle."
 
Next installment of additions and reconsiderations: Hanne Blank, The Unapologetic Fat Girl's Guide to Exercise: And Other Incendiary Acts.

In 2009 I was fortunate enough to have the experience of seeing Angelou speak at one of the largest events hosted by the University of Maine at Augusta. Students had dreamed big and worked hard to get Angelou as a speaker. We do not usually (ever?) have the budget for speakers of Angelou's fame or caliber. I will always remember that event, and her amazing, dynamic presence, but my "remembering" of Maya Angelou is not as a "hero" (as many people regard her).  My remembering is a lesson in critical consciousness.

As a complement and preparation to this event, in the spring of 2009, I taught a class about Maya Angelou. The event did not happen until late April so we had plenty of time to prepare. It was cross-listed between English, Women's Studies, Humanities (before we had an American Studies designator) and had multiple sites taught via compressed video. There were 40 students in this class and most were eager to have an opportunity to read Angelou's work and learn more about her. That's why they took my class. But this is not why I taught this class.

One student immediately dropped the class, noting that he thought this was a "read and write about it kind of class." We certainly read a lot--all of Angelou's autobiographies, all of her poetry, her short stories, her book of essays, and her children's books. We also watched videos of Angelou and considered her politics and her work as an African American woman writer. The opportunity to teach about Maya Angelou is an opportunity for engaged, critical, interdisciplinary education.

As my students know, I don't just teach about the great works or deeds of a person, even someone who is as great as Angelou. Instead, I asked students to consider Angelou in her social, cultural, and political context. I asked questions like "what is it about Angelou that makes her a 'hero' while other black women are vilified as dangerous or subversive?" And, "why I am I teaching this class about Angelou instead of a class about bell hooks or Angela Davis or Audre Lorde, for instance?" These are just two of the hard questions that we don't ask about our heroes.

I taught this class to give the students an opportunity to consider Angelou--her life and her work--deep and wide. And so even though I began the class proclaiming to not be a fan, and to not really love her work as her many fans love it, I learned a lot about Angelou and I really enjoyed reading her collected body of work. She certainly had a long, full life and has been an influential figure through decades of political shifts. She challenged racism and sexism and told her stories without fear or apology. She should certainly be on our list of heroes.

But we should see our heroes in more complicated light. The work I assigned for this class reflected the complicated nature I wanted students to explore. Students wrote academic papers, many of them analyzing her work and some of them critically considering her work in context. Some students took a stab at their own creative writing. Many dealt with their own histories of abuse. Students also created their own Angelou-inspired children's books. They were asked to share  what they had learned in class in a public setting, and many took Angelou into elementary and high schools. (And colleagues and I held a "Teaching Maya Angelou" workshop for teachers in three locations in Maine.)

The night of the event we had a "Welcome Table Potluck" where students could either make dishes from Angelou's cookbook or make their own recipes and tell their own stories. This remains one of my favorite assignments ever, and students brought friends and family to our pre-event potluck and post-event dessert and discussion. Some of us kept hoping that Angelou might make a surprise appearance, but I am sure she had no idea that this co-event was happening. I want to believe, for my students, that if she did, she would have stopped by ... at least for the grub.

The students embraced every assignment with passion that paid tribute to the works of Maya Angelou. One student even took on the project of collecting students' works and creating a book that was given to Angelou as a gift. The sad thing is, with all of this work that my students did, we don't know if Angelou ever received the book. Here's what happened:

When people hear that I taught this class and that Angelou visited campus, they assume I got to meet her. Not even close. (And I certainly didn't expect to meet her, ever, and I am okay with that.) I am not sure that anyone even ever told Angelou that there was a class being taught about her work. When I suggested that students write letters to her before the event, the organizers of the event pretty much freaked out. Because of stipulations in the contract (and no doubt due to her age), Angelou's visit was tightly controlled. There was a long list of don'ts and a limited number of people who could meet her. Any breech of this contract and they could walk away with our (very hard-earned) money. Understandable.

But what was not understandable to my students was why they could not present her with the gift of the book they created for her. Instead, the mayor of Augusta was invited to present her with the key to the city and the students' book was (supposedly) left in her backstage dressing area. I am sure that Angelou has received many, many such honors--the key to every city, the honorary doctorate, the accolades of millions. But, she may or may not have received a heart-felt collection of work produced by UMA students in her honor.

And this is one of the problems of heroes. The higher we hold you up, the harder it is for you to see the people. The more we scramble to provide appropriate honors (those that mayors and presidents deliver), the more we block out the honors of the little people who matter the most. I don't fault Angelou here but the layers of lawyers and keepers and contracts and event organizers and PR people who decide what an event like Maya Angelou speaking at a small, open-access university in Maine should be about.

I have been waiting for the opportunity to tell this story and, unfortunately, it is Maya Angelou's passing that has prompted me to share this "remembering." But it is an important lesson for all of our heroes--dead or alive. We made you heroes and we will examine every inch of your life and work so that we can better understand ourselves and our world. Then we'll look to see where we can make change.

Just when I thought that fitness was not on the American Studies Association annual conference program (see Yoga for a Cause), I attended the ASA Women's Committee session Saturday afternoon, "Critical Conjunctures of Debt: Women of Color,  Healthcare Disparities, and Advocacy." I was a little bit late. After two moving presentations by the other panel members, Shirley Tang and Jacki Rand, Koritha Mitchell gave the presentation I had come for: "Pay Yourself First and Pay It Forward: The Black Girls RUN! Project."

In Women and Fitness in American Culture I highlight the problematic aspects of the national healthcare agenda and the conversation around American fitness that we see in popular culture. I also highlight the ways in which fitness can help us work toward transforming these conversations and policies. Koritha Mitchell's presentation complements my work in important ways as her arguments about the bigger picture of American fitness mesh with mine, and she extends the conversation to speak specifically to black women's experiences, in all their diversity. At the end of the panel, chair and commentator, Alondra Nelson, remarked that it's about time that we consider health research in the Arts and Sciences. I couldn't agree more, and I hope that my work provides a jumping off point for many conversations, like those begun at ASA by professors Mitchell and Nelson.

Professor Mitchell framed her discussion of Black Girls Run! through a larger picture of American culture and politics, particularly the racism of "know-your-place aggression" seen in its most extremes in the recent Trayvon Martin and Renisha McBride cases. These cases are nothing new, and they are not rare. In this climate, Mitchell argues, "exercise has become invaluable"; it is a way to avoid despair and to prioritize self-care while equipping others to do the same. This is particularly important for black women and other women of color who are devalued--body and mind--by American culture and whose lives are often wholly devoted to the service of others. As Mitchell argues, "energy is our most precious resource" and black women deserve to put themselves first. Preserving such energy is the only way to continue to give that energy to our families, our communities, our work, and to social justice.

She also frames her discussion in terms of the national debate about health care and the emphasis in American culture on health and fitness as weight loss. Mitchell's presentation was not the only one at ASA to make a connection between the government initiatives of "My Plate" and "Let's Move" and the limited and limiting representations of "health" and "fitness" that target African American women. (Karisa Butler-Wall presented her paper, "Risky Business: Race, Citizenship, and the Biopolitics of Debt in the 'Obesity Crisis.'") But the problems that plague black women's health are not individual problems; they are structural problems. As Mitchell argues, Americans are sedentary. Americans eat too much salt and sugar. Americans eat too much fast food.

After framing the climate and arguing the importance of self-care, Dr. Mitchell discussed the ways in which The Black Girls Run! chapter that she organized in Columbus, OH, in April of 2011, helps to mitigate these circumstances and transform the experiences of black women individually and in community. The story she tells is one that echoes and extends the stories I tell in Women and Fitness in American Culture. While I weave other voices and stories into my own, I also make it clear that my experience in fitness is limited by my geographical locations, my whiteness, my middle-class status, and other factors that shape women's individual and collective fitness experiences. We need more stories.

We need to take up more space. The work of Black Girls Run! takes place in cyber spaces as well as in real life. Mitchell notes the supportive environment that Facebook offers through its daily activity and the ways in which this organization continues to resist the notion that losing weight is motivation for exercise. BGR! adopts the important ideas that exercise is beneficial no matter what size a woman is and that exercise is punishment if it is linked to weight loss. These are important messages in a culture that devalues "fat" while blaming the individual for structural problems.

Perhaps the most important philosophy expressed through Mitchell's chapter of BGR! is the idea: "I am grateful I can move, so I am moving." This is the basis for feminist and mind/body fitness that I discuss in Women and Fitness in American Culture. Likewise, BGR! is flexible, supports beginners, and operates with a "no woman left behind" philosophy. Everyone crosses the finish line and everyone does the level of activity they are able to do that day. Members support one another on the run and in life; they challenge each other to be their best. And yet, Mitchell argues, there is no flexibility with a culture of excuses. (And she provides fun motivational messages like those on her Pinterest page.) BGR! leaders must be reliable and on time, and must not let weather control their desire to run. Ultimately, building a community presence means being accountable to that community. Strong leaders like Koritha Mitchell, make a difference.

As I note of my own work in the sphere of fitness, Mitchell argues that the work she does with Black Girls Run! makes her work in academia possible. Running is crucial for Mitchell's intellectual self, just as my practice of yoga and cardio/dance are for me. For both of us, this fitness space allows us to interact with people outside of academia, to connect with our community in meaningful ways. For Mitchell, this is an important space of connection since the two activities that allow black women to interact (traditionally, and in Columbus specifically)--church and activities for children--are not spaces Mitchell is involved with. Further, she notes that this work has "really driven home for me just how diverse black women are. If we didn't have racism," she notes, then black women might not have much in common.

Diverse women come together in fitness spaces, and the benefits of fitness communities cannot be overlooked or underestimated. As Dr. Nelson pulled together the threads of the presentations on this panel, she included a slide show with quotes from the Black Panther Party and Audre Lorde. In both cases, the importance of self-care and health as an integral part of the "aspiration and practice" of "the liberation struggle" were highlighted. Her role call of women in academia lost too soon was a sobering reminder that the importance of self-care is both an individual and structural problem and priority, particularly for women of color whose bodies and minds are undervalued and exploited. Health and fitness are issues that cross categories and disciplines and deserve a more thorough look from the arts and sciences, and from interdisciplinary, feminist inquiry, as well as from American studies scholars.

Academic conferences are often difficult experiences for me. As a shy introvert, it is difficult to make connections, even with people I already know. It's also simultaneously intimidating and inspiring to see all of the amazing work being done in and around the fields I work in--American studies and Women's, Gender, and Sexuality studies. Inspiration is especially the case with the National Women's Studies Association conference, which I attended this past weekend in Cincinnati; these women are amazing.

I always learn so much at this conference, and it provides a number of opportunities that other academic conferences don't offer. For instance, the contributions by graduate students, and even undergraduate students, at this conference are welcome and encouraged. Simultaneously, the "big names" in women's and gender studies are accessible and approachable. There are certainly things that NWSA could do better, many of which are the usual weaknesses of academic spaces, but NWSA will continue to be my favorite conference. Here I'll share a few highlights (and see my related blog about Fitness at NWSA).

Women Everywhere. As one might imagine, the NWSA is attended by mostly women. There are certainly some men there, and they are as welcome as anyone else. And there is a diversity of people generally--women of all sizes, shapes, colors, sexual orientations, national and international origins, younger and older. It is inspiring simply to share the space with so many women. There are few other spaces where you can walk through crowds, make eye contact and smile, maybe even chat with someone you don't know. (In fact, after an embarrassing cash mishap at the airport, I hitched a ride with a couple of faculty members from Rutgers who welcomed me into their cab and trusted me to pay them back later.)

Workshops and Roundtables. While many conferences include alternate formats to the "talking head" presentation, NWSA does this particularly well. In fact, I walked out of a more traditional panel when one women read her paper--a critique about the One Billion Rising movement--quickly and in a monotone. People talking about their work is so much more powerful than listening to someone read, especially if they are reading in a disaffected manner. Further, I really hate it when I go to a panel to hear a particular panel and the one paper I wanted to hear is a no-show. The whole discussion is stunted with a missing piece. Roundtables and workshops are always worth attending.

I attended two roundtables that I want to share. One was with some of the editors from The Feminist Wire, a website and collective that does amazing work. The other was with the Crunk Feminist Collective who also publishes a blog. Both of these roundtables were amazing and inspiring. Both groups maintain and update their site regularly--daily and weekly, respectively. They do this work--for no pay--on top of their "real" work. Both provide insights that you will not see in the mainstream news media.

The Feminist Wire provides an extensive peer-review process and work collectively to edit articles. They publish well-known authors like bell hooks and Angela Davis as well as people who have never published. They also provide space for "college feminisms" and "elementary feminisms" and encourage young people to submit work to their site.

One of the most helpful aspects of both of these roundtable presentations was their discussion of self-care, a topic I presented on at NWSA this year, and a topic I start to explore in my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture. (More on this in my blog about Fitness at NWSA.) In an environment where everyone sacrifices their quality of life outside the academy--on my campus and in the academic world more generally--it is inspiring to hear women talk about the importance of taking a break, stepping away, or rewarding yourself for your hard work. Such is not easy to do, but it is necessary if we want to continue to serve our institutions, students, and communities.