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Title: Target Heart Rate

Background Information:

Question: How does the type of exercise affect target heart rate?

Hypothesis: I think doing the stair-step exercise would bring me closer to my target heart rate, because it involves more movement than just hula hooping. When you hula hoop, you only really move your hips and occasionally your arms and feet. When you stair step, it really put a strain on your legs to keep lifting yourself up and down.

Prediction: Doing the stair-step will get me closer to my target heart rate.

Procedure:

I. Take resting pulse

II. Do chosen exercise(s) for one minute

III. Take pulse afterwards

IV. Write down and repeat

Observations:

-Resting Pulse: 80

Activity	Trial I: Pulse	Trail II: Pulse	Trial III: Pulse	Average
Stair- step	120	128	132	126.6
Hula-hoop	136	120	124	126.6

Data Analysis:

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Grandmother was quite the character, a wonderful mess of interesting traits, if you will. She sold beaded key chains for a living, traveled to over one hundred reservations, and, you must admit, her wardrobe surely was something. Wearing a dress from “72, her late-husbands’ rodeo belt, basketball sneakers, and to top it all off, the must have bandana that changes color for every event. But what really made her truly interesting was that she was the most loving, forgiving, and tolerant person in her grandson, Juniors’, eyes. She was so tolerant, that she would speak to people who weren’t there just because she didn’t think she should be so quick to judge that there isn’t anyone invisible standing next to them. She just accepted everyone, even if they were a tad bit off. She loved everyone, and everyone ended up loving her in return. She had never even drunk a drop of alcohol in her life, which seemed to be rare for an Indian. When Junior asked why she chose not to drink, this was her answer, “Why would I want to be in the world if I couldn’t touch the world with all my senses?” (Alexi, 158)  She was old, her senses already dulling, but still there, at least. The world hadn’t worn her down yet, and it would probably never succeed in doing so, either. She wasn’t tired of the world; she didn’t want to escape anytime soon.

Alexi, Sherman. The Absolute True Diary of a Part-Time Inidan. New York: Hatchet Book Group, 2009. Print.

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 Mrs. Smiths' face was turning an angry red. There would be no mercy this time.

"Pardon me, mon cher, but I think that I can say on the behalf of my classmates, that you're making positively no sense." The Cajun boy, Arthur, sat in the front row, right in front of Jewel. His words caused amused titters to escape the lips of the younger students vacating the room. Jewel kept her eye on the back of his head, as if she could tell him to shut up with just the sure force of her gaze.

"Mister Beliveau," the teacher spat, her hands clenched at her sides. "I don't know, or care, where you're from, but we use English at this school. And students raise their hand if they feel the need to comment on the lesson." She slapped the ruler loudly on his desk, making the whole room jump. "Am I clear?"

"Sorry, je ne parle l'anglais." Arthur spread his hands in a sad gesture, his eyes big and taunting. Stupid boy... she thought as Mrs. Smith swung her stick at him with such vigor that it sent him flying out of his seat. He lay there moaning, covering his wounded face as she brought the stick down on him again so hard on his back that Jewel was afraid that she'd broken something.

"Get up, boy!" Mrs. Smith screeched. Arthur strained pushed himself up, hand still covering his bloodied face. Ever so slowly he climbed into his seat, to the irritation of their teacher. She could have sworn there was a smile on his lips, but it was gone so quick that she thought she had imagined it. Mrs. Smith soon moved on with class, no one was laughing anymore.


⚜ ⚜ ⚜


School was finally out, and she noticed he still had his face concealed from view, but he seemed to be walking normally.

They both appeared to be the same age, at seventeen, but that was the only similarity they shared. He towered over everyone in their class, making his skinny limbs look gawky. She stood at no taller than five feet with short pale arms, and cute little hands and feet. His face, when its not stained and bruised, was covered with freckles and a mouth made for smiling. Her face was soft and round, traces of baby fat still present, but thankfully not a blemish on her smooth skin. He had messy bud colored hair, hers the color of wheat; him with copper brown eyes, she with emerald green.

Jewel ran up to him as he walked down the gravel road, hiking up her skirts as she moved. He pulled his hat further over his eyes at her approach.

"Yes?" he had a strange accent, she noted, like a little bit of everything. He probably traveled a lot before coming here. She thought as she walked with him, holding her books close to her chest.

"I was just wonderin'... Are you alright?" She asked tentatively, craning her neck to meet his eyes. He gave an amused snort at her question.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, really. Just a little blood is all," he flashed her a smile. "Not the worst beating I've gotten from a teacher, but boy does she have an arm."

Jewel didnt laugh, just kept staring at the hand still covering his cheek. "Are you sure? It looked pretty bad." she reached up to touch him. "Just let me-"

"No." he said sharply, flinching away from her.

***I'm still adding on to it, needs a lot of editing, I know***

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http://www.experienceproject.com/music_search.php?song=introvert+songs