Embrace it...or...Soy más fuerte

Staying off the subway, extreme edition, proving two tenets this morning:

1. I'm told yes I was dropped on my head once as a baby.

2. There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad gear. Today's 9 mile bike commute started in apparently 2 degree air. Brought to you by garmont hiking boots, marmot thermals, that full-wool sweater from Ecuador you bought in the student center lobby almost thirty years ago, Gore tex, ll bean for the jacket, and black diamond mittens (the ones that do nothing for you waiting for a bus miraculously kept most of the cold out this morning!) And fleece. Thanks heavens for fleece, including my Samaritans hat!

My phone said I couldn't use the flash in low temperatures...

Stay warm and careful out there!

Warm pajamas

Beautiful morning for a 16 miler (two hours forty minutes). My body feels good - nothing so sore that an ice pack can't fix, and I keep going out for longer than planned, finishing strong. I had company (Thanks, Jen!) for the first few miles, then it was me and my brain, my breathing, and eventually some light snow. 

Had a great catch-up conversation yesterday in which I was reminded why I'm doing this off the charts running, committing to my third marathon in three years, committing to honoring the memories of now two young women from my community by raising money for (and awareness of) Samaritans, Inc. suicide prevention and grief support services. 

At a high school guidance meeting for parents, we were presented to about suicide and the supports available through school. It has been a difficult stretch for our town, having lost two children as well as last year an entire family to a murder-suicide that involved a father, mother, and twin infant boys. I'm obviously heartened that the school is applying resources to connect students with support and awareness. 

This morning, in relatively balmy thirty-degree weather, I thought about warm pajamas. I suppose when it's been much colder I haven't had the luxury of thinking about much but survival. This morning? Beautiful. 

 - A few years ago, when my thyroid hit the weeds, functioning so low my physician wouldn't tell me the number, I would get up and dressed for the day and stand there staring practically in tears at the pajamas folded, still warm, on my pillow, desperately wanting to get back into them and go back to bed. It took me several months to figure out that this went well beyond my typical winter hibernation and say something to get started down the road to diagnose and fix. 

 - When my daughter was small, I would gather her pajamas for the laundry, appreciating the sleepy warmth clinging still when I got them early, grateful for a small being to care for, grateful for that warmth, our ability to provide a cozy place to sleep, a warm house, a soft bed. Warm pajamas. She's a lot more responsible for her own laundry, and she's long outgrown the feety pajamas with embroidered cupcakes and critters that so melt my heart, but we have her, for which I am grateful. 

In my neighborhood, there are families grieving the loss of their children. I cannot fathom the extent of this grief. A small thing I can do is run a marathon to support a service provider with a mission to prevent losses like these. 

Please join me. There's a link over there ------------------------------------>
Thanks...


Watch this space for details of an upcoming fundraising party/raffle/silent auction to help raise money for Samaritans. Thanks!

Apropos of nothing, here's what today looked like: 

this is me, a little gassed after sixteen big ones. 

this is some of the appalling amount of calories I get to take in on a day like this - Taza cacao puro hot chocolate! If you look closely you can see the reflection of the splint on my finger that has almost fixed my six month old overuse injury from taking too many photos and still needing to get an external mouse for my laptop...

Marathon Training, Frozen Tundra Style...

So this is how it's gonna be. Well, Happy New Year from the land of permanent First Night Ice Sculptures. 

It occurred to me that this is my third winter in a row filled with marathon training. I ran Hyannis in February, 2012. That was the mildest winter of the three, hands down. Warm, little precip, a joy for training. 

A fluke. 

We appear to be in year two of an ice nightmare winter trend. Cold, wet, icy, snowy. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Erasing all memory of spring leaf, flower, fastball. 

This past Saturday, I ran thirteen miles on semi-plowed suburban sidewalks. In single digit temperatures. I overdressed - three layers on my legs and five layers of shirts/jackets. Three layers over my ears (balaclava, hat, turtle fur)! A pair of gloves under my mittens. 

I could have subtracted a layer from my legs and probably two from my tops but the wind chill was supposed to be in the minus twenties and I hate the feeling like I'll never be able to warm up after I've gotten chilled. The feeling that sets in November and doesn't lift until mid-May without me even leaving the house. 

At this point, with road shoulders plowed like clogged arteries, darkness, and bouts of arctic air, winter feels insurmountably constricting. (Though around here we are now getting more than a minute's worth of additional daylight each day, and finally sunrise and sunset are both moving backwards to more humane hours.) 

I so want to just stay in bed. But. Boston is calling and I want to run it like I own it because there will never be another one like it...and I'm not sure I have another one in me. So I train. 

I so want to just stay in bed, but Samaritans takes 350 calls each day - 24/7 - and I am honored to be able to use my running to make sure resources are available for each individual seeking help. I think about caller 351 - will that be someone I know, care about, depend on? Will Samaritans be able to take that call? 

I was asked why I'd run 13 outdoor miles on a day like Saturday, especially since I have a treadmill available. If I didn't get out there, winter would win, and I've got far too many years left in me to be cowed by an entire season. Even if I'd prefer it act more like 2012 and less like 2013/2014. I know what it's capable of and am disappointed terribly in this winter's failure to live up to that potential! 

With a heavy heart...

So. This is a training blog. Through which I will share my journey from here to Copley Square.

This is week one of eighteen leading up to the Marathon. For the next 18 weeks, I will obsess over every twinge, sniffle, hill repeat and sprint. I’m currently watching a finger, both IT bands, and a hip, for those keeping score.

However, as I lay out my training plans for the next few months, this week reminded me that this marathon, like last year’s, is about something more important than how much I'll be running.

My community has suffered another loss, another teenager who, like her friend in whose honor I have been running, fought depression hard. At the funeral, her Rabbi made a point of describing her parents as good parents. Her family read poems and talked about the child’s love of all life aquatic and appetite for adventure. Her curiosity. Her ability to draw connections that most of the rest of us would never get to on our own. Her brother said goodbye. What felt like ten thousand people from our community almost immediately surrounded the family (both families) with hugs and food and memories.

And I’m thinking to myself, I’m running only a marathon. Only 26 miles. Not nearly enough to measure out my grief or the empathy I carry for families who’ve lost children, especially this way. 

I have two really important reasons to run this marathon in support of suicide prevention and grief support services, but really I have about 4500 just counting the kids in my town. I know I cannot stop every suicide, but I can do my part (with your help) to make sure that support is out there for people at their most vulnerable, and for those who have to learn to live with loss.

Hug them hard. Make sure they know that there are people out there who will reach back, without judgment, if they need to reach out. And make sure that they know they can volunteer, too, to answer calls, chats and texts from kids like them. Every one of them has more to offer than they know.

http://www.samaritanshope.org

"Love is strength, stay strong Boston"

I do not easily fall for groupspeak. However. This #BostonStrong of which we tweet...

No one is in this alone, perhaps, is what the bombings have given us a chance to say to each other. Because it could have been any of us, it was all of us? This sentiment resonates with the work of Samaritans and my whole point of running the marathon last year. 

Earlier in the blog I wrote about two times I went splat training last winter, I think. I've already had my first black ice wipeout - thankfully on foot, testing whether I should try to bike down the hill (no!) and I got up again. Should have been a stunt double for all the falling. Good practice for my later years, I guess. But I digress. 

Boston Marathon 2014 gives everyone touched a chance to get up again.

I mean, really. Could they have picked a more symbolic public assembly than the Boston Marathon? It's not even work here to lift the symbolism from sub- to text. Really. Dumb@sses.

Anyway, #BostonStrong. Since April, I have passed this encouragement, just off Mass Ave in Cambridge, on my way to and from my temp job: 

Mid-October, before THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES! I found this in Lexington, at Wilson Farm. 

And, over the summer, when I was fortunate enough to be on holiday just about as far west of Boston as you can get and still be in the USA, #BostonStrong crossed the Pacific Ocean and affected someone there, too (graffiti in HI involves dead coral white rocks on black lava rock canvas. Cool, no?)

Aloha, indeed! What's your #BostonStrong?

I'm ba-ack!

I'm back...

I know the blog was called ...2013...but until I cross that finish line in some ways it's one long continuation race. 

The Boston Athletic Association graciously allowed those of us who came close but didn't finish to enter in 2014 without qualifying or committing to fundraising. Runner interest in Boston 2014 surged, and I'm guessing the Boston marathon fan base - everyone who camps out there along all 26 miles for hours for the sole purpose of cheering on strangers - will amplify the running world's desire to see this marathon through. 

I felt some of that - I still feel electric when I tell the story - the afternoon I ran my last mile a couple weeks later - when a very busy Copley Square full of strangers spontaneously (with the help of some friends who insisted on more cowbell) became the finish line cheering crowd. I took that as the city needing us to finish the race as much as we needed to for ourselves. 

My enthusiasm for running in 2014, and I'm sure the energy of the event itself, will be tempered by honoring the loss and suffering so many carried away that afternoon. By running this race, my intent is to testify resilience...another year older and still at it. I am not generally susceptible to regional sloganeering, but Boston Strong, indeed.  

And, also, despite the BAA pass, I'll be fundraising again, talking to everyone I meet about adolescent mental health and the suicide prevention and grief support services offered by Samaritans, Inc. The agency's incoming call volume went up about 40% in the aftermath and has remained high. 

I have seen how much difference a few bucks make to Samaritans, and I have seen how much difference their services make to people in need. It is an honor to support Samaritans, an honor to run in memory of the daughter of friends, Shaira Ali, who died by suicide on marathon Monday, 2012. 

I was asked whether I might have some trepidation about running Boston again, if the marathon might not again attract bad actors, might not be safe. I can't say I haven't given it a little thought - and I know the BAA and others have given that a lot of thought. 

I have talked to runners who have decided to sit this one out, and to the other seven of us Samaritans runners from last year who are all-in for 2014, with all the fundraising and training our new teammates have taken on. There are good reasons to make either decision. 

For me, two things. One, my commitment to Samaritans and my desire to honor Shaira's memory remain strong, and relevant. 

Two, I do not want to live in a world constrained by what ifs and bad actors. A thin layer of possible realities separated me from harm last year, thin enough to justifiably dissuade me (and others) from heading back there again. And I do have my ancestor's genetically programmed anxiety...

But here, I'm going with the pull to live in - to make - the world in which I and many others run strong across that finish line and show the crackpots that they messed with the wrong "f*ckin' city...," that people are resilient and strong and where there is bad intent, there is so much more good waiting to reveal itself.

Oy. I'm running again, and raising money, and having some fun along the way. Please join me! Stay tuned!

It wasn't about me.

I keep thinking to myself, "This is the last thing I'm going to say about the marathon...this is the last thing I'm going to write about the marathon." And if this had been a normal marathon, I suppose that would have been true roughly two weeks ago. The marathon would rest as a complete narrative; I'd casually swap times and running resumes with other runners. I'd look forward to next year.

Five months ago, I didn't start in on this marathon to be all about myself; however, through the process of training, recovering from injury, and running the marathon I learned much about myself as a community member and athlete.

This marathon doesn't end being about Shaira and her community any more than it ends being a story about me. Couple of local guys with explosives made this marathon about so much more than any one person's story. Looking at a roomful of 100 people in this community, I see at minimum 1,000 stories of connectedness to just this year's race; everyone in Boston knows at least ten other people who ran, volunteered, cheered, waited at the finish for their heroes, either this year or some other. Many have hearts heavy with grief and pain for victims in their personal circles.

People remain hospitalized making unthinkable decisions about their bodies. Funerals, memorial services, interfaith services have been held, spring erupts, life goes back to something like normal in these parts. Since the story is now bigger than I can imagine, I will share the story of my last mile - many others will run this last mile in the coming weeks. This mile does not belong to me, this story does not really belong to me, but I think it shows something about the character of this city, and the strength of the shared social fabric we comprise.

I went downtown April 27, a gorgeous spring afternoon, to run my last mile. 

In the coming weeks, more and more runners plan to get that last mile - many of those who couldn't finish are local, running for charities. We are able to get downtown to finish without incurring another plane ticket since most of us call the Boston metro area our home. 

I didn't head into town alone. A full minivan including my running buddy and her husband and my daughter's soccer coach (and family friend) who came to run with me. Also in the van, a friend and my partner who both came to cheer (supplied with a cowbell I reluctantly agreed to let them use). We were met downtown by another pair of long-time friends, one of whom got me into endurance charity events as a bicyclist who has dedicated much of his free time over several years to raise money for AIDS research and program support. They brought chocolate.

We were also met by a reporter from WBUR to talk about recovering from the events of Marathon week.

While waiting outside Marathon Sports for everyone to park and catch up in the crowds, I met a couple of therapy dogs, including Burton, a 155lb Lionberger with paws the size of my hands. Crowds silently took in the memorial at Copley Square, boarded up windows and such damage as remains visible. There were crowds shopping, eating, walking, taking pictures. Three blocks of Boylston teemed with people.
    
The four of us running headed back from the finish line, jockeyed our way through throngs to take a right on Hereford and a left on Comm Ave, me looking for the place I left the course to go find safety and start putting things back together.

I found the stretch - between  Charlesgate and the Comm Ave underpass. 

We turned and headed back to take the right on Hereford and the left on Boylston that I had so looked forward to since I learned I had gotten a number last December.

As we run, I get a taste of what will meet us at the finish - we start getting smiles, nods, applause, high fives.  

My group approaches our cheering section which is ringing that cowbell and whooping it up a bit. I wanted things low-key, figuring public safety personnel have enough to worry about, but as we threaded up in traffic and our cheerers cheered, Boylston St. became the street it had been at 2:49pm on April 15. High fives. Cheering. Whooping. Clapping. From both sides of the street. From cars stuck in traffic. Hands stuck out car windows for slapping. Smartphones went up snapping photos. Not one complaint about impeding traffic. 

When I came to a stop a small crowd gathered to exchange hugs and stories. A Watertown firefighter stopped, graciously accepting our appreciation. I felt like a rock star. I felt the social fabric mend. I felt a bit of healing, a bit of closure. I felt electric. 

This is a town that knows how to cheer for a marathon. Home-grown explosives did not dent that spirit. Saturday I ran two miles. I crossed a totally worn blue and yellow finish line on a busy street to the delight of strangers from all over the world. I would do it again in a heartbeat. That last mile was for me, but more so it was for my cheering section, the city of Boston, the marathon itself... Armed extremists will not shut me down, did not shut down Boylston St., and did nothing but strengthen how much this marathon symbolizes. I needed the mile, and I am guessing the crowd needed me, needs us, to get that mile, to keep going. I can't imagine how powerful the "official" last mile event will be. 

I will not close by saying this is my last word about Boston 2013. I've learned that lesson. I am always going to be someone who ran the 117th Boston Marathon, someone who lived in the Boston area for that unbelievable week when the news was hard to believe and really bizarre things were happening in places where I  go about the business of living my life. There are countless stories to be told and connections to be made from living through these events. 

Just after the marathon, I spoke with Amina Chaudary, editor of The Islamic Monthly, who did a beautiful job producing a podcast, up on That's Some American Muslim Life, about my reason for running Boston as a Samaritans fundraiser.  

The day I ran my last mile, I spoke with Asma Khalid for a WBUR story: "How Does a City Heal?," about how various people are recovering from the shock of the week's events. 

Click here to see a collection of photos from the last mile. 

 
What's your marathon week story?

PS: Support Samaritans! Thank you!