WOTY2.0: Rising to the Occasion

I have no idea what day it is.  Thursday?  I think it's Thursday.  Someone once told me (probably my Mom...she did end up being right after all) that the older you get, the faster the days go by.  And the weeks.  And the years.

What she didn't tell me is that, when you are in the middle of something which you are incredibly passionate about, you wake up on a Monday morning and ta-da!  You blink and it's Friday night.  Sleep has been taking a back seat, coffee is riding shotgun, and somehow I'm managing to fit more words into the course of my days than ever before.

Yep, this thing is a miracle indeed.

We are in Week 2 of campaigning and the view from my new vantage point is pretty wondrous.  The five candidates involved in this year's effort are amazing.  And yes, believe me, I am totally aware of all the clichés, stereotypes, and whatever other subsequent blabbety-blabs ensue after making a statement like that.

Except, they ARE amazing and they are doing incredible things together.  The trick when you're going after a goal is tuning out all the ancillary noise, because in the end, it's insignificant.  What's the saying, haters gonna hate?  Let 'em is what I say.

Here's why.  In addition to a myriad of reasons, meet one of the most important ones, Caleb:

Caleb is this year's Boy of the Year.  This photo was taken last Thursday, one day after the Campaign Kick-Off, as he's walking into the hospital for treatment.  In his hand, he holds a John Deere tractor which Mel picked out for him and we gave him at the kick-off party.  Gianna received an art set; drawing is one of her passions.  I know nothing about farming or drawing.  Ask me to draw an ear of corn and the phrase "starving artist"  is suddenly redefined.

But I do know something about passions.  We all have them scattered within us; sometimes they are realized, sometimes not.  For the next nine weeks, this year's Fort Wayne contingent is doing all they can to ensure Caleb, Gianna, and multitudes of other cancer patients will have the chance to seek, find, and pursue theirs to the fullest. 

(So attention Starbucks:  we will not run out of energy if you will not run out of Venti cups.  Don't even get me started on "Trenta."  It's too much.  Literally and figuratively.)

My friend and WOTY candidate, Olivia, goes to work every day and carries out her passion for teaching teenagers.  Yesterday, I received a text from her that simply said, "Look at this." That's all she had to say; I could feel her emotion through the phone.

Here is what I saw:

An anonymous envelope.  Filled with two-fold inspiration.  Was it from a parent?  An admin?  A fellow teacher?  Olivia has no idea, nor does anyone else, hence its anonymity. 

I choose to think it's from a student.  Maybe even a girl who is struggling to find her way, her meaning, her purpose, her value, her worth, or her own identity.  One who, despite her constant efforts at trying to please others in an ongoing quest for self-acceptance, has a deep-seated love for the human race.  And she wants to help.

Or maybe that student is a boy who is struggling to find his way and his own set of values much like his female peer, but he doesn't want to seem uncool by quoting a Golden Age of Freethought orator.  (Note to teenage girls everywhere: go out with the guy who does...TRUST me.)

But isn't this what it's all about?  Coming together as a united front to be motivated by others with whom we live our daily lives for the greater good?  To make a difference?  To read things like:

"We rise by lifting others... Thank you for all that you do - it matters."

We may never know who donated to the collective cause, nor do we need to.  We need only remember that in this world, every life matters.  And it's our job, our duty, and our honor to keep going...to fight the good fight on behalf of those who are struggling...to pay it forward, and most certainly...to give others a lift.

Keep rising, guys.  You're doing this thing.

WOTY2.0: The Stories We Tell

The last four days have been a lock stock and barrel whirlwind, to be sure.  Wednesday night was the official campaign kickoff at Club Soda.  Let me tell you how that went, because it was an absolute profusion of sentiment.

As per my usual lately, I was completely blindsided by the emotional opulence the night brought.  And also per my recent usual, I was pretty much ill-prepared for how to deal with it properly.  As we walked in, there were many familiar faces in the cozy, surround-by-glass-on-two-sides room.  I greeted my long lost and newly engaged buddy with a giant hug and a “Mikey!” screech; he’s running for Man of the Year (sorry, dude, I know you donated to my campaign last year but one word:  Olivia. <still love you>!).

Other hugs and greetings were exchanged by all and the program commenced.  This is Melanie’s first year as the campaign director, and she’s doing a fantastic job.  Stepping into the ring was a giant leap of faith for her and she’s knocking it out of the park.  She gave an overview of the evening, explaining the time lines along with a multitude of other details before turning it over to Gianna’s Dad, Chris. 

Gianna is this year’s Girl of the Year.  She’s 9 years old and has Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, the most common childhood leukemia.  That girl is quite possibly THE most photogenic child I’ve seen in my entire life with a head full of beautiful dark flowing curls.  She is bubbly with lots of personality and a side of sparkly attire.  Gianna was making her own rounds, holding hands with Caleb, the 4 year old Boy of the Year, while brightly smiling through her hot pink lipstick adorned mouth.   She is the picture of perfect effervescence.

Chris began to recount “the story.”  Cancer always has a story, does it not?  Something Chris poignantly said, I remember myself all too well:  it’s the unknown that is the worst.  Once the diagnosis arrives, time stands still.  Nothing makes sense.  It’s as if words become nothing more than faint and distant echoes; people react and respond in ways you’ve never seen or thought possible; and fear takes a swift stranglehold.  His voice began to crack as he disclosed that Gianna has something called the Philadelphia Chromosome.  My ears perked and a chill immediately shot down my spine.

The Philadelphia chromosome (Pc) is a reciprocal translocation between chromosome 9 and 22.  I know this because I had it, but I had no idea Gianna did until the moment Chris announced it.  He went on to say the odds are instantly cut in half when Pc is present and I watched from the back of the room as many eyes began to water, the side conversations coming to an end.  “As Gianna likes to say, ‘CANCER SUCKS’,” Chris told us before concluding the gut-wrenching story.

Melanie told me I would be speaking at some point to announce this year’s candidates and go through their care packages and other housekeeping items.  Yeah…I spoke.  Immediately after Chris.  All I can say is that there are moments in life when things make just as much sense as the times when they do not.

As Mel introduced me, that same faint, distant echo I heard the day (December 12^th, 1998) my Doctor told me I had leukemia showed up out of nowhere.  Kind of like the moment you know you’re about to run into that person after a long absence and you freeze, shell shocked by the overwhelming emotions which come flooding back to the surface, no matter how hard you’ve tried to bury them. 

Through muffled sounds, somehow I knew when to stand up and walk up front.  And somehow I knew even though I had nothing prepared to say, introducing the candidates in that moment wasn’t going to happen.  This campaign is so much bigger than any of us  (excluding Caleb, Gianna, and their families) in that room, and I needed to acknowledge a few things first.

Cancer is stupid.  So, so stupid.  I remember watching my parent’s faces just as I see Gianna’s parent’s faces now; I remember their pain of not being able to do anything to make it stop, to take it all away.  I remember feeling the pain on my own face simultaneously, as I looked at my tiny daughter, wondering if she would grow up without her mom.  Fear of the unknown.  How does this story end?

But hey, Gianna…I also remember when the Doctors told me I had the Philadelphia chromosome too – and yet I’m standing her today so you can see what hope looks like.  Someday, YOU will be doing the same thing.

I love when people come into each other’s lives to share experiences.  Far too many times we believe things we read or hear from sources that are either suspect or have their own agendas.  Sometimes, the stories people throw out there in an effort of personal catharsis end up damaging others and thwarting any future hope, as unintentional (or not) as it may be.  And it is our job to stand together and say, “Hey, unless you’ve walked in these shoes, you can’t know.”

What we DO know is this:  the landscape looks different than it did 15 years ago because of R&D; there are choices and options and ideas and people who care.  People who are working together to find a cure.  And some of those people reside right here in Fort Wayne.

We will all keep working as hard as we can together over the next 9 weeks.  Because we all know it matters, and we all know the characters in every story are special and unique, just like the stories themselves.  Unknown endings and all.

So keep rockin’ those curls and that smile, Gianna.  We're on your side.

(To help make a difference, please go to: http://www.mwoy.org/pages/in/ftwayne14/ovalencicm
and donate.  Thank you!)

 

 

 

 

A Year Later: WOTY2.0

Last year, I endeavored on a journey which was ineffable.  When I was asked to campaign on behalf of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in an effort to raise massive amounts of money in a short amount of time, truthfully, my stomach sank.  While I already knew my answer was a resounding "YES," I was scared.  For many reasons.

Hearing that the prior year's Man and Woman of the Year raised somewhere around $50,000 each, I knew the task ahead would be daunting.  What if I fail?  What if I let people down?  What if people tell me no?  Those things have all happened to me throughout my lifetime on more occasions than I care to recall; yet, I am able to do so with precision detail.  The memories never leave me alone. 

I envisage every time I've failed; all the times I have let people down (mostly those whom I've loved, just for an added dose of guilt, pain, and suffering); and all the times when the answer in the end was "no."  I was scared it would happen again.  Aren't we supposed to learn from our mistakes / avoid traveling outside our perceived comfort zones for the purposes of self-protection and self-preservation?

Further, my stomach was in knots on the other end of the phone due to my straight up indecision.  Indecision in and of itself throws me into a tizzy. 

"Beth, are you there?  Do you need time to think about it?"

<The voice in my head>:  OMG, are you silent right now?  What?  For the first time ever, you have nothing to say?  Are you not thankful after being saved?  You're alive for a reason, you know.

<The other voice in my head>:  Yeah, only I still have not yet figured out what that reason is and I'm not sure I even deserve to still be here.  No one else made it.

<Voice of reason>:  Stop being a martyr.  Martyrs annoy you.  Excuses annoy you.  Complacency annoys you.  DO something about it.

<Voice of emotion/doubt/fear>:  Where the heck are you when I'm dating/in a relationship?

"I'll do it.  I am all in."

------------------------------------------------

The money we raised in Fort Wayne last year made a difference.  It mattered.  We came together as a united front to tell cancer - We will NOT relent.  We will NOT give up.  We may not have yet found a cure, but you will at least know we were there.  Fighting together.

It was an unbelievable journey and to this day, I am unbelievably grateful for all the support of family, friends, and complete strangers.  Because when it comes to cancer, none of us are immune.  We have all been affected by it someway, somehow, and many times, in profound, life-altering manners.  Life is NEVER the same after a diagnosis. 

But here's the thing about life:  you can either face it, or run away from it.  And I choose the former. 

This year, I'm choosing it again as I support my neighbor, friend, and quite possibly separated-at-birth-by-7-years (my only disdain for the woman) sister who graciously agreed to become a candidate for this year's campaign.  Here's how it happened:

I sit on the LLS Nominating Committee/Board/We Decided Last Week We Need a Better Descriptor Team.  There was some turnover within LLS after last year's campaign; and honestly, no one was stepping up.  After such a successful team effort involving many, many people just months before, it felt like a huge kick in the gut.  Like the collective wind had been taken out of our sails and we were just bobbing up and down, alone, far from shore or anything that even made sense.  A few men had committed to campaigning; ZERO women had committed and even worse, there were no more names on the list.

We threw around some ideas and feigned excitement.  In the end, we decided the best decision might just be to approach a local hospital and have some nurses in the Oncology unit form a "Women's Team."  Until...

I was sitting in my office at work one day and an email from Patti O'Neal (owner of Cakes Boutique:  https://www.facebook.com/CakesBoutiqueFtWayne) arrived.  Patti is also on the committee and in fact, is supporting the other WOTY candidate (Say whaaaa?  Women, competition, clothes and they can STILL get along for a good cause?  Yeah.  Adults fighting cancer, people.)

"I have the perfect candidate.  She just left the store.  I would be surprised if she doesn't commit.  Oh!  And she said Beth's her neighbor...Beth, hope that's ok!"

I was flummoxed.  Literally, I just moved to this new neighborhood 4 months prior to reading the name Olivia Valencic-Miller on my screen.  How is this happening?  Oh yeah, she's the cool neighbor!  I remember now...

Liv and I moved to our new home last September. September 27th to be exact.  I know this because the F4F half-marathon was the day after and note to self:  bad, bad idea to be on your feet moving desks and chairs and couches and stuff for 17 hours the day before a race.  Epic fail, but fun nonetheless. 

As Liv and I were standing in our driveway, boxes hoisted high upon our shoulders while sweating grotesquely and profusely, a little car comes zipping around our cul-de-sac.  Screeching to a halt, I see this bubbly, blonde, smiley woman (totally not sweating or grotesque) yell out to Liv, "Hey Olivia!  You moving in?" 

On and on they carry this comfortably familiar conversation while I'm standing there like chopped liver.  "Um, hey, I'm Beth."

Head nod. "You social?"

And the rest, as they say, is history.

-------------------------------

Olivia and I became fast friends, not really hanging out much initially, but there was just this understood and immediate bond.  I had no idea why.  At least not at first.

One day we were talking (I think when she bailed me and my dead battery out before work one morning; Liv texted her for me) and we began to share some of our back stories.  I mentioned the usual:  divorced, Liv's my only kid, in sales, go to Emmanuel, moved from a house near Homestead...

"I'm a teacher, at Homestead."

"Cool, what do you teach?"

"English"

(Ah, now I know why I like her so much.)

"I'm actually the English Department Chair there."

(A lot.)

"I've always enjoyed writing.  I clearly remember my parents taking me to Back to School Night when I was in 7th grade whereby my English Teacher told them I was a 'pretty' writer."  "My Mom elbowed me to shut up because she knew I was about to tell him that was a bad adjective choice in context."

Olivia laughed.  We went on a bit longer with the neighborly pleasantries, and then somehow it came out that I had leukemia right after Liv and I moved here from Ohio when things kind of all went south in a hurry.

"How old was she when you were sick?"

"Not quite two."

"I had your daughter last year in my English class.  She wrote about you."

"What?"

"I feel like I knew you before I ever met you.  I remember reading about a single mom battling cancer as her parents were getting divorced and how you were in the hospital for over a month and she only got to see you twice."  "Her story stuck with me; she loves you greatly."

By this time, I'm in tears.  I would have never known. 

As I continue on this incredible journey called life, I become even more acutely aware that God brings people together at just the right times, for just the right reasons.  People come and go, popping in and out of our lives all the time.  Some we forget; others we know there's no way we ever will.

Even before something happens, all of us inherently know when we are about to share something so profound with a person, a team, a group, or a community, that the unification and common end-goal will change us at our core forever.

And so it begins for us.  Our team.  En masse once again to do our part in finding a cure.  We are in this thing together.  No matter our gender, our skin tone, our socioeconomic situations, our cars, our shoes, our similarities, or our differences or our misunderstandings - we ALL hate cancer.  None of us can stand to be rendered defenseless, watching helplessly as we or those whom we love lose someone to its ugliness.

"I'm doing this for you, Beth."  That's what Olivia told me.  In the midst of a never-ending To Do List, this single mother in the eye of the storm is raising two young kids while selflessly teaching other people's kids about Longfellow and what it means to give back.  She's leading by example as she makes positive changes and choices in her own life.  She's outside of her comfort zone.  She's making a difference.

And I am proud of her. 
Let the campaigning begin. 

Watchmen

Exactly 5 weeks from today, I will be in Boston.  Hopefully by this time of the evening, we will be sitting downtown enjoying post-race activities, good conversation, and lots of laughing.  It won't even matter that my hips will be so sore I'll be hobbling around like Kathy Bates paid a visit to my hotel room.

I've been improvising the runs lately.  Not totally off track - no pun intended - just slightly off the plan a little.  Hey, story of my life and course corrections are nothing if not endurance building.  I typically run on Friday mornings, but last week the weather was once again a jerk.  So, I pulled a two a day on Thursday, cross training in the morning; abandoning all things "should do" and lacing up the shoes in the late afternoon.  It was beautiful outside and snow was on the way.

With only one layer on the top and bottom for a change, a pair of lightweight gloves, and some shades, I hit the end of the driveway smiling.  Ah.  Peace and...no.  No quiet.  I was jamming.  Music lifts my spirits like nothing else.  I'm kind of hooked on an Alanis Morissette song right now, so she and I were hanging at a fast clip with our Guardian.  Just as I cruised past the covenant-breaking Cousin Eddie RV a few houses down, I saw her.  And I don't mean Alanis.

Crap.  Crappity-crap-crap.  She's way faster and she's smiling.  Can I run backwards or would that be too obvious?  I had forgotten that the leader of our PR Training group has lived here for years.  She's been to Boston; she's won lots of local races; she is no joke out there.

Hey Beth!  How far ya going?

Um, just 6.  You done already?  (mind you, she's almost home)

Well I was, but I'll go with you!!

Swell.

It's kind of like when you're on the treadmill at the Y minding your own business.  You don't necessarily mean to pick up your pace when some well intended soul hops on next to you.  But then it just kind of happens and before you know it, you can't breathe and you quickly realize you have hit middle age in one big ass fell swoop.

So she and I are talking about kids, comparing the stories of teenagers, instantly making the pain of the now really stupid pace seem like sugarplums and fairies.  We hit the greenway and headed east.  The weather was weird; warm-ish and bright out, but mounds of dirty snow and broken branches still splattered the once in a while clear path. 

The good news in all of this is that my new bright orange race shoes no longer looked like first day of you're getting made fun of school shoes.  I ran through mud, water, stones, mulch, pretty much every kind of terrain sans a piece of gnarly-hard (even though you only chewed it for a second before popping your jawbone) Bazooka.

Ok, I'm gonna head back now so I don't have to run through that huge snow pile.  Sorry if I slowed you down!

Oh, so soon? Ok, thanks for coming with me for a bit.  And uh, no.  You definitely didn't.

(How I got that out verbally in response is an act of something miraculous)

Ok, 1 more mile east and then time to flip and get this one in the books.  So just as I was back to both a comfortable pace and the tunes, I see another impediment on the greenway.  Like, a lot of them.

Great, no where to run, I thought.  The song instantly starts blaring in my head.  Thank you, Paul Stanley.  KISS this.  Why does everything instantly equate to a song anyway?  Gotta work on that.  Maybe over the weekend.  Loverboy!  Damn it!

A new Starbucks is under construction on the south side of the road.  I saw a Bobcat being operated by what must have been either an illegal alien or a 4 year-old.  A gaggle of Amish teenage boys stopped watching whatever their little bro was trying to do because I guess they've never seen pasty white shins coming at 'em before. 

Man, there's no song for this.  Not only am I going to have to navigate a John Deere, I'm going to have to fight my total incuriosity of what is happening in roughly 10 more strides. 

Yo, wuz up Vanilla Ices?

I have no idea where that came from.  Seriously.  All I can cop to is that I was overtired, deliriously happy to see rays of sunshine, and in an ornery mood.  By the time it flew out of my mouth, I was already past them and wondering if I actually said it out loud.

Little things like that entertain me for hours. 

Here's hoping I can find something highly entertaining 5 weeks from now on the course.  Preferably, something that will last exactly 3 hours, 39 minutes, and 59 seconds. 

Or maybe if I'm lucky, even a little less.

Unsubscribed, Milestones, and Crying

What a whirlwind the last two days have been.  You may recall I am not a roller coaster fan.  Once, someone tried to use a Cedar Point pickup line which was met (after the "oops, I do an ill-timed laughing thing") with immediate disdain at the thought of being inside an amusement park.  It's pretty much repulsive to me. 

And yet, the ups and downs of the last two days have Deloreaned me back to The Magnum, The Beast, and even a thousand times on The Cheetah Chase at Busch Gardens.  Hey, I may hate amusement parks, but I've always adored being a mother. 

From the 50 degrees yesterday to the school closing/work from home day today; from the "ugh I feel like I just got punched in the gut" yesterday to the "man, this is unbelievably awesome!" today; to the "I'm digging my hair" yesterday to the "where is a hair twisty and a paper bag?" today...what an absolute up and down, corkscrew of a ride it has been.  All in under 48 hours.

Such is life, 'eh?

The alarm went off at 4:10am yesterday, as per usual.  Evan had a packed house and for some reason, that equals the equivalent of my Italian grandmother's hot, tiny, aroma-filled kitchen with about 20 of us interrupting each other while 40 hands are a flailin'.  Since no one can get a word in edgewise, people somehow think that by raising their voice someone will have to hear whatever the hell they are saying.  Uh, no.  Not so much.  By the time I realized how nutty it was inside of Absolute Results yesterday (Hey Beth, did you get 20 in when I saw you, Saturday?  Oye, Steven, WHERE are you going tonight?  Hey, I won't be here Thursday, going to Florida.  Hey look!  A bird!  How many reps?  OMG, Steve, are you new?  He said 15 of each! [that was my contribution to the chaos]), all I could do was smile and keep throwing punches with 10 pound weights in my hands.  I don't think EvanHitler can keep time, by the way. 

I met a good friend for lunch yesterday and it was a long conversation.  Mostly because by the time I arrived, I looked like Alice Cooper.  Ugh.  So much for the good hair day.  But here's the thing: instead of crying on the way up the coaster, I finally had the cry I needed to have on the way down.  That one final...I'm off this thing cry.  The realization that I went on it even though I was afraid to, I rode it at warp speed, and now the ride has come to a complete and final stop.  I sat in my car in the parking lot of the restaurant before walking in, just sitting, staring, kind of waiting to raise the lap belt and step back onto solid ground.  Once I mustered enough composure to grab the door handle, even though my stomach was still in knots, out I went.  Back into the world of I'm only riding the old-fashioned cars from now on.  

(And only with girlfriends.  Or a chauffeur if he calls me "Miss Daisy" / "Your Excellency").

After lunch, I arrived at the high school for a two-fold reason:  I filmed a video for the LLS campaign which kicks off next week, and I had an appointment with Liv's guidance counselor.  Apparently there is a big change for the incoming 2015 Seniors.  And also apparently it is espionage-punishable if any of these kids even hint about its composition to their parents.

I've met her counselor exactly one other time (note:  Liv, this is your THIRD year in High School, so see?  I'm not totally up in yo grill.).  He was thoroughly prepared in anticipation of my questions surrounding the whole what the heck is dual credit vs. college credit vs. what transfers vs. does she qualify vs. does she even TALK to you about this stuff? that just as I began to be impressed by his preparedness and settle in, it was an immediate wow.  Just wow. 

There was so much to navigate and dissect and understand and yet, I knew from both his face and the screen staring back at me that Liv had it all under control.  I sat down, breathed a sigh of relief, started to smile and yep... cried.

Man I am in so much trouble at graduation.  There's no way.  I suppose I'll just have to start banging to "Poison" or the apropos "School's Out" instead of Pomp and Circumstance.  Criminy.

As he started to explain how Liv is right on track with her credit hours, her course selections, her GPA, her application to go through a local college starting in August whereby she will be there 1/2 a day 3 days a week and whatever else he was saying...I trailed off.  I mean, his voice trailed off because I stopped listening.  Instead, all I heard was her little giggle as I pictured her flying high in the baby swing I used to hand crank and send her into the high heavens until dinner was ready.

Now, she's flying on her own.

After the long, reflective walk back into my office late afternoon yesterday, I sat down and began to answer emails.  In felicitous irony, this one greeted my no-longer-bifocal-wearing eyes first:

I have funny friends.  I am unsubscribed, for at least another 9 1/2 years, you jerks.

Next post:  All things Boston.

Cheated

8:03am?  Wait.  Right.  Daylight Savings Time just went down. 

When I first moved to Indiana from Ohio back in 1997, I felt like Eddie Murphy must have felt when he went to Queens in Coming To America.  Really?  What do you mean they don't sell beer in gas stations, have drive-thrus where you can buy a six-pack and a Slim Jim, or change their clocks in "this part" of the State?  That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.  I just had to take my car to some creepy Breaking Bad-like emissions station place so I could pass a goofy test before I plunk down $450 bucks for ONE license plate, and now you're telling me they don't Fall back or Spring forward here either? 

Turns out that be careful what you wish for thing is sometimes true.  They may have been onto something.

After 20 miles on the iced over greenway yesterday, I could have not lost that hour of sleep and been pretty appreciative.  We haven't been able to run on the greenway in months, so to see our old friend brought an instant smile to our faces.  "Hey...I remember you...let's do this thing." 

It was a decent run, despite almost cracking my tail no less than 6 times.  When you can actually see the ice gleaming up ahead, you can run around it; it's those covered by pretty, white, innocent and pure-looking snow parts that can potentially wreak havoc.  Alas, we avoided any graceful falls, stopped at mile 10 to make a new belt adjustment (having Sponge Bob hips is not useful at times like this) and ran back in negative split style.  20 miles by 9:15am is a good start to any Saturday.

"Hey, Liv, be ready by 11:00, we're going out for a while."
"Why and who's we?"
<ugh>
"Am I seriously like chopped liver?  I know darn well you're not doing anything right now; I also know that you were awake pretending to be asleep when I got back from running and opened your door to check on you; and I also know that on occasion, I can be fun.  So get your butt IN THE CAR by 11:00 or you're not doing anything tonight.  Capish?"
<her "ugh">

So we ran errands and whaaaa?!  Actually talked?  Ok, I am liking this Saturday so far.

But then, of course, it came to a screeching halt because she was texting away during our "bonding time" making side plans to go work out.  Two things:  she knows I'll never tell her no to working out with friends and I.hate.texting.  So, so, much lately.

Ok, no problem.  I got two decent hours in with my getting-ready-to-leave-the-nest kid, so I'm good.  Ah!  I will go grocery shopping while wearing an incognito hat and pretend to be totally zoned out, and then I will go get a long overdue massage.  It's still early, so this will totally work.

Good plan except the only place that had any Saturday openings (schedule ahead, schedule ahead, got it) was Massage Envy.  I'm not a huge fan of that place, primarily because it's like a Costco.  They try to strong arm you into a membership right after massaging your own normally strong arm into a relaxed state of oblivion.  I hate feeling the guilt of "yeah, you just did something super nice for me - which I paid for, but that aside - and now I'm not going to agree to this sales ploy."

Yesterday, however, I was not a fan of that place for different reasons.  Firstly, as I'm sitting in the "relaxation room" (Woodhouse has cornered the market in Fort Wayne on this kind of room... schedule ahead, schedule ahead, got it) I see the Massage Envy Times or whatever home grown magazine they have sitting there, begging me to read it.  "How to Plan the Perfect Date" is headlining the cover, along with two beautiful, clearly in love about to go hiking, picnicking, and whatever-elsing individuals.  Just as I am about to lean forward and grab it out of pure curiosity under the justified heading of one giant educational endeavor, I hear my name.

<Chris, can you just work on the upper right shoulder and that knot/Gibraltar rock thing the entire time?>

Reason number two I was a non-fan yesterday:  it was only a 30 minute massage.  That's all they could squeeze in given my lack of scheduling abilities.  But because they are so thoughtful, they give you 5 minutes to undress and 5 minutes to get redressed, so really, it's a 20 minute massage.  As we walked down the hallway, I assured him I would not need 10 full minutes to accomplish those tasks, so let's shoot for the 26-minute massage package.  That's 3 minutes short of 4 miles on a good day.

He agrees and just as I was starting to relax, it was over.  Just like that.  In the blink of an eye.  I have no idea what even happened but it went something like...it started, it was amazing, and then it was over.

I laid there, with my head in that circular placeholder thing which leaves the sweet ring around the face reminder that you are supposed to feel better!  Only I didn't.  It wasn't long enough.  And I felt cheated by time once again.

Living by the watch when you're running is one thing.  You get to the checkpoints and you look.  Ok, I'm on pace.  I'm doing this.  I'm gonna get there.  Or sometimes, you're way behind and no matter how hard you push, you can't get there.

The older I get I'm realizing (as obvious as it is) there is not one thing any of us can do to stop it, to slow it down, or even go back.  Time goes on whether or not you want your kid to grow up, to hit a certain milestone age, to make a song stop playing, or to get the cookies out of the oven before they burn.

There is zero way to stop time in this life, but if there was, I'd read that article for sure. 

Whoop...time to get ready for church so we're not late.  I got this morning's prayers all lined up.

Morning conversations

4:10am:  "Going back to bed, have a good run."
4:10:03am:  "K"
(Me simultaneously closing and rolling my eyes while tossing and turning)
4:11am:  "Ugh, never mind.  Peer pressure!  On my way."

We've already logged a lot of hilly miles this week, and in roughly 8 hours, we are going to log 20 more.  I really wanted to fall back asleep this morning for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being:  I was/am straight up tired.  But by the first quarter mile, as the crisper than expected air hit my face, I smiled.  Right decision.

Running elicits an immediate sense of peace, of purpose, of calm for me.  When I'm out there, so many thoughts fill my brain at once; yet somehow, it's as if they are all coming at me in slow motion, mercifully allowing me to dissect them with surgeon-like precision.  Some thoughts are hilarious recounts of quips that have made me laugh so hard I will never forget the moment they were uttered and by whom; other thoughts are not so funny. 

Many are somewhere in between, allowing me to find my groove and proper pace instead of swinging my still (always) sore triceps back and forth so fast, as if somehow making it hurt more will make everything else hurt less. 

"Beth and I are going to do negative splits at the half.  What pace are you going out, Doug?"

"Not very fast to start, like 6:45."

(I mumble something unladylike under my breath from about 10 steps behind them)

"There are a lot of turns, and you finish straight up hill," I try to yell over my panting.

"Aw, man, you didn't tell us that! " Doug yelled back, not panting, as I was swinging my arms out of necessity instead of pissed-offedness trying to get up that sucker without losing pace.

"Yeah...how's it feel?" I sarcastically respond to the infamous hill-lover. 

These are the kind of conversations that take place, along with making fun of Moody Blues- background-music-playing-all guy-yoga classes as cross training.  Oye vay.

No agendas other than one goal.  It's more refreshing than the cold air on a sleepy Friday morning.
 
See you in the morning, 20 miles.  We have a lot to discuss.

Thornbirds

Sometimes, something which happens in the course of the day will inspire me to write.  Ok, I HAVE to remember to blog about that later, the little transcriptionist inside my head diligently notates.  But by the time the day is done, so am I.  Really all I want to do is come home, slip into some cozy sweats and a North Face, pull my hair into a pony, light the fire and just chill.  It doesn't happen nearly enough.  Though as soon as I'm done with this entry, tonight will mark the first time in March it's definitely happening - mostly in honor of the premiere of Suits at 9pm - but also because I am in desperate need of some chillaxing.  And a massage, I could really use one of those too.

"Man, you're movin' today!" Doug said during yesterday's hilly 8-miler.
"No s%@*!" retorted a normally expletive-free Mike.

"I run best when I'm mad."

Maybe that's the secret - channeling all things negative into one giant positive.  Actually, it's no secret at all...it's life.  I read a quote in the latest Runner's World which instantly resonated (I'm thinking of wallpapering my office in quote-laden sticky notes, that's how much I love and appreciate good ones):

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.                          
      --Haruki Murakami, author of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Accept it wasn't optional for one man over 2,000 years ago.  It's been interesting to me to hear of the things people are "giving up" during this Lenten season which began yesterday, Ash Wednesday.  Some people give up Facebook.  Others give up chocolate.  Or coffee.  Or some other vice.  On and on with the eradicated things in a futile 40-day effort to repay the price which was gifted for our salvation.

And it's all just stuff.  We give up stuff.  The irony is, we don't need the crap in the first place.

You wanna know what I'm giving up?  Me.  That is, the "me" that was trudging along blindly without any fortitude or intentionality.

That is NOT to say I'm going back to the old me who foolishly planned everything either.  I can't.  You can't.  We can't.  The unknown is supposed to be unknown for a reason - so we can learn and grow on the path towards our final destination.  It's the journey and how well we choose to live it that matters.

Learning from mistakes.  Righting wrongs.  Being strong in the face of adversity.  Saying what you mean.  Meaning what you say.  You know, the basics which we so easily take for granted or push to the side in favor of skirting fears and trying to control our own destinies.

I know I'm destined to fail at times.  I know I'm destined to screw up a lot of times.  I know I'm not always the person I think I am or that deep down, I secretly want to be.  I know when it's my fault.  And I know this because I live with me and the reminders every day which is kind of punishment enough.

However, I also know there is hope in this world even though more times than not, all things negative threaten to rob us of that novel idea.  But I choose to continue to believe in it nonetheless, because I recognize things for what they are.   

For the next 39 days of Lent, I am going to journal nightly and get back to my roots. (Note: Chels, coming to visit...please make me your famous turkey tacos and find a flatter pillow so my neck doesn't get all jacked up-thanks, love you.)  I'm a big believer that's where we should go when we're lost, when we need comfort and guidance - back to the basics.  As it says in John 15:5:  "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." 

So true.  We need Him.  Because we do a mighty fine job of messing everything up when we forget that, and besides, I like hope.  Unlike suffering, it is not optional for me.

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."  --Emily Dickinson