1. Publish a book
2. Complete a triathlon and then an Ironman
3. Run a marathon in under 5 hours
4. Visit Africa, the North Pole and Costa Rica by myself
5. One year, give more money to a charitable cause than the amount that I earned
6. Pose nude for a photograph or a drawing
7. Own a 1965 Mustang GT in mint condition
8. Skydive
9. Scuba dive
10. Get another tattoo
11. Get a Ph.d
12. Spend a month in Spain, during the summer
13. Be an inspiration to someone
14. Climb a mountain
15. Drive across the country, stopping everywhere that moves me
16. Fly first class to Europe
17. Learn to play the piano
18. Read a book a week for a year
19. Fall in love again
20. Live long enough to see my children grown
What's on your list? To be continued...
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Frozen
I feel like one of those birds, endlessly flapping its wings; in flight, but not moving forward or back, just... there, caught between earth and sky, Heaven and Hell, life and death, until it tires and then, plummets down, catching itself or, if it wasn't paying attention, lands painfully. I admire anyone who can pause like that; anyone who can be still and reflect and not continue to force themselves to seek yet another destination, another something. It tires me out just thinking about it and yet, I cannot sit still. I am only at peace when I am moving forward, with a goal in mind, settled on the next obstacle that I have to hurdle...
Really, what is the point? I've lived for four decades and I still don't know what the point is. Ironically, maybe that is the point, maybe I'm never supposed to find out, because if I do, when I do, then what's left to discover? I look around at people and I watch the news and I read and I converse with other people, yet, I often feel isolated from everyone. Like everybody is secretly looking at their watches, biding the time until they can move on to the next thing: the gym, out to dinner, sleep. Secretly, I like to imagine that people don't have anywhere to go or anything to do; that they just happen to walk by me or smile at me or sit next to me in a movie theatre, just because. Providence maybe or maybe just dumb luck. I love the idea that everything happens for a reason and equally, I love the notion that nothing happens for a reason. A child dies because he was ill, not because the parents were bad people or because God wanted it that way. But then, I flip the coin and I say, well, maybe that child died because in the master plan, his or her death, enabled something else to happen for someone else or maybe it was as simple as God wanting his or her soul. I like the idea that I have no control over anything that I do because my life has been predestined and although this idea often scares the shit out of me, I find it a provocative notion; I'm a puppet, just playing a role. Then, truly, what is the point? But, flip, and I am arguing the other point, free will. The choices that I make directly influence not only my existence, but everyone else's who comes into contact with me. That's a semi-frightening thought. Makes me want to behave a little bit more appropriately. Then again...
I sat on the beach today, digging in the sand with the maniac as the wind whipped at the water; whitecaps everywhere, people bundled up and I thought about moving forward. I thought about how, if I'm lucky to have lived that long, that in a mere few decades, I won't be here any longer; at least not how I am now. I thought about my children and how they will struggle and hurt and sometimes want to give up. And I thought about how much joy they've brought to my life these past years. I thought about how simple it is when we are children and how running in the waves or playing duck, duck, goose can make one squeal in delight. So, I take off my shoes and dig my toes into the freezing cold sand and I try to remember...
I'm calm and pensive and then I get back home and Ty is screaming, "Nick hit me in the butt and I don't like that" and Nick is screaming "Shut up Jake" and Jake is just screaming because he's loud and obnoxious and then I am back into fight or flight mode. Life just doesn't seem to want to give me more than a couple of minutes now and then. So, I take a deep breath or I drink more than one glass of wine or I sit in the tub in water so hot I can barely stand it and I try to clear my mind, patiently waiting for the next time that I get a moment to myself or the time to consider what the hell I'm doing here and why I'm doing it in the first place. Sometimes I do wish that I could go back for a few minutes, but not to early adulthood; I wish I could go back to those years when it was Rich and Steve and I and we were running through the sprinklers, or playing soccer or opening Christmas presents. I miss being a part of the child triumverate instead of the one who now doles out the rules and the discipline. It's exhausting.
The birds settled down eventually and waited for sandcrabs or for bystanders to throw crumbs for them to fight over and some of them took flight over the water. I watched for a little longer and then I picked up my son and put him on my shoulders while he beat his hands on top of my head like a drum. We walked up the ramp at Avenue H and he laughed when I said, "Ow" or he waved at people as they went by, yelling, "Hi." I looked down so that I wouldn't trip over my own feet and after a few steps, Ty said, "Hey mom, look at that" and I did and so I pass that along to you today; Don't forget to look up, it's the only way that you're ever going to see what's ahead of you...
Really, what is the point? I've lived for four decades and I still don't know what the point is. Ironically, maybe that is the point, maybe I'm never supposed to find out, because if I do, when I do, then what's left to discover? I look around at people and I watch the news and I read and I converse with other people, yet, I often feel isolated from everyone. Like everybody is secretly looking at their watches, biding the time until they can move on to the next thing: the gym, out to dinner, sleep. Secretly, I like to imagine that people don't have anywhere to go or anything to do; that they just happen to walk by me or smile at me or sit next to me in a movie theatre, just because. Providence maybe or maybe just dumb luck. I love the idea that everything happens for a reason and equally, I love the notion that nothing happens for a reason. A child dies because he was ill, not because the parents were bad people or because God wanted it that way. But then, I flip the coin and I say, well, maybe that child died because in the master plan, his or her death, enabled something else to happen for someone else or maybe it was as simple as God wanting his or her soul. I like the idea that I have no control over anything that I do because my life has been predestined and although this idea often scares the shit out of me, I find it a provocative notion; I'm a puppet, just playing a role. Then, truly, what is the point? But, flip, and I am arguing the other point, free will. The choices that I make directly influence not only my existence, but everyone else's who comes into contact with me. That's a semi-frightening thought. Makes me want to behave a little bit more appropriately. Then again...
I sat on the beach today, digging in the sand with the maniac as the wind whipped at the water; whitecaps everywhere, people bundled up and I thought about moving forward. I thought about how, if I'm lucky to have lived that long, that in a mere few decades, I won't be here any longer; at least not how I am now. I thought about my children and how they will struggle and hurt and sometimes want to give up. And I thought about how much joy they've brought to my life these past years. I thought about how simple it is when we are children and how running in the waves or playing duck, duck, goose can make one squeal in delight. So, I take off my shoes and dig my toes into the freezing cold sand and I try to remember...
I'm calm and pensive and then I get back home and Ty is screaming, "Nick hit me in the butt and I don't like that" and Nick is screaming "Shut up Jake" and Jake is just screaming because he's loud and obnoxious and then I am back into fight or flight mode. Life just doesn't seem to want to give me more than a couple of minutes now and then. So, I take a deep breath or I drink more than one glass of wine or I sit in the tub in water so hot I can barely stand it and I try to clear my mind, patiently waiting for the next time that I get a moment to myself or the time to consider what the hell I'm doing here and why I'm doing it in the first place. Sometimes I do wish that I could go back for a few minutes, but not to early adulthood; I wish I could go back to those years when it was Rich and Steve and I and we were running through the sprinklers, or playing soccer or opening Christmas presents. I miss being a part of the child triumverate instead of the one who now doles out the rules and the discipline. It's exhausting.
The birds settled down eventually and waited for sandcrabs or for bystanders to throw crumbs for them to fight over and some of them took flight over the water. I watched for a little longer and then I picked up my son and put him on my shoulders while he beat his hands on top of my head like a drum. We walked up the ramp at Avenue H and he laughed when I said, "Ow" or he waved at people as they went by, yelling, "Hi." I looked down so that I wouldn't trip over my own feet and after a few steps, Ty said, "Hey mom, look at that" and I did and so I pass that along to you today; Don't forget to look up, it's the only way that you're ever going to see what's ahead of you...
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Loneliness
I don't want to write about this and I certainly don't want anyone to read it, but I need to say it and I suppose if I am to remain non-hypocritical then I have to put it out there. I thought for awhile that I was depressed; truly, pathologically, needing medication type of depressed. I would sit in the dark hallway and cry or I would curl up in the fetal position after the kids were at school, holding my pillow and I would just... stare off into space. Sometimes I'd have to set the alarm clock to remember to pick the kids up from wherever they were. Most of the time though, I didn't think about much, I just felt it. Like waves of sadness and isolation and even in the midst of the absolute chaos that is our home life, then and now, sometimes I would feel like no one was listening to what I was trying to tell them. It was, in a word, frightening. I got to a point where I called my doctor and I figured that he would prescribe something although at that point, I wondered how that would even help.
To this day, I still don't know that I was depressed; to this day, I better understand what I felt and why I felt it, but I still don't have a name for it. I likened it to loneliness, but that might be too big of a generalization. I felt more empty than anything, like there was no one or nothing that could fill that void. And, what I discovered, through many regular visits with the most amazing therapist is that that WAS the answer; only I could fill that void. I was the answer that I was looking for...
I'm a simple person with a complex way of looking at things; sometimes, to my own detriment, I analyze things too much, but for the most part, I enjoy the consideration of issues and ideas and people and anything that makes me feel as if I am a part of something bigger than just my own existence. I like to laugh and to make fun of myself and I love to laugh with other people, even if it is at my expense. I love to spend time with my friends and to be a part of that "group" of girls. I especially love to spend time with my children away from homework and chores and "obligations." So when I couldn't figure out the simplest way to approach a subject that I know better than anyone; myself and what makes me tick, I was more than frustrated, I was downright lost. My therapist began to help me to understand the why's and not so much the how's and ultimately, she gave me something that I've never had before; the ability to tell myself that it is okay to feel badly. And now, when I do feel that way and I do, I let myself feel it and then I try to let it go. Not always a success mind you, but much better than sitting alone in the dark, crying myself to sleep. Now, I can accept that there are times when I am lonely and my needs aren't being met and I have too many damn demands on me and in those moments, I can choose to accept what is happening or I can shift my perception just slightly, just enough to play with the idea that it isn't an all or nothing thing; it's gray area and gray area can be molded into a new shape or form...
I am making very little sense here, well, possibly I am, but I know that part of this fundamental change has been my letting go of the cynicism and pessimism that has pervaded most of my adult life. I've always been a doubter, the one who you went to only when you wanted your deepest fears validated... gotcha! But really, I am cynical and I still consider things and people carefully before I get involved with them; I am wary of new people who I let into my life. But the biggest difference now is that I am open to more people and experiences and I am willing to put myself out there in the hopes of getting something back. I know now, having seen it firsthand that I receive more joy and kindness and hope from people who pass through my life, however briefly than I ever give them in return. And I look forward to those experiences, I anticipate them, relish them and they help me to have reasons to move forward and to look forward and to hope... and maybe that's enough, maybe that is reason enough to want to move forward...
To this day, I still don't know that I was depressed; to this day, I better understand what I felt and why I felt it, but I still don't have a name for it. I likened it to loneliness, but that might be too big of a generalization. I felt more empty than anything, like there was no one or nothing that could fill that void. And, what I discovered, through many regular visits with the most amazing therapist is that that WAS the answer; only I could fill that void. I was the answer that I was looking for...
I'm a simple person with a complex way of looking at things; sometimes, to my own detriment, I analyze things too much, but for the most part, I enjoy the consideration of issues and ideas and people and anything that makes me feel as if I am a part of something bigger than just my own existence. I like to laugh and to make fun of myself and I love to laugh with other people, even if it is at my expense. I love to spend time with my friends and to be a part of that "group" of girls. I especially love to spend time with my children away from homework and chores and "obligations." So when I couldn't figure out the simplest way to approach a subject that I know better than anyone; myself and what makes me tick, I was more than frustrated, I was downright lost. My therapist began to help me to understand the why's and not so much the how's and ultimately, she gave me something that I've never had before; the ability to tell myself that it is okay to feel badly. And now, when I do feel that way and I do, I let myself feel it and then I try to let it go. Not always a success mind you, but much better than sitting alone in the dark, crying myself to sleep. Now, I can accept that there are times when I am lonely and my needs aren't being met and I have too many damn demands on me and in those moments, I can choose to accept what is happening or I can shift my perception just slightly, just enough to play with the idea that it isn't an all or nothing thing; it's gray area and gray area can be molded into a new shape or form...
I am making very little sense here, well, possibly I am, but I know that part of this fundamental change has been my letting go of the cynicism and pessimism that has pervaded most of my adult life. I've always been a doubter, the one who you went to only when you wanted your deepest fears validated... gotcha! But really, I am cynical and I still consider things and people carefully before I get involved with them; I am wary of new people who I let into my life. But the biggest difference now is that I am open to more people and experiences and I am willing to put myself out there in the hopes of getting something back. I know now, having seen it firsthand that I receive more joy and kindness and hope from people who pass through my life, however briefly than I ever give them in return. And I look forward to those experiences, I anticipate them, relish them and they help me to have reasons to move forward and to look forward and to hope... and maybe that's enough, maybe that is reason enough to want to move forward...
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Educational nonsense
Here I am, sitting in the computer lab in between my classes; one having finished, the other yet to start and I'm re-thinking some of the "things" that I told my students today. See I never rehearse what I'm going to say ahead of time, but I do give some thought as to how the general conversation or, in my case, monologue should go and today, like many days, it just seemed an absolute exercise in futility. Most of what I said had no concrete purpose or even consistency and, in the end, although the idea seemed solid in my mind, I realize that, it just didn't work. I admit that and because I see that, I have to continue to try and not spout perpetual bullshit that has no relevance or importance to students who really could care less about what the fuck I'm talking about in the first place or, the class in general. I don't blame them, ever because I KNOW how boring the material can be and I teach it for crying out loud so as much as I'd like to put a tutu and tap shoes on it and twirl it around in front of the students to smile at and to clap at, excited to be learning something "fun," I also accept that sometimes they are just going to be bored, just like I was in college at times. Maybe the boredom serves a purpose as well, in fact, I know it does. It gives them an opportunity to challenge themselves into focusing and it gives me the opportunity to fix what isn't working in the first place. Or, if I just don't care all that much, to just keep talking in circles...
It frustrates the living hell out of me that students don't read. I completely understand the reasons why they don't and why they end up in these prerequisite classes, but I cannot fathom the notion that a student would voluntarily sit through sixteen weeks of a class only to have the outcome be failure? Of course students don't pass, that's the bell curve defined, but I'm talking about students who fail because they don't DO what they are supposed to do. I told them, at the beginning of the term; show up, do the work, pass the tests and that's it. Most of them listen, many of them don't and I consider 3 or 4 many. In a Pass/No Pass class, there is no variation on grades; no amount of A's or D's or anything in between rather, there just is and there isn't. My friends tell me not to get so emotionally invested in the lives of my students; that after one term, they go and most likely, they don't ever think about me again. But that is where I beg to differ and most importantly, why I do get involved...
It isn't me that I want them to remember; it's what I'm telling them, showing them, helping them to understand as they sit and listen, read, evaluate, synthesize, formulate the very opinions that are shaping who they will become or, who they've already become. There is nothing more valuable than a forum in which a person begins to understand how and why they think a certain way about something. It's a revelation really. Watching a student construct an argument from nothing more than his or her notion that "it's not fair" or "I don't see it that way" is like watching the tiniest tip of a sea creature breach the surface of the water because you KNOW that after one piece surfaces, a whole lot more is waiting to follow it. And after Political Science and Biology and History and Art and Psychology and Music, those ideas and those opinions and those arguments become more than just "thoughts," they become an indelible part of that human being's rational thought; of their very existence and I, regardless of how small a part, had something to do with that. I always tell myself before each term, that if I could just get 1 or 2 students to want to read more then I will have done my job; if I could just get them to want to come to class at all, then they would have a substantially better chance of success. I mean, what are the odds, that they end up in my class, in a given term, at a given school? I wasn't even scheduled to teach my 84 class this term; it was a last minute change. What if? I hate those questions, but this time, and every time, I have to consider that it is more than coincidence; there is a reason why I'm here and why those students are here with me and I think about that every single day. And, in the end, after they go, I do miss them. I said that each one leaves a mark on me whether they realize it or not, but they do, good and bad, sad and funny; they've changed me and I hope that I can give them some of that back.
I thought about going into another field altogether. I was tired of the politics involved in Education and frankly, I still am. There are days when I don't want to teach, but I can honestly say that there has never been a day when I haven't wanted to be a teacher. Sometimes it feels like you were just born to do something. I guess that's why I stay, why I keep hoping for the best, why it matters so much to me how they perform and when they don't and what I can do to help them be better. I always wanted my life to mean something. I don't need to be remembered and I don't need material "things" to show what I've done, but I would like to think that every student who passes through my classroom door, whether they "like" me or not, has an opportunity to change their perspective, no matter how small. And when a student tells me, "This is the first time I've read an entire novel" well, let's just say that my heart flutters, more than a little.
This started as a rant about how class didn't seem to go so well today and it ends with me reconsidering what I just said and by reminding myself that perfection is not on the menu, today or ever really, but instead, just a course of better than mediocre. Mediocrity is for the weak and I may be many things, but weak is not one of them. Well, there's always Thursday...
It frustrates the living hell out of me that students don't read. I completely understand the reasons why they don't and why they end up in these prerequisite classes, but I cannot fathom the notion that a student would voluntarily sit through sixteen weeks of a class only to have the outcome be failure? Of course students don't pass, that's the bell curve defined, but I'm talking about students who fail because they don't DO what they are supposed to do. I told them, at the beginning of the term; show up, do the work, pass the tests and that's it. Most of them listen, many of them don't and I consider 3 or 4 many. In a Pass/No Pass class, there is no variation on grades; no amount of A's or D's or anything in between rather, there just is and there isn't. My friends tell me not to get so emotionally invested in the lives of my students; that after one term, they go and most likely, they don't ever think about me again. But that is where I beg to differ and most importantly, why I do get involved...
It isn't me that I want them to remember; it's what I'm telling them, showing them, helping them to understand as they sit and listen, read, evaluate, synthesize, formulate the very opinions that are shaping who they will become or, who they've already become. There is nothing more valuable than a forum in which a person begins to understand how and why they think a certain way about something. It's a revelation really. Watching a student construct an argument from nothing more than his or her notion that "it's not fair" or "I don't see it that way" is like watching the tiniest tip of a sea creature breach the surface of the water because you KNOW that after one piece surfaces, a whole lot more is waiting to follow it. And after Political Science and Biology and History and Art and Psychology and Music, those ideas and those opinions and those arguments become more than just "thoughts," they become an indelible part of that human being's rational thought; of their very existence and I, regardless of how small a part, had something to do with that. I always tell myself before each term, that if I could just get 1 or 2 students to want to read more then I will have done my job; if I could just get them to want to come to class at all, then they would have a substantially better chance of success. I mean, what are the odds, that they end up in my class, in a given term, at a given school? I wasn't even scheduled to teach my 84 class this term; it was a last minute change. What if? I hate those questions, but this time, and every time, I have to consider that it is more than coincidence; there is a reason why I'm here and why those students are here with me and I think about that every single day. And, in the end, after they go, I do miss them. I said that each one leaves a mark on me whether they realize it or not, but they do, good and bad, sad and funny; they've changed me and I hope that I can give them some of that back.
I thought about going into another field altogether. I was tired of the politics involved in Education and frankly, I still am. There are days when I don't want to teach, but I can honestly say that there has never been a day when I haven't wanted to be a teacher. Sometimes it feels like you were just born to do something. I guess that's why I stay, why I keep hoping for the best, why it matters so much to me how they perform and when they don't and what I can do to help them be better. I always wanted my life to mean something. I don't need to be remembered and I don't need material "things" to show what I've done, but I would like to think that every student who passes through my classroom door, whether they "like" me or not, has an opportunity to change their perspective, no matter how small. And when a student tells me, "This is the first time I've read an entire novel" well, let's just say that my heart flutters, more than a little.
This started as a rant about how class didn't seem to go so well today and it ends with me reconsidering what I just said and by reminding myself that perfection is not on the menu, today or ever really, but instead, just a course of better than mediocre. Mediocrity is for the weak and I may be many things, but weak is not one of them. Well, there's always Thursday...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Running the New York Marathon
So here I sit, not sure why exactly, but since I began documenting my journey this way, I suppose that this is the way that it should end. I must admit that at this point, I've been drinking way more than I should, but as I am not drunk yet, I can finish this without worrying too much about my grammar or about my uncensored thoughts.
SO, this morning, at 4 am, after 3 hours of sleep, yes, three hours of sleep; I got up, got ready and ventured out into the 40 degree weather to wait for a bus to take me to Staten Island. After falling asleep on the bus and then waiting in the UNICEF tent until our start time, I was in the pleasant position of meeting some new people and discussing marathon issues with the organizers of the event. With a 10:40 start time, and after having to wait almost 6 hours to start, I was having mixed feelings about the whole New York marathon. But when I saw the second wave of runners crossing the Verrazano bridge, my heart kind of leapt in my chest a bit. Watching the two levels of runners take off into the now 30 degree weather with a wind chill factor which plummented the weather into the below zero category...
After meeting Elsy from Venezuela, who now lives in New York, we dropped off our things and headed to the start line. We only ran together for about a mile because she was much faster than I am, but it was nice to meet someone new and to have someone to chat with before we set off on our journey.
The race began and the first 5 or 6 miles were about warming up. I usually struggle during the first few miles at least until I start sweating. Normally, the first 3 miles are the most painful, but this time, after the bridge, coming into Brooklyn... I didn't even have the chance to think about starting out because the crowds that lined the street were unlike anything that I've ever seen or experienced. At every mile throughout the race, on both sides of the streets were New Yorkers who carried most of us through the day. The energy and the enthusiasm of these people was like a wave of comfort for us as the miles progressed. Cheers and shouts of encouragement and the high fives, snacks, music and the constant repitition of things like "Go Yvette" or "Looking good" not only encouraged me, but made me want to continue. Over 2 million people came out today to see the marathon and to cheer on the participants, to sing, to wave signs to laugh, to thank us for being there...
And so I ran, strong for the first 13 miles, over 3 bridges, through three burroughs and to the chants and cheers of hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers. I called my friend, who flew in just for the race and I told her that I needed help and so, coming across yet another bridge, at mile 13.5, there she was; her smiling face and she was waiting to crash the course and help me finish the race. And so, she fell in step with me and we plundered along the miles. At one point, I had to hold onto her arm because I felt dizzy and she was there. She understands the intensity that is involved in a process like a marathon. I told her that I didn't want to talk and she completely understood; she was just there and there she stayed until mile 26 when they kicked her off the course for not having a bib number.
Miles 17-20 and 21-25 were the worst today; continued inclines and cold weather and hurt feet combined to make a difficult experience. Painful and tiring and exhausting; of course, there were moments when I wanted to quit, but I tried to think about the race in terms of just one more mile. I never looked at the race like 26.2; instead I just kept telling myself, "One more mile" and when 2 became 3 and 16 became 17, it seemed a bit easier, not much mind you, but it helped me to keep it in perspective. At one point I saw a sign that read, "Your feet hurt because you're kicking ASS!" Indeed...
At mile 16, my brother Steve, my sister Christine and her boyfriend John were waiting and it was empowering to see them, waving, high fiving them and then, we were off again. I know at some point around mile 18 I told Rosh that I was done with marathons; that I was going to stick with halves from then on. Mile 18 is a bitch of a mile because you know that you still have 8 more to go; not 3, not 5, but almost 10 and, if you're not a bred runner (hello), this is where every part of your body starts to say, "If you don't stop now, we're going to crush you with pain." Lovely the thoughts that you entertain as you plunder ahead, forging a path of both misery and joy.
Miles 19-22 had moments of laughter and dancing, raising my hands up and smiling at the kids who were jumping up and down as Beyonce played in the background. I loved that people were shouting things like "You can't quit, you're running the New York marathon for Christ's sake" or, "Think about what got you here" or, my personal favorite, "You're almost there!" Never say that to a runner, never...
At mile 25, I was hurting so badly; everything, legs, knees, feet, back and I just wanted to cross the finish line so I took off, running as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast at this point. I crossed the mile 26 sign and I saw the Finish line and I held it together long enough to cross and when I did, it was a huge sigh of relief and exhaustion and happiness and joy and when I stood up and one of the volunteers put the medal around my neck, it just happened. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and I wasn't sure if they were from relief or happiness or pain, but I was thrilled to have finished the New York marathon and I was even more thrilled to have finished strong. I hobbled over to have my picture taken and to collect my things and then I headed to the subway to meet my friends...
Now we sit, after a great dinner, drinking too much and laughing and having a conversation with too much sexual innuendo, enjoying our time together before we fly home on Tuesday. I am reminded of what I liked the most about going out with friends and having a good time and being irresponsible and enjoying victories. Life is good...
Mile 18: I said I was done with marathons, that the distance is just too long, but now, after having stepped back and after feeling proud of myself for today, I just might... well, let's just see how hungover I am tomorrow. What happens in New York stays in New York... 5:47:26 I'll never forget this experience...
SO, this morning, at 4 am, after 3 hours of sleep, yes, three hours of sleep; I got up, got ready and ventured out into the 40 degree weather to wait for a bus to take me to Staten Island. After falling asleep on the bus and then waiting in the UNICEF tent until our start time, I was in the pleasant position of meeting some new people and discussing marathon issues with the organizers of the event. With a 10:40 start time, and after having to wait almost 6 hours to start, I was having mixed feelings about the whole New York marathon. But when I saw the second wave of runners crossing the Verrazano bridge, my heart kind of leapt in my chest a bit. Watching the two levels of runners take off into the now 30 degree weather with a wind chill factor which plummented the weather into the below zero category...
After meeting Elsy from Venezuela, who now lives in New York, we dropped off our things and headed to the start line. We only ran together for about a mile because she was much faster than I am, but it was nice to meet someone new and to have someone to chat with before we set off on our journey.
The race began and the first 5 or 6 miles were about warming up. I usually struggle during the first few miles at least until I start sweating. Normally, the first 3 miles are the most painful, but this time, after the bridge, coming into Brooklyn... I didn't even have the chance to think about starting out because the crowds that lined the street were unlike anything that I've ever seen or experienced. At every mile throughout the race, on both sides of the streets were New Yorkers who carried most of us through the day. The energy and the enthusiasm of these people was like a wave of comfort for us as the miles progressed. Cheers and shouts of encouragement and the high fives, snacks, music and the constant repitition of things like "Go Yvette" or "Looking good" not only encouraged me, but made me want to continue. Over 2 million people came out today to see the marathon and to cheer on the participants, to sing, to wave signs to laugh, to thank us for being there...
And so I ran, strong for the first 13 miles, over 3 bridges, through three burroughs and to the chants and cheers of hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers. I called my friend, who flew in just for the race and I told her that I needed help and so, coming across yet another bridge, at mile 13.5, there she was; her smiling face and she was waiting to crash the course and help me finish the race. And so, she fell in step with me and we plundered along the miles. At one point, I had to hold onto her arm because I felt dizzy and she was there. She understands the intensity that is involved in a process like a marathon. I told her that I didn't want to talk and she completely understood; she was just there and there she stayed until mile 26 when they kicked her off the course for not having a bib number.
Miles 17-20 and 21-25 were the worst today; continued inclines and cold weather and hurt feet combined to make a difficult experience. Painful and tiring and exhausting; of course, there were moments when I wanted to quit, but I tried to think about the race in terms of just one more mile. I never looked at the race like 26.2; instead I just kept telling myself, "One more mile" and when 2 became 3 and 16 became 17, it seemed a bit easier, not much mind you, but it helped me to keep it in perspective. At one point I saw a sign that read, "Your feet hurt because you're kicking ASS!" Indeed...
At mile 16, my brother Steve, my sister Christine and her boyfriend John were waiting and it was empowering to see them, waving, high fiving them and then, we were off again. I know at some point around mile 18 I told Rosh that I was done with marathons; that I was going to stick with halves from then on. Mile 18 is a bitch of a mile because you know that you still have 8 more to go; not 3, not 5, but almost 10 and, if you're not a bred runner (hello), this is where every part of your body starts to say, "If you don't stop now, we're going to crush you with pain." Lovely the thoughts that you entertain as you plunder ahead, forging a path of both misery and joy.
Miles 19-22 had moments of laughter and dancing, raising my hands up and smiling at the kids who were jumping up and down as Beyonce played in the background. I loved that people were shouting things like "You can't quit, you're running the New York marathon for Christ's sake" or, "Think about what got you here" or, my personal favorite, "You're almost there!" Never say that to a runner, never...
At mile 25, I was hurting so badly; everything, legs, knees, feet, back and I just wanted to cross the finish line so I took off, running as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast at this point. I crossed the mile 26 sign and I saw the Finish line and I held it together long enough to cross and when I did, it was a huge sigh of relief and exhaustion and happiness and joy and when I stood up and one of the volunteers put the medal around my neck, it just happened. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and I wasn't sure if they were from relief or happiness or pain, but I was thrilled to have finished the New York marathon and I was even more thrilled to have finished strong. I hobbled over to have my picture taken and to collect my things and then I headed to the subway to meet my friends...
Now we sit, after a great dinner, drinking too much and laughing and having a conversation with too much sexual innuendo, enjoying our time together before we fly home on Tuesday. I am reminded of what I liked the most about going out with friends and having a good time and being irresponsible and enjoying victories. Life is good...
Mile 18: I said I was done with marathons, that the distance is just too long, but now, after having stepped back and after feeling proud of myself for today, I just might... well, let's just see how hungover I am tomorrow. What happens in New York stays in New York... 5:47:26 I'll never forget this experience...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, the night before
So here I sit, once again in the basement; I'll explain that one day and I'm scared and nervous and I feel like I might vomit. Tomorrow is the marathon and a huge part of me just wishes that it were over so I could be sitting down, crying, drinking with my friends and a huge part of me wishes that I could prolong this feeling of absolute excitement at the prospect of embarking on a journey that I might never again do in my lifetime. Who knows when they will ever get a second chance at something, especially something like this. Sure I'm running for charity, but I run for myself too and right now, my self is scared shitless.
When I signed up to do this 7 months ago, I knew that I would be going it alone for the most part. Rosh has been a saving grace these past months, running with me, encouraging me, helping me to plan, but on the mornings or in the evenings when I get up to run alone and it's just me and my thoughts, those are the times when doubt starts to creep in and that monkey on my back that often motivates me, fear. See, I don't like to be afraid of anything and usually I'm not, but I am afraid to fail. Fear doesn't keep me from trying things or attempting things, but I do not handle failure well, at all.
So, here it is. In 6 hours (and I can't sleep right now, no way), I will get up, get dressed, get on a shuttle to Staten Island in the 40 degree weather and then I will wait... until 10:40 EST and THEN I will run. Then I will run 26.2 miles because this is what I signed up for and along the way, I will remind myself that I am doing it for a greater reason than because I can; I am doing it to help others, children in particular. One foot in front of the other... one more mile.
I close my eyes and tell myself to relish every second, to enjoy every painstaking minute, to savor the sights and sounds of the people and of the city and to love what I can do, for others and for myself. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified.
Here I go...
When I signed up to do this 7 months ago, I knew that I would be going it alone for the most part. Rosh has been a saving grace these past months, running with me, encouraging me, helping me to plan, but on the mornings or in the evenings when I get up to run alone and it's just me and my thoughts, those are the times when doubt starts to creep in and that monkey on my back that often motivates me, fear. See, I don't like to be afraid of anything and usually I'm not, but I am afraid to fail. Fear doesn't keep me from trying things or attempting things, but I do not handle failure well, at all.
So, here it is. In 6 hours (and I can't sleep right now, no way), I will get up, get dressed, get on a shuttle to Staten Island in the 40 degree weather and then I will wait... until 10:40 EST and THEN I will run. Then I will run 26.2 miles because this is what I signed up for and along the way, I will remind myself that I am doing it for a greater reason than because I can; I am doing it to help others, children in particular. One foot in front of the other... one more mile.
I close my eyes and tell myself to relish every second, to enjoy every painstaking minute, to savor the sights and sounds of the people and of the city and to love what I can do, for others and for myself. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified.
Here I go...
Friday, November 5, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, Day 2
Okay, I'm thinking that I should be sleeping right now, or at the very least, in bed, watching t.v., resting, preparing for the marathon on Sunday... but instead, I sit in the basement of the hostel with Rosh and Steve, drinking wine and laughing about nonsensical things that make no sense. I am laughing so hard that my stomach hurts. Everything is on the table; cream cheese, sex, butterflies, Ben & Jerry's, wine with no wine opener, Kevin and not so many hours of sleep. A recipe for fun and maybe disaster, I guess we'll see in the morning.
Today was another great day, but my legs are paying for it right now. Steve and I walked all day again, 5 hours of waltzing around the city, looking up, taking pictures, visiting museums, eating tidbits, buying souvenirs, getting lost and ending up in the projects. Interesting, the sights that you can see when you aren't worried about or paying attention to where you are going. To round out the day, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset and took many pictures of the city of Manhattan; beautiful doesn't even begin to describe how Manhattan looks at sunset. Magical is a better and more appropriate word (continued after the fact)...
I should have known better; I do know better, but when we got back to the hostel, we were going to go to bed, sleep in and get a good start today, but... hell, we're in New York city so off we went at Kevin's suggestion to a bar called Ding Dong and there we were, drinking, shooting pool and having fun. That bar was so dark and hot that I can't accurately describe it other than to say it was kind of like playing that game 3 minutes in Heaven; you remember the one where you got in the closet with a kid (the opposite sex) and you basically stood there for a minute until your dumbass friends let you out. If you were really adventurous, you let him kiss you or you kissed him and if you were slutty at 8 years old then you let him... but I digress. A completely hot guy with an Italian accent just walked into the basement and smiled at me and asked me if I got internet service down here. What is the matter with me I'm asking? Accents, whew! But that's a subject for another day... so to finish up the chronicle of this reenactment, we came back to the hostel and I slept with a woman... Wait! You're asking yourself if you read that right? You did. My friend Rosheen, my very good running buddy, flew all the way to New York to be my support team for the last 13 miles and, although my charming brother Steve tried very hard to get her to share his bed instead ( :) ), she chose me instead. Needless to say... well, there's nothing to say, I love her, but I'm still batting for my side. I'm laughing so hard at my own words right now that I have to stop for a second...
So, tomorrow marks the last day prior to the race and we are going to pick up the race stuff, visit the Expo, walk around (yes, more fucking walking) and then we are having dinner with my sister Christine and her boyfriend John. Should be a great day!
Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let those bedbugs bite... hey did you hear there's a pandemic of bed bugs in New York? Maybe I'm not sleeping tonight.
Today was another great day, but my legs are paying for it right now. Steve and I walked all day again, 5 hours of waltzing around the city, looking up, taking pictures, visiting museums, eating tidbits, buying souvenirs, getting lost and ending up in the projects. Interesting, the sights that you can see when you aren't worried about or paying attention to where you are going. To round out the day, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset and took many pictures of the city of Manhattan; beautiful doesn't even begin to describe how Manhattan looks at sunset. Magical is a better and more appropriate word (continued after the fact)...
I should have known better; I do know better, but when we got back to the hostel, we were going to go to bed, sleep in and get a good start today, but... hell, we're in New York city so off we went at Kevin's suggestion to a bar called Ding Dong and there we were, drinking, shooting pool and having fun. That bar was so dark and hot that I can't accurately describe it other than to say it was kind of like playing that game 3 minutes in Heaven; you remember the one where you got in the closet with a kid (the opposite sex) and you basically stood there for a minute until your dumbass friends let you out. If you were really adventurous, you let him kiss you or you kissed him and if you were slutty at 8 years old then you let him... but I digress. A completely hot guy with an Italian accent just walked into the basement and smiled at me and asked me if I got internet service down here. What is the matter with me I'm asking? Accents, whew! But that's a subject for another day... so to finish up the chronicle of this reenactment, we came back to the hostel and I slept with a woman... Wait! You're asking yourself if you read that right? You did. My friend Rosheen, my very good running buddy, flew all the way to New York to be my support team for the last 13 miles and, although my charming brother Steve tried very hard to get her to share his bed instead ( :) ), she chose me instead. Needless to say... well, there's nothing to say, I love her, but I'm still batting for my side. I'm laughing so hard at my own words right now that I have to stop for a second...
So, tomorrow marks the last day prior to the race and we are going to pick up the race stuff, visit the Expo, walk around (yes, more fucking walking) and then we are having dinner with my sister Christine and her boyfriend John. Should be a great day!
Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let those bedbugs bite... hey did you hear there's a pandemic of bed bugs in New York? Maybe I'm not sleeping tonight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)