It won't matter what I write here, no matter how eloquent, how thoughtful, how articulate... it won't matter because he isn't here to read it. And that matters to me. He isn't here to...
When the announcement came through that the 2012 New York marathon had been cancelled, I was already in New York; I had already picked up my bib and walked the EXPO. But when the message came through, I have to admit that I wasn't disappointed. Amidst the aftermath of "Sandy," a celebratory run through the broken boroughs of New York, beginning with the devastation on Staten Island seemed, well, distasteful to say the very least. And so it was, thousands of runners had come to the Big Apple to run a race that, wasn't going to be run.
In 2009 I ran my first marathon for AIDS Project Los Angeles and I did my training runs in Griffith Park with the Sunday group; Biff Campos, Matt Richmond, Kevin McDonald, Arianna Metchik and other volunteers helped to make up the coaching crew dream team. I owe these people much more than I will ever raise in fundraising dollars for this wonderful organization. That first marathon changed my life and anyone who knows me has seen clear evidence to support that fact. There was another training group that year and in other years, Saturday mornings, led by Coach Scott Boliver and while I wouldn't meet him until the following training season, I kept hearing his name and stories were repeated about how amazing he was, as a coach and as a person. I say this because when I met him for the first time, the skeptic that I am, I was, well, amazed. He not only knew my name, but he actually asked me questions about my family, my running, my history with fundraising. He made me feel as the other coaches had, but in a different way; he made me realize that I was now part of a family - a family of which I was now considered an integral part. I believe that those Sunday runs and that team made me understand the real significance of what it meant to "give" and it would be two years after that, that Scott would reinforce that meaning for me.
What do you do when you are in a city, in an area that has been devastated by a natural disaster. If you've been taught properly, you move, you step in and you help. And that is what we did. Hunting down a Volunteer group the Saturday morning after the marathon was cancelled, Scott, his sister Cyndi and I made our way to Brooklyn where we found Occupy Sandy and in the basement of a church that day, we blended into the landscape of souls who came to do what they could. We spent the day sorting clothes, cutting food, taking out trash, moving through the piles of donations, wishing that there were more time in the day because soon enough it was dark and it was time to clean up. As we made our way back to Manhattan and to dinner that night with other runners from APLA Chicago and D.C., we jumped on a bus, a subway, we walked, we laughed, we chatted and they reassured me when the subway stopped, under the water, when the lights began to flicker, that everything was going to be okay (unfounded claustrophobic that I am). When the train started again, I assured them that if the train stopped again that they would be carrying me out. Scott walked with a cane that day. His leg hurt; it was obvious. He never stopped, he never complained, he never said a word. He simply just moved where he was needed.
In November 2011, we came to New York to run; my second time, Rosh, Sal and Emma for the first time and Coco, to celebrate her 50th birthday. While there, at the expo, I got a text from Scott, who I had only met twice then. He told me that he was there to support his brother in law who was running and to help cheer on the other T2 runners. He also said that he couldn't postpone his entry any longer as this was the last year he could get his entry into the marathon, either that or forfeit it. Scott wasn't about to forfeit anything. But he couldn't run. He was ill then. And I will not remember him as ill so it seems pointless to dissect his battle. Those who know him and who know of him know what a difficult journey he took and the tremendous strength and courage that he showed while taking it. He texted me and asked me if he knew anyone who could use his number... we met him at the Expo where we also met his lovely wife Dolly, and his wonderful sister Cyndi. The meeting could have been awkward, it could have been bitter, particularly for Scott, it could have been so many things had it been anyone but Scott. Instead, he embraced each of us, literally, as did Dolly and Cyndi. He was in pain, tired, but I will always remember his eyes. Scott had kind, happy eyes. What is it that is said, we see people's souls in their eyes? If that is the case, then there is not a shred of doubt that Scott has the soul of an angel... that we already knew. He gave Coco his number and told her to have a good run and run she did. I only thought about this today, while he will not physically run the race, he was with her the year that she did it, he was with me, with all of us and in 2013 when we go back to run it again, he will be there. The next day we headed to Staten Island to run the marathon where it was going to take me almost 6 hours; I wasn't sure, but I was feeling pretty good that day, up until mile 21 and then it started to fall apart as it sometimes does. I went slowly, plodded ahead, tried to find a groove, began to cry and watched as the numbers got bigger, 22, 23, 24... when I crossed 25 I was hurting, I was done. I wasn't going to stop, but I was emotionally, physically, psychologically finished. And then, I hear "YVETTE, YVETTE, OVER HERE, GO YVETTE" and I swear, it was like one of those moments where everything moves in slow motion and each second is crystallized in your memory. There, standing on the sidelines, in the freezing cold late afternoon, 5 and a half hours after I started was Coach Scott and Dolly and Cyndi, but all I could hear was Scott yelling and I saw them all waving their arms, clapping and cheering, motioning for me to come over. It was a life raft. I ran over and Scott threw his arms around me and kissed my cheek and said, "You are doing so great. Hang in there. Keep at it." Then Dolly bear hugged me and then Cyndi. Dear Cyndi. Before I went back out, Scott hugged me again and told me to "Just Go." That's it and then I was off and they were clapping again, smiling and I went on my way.
I told him later about that moment and how they got me through that marathon. How it must have been so difficult for him to stand there in the cold for hours, cheering on runners when all he wanted to do was run. I hope he knew then and I hope he knows now that moments like that have meant more to me than crossing any finish line ever will in any race that I will ever run. When I did cross the finish line, the tears came fast and furious. I didn't see them again that trip but I will remember that moment for the rest of my life as the greatest moment of that race. The Bolivers.
When I ran LA in 2012, there they were again, Scott and Dolly and Scott's lovely and kind parents, right there at Mile 25, with hugs and encouragement and warmth that sent us all off to reach our goals. Ever the fire that needs to be lit under each of us, Scott pushed you until you got there and I never doubted for a second that if I couldn't physically get there, that he might just carry me if need be or, at the very least, walk along side of me or any one of the runners to get them to where they needed to be...
Our second day of volunteering in New York came in the form of a day of distributing supplies with the National Guard in a barren and broken place, Far Rockaway Beach. As the day progressed and as we spoke with people and gave out what supplies there were, I noticed something that I had filed away in my mind for later. When we first arrived, Scott didn't wait for someone to direct him; he just stepped up and started to help. He saw a need and filled it. There was no hesitation and as the day went on, I noticed that he continued to do that. He didn't wait for someone to ask, instead, he volunteered. He just did... he just simply did. Later that night at dinner, we shared our appreciation for one another and for the day and for our lives. Simple, beautiful, a fitting ending to a trip with an auspicious beginning.
On my last night there, I texted Scott and Cyndi and asked them if they would wait for me so that we could go to dinner and I remember Scott saying that they would wait as long as it took for me to get there. That night, after a delicious Italian meal, the three of us headed to an Irish pub where we sat and just talked, sharing stories about our families, our friends, our lives. It was a conversation that will always define who Scott was for me. We hadn't known one another for long and I really didn't know anything about him before that night, but after just a few hours, after hearing about his battle and his family, his amazing family, his children and the deep love that he had for Dolly, I felt like I had known him my whole life. One of the last statements that he made that night was that we should all get our families together, that we all would get along great and that was simply true, there was no pretense with Scott and Cyndi. It was easy, comfortable. Another of his gifts, an ability to make you feel as though you always belonged right across from the table with him, having a beer, shooting the breeze.
That was the last time that I saw Scott Boliver. That was the last time that I heard his voice. That was the last time that I had a chance to tell him how inspiring and meaningful his speeches were the year before in training. That was the last time.
I never made it out to the training site this year, at least I hadn't until last week. Coach Scott had sent me a message on FB asking where I was and how we should all do New York this year so that we could do it together. I replied that I was going to make it out soon.
I would very much like to articulate in the most gracious way how devastated I was to hear that he had passed away. How the tears came instantly and wouldn't stop throughout the days that followed, intermittently, fiercely, every time I thought of him and his children, of Dolly, of his parents and selfishly, of myself and how I would never get that bear hug of encouragement or hear that voice telling me to keep going again. I did think that. I did. And then I sat down and really thought about what it means to lose a friend, someone who makes you a better person for having known them and I realized that the time that I knew him, although too brief, was enough to change something in me. The time that we spent, training, volunteering, sharing meals, meeting his family; those moments are some of the most precious and will remain with me in every victory, in every failure, in every attempt at something new. I will carry Scott's ferocious desire to live his life, with me in my heart every time I put on my running shoes, every time I fundraise, every time I kiss my children or my husband. His passion for others, guiding them to be more, to be better, will guide me the rest of my life. And while I know that I will shed more tears for Scott and for his family, in those tears will also be shreds of joy and compassion, of hope and of the knowledge that his legacy will live in everything good that we do, all of us who knew him, for the rest of our lives.
There is no good-bye. When we love, when people affect us deeply, they are always with us. I will miss you Scott and I will look for you in every run, in every finish line, in every place where there are people who put others' needs before their own. Thank you for being my friend.
Run home softly...
Monday, January 7, 2013
Friday, August 24, 2012
Time for a change...
I cut my hair off yesterday, about five inches or so... drastic, dramatic and much needed. The act of changing some physical aspect of yourself with one swift action, with no real premeditation, with no concern for what anyone will think... liberating.
Three years ago, I went to Vegas for my 40th birthday and I went alone. I had offers for parties and what not and a couple of good friends offered to go with me, but, in the end, I told Tim what I wanted. I wanted to wake up when I wanted to, I wanted to sit at the Blackjack table when I wanted to, I wanted to eat when I wanted to and for one weekend I didn't want to have to answer to anyone or to have to organize anything. I wanted to lay by the pool, get a massage, read my book and I wanted to sit by myself. And so I did and it was one of the best experiences I have ever had on vacation or, for that matter, on one of my birthdays. My flight home left around 7 pm and I was spending the afternoon walking through the mall, shopping, just biding my time when I decided, impetuously, impulsively, to get a tattoo. I had considered it for awhile, but the longer I thought about it, the more reasons and excuses I would come up with for why I shouldn't, why I couldn't, why I really didn't NEED to...
Being impulsive has its benefits. Spontaneity abounds when impulsivity is present. Some of the best sex that Tim and I have ever had is the kind where there is no premeditation and that has been difficult raising three children who seem ever present in the house. I have always touted myself as a "fly by the seat of my pants" kind of girl. So I suddenly found myself in a tattoo parlor, perusing, gasping as some of the clients who were lying prone on tables showed me their new "art." The girl in front of me was having two lines from a Shakespearean sonnet tattooed along her hairline from ear to ear. I was both impressed and in pain from watching the needle strike her neck. I was so engaged in what I was watching that I didn't hear the man behind the counter ask me if he could help me. I looked up. I know I was 40 and he was probably 25, but he was what I would have called, "smoking hot." I know that has no real relevance to the story, but it made the thought of him permanently marking my body with ink all the more appealing. I regained my composure and once I started talking, I realized hottie was just like anybody else, just doing his job. We talked about what I was "into" and what part of my body I'd like to have done (pause here for effect). I'm kidding. I decided on a Kanji symbol and there were many that I liked. He touched the computer screen in front of the counter and turned it toward me. We chatted about the meanings and putting more than one symbol together and finally I decided on the one that means Strength. I liked the double meaning, strength, both internal and external. Easy enough.
My back has always been my favorite body part. I am built just like my Dad and I am a physically strong person, but even back when I was a teenager, I liked my back. That's where I wanted the tattoo. Just below my neck, at the top, maybe even so I could add something else later. I told hottie tattoo guy, he said great and led me over to the chair. I sat down facing away from him and I swear, in the space of a minute or two, the top of my sweater was pulled down, covered and he was sketching on my skin...
It's a small tattoo, about the size of a silver dollar, in black of course and I LOVE it. It summed up everything that was fantastic about my 40th year and every time I see it in the mirror, I think independence, freedom, power, love - it leads me to all kinds of stories that were told within the scope of that year. I ran my first marathon that year, I turned 40, I lost 25 pounds; there were many things about the whole experience of beginning a new decade that were and are wrapped up in that little black symbol...
So cutting my hair, really, I've had short hair before, but the symbolism of it is the same as that of the tattoo - a new direction while not caring about anything other than who I am and what I want. I've given this notion quite a bit of thought over the years, especially being the kind of person who can often come across as indifferent or arrogant or however people have seen me in certain situations. The thing is, change, physical or otherwise just speaks to that part of my personality that lets other people know that I don't care what anyone else thinks; I mean that. I don't care. I don't care if people like me, I don't care if they hate my clothes. I don't care if they think I'm a shitty parent or a bad wife. I don't care because unless my actions or my behavior affect someone else's life, or their children or their marriage, then they have no right to comment on who I am or what I choose to do. And I was very tired of people trying to do that. I realized, some time ago that it's okay to not like someone and to not want to be their friend, doesn't mean that I have to be cruel or talk about them behind their back. Nope, just no thank you and off I go. And I'm raising my children to be the same way. I believe that self confidence comes from the simple idea that "one shouldn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks." Of course I care about my family and friends and their opinions matter, but they love me unconditionally, they accept my weaknesses and my flaws and I choose carefully who I allow into my "inner" sanctum. So, I expect that their opinions and comments will often not jive with my own and that's okay because I care about them and who they are in my life. Everyone else can jump ship.
I don't believe in placating or pacifying people just for the sake of being the "nice" guy and I also don't believe in doing something for the sake of doing it. I don't go to parties if I don't like the person who invited me and I don't shop at stores where I don't like the products being sold. That seems fairly logical to me. Ty gets a lot of boo-boos. He is 5 and an active boy... enough said. One of the important lessons that I've learned as a mother, from watching other mothers do the exact opposite of what I do, is that when Ty cries, even if he isn't physically hurt, let's just say he cries because he is sad that someone won't play with him or share a toy or because he got punished, whatever the reason,
it's okay to let him cry. I will hold him and I will kiss his face or whisper soothing words, but I just let him cry. For the LIFE of me, I cannot understand how parents can get mad at kids when they yell, "Stop crying! Stop being a baby!" or even if they just say, "Don't cry, come on, stop crying, it's okay." I don't get that. Just let them cry; teach them that it's okay to cry, it's okay to let it out. It's okay to hurt, to feel bad, to be sad. Otherwise, don't they just end up keeping it in? So I hold Ty and I let him work it out for himself. That is what my family and friends do that acquaintances don't - they let me be who I am, haircuts, tattoos, chubby, thinner, marathons, no marathons... whatever.
Sometimes being dramatic just means making a change. That change could be small, could be huge or it could simply be looking at something and saying, that's the way I see it, end of story.
You cannot care what other people think because if you do, you will spend your life trying to please them and that never works out. As a teacher, I don't do anything to jeopardize my job and as a mother, I don't do anything to harm my children, but if I believe in something and I want to do it... I'm doing it. I hope my children take that lesson to heart; I hope they leave our home one day and approach the world as a buffet and that they purposefully stay away from the foods that will ultimately give them diarrhea. Instead, I hope they feast on those that flourish and are lovely and giving, those that will help them to thrive instead of poisoning them and I hope they will have learned enough to know the difference between the two...
It was time for a change... another change. Remember, it doesn't matter what you look like or what you wear - it really is who you are, how you carry yourself, standing by your beliefs... self confidence matters, patience matters, kindness and loyalty, honesty and experience matter. Everything else... that's negotiable.
Three years ago, I went to Vegas for my 40th birthday and I went alone. I had offers for parties and what not and a couple of good friends offered to go with me, but, in the end, I told Tim what I wanted. I wanted to wake up when I wanted to, I wanted to sit at the Blackjack table when I wanted to, I wanted to eat when I wanted to and for one weekend I didn't want to have to answer to anyone or to have to organize anything. I wanted to lay by the pool, get a massage, read my book and I wanted to sit by myself. And so I did and it was one of the best experiences I have ever had on vacation or, for that matter, on one of my birthdays. My flight home left around 7 pm and I was spending the afternoon walking through the mall, shopping, just biding my time when I decided, impetuously, impulsively, to get a tattoo. I had considered it for awhile, but the longer I thought about it, the more reasons and excuses I would come up with for why I shouldn't, why I couldn't, why I really didn't NEED to...
Being impulsive has its benefits. Spontaneity abounds when impulsivity is present. Some of the best sex that Tim and I have ever had is the kind where there is no premeditation and that has been difficult raising three children who seem ever present in the house. I have always touted myself as a "fly by the seat of my pants" kind of girl. So I suddenly found myself in a tattoo parlor, perusing, gasping as some of the clients who were lying prone on tables showed me their new "art." The girl in front of me was having two lines from a Shakespearean sonnet tattooed along her hairline from ear to ear. I was both impressed and in pain from watching the needle strike her neck. I was so engaged in what I was watching that I didn't hear the man behind the counter ask me if he could help me. I looked up. I know I was 40 and he was probably 25, but he was what I would have called, "smoking hot." I know that has no real relevance to the story, but it made the thought of him permanently marking my body with ink all the more appealing. I regained my composure and once I started talking, I realized hottie was just like anybody else, just doing his job. We talked about what I was "into" and what part of my body I'd like to have done (pause here for effect). I'm kidding. I decided on a Kanji symbol and there were many that I liked. He touched the computer screen in front of the counter and turned it toward me. We chatted about the meanings and putting more than one symbol together and finally I decided on the one that means Strength. I liked the double meaning, strength, both internal and external. Easy enough.
My back has always been my favorite body part. I am built just like my Dad and I am a physically strong person, but even back when I was a teenager, I liked my back. That's where I wanted the tattoo. Just below my neck, at the top, maybe even so I could add something else later. I told hottie tattoo guy, he said great and led me over to the chair. I sat down facing away from him and I swear, in the space of a minute or two, the top of my sweater was pulled down, covered and he was sketching on my skin...
It's a small tattoo, about the size of a silver dollar, in black of course and I LOVE it. It summed up everything that was fantastic about my 40th year and every time I see it in the mirror, I think independence, freedom, power, love - it leads me to all kinds of stories that were told within the scope of that year. I ran my first marathon that year, I turned 40, I lost 25 pounds; there were many things about the whole experience of beginning a new decade that were and are wrapped up in that little black symbol...
So cutting my hair, really, I've had short hair before, but the symbolism of it is the same as that of the tattoo - a new direction while not caring about anything other than who I am and what I want. I've given this notion quite a bit of thought over the years, especially being the kind of person who can often come across as indifferent or arrogant or however people have seen me in certain situations. The thing is, change, physical or otherwise just speaks to that part of my personality that lets other people know that I don't care what anyone else thinks; I mean that. I don't care. I don't care if people like me, I don't care if they hate my clothes. I don't care if they think I'm a shitty parent or a bad wife. I don't care because unless my actions or my behavior affect someone else's life, or their children or their marriage, then they have no right to comment on who I am or what I choose to do. And I was very tired of people trying to do that. I realized, some time ago that it's okay to not like someone and to not want to be their friend, doesn't mean that I have to be cruel or talk about them behind their back. Nope, just no thank you and off I go. And I'm raising my children to be the same way. I believe that self confidence comes from the simple idea that "one shouldn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks." Of course I care about my family and friends and their opinions matter, but they love me unconditionally, they accept my weaknesses and my flaws and I choose carefully who I allow into my "inner" sanctum. So, I expect that their opinions and comments will often not jive with my own and that's okay because I care about them and who they are in my life. Everyone else can jump ship.
I don't believe in placating or pacifying people just for the sake of being the "nice" guy and I also don't believe in doing something for the sake of doing it. I don't go to parties if I don't like the person who invited me and I don't shop at stores where I don't like the products being sold. That seems fairly logical to me. Ty gets a lot of boo-boos. He is 5 and an active boy... enough said. One of the important lessons that I've learned as a mother, from watching other mothers do the exact opposite of what I do, is that when Ty cries, even if he isn't physically hurt, let's just say he cries because he is sad that someone won't play with him or share a toy or because he got punished, whatever the reason,
it's okay to let him cry. I will hold him and I will kiss his face or whisper soothing words, but I just let him cry. For the LIFE of me, I cannot understand how parents can get mad at kids when they yell, "Stop crying! Stop being a baby!" or even if they just say, "Don't cry, come on, stop crying, it's okay." I don't get that. Just let them cry; teach them that it's okay to cry, it's okay to let it out. It's okay to hurt, to feel bad, to be sad. Otherwise, don't they just end up keeping it in? So I hold Ty and I let him work it out for himself. That is what my family and friends do that acquaintances don't - they let me be who I am, haircuts, tattoos, chubby, thinner, marathons, no marathons... whatever.
Sometimes being dramatic just means making a change. That change could be small, could be huge or it could simply be looking at something and saying, that's the way I see it, end of story.
You cannot care what other people think because if you do, you will spend your life trying to please them and that never works out. As a teacher, I don't do anything to jeopardize my job and as a mother, I don't do anything to harm my children, but if I believe in something and I want to do it... I'm doing it. I hope my children take that lesson to heart; I hope they leave our home one day and approach the world as a buffet and that they purposefully stay away from the foods that will ultimately give them diarrhea. Instead, I hope they feast on those that flourish and are lovely and giving, those that will help them to thrive instead of poisoning them and I hope they will have learned enough to know the difference between the two...
It was time for a change... another change. Remember, it doesn't matter what you look like or what you wear - it really is who you are, how you carry yourself, standing by your beliefs... self confidence matters, patience matters, kindness and loyalty, honesty and experience matter. Everything else... that's negotiable.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Working it Out...
Ah, what can be read into that title; I suppose that is why I chose it. Last week I went to Zumba class for the third time. There is an ongoing class on Tuesday nights at Alta Vista park that a friend introduced us to and which I've been able to attend three times now. When the class was over last week, I took a few extra minutes, drove down to the beach, got out, sat on one of the walls alongside the Esplanade and considered the day, the class, all of it.
When our ParT2 to Coronado team finished the Ragnar Relay in April, I swore to myself that I would "keep it going;" that I would keep running and look for the next race, enjoying what I had done in LA and at the Ragnar, but alas, I did not and after Zumba last week, I thought about why I hadn't. The ironic thing is that I LOVE to exercise. It might not always look like that on my face, but the tougher the workout, the better I respond. I especially step up to endurance activities that require me to be as mentally fit as physically fit. Running had never been my favorite activity, but in the past couple of years, it has steadily become one of the staples in my "active" life. I suppose I could chalk it up to the daily day to day of my life, the time crunches, the kids, insert other excuses here. Steadily I stopped running, stopped going to yoga and stopped working out at the gym. And then, vacation came, for three weeks I did nothing but camp, eat, drink and have fun. When it came time to do something, I knew that I needed some help. Enter Matt, one of the trainers at Elite Fitness.
I believe that just because you want something badly enough, that is not enough to make it happen. Maybe you believe that too. The desire to get it drives you, but you have to have a plan. Jerry and Rachel have taught me that. You have to have a concrete goal and a real plan and you have to accept that there are going to be bumps along the way, obstacles to keep you from getting to the end of the road. And, that at some point, you have to ask yourself if this is something that you really want or if you are simply just giving it lip service. Either way, if the feeling persists and there is a nagging feeling that something is out of sorts, then you can only ignore it for so long.
Tim and I are having problems. We've been together for 22 years now, married for 19 and although people tell me that it's normal, it's bound to happen with two people who have been together for a long time, I am still struggling with it and I know that he is too. Maybe this too is ironic as marriage is certainly an endurance activity... I guess I think of it in terms of how much I get out of doing something that is good for me and that makes me feel good and for awhile now, that something has not included Tim. The same things plague our marriage that plague my health/fitness goals: time issues, laziness, selfishness, narcissism, exhaustion and the list goes on. So, in order to conquer some of these issues that are driving a wedge between us, we probably need an objective third party. Just like Matt, my trainer was; someone who will look me in the face and say, "HEY! Don't eat that!" or, in the case of our marriage, "HEY! Stop being such a bitch." Well, the therapist probably won't say that, but he/she will certainly think that sometimes.
There is a continuity in exercise that bends the will, in an activity so challenging that you cannot focus on anything else while you are in the throes of doing it. Marriage should be the same. Sure, there are distractions; people open a door, someone coughs, a weight gets dropped, a car honks, kids scream, the phone rings, bills arrive in the mail, family members become ill, jobs are lost... at the end though, when you stretch it out, when you say goodnight, isn't what we feel then a kind of relief? A kind of releasing of good feelings, both physical and mental? If exercise releases endorphins, so too does having a real bond with the person who is closest to you. I talk about marriage now because I am married, but I see this issue between friends, lovers, parents and their children, really anyone who loves someone else and who is as concerned about their well being as their own.
I want to keep moving forward; I want to be better, stronger, happier and I want Tim to be there with me. At some point, we all have to acknowledge that we are who we are because of the people in our lives and even with all of the things that bother me about myself, I recognize that the person I am, the goodness that I feel and the woman that I have become, in large part is due to his commitment to me - to his desire to help me be whoever I was going to become when we first got together. He accepted that and he has helped me to do that. Don't get me wrong, he is a major pain in the ass too, but that part of a marriage, that kind of thinking comes with the territory...
Matt has helped me to get back on track. He is a fun, motivated and cruel (not really) trainer and he will be there, or Jerry, or Rachel, or Kelsey, when and if I need to go back. Well, I do need to go back, but I am going to try to move forward on my own here. I'm learning, even though I knew this, that the journey is made up of MANY helping hands and that crossing the finish line only means that there is another one, not too far beyond it. And, that no one gets there alone.
Marriage is a marathon, maybe an Ultra marathon and we're at Mile 18. We just need to get past the wall...
When our ParT2 to Coronado team finished the Ragnar Relay in April, I swore to myself that I would "keep it going;" that I would keep running and look for the next race, enjoying what I had done in LA and at the Ragnar, but alas, I did not and after Zumba last week, I thought about why I hadn't. The ironic thing is that I LOVE to exercise. It might not always look like that on my face, but the tougher the workout, the better I respond. I especially step up to endurance activities that require me to be as mentally fit as physically fit. Running had never been my favorite activity, but in the past couple of years, it has steadily become one of the staples in my "active" life. I suppose I could chalk it up to the daily day to day of my life, the time crunches, the kids, insert other excuses here. Steadily I stopped running, stopped going to yoga and stopped working out at the gym. And then, vacation came, for three weeks I did nothing but camp, eat, drink and have fun. When it came time to do something, I knew that I needed some help. Enter Matt, one of the trainers at Elite Fitness.
I believe that just because you want something badly enough, that is not enough to make it happen. Maybe you believe that too. The desire to get it drives you, but you have to have a plan. Jerry and Rachel have taught me that. You have to have a concrete goal and a real plan and you have to accept that there are going to be bumps along the way, obstacles to keep you from getting to the end of the road. And, that at some point, you have to ask yourself if this is something that you really want or if you are simply just giving it lip service. Either way, if the feeling persists and there is a nagging feeling that something is out of sorts, then you can only ignore it for so long.
Tim and I are having problems. We've been together for 22 years now, married for 19 and although people tell me that it's normal, it's bound to happen with two people who have been together for a long time, I am still struggling with it and I know that he is too. Maybe this too is ironic as marriage is certainly an endurance activity... I guess I think of it in terms of how much I get out of doing something that is good for me and that makes me feel good and for awhile now, that something has not included Tim. The same things plague our marriage that plague my health/fitness goals: time issues, laziness, selfishness, narcissism, exhaustion and the list goes on. So, in order to conquer some of these issues that are driving a wedge between us, we probably need an objective third party. Just like Matt, my trainer was; someone who will look me in the face and say, "HEY! Don't eat that!" or, in the case of our marriage, "HEY! Stop being such a bitch." Well, the therapist probably won't say that, but he/she will certainly think that sometimes.
There is a continuity in exercise that bends the will, in an activity so challenging that you cannot focus on anything else while you are in the throes of doing it. Marriage should be the same. Sure, there are distractions; people open a door, someone coughs, a weight gets dropped, a car honks, kids scream, the phone rings, bills arrive in the mail, family members become ill, jobs are lost... at the end though, when you stretch it out, when you say goodnight, isn't what we feel then a kind of relief? A kind of releasing of good feelings, both physical and mental? If exercise releases endorphins, so too does having a real bond with the person who is closest to you. I talk about marriage now because I am married, but I see this issue between friends, lovers, parents and their children, really anyone who loves someone else and who is as concerned about their well being as their own.
I want to keep moving forward; I want to be better, stronger, happier and I want Tim to be there with me. At some point, we all have to acknowledge that we are who we are because of the people in our lives and even with all of the things that bother me about myself, I recognize that the person I am, the goodness that I feel and the woman that I have become, in large part is due to his commitment to me - to his desire to help me be whoever I was going to become when we first got together. He accepted that and he has helped me to do that. Don't get me wrong, he is a major pain in the ass too, but that part of a marriage, that kind of thinking comes with the territory...
Matt has helped me to get back on track. He is a fun, motivated and cruel (not really) trainer and he will be there, or Jerry, or Rachel, or Kelsey, when and if I need to go back. Well, I do need to go back, but I am going to try to move forward on my own here. I'm learning, even though I knew this, that the journey is made up of MANY helping hands and that crossing the finish line only means that there is another one, not too far beyond it. And, that no one gets there alone.
Marriage is a marathon, maybe an Ultra marathon and we're at Mile 18. We just need to get past the wall...
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Coming Home...
Escrow closed on our house today. Well, it is no longer our house. It now belongs to a lovely family with 5 children, who, are thrilled to have found it and who, I know, without a doubt, will make it their own, their home. So I sit here thinking about home and all that the word implies... home.
Tim and I bought our first house 14 years ago, a small, 3 bedroom, 1 bath house with a huge yard and a lot of potential. We borrowed the down payment and we signed on the dotted line and, for 8 years, we loved and played, grew our family and even, got a dog, in that house. In year 9, we were ready to expand and so began the remodel that became the house that stands there today: 3091 square feet, 5 bedrooms, everything brand new, chosen with a specific intention, a floor plan borrowed from my brother's former home; it became an incredible, beautiful new house, not even slightly reminiscent of the former building that sat in the same spot. It took a year to build and a month after moving "back" in, our third child came along, occupying a new nursery, in soft green with zoo animals and a view of the city lights out of the large picture window.
While things have changed for us dramatically in the past year, the financial changes have been the most frustrating and sometimes difficult to deal with; strangely, the boys have not been all that upset by the sale of our house and, now that we are in a "new" house, renting again (sigh), they seem fine with the transition and all that it has brought in the last month. The stress of moving and of having to pack up 14 years of life is never easy, but downsizing along with it has made it so much more stressful. It takes an interesting and creative means of looking at a situation to really find the gem in it. That's when you call in your friends and beg for help. I could not have made this transition without them, without their objectivity...
I guess at the end of the day, it would be really simple for me to say that is doesn't matter, that we all have our health and our family and a home is where you are and not in the "place" where you live and while I do believe that, 98% of that, there is also a small part of me that will always belong at our old address. There is a part of who I was and who the children were when we began the process of owning a home there, of Nick taking his first steps there, of Jake playing with our first dog Riley there, of bringing Ty home to the only house he has ever known. There is a huge part of me that will long for the babysitter swing in the backyard and of all of those summer days when the neighborhood kids used to come and jump on the trampoline while I squirted them with the hose. There is a part of me that wishes that we could leave the tent up all summer and just sleep in the backyard every night and there is a huge part of me that will miss decorating that beautiful house for Christmas, all lit up with soft white lights, sitting in front of the fire, watching A Christmas Story on a 24 hour loop while everyone else has gone to bed. I will miss the stairs; I know that sounds strange, but I didn't mind going up and down those stairs. I will miss all of the jasmine that I planted last year that is now spreading like wildfire and I will miss some of the neighbors, not all of the neighbors, but some of them...
I am grateful that someone loves the house as much as I have loved living there and the part of me that longs for it and what we had there is the same part of me that also looks forward to a smaller life in a sense, of a smaller payment, a smaller maintenence plan, a smaller way of looking at things maybe. I got a chance to live in the big house, to help build it, to design it, to choose everything in it, to build memories in it. I will cherish every moment that we lived there, but tonight I look forward to making new memories and wherever the future takes us, I will know in my heart that, in some small way, 4746 W. 191st St. will always belong to our family and that our memories will float alonside of all of those that will be made by the family that now lives there. I wish them well and I hope that they have many years of happiness there. I know that we did.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Today is my 43rd birthday... that's it. Not too much to say about it, other than, frankly, I LOVE my birthday. I don't need a lot of fanfare or presents or even attention; I just love knowing that it is May 22nd again and that I am here, celebrating another year. It makes me really happy when people just say, "Happy Birthday." I don't need surprise parties or expensive dinners. I just need for one day to feel as though I matter, that in this whole crazy spectrum of time, that one 24 hour period is carved out for me and the day that I entered this universe. Maybe that does sound like I'm asking for more than I should. Then again...
Birthdays are a time of reflection, to think about the past year and to consider what has happened between then and now, but I don't really like that idea too much. I like to look forward to what is to come this year. Last year was celebrated in the moments in which they happened, one by one - some monumental, some tiny, but all important. Another year lived means that my children are another year alive and healthy, that my marriage continues to grow and that I get to teach yet a little longer. Another year means that I have just as many moments to look forward to as I did in the previous one. And, in my forties, I look forward to enjoying all the benefits that come with "knowing more" and maybe even "knowing better."
I've learned the importance of real friendships and the significance of letting go of all of the bullshit that weighs you down. I've learned that time is only a piece of the puzzle, as much of it is wasted on ridiculous and pointless things that don't matter. I've learned that you are never too old to try anything new, even if it means facing a fear that has haunted you for your entire life. And, I've learned that not everything is what it seems to be, even when staring you, blank, in the face. For these lessons, I am so grateful for another year.
We are moving soon, staring again so to speak, in a smaller home, owned by someone else. We are embarking on a new journey, but, I'm not sad, not like I imagined I would be. Instead, I am thankful for the time and the opportunity that I've been given these past few years, in this place, making memories with my family. And, maybe strangely to some, I am thankful that the new owners are people who will continue to make lovely and lasting memories in this place that was built with so much care and love. I wish them much joy in their new life in this home.
Change is a good thing; sometimes frightening and sometimes exciting, but overall, a good thing, because if we are afraid of change, then we really are admitting that we are afraid to move forward and, I'm not. I'm looking forward to celebrating as many birthdays as God or the universe will allow and I look forward to each year with the promise of new adventures, new places to explore and new people to meet and welcome into my life.
I am so blessed to have had another year and to those who have made it so, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for making my life matter more, in ways that I couldn't have done on my own. Here's to Year 44...
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thank you.
I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Nick; Jake was 2 years old then and I did wonder... I had heard many people say that they were worried how they could possibly begin to love another child when their hearts overflowed with love for their first child. And, can you love each child equally? I think that each person has to answer those questions for herself, but what I can tell you, from personal experience is that, when they put Nick on my chest and when I held him for the first time, I never again wondered. I realized that I wouldn't love them equally from the same place in my heart because when he was born, my heart grew bigger; a new piece was created just for him. And 6 years later, it grew again, only this time, for a new baby boy, Ty. I was thinking about this idea as I reread a book, in preparation for class on Tuesday and in reminiscing about last Sunday, when I ran the Los Angeles Marathon for AIDS Project. My heart keeps growing larger and with it, more friendships and experiences, more moments of pure joy and love and, more reasons to continue to try and make a real difference in people's lives.
Aura Imbarus is a teacher. She is an intellectual, beautiful, giving and, she has suffered. But out of her trials, she has emerged victorious because she controls her own destiny. She saw her way out of oppression and, despite some of the most difficult choices that a human being might have to make in the course of one lifetime, she relied on herself, on her strength and determination, on her will and desire to achieve what she wanted. And for that, for her sheer desire, I have the utmost respect for her. She makes a difference in people's lives, every day and, whether she realizes it or not, she has made a difference in mine.
Scott Boliver is a coach. He is also a husband and a father and a dedicated, selfless man. And, his health issues aside, which are difficult to overlook, when you are around Scott, you feel inspired. I feel inspired. I remember when he came to one of our Sunday runs a couple of years ago in Griffith park; his presence was dynamic. It seemed that everyone not only knew who he was, but they wanted to see him, hug him, talk to him. And now, after having been able to, even at a minimum, train around Scott, it is clearly evident why that is the case. He is a believer; he believes in the strength and in the courage and in the determination of people and he brings out the best in us; he brought it out in me. And now, he continues to fight his own personal battle, but alongside him, he carries the love and support of hundreds who want him desperately to be well, to succeed in this long battle. Despite it all, Scott shows up, he cares and he has made a real difference in my life.
Running a marathon is preparation for anything that you might want to accomplish in your life. I should qualify that; preparing, training for a marathon is preparation... running the race is a journey in and of itself - the party that you've been waiting months to see come to fruition. Maybe that is why there is a let down after it is over. It takes months to prepare and it is emotional. Meeting new friends and carrying one another through the tough miles and through the tears, and, there are always tears, one gets the feeling that a marathon might not only be the toughest preparation for life, but the most exhilarating as well. This marathon was my favorite, aside from my first, which will always hold special significance for me; this race was about experiencing everything and I felt like I did. It was fun. It was emotional. It was wonderful. Running marathons, and this one in particular, has made a real difference in my life.
I'd like to think that there are many groups of people like those who work for APLA and, of course, there are and I'm not just talking about fundraising, but I'd like to think that after the fundraising is done, that these other groups stay together, that they continue to communicate with one another, to send emails and to share photos and to sign up for more races together just because they want the experience to continue. The thing is, I don't think that there are. I've run marathons for other charities and I've enjoyed the process and the races, but APLA feels like home. The runners and the coaches, the volunteers, the site assistants and everyone who must work in the offices including the last mail person or person working behind a desk; these people are my heroes. These people have enriched my life in a way that the births of each of my sons have. Their dedication to a cause that is bigger than all of us, the love and support that they have for one another and for those who they will never meet is awe inspiring. These are people who I will carry with me for the rest of my life, people who smiled at me on some Saturday mornings, people who have asked me to run with them again, people who introduced me to their parents, their lovers, their families, who have invited me into their homes...these people have made a real difference in my life.
AIDS first appeared on the scene, in my life, when I was in high school. It was terrifying and eventually, devastating. Knowing lovely people who suffered and then who lost their battles with this disease gave me a profound desire to do... something. And, it still does. I've said it many times; there is not a person alive who does not deserve to be treated with dignity, just for the mere fact that they are human beings. Not everyone realizes this, sadly and that is why APLA has become a beacon of hope for so many people; I am convinced that is why so many people participate in programs that have evolved from this organization. There is a real sense of belonging, of hope and of peace that comes from this community. And, honestly, although I wish with all of my heart that there was no need for APLA, I am thankful that they found me or that I found them. Either way, the money that I raise helps and it is an ultimate good, but it is not enough. And so, I will always contribute to their cause; I will always carry their message to others in how I live my life. They have made me want to be better and, so, I am better. AIDS is its own marathon and the people who work for APLA are those who line the streets, holding out oranges, giving out hugs, making the journey as light as they can.
I'm a romantic; I don't deny it. I'm in love with life, with people, with new adventures. Is it possible to be an idealist and a realist? I guess if I consider myself to be a Christian and a Buddhist, then I suppose so. Either way, I hope for the best now; I didn't always think that way, but I do now. And hoping for the best has made a real difference in my life.
Life has brought me a friendship with Aura Imbarus and inspiration in a new coach, Scott Boliver. Life has also brought me membership into the APLA community, of which I will always be a part. My heart continues to grow...
Aura Imbarus is a teacher. She is an intellectual, beautiful, giving and, she has suffered. But out of her trials, she has emerged victorious because she controls her own destiny. She saw her way out of oppression and, despite some of the most difficult choices that a human being might have to make in the course of one lifetime, she relied on herself, on her strength and determination, on her will and desire to achieve what she wanted. And for that, for her sheer desire, I have the utmost respect for her. She makes a difference in people's lives, every day and, whether she realizes it or not, she has made a difference in mine.
Scott Boliver is a coach. He is also a husband and a father and a dedicated, selfless man. And, his health issues aside, which are difficult to overlook, when you are around Scott, you feel inspired. I feel inspired. I remember when he came to one of our Sunday runs a couple of years ago in Griffith park; his presence was dynamic. It seemed that everyone not only knew who he was, but they wanted to see him, hug him, talk to him. And now, after having been able to, even at a minimum, train around Scott, it is clearly evident why that is the case. He is a believer; he believes in the strength and in the courage and in the determination of people and he brings out the best in us; he brought it out in me. And now, he continues to fight his own personal battle, but alongside him, he carries the love and support of hundreds who want him desperately to be well, to succeed in this long battle. Despite it all, Scott shows up, he cares and he has made a real difference in my life.
Running a marathon is preparation for anything that you might want to accomplish in your life. I should qualify that; preparing, training for a marathon is preparation... running the race is a journey in and of itself - the party that you've been waiting months to see come to fruition. Maybe that is why there is a let down after it is over. It takes months to prepare and it is emotional. Meeting new friends and carrying one another through the tough miles and through the tears, and, there are always tears, one gets the feeling that a marathon might not only be the toughest preparation for life, but the most exhilarating as well. This marathon was my favorite, aside from my first, which will always hold special significance for me; this race was about experiencing everything and I felt like I did. It was fun. It was emotional. It was wonderful. Running marathons, and this one in particular, has made a real difference in my life.
I'd like to think that there are many groups of people like those who work for APLA and, of course, there are and I'm not just talking about fundraising, but I'd like to think that after the fundraising is done, that these other groups stay together, that they continue to communicate with one another, to send emails and to share photos and to sign up for more races together just because they want the experience to continue. The thing is, I don't think that there are. I've run marathons for other charities and I've enjoyed the process and the races, but APLA feels like home. The runners and the coaches, the volunteers, the site assistants and everyone who must work in the offices including the last mail person or person working behind a desk; these people are my heroes. These people have enriched my life in a way that the births of each of my sons have. Their dedication to a cause that is bigger than all of us, the love and support that they have for one another and for those who they will never meet is awe inspiring. These are people who I will carry with me for the rest of my life, people who smiled at me on some Saturday mornings, people who have asked me to run with them again, people who introduced me to their parents, their lovers, their families, who have invited me into their homes...these people have made a real difference in my life.
AIDS first appeared on the scene, in my life, when I was in high school. It was terrifying and eventually, devastating. Knowing lovely people who suffered and then who lost their battles with this disease gave me a profound desire to do... something. And, it still does. I've said it many times; there is not a person alive who does not deserve to be treated with dignity, just for the mere fact that they are human beings. Not everyone realizes this, sadly and that is why APLA has become a beacon of hope for so many people; I am convinced that is why so many people participate in programs that have evolved from this organization. There is a real sense of belonging, of hope and of peace that comes from this community. And, honestly, although I wish with all of my heart that there was no need for APLA, I am thankful that they found me or that I found them. Either way, the money that I raise helps and it is an ultimate good, but it is not enough. And so, I will always contribute to their cause; I will always carry their message to others in how I live my life. They have made me want to be better and, so, I am better. AIDS is its own marathon and the people who work for APLA are those who line the streets, holding out oranges, giving out hugs, making the journey as light as they can.
I'm a romantic; I don't deny it. I'm in love with life, with people, with new adventures. Is it possible to be an idealist and a realist? I guess if I consider myself to be a Christian and a Buddhist, then I suppose so. Either way, I hope for the best now; I didn't always think that way, but I do now. And hoping for the best has made a real difference in my life.
Life has brought me a friendship with Aura Imbarus and inspiration in a new coach, Scott Boliver. Life has also brought me membership into the APLA community, of which I will always be a part. My heart continues to grow...
Sunday, March 11, 2012
And so...
"Do you know someone who has died from AIDS?" I get that question, some might say frequently, at least in my recent attempts at fundraising and, although I do, several actually, I find that question interesting and...annoying. I suppose that it has a purpose, I mean I am running the marathon and I am asking for money for a specific cause; there must be a reason behind it right? Maybe they just want to know the reason and I'm reading too much into it or, maybe, just maybe, I've had one too many run in's with people who don't want to give because it is for a certain cause and THAT I find reprehensible. I actually had one woman, who shall remain anonymous, ask me to whom the money was going directly? Did I know? What was it being used for? Was it distributed "equally?" What do I look like lady, the Director. I mean, I answered her questions to the best of my ability, but there was something suspicious about her behavior, something about the way that she hounded me and then, nothing. She never made a donation. I chalked it up to she just didn't have the funds, but deep down, I felt that it was that "other thing;" that thing that people don't want to acknowledge in themselves because others would call them on it. It was that thing that makes people fearful and shallow, without compassion. It doesn't have a specific name, but it feeds on ignorance and fear. Some people say it is homophobia, some say discrimination, some just roll their eyes like they expect that kind of behavior and maybe they are justified in doing so. AIDS has been around for 30 years this year and there is still a stigma associated with it; ask people who are running for the cause, many of them used to feel one way about the disease and about the cause and now, through many changes in their lives, some of their own volition and some just coincidental, they have a broader and a deeper understanding of those who live with this diagnosis and ultimately, this disease. It's not rocket science here, it's the recognition that if you stand for human rights, then that includes ALL humans, not just the ones who meet your standards or your criteria.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
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