A Grief Observed

Today I feel crass. In the wake of the latest school shooting, in a school very dangerously close to my own, I am in no hurry to “hug my kids tighter” or post my thoughts and prayers for the families affected on my Facebook page or grieve with the city of Cleveland like so many people around me.

And I don’t know why this is. I am usually good for some empathy. I have been known to cry in the deli department when listening to an old man talk about his late wife, or be the listening ear for a student whose grandmother has died. There is just something about this very public grief that is difficult for me. Or would I call it compassion fatigue? I just can’t take in ALL the grief in all its forms and still function. At any rate, I don’t feel the need to chime in visibly that my prayers are with Chardon or that I am wearing red to honor those who are hurting.

I have felt conflicted all day.

Perhaps it is because I know (with great certainty) that I could NEVER know how these people feel. I send my kids to school, and feel sure each day that they will come bounding back in the door ready for a cookie and a hug at the end of the day. I go to school myself, and I feel pretty confident that I will not have to usher gunmen out of the hallway where I teach. Do I believe this can happen? Sure. Have I taught a kid who is capable of this massacre? Probably. But I know that the vast majority of students in the vast majority of schools are just fine each day. I don’t bury my head in the sand, but I don’t dwell on the “might have beens” or “could be’s” either.

I think the real reason for my apparent apathy, though, is that I have known tragedies of my own, and thus, have already learned the lessons. I’m not saying my cup of grief is at capacity—I don’t really think it works that way—but the fact that I have stared horror in the face in my OWN little family makes me more respectful of and subdued about the tragedy of others. I know that the world can change on a dime. I learned that when I watched my husband get the phone call that his brother had died—much too young and much too tragically. I know that bad things happen to good people. Learned that when my sweet father suffered and struggled and died just days after my wedding. And I learned that life isn’t fair when my best friend was given a dire health diagnosis and when I lost a baby that was very much wanted. I am not saying that my grief is more important—and I have certainly had more time to heal—but I just cannot wholly swallow the public bath of tears.

The tragedy in Chardon doesn’t make me want to hug my children tighter or live better. My own history has already taught me that. I know I am not perfect, but I read books with my kids and do art and make salt crystals and play Spot It and hug them tightly and love them deeply. I call my mother and kiss my husband and make sure that I don’t leave things unsettled when I walk out the door.

I'd like to think that we would all live to age 95 and die peacefully while eating a Malley's sundae, but you never know . I am sorry that these families in Chardon learned that the hard way. Sometimes I think the intensity of my love and loss early in my life was a blessing, because death taught me a whole lot about how to live. Maybe events like the Chardon shooting can be the catalyst for people who have not had to face difficult circumstances in their own lives. I am all for EVERYBODY trying to be a little more loving and a lot more tolerant. (A massacre like this might even have been avoided if that were the case.) And of course I am feeling for those affected in my own way. Being human teaches me that. But I am not jumping on the bandwagon just to make myself feel better. I will keep on keeping on in my own little corner of the world, trying to smile and stretch and love those whom I meet in my ramblings.

Running to Stand Still

Five weeks down in my marathon training. Well, what I should say is five weeks down in WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN my marathon training. To say I am disappointed is an understatement. I started two years ago as an Olympic couch potato, and have since crossed the finish line of two half-marathon. I struggled to find the nerve to run the full 26.2, signed up, trained throughout the off-season, but in week two of the actual training: KAPLLOOY!!

I am the most optimistic person I know, but even I know that I cannot get to marathon shape by May 20. This has been hard to swallow, but when the physical therapist says you can run 15 minutes straight in week 5, even my non-mathematical mind can figure out that 5/20 is a no-go. Ugh.

So on to Plan B I go: run the half-marathon on May 20. A myriad of reasons (I am not just rationalizing here, am I?) make this a very good idea. I won’t have to hit the dreaded wall of twenty miles, or do a twenty-mile training run while my husband prepares for a rigorous new position at work. (Principal takes a lot of time and energy….so proud of him. But I digress.) I can train with my friend Pat who I coerced into running the half, and probably run WITH him throughout the race.

I have signed up already, and want to keep blogging and thinking about my training, so I don’t want to just quit where I am. The cross-training has actually been kind of freeing, and Pat has influenced me to be a swimmer. (See how that works? Having a training partner really DOES help keep you moving.) I swam my first WHOLE MILE a week or so ago, and it is a great feeling. I’ve been utilizing the elliptical for a good workout, then jumping on the treadmill for the allotted 15 minute run. I have been doing my exercises and stretches and my knee really does feel strong. Slow and steady wins the race. Or in my case, slow and steady finishes the race.

I am still fighting the vague nagging that I am a quitter. But in running (as in life), you can only do what you can do and what your body allows. I will not sacrifice my body and future five milers in the woods just so I can SAY I ran a marathon.

To the gym with me, to be a stronger, smarter runner. Not such a bad idea after all!!

Ninja Runner

I am sure everyone has been waiting with baited (or would that be bated?) breath to find out my diagnosis from the physical therapist this morning. I was pretty anxious myself, and the irony of getting hurt just as I started training for the BIG RACE is still frustrating.

But the appointment was good. Stephen was very patient and informative and I am seeing the silver lining that this is a time to learn to do things the right way and to strengthen and stretch my body as it deserves. Apparently I do not have an injury, break, dislocation or other malady that will keep me from running. My issue is mechanical, and with time and information I should be able to rehab to run long again. (I am doing my best to forget the running log and the 5 miler I SHOULD have been doing today for marathon training, but I did manage a strong one mile run with no pain and some strength work today.) And of course, in the office, my knee did not even hurt in all the tests he ran.

As I was reading my son his bedtime story tonight, The Official Guide of Ninjago, Master of Spinjitzu, I realized that I could use the rules of ninjas to guide me through the next few months as a runner.

1. Comfort is a thing of the past. Well, yes. Not only will I feel this twinge for the foreseeable future, if I do my workouts the RIGHT way I will be burning and gasping (in a good way, right?). And if I rehab to the point of being able to do 26.2, then comfort will truly leave me.

2. To rush is to fail. I am fighting the urge to do too much too soon. My one-mile run felt good today and I wanted to continue. I can’t wait to try again tomorrow and see how my knee responds. But I think that taking it easy will be better in the long run. My physical therapist and my muscles think so too.

3. Moderation in all things. This is a no-brainer. I always battle taking things to the extreme: whether Girl Scout cookie eating or logging miles or planning the perfect activity with my kids. If I slow down (see rule 2) and relax, I can build a strong base for the future, through moderation.

4. Calm before the storm. I cannot let my emotions rule me. I still feel disappointed. At age 40 I have spent the past two years changing my life. The marathon was the final hurdle. And now this. But I will make my choices and work out without emotion ruling. Que sera sera.

5. Discipline. Ninjas must be organized, respectful and industrious in all things. As the mother of three and a teacher, I must organize my time even more carefully to do extra stretching and prepare myself for smaller goals leading to my ultimate marathon goal. And I have to have the discipline to understand that my goal might need to change, based on the needs of my body.


So ninja, it is! New Asics kicks instead of ninja-wear, but the same commitment to the journey and the bravery to keep out the dark forces (in this case doubt, disappointment and further injury.) Following the five rules should prepare me for whatever comes my way!

A Bump in the Road

Oh no! This is my worst fear as a runner. And it is happening in week two of marathon training. I am so disheartened and resisting the constant urge to cry: something is wrong with my knee.

I have been working out 4 or 5 times a week steadily for the last several months. I varied my routine with swimming, elliptical, bike, boot camp, short and long runs, slowly and for speed. I was doing everything right, or so I thought.

And then it happened. The last four runs or so, it feels like my knee is going to burn up and explode right off my body. Nothing specific happened, no twist or injury that I can recall. And I am an optimist: when I first felt the twinge I figured if I just kept moving the pain would go away. That did not happen. I have been trying to ignore this and refusing to admit it to myself. I have an injury that must be attended.

I can run through the pain (apparently I am stronger than I thought….or maybe just stupider.) But when I did my seven miles Sunday and couldn’t walk up the stairs to the bedroom later, I figured I needed to do something.

I am waiting on a physical therapist appointment and working on my upper body and trying to not get depressed. In an ironic twist, I also have a head full of a terrible cold, so I don’t really feel like jumping in the pool.

Although I usually specialize in teaching grammar and writing, I am thinking this is my IT band. Any thoughts or ideas would be gratefully appreciated.

As Langston Hughes said, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I’m not too excited by the answer.

Runner: Noun (from the Old English) meaning "strong" and "flow"

Bill the salesman is a quality guy. I know this because I am standing in his specialty store for runners, Second Sole, and HE is obviously a runner, and I am obviously NOT a runner, am I am trying to choke out the words “I am a runner” and he is not even poking fun. I don’t understand why this is so hard for me. I know what the dictionary says about being A RUNNER. A runner is a person who runs. And I do that. I really do. I have run two half-marathons in the past year and countless three milers and six milers and a good baker’s dozen of ten milers throughout the past few months. I have run in the woods and the rain and in the heat and on a treadmill and on the sand and by myself and in a crowd or with only an early-morning deer or skunk for company. But still I choke on this sentence.

But now it is time to grow up and show up, and officially become what I already am: a runner. So I am standing in front of Bill who is holding back a smile while I stammer and stutter and tell him I need new running shoes. Maybe THIS is the rub. Running is the sport that requires the LEAST equipment and I haven’t been doing even that much right.

My first pair of shoes when I started this new trend in my life two years ago was an eighteen dollar Target pair that was on sale for nine bucks. They served me well, those no name shoes, and helped me to fall in love with the sport. And I even ran my first 13.1 in them. I stepped on a nail when I was eight miles in, and finished the last five with a nail protruding from the bottom corner. Stubborn girl, this one. (I knew that if I stopped to pull it out I would never start back up again!)

I advanced a bit in the last year to the Asic’s gel shoes I found at Kohl’s with my thirty percent off coupon. They’ve gotten me through a lot of early morning miles and trips through the paved woods path near my home. They have gone the distance, (pun intended) but since I have been keeping up with this new sport that I love to hate, I know it is time to buy some big girl kicks.

So here I am, my stomach in a knot, my pulse racing, and sweet William is nodding his head and smiling. Bill examines my feet, takes a look at my stance and stride, and measures my foot size by sight. (This amazes me and makes me feel like I am in the right place, although this is actually his JOB, so why am I so surprised?)

He brings out five pairs and I love them all. (Smart man, this Bill.) I am sure the other customers enjoy my wind sprint trials through the apparel section, but I finally narrow it down to two: the Asics 21700 STORM with purple laces and the Adidas Supernova Sequence Y. I love them both. As I always have trouble making decisions, and they are both the same price, I close my eyes at the checkout and have Bill ring up whichever he chooses.

I walk out with the Asics (I think they are a bit more comfortable anyway, though you'll have to ask me after a 15 mile training run in a few weeks), a few of Bill’s suggestions for IT band stretches (the sore knee a major reason I went there in the first place), and a smile. And maybe, just maybe, there is a little swagger in my step and a bit of confidence in myself as a runner.

When my 350 miles are up and I go back for more, there is no doubt. I’m buying the bright orange Adidas. Now THAT will make my career as a runner official!

Eyes on the Prize

Cleveland in January 2012 is a runner’s paradise. I had been beginning to question my sanity at settling on the late May Cleveland Marathon (although my original thought process was that in the summer I could then TOTALLY relax after teaching and training for 26.2 for months. Oh, and train for a triathlon. But that's a story for a different day.) I was starting to picture miles and miles on the treadmill with nothing to entertain me except the YMCA television set to the weather channel. Really, how much of the same revolving radar can one girl stand? But THIS kind of January is perfect for me.

Running outside is my thing. I am a nature girl to start with, having been the one to cut the grass and plant the gardens from a very tender age. I just love the fresh air and sunshine and even the bleak foreboding skies that signal storms. My very first run was on a dark and stormy night, in fact. I just always seem to hit my groove faster in the great outdoors.

No matter what time of year, though, it is not easy for me to train. As a teacher and mother I have offered up the time after school to the grading gods and since the fairies have yet to make it to my house, I am also in charge of dinner and homework and general mayhem control at home after school. Therefore, I covet the morning for training time.

I have a love/hate relationship with an alarm that rings at 4:30 in the morning. I can’t stand getting out of the warm cocoon but I am amazed by the power a quick morning run gives me. It sometimes ends up being the only thing I accomplish in a day, but it is a biggie.

And to run the last few early mornings outside is a rare January treat. I am saving the big guns for the Hal Higdon “18 Weeks to Glory” program I will begin next week. (Oh boy, I hope I counted right.) But there is something truly magical about running in the moonlit darkness, dodging the leaping deer and scuttling ground hogs and slow-moving paper man that I inevitably find in my morning run.

I am an optimist and thinking hard about how long I can milk this good weather. On a sunny day with temperatures almost near 50, even the 5 a.m. run feels pretty good. I could use a whole winter of this. Because when my days start off with some purposeful exercise, I have enough energy to grab my running shoes AFTER work too and race my sons around the cul-de-sac. The seven year old skunked me in the race, but the golden orange sky of the setting sun was an amazing prize.

The Short List for 2012

1. Re-lose the fifteen pounds I have gained and lose four more.
2. Towpath Trilogy, Cleveland Marathon, triathlon.
3. More Scooby Doo Trouble, painting, piano duets, active listening, flashcards, and fun with my kids.
4. Date night and DTL with my husband.
5. Get paid to write.
6. Eat like a marathoner.
7. Leave it all on the field. Stop holding back.
8. Turn off the Facebook.
9. Clean and organize the house. Always.
10. Spend face time with friends.