It's all in the Planning (or Lack Thereof)

A good plan helps you go a long way and a lack of one just makes life fun. I was iffy to run one of the best races in the southeast, the Oak Barrel Half Marathon in beautiful Lynchburg, Tenn. until the night before. A last minute illness allowed me to get excused from a family camping event and run this fabulous event. As a result, I had no race plan in place (and for you non-runners, this is akin to walking down the halls of your high school naked!). In fact, I couldn't even remember what my time was on my last half or any half for that matter! I had no partner to run with and I barely remembered to pack my watch.

My memories from the year before were of a hilly, hot, smelly course that ended with one heck of an after race party. This year's race lived up to those memories and then some.

We (and when I say we I mean the three amigos -- me, Patti Murray Holmes and Clay Self plus our newest amigo, David Bier) met at the butt crack of dawn...actually before dawn in a Starbucks' parking lot and consolidated into one vehicle. This was a cruel joke to me as the store was closed and I had no way to get one of  my beloved Starbucks' grande, skinny hot chocolates. However, the Dunkin Donuts was open and I was able to get a much needed, multigrain bagel to power me through the first few miles. I chased this with a banana and a full bottle of water.

After a one hour drive, we arrived at the race site, a rustic venue and home to the Jack Daniel Distillery. Clay was quiet and focused on the ride up (this was his first  major race and he was feeling a little nervous), David (a humble, elite running veteran),  Patti (my running manager and weekend running partner) and I filled the silence with bad singing and arguments about favorite musicians. This is only important because remembering the bad singing is what got me up the infamous Whiskey Hill!

We picked up our registration packets and after putting on my jacket and whining about the cold, I preceded on to my pre-race ritual of making friends in the port-a-pottie line. By the time the race was set to begin, the four amigos became one as I lost all three of them at the start line and found myself alone and a little nervous--and then I heard the sweet sound of Robin Giles, a fellow We Run member and a familiar voice in a sea of strange runners, and I knew I would be all right.

I started out fast and furious as I always do. I hate the first, two minute race crush and will run as fast as I can to get out of it. I immediately felt myself cramping (probably from the amount of food I ate on the way up), but fought through the cramps (there is no quitting in running). Soon after mile one, I saw two men drop their shorts in the field and by-pass the use of port-a-potties conveniently placed at all the aid stations. I must admit to a little envy at their lack of modesty and their ability to do that any where, any time.

I thought I was averaging a pretty good pace and was enjoying the beautiful scenery and country smells (if only the pictures that were taken were scratch and sniff). I passed Patti who was helping pace another runner reach his goal and several other runners I knew. I was feeling quite frisky and refused to let the sweet smell of cow/horse manure impede my breathing.  I was even able to smile for Gregg Gelmis, our designated race photographer. And then I hit the beginning of Whiskey Hill, a steep 1.2 mile mountain climb.

 "I think I can, I think I can," I kept muttering to myself and yelling to the other runners beside, behind and in front of me. I cannot tell a lie. I did walk parts of it (just to get a sip of water, yeah, that's why), but when I saw Gregg again with his camera pointed straight at me, I put my butt in gear and started running the rest of the way. Amazingly, my cramps completely disappeared when I got to the top.

Now, I remembered that the race was all down hill from there. I remembered wrong. As I was waiting in line for the potty prior to the race, one woman mentioned "Oh Crap" Hill. "Huh? I don't remember that from last year," I said. She replied that I would know it when I got to it and I did. I thought to myself, "oh, crap" as I saw the steep incline and laughed when I remembered its name. I hit it faster and more determined and was racing pretty good and consistent because after Whiskey Hill, what's one more steep incline?

When I finally hit the true downhill portion of the course, I felt great, but ran out of water and had to stop to refill at  one of the many aid stations along the course which cost me about a minute, but I was dangerously low on fluids and having made that mistake once before I was not about to repeat it.

I made a few friends along the way and listened to two ladies cackle about a fellow runner's McKay Hollow Race Report and they wondered out loud if he really did try to do relieve himself while running as he said he did. We all agreed that yes, knowing this runner, he probably did (I couldn't stop myself from chiming in).

By the time I  hit Mile 12, I was hot, tired and dreading this flat section. I was never happier than when I saw the last left turn to the finish line. The clock was quickly ticking towards 2:00 hours and I was determined to come in under that time. I kicked it in high gear and finished strong...and then remembered I started a minute after the clock began. My finish time was 1:58:36 or so. Faster than last year, but not as fast as I could have finished had I planned better and focused more. I was greeted at the finish line by one of the amigos and never happier to see his smiling face. We quickly turned to in time to see the third amigo cross the finish line (the fourth had long since crossed and gone to clean-up). She was tired, but glowing after having a fabulous second half race.

The after race celebration was by far the best I have ever been to including the Marine Corps and Chicago Marathons and even better than I remembered. We picnicked with our We Run friends and I enjoyed listening to everyone's race journey because at the end of the day the race is about the stories and the runners we passed along the way!

Entering a New Season

It's been a while since my last blog. In fact, it's been more than a year. I really can't explain my absence other than to say that I promised myself a long time ago that if I didn't have anything interesting to write, I wouldn't write. I suppose I must feel that I now have something interesting to impart...you be the judge!

Over the past year, one son graduated high school and another is finishing his last year of college. My daughter became a teenager (although she seems to think she by-passed this stage and instead went straight to 20) and I am now married to a card carrying AARP member.

How did these things happen? In my mind, I am still a 24-year old trying to figure out how to take care of my first baby and taking advice from the much older and wiser women in the office. Today, I am that much older and (not so) wiser woman giving the advice to anyone who stays still long enough to listen!

As my husband and I were enjoying dinner with friends the other night, I laughed to myself as the women started talking about night sweats and hormone deficiencies and the men were discussing arthritic knees and bad backs. Sex is now openly discussed between both sexes and no one needs to use the "headache" excuse anymore. We have all been married way to long for that to work, any way. It's refreshing to see the diversity of our friends and the love we all have for each other.  I have watched the children of our little village grow from T-ball players to almost self-sufficient adults.

We have all grown into our own with separate and shared interests. One of the things my friends and I have in common is a love of physical activity. Whether it's running, swimming, walking or tennis, we all have our own passion and it is fun cheering each other's accomplishments. Whether it's finishing a 200 mile adventure relay, competing in a first-ever 5K or a 100 mile bike ride, it's not uncommon to see familiar faces in the cheering crowd.

As I enter this new season of my life, I am grateful for all that I have learned and the people who taught these life truth's to me. Things like: life isn't fair so suck it up and move on. I have tried to pass this one on to my children. When they came home from school telling me that their teacher hated them, I usually asked what did they do to make the teacher hate them. When they would scream, "that's not fair", my response was usually "You're right, life's not fair. Deal with it."

I also learned that holding anger and grudges only hurt me. I let it all go. I'd like to say that I also forgive more easily. I do as long as the "I'm sorry" is sincere. Insincerity often leads to "you are dead to me". Along with this truth is its sister: I am not a big one on trying to get everyone to like me. I am who I am. If that works for you, AWESOME! If it doesn't, well, caviar isn't for everyone either.

I'm done trying to look younger. I look the way I do. I try to look my best, but I will never look 21 again and I'm not really sure I want to have big hair again anyway! In fact, during my last birthday, I told everyone I was 60. Everyone thought I looked good for 60 (as opposed to looking really old for the 21 I was claiming to be on birthdays past). I'm not sure what age I feel. I don't know what 47 is supposed to feel like. I run most days and eat as healthy as I can. Although, I have given up giving up Oreo cookies. I love my Oreos, darn it, and I deserve them!

Insomnia and hot flashes are setting in. I fall asleep at red lights and get easily distracted by butterflies. It is not quite as easy to lose weight as it used to be and it takes me a little longer to "hop" out of bed in the morning. In fact, I'm not sure I "hop" so much as slowly roll out so as not to surprise my muscles and bones!

I'm embracing it all. I have lived a full life, a great life. I have a few regrets and one or two things I'd like to redo, but I can honestly say that while I didn't make all the shots I took, I took my fair share.

Hush Rush

An Open Letter to Clear Channel Communications

I am very confused. Last week, your stations nationwide aired several misogynistic, vitriolic and just plain disgusting tirades by Rush Limbaugh. He personally attacked not only Sandra Fluke, a Georgetown law student, but also every woman in America to include our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. He capped his comments off by requesting that Ms. Fluke and her fellow female classmates post videos of themselves having sex on the internet for him and the world to view (sounds like he voiced his inside fantasies outside ). 

My questions to you are these: Why do you deem this acceptable behavior? Why was this violent diatribe not immediately rebuked by your company? Why was Limbaugh allowed to continue spewing his throw-up for several days? And lastly, why have you still not come out publicly and, at the very least, denounced him or at the best, fired him?

There have been many instances over the years of public figures saying stupid, insulting and degrading things about various segments in our society because they became blinded by their own egos. In most cases, these people were penalized by a loss of their position. No one has ever spouted off the hate that Rush did with impunity. 

Ms. Fluke was exercising her freedom of speech after being silenced by a congressional subcommittee that didn’t think a woman should weigh-in on the contraceptive topic. Well, you may say, that is exactly what Rush was doing. Wrong. Rush was yelling “Fire” in a crowded movie theater. He was inciting hatred and violence against women and anyone else who disagrees with him. 

When Hank Williams, Jr. compared Barak Obama to Hitler, his song was immediately pulled from Monday Night Football. When Limbaugh calls women "feminazis", he is hailed. And who, sir are the real Nazis? The women who are fighting for respect and equality or the men who want to verbally and physically rape and demean them and take their voices away.

During a recent tour of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C., I listened to the haunting voices of concentration camp survivors. After the liberation of one camp, American servicemen gently and respectfully helped the women to freedom. As she was being led, one woman began crying and whispered softly to her liberator “This is the first time that I have been treated as a human in many years.” Yes, Limbaugh and his ilk are very reminiscent of the Nazis.

But, he apologized, you say. “I think it is absolutely absurd that during these very serious political times, we are discussing personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. I personally do not agree that American citizens should pay for these social activities. What happened to personal responsibility and accountability?” said Limbaugh in his statement. 

Millions of Americans are taking daily medications because they have not taken personal responsibility for their health and they have decided it is easier to take a pill than make changes such as adding exercise and getting better eating habits. And let us not forget Viagra. Limbaugh doesn’t seem to take issue with insurance companies paying for that little drug that is purely a quality of life medication. Oh but wait, it benefits men and therefore should be considered a necessity. It is quite clear that personal responsibility has nothing to do with whether a drug should be covered or not. 

The only thing Limbaugh got right in his apology was the fact that there are many more important issues that we should be debating right now. The fact that we are still discussing women’s health issues, their access to medication and their right to decide what they can do with their bodies is frightening. These issues have already been decided…decades ago. But, like the Taliban did in Afghanistan, the rabid right wing are using fear and hate to further their agenda and turn our country back into the dark ages. 

Perhaps this firestorm is exactly what Limbaugh wanted. And that is sick unto itself. While a big part of me does not want to give him the attention he craves, a bigger part wants to see him gone. This war on women must stop. Using weak words like “inappropriate” and “poor choice of words” to describe his ignorance and perversion are not “adequate”. 

Hush Rush. He must go. Or we will.

Sincerely,

A former listener

Who I want to be when I grow up....

She was born the fourth daughter to a poor but proud woman in the backwoods of Alabama 75 years ago. By the age of three, her father left her mother alone and penniless to finishing raising their family. He left with no word or forwarding address back in the day when there were not many legal ways for a single woman to make a living for herself and her children and certainly no legal rights to seek child support. He left a beautiful, kind toddler who would grow up to be an even more beautiful and caring adult. He left my mother (in-love), Sammye, fatherless but certainly not loveless.

I first met Sammye over the phone when as an 18 year old, I shyly called to wish my brand new boyfriend good luck. It was my freshman and his senior year in college. I was flying on a jet plane to New York City and he was driving on a bus to Savannah to play in the last Spring Break baseball tournament of his college career. The dichotomy was not lost on us then nor today. She was following him as his number one fan (I would become a close second during the course of the next few months).

“Hello,” I said. “Is Kirk there?”

“Why, no. You just missed him!” said my future MIL in her signature chipper way.

“Would you tell him I said good luck,” I replied.

Sensing my deep disappointment, she responded kindly that she certainly would make sure he got my message. And she did. Her son had the tournament of his career and she the time of her life as she did at all of his games. When I finally met her in person, she was quick to give me the credit as his inspiration. Over the years, I came to understand that this humble woman rarely took credit for many of the things she accomplished or influenced in her life.

That was the beginning of our almost 30 year relationship. It wasn’t long after my future husband and I began dating that I became a welcome fixture in her household. Family dinners included a fourth setting for me and there was always room on road trips for my suitcase. When I finally ran out of money but still had one semester of college left, Sammye took me in without any hesitation and treated me as her own and has ever since. 

It was through her that I learned how to be a mother and wife, although she’s still trying to teach me to cook (she’s tenacious and never gives up!). I learned how to be patient and how to express disappointment with just one look to wayward children, dogs and husband. I learned that you can be worlds apart in your political and religious beliefs but still maintain a deep and respectful love. But most importantly, I learned that it is not the amount of money in your bank account but rather the deposit in your heart that means the most at the end of the day.

Sammye and her family never had a lot of extras in their lives. Early on, she made the choice to stay home and raise her children becoming one of the best domestic engineers of her time and she managed their meager funds wisely. She was a wife to a hardworking brewery employee who worked multiple shifts to earn extra money to meet their essential expenses. They took family vacations to the coast every year and took joy in each other’s company along the way. Eating out was a luxury and church a necessity! 

They chased hurricanes and took spontaneous cross country road trips and laughed a lot and mostly at themselves. She didn’t drive a fancy car nor did she wear designer clothes. She taught her sons the value of a dollar (with one the lesson took and with the other…) and she taught them to treat a woman with respect.

When her first grandchild arrived her heart runneth over with love and after the arrival of her last, Sammye’s life was completely fulfilled. Baseball, football, cheer and dance filled her days. Her only disappointment-- the fact that she lived five hours away. But, she soon figured out a solution and during long seasons she packed her bags and was welcomed warmly into our home. During her stays, her son (my husband) would take her out on date nights, just time for the two of them. She cooked us all our favorite meals (any sort of home cooked meal was a treat in our house) and she did loads of laundry! She refused to be a burden and insisted on working for her room and board even when we begged her to just relax--a word that wasn’t in her vocabulary.

But now, our last season is upon us and a new one is set to begin. This strong woman is not as healthy as she once was. Her diabetes and arthritis are winning their daily battles and vertigo has taken hold. Her grandchildren are recognizing that she won’t be around forever and have started hugging her a little tighter and more often. Her laughter is still contagious and often. It’s now time for us to begin driving the five hours to be with her and to enjoy the time we have left together.

We are not alone as we struggle to recognize that life does have a time limit. We want to eek out every moment we can before the final buzzer sounds. And at the end of the day, I want my mother-in-love to know that she made a difference. The wife/mother/woman and the husband/father/man we are today and the ones my daughter and sons will be tomorrow are because of her, Sammye Carolyn Traylor.

You Will Always Be Remembered

Dear Cancer,

Six years ago today, you took my best friend away from me. I learned then that you don’t fight fair. You struck our family in the middle of the night and attacked the person we least expected. 

He did everything right. He didn’t smoke, he rarely drank, he ran marathons and worked out almost daily. He was kind to children and animals and had a wonderful life ahead of him. But, in your jealousy and with viciousness you struck.

You did show some mercy. The first sign that you were insidiously eating away at him was a grand mal seizure in the middle of the night while he was safely ensconced in his bed. I suppose it could have been worse. He had just driven three hours with his beautiful girlfriend and you could have attacked while he was on the road. You waited…

We had optimism in the hospital that day and the next that it was just a benign tumor. And while we hoped, you laughed. With each update from the doctors, the news got worse until finally we had a diagnosis—a malignant brain tumor typically found in young children and rarely found in adults. Apparently, you had been lying dormant for quite some time waiting for the right moment to show your ugly self.

The moment you picked was at the height of his life. He was 35, successful and finally happy with both his personal life and his professional career. He had met the woman of his dreams, the one with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. And in this he did.

For almost three years, he fought you courageously. And he was not alone in this battle. With a battalion of doctors, friends and family, we took you head on. We went to the world’s best doctors and hospitals and left no study unturned.  We learned a whole new language and met many new friends along our journey. Through it all, he maintained his sense of humor and his incredible sense of direction, guiding us all to the places we didn’t necessarily want to be but needed to see.

We even thought we had you beat once. For almost a year, you hid yourself. This gave him time to run his last marathon and to get married. And it challenged me to live up to the promise I made to God that if he went into remission I, too, would run a marathon. It gave us all time to embrace his life. 

But as is human nature, we got complacent. We thought we had kicked you to the curb. We had not and on Mother’s Day 2005 you chose to let us know that you would not give up your quest for his life. And this time, deep in our hearts we knew you might just win.

Those last eight months were filled with many highs and some lows. He got married and finally went to Europe. He spent time in the mountains --the one place on earth he could always find peace. He laughed with his wife and cried with his sister. He suffered indignities that at any other time would have left him feeling vulnerable and embarrassed but in his desire to squeak out every moment with his new wife, he suffered them gladly.

His shouts of “I love Carrie” and the joy he showed for the simplest gestures of support brought tears to my heart. But perhaps it was his last words to me that bring me light when my own world seems dark, “You good mom,” he said as my tears fell on his bald head.

Those last weeks were brutal. Cancer, you showed no mercy. You robbed him of his speech, his hair and most of his movement. But, you never took away his dignity nor his compassion for others. To the end, he comforted us.

With soft jazz playing in the background, his wife laying by his side, and his family surrounding him with love, Ryan David Serber passed gently in the early morning hours of January 9, 2006. 

But, his legacy has lived on. His nieces and nephews dedicate their achievements to their Uncle Ryan. In subtle places, they put reminders of him: under the bill of their baseball caps there is always a dedication to “Uncle Ryan” and around their wrists a bracelet that says "R.S. we will always remember". 

Ultimately Cancer, you lost. Ryan taught people to love, live and laugh. He lived his life his way and will never be forgotten.

Sincerely,
Ryan's big sister

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

I met an amazing teenager (in this case not an oxymoron) the other day.  Someone that I know is going far in this world. Somebody who has already impacted thousands of people in our community and across the country.  A girl I want to be like when I grow up.

Her name is Liindsay Jones, and she is an honor student, musician, singer, dancer, recipient of the Prudential Spirit Award, and honorary youth chairperson for the American Cancer Society. 

Oh yeah, Lindsay, at age 15, also is a 10-year cancer survivor of a very rare form of cancer called rhabdomyosarcoma.  But, Lindsay doesn’t let the cancer define her, she defines the cancer to any group or person that will pay attention.

To meet Lindsay is to be inspired.  She is surrounded by positive energy and she engulfs you in that same spirit. Her gentle responses of “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” serve to show that despite the challenges she has faced, her mother and father never let the cancer usurp their positive parenting and they never let Lindsay forget that she was a child and daughter first and a cancer survivor second.

When Lindsay speaks, the crowd listens enthralled. And when she sings she brings a crowd to tears. While her voice is not booming, its power cannot be denied. Her message comes through clearly to all who listen: there are no excuses not to achieve your dreams. NONE.

At one month shy of her fourth birthday, Lindsay was diagnosed with a cancer that up until that time had only been seen in teenage boys.  She couldn’t spell it and could barely say it. But, she soon learned what it meant.  She stayed in Children’s Hospital almost the entire fourth year of her life fighting for her life. 

Her days at Children’s consisted of radiation for breakfast, chemo for lunch and love for dinner and beyond. This young child only asked for one thing during that time…to be allowed to attend church. But, it took almost a year for that wish to be granted and now she does so regularly and eagerly.

Lindsay and her parents were given very little hope by her doctors that she would survive. However, they didn’t succumb to that belief and they prove those same docs wrong every day.  Not only did she survive, but she kicked her cancer to the curb and now challenges others to do the same.

Today, Lindsay is a vibrant teenager who attends Madison County High School. She is involved in the band, 4-HClub, takes all advanced classes, sings, dances and…exhausts me! She is also Honorary Youth Chair for the American Cancer Society’s 2012 Relay for Life that will be held in John Hunt Park in May. 

And that’s how I met Lindsay the first time.  She came into the room leading her mother and I couldn’t help but watch her make her way to me with such poise and confidence for such a young person. She stuck her small hand out firmly and said “Hi, I’m Lindsay. It is so nice to meet you.”  She went on to tell me her goal was to be a doctor and to help others facing cancer.

During our second volunteer meeting she wowed the crowd with her story and her song:

“There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb…”

With nary a dry eye in the house, I had to follow her on the stage that night and me, who is rarely at a loss for words, could only say to that room full of stunned volunteers “Wow…Wow.”

Afterwards, Lindsay thanked me. With her small, soft hand gently holding on to mine, she thanked me for allowing her to help make a difference.

Lindsay did not survive her ordeal entirely unscathed. She lost her eyesight during her battle with cancer. But, Lindsay sees more clearly than any adult I have ever met. During this month of November, I give thanks for Lindsay and the vision she has given me.

Harvard, Yale or Hairdressing School?

When you don't know quite what to do, do what rich people do. I have yet to meet any adults who are wealthy and have three kids who say: 'Harvard, Yale or hairdressing school?' – Geoffrey Canada, President/CEO of the Harlem Children’s Zone.

Education has long been a passion of mine. Maybe it’s in my genetic make-up. Jews have been murdered, persecuted, raped and enslaved for more than 2,000 years. (My great-grandmother witnessed her mother’s head being loped off during a Pogrom in Russia and quickly high-tailed it to the nearest ship heading to the United States to make a better life for herself. She was 12.) Yet, somehow we always managed to survive and prevail in any culture we lived. 

Usually within one generation of arriving to any country, Jewish immigrants developed thriving and successful communities.  They became educators, bankers, business owners and town leaders before they were chased out and forced to start over again.  I attribute their success to the long held value placed on education and the support of the village to help raise the children. 

My family is a perfect example of that philosophy. My grandfather emigrated from Austria as a young child of four. As an adult, he bought his own textile store and saw his children grow up to be educators and business owners. In my own household, while money was scarce, there was never a doubt that my brothers and I were going to college and that is the same message I raised my children believing. 

Before graduating from high school, I attended 13 schools in three different states. I went to some of the poorest and wealthiest schools in the communities I lived. And I can say unequivocally that schools with a higher percentage of poor students did not have the same advantages as the others.

Last month, I had the privilege of attending a luncheon hosted by the Village of Promise that featured Geoffrey Canada, a world renown, education reformer. His message was simple: while you can’t save everyone, you can save someone and we all have an obligation to make the attempt.

Canada’s story is amazing.  In the 1990’s, he started trying to end generational poverty in Harlem by carving out 17 square blocks and providing extensive support services to the children and families that lived there starting pre-birth. 

During the next 20 years, that number grew to 100 blocks and 17,000 children. Today, 87 percent of his eighth grade students are at grade level in math, higher than any other public school in New York. He didn’t let naysayers stop him. He didn’t let his lack of money stop him. He let his vision and his heart guide him. And that is what we have to do in our own community today.

Canada says that what drove him was his belief that there was no “Superman” that was going to come and save him or his neighborhood. That it was up to him and the Harlem community to save themselves.

The Village of Promise is taking that same message to Huntsville residents. They brought Canada to town to encourage our community to stop blaming each other and begin tackling our own generational poverty. 

It is a fact that it is difficult to learn on an empty stomach with a body that aches. It’s harder yet, when you don’t have the basic tools or a positive role model to show you how to succeed.

"If you have a school where kids are behind and they're in school the same number of days that other kids are in school ... why would we expect these kids to ever catch up? They have never caught up anywhere in America. We've got to rethink schools, but no one wants to do that. You know what we do instead of rethink schools? We fire superintendents," Canada told the Huntsville crowd from which he heard a chorus of “amens”.

Huntsville has an opportunity to save its children and its educational system. But, first we must realize that it is our responsibility to do so. It is much cheaper to educate and train our future workforce than it is to support a growing prison population. And that, too, is a fact.