Today I have my very first guest-blogger. She is none other than my lovely wife, Jess. I hesitate to let you read further only because she is a much better writer than I am.
All right, so you can pick your jaws up off the floor now. Seriously, it’s impolite to stare.
I know how implausible it is to find me here. Me – of “I only run when being chased” fame. Me – who once announced to the world that I was going to run a half-marathon, got three weeks into Dante’s third ring of Hell training, decided for the millionth time that I DESPISED running, then spent the next six months trying to hide from anyone that had been within earshot when I’d made the declaration. Me – who would sooner chew glass than run, no less spend my time reading a blog about running (Sorry, honey, you know I love you, right?).
And yet, here I am. And I have a story to tell. And it’s about running. I know, what are the odds?
Here goes.
In another lifetime, when I was thinner and taller er, um, younger and richer oh, Hell, let’s just go with just out of college, I lived in Manhattan. Long before Luau and I met, and a good many years before I would become a running widow, I would periodically head over to the finish line of the New York City Marathon. Friends and I would go to share in the revelry of the day. We’d whoop it up and cheer in the runners as they ran along Central Park South. We made it our personal mission to help push them over the last hump as they neared the finish line in the park.
I loved being there and I always found that the energy and inspiration lingered long after I’d walked away.
One year, after cheering in God knows how many runners, I headed over to the West Side for dinner with a friend. We tucked into a window seat at a favorite restaurant and ordered a bottle of wine. We talked about everything under the sun. We chatted and laughed and watched the people go by. We ordered slowly and ate even more slowly. Why not? We were living in the days of nowhere to be. It was long after nine o’clock when we finally paid the check.
I headed out into the night, amazed at how dark it was. I walked across town, making my through the park and back down to Central Park South. I was changed by what I saw along the way.
A lone runner was making his way along the same path that had been lined with bodies hours earlier. Where there had been rows of fans five and six deep. there was now nothing but a few stray barricades still waiting to be collected. There was no fanfare now – no one screaming or urging him on – no one there waiting to hand him a banana or a mylar blanket. There was no one to put a medal around his neck, offer him a massage or even give him a handshake. There was nothing at all but him and the place where the finish line had been. It was nearly ten o’clock at night.
I stood in the dark watching him with tears streaming down my face.
One at a time, he pulled his forearm crutches around his body. At awkward angles, they kept time with his feet until he finally stopped to raise them above his head.
I felt like a voyeur. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t move. I just stood back in awe of the human will.
Finishing that race was for no one but him.
Running is intensely personal. Whether you’re obsessed with running a qualifying time for a marathon (ahem), looking to beat a personal record (ahem again), or just hoping to make it in before the course closes, unless you’re an elite runner, it’s for no one but you. Running for a cause or running against the clock; running two miles or running twenty six miles, if you’re really going to do it, it’s got to be for YOU.
If you’re running New York this weekend, I wish you luck and I wish you strength.
And while you’re there, if you start to falter, keep your feet moving toward the park. Because there, you might just find the spirit of the man who finished HIS race long after the spectators had gone home.
***
Jess can be found at Diary of a Mom where she writes about our life, our beautiful daughters – nine and-a-half year-old Katie and seven and-a-half year-old, Brooke, and our up and down journey with autism.
She also runs the Diary of a Mom Facebook page, a warm and supportive community of parents, friends, adults on the autism spectrum and some random people in her life who cared enough to hit ‘Like’ and probably now wonder what they got themselves into.
For the past 3 1/2 weeks I have patiently been waiting. I have “watched” as my friends ran the Chicago Marathon (10/10), the Bay State Marathon (10/17) and the Marine Corps Marathon (10/31). I have enthusiastically cheered them on from afar, but deep down inside I have been green with envy. True, just 4 1/2 weeks ago I ran the best marathon of my short running career, and for a week I reveled in the joy and euphoria of qualifying for Boston. But then I got caught up in the tweets and dailymile updates of people running Chicago. Not only were these friends running the marathon, but they were getting to meet each other and hang out. They were able to sit and talk about running without feeling like they were boring their audience.
I enviously read about tweet-ups and dailymile meet ups. I couldn’t believe that a friend of mine was able to meet Bart Yasso! But she and several others didn’t just meet him, they got to spend an evening having drinks with him, picking his brain. How cool is that? The following week was Bay State, with several friends shooting for BQ’s of their own (just in time…phew!), followed two weeks later by the Marine Corps Marathon with many getting together at Jon Stewart’s Rally for Sanity. I wish I could have been at all of those races!
Well, New York City Marathoners and New York City Runners, it’s our turn now. I’m looking forward to meeting many of you over the weekend. I hope some of you will join Miss Joy, TK and me for a leisurely 4 miler on Saturday morning or for brunch afterward. I am so looking forward to meeting the two of them! Others I hope to meet at the expo. I also can’t wait to meet the rest of the Team Up with Autism Speaks Team at Saturday night’s pasta dinner.
Oh, and then there’s the matter of the 26.2 miles on Sunday. If I don’t meet you beforehand, I hope to see you at the finish line.
One year ago yesterday I ran the Manchester City Marathon – my first. I was convinced that I was going to qualify for Boston in that race. Looking back, I realize that I really had no idea what I truly was getting into. My strategy was rudimentary at best. It didn’t really matter. I abandoned it within the first few miles. I flew through the first half in just over 1:35. I pumped my fist at my family as I flew by them. There are no pictures of that moment because I was 5 – 10 minutes ahead of schedule. I was flying.
Then I had to run the second half. The second half took me just over 2:20, including 20 minutes to get from mile 20 to mile 21.
I came nowhere near qualifying for Boston. As proud as I was for finishing my first marathon, I was devastated.
It was on that day that I finally realized that running a marathon, forget qualifying for Boston, was hard.
***
In 6 days I will be running the ING New York City Marathon. It will be my 5th marathon in 53 weeks. To say that my experience in New York will be different from that in Manchester is a bit of an understatement. Yes, the cities and crowds are different, but I am speaking more directly to the experience of running the 26.2 miles themselves.
In 53 short weeks I have made a tremendous amount of progress. I have gone from a 3:54 marathon where my quads froze up, to a Boston Qualifying time of 3:19, to possibly gunning for a 3:15 this coming Sunday.
A 35 minute improvement.
Progress.
The best part is that I know that my running is a work in progress. There is still much to be done, many miles to be run, a number of milestones to be reached.
But I don’t say all of this to toot my own horn. No. I say this to tell you that anybody, ANYBODY, can get there. If you train hard, eat right and run smart, progress is inevitable. The speed and measure of progress is different for each individual.
If you have a running goal, any goal for that matter…believe! Believe!!!
Okay friends, New York is less than 4 weeks away. When I first put it out there that I needed to raise $2600 to run the New York Marathon for Autism Speaks, you put me there in less than 4 weeks. I was amazed and humbled how quickly my circle of friends rallied around to support this cause that is so very important to me. I am extremely grateful. For the last couple of months however, I’ve been stuck at a little over $3,000. Nothing to sneeze at for sure, but I know I can do better. So I’m throwing out a challenge.
If I can manage to raise $8,001 ($1 more than the goal of the fundraiser currently standing in 5th place among New York runners) before the Friday (11/5) I leave for New York, I will do this:
Yo! Wuzzup?
That’s right. I will, for the first time in my life, dye my hair, and not only will I dye my hair, I will dye it Autism Speaks Blue. Come on. How many of you wanna see me walking around New York City with blue hair?
All week I had been uncharacteristically unnervous. It may have been the fact that this was going to be my 4th marathon in less than 12 months or maybe it was the focused training schedule I had been following. Either way, all week I had walked around with a sense of calm. That is, until I put the car in reverse to pull out of the garage and head up to Hampton Beach early Sunday morning. As soon as the car began to move, my stomach started to do back flips. I cranked up the music, but the whole way up, the butterflies in my stomach continued to get bigger and bigger. As I listened to Stevie Wonder, Survivor, Queen, AC/DC among others, I started to visualize the race. I tried to see myself crossing the finish line. Earlier in the week, Brendan, my dailymile brother, had predicted a 3:19:22 finish for me. The more I thought about it, the more overwhelmed I became.
Upon finally arriving in Hampton, I promptly made my way to the check-in tent. A large group of dailymilers had agreed to meet at 7:30 to hang out, warm up and meet. As I made my way to the tent I heard someone say, “there’s a dailymile shirt”. I turned to find a group of people, among them was Doug, from Lex’s Run, my buddy Pete, who had been the first cyber-runner to ever reach out to me, and Brendan, my brother who I was going to run this marathon with. I had met Pete before and had run several races with Doug, but this was the first time I was meeting Brendan. The funny part is that we knew each other. Through dailymile and Twitter we have become good friends. There was no awkward moment, it was just two friends getting together.
Pete, Brendan and me
Most of the dailymile/Twitter Smuttynose party - pre-race
After a bit of chatting it was time to head to the start.
Before heading to the corral, we had to get a picture of Team Kinvara:
Team Saucony Kinvara - Brendan, Pete and Me
Yes, I know, those aren’t Vibrams. They aren’t my funny toe shoes. Yes I do still run in them (my Vibrams), but no, I didn’t run in them for this race. It’s probably the topic of another post, but suffice it to say that it was a game time decision that I went with the Kinvaras, and I don’t regret it one bit. They are an amazing shoe! If you aren’t ready for Vibrams, but you want a natural shoe that is unbelievably light and performs incredibly, go out and get a pair.
Now back to your regularly scheduled blog post.
In the swirl of the crowd, we had lost Pete. It was probably for the best. Although we had talked about running together, as we got into the last week, Pete’s confidence had grown and he had decided that he was going to go for 3:15 (the required time to BQ* for a young kid like him). Brendan and I made our way to the starting area. Doug, who was running the half, found us and said, “you’ve put in all the work. You’ve already done it. Now it’s time to take your victory lap. Go get it.” Inspiring words.
Brendan and I shook hands, gave each other a hug and waited for the starting gun. Suddenly the crowd started moving. We hadn’t heard the gun, but no matter. It took us nearly a minute to get to the actual starting line and when we crossed it, you could hear our watches beep in unison.
:38 / 1:16 / 1:54 / 2:32 / 3:10 – these numbers, like the numbers from LOST, were swirling around my head all week leading up to the race. They were the 5 mile splits I knew I needed to maintain a relatively steady pace throughout. I knew that if I hit mile 25 with a 3:10, I would be close, with a little room to spare. It meant that I would be able to run 9:09 minutes per mile for the last 1.2 and still cross the finish line with a 3:20:59. I didn’t want it to be that close though. I knew I had to have at least a couple of minutes in the bank. I remembered the difficulty of finishing the last 3 miles at both Boston and Providence. No, I didn’t want it to be that close. Still, I knew that if I could maintain 38 minute per 5 mile splits, I would in all likelihood be okay.
The first mile involved Brendan and I weaving our way in and out of the crowd. It was a little frustrating, but there was no sense in trying to sprint through.
Brendan (#2334) and I working our way through the crowd at the start - I know, heel striking that early is NOT a good sign - photo courtest of JiminMaine
We didn’t hit the first mile marker until nearly 8:00, way too slow for our goal. Fortunately, by the time we hit the second mile marker the crowds had thinned a bit and we were able to get on pace. Mile 2 arrived in 7:36. As we made the first big turn into the town of Hampton I was unable to resist the urge to get away from the crowds behind us. Without really thinking about it, I picked up the pace. We hit mile 3 in a too quick 7:21. Now some of you non-runners may be asking yourself, what the heck’s the difference between a 7:40 mile and a 7:20 mile? Does it really make a difference? Well, it’s not necessarily what it does to you right then, but more how it affects you 10 – 15 miles down the line. Anyway, despite initially being worried about it, I realized that we were back on pace for my 5 mile splits of 38 minutes. The next two miles were fairly uneventful and we hit the 5 mile marker in 37:54. Right on target. The first 5 miles went by almost too easily.
3 miles later we made our way to the coast. The wind was still relatively calm. In the distance I was surprised to see someone strip off his camelback hydration system and throw it into the grass. I yelled, “Nice toss!” and he waved an arm. A few minutes later Brendan and I caught up to him. A bit of chit-chat and we discovered that Ralph was making an attempt at a BQ of 3:20 as well. This was Ralph’s first timed marathon. He had run the distance once during his training. We invited him to run along with us, which he was more than happy to do. After a relatively slow mile 6 and 7 (7:46 and 7:43 respectively) we had picked up the next 2 miles at sub-7:30 pace. As we passed through small pockets of spectators, I reached out to high-fived the kids. I was yapping away, talking about my first marathon experience and the awful pace-setter I followed in that race. Before we knew it, we passed mile marker 10 – 1:15:49. Again, right on target.
For some reason, I felt like I needed to take on the role of cheerleader for our little pod, so I just kept talking…and talking…and talking (in retrospect, it explains why I had a sore throat for the next few days).
The Smuttynose Marathon is a double-loop. Starting at about mile 3, you get to see the mile markers for the second half of the marathon, so as you’re passing the mile markers for 8, 9 and 10, you are also passing the ones for 21, 22, and 23. Psychologically it was a little tough to realize that we were going to have to do this all over again. In the meantime, I realized that Brendan had been falling back a bit – not too far, maybe only a few seconds per mile, but it was enough to make me a little nervous. I would occasionally turn around to check on him and make sure he was still with me. Every time, he would nod in the affirmative, and I would turn back around. We had made an agreement earlier in the week that if someone faltered, the other was NOT to risk his own race for the sake of the other, however, I also didn’t want to lose my partner in crime.
At the 11.5 mile mark, those that were running the half-marathon peeled off. As was the case when I ran Manchester almost a year ago, it was a discouraging moment. I had been running for quite some time with this loose pod of people and suddenly we went from a crowd to a string. I tried convincing a few of the runners that were a mile and a half from their finish to come join us. A young lady looked at me, smiled and said, “been there, done that.” I was tempted to say something back to her, but I bit my tongue. As we peeled away, directed by a volunteer to go in a different direction, I pointed at the finish and said, “but the finish line is over there!” He laughed but told me I had to go the other way anyway.
Mile 12 arrived at a 6:08 pace. Yeah, no, really. That’s what my watch said. Everybody around me looked at their watches confused. Obviously there had been an error in placement. When mile 13 arrived 7:40 later, I realized that somewhere later down the line, we were going to have to make up a minute and a half.
Just after 12 I saw the leader coming the other way. He was all alone. I couldn’t help but admire his being able to run at that pace all alone. I glanced back at Brendan. He was still on my tail. He nodded, so I kept the pace. Ralph had fallen off (I would late find out he ran a 3:35). At about the halfway point however, Brendan began to fade just a little more. Truth is, it was probably more my picking up the pace a little and Brendan holding steady. I noticed that my splits were closer to 7:30 than 7:40. I kept looking back, but the gap was growing.
I hit mile 15 at 1:52:22. 2 minutes in the bank, I thought, but then I realized that at some point the “make up” for the short mile 12 had to becoming. Still, an extra minute and a half put me at about 1:53:52. Definitely on target.
At Mile 16, we rejoined the part of the course we had already run. I looked over my shoulder looking for Brendan. He was now maybe 30 yards back. I decided I had to press on. I ran the next five miles (miles 16 – 21) 11 seconds faster than I had run them (miles 3 – 8 ) earlier. When I hit mile 20 at 2:30:09 (2:31:39 with the adjustment), I knew I had a shot. As my friend Rick Reilly has said to me on several occasions, it was all coming down to the final 10K. The marathon, he would tell me, is actually 2 different races: it’s the first 20 miles and the last 10K. The final 10K had been what killed me in Manchester, had knocked me down at Boston, and had taken the fight out of me at Providence.
When I hit mile 20, I began to do a lot of arithmetic in head.
6.2 miles, just under 50 minutes to go, 6 times 8 is 48, 8 times 60 is 480, 48 plus 48 is 96, 96 is 1:36, 48 plus 1:36 is 49:36, which puts me at 3:21:05 – Shit! Start over – if I run a 7:50 for the next 6.2 miles…
When I hit mile 21 in 7:32, I re-calibrated everything again. I was doing okay. But I still knew the adjustment for mile 12 was coming, and at mile 22 it came. There had been a small part of me that had hoped and prayed that by some miraculous twist in space-time that we had all, in fact, run 6 minute miles at mile 12, but as my watch passed 8:00, then 8:30, I realized the time to pay the debt had come. I kept looking for the mile marker. – tick tick tick – 8:40, 8:45, 8:50. I finally saw the mile marker and passed it at 9:07. My watch now read 2:46:49 and I had 4.2 miles to go.
I again began to do the math in my head.
4.2 miles, 34 minutes 10 seconds left before the cut off. 8 minute miles means 2 minutes and 10 seconds to run 0.2 miles, if I multiply 2 minutes 10 seconds by 5 I got 10 minutes 50 seconds, what? That can’t be right, oh, wait a minute, it is, 96 seconds is less than 130 seconds!!!
If I could just maintain 8 minute miles I was going to be okay. Buoyed by this thought, I ran mile 23 in 7:31. I looked over my shoulder for Brendan, but I had now lost sight of him.
Now I just needed to fight off the last 5K. Mile 24 came and went in 7:41. Part of me dared to think that I had this in the bag. I was cruising. I had this.
Or so I thought.
24.5 arrived with my legs turning to jello. One moment I’m running steady, the next my legs are wobbling underneath me. I remember literally saying to myself, “uh-oh!” Fortunately I had 24.5 miles of momentum behind me, but I found myself slowing. I looked at my watch. 3:06:00. I had four minutes to get to mile 25. 14:59 to get to the finish, 1.7 miles away.
On any given day, if I need to, I know I can run 1.7 miles in less than 10 minutes. No problem. I might be in a lot of pain at the end of those 10 minutes, but I know I can do it. At that moment, looking at 1.7 miles felt like I was looking at another 5. My legs wobbled again.
For a split second I thought, “I’m not gonna make it. This is where I am going to hit the wall. This is where my assault on a BQ ends.”
Then I heard my friend Sheila. Now mind you, I have never met Sheila, nor have I ever heard her voice. I know her through this blog, the wife’s blog and through Twitter. I imagine her voice to be strong and authoritative, but nurturing. An iron voice wrapped in a velvet scarf. But I heard her shouting at me:
“Run like your hair is on fire. Run Luau, RUN!”
I put my hand on my heart where I was wearing an Autism Speaks pin. Strength flowed from my burning hair down to my legs. “This is nothing compared to what my little Brooke goes through” I thought, “this pain is temporary”. I was running through molasses, but I was running. I ran by the 25 mile marker – 3:09:50.
OK! 11:09 to cover 1.2 miles. The molasses was getting thicker. The wind had picked up AND there were people just milling about along the course. I weaved around a few groups of walkers. A runner in blue was 70 or so yards ahead of me. I focused on him, mentally trying to reel him in. Slowly he got bigger and bigger. I was reeling him in, but I could feel myself fading.
“HAIR ON FIRE!!!” Sheila yelled.
At this point I was running on fumes. I didn’t think there was anything left in the tank nor did I think I had any gears left.
Mile 26. 3:17:47.
That last mile had taken nearly 8 minutes. Frak! No, no, no, no, no!!! I was slowing down!
It was do or die time. I yelled out loud at the top of my lungs, “Come ON!!! Run! Dammit!!! RUN!!!”
I think I scared a few of the walkers on the course, but it worked. I found and hit that last gear. My speed started to pick up. 45 seconds later I passed the 13 mile mark for the half marathoners. 0.1 to go. The guy in blue was firmly in my sites. I put it into overdrive, lengthened my stride and went into full sprint mode.
Someone yelled at the guy in blue, “he’s coming! he’s gonna catch you!!!”
Too late, buddy! I flew past him.
I heard my buddy Adam, who had paced a friend through the half, yelling, “Luau! Luau! Luau!” I pumped my fist!
I looked up and saw the clock, it read 3:20:something. I knew I had it. I KNEW I HAD IT!!!
Official Time - 3:19:19 - photo courtesy of Doug (@reallynotarunnr)
The euphoria of qualifying for Boston was (IS!) unbelievable. I didn’t know if this day was ever coming. Friends have told me that they knew, but the truth is, you never know what the next day is going to bring. I could wake up tomorrow and be unable to run for whatever reason, but now…now, I can call myself a Boston Qualifier.
After shooting through the finish, I found my buddy Pete. He told me that he too had qualified for Boston, running a 3:15:24. We hugged in celebration knowing that we would be able to toe the line together in Hopkinton this coming April. Our attention quickly turned back to the finish line. 3 of us had started that day in pursuit of a BQ, and Brendan was still out there. Although the clock had clicked over to 3:21, we knew that because Brendan and I had started as far back in the crowd as we had, he still had some wiggle room. Unfortunately, Brendan ended up missing a BQ by 32 seconds. The fact that he had PR’d by 5 minutes did not alleviate the frustration and disappointment.
After some pizza and ice cream, part of the Smuttynose dailymile/Twitter crew convened in the beer tent.
Mmmm, beer... - photo courtesy of Adamm9
Pete (from Runblogger.com) and I celebrate our BQ's.
After one or two, we went out to cheer our friends Alett and Sandra in. We walk a few hundred feet down from the finish line with the intent of running Alett in. As she approached, we tried to break into a jog. It wasn’t happening. Alett flew right by us. We had left it all out there on the course. With Alett and Sandra’s arrival it was back to the beer tent for one more.
The Smuttynose dailymile/Twitter crew, post-race
Finally it was time to go. I told Pete I would see him in Boston. As I walked back to my car with Doug and Brendan, I tried to come up with something encouraging. Brendan has been a huge inspiration, not just to me, but to countless others on dailymile. His BQ is coming, I am sure of it.
I am sure that I will run this race again someday. It is sure to become a popular race for those trying to achieve their own BQ. The nice thing is that with this race not only do I qualify for 2011, but I also qualify for 2012 as well. I know where I’ll be in April. For next fall there’s talk about trying out the Vermont 50. We’ll see if there’s still interest next Spring.
In the meantime, I can now turn my eyes toward New York. Having qualified for Boston, I can now approach New York as a celebration, as a fun run. I intend to find as many friends in the crowd as I can and take pictures with each and every one of them. So if you are going to be in New York for the marathon, let me know where you’ll be – I’ll come find you!
You can find Doug, his wife Lex and Lex’s Run —>HERE<—
and finally, you can follow Brendan’s inspiring training on dailymile —>HERE<— (honestly though, I wish he wrote a blog!)
*BQ stands for Boston Qualifier – a dream for many runners. In order run the Boston Marathon, a person is required (unless running for a charity or having the luck I had last year of stumbling across an invitational application) to run a previous marathon within a certain amount of time. For me, that time is 3:20:59. For my buddy Pete, that time is 3:15:59.
***
I need YOUR contributions to a project that I’m working on. Interested?
All you need to do is send me a paragraph or two telling me why you run and/ or why you think others should run. E-mail it to me at “runluaurun at gmail dot com” (written out so the bots don’t start sending me spam).
If you can, please include a picture of your favorite running shoes and tell me what kind of shoes they are. Also, please let me know how you would like to be referenced (real name, nickname, pseudonym, etc) just in case this project actually ever sees the light of day.
The more responses I get, the sooner I can put it all together, so please don’t be shy about forwarding this to your running friends and spreading the word.
Many of you know that I am running the 2010 ING New York City Marathon on November 7th. I will be able to do so because a great number of you helped me raise the required funds for Autism Speaks to get me there as a charity runner. Through your generosity I have raised over $3,000. I am deeply grateful. A few people however have asked me to remind them where to go to send donations. I would like to request that you send them to a new destination.
Before I run, I will walk.
Next Sunday, our little family will be participating in the Greater Boston Autism Speaks Walk at Suffolk Downs. I have to admit I have been hesitant in writing this post. After all that you did for my drive to run New York, I did not want you to feel that I was going back to the well too soon and too many times. That said, if you have already donated to my New York fundraiser, please know this post is not directed toward you (though please feel free). If you did not have a chance to donate to my run, but want to help, please consider donating here. It is our team’s fund raising page for this year’s walk. We are Team Umizoomi (my little Brookelet’s choice). Last year you helped us raise so much that I was allowed to throw out the first pitch at a Red Sox game – an opportunity of a lifetime.
Throwing out the first pitch on Autism Awareness Night at Fenway in 2009
I’m going to steal the wife’s letter from her page:
Because autism awareness is as important to my baby girl as any other tool we can give her.
Because she desperately needs acceptance, encouragement and understanding.
Because she deserves compassion and love.
Because with the right tools, there is nothing she can’t do.
Because 1 in 110 children is just too many.
Because no child should have to hurt.
Because there is nothing we wouldn’t do for our girl, but we can’t do this alone.
Please, donate whatever you can. Join our team. Walk with us here in Boston or join us in raising funds and walking virtually from wherever you are.
Because together, we CAN and we WILL make a better world for people with autism.
On behalf of my family and so many others like us, thank you. From the bottom of our hearts. We couldn’t do this without you.
My Little Super Brooke
Once again, if you have already given, please don’t feel like I am coming back to you, but maybe you could pass this post along. But if you haven’t donated yet, please consider giving to, joining and walking with (virtually or IRL) Team Umizoomi.
The link is —>HERE<— or click on the picture of Super Brooke!
Thank You,
Luau
PS – just let me know if you do, that way I can thank you properly!
This post is written somewhat stream-of- consciousness style. I have had two streams in my life running parallel to each other the past few weeks. I’m not sure what one has to do with the other, but they somehow feel connected…at least to me.
***
So a few weeks ago I tweaked my right knee again. I’ve been trying to ignore it, thinking that if I run more slowly, if I run more lightly, if I stretch more regularly, the pain will eventually go away. I’ve been following a training schedule for the upcoming October 3rd Smuttynose Marathon, and my rest days have helped, but honestly, after every run lately, I battle with varying levels of soreness.
***
Over the past several weeks, autism has raised its open hand on several occasions and slapped me pretty hard in the face. Every time it did, as much as I tried to put on a brave, happy face, it hurt. A lot.
I have, for the most part, long been the happy-go-lucky member of my family. As a kid growing up, I just kind of rolled with the punches. Now, with a family of my own, I still am the one who stresses the silver lining in any situation. I am the one who emphasizes the positives and ignores the negatives, almost to a fault. It’s not always easy, but I work hard to remain positive in just about any situation.
Even when autism slaps me in the face, I will often turn the other cheek and smile. Even when my Brooke goes to hide in the bathroom for 25 minutes, shredding a plastic bag meant for her wet bathing suit, because both the visual and auditory stimuli from a camp activity is overwhelming, I say, “well, at least she’s using her tools to remove herself from the situation instead of having crying fits like many of her typical peers.”
Even when she goes to a birthday party for one of her classmates and just can’t seem to appropriately break into the social interaction of several of her friends, awkwardly trying to insert herself and ultimately failing, I say, “She’s socially motivated! She’s not shying away!”
See? Silver lining – quite possibly augmented with a dose of mild denial. Though denial may be the wrong word. I am not in denial of the fact that my baby girl has autism. Shoot! I’ll tell anybody who will listen about it. But maybe I’m in denial about some of the aspects of her autism that affect her life.
I have never been one to dwell on the negatives. At least, not on the outside.
But I’m tired. I try not to show it. I try to re-frame it. And very often, I convince myself everything is going to be all right – even when things look bleak. But those slaps get harder and stronger. As she gets older, the gaps become bigger and more noticable. My attempts at smiling have become less genuine. The tears that I shed in private when no one is looking have become more common.
I wonder and worry about the future (both immediate and more frighteningly, distant) of my little Brooke.
***
On Tuesday night I attended the Kick-Off for the Autism Speaks Boston Walk. Don’t worry. I’m not here soliciting donations (that’s the topic of another post). The Kick-Off is meant to pump up the walkers as they get ready to shift their fund-raising into high gear, usually done with inspirational speeches from parents and politicians. I think they did a good job of that, but for me, it was Autism Speaks’ President Mark Roithmayr’s speech that struck a chord with me. He talked of the scientific research Autism Speaks funds and the recent findings that are helping to unlock and solve this puzzle we call the Autism Spectrum. There may never be a “cure” so to speak for autism, but the more scientifically based knowledge we have, the greater we will understand this disorder. The greater our understanding, the better equipped we will be to help our autistic sons, daughters, siblings and friends. It gave me renewed hope.
That hope was buoyed by news of the passage of an Autism Insurance Bill in both the State House and Senate (unanimously I might add) and a video-taped promise by our governor that he would pass the bill if it made it to his desk. Awareness is making a difference!
***
Yesterday I had the great pleasure of meeting a scientist who has been working in the field of autism research for over 35 years. She was delving into solving this puzzle long before most people had even heard of autism. Dr. Helen Tager-Flusberg spoke to a small group of us who have been touched in some way by autism. We had been invited to see firsthand where the dollars go and how they are used. She spoke of her ongoing research, concurrently studying the receptive language of non-verbal children and the infant siblings of children with autism. Her enthusiasm, even after 35 years in the field, is infectious. She is still eager to learn, to discover. I could feel myself get excited for the research she was doing, thinking, “gee, I wish I were 22 years old again so I could apply to graduate school and come work with her!” But the most joyful part of my experience of meeting Dr. Tager-Flusberg and touring her lab, was seeing the fire and energy of those that worked for her. These young women are the future of autism research, they are excited by what they are doing and they quite obviously knew their stuff.
It was somewhat bitter-sweet to see this because much of what they do will more directly help those that come after me and my little Brooke, but there are bound to be some things that come out of their research that will help all people on the spectrum, whether it is directly or indirectly.
I walked out of the meeting with renewed strength. Autism will continue to takes its swipes at me, of that I have no doubt. The private tears will continue to be shed, but my resolve to help has been hardened. I can feel that resolve bleeding into other aspects of my life as well.
***
I have long compared our family’s personal journey with autism as a marathon, not a sprint. This was long before I started running regularly. A year after Brooke started receiving therapies to help her cope and communicate better with the world, I said that we were no longer crawling a marathon, we were walking. We still have a very long way to go, but we are walking. Her progress has been phenomenal, but it has had its up and downs. We will often take 3 steps forward, 4 steps backward and then 2 step forward again. A painful but ultimately positive path.
***
What does this have to do with running? with my preparation for Smuttynose? With my troublesome knee?
2 days ago, I sat looking at my knee. I’m pretty sure it’s not a joint issue per se. I pulled, possibly ripped, something over a year ago in my hamstring. Something actually popped behind my knee. The doctors never found anything, but it’s never been quite the same. 3 marathons, 4 half-marathon and several shorter races later, I am faster and stronger overall, but my knee hurts. 2 days ago, I wondered how I was going to deal with this. 2 days ago, emotionally hammered by the recent trials of autism, I wondered what I was doing. Why was I running? Smuttynose is 10 weeks away. New York, 15.
After the event of the last two days and speaking to Mark and seeing his enthusiasm about my running for Autism Speaks this November, the purpose became clearer. I need to do what’s right to be ready to run in October and November. Maybe these last few days were about not having to be in denial to have hope? Maybe one doesn’t need to be Pollyanna to be positive? I don’t know.
What I can tell you is that after the Kick-Off and after my tour of Dr. Tager-Flusberg’s laboratory, the pain I have been ignoring (both autism and the knee), have my full attention again. The focus is back. I’m going to take a week and really let the knee heal through real rest, massage and stretching. How else this is going to manifest itself over the next 3 months, I am not sure, but I want to thank Mark Roithmayr, Erica Giunta, Kelley Borer, Christine Pecorella, Dr. Tager-Flusberg and the rest of the Autism Speaks team for helping me regain my footing.
a link which takes you directly to my fund raising page for this year’s New York City Marathon.
I had committed to raising at least $2600.
I asked that you help support me as I tried to make the world just a little more aware, a little more understanding, a little more compassionate.
Out of my past and present you came. Out of the known and unknown you came. Friends, friends of friends, friends I have never met in the real world and total strangers. You all came, and in just a little over a month, took me over the initial goal of $2600.
I hope that this is not the end of my fund raising, but I wanted to make sure that I acknowledged, publicly, those that put me over the top and sent me to New York this coming November.
Thank you. I will think of each and every one of you as I journey through the five boroughs on November 7th,
The 2600 Club:
Alan Kessler, Andrew Vogel, Arthur Hsu, Bob Votapka, Grammy & Grandpa DD, Catherine Schembri, Christa Lind, Courtney Buie, Courntney Fredericks, Danielle Hair, Elizabeth Blecker, Eva LaBonte, Hugh Hallawell & Stinky, Ingrid & George, Jennifer Ethirveerasingam, Mo, Jack Wack, Jonathan Amir, Judith Ursitti, Kate Mead, Kevin Franck, Kim Borer, Cat Brown, Matt Geller, Michael Kim, Michelle “Miss Joy” Jacobs, Michelle Genin, Mollie Niess, Nancy De Sa, Rachel Thuemling, Randy Price, Rick Reilly, Roxanna Shershin, Russell Levine, Sarah Werner, Sarah Johnson, Stef Nathanson and Yigal Agam
I am in your debt.
I promise to run strong!
Thank you.
Although they do not appear on the list above, a special thank you must go to Blake Jones and Jonathan Harrington. Each of you in your own way have made a huge contribution to my fund raising goal and for that I am grateful.
If you want to start your own #CharityStreak pick up the Charity Miles app and start raising money for your favorite charity simply by walking, running or biking:Get the Charity Miles app:
Run Luau Run 