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Ballet

September 22, 2012 by luau

Today I cried.

But they were happy tears…tears that have been a long time coming.

***

Five years ago I sat in a parking lot, with little Brookelette sitting in the back of the car, all dressed up in her leotard and tutu; her hair up in a bun; and I cried. I sat there in that parking lot, crying uncontrollably for a good twenty minutes. Brooke had just participated in her ballet class’s final dress rehearsal before the big academy recital the following two days. She hadn’t been able to follow along. Initially she had followed the instructions of the dance instructor, but very quickly decided she was going to do her own thing up on the stage. I was in the balcony recording it and felt terribly for the girl that was supposed to be her dance partner as Brooke started to run circles around the group.

To be clear, the moms that were there were not only understanding, but supportive. They all knew of Brooke’s diagnosis, and as I began to talk aloud of pulling her out of the performance, almost every one of them protested; but I couldn’t do this to the little girls up there on the stage. Yes, kids will be kids, and you never know what will happen when they get on stage, but I just couldn’t put my little one through the craziness of what those recitals are like and I did not want her to disrupt what her classmates had been working on all year.

After the rehearsal, I spoke to the instructor and told her I didn’t think my little one could handle it. Part of me was crushed even further when she agreed so readily. In retrospect, I don’t blame her.

After saying good-bye to the moms and the girls in the class I had gotten to know over the course of the school year, Brooke and I went back to the car, I buckled her in, gave her a snack, told her how proud I was of her, got into the diver’s seat and proceeded to cry…and cry…and cry.

It was probably one of my lowest moments as a parent ever. Had I let her down? Had I sold her short? Did I make the right decision? Over the next day or so, I took the video I had taken of her and made a “Brooke’s Big Recital” movie. I still can’t watch it without crying and so I don’t anymore. It hurts too much.

Flash forward a couple of years. We are talking to someone who runs a dance school and they mention that they would love to have Brooke in the school and they’ll even put in an aide just for her. I am so excited. This is just what she needs, right? With the proper support, she can dance just like all the other little girls in her class.

The dance instructor is absolutely amazing…the aide, not so much.

The “aide”, it turns out, is someone who was to be in the class regardless, and she has absolutely no clue as to how to work with my baby.

That’s okay, I think, I can give her plenty of pointers as to what works best with her!

My heart sinks as I watch the “aide’s” eyes glaze over as I try to explain how best to keep Brooke focused on the class and how best to redirect her. She could not care less. She has no interest in working with a special needs child. Honestly, I don’t like her, but I do not hold it against her. Some people are not wired to handle kids like my little one. The school should have put someone else in.

Despite the incredible efforts of the instructor, after several months of watching Brooke get lost in the class, I pull her. Again it is unfair to her classmates; it is unfair to the parents who are spending an exorbitant amount of money to have their children in the class to keep Brooke in.

Again, I sit and I cry.

All she wants to do is dance. Why isn’t there a place for her to do that?

At the beginning of the following school year, I meet a mom on back to school night. Her daughter is in Brooke’s class. We chat for a little while. I tell her a little bit about Brooke and her autism and even mention the whole dancing thing. She pauses and then mentions the Boston Ballet. I nod. The Boston Ballet always seemed to me to be the serious school – the place where future lifers went. She then mentions a program they are developing for those on the spectrum. My interest is piqued, but I’ve been burned before.

I tell her that I will definitely check it out…

…and then I don’t. I’m not ready. And for that I will kick myself for quite a while. Brooke doesn’t mention dance for a little while, but then starts asking again, “when will I be going to ballet class again?”

Oh, boy!

Finally, this summer, I decide it’s time to explore this Boston Ballet thing. After speaking with the mom from Brooke’s class and then the person in charge of the program at the school, I am convinced. They say all the right things – they’re working with Children’s Hospital, looking for parent input, using their 10 year experience of running an adaptive class for those with Down’s Syndrome. I am so hopeful.

There’s a tryout/placement class in August. Despite the dance saga being my baby, I let Jess go. She is home from work on two weeks vacation – there will be other classes I can go to, I am sure.

It goes fantastically and I am envious. A week later we get Brooke’s placement. Again, Jess goes to the first class and then the next. She sends pictures, tells me about how awesome Mr. Gino is and how well Brooke is doing…but I want to see it for myself.

In my head I still see the defiant kid sticking out her butt at the rest of the class:

Today I got to go to Brooke’s class for the first time this year:

She’s dancing…she’s moving…

…she’s performing for the class…

but most importantly…

she’s happy!!!

…and so today I cried and I cried and I cried some more…but it was so different from that day 5 years ago. Thank you Boston Ballet. You have healed what has been an open wound on my heart and soul for the last five years. To watch my baby dance so freely, so happily is pure joy. Thank you.

Okay, I’m off to go cry a little bit more.

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We Are Stronger

September 21, 2012 by luau

So after this, I promise no more Boston 13.1 posts…well, not this week anyway.

Last Sunday I committed one of the cardinal sins of running – I ran a road race in a brand new pair of shoes; they still had that brand new smell to them as I slipped them on Sunday morning right before the race.  Why, you ask?  Why did I do something so phenomenally stupid?  Well, ever since Sugarloaf, the Green Mountain Relay and my subsequent Plantar Fasciitis, I’ve been transitioning off my Kinvara’s and back to my Vibram Five Finger shoes, specifically the Bikila’s.  Every Sunday for the last 10 weeks I have been taking out a small group of Team Up with Autism Speaks runners for a long training run; in my Bikila’s, which were getting smellier, smellier with each passing week.

It didn’t matter that I was washing them after each run – for whatever reason, they were permafunkdified…big time.  It got to the point that 2 weeks ago after taking the group out for one last run, I kinda grossed myself out in my car on the way home.

It was time for a new pair.  I meant to go on Monday so I would have a chance to break them in at some point.  I had found that with the VFF’s, I generally needed one short run to break them in.  Monday turned into Tuesday which rolled into Wednesday.  Late that afternoon I finally got myself to the store and picked up a brand new pair (on sale no less for $59!).

And then they sat in my closet.  This was the second week of the kids back being in school, which, for me, is always the craziest time of the year.  Suddenly, it was Sunday morning and I hadn’t broken in my new shoes.  I was going to have a car full of people on the way to the race so I left the stinky shoes at home and brought the new pair.

They felt good going on, but I knew from moment one exactly where the blisters were going to form – it was now a question of how long before they became unbearable.

Within a half mile I could feel the hot spots.  The blisters were coming and they were coming fast.  By mile 3 or 4 there they were…and so I faced a decision: do I continue to run like this, knowing that the blisters were only going to get worse, or do I take off my Bikila’s and go barefoot?

Barefoot running has always had an appeal to me, but to that point, the farthest I had run with naked feet was 5 miles, and those 5 miles really put a beating on my soles.

What to do? What to do?

4 to 5 miles in I couldn’t take the burning sensation anymore and off came the shoes…and to my surprise, the ground felt great!  Something I didn’t know before Sunday, the streets along Revere Beach are much smoother than those in my neighborhood.

I proceeded to finish the race barefoot.  I would finally put the Bikila’s back on for the final 2 to 3 miles of my 22 miles that day because A.) the finish chute was littered with pebbles and glass (though I did do it barefoot for quite a while) and B.) when Jess texted me that she was fading, I went into race mode and ran as fast as I could to get to her.

What does this all have to do with the title of this post?  I guess it’s a long, drawn out way of me saying that we are all stronger, we are all tougher than we think we are.

Before Sunday I had never run more than 5 miles barefoot – on Sunday, I did 16 miles and today (all this week actually) my feet are fine.  Before Sunday, Jess had never run/walked 13.1 miles, but when push came to shove, she did it.  So many Team Up With Autism Speaks Runners went a distance that they had never gone before.

We all have it in us to push beyond the boundaries we think surround us.  Sometimes those walls are very real, but more often than not, what we think is just beyond our reach is just waiting there for us to push ourselves just a little harder, stretch a little bit futher, dig a little bit deeper.

We all have it in us.

Heck, I’m even thinking that a barefoot New York City Marathon isn’t totally out of the question!

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Ready and Willing

September 20, 2012 by luau

“…over the next two decades, 13 states could have [obesity] rates above 60 percent and 39 states could have rates above 50 percent. Mississippi is on pace to have the highest obesity rate at 66.7 percent…”
-September 18, 2012|By Dawn Turner Trice, Chicago Tribune reporter

I posted the article this quote is from yesterday on my Facebook page. I said something along the lines that I found these numbers to be incredible, as in unbelievable, as in it simply isn’t possible. Yet there they were. We are on track to having a quarter of our States with a large majority of their population obese, not just overweight mind you, obese; and nearly 80% of our States with a majority of their population obese. Two-thirds of the population of Mississippi on their way to a twilight riddled with preventable disease.  The most frightening part? Colorado would come in as the most fit State in the Nation…with a 45% obesity rate. FORTY-FIVE PERCENT!!!

Despite what appears to be heightened awareness, the vast majority continue to live in denial…

This is insane!

In response to this flabbergasting news, I hear a lot of people talk about government mandates – having the government take over what we eat or drink a la Mayor Bloomberg’s decision to rid New York City of over-sized sugary drinks. Part of me wants to jump on that bandwagon. If people aren’t smart enough to take care of themselves, well then someone has to take care of them, right?

Wrong.

Although the government should take on some role, maybe from an educational position, or, a bit more radically, making healthy choices available in areas of low access, no amount of government intervention will correct the problem until we, the people, decide we want to make a change.

If there is one thing I have learned over the last few years of being asked for and then giving advice for healthy change, it’s that until a person is ready and willing to change, it ain’t gonna happen.  Too many people want instant change; transformation in a bottle; abs and buns of steel in a pill.  It takes work – not just at the gym, but in the choices of the fuel we choose, and if we ain’t ready and willing, change ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that we are shortening our lives, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you we’re increasing our cost of health care, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that we are killing our sex drive, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that we might not be able to stand at our child’s graduation, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that we might not be able to dance at our daughter’s or son’s wedding, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that we might get diabetes or cancer or suffer from heart disease, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I can tell you that due to our obesity we could lose a foot or a leg, but if we aren’t ready and willing, it ain’t gonna happen.

I could tell you that we are setting OUR children up to follow in our footsteps…

***

***

***

…does that at least stop you for a moment? Does that make you think, maybe, just maybe, this report doesn’t have to be true? That we don’t have to condemn our children to a life of diabetes, heart disease, stroke and amputations? Is that what we want to leave our children? Is that what we want to be our legacy?

I know I don’t.

The habits our children pick up from birth to 18 come primarily from us, and once those habits are programmed into their brains, they are very, very difficult to break. Does that mean there’s no hope for a 30 year old woman with a lifetime of bad habits?

Heavens no!

But it is way more difficult for her than if she had been brought up with good habits all her life.

Change is hard, but it’s easier for our kids – and once those good habits are learned, the foundation of healthful living is set.

Do you know where it starts?

It starts with us. Yes, the government can help set some standards; they can do what they have to do to make healthier choices available to us; they can help educate the population about healthful eating; but in the end, it comes down to you and me.

Yes…us.

Just like every vote counts in an election, what WE choose to do over the next 20 years, 10 years, 5 years, 12 months, 6 months, 4 weeks, 7 days, 24 hours, 60 minutes, 60 seconds, can make a difference.

Nothing sets a better example for our children than our own behavior.

Nothing, NOTHING, convinces a company to change their ways better than our wallet.

Are you ready and willing?

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Boston 13.1 – The Metaphor

September 19, 2012 by luau

I often talk about how a race can be a metaphor for life in general – the highs, the lows, the laughter, the tears.  I often draw parallels between the difficulty I face during a marathon and the difficulties Brooke faces on a daily basis – the conclusion always being that if Brooke can fight through her day, every day, on a lifetime journey, then I can suck it up for three and a half hours over the course of 26.2 miles.

But Boston 13.1 brought a new metaphor to light for me.  As I hope most of you know by now, Jess tackled Boston 13.1 on Sunday as well.  She ran/walked it.  You can read her recap on her blog.  I could not be more proud of her.  She did it on absolutely no training whatsoever.  We had a little talk about it the other night – she said she felt like a fraud because she thought all of the “You Did IT!” praise was misplaced, comparing herself to someone getting through a workday with a hangover – self-inflicted difficulty.

But I saw it a different way.

Here’s the thing – Jess handled Boston 13.1 the same way she has taken on life as the parent of an autistic child; she did it with grace and a sense of humor.  When a lot of people would have packed it in (and the organizers of the race were literally packing it in as she passed mile marker 12), she kept going, and this is where the metaphor comes in.  When we, as parents of autistic children, find out that we are on a different path, we discover that we are not trained for the unique position we find ourselves in.

Much like Jess felt toeing the line on Sunday, we can feel overwhelmed, undertrained, and all alone when we first hear our child’s diagnosis.  But if we have the courage to cross that starting line, to move forward, and we manage to keep our sense of humor about us, we discover that we are, in fact, NOT alone; that there are so many others who are running the same race with as little training.

Is it a harder path? Sure. You will never convince me that being the parent of an autistic child is just as easy as being the parent of a neuro-typical kid.  BUT, are there at first unseen blessings along the way?  Absolutely.  I would argue that Brooke has made me a better father to my kids, a better husband to my wife, and a better friend to my friends than I would have been had I not suddenly found myself on this path.

The number of Team Up singlets on Sunday was both encouraging and disheartening.  I would never wish the harder path in life on anyone, but it was so heart-warming to know we were all there together.  And just because the path is harder, doesn’t mean that the path is impossible.

My wife proved that yet again on Sunday – it says so right on the picture.

So proud of you, babe!

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Charity Miles

September 18, 2012 by luau

Morning run.

Bike ride to work.

Walking the dog.

Do these sound like fund raisers?  Well, they can be.

And it is seriously that simple. There is a fantastic little app, available on both iPhones and Android devices, called Charity Miles.  It allows you to be sponsored during whatever walking, biking or running activity you take part in.  The best part is that you are not limited to one or two charities to choose from.  You can choose from nine charities that are varied in what they do:

You simply start the app, swipe to the charity of your choice, press start and go.  For each mile you walk or run,  you earn 25¢ for your charity of choice.  For every mile you bike, you earn 10¢.  It may not sound like a lot, but it adds up.  If every runner at Boston 13.1 had used the app, nearly $5000 would have been raised simply with swipe of a finger.  In the short time I have been using the app, I’ve raised enough money to fund nearly 5 hours of autism research.  Think about how much you move throughout the day.  Whether it’s your morning run, walking the kids to school, biking to work, walking the dogs three times a day…every step can count; every errand can be a fund raiser.  The only work you have to do is the work you were already going to be doing!

Charity Miles has $1,000,000.00 to give away.

One.  Millions.  Dollars.

That’s a lot of dollars.  Their goal is to give it all away by May 31, 2013.

Food, school supplies, Parkinson’s research, conservation, housing, inclusion…whatever your charitable cause may be (and of course, if you have no preference, I’d say go light blue!), you can help each of these charities earn a chunk of the millions dollars simply by moving you body.

This is how it works:

This is Gene’s (the founder) story:

Gene’s Story

It’s a free app, paying you to do what you were already going to do.  The more people who do this, the more money our charities earn, the bigger impact we have.

So if you run, walk, bike, skip, shuffle, dance or moonwalk your way around your neighborhood or to and from work, take a moment to download the app.  You’re going to do those activities anyway, why not get paid for it!

And who knows, you might end up in a cool email like the one that arrived in my inbox early last night:

Luau Earns Style Points
With Team Up With Autism Speaks
Is this email not displaying correctly?
View it in your browser.

Team Player!

Dear Team Charity Miles,

Meet Matt “Luau” Wilson.  Yesterday, Matt joined 260 teammates from Autism Speaks to run the Boston Half Marathon.  Luau had coached this team all summer.  So when race day came, there was no holding back.  Out came the Big… Blue… Afro!

But Luau’s style points don’t end there.  After pacing one of his teammates to a P.R. (personal record), Matt ran back onto the course to shuttle in the next teammate he could find. Then he did it again… And again… And again… Until he personally ran in all 260 teammates.  All in all, Matt ran over 22 miles– nearly a full marathon!  Way to go Matt!  Way to be a team player!

Also, congratulations to everyone else on Team Up who helped raise over $175,000 for Autism Speaks yesterday.  Just goes to show you how a small group of people can have a big impact.  Or, as we, like to say, “Changing the world is a team sport!”

In honor of Matt and Autism Speaks, wear something blue while you do your Charity Miles this week.  Tweet out the #GoTeam hashtag and you could win a free T-Shirt!

All the best,
Gene

#EveryMileMatters
Copyright © 2012 Charity Miles, All rights reserved.
Every Mile Matters!
Our mailing address is:

Charity Miles

320 West 38th Street

New York, NY 10018

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Boston 13.1 – 2012

September 17, 2012 by luau

Holy cow!  Where to start?  I’m not even sure where the beginning really is on this one.  Is it months ago when I met with the folks from Team Up With Autism Speaks?  Is the when I began leading a training group every Sunday morning 10 weeks ago?  Is it last Saturday night when I got up in front of 220 Team Up Runners at the pre-race dinner for a pep talk?  The whole thing is just a little overwhelming, so maybe I’ll start in the middle.

***

I could feel the pain coming on.

You know, that little wet, burning feeling.  I don’t know where it happens for you, but blisters almost always start either just above my heel or near the front of my arch.  I had committed the cardinal sin in road racing – wearing footwear for the first time in an endurance event.  Last Wednesday or Thursday I had completely grossed myself out with my old Bikila’s.  They smelled so freaking bad and that was AFTER I had sent them through the washing machine…TWICE!  It was time for new ones, and considering that I would be pacing my dear friend Jersey during the race, I didn’t want  her to have to deal with my smelly shoes.  So, I went and bought a new pair; and then they sat for 4 days.

Yeah, I know, brilliant!

And so it was just a couple of miles in that I started to feel it coming on.  I tried to ignore it.  I tried to focus on my Garmin.  My friends Doug (from Really Not A Runner – even though he is) and Sassy had joined Jersey and I and my primary goal was to get Jersey to the finish line at just under 2:00.  We were clipping along at 9:00/mile pace, which translates to about a 1:58 half.

Sassy, Jersey and me early on, pacing smoothly around 9:00 per mile.

Me and Doug, who was in a showdown with Jersey – winner take all.

But the burning was growing.

I kept pushing it to the periphery.  I had a job to do: get Jersey to the finish in under 2:00 and then shuttle in the rest of the Team Up with Autism Speaks Runners.  We were having a fabulous time cheering other runners on.  I kept checking in with the Team Up runners we would pass, letting them know I would see them at the end.  We caught up with Paula from Perspicacity.  She had decided months ago that her first half-marathon was going to be Boston 13.1 with our Team.  We exchanged a quick hug and continued on.  I knew I would see her at the end.

Sharing some pavement with Paula from Tallahassee.  You can also see Superwoman Rebecca from Orlando just to the left of Paula’s ear.

As we made the turn onto the beach just after mile 3, I realized that I had two choices – either leave the footwear on and end the day with some monstrous blisters or take the footwear off.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  The farthest I had run in my attempt to rid myself of plantar fasciitis was 5 miles, and although the barefoot running had cured my PF, it wasn’t easy on the skin of my feet.  After trying to suck it up for another quarter mile, I threw caution to the wind and off came the shoes.

Surprisingly, it felt really good!  The pavement along Revere Beach is nice and smooth and the 9:00 pace meant I wasn’t pounding my feet either – a perfect combination for running with proper form!

We continued along our merry way, cheering runners we passed, all the while keeping our pace around 9:00.  Around mile 4 I saw Jess coming the other direction.  She was walking the half.  I jumped through the park that was between us and gave her a big hug, telling her I would be back.  I ran back to my charge and we continued on.  This barefoot thing was working out great.

Since we had started near the back of the pack, even at miles 5 and 6 we were passing other runners.  I would give a word of encouragement to every Team Up runner we would pass.  Through the turn arounds I got to see the runners I had trained over the past 10 weeks.  Every single one of them looked great.  All of them were smiling.

Between mile 8 and mile 9, Jersey began to fade.  Her spirit was there, but on this day her legs began to rebel.  Any experienced runner will tell you that there are days you have it and there are days you don’t.  Sometimes we can battle through the pain; others, the pain is just too much.  Sassy was on a mission to hit sub-2:00 as well, and we told her to go.  She would finish in 1:58.

Jersey and I took a little walk break.  It wasn’t her lungs, it was her legs.  We had banked enough time that we still had a shot at sub-2:00.  The next 3 miles would be a mix of run/walking.  She was determined.  I kept an eye on the Garmin.  Approaching mile 10 I said we needed to make a decision of whether to go for it or let it go.  Jersey is from, well, Jersey and she wasn’t gonna go down without a fight.  We needed to pick up the pace, which we did, but ultimately her legs said no.

I changed gears on her.  Sub-2:00 wasn’t in the cards this day, BUT her previous best was a high 2:04.  I knew we had an excellent shot of beating that.  I started doing the math.  If we could walk/run the next 2 miles at a certain pace, she was gonna come in around 2:04.

We hit mile 11.  I shortened the the distances we walked.  Even as we walked I kept my legs in a running motion, trying to pull her along.  As we got to mile 12, I said to her, “you can do anything for one mile.”  She was hurting but determined.  She kept pushing.

With a half mile to go, I shouted at her, “no more Mr. Nice Guy, let’s go!!!  How pissed are you gonna be if you miss this PR because you walked!  LET’S GO!!!”

She kept going…the clock was ticking…tic, tic, tic.  The finish line came into view.

Push, push, push.  The clock said 2:05:something but I knew we had at least a minute because we started so far back.

Tic, tic, tic.

We made the turn into the chute.  Jersey has broken into a dead run.  I tried to avoid the broken glass and pebbles that littered the ground.  On last turn in the chute, I yelled, “go get that medal! save me some beer!!!”.

Jersey’s PR was 2:04:47.  She would cross the finish line in 2:04:44.  A PR by 3 seconds.  Any runner will tell you, a PR is a PR is a PR!

I turned back to start part two of my job that day, shuttling the rest of the Team Up runners to the finish.  It was poetic that the first three runners I paced in were Roberta, Jana and Mark, followed closely by Kara, four runners who attended just about every single one of my Sunday training runs.  I was so proud of them!

What fun it was pacing people in!

Still blue afro-ed, still barefoot.

The absolutely amazing thing was just about every Team Up runner had a smile on their face.  Even after covering 13.1 miles, most for the very first time in their lives, there was a huge smile.  There was one woman who was crying, BUT it was because she knew she was A) doing something she had never thought she could do and B) knew her son was waiting at the finish line for her.  I told her that it was okay to be crying.  I started to well up as she turned the final corner for home.

The pebbles and gravel in the chute finally got to my feet, so I slipped my Bikila’s back on as slippers and continued to pace runners in.

Still blue afro-ed, but no longer barefoot with Dave from dailymile

After 5 miles of shuttling, I got a text from Jess.  She was fading.

I caught up to her at around mile 11-ish – Garmin said I ran low 7’s coming for her.  She told me she had never been so happy to see a blue afro.  I gave her a hug, told her she was doing great and we walked.  We were soon joined by her cousin John (who unexpectedly ran a PR!!!) and his girlfriend, then by our buddy Doug, then by Jersey and our friend Judith.  Over the last mile we were escorted by EMS and some State Police.

Jess crossed the finish line and then I finally did the same.  I was (and am) so proud of her.

The final numbers?  Almost 22 miles, 16 of which were run barefoot, 3:40:55 and a whole lot of love.

Next stop: New York City.

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It’s Official

September 14, 2012 by luau

As of 8:45 PM, September 14:

Which means:

I will be running the 2012 New York City Marathon with the Katy Perry Blue Wig.  Thank you to all who have donated to my cause.  I am blessed to have you in my life.  For those who would still like to give, please consider giving to Jess’ Boston Walk page – her company will match donations made to her page dollar for dollar.  The link is —>HERE<—.

Because you beat the deadline by a full day, I will be wearing this for Boston 13.1 on Sunday:

Thank you again!  You are amazing! I am blessed to know you. I am lucky to have you. I am humbled by your friendship.

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American Airlines – the Official Airline of Todd Akin

September 7, 2012 by luau

Did you see the story about the young man with Down’s Syndrome who was denied a seat in First Class on an American Airlines flight because the pilot considered him a flight risk?

You can find the Huff Po piece —>HERE<— and American Airlines’ public response —>HERE<—.

I found this story to be horrifying, not only as the parent of a Special Needs Child, but as a member of the human race.  According to the news story from PIX 11 (link found at the top of the Huff Po piece) the pilot observed the young man and determined he would be a flight risk up in First Class.  Since 9/11, the doors to the cockpit have been remade to withstand attacks from terrorists.  How does a person with Down’s Syndrome fall into the same category as a terrorist?  If he is truly a flight risk, how is that they then moved him to the back of a United Airlines flight? I imagine that if a person is a flight risk they are just as much a flight risk in First Class as they are in Steerage.  How does this happen?

The answer is simple – ignorance.

The pilot made assumptions when he saw Bede Vanderhorst.  Whatever it is he thought he knew about people with Down’s Syndrome, he applied that to Bede, without so much as trying to understand any of the alleged behavior he says he saw him displaying, and made his decision.

This combination of ignorance and assumption is what keeps me up into the wee hours of the night – until there is a critical mass of awareness and understanding in the world of those with disabilities, ANY DISABILITY, how will my Brooke get by once she is an adult?  Will I always have to be there to explain to every ignoramus why his assumptions about her are wrong?  If this can happen to Bede, it can happen to my Brooke and any other child or adult who doesn’t fall under what others might consider typical.

Admittedly, there are two sides to every story, and we may not have all of the information available.    The Vanderhorsts have been very vocal in their complaint.  American Airlines on the other hand has handed out a simple statement and left it at that.  The airlines responded to a tweet of mine by directing me to the Facebook page.  Apparently the Department of Transportation is opening up an investigation of the incident.  I imagine that closed-circuit video of the gate will bear out the truth.

But I come back to the bigger topic at hand, and that’s the concept of making assumptions based on ignorance.  One of the greatest weapons against ignorance that we, as a caring society, have is awareness.  Awareness is the first step toward understanding and acceptance.  The thing is, this awareness thing, it IS working.  I see it in the halls of my daughter’s school and in the window panes of local shops.  People, every day people, are starting to shift.  Sure there is going to be the inevitable asshole who will find pleasure in making fun of those he doesn’t understand, but to some degree, I see change happening…slowly, but happening.  Heck, President Clinton mention both Down’s Syndrome and Autism in his speech on Wednesday night at the DNC.  Progress – it’s happening!

But what really frightens me is that some people who are in positions of power, say like this pilot or a congressman speaking on women’s reproductive rights, will decline the opportunity to truly understand the science or psychology of a situation because they do not want to appear weak.  They will ignore facts and push on with what they “believe” is right without listening to what’s really going on.  Guess what?  That is the action of a weak minded, weak willed person who is afraid that reality could shatter their long held views of the world.  Declaring something with authority doesn’t make it right – in fact, it is often a sign of inner weakness.  Yes, Bede’s mom was sobbing and his father was in shock.  Yes, sobbing and shock don’t lend themselves to allowing a person to be particularly articulate, but it is the duty of our leaders to lead and to listen empathetically  to those in pain, not bristle and put up walls.  It takes a strong man or woman to open themselves up to the possibility that they are not only wrong, but grossly wrong.  The bittersweet thing of it is that I find that strength more in the neighbor, the friend’s mother, the grocery bagger than in those who hold positions of power.

If we’re going to move forward as a nation, our leaders, both nationally and at the business and community level, are going to have to learn that admitting they are wrong, no matter how hard it may be, is not a sin, and is often the path to a better place.

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#Kipped

September 6, 2012 by luau

Manchester City 2009.

Boston 2010.

Providence 2010.

I was #Kipped in all three races.

I Was #Kipped

Don’t know what #Kipped means?  Read my story on it  —>HERE<— and then, if you’ve been #Kipped, come back and buy the T-Shirt —>HERE<—.  A variety of styles for men and women available.

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Missing the Point

September 6, 2012 by luau

I have this friend on Twitter – well, to actually say we are friends might be a little weird considering that we have never met.  We are also very different in our world views (though probably not as different as our politicians and media would like us to believe).

He is Red.  I am Blue.

He is voting for Romney.  I am voting for Obama.

Our views on domestic, foreign and social policy fall on the Right and Left side of the aisle respectively.

There is very little that he and I agree on.

However, were I ever to come face to face with this Twitter friend, I would probably hug him like a long lost sibling.  I guarantee that we would find the closest bar and share many beers while we debate politics and both laugh and cry together at the state of today’s government (well, maybe he would laugh while I cry and I would laugh while he cries).  At the end of the evening we would shake hands heartily, exchange a warm hug and be on our ways back to Red and Blue land.

How is this even possible?  How is that when our Congress(wo)men shout at each other instead of talking to each other, when we see protestors getting violent with each other on TV, when we have finger pointing but no accountability on either side that I am so sure this Twitter friend and I would get along just fine?

Because we are both runners – long distance, minimalist runners.  We are living proof of people who, in his words, get “the most rewarding parts of running – camaraderie and self improvement”.

We have a bond that crosses time, politics, gender and religion.  Is long-distance running stronger than those topics?  No, but it allows us realize and understand that despite our differences, we are one people; that, in the words Bill Clinton spoke so eloquently last, “we are all in it together”.

This is one of the many reasons I love running, particularly long-distance running.  The long distance running community doesn’t care if you are Red or Blue, it doesn’t care if you are fast or slow, it doesn’t care what your race, religion or gender are.  The community simply asks, do you run? Great!  Then you are part of us.

Which is why it saddens me so much to read about a guy like Kip Litton.  You can read an article on him in the New Yorker —>HERE<—-.  I’m warning you now, the story is absolutely fascinating and hard to put down once started.  In a nutshell, Litton is a marathoner who has cheated his way onto the podium with supposed sub-3:00 times in countless marathons (including three I raced in) all in the name of raising funds for his youngest child, who had cystic fibrosis.  In reading the article and exploring the links in the story, despite being angry at Litton, I can’t help but feel some sadness as well.

On my Facebook page I poked fun at Paul Ryan for misclaiming (I don’t think that’s actually a word) that he had run a 2:50 something marathon.  I have to admit, as a veteran of 10 marathons with a personal best of 3:19, I was a little miffed.  It was almost as is he were taking the accomplishment of running 26.2 miles lightly.  The truth is, Paul Ryan has run one marathon – one that he may not have even trained seriously for.  He could very easily fall into the category of people who tell me, “oh, you missed qualifying for Boston by 8 minutes?  I’m sure you’ll get it in the next one, no problem!  I mean really, what’s 8 minutes out of three and half hours?” not realizing the magnitude of improving my pace by over 18 seconds per mile for 26.2 miles.  Paul Ryan may be a fitness buff, but unless he’s competing in road races on a regular basis, it’s quite possible he had no clue about what he was saying.  Like I said, I was miffed at Ryan, but in the end, it really didn’t matter – plus, I already was not voting for him based on his stance on social issues (a topic for another day and my other blog – http://luau2012.wordpress.com/)

But Litton is a different animal.  Here is a guy who pathologically has cheated in marathon after marathon, denied any wrongdoing and completely missing the point of training and running these races.  As my Red Twitter friend stated, the point of running, particularly longer distances, is the camaraderie and self-improvement.  I would add one more thing – it’s about self-discovery – finding out just what you can accomplish with hard work.  Ultimately, when you run a marathon or ultra-marathon, you are really only racing against, and for, one person – yourself; that same person that you go to bed with every night and wake up with and look in the mirror at every morning.  When I ran my 3:19:19 at Smuttynose in 2010, I looked in the mirror the next morning knowing I had accomplished something I had never done before.  I then looked at the various pictures of me running with friends, both old and just made during the race and celebrating with them afterward.

Camaraderie, self-improvement, self-discovery.

How does Kip Litton look in the mirror in the morning without looking at his own reflection with disappointment and disgust?  and then how does he face those he may run with?

The mystery remains as to how Litton was able to cheat his way to his string of sub-3:00 marathons.  We may never know exactly how he did it.  He is, if nothing else, a great magician of the road.

But he will never understand the true joy that running can bring if you simply run YOUR best – the joy of friends, the joy of making oneself better, the joy of breaking through barriers.

***turns out that this type of behavior may not be unique to Litton – my buddy MK has pointed out a few incidences where others have been caught cheating.  Here’s a video clip of a guy pretty much caught yet STILL denying any wrongdoing:

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