Sisterhood Dedication

Madison Marathon 2013

I remember so vividly where I was on this date, four years ago - the day I got the news that my best friend's younger sister had died.  It was a tragedy that hit me with unparalleled sadness.

For nearly twenty years my friendship with Alyson existed on a level one may only associate with something like a soul.  And four years ago today her younger sister - whom she was as close to as I was to mine, who was the exact same age as mine, who had just recently gotten married like mine - was suddenly and senselessly taken from her.  There were no words to express what I felt for her and her wondrous family whom I loved so much.  When I reached her in Costa Rica through Skype from my distant room in Kabul, moments after she had heard the news, I asked her what I could do - she immediately answered with one request laced with the kind of profundity that sometimes accompanies moments like this.  She asked me to call my sister and tell her I love her.  So that's exactly what I did, sobbing, imagining her loss and taking great care to appreciate the gift of sisterhood as I told my sister what had happened.

A few months later, when I was pregnant with my son, my sister ran her first half-marathon in honor of the inspiring life of Errin Vuley.  It was something she decided independently to do, to honor the exceptional woman Errin was - her thoughtfulness and commitment not just moving but admirable.  As part of her debut as a runner, she raised over $1000 to donate in Errin's name to an Atlanta-based organization dedicated to girls' empowerment, self-esteem and health.  I could not have been more proud of my own sister that day, in her first of what became a series of incredible personal achievements.  She ran that half marathon for Errin, and then another and another, eventually running the full New York marathon, the Philadelphia marathon and this past Sunday she ran the Madison Marathon.   She once told me that in every long run there is a moment when her mind gravitates toward thoughts of Errin, and it helps propel her forward, keep running.  

Four years ago the world lost an exceptional woman, a sister.  Seven days ago I had the honor of watching my own exceptional sister continue her journey as a marathoner, a journey partly inspired by the late Errin Vuley.  It was as moving and admirable as her first race, watching her challenge herself, show her strength and determination - and reminding me and everyone who knows her just what a strong and amazing woman she is.  So today, on this unthinkable anniversary, I cannot help but be thankful.  Thankful for the opportunity to be able to continue to call my sister every day, watch her achieve new heights, and careful not to take her presence in the world for granted.  

Today, remembering that painful conversation and Alyson's tearful plea to me, I am reminded of the bonds of sisterhood, familial and beyond.  The best way I can honor Alyson's sister is to honor mine.  I love you Sisterina Angela.  Congratulations on the Madison Marathon!  I am so proud of you and so fortunate to have you in my life.  

A Mother of a Day

November 2010

I am a mom.  I am "MAMA!"  I am the mother of Luka Alejandro Valentino.  I have been a mother for exactly 910 days.  And it has changed me.

I know now that my tolerance for some things (like people being mean) is lower. I notice that I cry way too easily these days, particularly if there is a storyline fact or fiction involving a young boy.  I find that I am less concerned with certain professional achievements and focused more on getting to spend time at home playing.  I feel bursting joy, absolute terror, tiny heartbreaks, overwhelming pride and a thousand other colors every single day.  I worry about the many dangers (to small people with limited verbal skills) present in regular life encounters and environments.  I am willing to endure repeated physical discomfort in order for my son's sheer pleasure - in particular sitting on my shoulders for prolonged walks to preschool.  I now spend money on things I never would have dreamed of, including dozens of trains, fish sticks, numerous books about pooping on the potty.  I focus on things like school options, developmental milestones, immunizations, babysitter schedules, sticker charts, and making sure  there are about a thousand toddler giggles produced a day.  I am distracted by online shopping, and not for myself.  I am cautious about strangers and traffic and ocean waves and hot stoves and uncut grapes. I am thrilled at new concepts grasped, new sentences constructed, revelations coming to light and I carefully document them in journals and social media channels, while I watch my own IQ to continue to dwindle in direct proportion.  I allow a certain level of animal abuse to take place in my own home (because it seems my cats' tolerance for some things - like small people being accidentally mean - is actually getting higher). I am certain of the fact that there are truly not enough hours in the day. I am frustrated by the observation that (despite being one hell of a multi-tasker) I simply can not be good at all things at the same time.  I am (more and more) accepting of real limitations on my ability to "have it all," at least simultaneously. I am hypersensitive to the messages we are sending to kids (especially young boys), and hyper aware of the choices I make and their potential impact.  I am desperately holding on to the feeling of each small-voiced "I love you," and the memory of each made up toddler song ("the itsy bitsy poopy went up the poopy spout"), and each fantastic miscommunication  ("Would you like meatballs in your soup?" "No, I put my balls in the soup but it was too hot.").

And I feel a love on a visceral level that is inexplicable, indescribable, unimaginable, terrifying, and fulfilling in a way that can make me cry just reflecting on its depths.

I have been a mother for 910 days. Each day more mind-blowing, hilarious, and filled with love than the last. It sounds impossible but true. This Mother's Day, if I were to have a moment of quiet solitude to think about what this means to me, how I feel, how my life has changed, and who this small person is becoming, I might just spend the whole day weeping with joy.  So instead I am going to brunch.

Reflections on Hunger and Satisfaction

I've been thinking a lot recently about the concepts of desire and satisfaction, happiness and contentment, chaos and calm and the complexities that make us these unique creatures, capable of crafting our own individual paths.  The decisions we make and the right or left turns we take come together to leave a trail [largely] of our own making - and I've been curious about the differences in how we make those choices.

When I think of myself and the possibilities over a lifetime - the arcs of joy and sadness, of heart and mind - the branches of this tree span so wide I can't see where they could possibly end. Any one of them could lead to a path that may soar in a thousand different directions. To unimaginable heights or (and?) unfathomable lows.

At the same time, I see a certain impermanence in most things and feel that very few decisions are unchangeable or irreversible.  It is why I am not afraid to change jobs or move between countries and coasts and how I generally choose action over inaction in many cases.  Don't like (or absolutely love) something? Do something about it. This trait that has so often served as a strength for me can also be a flaw, and my challenge lies in understanding when to follow my hunger and when to be satisfied, when to seek more and embrace the unknown and when to quietly enjoy to what is I already have (a job that is less than rewarding in substance but provides extraordinary flexibility for my personal life, for example).

Some people have this amazing ability (I tend to think of it as something innate - programmed into their DNA) that allows them to commit to a life course and follow it steadfastly.  These incredible people see things through to the end - that job they've already invested a decade in but may no longer enjoy or that relationship that was so full of love but has since lost its passion - somehow they have a long-term vision and in that vision a plan that allows them to see the end game, which is worth all the trouble.  They are satisfied knowing they will collect a strong pension at retirement or have a partner when they are aging, but they also have a wisdom about the peaks and valleys that riddle almost everything - and it is in those valleys that they don't give up.  These marvels of follow-through and dedication have my admiration, and I spend a lot of time asking friends how they do it, where they get the fortitude, and what does that kind of commitment require.

At the far ends of a nonlinear spectrum of good needs or bad wants there are people who act on mad impulse, on the creepiest of desires.  This past week the news revealed monstrous acts by real people (again) and distracted me with images of those who hunger for things that are hurtful, dangerous, and destructive - operating at levels that are outside the realm of any version of okay and without regard for the consequences to others.  These people are perhaps also programmed this way through some frankenstein-like combination of nature and nurture, to do damage in ways that even they may not understand in their quest to feel some sort of twisted personalized version of satisfaction.

Putting aside these gruesome anomalies, I find myself back at the unanswerable question of how it is that we choose one path over another, and how we know what path is right - when to follow our hunger and when to stay put and take stock of the bigger picture.  And the mystery of how some people are better at decisive action and others are better at follow through.  Not understanding any of this, I do know one thing - our decisions matter, our choices matter from the smallest decision to the grandest (as sometimes the distinction isn't clear until after the fact - a lesson learned thanks to the shining example of heroic bystander Charles Ramsey).

And sometimes turning left and satisfying a hunger will lead to great happiness and new adventures.  Sometimes it won't.  Sometimes turning right and letting hunger pass in favor of satisfaction of a different kind will lead to great happiness.  And sometimes it won't.  And the kicker is, we don't get to know the answers until after the fact...until that branch of the tree has led to another branch and perhaps another branch and we look down at where we started to see how far we've come.  Or look up in yet another direction and just enjoy the view.

  

My Sister is a Marathoner

My sister Angela is a marathoner.  I say that because she has already done two marathons and countless half-marathons; she is seriously running all of the time. It is part of her life, part of who she is these days.

So it was wholly appropriate that I was with her yesterday when we saw the news about the tragic events at the Boston Marathon - as my organization had a team running in it and my sister nearly did the run for us herself.  Striking close to home was the fact that merely the day before the Boston Marathon, I was on the sidelines of the More/Fitness Magazine Women's Half-Marathon in Central Park - cheering her on with 2 year old Luka on my shoulders.

My sister is a Marathoner.  And I am a spectator, a cheerleader, a supporter, and proud family member.  From the sidelines of her first marathon, and every race since, I am moved to tears by the incredible strength and determination of these runners -  of my sister.  I often stand there in complete awe and amazement at her drive and dedication, and as tears stream down my face I think to myself - that's MY SISTER doing that.  Look at her! She is AMAZING! What an inspiration! Go! You are doing it! I love you!

Yesterday, John was standing near the finish line at the Boston Marathon to cheer on his daughter-in-law Sara Carr, who was running as part of Team ALLY.  I can easily imagine the extraordinary pride he felt and the surge of emotions in seeing this incredible accomplishment in-person, as I feel every time I watch my sister run - it is overwhelming.  He was on the sidelines, a spectator, a cheerleader, a supporter, a proud family member - and moments later he was sharing an ambulance with an 8 year old boy who did not make it.  John himself is currently in extremely critical condition.  It is unimaginable.

My sister is a Marathoner.  And while she may think I go to her races solely for her, what us spectators know - us cheerleaders and avid supporters and family members along the sidelines - is that we gain so much by being there.  The honor of being a small part of something incredible, the overflowing pride in being associated with someone so strong and amazing, the collateral glow we get from someone we love accomplishing something so meaningful, the inspiration in watching the hard work come to fruition and hearing the stories of the journey to greatness.  Because that is what we are witnessing, at these moments, with these people, greatness.

Events like what happened yesterday at the Boston Marathon remind us to hold our loved ones close.  Like a scene from "Sliding Doors," we all have stories about parallel universes - who could have been where when it happened and who narrowly escaped due to wild circumstances or luck or whatever you may believe.

Our hearts are breaking for those injured in Boston, and the runners they were there to support.  We are them and they are us.  But it also makes me think of acts of extraordinary courage, strength, determination and just absolute awesomeness... of those incredible runners, of the people who crossed the finish line after suffering 26.2 miles, of the cowboy-hat peace activist who acted like a true hero and jumped into action to help stop the bleeding of man who was seriously injured, and all of those who ran toward the injured.  I have to believe this is also what it means to live balls to the wall - to live life as if it matters, as if every person matters, every decision matters, and every mile.

My sister is a Marathoner. And I am so honored to be a spectator to her greatness, a cheerleader for her awesomeness, a supporter for her balls to the wall endeavors, and proud family member at every finish line. Even the invisible ones.