I am a Runner

The other night I was out with a friend who was referencing something else in our conversation when she said, “We (as humans) need to be loved. We need to be hugged and held and touched. We are a species that needs constant support from one another–both physical and emotional.” And she was exactly right. In the past week, this has been more apparent than ever.  In times of utter chaos, sadness, and loss, we find a way to come together, to reach out and hold onto one another, for support and reassurance that we are going to be okay.

I am a runner. When I think about whom I turn to, where my community is, and whom I can count on, it is often my running family. This is a family that meets rain or shine. Even when we have pulled an all nighter, we don’t sleep in to miss a run. Even when it is blowing horizontal sleet and rain, we don’t substitute the outdoors for a treadmill. We come together, unplugged from our phones and our computes, leaving the music behind, to talk, to listen and to share.

On bad days, we vent for miles, complaining of aches and pains, not just in our legs, but in our hearts and minds, our relationships, our work, and at home. We share the big news, the engagements, the new homes or apartments, the pregnancies, and the promotions. We log miles unloading our hopes and dreams, our fears and our worries. We have laughed until our lungs burn and our check bones hurt from smiling. We have stopped mid run to cry and hold one another. We push one another to be the best we can be. We leave no one behind and we celebrate every step, every milestone, every personal best.

I think of the countless times that I have gathered with dear friends and total strangers to take part in something that I love, that we love. Running is not just an exercise, a race shirt or a medal–it is a community, a network, and a family. All the miles that we log, pushing ourselves, enduring blisters, ugly toes, and sore muscles purely for the joy of being together, purely for the feeling that you can only understand if you, yourself, are a runner.

This week as I pulled an old race shirt over my head, slid into my running tights, and laced up my shoes, my heart felt heavy. As I made my way to the waterfront, dodging cars and pedestrians, I missed my running family back home. I felt a gaping hole in my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Just when I wanted to stop and walk, just as I was about to turn around, just when I wanted to head for home, I saw them, my running community. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know a single runner on the bike path. We all felt a connection. Sporting our race shirts in solidarity for Boston, reflecting on this weeks past events, we all fell into stride. We didn’t exchange words, but instead, pounded the pavement knowing we were there for each other, knowing that we represented something bigger, knowing that we were thankful for every step, every mile, every memory. We are runners and nothing is ever going to change that.

This cup is for Boston

And my running family

(Because we never stop running.)

I have been stuck in a cubicle for too long, and in the last few months, I have come to a stark realization–a cubicle is not for me. I need more than a screensaver. I need more than a window. I need the outdoors. I need the trees. And so, all alone in my cubicle, this came to mind:

Deep in the Woods

I just want to walk into the woods.

I want to hear the branches of the trees dance in the wind.

I want the pine needles to find their way into my hair.

I want to feel the sticky sap between my fingers.

I want to find the perfect stump–a stump that is all my own.

I want to climb higher for a better view of the treetops.

I want to count the rings.

I want to hear the crunch of branches and needles beneath my feet.

I want to get lost in the shadows of the trees.

I long for muddy boots and splinters in my socks.

I dream of vast open sky and dark mossy corners.

I miss the smell of the dirt.

I miss the chill of an afternoon breeze on the back of my neck.

Dear Woods,

If I could stand up and start walking to you, I would.

I would run my hands over your hard edges.

I would lean into your out stretched arms.

I would swing on your branches.

I would sit in your quiet.

I want to walk into the woods.

And when I finally got lost, deep in the foliage,

That is when I would know –I was finally back where I belong.

-This cup is for Forest Park. I miss you more than you know.

Banana Gram

I was recently asked to talk about a travel memory. This is hard. My notebooks are filled to the brim, the corners bent down to easily access some of my very favorite days and some of my best memories, and yet, even with crumpled corners, I still end of re-reading my journals cover to cover. 

One bent corner talks about my time in Egypt. The page is dusty, the watercolor and ink bleeds through the paper onto the next page. Reading about that day brings me right back to that courtyard, right back to that heat reflecting off the pavement, right back to those kids with their arms outstretched wide. 

Enjoy!

August 2009

The sun was hot on my face as I waited in the courtyard behind the orphanage, a box of bananas at my feet, for the children to wake up from naptime. I could hear tiny voices inside, pulling on sandals, the pitter patter of small feet running down the stairs. Then, suddenly, the doors flew open and the children came running toward me. I had expected them to be timid and shy toward a new stranger, a tall blonde with a messy ponytail, and bright pink finger nail polish, I wasn’t sure what they would think. But they came running at me with open arms and smiles from ear to ear. Each little hand reached out to grab mine, run their fingers through my hair, take pictures with my camera, take turns wearing my sun glasses, reach out to be hugged and held. While I couldn’t speak their language and they couldn’t speak mine, we didn’t need words to communicate. We could show it with a quiet nod, a smile, a squeeze of the hand. Mushy banana’s coated their arms and hands, the smell of warm bananas filling the air. One little girl put the banana in her pocket, while another little girl offered up hers in exchange for mine. A little boy spent the entire snack time picking up everyone else’s banana peels and collecting them in a small red bucket, while another little boy sat next to me smiling as he ate. We spent the rest of the afternoon drawing with sidewalk chalk, and playing tag. Later that afternoon, as I made my way back to the ship, my heart felt heavy and it was then that I knew I wanted to work abroad. The banana has long since been washed from my hands, but years later, I still know that I want to work for organizations that make the world a better place. I know I want to work for the children playing in that courtyard, and for all the children who reach out to us with an open hand in hopes we will take it and guide them to a better future. I want them to know I am here and I am ready.

This cup is for all those little kids...I am still here. 

Here and There

I just got back from a quick trip to Portland and the transition back to the Big Apple always takes some getting used to–not just in a time zone kind of way, but in a way of life kind of way. While I was home, I couldn’t help but walk down the streets of Portland saying, “I know I am back in Portland when…”

I know I am back in Portland when there is a yellow lab tied up on every corner waiting for its owner to get through the coffee line.

I know I am back in Portland when the barista asks me all about my day, complements me on my outfit, gives me a high five and paints a pine cone in my latte foam.

I know I am back in Portland when total strangers smile and say hi.

I know I am back in Portland when bikes outnumber cars.

I know I am back in Portland when it is raining and there is not an umbrella as far as the eye can see.

I know I am back in Portland when it is 70 degrees and everyone is taking the day off and wearing shorts and sporting shades.

I know I am back in Portland when dressing up means switching from your black Northface windbreaker to your black Northface fleece zip up for a fancy dinner.

I know I am back in Portland when there is a Subaru parked on every side street.

I know I am back in Portland when the guy who parks his car behind mine pays for my parking spot.

I know I am back in Portland when restaurants and coffee shops close at 9pm.

I know I am back in Portland when I don’t have to wait in line.

I know I am back in Portland when I run into everyone I know.

I know I am back in Portland when everyone around me is wearing Nike frees.

I know I am back in Portland when I don’t pay sales tax.

I know I am back in Portland when I am on my 4^th cup of coffee and it isn’t even noon.

I know I am back in Portland when it feels good to stand in the rain.

I know I am back in Portland when I am lost in the woods on a 10-mile trail run that turns into 14.

I know I am back in Portland because time is slower.

I know I am back in Portland when random people write “Pacific Wonderland” in chalk on the sidewalk downtown.

I know I am back in Portland when the beer is only $3.

I know I am back in Portland when it is LOCAL.

I know I am back in Portland when you ask what is on tap and the bar tender brings you a binder.

I know I am back in Portland when I see goats eating grass on the East Side.

I know I am back in Portland when I am eating from my favorite food carts.

I know I am back in Portland when I bump into the senator at the Farmer’s Market and he knows me on a first name basis.

I know I am back in Portland when flannel is the fabric of choice.

I know I am back in Portland when horned rimmed glasses and gauges outnumber ties and brief cases.

I know I am back in Portland when it is raining one minute and sunny the next.

I know I am back in Portland when I can drive to the beach and drive to the mountain in the same day.

I know I am back in Portland when all I hear is NPR.

I know I am back in Portland when all I smell is pine trees.

I know I am back in Portland when I can drink straight from the faucet.

I know I am back in Portland when I am standing behind a group of people who all wait for the walk sign.

I know I am back in Portland when everything I use is recycled.

I know I am back in Portland when my heart screams YOU’RE HOME and I LOVE YOU!

And…

I know I am back in New York when honking doesn’t trigger an emotion.

I know I am back in New York when J-Walking is normal.

I know I am back in New York when I have to ask for Soy Milk.

I know I am back in New York when I can eat at any hour anywhere.

I know I am back in New York when garbage is piled a mile high on every side street.

I know I am back in New York when I run my metro card through the turn-style.

I know I am back in New York when I am trying to power walk around a group of tourists that are walking down the sidewalk in a row of three at turtle pace.

I know I am back in New York when I am rushing.

I know I am back in New York when I am running late.

I know I am back in New York when no one says hi.

I know I am back in New York when there is a hotdog stand on every corner.

I know I am back in New York when there is a piano playing in the square.

I know I am back in New York when I am carrying all my groceries home.

I know I am back in New York when a glass of wine is $11.

I know I am back in New York when there is a mob of people waiting to get into a gallery opening.

I know I am back in New York when I have to run through traffic on a run.

I know I am back in New York when I almost lose an eye to an umbrella.

I know I am back in New York when I hear different languages being spoken on every corner.

I know I am back in New York when I see small dogs being carried around in purses.

I know I am back in New York when I have to make a reservation.

I know I am back in New York when I see fur coats.

I know I am back in New York when I see black SUVs and lines of cabs clogging the streets.

I know I am back in New York when I am distracted by a window display.

I know I am back in New York when I have to put on a pencil skirt to go to work.

I know I am back in New York because I am never alone.

I know I am back in New York when my brain screams “SLOW DOWN” and “”GET OUT OF MY WAY” and my heart says “THIS IS AMAZING, I CAN’T BELIEVE I LIVE HERE!”

This cup is for Lottie, the best yellow lab on earth: I know I am home when you meet me at the door And my New School gang: Who always remind me why I am back! You guys are the best!