The Race That Wasn't Run

I started running, for real, in the fall of 2012. I say, "for real" because I had tried to incorporate running into my routine that previous summer, only to find excuse after excuse to not run. That's another story for another time.

So I started running in the fall, eventually overcoming this awful two-mile barrier that I had. I continued to run through that winter, and then into the spring, when my friends, Amy and Jamey Sotis, came to me and asked if I'd like to participate in a marathon relay to raise awareness and funds for an organization called As Our Own. I was immediately drawn to the organization. As Our Own rescues Indian girls from slavery and adopts them for life, as their own. What a wonderful concept -- to take a hurting child and give them a wonderful home...for life! I was nervous about being able to run the distance required (the shortest leg of the marathon relay was 5.5 miles), but agreed to give it a shot. It was a fantastic experience! (Again, another story...)

When the opportunity came around again this year, I was all-in without hesitation. In 2013, our local As Our Own team was comprised of twelve people -- all of different abilities. This year, we expanded to about 20 runners (sorry, I've lost count!). Again, we had runners of all abilities. As we met for group training runs throughout the spring, it was inspiring to see people, who never thought they would run, preparing for distances of five or six miles. Others were gearing up for half-marathons. We all had our goals, and As Our Own and their daughter, Prasana, were never far from our hearts. New friendships were forged and old friendships were solidified as we encouraged one another, shared tips, and pushed each other to become stronger.

The day of the race came -- June 1st. We were supposed to meet with the As Our Own representatives at 5:30am for photos and prayer. We were all so excited to run for Prasana and an organization that is truly making a difference. But God had other plans. The one-hour drive to Minneapolis was complicated by heavy rains and lightning. As soon as we arrived to the race site, we learned the start time had been postponed to 7:30, with another announcement scheduled for 7:00. Bad weather was all around us, but we held out hope. Finally, around 8:00, we received the announcement that the race was canceled. Disappointment. 

But, that's not the end of the story...

A couple of days later, I wrote this email to my many friends who supported As Our Own through my fund raising page:

Dear friends,

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING AS OUR OWN AND ME! I am thrilled by your generosity! My heart is full!

As many of you probably know by now, the Minneapolis Marathon, Half Marathon, and Relay scheduled for last Sunday was canceled due to the stormy weather. At first the race was postponed, but then another storm cell started growing and race organizers and police felt that the event had to be canceled. 

To hear that the race wouldn't happen was a huge blow. I won't lie to you. I was so excited to run. And being around all those other people who were waiting to run only fueled my energy. We gathered on the first floor of a parking garage around 5:30am. Most of us had low-but-building levels of adrenaline coursing through our bodies. Pacing...stretching...damp...waiting.... Our As Our Own group (about 17 of us at the starting line) spent time finalizing driving/shuttle details, writing Prasana's name on our arms and legs, strapping on our timing chips, and taking waiting-for-the-race photos. When the news came in around 8:00 that there would be no race, our heads fell in collective unbelief. 

But, our grief didn't last long. I think a lot of us immediately thought about our financial supporters and whether we were letting them down. We were able to rationalize that no one really gave because we were running. They gave...YOU GAVE...because something about As Our Own, and the work they do, spoke to you. You gave out of compassion, not because I was lacing up a pair of tennis shoes. 

And while it's fair to say that most of the thousands of people waiting to participate in the race understandably felt disappointment in not getting the chance to meet their goal, we realized that we had already accomplished our main purpose -- to raise awareness for an important issue and to raise funds for Prasana and As Our Own. Sure, in the meantime, we trained and prepared and even sacrificed a little to get those miles in. And in doing so, we made new friends, deepened current relationships, learned a lot about what we're made of, and were inspired by those on our team (some racing for the first time!). We were also able to tell other runners at the race about As Our Own (a crowd of people all wearing the same shirt draws a little attention). This wasn't about a race at all...at least not a running race. I feel blessed by the entire experience!

The greatest part of the morning came several minutes after the announcement that the race was canceled when someone mentioned, "We could still run." We looked at the radar and saw that there was a clear pocket around Minneapolis. The storm seemed to be a little ways out. It wasn't raining. So we decided to go running anyway! There was no gun start. No relay hand-offs. But many of our crew was able to put in between 6.5 and 7.5 miles, out-and-back along Theodore Wirth Parkway. It was wonderful to run in a new area, to see other race participants who decided to do the same thing, to splash through puddles, to expand our lungs as we worked hard.... The run gave us all time to reflect on our brief disappointment, our purpose, and, for me, to give thanks to a God who can fill us more than any race, personal record, or adrenaline rush. He is good!

Thank you for supporting me and As Our Own. I am blessed to call you my friends!

Rebecca

P.S. Let me know if you ever want to go on a run!  ;-)

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Thinking about Dad

Tomorrow, December 9, marks seven years since Dad passed away. For some reason, this year, I've been thinking about his last weeks much more often than in year's past. It was November, 2003. We received a call shortly before Thanksgiving that he was very ill. There was a lot of discussion about whether he could even make it home from California. I remember talking to him on the phone. And although he was still relatively well, the conversations were not very clear. I was relieved when it was decided that Mom would fly out to California, help evaluate how he was doing, and decide whether or not he could come back to Wisconsin. Thankfully, she was able to fly home with him. I think it was Thanksgiving Day.

I remember the first time I saw him. He had lost weight. He was grayer. He was older. I wasn't prepared for just how sick he was. As we started to care for him, it became evident that we weren't prepared. There was no treating him, just caring for him. Hospice was called. We received a bed and other equipment we would need to care for him. And just as we were starting to feel a bit tired and really wondered how we were all going to do this, Dad got much worse. He stopped eating. Stopped communicating. Father Shanley was called to the house.

And then he had trouble breathing. There was fluid in the back of his throat that he couldn't clear. We didn't have oxygen set up yet. We had to do what no one wanted to do -- call an ambulance. It wasn't easy getting him out of the house. It was cold. We wrapped blankets around him -- blankets from home.

So it was there, in the hospital, that Dad passed. December 9th, 2003. Reyna was almost one year old. I remember how much my heart warmed when he saw her for the first time. She toddled around his hospital bed set up in what had been Mom and Dad's master bedroom.

I remember him lying in the hospital bed, his head was pointed south. There was a small window to the east, on his right side. I usually sat on his left side, holding his hand. Bony. Warm. Still his hand, his nails. I loved my dad's hands.

When we knew it was getting close to the end, I asked to be alone with him. I read him poetry from my little red book. I read to him from the Bible -- psalms and other verses I no longer remember. I put little sticky notes all over the Bible and tried to read them all to him. I wanted him, so much, to hear me and to be comforted.

I didn't really understand the details, but he remained unconscious for quite some time and then, as his breathing became labored (physically raising his chest to take quick, shallow breaths), his morphine was increased. He passed very quietly. The snow was so beautiful outside -- huge flakes against a black night sky.

So I'm really sad this year that I don't have my Dad with me. I wish he could see my children, see what Steve and I have accomplished in these last seven years. He is still so much a part of my life, and yet some of the most important people in my life have never even met him. I do take comfort in knowing that we will meet again. We will resume all the important conversations that were never finished. We will start new ones with deeper understanding of one another, and of ourselves. I am blessed to have memories of him and to still have the deep love and respect that I can carry with me.

Poem

Settling In
Sleep at Seven Weeks

I can tell when she's going to settle in.

We struggle all evening.
Uncomfortable whimpers. Grunts.
That slight lifting up of her stomach
That tells me she's uncomfortable.
I pick her up, cradle her over my left shoulder.
We walk. I pat. We walk. I pat.
More cries. Some shrill.
She arches her head back.

I roll my eyes.
Frustration. Inadequacy.
Every night this struggle.
She's a puzzle I can't solve.
As I walk. And walk. And walk.
I feed. She eats. Gulps, swallows, gulps.
I know more than milk is getting in.
Air.
But her eyes close.
This may be it.
I lift her up, again. To my shoulder.
But it was too much.
The air.
As it escapes, her eyes open.

So we start over.
Back on the floor, on the blanket.
Stare at the fan. Maybe even a smile.
I return one back, even though the first wasn't for me.
A change. Warm and dry.
Caresses that I try to impress upon my brain.
Try. Try.
Remember what this feels like.
So, so, incredibly soft.
And sad, because I know I won't remember.
This time will pass and so I'm trying to let it all
Seep into my skin.

But then another cry. Another shriek.
I hear it from the inside, not in my ears.
Her cry is part of me.

So we start over.
I pick her up and we walk.
I pat. Over. And over.
I walk. I feed.
Sometimes her eyes close again.
We may be close.
But I know better.
There's still more to go.

And then.
I barely know it when it happens.
But it happens. And I know.
She settles in.
And I can lift her on my shoulder.
And I can rearrange the blankets.
And I can lay her, ever gently, into her bed.
And I know. With this one, I know.
(So unlike the others.)

She's asleep. A good sleep.
And I can breathe.
And I can stretch.
And I can write a poem.

But if she wakes soon
That will be all right.
Because she's little
And that's what is supposed to happen.
And I'm her mother
And mothers do what they do.
They have to. They love to.

And I love her.

Choosing Cloth

(Baby #4: Our cloth diapering test subject -- photo added July 2009)

My road to cloth diapering has been long. When my son, now 17-years-old, was born, I used cloth for much of his infancy because it was an inexpensive option. I was a teenager, finishing high school, and washing diapers seemed like a small price to pay if it helped defray all of the costs my parents were incurring. But, cloth diapering wasn't glamorous -- simple white pre-folds, huge pins (cleverly disguised as innocuous with their baby blue tops), and sticky vinyl covers. I thought I'd hit the jackpot when I discovered these thin liners that I could put in the diapers. They made the cleaning process much easier -- just lift the liner (and its stinky contents) and flush down the toilet. To be honest, I really didn't put much thought into the environmental benefits of using cloth, or the fact that I was keeping strange chemicals away from my baby's skin. Although I was becoming a die-hard environmentalist at about this same time, I didn't realize my baby's bottom had anything to do with it.

As I grew up, finished college (with a degree in Environmental Studies), and started working in a job in my field, I realized more and more that the simple acts of each and every one of us are going to make the biggest impact on our planet. As I got older, and added more stress to my life, I also became much more practical. When my first daughter came along in 2003, I thought about cloth diapering...for about fifteen minutes. I wasn't going to go back to the old fashioned method and we didn't have a diaper service in our area. But then I learned about the new cloth diapers. I started a subscription to Mothering magazine when my daughter was a few months old and fell in love with the cute little bottoms in gorgeous cloth diapers. Excitedly, I did some Internet research and, just as quickly as I had fallen in love, realized that there was no money in our budget for such an investment.

But, cloth diapering kept nagging at me (like the old-fashioned diaper pins that always stuck my fingers). I had another baby in 2006. But, again, circumstances and finances kept me away from what I knew was a good idea.

Finally, when I was pregnant with our third daughter, born in 2008, I knew I was going to go cloth. Even if this was our last baby, I had to do it. My husband wasn't overly supportive, so I showed him the money (how cloth diapering could save us money). At this same time, daughter number two developed a horrible rash when I tried to use Luvs diapers on her. This was the proof my husband needed that there's something not-so-safe lurking in disposable diapers. I even got my mother-in-law excited about trying to make our own diapers. Over the course of a few months, I acquired a good stash of diapers and have never regretted it.

Diapering baby number four has been an adventure so far. Most of the time she's in cloth, but we do use disposable diapers about 10-20% of the time. We decided to use BumGenius 3.0 pocket diapers and pre-folds with PUL covers (Thirsties and Bummis). I try to use liners as much as I can to make clean-up easier. (I've read accounts of "shaking solids into the toilet" but that hasn't worked well for us.) I wash about every two days. We have a front-loading washer and I did find that rinsing was an issue. Now I add an "extra rinse" to the wash. I've tried different detergents and, so far, have liked All Free & Clear and BioKleen the best. I love the sun for it's bleaching and freshening qualities.

It will be interesting to see if cloth diapers will help us toilet-train baby number four more easily or what we will do if there's ever a baby number five. Only time will tell!

Why I Started a Blog

My Birthday Present

I had been thinking about creating a blog for a long time. I wanted an easy way to share photos and happenings, but, I'll be honest, I am also really drawn to just how cool I think blogs are. I'm not terribly addicted to any particular blog, but I just can't believe how much I've learned from everyday people writing about what they love. It's fantastic!

But, I'm not writing a blog because I think I have a lot to teach people. In fact, I can hardly imagine more than a handful of people actually reading this. What finally tipped me over the edge was a conversation I overheard while in line at the pharmacy. "I've tried to journal for years, but sitting down and writing was just too hard. Blogging makes writing easy. I've written nearly every day for two years."

That was it!

I probably have six or eight cloth-bound journals I kept when I was a pre-teen and teenager. And, although awkward and painful to read at times, I treasure them. Once high school and college hit, forget it! I could hardly keep up with the rest of life, let alone sit down and write about it. Now, in my mid-30s, life is just going too fast. I'm hoping to capture some of it...for myself. This is my birthday gift to myself (one day late).