My Reason

Nine years ago I ran my very first marathon, and after the race I wrote a short story about the experience for a feature writing class I was taking at the time. This is what I wrote then. Enjoy.

"For my sweetie. To get in shape. For charity. For the cure.

There are many reasons why people start running for exercise. Some of these reasons are health-related, like lowering cholesterol, preventing diabetes, or keeping heart disease at bay, as well as reducing stress, or “finding time for yourself” in an overworked, fast-paced society. Most people, though, start running to shed some of the excess pounds that have begun to make of America an obese society. Whatever the reason that makes people lace up their running shoes and get going, the benefits of running can be as much spiritual as they are physical, and the impact does trickle down to all aspects of a person’s life.

In my case, it all started with a dare.

Just a little over a year ago, my uncle dared me to join him and walk the New York Marathon, an event he participates in almost every year. One evening in one of his customary visits to our home after finishing the classic New York race, my uncle, who at the age of 65 has been running marathons for as long as I can remember, started joking around and, knowing well that even walking to the corner is a great feat for me, dared me to ‘just try,’ and maybe we could walk together in the race the next year. I told him that I just might take him up on his word, and that he would be very surprised. After making this fateful statement, and for months to follow, my uncle, along with my aunt, father, mother, brother, husband, and any other human being that has known me long enough to know that there is not a single athletic hair in my body, took it as a running joke. Let’s all poke more fun at the chubby little lady.

I know that I am no Marion Jones, and that my exercising history leaves a lot to be desired, but really, must everybody laugh at my naiveté? So, I started thinking, what if? While walking on my treadmill, a Christmas gift from my husband that has been collecting dust bunnies in the dark corners of my basement, I fantasized about crossing the finish line, while everybody cheered me on, clearly awed at my endurance and speed. Of course, the fantasy lasted about five minutes or so, the length of time it took me to feel out of breath. But surely I could shape up… I still had about a year to get in tip top shape for the competition. I vowed to exercise every day, and to go on a diet, and to drink more fluids, and to do all those things my fitness magazines told me I should do to turn my rather round physique into a lean, mean muscle machine in “just 4 weeks.” But, oh, the lure of prime time TV and potato chips are so much stronger than I! If I was to succeed in avoiding the ridicule that was sure to follow if I admitted defeat, I needed some strong motivation, and fast.

And then it came to me in the form of yet another fitness magazine article. A structured program to turn most couch potatoes into first-time marathon walkers in just four months. Not only did I have a step-by-step approach to achieving my goal, but the testimony of the writer who swore by it after having tried it and succeeded at walking the Honolulu Marathon! So there was my motivation. No, not the program. The trip to Honolulu! I called my uncle and double-dared him. I told him that I was definitively going to surprise him, and that he could count on my finishing a marathon even if it was the last thing I did. The only condition, though, was that New York be replaced by Honolulu. Even he could not say no to Hawaii.

Just to make sure I would not back out at the last minute, I purchased the tickets, booked the hotel, and registered for the race as soon as possible. With finances and a nice vacation involved, even my husband got into the marathon groove and registered too. We were ready to start the long road to success.

For the next few months, both my husband and I got into a disciplined routine of five short walks during the week, and increasingly long walks during the weekends. At the beginning it was hard to make myself follow the training, but having my better half training with me made it easier for me to stick to the program. Little by little I began to notice changes in my body, not to mention my attitude. Not the kind of oh-my-gosh-lookit-yah kind of changes, but the more subtle kind, like being able to walk at gradually faster speeds on my treadmill, or an increased level of energy throughout the day, or actually looking forward to the weekends’ long walks.

At the same time that we made progress in the exercise front, I started looking at that other aspect of wellbeing that we all dread to talk about. Yes, I am talking about the “D” word. Diet. Not the “Starve Yourself Silly” diet, but the mindful eating that comes with truly analyzing what your body needs and finding it in nutritionally sound choices. I started to see the importance of food as fuel for my workouts, and making smarter choices became easier with time. So, not only did I start losing the extra poundage, but the added benefit of having a lighter, better fueled carcass to drag along in my walks was a complete bonus.

Before we knew it, we were investing in heart monitors, power gels, designer running shoes, and other little gadgets to make our training more efficient. We started alternating walking with ever-longer running segments. We browsed the Internet for hints and advice to increase our stamina and endurance. We were, in one word, hooked. As the date of the marathon approached, we fine-tuned our workouts, and planned the race to minute details -- where we would meet at the end, what time we were planning on making, how we were going to run, and what not.

The day of the trip arrived without my even noticing. We found ourselves at the airport waiting to board on the airplane that would take us from Chicago to Honolulu. While we waited, a very cheerful lady, wearing a bright yellow shirt and overalls walked around the waiting area, with a list on hand, asking people if they were part of “the team”. We were puzzled by this and wondered if we would find out what “the team” was. We found out when she came by our seats and asked us the same question. We said no, and in return asked her what was “the team” all about. As it turns out, it was “Team in Training”, a group of people who pledged to run a marathon to raise money for leukemia. I vaguely remembered to have received one of their brochures in the mail. I also remembered to have tossed it out without second thought – yeah! like I was ever going to run a marathon.

The pre-race Honolulu experience is somewhat of a blur in my memory. Although the astonishing Hawaiian landscape passed before my eyes with mesmerizing beauty, all I could think of was race day. I would have time to admire the views later… I was so excited I could hardly sleep the night before.

On race day, we were up at 3:00 am. My uncle, my husband, and I, along with about 20,000 other people started gathering at start line. It was raining and cold, but the mood was festive and upbeat. People of all sizes, shapes, and colors came together in one big party, everybody waiting with exhilaration for the gun to go off. At 5:00 am the signal was given, and an undistinguishable swarm of cheering bodies began moving through the still-dark streets of Honolulu, like a giant snake slowly slithering away into the horizon.

The rush of adrenaline kept us going for the first eight miles. We were making fast time. Throughout the race we came across two distinct groups of people representing two charities: one was raising money for AIDS research, and the second was the one we had already met at the airport, raising money for leukemia. They had an amazing support system, with group representatives stationed along the race course giving their runners water, fruit, and, even more important, words of encouragement. For the rest of us, mere mortals with no higher purpose other than to achieve a personal-best goal, there were just the water stations. I clearly remember thinking “and what about me?” “Who will cheer me on?” By the time I reached the half-race point, I had slowed considerably, and lost my husband in the process. I was able to keep up with my uncle, who is not as fast as he used to be in his younger days, but still very fast. But soon I lost him too. My morale started to decline just as I began to feel the pain in my right foot. It felt as if someone was hammering a big rusty nail through my heel. The pain started in the heel, and it soon began spreading to the plant of my foot, and upwards to my ankle. I could not run anymore. I would have to slow down and walk, as fast as possible, but just walk. But even walking was excruciating. I was sure I had somehow managed to get a stress fracture or something, and to make matters worse, there were those confounded charity people cheering, and laughing, and having a good old time. I wanted to just sit down and cry.
I didn’t sit down, but cry I did. Copiously, noisily, and drawn out.

There I was, a walking mess of tears, mucus, sweat, and mud, strolling my way through the race course. I felt no shame, all I felt was the pain in my right foot, and the outrage at the fact that all my months of preparation could very possibly end in defeat. It was right about mile 20 when I heard him right behind me. There he was, a little old man of about 75, huffing and puffing, and making his way through the crowd. He had a shirt that said he had finished this very race every year since it started in the late 1970s. He had tied jingle bells to his shoe strings. Cling, cling, cling, cling. I could hear him going just behind me, slowly but steadily, with obvious effort, but with determination. He, like myself, did not have the support system the charity runners had. He only had his determination. Cling, cling, cling, cling. He is now by my side. “I am not as fast as I once was, but this will not be the year I don’t finish,” I hear him tell a fellow runner who expressed his admiration after reading the t-shirt. Cling, cling, cling, cling. He passed me, and was now lost in the crowd in front of me. As I watched the old man go, I felt ashamed. This would not be the year I would admit defeat, either.

I tried my best to pick up the pace, but while the failure thoughts were left behind, back in mile 20, the pain in my right foot was still quite real. So I decided that I did not need to make a specific time, all I needed to do was finish. I kept going, much slower, but with an uncanny sense of relief that I did not have to beat any record. I just had to set one. My own record.

At long last I could see the finish line in the distance. Although there were loud speakers playing music at the end of the course, the last few feet play in my mind like a slow-motion picture. I can see people cheering on both sides of the line, but I cannot really hear them. I know I am walking much faster now, but I feel like I’m in a dream, moving very slowly. Shortly before I cross the finish line a Japanese gentleman steps out of the sidelines and gestures for me to smile. He lifts his hand and gives me a high five. “Well done,” he says, in halting English, “Smile, you are a hero.” I’m overwhelmed. Soon I cross the finish line, and in the confusion of people cheering and celebrating, the only person I see is my husband running towards me. He had finished a full hour earlier, and there he was, tired and hungry, waiting for me. We hugged and cried together before collapsing on the floor, too exhausted to walk. We had achieved what nobody thought we could.

We spent the rest of the day sleeping. We went to bed at around five in the evening, and did not get up until seven the next morning. As we went over our experiences, we discussed the highlights and the not-so-bright spots of the whole ordeal. Now I have bragging rights to tell anybody who ever doubted that I am a marathoner. One thing my husband and I agreed on, though, was that we would never do this again. Been there, done that. I proved myself and didn’t have to do it again. No sir. There is no way you can ever make me do it in this lifetime again. Nope.

“So, what do you think about the Ireland Marathon?” asks my uncle a few months later. Hmm!… My eyes light up. Don’t you worry; I’ll take care of this one right away. I’ll check out the hotels, the fees, the airlines. Just leave it to me, uncle dearest…" -End-

Now, we never did go Ireland, and my dear uncle is now prisoner of his own body, victim of a cruel disease that has robbed him of his most treasured pleasure. Since that time, and largely in his honor, I have become one of those people who walk for a cause. In 2009 I walked 40 miles in search for a cure for Breast Cancer, a feat I intend to repeat in 2011 (for more information, visit my avon page: http://bit.ly/bVe7GB). Also, I promised myself I would run one marathon per decade. Next year my decade is up, so it is time to plan the next big one: Marine Corps, here I come!

Caminando para encontrar una cura

Cada tres minutos, otra mujer es diagnosticada con cáncer de seno en los Estados Unidos. Esta estadística no cobró significado para mí sino hasta cuando comencé a contar y descubrí que conozco personalmente a 7 mujeres que han sido diagnosticadas con cáncer de seno. Siete. Ese número es bastante grande para una enfermedad de esta gravedad. De esas siete mujeres, 4 eran menores de 40 años (o recién cumplidos los 40) cuando le dieron el diagnóstico por primera vez. De las siete, 2 han fallecido, una de ellas mi muy querida y extrañada cuñada Michelle. La mayor de ellas es mi tía Noemi, quien fue diagnosticada hace como dos años más o menos, y gracias a una atención diligente y a la devoción de sus hijas y nietos que se han encargado de llevarla y traerla a donde sea con tal de que reciba el tratamiento adecuado, ahora se encuentra relativamente bien. La persona más recientemente diagnosticada es una querida amiga cuyas dos pequeñas hijas he visto crecer junto a mis hijos desde la cuna y quien se encuentra actualmente peleando esta batalla con para poder estar presente para sus hijas.

Le pido a cada uno de ustedes que paren por un momento de hacer lo que sea que estén haciendo y cuenten, y estoy segura de que estarán tan sorprendidos como yo de descubrir exactamente el número de personas que conocen personalmente que han sido diagnosticadas con esta terrible enfermedad. Ni la juventud, ni el estado de salud física, ni el sexo son garantía de que nunca se verán afectados por esta devastadora enfermedad.

Es por ellas, al igual que por todas las demás mujeres - y hombres - cuyas vidas han sido alteradas por el cáncer de seno que el próximo 30 de abril y 1 de mayo pasaré el fin de semana entero caminando, junto con miles de personas, en la Caminata Avon contra el Cáncer de Seno. Voy a caminar una distancia equivalente a un maratón y medio con el sólo objetivo de recaudar fondos y crear conciencia para ayudar a combatir el cáncer de seno. Yo no soy científica, por lo que no puedo ayudar de esa manera, pero hay muchos investigadores que han dedicado su vida entera a encontrar una cura contra el cáncer de seno, y siempre es bueno para ellos tener más fondos para ayudarlos a avanzar sus investigaciones. Y en ese aspecto sí PUEDO y VOY a ayudar de la única manera que sé: sudando la gota gorda por dos días para que yo, junto la ayuda de todos ustedes, pueda recaudar un poco de dinero para enviárselos y así ojalá algún día mis amigas no tengan que angustiarse por el destino de sus hijas, y así algún día yo no tenga que preocuparme de que mis hijos sientan el dolor de perder una madre, una esposa, o una hija.

El dinero recaudado va directamente a la Avon Foundation Breast Cancer Crusade, una fundación de caridad pública cuya misión es proporcionar acceso a la atención médica y trabajar en pro de la búsqueda de una cura. La fundación da financiamiento a organizaciones por todo el país en cinco áreas: investigaciones médicas, cuidado clínico, servicios de apoyo, seminarios educativos y promocionales, y programas comunitarios y sin fines de lucro de detección temprana para la salud de los senos. Gran parte del dinero que se recaude permanecerá en nuestra área para ayudar a la gente en nuestra comunidad.

De acuerdo con las reglas del evento, estoy obligada a recaudar por lo menos $1.800 para poder participar, pero mi meta personal es aun más alta, y es mi intención recaudar por los menos $2.500. Ayúdenme a apoyar mis esfuerzos y la causa del cáncer de seno haciendo una generosa contribución. Pueden hacer donaciones en línea visitando el enlace que aparece al final de este mensaje, el cual les llevará directamente a mi página personal. Y por favor tengan en cuenta que en menos tiempo de lo que les tomó leer este mensaje, otra mujer en los Estados Unidos (y quién sabe cuantas más alrededor del mundo) fue diagnosticada con cáncer de seno.

Gracias de antemano por su apoyo.

P.D. Pueden leer más sobre la Caminata Avon contra el Cáncer de Seno visitando www.avonwalk.org (http://www.avonwalk.org/)

Por favor visiten mi página personal en: http://bit.ly/bVe7GB

Walking to find a cure

Every three minutes, another woman in the United States is diagnosed with breast cancer? This statistic did not resonate with me until I started counting and discovered that I personally know 7 women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer. Seven. That is a pretty big number for an illness this serious. Of those seven women, 4 were younger than 40 (or just around 40) when they were first diagnosed. Of the seven, 2 have passed away, one of them my beloved sister-in-law, Michelle. The oldest of them is my own aunt Noemi, who was diagnosed about two years ago, and thanks to diligent care, is doing quite well and, in between treatments, is enjoying time with her grandchildren traveling around Venezuela whenever she can. The most recently diagnosed person is a dear friend of mine whose 2 young daughters I have watched grow up along with my boys and who is presently fighting this battle keeping a brave, positive attitude, so that she can be there for her daughters.

I ask each and everyone of you to stop for a few minutes whatever you are doing and count, and I am sure you will be as surprised as I was to learn just how many people you know on a first-name basis have been diagnosed with this terrible disease. Neither youth, nor health status, nor gender will guarantee that you will never be affected by this terrible disease.

It is for them, as well as for all the other women - and men - who have been touched by breast cancer that on April 30 - May 1, I'll spend the weekend walking, along with thousands of other people, in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I will walk the distance of a marathon and a half (that's a grand total of 39.3 miles) with the sole purpose of raising funds and awareness to help fight breast cancer. I am not a scientist, so I cannot help on that front, but there are many researchers out there who have dedicated their life's work to finding a cure for breast cancer, and they can always use more funding to help further their research. On that front, I CAN and I WILL help the only way I know how: by huffing it for two days so that I, along with your support, can raise a bit of money to send their way so that hopefully one day my friends won't have to fret over their daughters' fate, and so that one day I won't have to worry about my sons losing a mother or a wife to this disease.

The money raised goes to the Avon Foundation Breast Cancer Crusade, a 501(c)(3) public charity whose mission is to provide access to care and to work toward finding a cure. They provide funding to organizations all over the country in five areas: medical research, clinical care, support services, educational and advocacy seminars, and community-based, non-profit early detection breast health programs. Much of the money raised will stay right here to help people in our community.

I'm required to raise at least $1,800 to participate, but I'm setting my goal even higher, and I plan to raise at least ($2500). Please help to support me and the breast cancer cause by making a generous contribution to my efforts. You can make your donation online by simply visiting the link at the bottom of this message, which will bring you right to my personal page. Please remember as you're making your donation that in less than the time it took to read this posting, another woman in the U.S. was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Thank you for your support.

P.S. You can find out more about the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer by visiting www.avonwalk.org (http://www.avonwalk.org/)

Please visit my personal page at: http://bit.ly/bVe7GB

When a Loved One Goes On to the Great Big Blue

Yesterday morning we buried my sister-in-law Michelle, something I would not have dreamed in a million years we would be doing that day. There were many times when we half expected it to happen, when we came within an inch of its happening. You see, Michelle was both a leukemia survivor, and more recently, a breast cancer survivor. Her latest battle with breast cancer tested her already overtaxed body and pushed it to the limits, and yet again, against unfathomable odds, in true Michelle fashion, she recovered. That's why the news of her death last Friday evening came as a real shock to us all, who loved her so dearly and who had come so close to losing her so many times before.

Now that I have a minute to sit and reflect on the tornado that has been our lives these past few days, I have come to realize how very little we actually knew about her. As I stood helplessly in that sad charade that is the receiving line at the viewing, where family members are forced to share their pain with and, in an ironic twist of fate, put on a brave face for mostly strangers who come to pay their respects, my disdain for the formalities of death slowly morphed to a deep sense of gratitude for all those people who took time from their daily lives to come and share with us pieces of Michelle we were not privy to. Parts of her life that were theirs, but not ours, and in sharing their memories of her, they opened a whole new perspective on the person we thought we knew, and that I now realize we still have so much to find out about.

As her family, we knew that for the last few years of her life, Michelle battled many demons, faced many fears, had many flaws, but who doesn't? It was all too easy to see Michelle as someone who needed protection, and in so doing, we sometimes missed the opportunity to see the other side of Michelle, even though it had always been there, in plain view, for all to see, because she had never had anything to hide. While we tried to come up with things to say for the obituary and the eulogy that would sum up Michelle's life, we realized that there was not enough space to confine Michelle's life, that for a person who always appreciated simple things, her life was far more complex than what a few lines in an obit could express.

And then came all those strangers, who one by one shared their deeply felt sorrow and fondest memories, whose grief was only a fragment of ours, and yet it was still so heartfelt and sincere. Little by little we pieced together those parts of Michelle's life that we didn't know about, and learned of the impact she had in other people's life. We learned that, even in the midst of her fear for her own mortality, Michelle never stopped caring for others. She soldiered on, even when things were not so great in her private life, to bring a bit of sunshine to those whom she loved, to a makeshift, odd family made up of people who shared her love for all things football and Jimmy Buffet. Her patients and fellow nurses remembered her as someone who took a personal interest in her patients, who saw in them, not only a patient who needed medical attention, but a whole person, with depth and mind and feelings. Because she had been such a patient herself, she was truly able to connect with them at a level not many others could. And she always, always, always followed up with them, to see how they were doing, even long after they had stopped being patients.

We will never get to know the full person she was, but we are comforted by what we did know about her. That all of the good, wonderful and selfless things she did in her life to make other people's lives better overshadow whatever flaws she may have had, that like a shooting star, her brief life passed through the sky shinning so brightly that for a brief moment everything else was cast in shadows.

Personally, I feel immensely blessed to have known her for 16 years. I bless the hands of the doctors who performed the bone marrow transplant 22 years ago that saved her life, because thanks to them I had the privilege of knowing such a kind and unique person. Thanks to them, my children got to know their aunt. A true blessing.

Que te puedo decir...

El destino de un país depende de cada uno de sus ciudadanos. El país entero implora por un cambio, pero los cambios de gran magnitud sólo se dan si cada persona, cada individuo, cada una de las células fundamentales de ese organismo que es el país, está dispuesta a cambiar. A diferencia de la creencia popular, los grandes cambios no se dan a gran escala ni en rimbombásticos eventos, sino que se inician dentro de cada persona. Es más fácil ver la paja en el ojo ajeno que la viga en el ojo propio. Es más fácil asignar culpas que asumirlas.

Es posible que este 26S sea todo lo que los venezolanos esperamos, y mucho más. Pero también es probable que no. La única forma de saberlo es si cada persona capaz de votar toma acción y elige conscientemente ejercer su derecho a votar. No debemos ver la fecha como un todo o nada, sino más bien como el inicio de "¿y ahora qué más podemos hacer?".

Si de verdad queremos que haya un cambio, tenemos que cambiar nosotros mismos. Y eso va con todos, con los que están allá, y con los que hace tiempo ya no vivimos allí, con los creemos tener la conciencia limpia, y con los que sabemos que no lo está. Por mi parte, ya que mi voto no cuenta desde estas lejanas fronteras, mi primer cambio consistirá en dejar de sentirme avergonzada por mi país. Está en mis manos educar a mis vecinos de que Venezuela no se reduce a los últimos 12 años. Queda de mi parte, con mi ejemplo y mi conducta, demostrar que Venezuela produce algo infinitamente más valioso que el petróleo: gente honesta, digna y honorable.