Being A Big Help

For whatever reason, growing up, it seemed to me to be the highest praise when someone told one of my parents (or when my parents told me) that I was a "big help."

I've gone through phases in my life when I've been a big help to others more frequently, and phases where that hasn't been common.


For a variety of her own reasons, my friend and boot camp buddy Megan committed to do a day of community service each month this year.  We were talking about New Year's resolutions, and she mentioned that one.  Even though it wasn't my own resolution, I asked her to count me in. 


Because of our work and travel schedules, there were a few times she volunteered and I haven't been able to join, so I tried to add a few of my own opportunities as well.


Here's a list of how I tried to be "a big help" in 2017, along with a few pictures, though I'll mostly save those for Megan in case she does her own post (since this was her idea and all!):


January:  Tried to assist with the illegal detention of immigrants at the airport.  This doesn't really count because, uh, surprise, I have no immigration law experience, and by the time I got there, they didn't really need warm attorney bodies as much as they did the day before.  I'm glad I tried to help and that I at least got to express my support for the cause. 


 

February:  Volunteering with Megan at a fundraiser breakfast and auction for Back On My Feet, a personal favorite worthy cause -- a structured running program targeted toward individuals living in local homeless shelters.  I ran with the group very briefly but stopped primarily due to schedule conflicts (but also mileage needs and not liking hugs), but love helping the group in non-running ways.  As such, I was so happy Megan found the opportunity for us to help their fundraiser be successful.  Megan thinks I used my line "first ballroom on the left" (complete with charades) about 300 times (directing individuals arriving at the hotel to registration for the event). 


March:  Setting up for a church service and serving lunch with Megan following the service at a new development in Dallas that has small cottages that are given to chronically homeless individuals.  I got to meet Megan's parents for the first time at this event.  My husband did not enjoy the church service (there was a testimonial that bothered him), but the people we met at the lunch were great, very interesting. 


April:  Painting a kitchen at the police department.  I have zero painting experience, but it was a fun day, though messy! 


April part 2:  Working a shift with Megan at a Habitat for Humanity "re-store."  I'd never been to one of these, it's basically a big warehouse/store with building supplies and furniture/decorations.  The organization had just moved into a new location, so we mostly spent the afternoon moving chairs and other items that were already there or were coming from donors, and sweeping.  But other tasks included pulling nails out of wooden beams, setting up a display area for patio sets, being a listening ear for a site manager who was clearly strung thin -- so stressed, so much on her plate in advance of the grand opening, needing to unload, and being "in charge" while the director went to eat -- that was when we realized that we may have been the only adults present who didn't have to be there -- lots of people doing court-ordered community service!  I only asked one person how he came to be working the same volunteer shift as us (a kid who was moving beams with us), and he said, "teen court."  Oops.  I didn't press for details, but he volunteered -- a traffic violation he said, and he was irritated that he was sentenced to more hours than someone with a drug possession charge.  Anyway, it was a fun day and entailed some physical labor and sweat, which I know was good for me.


May:  Playing with kids at a boys and girls club.  I'm a sucker for board games, so this didn't even really feel like volunteering. 
June:  Working a water stop with Megan for a Back on My Feet race.  On a "surprisingly cold for June" day.  In the rain.  In the pouring rain.  Hard to tell you how much more fun it is to run in the rain than it is to stand at a water stop in the rain.  It was pouring and we were at a water stop that only served the longer race distance, so we didn't get a ton of runners, and we all huddled in a car (including some in the trunk) after we had the water set up while waiting for the first runners.  Brrrr! 
July:  Helping to serve meals to officers working the local fireworks show.  Thankfully, I was not in charge of the grilling.  It didn't seem to be going well at times, but fortunately, there was a fire station directly across the street...



July part 2:  Sorted part of a mountain of donated clothes with Megan for Muslims For Humanity's Dallas part of Helping Hand.  The piles we sorted into were kids summer/winter, women's summer/winter, men's summer/winter, Arab, Pakistani, bags, shoes (and along the way, throwing out anything stained or torn that we wouldn't wear ourselves).  The basic distinction between Arab and Pakistani that we were told to use was to put any brightly colored items (saris, etc.) into the Pakistani boxes.  I liked doing this, but it felt frustrating because it seemed we barely made a dent in the mountain, despite hours of work. 

August:  Working with Megan at a United Way event donating backpacks filled with school supplies to kids in need.  We first worked a registration tent, then helped with backpack distribution, then we got to enjoy the festival and play games with the kids.  We spent most of our game time playing Jenga with various kids, so fun!

September:  Babysitting with Megan at a church one Friday night.  The program, Rays of Light, is set up for parents to bring their special needs children (and any and all siblings!) to get a night out.  There is a police officer present to oversee, and two nurses to help as needed, and about 20 (?) kids, and volunteers for each kid.  The boy we worked with in his early teens and was pretty much non-verbal.  His favorite thing to do was pick up big legos off the floor and throw them back into the box, which we'd then dump out again.  He could do it all night long -- and eat baked potatoes!  I'm happy we were able to give his mom a break, and I'm glad we were both assigned to the same kid, he kept us on our toes!  I absolutely loved doing this. 
September part 2:  Volunteered for a couple shifts in the police wives' association tent at an event. 
October:  Worked with Megan and my husband's cousin who was in town for a visit at our food pantry.  Megan and I were assigned condiments which meant sorting through a big pallet box of condiments to check expiration dates, load them into smaller boxes, and then label and close the smaller boxes.  That was especially fun for her with a broken finger (only one at the time, she now has TWO broken fingers!).  After we finished the pallet of condiments, we moved on to canned goods.  My husband's cousin was on peanut butter duty -- unscrewing jars to make sure seals under the lid were intact, checking expiration dates, and boxing.  It was a fun afternoon for all of us and something I really enjoyed doing.  Our team of about 20 did 8.5 pallets, a total of 11,200 pounds, filling 521 boxes and making for 9,334 meals. 

November:  Volunteered at another water stop for a race.  It was a warm day and after filling all the cups before runners came through, I decided my time would be best spent while runners were passing holding out my gloved hands full of ice for any runners who wanted to grab some.  Lots loved the ice cubes to put in their mouths, or just run over neck, arms, whatever for a second.  It was a warm day for a half marathon! 
December:  Worked at a children's Christmas Party with Megan.  This was probably the easiest one of all.  Basically, we just played Monopoly all night!  The game started with two girls who were in seventh grade.  After a while, they got distracted and others took their places.  It was fun to see them count out change, and the vast differences in mathematical abilities.  There was one girl who seemed fairly young and when she landed on a utility (Electric Company or Water Works), she could right away do the multiplication to figure out rent in her head.  But another girl who seemed older used her fingers to add up what she'd rolled on the dice.  And another girl who was super fast at math and subtraction in her head, even for pretty big amounts (buying property), still used her fingers to count the dots on the dice.  They were all fun and sweet kids, easily excited, very enthusiastic and friendly.  What a joy!  The organization was giving out lots of prizes and all the kids got gift bags. 


Looking forward to being a big help again in 2018.  It's so good when you have friends who talk you into being a better person! 

Tearing Up

So for anyone reading who particularly likes running, I highly recommend the following two items.  You'll need about 15 minutes for both of them.  More if you have to keep stopping to let words sink in and feel them resonate in your heart. 

First, this video, less than 3 minutes long.  It's Meb being interviewed after the NYC marathon about 10 days ago.

http://www.flotrack.org/coverage/250963-New-York-City-Marathon-2013/video/723689-Emotional-Meb-Keflezighi-after-NYC-Marathon-2013

And then, this article, by Mike Cassidy, who finished with Meb.

http://www.letsrun.com/news/2013/11/time-life/ (I pasted the text below the rest of the blog entry, if that's easier)

I felt like so much of what Mike says is something that exactly replicates a thought I've had during a marathon.

"In the last few months, I’d PR’d in every distance from four miles through half-marathon. But recent PR’s are little consolation when your 11^th mile is 5:35 and you’re out of breath."

Obviously, I'm not running a 5:35 mile in a marathon (or in a 5k for that matter, or even in a 1 mile race!).  But that's exactly it.  Sometimes it's not your day, but it's a long race and you never know what's around the corner, no matter how well you think you know the course or your body. 

That's the beauty of the marathon, there are so many factors in the day, not least of which are the people around you.  And a lot of what Mike says is what I've thought about my own running buddies, one of whom was a bridesmaid in my wedding, someone I first met while pounding out the miles together.  But it's sometimes about so much more than just yourself, the friends you make, the races you run. 

I don't think I ever posted much about it, but I met Meb at a very small event late last year, and I spent a lot of time talking to his brother Hawi as well (a fellow lawyer): 

I'm friends with both Meb and Hawi now on FB (which you know means we're tight), but that happened shortly before I went off FB.  But the limited contact I had with Meb and Hawi was enough to leave a very strong impression on me.  And this marathon finish just confirms a lot of what I felt I'd gleaned about Meb's character.  Amazing.  It really makes me teary.  I noticed it at the Olympics when he pushed so hard for a 4th place finish and was the only American male to finish.  He's just an amazing athlete with such a level of clarity.  The video and article inspire me to want to push my limits and train as best I can starting next week.  I want to be just like Meb when I grow up!! 

Here's the full text of Mike Cassidy's article, copied from the link above (I'm mostly pasting it here in case that link ever disappears, because I feel like this might be something I need to read again and again):

The Time of My Life: Staten Island Native Mike Cassidy Shares His Experience Finishing The NYC Marathon Hand-In-Hand With His Hero Meb Keflezighi

by: Mike Cassidy
November 7, 2013

About 10 miles into Sunday’s ING New York City Marathon, I considered dropping out.

It was comically windy. The pack of four I had been running with from the start had dropped me two miles ago—at a pace that was 10 seconds per mile slower than my goal. My legs felt like crap. I was alone.

But I’ve run enough marathons to know it’s a long race. Sometimes, things turn around. New York is a tough course on a nice day. With a steady 15 mile-per-hour headwind, pace is not a reliable indicator of anything.

Besides, I had trained too well to give up this easily. Workout after workout indicated I was in better shape than when I ran 2:18 two years prior. In the last few months, I’d PR’d in every distance from four miles through half-marathon. But recent PR’s are little consolation when your 11^th mile is 5:35 and you’re out of breath.

I couldn’t help but feel it was all slipping away. “Today is not your day,” I thought.

I began to rationalize my unexpected disappointment. It’s been a good season. Be content with that. You still have a couple of years to qualify for the Trials.

Once the negative thoughts begin to creep in, they’re hard to stop. But I had made one commitment to myself before the race, and that was this: stay optimistic. Too many times I have given up on my goals mid-race, only to realize afterwards they were well within my reach, had I maintained my faith.

I thought of my family, my friends, the outpouring of support I had received from the Staten Island running community and my friends throughout New York City.

They were counting on me. Many of them had spent the morning standing in the windy cold, eagerly awaiting my arrival. I owed it to them to keep running. If I was going to drop out, I had to at least make it to the crowds of First Avenue. Until then, no more thinking.

So I settled into a comfortable rhythm. For the first time in my running career, I stopped looking at my watch. One mile at a time.

Little did I know, about a mile up the road, America’s best marathoner, Meb Keflezighi, was going through the same struggles. He had suffered a series of unfortunate injuries in the weeks before the race, first a partial calf tear, then a deep cut on his knee. His training was compromised, and after mixing it up with the leaders in the race’s early going, the lack of preparation began to exact its vicious toll.

But the race leaders were far from my thoughts. As I crossed the halfway mark, I was swallowed by a pack of runners, my race reaching a figurative low point at the Pulaski Bridge’s literal highpoint.

Normally, this would be a terrible thing, more evidence of my floundering goals and more fuel for the negative mental fire.

Then, in an instant, things changed. After 5 miles alone, I had company. The competition rejuvenated my spirit. They also broke the wind. The pace quickened. For the first time all day, I felt like I was racing.

Soon the pack was down to three—Ryan Johns, Toby Spencer, and myself. In the calm of the Queensboro Bridge, I found peace. Before I knew it, we were flying up First Avenue. But I remained cautious, wary my struggles would return. I tucked in. I waited.

Around 19 miles, I went. Easing away from my mid-race saviors, I pushed into the Bronx, one by one picking off the runners who had so effortlessly dropped me back in Brooklyn.

As I made my way over the Madison Avenue Bridge and through Harlem, I found myself in a weird place. After nearly quitting, I was back in a respectable position. My legs had some pop, but I remained unconvinced it would last. I maintained willful ignorance of my pace. And somehow, even though I was headed south, the northerly wind seemed still in my face.

Had a bad race turned good? Would it stay good? On a day like today, what did good even mean?

Meb Keflezighi finishes NYC with Mike Cassidy

 

As I began the long ascent into Central Park along Fifth Avenue, a lone runner entered my sights. Another target, a tangible intermediate objective.

The gap closed quickly. As I neared within a few blocks, I could see his number was a single digit. His stature was compact, his stride familiar.

My mind began to race. “Is it? Could it—no, it can’t be—can it?”

Moments later, my brother John, who had positioned himself at the 23 mile mark, confirmed my speculative disbelief.

“Go get Meb!” he shouted.

This is the type of moment you only dream about. The scene had played out in my mind countless times before: me, having the race of my life, gracefully passing Meb in Central Park en route to a stunning victory. It’s one of those wild fantasies that get you through the solitary 7 am 10 milers.

As I eased up on his shoulder, I looked over and said, “Let’s go Meb.”

He responded, promptly picking up his pace and we entered Central Park at 90^th Street, shoulder to shoulder. The next three miles were the most surreal I have ever experienced. “Let’s finish this together,” he said.

As many times as I had imagined this scene, I never anticipated how it played out on this day. Meb was far from the top of his game—and to be honest, so was I.

My time had been irrelevant for miles. But now, something even stranger happened: I stopped caring about competing. It’s not that I had given up, or anything close to it; rather, winning and losing somehow ceased to hold meaning.

I had no desire to beat Meb, only to run with him. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was the shock of the situation. The outcome was no longer my driving motivation. I stopped thinking ahead and kept thinking about now. I had no idea what pace we were running, and I didn’t care.

As we ran along the familiar stretch behind the Met and down Cat Hill—a route over which I’d run innumerable workouts under the watchful eye of Coach Bob Glover—I couldn’t help but feel giddy at the absurdity of it all. I was running with Meb Keflezighi. New York City Champion. Olympic Silver Medalist. Arguably the greatest American marathoner ever. MEB. And I was doing it in the last three miles of the New York City Marathon, with the whole world watching.

It was like getting to play basketball with Michael Jordan. Only it was Game 7 of the NBA Finals and he had just passed me the ball.

One of the things I often hear from retired runners is that they didn’t appreciate their accomplishments enough when they were in their primes. Usually, I’m guilty of the same sin. In my anxiety over performance, I regularly fail to enjoy just how fortunate I am to be able set PR’s, to win races, or simply, to run.

Today was different. Although I didn’t fully appreciate it until later, letting go of all of the usual reasons why I run races allowed me to reach a place of contentment we so rarely experience as athletes. I’m an admirer of Buddhist teachings on mindfulness and I have to believe this is the closest I’ve ever come to living in the moment. All that mattered was the next step, the next stride.

It’s amazing what a three mile run can teach you.

Scarcely an hour before, I had nearly dropped out. Pushing through adversity never had a higher payoff. While I would never have guessed what I would have missed, I know all-too-well the crushing disappointment of a dropout. “Never give up” will never again be a cliché for me.

Meb could have easily done the same thing. Most professional athletes would have. Heck, a couple of big names did Sunday. You can’t blame them. This is their livelihood. If they’re not in the money, it is simple business sense to conserve resources for the next payday. We’d never criticize a trader for selling an unprofitable stock.

In pushing through a compromised calf, a banged up knee, and a very probably damaged quad, Meb may well have brought himself weeks of rehabilitation. Perhaps it will cost him a spring marathon or other lucrative race opportunities.

In a world where sponsors drop athletes at the first sign of struggle, where corporate race organizers cut elite budgets, where the reigning two-time top American at Boston can’t get a shoe contract, Meb’s character and class brought into stark contrast how callous and shortsighted the running industry can sometimes be.

It would be a lesson in being a good professional—if it wasn’t such a lesson in being a good person. Meb understood the power of the day and what he represents to so many people. He sacrificed his body for his fans; he put the good of others before his own.

In so doing, Meb personified the power of running to reach beyond the race course.

Like all runners, I tend to relate to the sport in semi-selfish terms. My race. My time. My place. My PR. Part of this is necessary. If your idea of a rest day involves two runs and double digit miles, there needs to be some self-interest. And part of it is what makes running great. Success is self-defined.

But when we get too self-absorbed, we miss running’s deeper beauty: its magnetic power to bring us together. My closest friends are those I’ve run with; one need only attempt a solo interval workout to recognize the value of teammates. In a race, the other runners are not rivals; they are comrades in the war we each wage within ourselves, a leg up on our journeys to new levels of self-realization. Personal bests are rarely set in isolation. Ours is not an individual sport.

As Meb and I made our way through the park, the surreality of the situation was matched only by its profound normalcy. I was running stride for stride with my hero, yet I couldn’t help feeling as if we were somehow equals. Credit it to Meb’s humility: there was no hierarchy, no pretension, no pecking order. Just two guys helping each other get through a run.

We alternated the lead several times, sharing the work and pulling each other along. We exchanged words of encouragement. Repeatedly, he emphasized that we would work together to finish.

Meb has long been my favorite marathoner, but I had only met him for the first time that morning, when we were introduced in the elite tent before the race by a mutual friend, Andy Rosen, who heads up the marathon’s medical team for professional runners.

It was readily apparent that all the stories I’d heard about Meb’s remarkable attitude were true.

As we entered Central Park at Columbus Circle, I turned to Meb and told him as much. “It’s an honor to run with you,” I said.

His response is something I’ll never forget.

“No,” he said. “Today is not about us. It’s about representing New York. It’s about representing Boston. It’s about representing the USA and doing something positive for our sport. We will finish this race holding hands.”

I’m a believer that running brings out the best in people. Running inspires. Running unites. Running uplifts. By pushing us to our limits and across them, running takes us to places we never thought possible—or even real. A good run can turn a dark day bright and make a bright day shine brighter. Performed on the scale of a marathon, running can transform communities and change lives.

Last year, around this time, as I saw Staten Island, my hometown, ravaged by Hurricane Sandy, I defended the NYC Marathon as a force for good in our community.

But until this moment, as I strode the marathon’s final quarter mile with Meb, I don’t know if I ever fully appreciated just how real running’s reach is. Our goals, as personal and individualistic as they may have been, were less important than our purpose. Our motives were separable from our mission.

In striving to be our best, we could bring out the best in others. We could honor the victims of Sandy and Boston, embracing pain to lessen theirs. We could inspire others to do the same.

I’m not naive enough to believe running is a primarily a charitable endeavor. I run mostly for me. It’s not good or bad—it’s just how it is. But because of the gifts and opportunities I’ve been given, my running has a platform, a spotlight, a chance to affect other people. What it means to them, what they take from it, I cannot control. But what I can do is strive to reach my full potential, giving my best effort each and every run. That I will derive most of the benefits does not alter the fact that the most significant benefit may be the smile it brings to the face of a stranger.

Throughout my summer and fall training, my goals for November 3rd were sub-2:18 and top-15. I achieved neither. And yet, I was completely satisfied. Running the last three miles of the New York City Marathon with Meb was the highest honor of my career.

There will be other days for PR’s, other races to win, other chances to qualify for the Olympic Trials. But it’s only once you get to cross the finish line of your hometown race holding hands with your hero.

Thank you, Meb.