Running Thoughts

Letting Go...A Little- A Different Type of Love Story

2012-01-31T11:41:00.004-05:00

The virtual ink has been dry recently. It’s not that I haven’t had things to write about; the ideas have been flowing. For some reason it just hasn’t felt right. That changed on Sunday. As I joined my daughter Chavi in completing the Miami Half Marathon, I knew I wanted to try and put my thoughts to words.

My dad OB”M, once told me that although I would of course love all of my children, there is something special about a father’s relationship with his daughter. As in so many other cases, he was correct. Chavi has always been my little girl, only she’s not so little anymore. In fact she turned 12 on Friday, two days before the race. In fact, becoming a bas/bat mitzvah was part of the impetus for her running the race.

Over the course of the weekend, I was reminded over and over again that she is getting older and that I need to let go a little. Throughout the weekend I watched in awe as she carried herself with confidence and dignity in dealing with all sorts of people, some of whom were many years her senior. When she asked me if she could hang out in the hotel lobby with some of the teenage girls who were also running, I said "Sure", although I felt a lump in my throat as I realized she no longer needed me to watch over her. It would not be the last time that I would have this realization.

The race was not easy for Chavi. Due to my stress fracture I had not been able to train with her, so her mom did her best, while juggling the gazillions of other parts of her life. Her longest training “run” was less than eight miles on the treadmill. Although I remained positive in discussing the race with Chavi, I knew that 13.1 miles on pavement would be tough.

As we waited for the race to start, I told Chavi that in the event that we would get separated, she should keep on going and that I would meet her at the Team Lifeline tent at the finish line. Truth is, I thought, "You’ll be fine without me".

As we started out, I was struck by the fact that one of the youngest women running the race was also the prettiest. We started out running one minute and then walking the next, but after a while, this became too tough for Chavi. For the rest of the race we ran when she could and walked the rest of the time. At times she surprised me by breaking out into a sprint. We picked light poles and mile markers, as places to run to, and we picked guys for her to “chick” (when a female runner passes a male runner), an important phrase that I taught her. We decided that we had to beat the ex-marine wearing the pink tutu. We tried to figure out what ING, the sponsor of the race, stands for (I guessed “International Something Something”, she suggested “I No Go”). We took advantage of gravity on downhills and mugged for every picture, as I hoped my smile could come close to matching hers. As she tired, I became her cheerleader, teaser and, at times, for the first time in too many years, her hand-holder. I splashed her with cups of water, as a way of cooling her off and we talked about life in a way we never had before. As her struggle intensified, I saw a look of beautiful determination on her face that reminded me of someone else. I thought back to the race two years earlier with Chavi’s mom, who had looked the same, later on in her race. I was so happy to discover another way that Chavi resembles my wonderful wife (the alternative being a whole lot less thrilling).

As we approached the finish line, I had to fight back tears. It was not because I had missed my PR by almost two hours. Chavi had stared down and overcome a great challenge and it was amazing to behold. Being a part of the experience was humbling and overwhelming. Most importantly, while I had been correct in my belief that Chavi could have finished on her own, I now realized that had I not been there, it would have been that much harder. Although I no longer need to grasp her hand so firmly, I do not yet need to let go.

Although the race is now over, you can still donate money to help sick children in honor of Chavi becoming a bas/bat mitzvah.http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=57970

Matisyahu, Kierkergaard and Me

2011-12-15T10:25:00.002-05:00

“I am going out for a run. If you live in St. Louis and you see a tall guy who looks like Jesus running in the street, it’s probably me”. As I read Matiyahu’s post on Facebook several months back, I was happy to discover that he was a runner. Having grown rather fond of his music, and appreciating his public identity as a proudly observant Jew, I thought of him as a great role model. I started thinking about how we could try and get him involved with Team Lifeline.

This week, I find myself again thinking about Matisyahu. With what has to be the most famous shave in history, he stopped looking like Jesus. Did anything else change?

One of my biggest challenges as a rabbi who teaches, is the need to be a role model. By now I know myself far too well to think that my students should be looking at me as a paragon of religiosity and virtue. There was a time when I was able to delude myself into believing that I was that person. I thought of myself as the catcher in the rye, protecting my flock from the dangerous cliffs. I sympathized with the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard as he described the frustration of trying to save his audience from the raging fire that threatened to consume them. I am no longer able to do that. I am too busy saving myself to try and “save” others. All I can be is the very imperfect me and be somewhat open about my struggles.

I was shocked by the reaction of my co-religionists (is there a word “co-denominationalists”) who incorrectly assumed that, with the shaving of his beard, Matisyahu was no longer observant. The not so subtle message seemed to be that we love only if you live up to what we need you to be. The minute that you struggle or fall, we abandon you. To be sure, there were exceptions, but, and I say this with sadness, they were the exception and not the rule.

As for me, I find myself identifying with him more now than I did before. Not because he runs, or because he, like me, is clean shaven. I am moved by his struggle.

Cheers

2011-12-06T11:55:00.000-05:00

I can’t believe how much fun I had NOT running at a race this weekend.

When I was invited to go to Vegas this past weekend to help out Team Lifeline, I had mixed feelings. Sure, Team Lifeline is incredibly important to me. Still, most of the attraction of Las Vegas is lost on me. Besides, I wondered what it would be like to be at a race on the sidelines. In the end, loyalty won out, and I agreed to go.

I spent the entire race with one of the other volunteers, Moshe. Moshe, who was also my roommate, is who I wanted to be when I was younger; he’s cool, laid back, self-confident and funny. Best of all, at least from my standpoint, I feel like I can be myself around him. I don’t know if I am allowed to admit this, but sometimes being a rabbi can be a drag. I feel the pressure to live up to some version of what people (read I) expect rabbis to be. Around Moshe, I am able to be my imperfect self.

We were asked to be out on the course manning a special Team Lifeline drink station. This was necessary as the sports-drink being served at the Vegas Marathon/Half Marathon is not kosher, a no-no for the many Orthodox runners who are part of the team. Throughout the race we traveled from spot to spot providing Powerade for our team (as well as to a few other thirsty runners).

What stands out about the night, and what makes it worthy of writing about (assuming you’ve stuck with me this far) was our unofficial role. Both Moshe and I have run in many races and we know how much we value crowd support. For much of the race, the crowds (if I can even use that word) were thinner than my hairline. Those who were there, were mostly of the golf crowd mentality, with polite applause and little more. We realized that we would have to be the crowd for EVERYONE.

We spent the night cheering in a manner, that, had my own children been there, they would have filed for divorce. We sang, rang a cow bell, shouted people’s names, made up team names, lost our voices and got people to smile. We were in so many places and acted so crazy, that runners recognized us from earlier in the race. We cheered for our team and every other team as well. We cheered for the runners and the walkers, for the fast people and the slow ones. We gave high-fives and told people they looked great, even when we were stretching the truth. We stuck around until the last walker passed. Then, almost as tired as if we had run ourselves, we went back for the post race party.

Our stories won’t involve blisters, PRs, or bloody unmentionable body parts. Still, we had a blast and, perhaps more importantly, added to the runner’s race experience. If perhaps we exaggerated slightly in calling ourselves the best show in Vegas, for what we were charging, we were not far off.

As for me, I am hoping that tonight I can get back to running, but for at least one night, I was happy to be on the side.

Getting Started...Again

2011-11-16T15:30:00.000-05:00

Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I hadn’t really intended to take a break; not from the running and not from the writing. Somehow, I stopped writing, and, unconnectedly, I think, I got hurt and stopped running. Now’s it been about two months. Two months where I have biked, and walked, and pool-ran and elliptical machined and and and. All in an attempt to stay fit for running and try to keep the weight off. I don’t know whether I have succeeded with the former, although I have mostly succeeded with latter. Only mostly. Even though my running is about more than weight loss, that “mostly” kind of hurts. As does my disconnect from running.

I have had a lot of time to think about how much running means to me. All the friends I’ve made, races I’ve run, miles I’ve logged, although it’s much more than any of those things and even than all of those things together. I have to admit that I am a bit scared. Scared of missing the half-marathon in Miami, that I am supposed to run at the end of January in memory of a friend’s daughter. Scared of missing Boston, the marathon I gave my all to reach. Scared that this time my drive and fire and passion and fear won’t be enough. Scared.

The doctor has given permission to try running next Tuesday, a day that can’t arrive fast enough. Let’s get started…. again.

Taking a break

2011-08-30T13:38:00.002-04:00

I am taking a short break from this blog and working on another. It too involves running and learning and hopefully lots of other good stuff. Take a look.

http://impossiblythin.blogspot.com/

Red Socks Even a New Yorker Can Love

2011-08-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

I remember when we were newly married and were invited to lunch by a couple that had been married for a while. One of the things the husband told us was that no matter old he got, his relationships with his siblings reverted back to the same patterns there were growing up. I was very skeptical. How could it be that after all these years, he and his siblings couldn't move on? Of course, over time, I came to realize the truth of his words.

It's not easy having my brother live in Israel. Going from sharing a room with someone for almost 18 years to seeing him, at best, once or twice a year, is not easy. When we get together, I feel a pressure to communicate, to somehow make up for lost time. Of course, that pressure makes talking harder. Except for when we run. There is something relaxing about going for a run with Eric. All pressure to talk fades away and we just talk. About life, our relationship, fatherhood, sports and running. I feel closer with him during those runs than during any other time. As we ran for the last time for a while (his trip ended yesterday) this past Friday, I thought of our dad and how much he would have enjoyed seeing us together.

A few months ago, Eric told me about Red Socks Friday. Red Socks Friday comes from a group of World War One soldiers who decided that those who survived would wear red socks each day, as a way of remembering their friends, both those who made it and those who didn't. Red Socks Friday takes this idea and has friends connect by wearing red socks each Friday. It's a small gesture of keeping each other in mind, even when separated by distance.

We decided to give it a shot. We ran the first Friday together. It won't be happening again for quite a while. For now, we'll be running together apart, joined by a pair of red socks.

Been a While

2011-08-03T12:59:00.000-04:00

It sure has been a while since I wrote and it's not for the obvious reasons. Sure, having a new baby adds a bit to my level of exhaustion, but as teacher, I am on summer break. If I had something to write, I would have. It's not for a lack of running. I've been running six days a week and even put in 60 miles last week. So what is it? Well, to paraphrase Freud, I've learned that sometimes running is just running. It doesn't always contain the answer to life's great mysteries or help me understand the doings of my creator. Sometimes it's just running. Sticking to a plan, running through exhaustion and soreness, dealing with unbearable heat and humidity.

Truth is though, I think that's starting to change. I am only two weeks away from the JRunners 200K Relay (really more than that, but what's 15 miles between friends?) where I will be running, along with nine teammates, from Brooklyn to the Catskills. It promises to be a big challenge and a load of fun. I met my teammates last night and even went on a group run across the Manhattan and Williamsburg bridges after midnight with some of the guys afterwards. There's other exciting stuff coming up as well, but I'll save that for another time.

Birth Daze

2011-07-06T15:16:00.001-04:00

Well the big day is almost here. I am about to turn the BIG 40. Not to worry though according to the books at Barnes and Nobles. It is still possible to run safely after reaching 40. As I see all the titles that make this promise, I find myself wondering whether there were any dinosaurs who wrote books on how to survive climate change or the coming meteor showers. As if on cue, like an appliance whose warranty has just expired, I am starting to get all sorts of muscular aches and pains which I never got before. A self fulfilling prophecy, you suggest, due to all my worrying? Perhaps, but I have been thinking a lot about this day and birthdays in general.

Monday was July 4th, America's 235th birthday. I set off with four friends and my teenage son (a 5th friend? sometimes, perhaps) on a 36 mile bike ride to Ground Zero. Biking, as will know if you read this blog, has lately played the role of mistress to my long time steady of running. Although I remain a committed runner, anything that creates a common bond between my son and I, and allows us to spend six hours together is good in my book. Rob, who leads our local cycling posse, thought that a trip to Ground Zero would be a good way to mark the 4th. (We even crossed the George Washington bridge; situated right near where the first president fled the British during revolutionary days). It seemed like a more cerebral and meaningful way to mark the occasion than watching someone gauge themselves on hot dogs; whether at the Nathan's contest or at a family BBQ.

Later that night, Yehuda and I (wow all that togetherness time- We must be do for a fight) started driving towards NYC to see the Macy's fireworks. For once, it felt good to sit in traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel, as it afforded us a good view of the show. We listened to the accompanying music on the radio and all had a really nice time. Happy Birthday America.

Of course there is another birthday we are waiting for, in the truest sense of the term. We are waiting to see when the newest member of our family will arrive. As I have pointed out before, if you can't go out and buy a sports car as part of a 40th birthday driven midlife crisis, a new baby is a good second choice to make. The baby is due the day after my birthday but I must admit that I think it would be cool to share a birthday with the newest member of the clan. Either way, we are looking forward to meeting the little tyke, who will be the ninth member of our family baseball team. It occurs to me that I am around the same age that my dad OB"M was when his last child, my sister was born. I hope I will have as close a relationship with our child as my dad did with his, minus the high credit card bills of course.

Although it will soon be my party, and I can cry if I want to, I have no plan for any tears. Unless of course there's a birth on my birthday. In that case, all bets are off.

When There's a Wheel There's a Way?

2011-06-28T10:09:00.002-04:00

I’m just doing it as a form of cross-training. Really, I am. I will not take up cycling.

Cycling has turned out to be a good activity to do with my older sons. It involves exercising and spending time together. You get close, without getting too close. I’ll take it.

I remember the first time I was able to ride a bike. My mom ran behind me and then she let go, and I didn’t fall down. There so much gravitas to that memory. My mom, young and strong. Still living in my old house. My first taste of freedom.

Cycling is a rich person’s sport. If you pass a neighborhood with a bike shop, you know you are in a nice neighborhood. I can’t afford to get into this now. It’s not just the bike; it’s all the trappings that come with it.

There is something to these sports where you cover ground due to your own effort. You learn a neighborhood through running or biking through it, in a way you don’t by driving. That thin piece of glass between you and the world when you drive a car changes everything. I remember when I first read “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” where Robert Pirsig made the same point.

It was pretty amazing when I biked 25 miles yesterday, further than I ever covered on a bike. I was pretty wiped out. Than I realized I still hadn’t gone as far as I do by foot in a marathon.

I wanted my boys to run with me, but this is not a bad second choice.

Triathlons are cool. I can’t swim though. Duathlons? Nobody has even heard of them. Even spell check. It’s giving me “decathlon” as an alternative. Biathlon would make more sense but some gut combined skiing and shooting (a real natural combination) and stole the name.

My sons try and pass me when we bike. I have enough ego and fear of getting old to fight it. Sometimes I let them lead though. It’s comforting when they look back and ask where to turn. It reminds me that I am stil needed.

Is a road bike a less affluent version of the midlife crisis rich guys go through when they buy a sports car?

I will not get sucked in.

Why Oh Y

2011-06-20T11:30:00.001-04:00

Whenever I was too lazy to go outside, whenever I needed a day off from the pounding of the roads, whenever I wanted to workout and/or watch a game on ESPN, I went to the Y. That will change next week. The local Y closes this Friday. It was far from the best workout room out there. It was small and often had the heat on when it wasn’t called for, but it was a place where I spent time, made some friends and ran a lot of miles.

Below are some thoughts on some of the personalities and experiences I had there. I won’t miss them all, but they all contributed to my Y experience.

• The teenage boys working out in sleeveless shirts, preening in front of the mirror, while flexing their muscles. I watched them with a combination of scorn, jealousy, familiarity and wistfulness.

• The old people who used the treadmill at such a slow speed that they sometimes were able to read the newspaper at the same time. While I was often frustrated by “my” machine being used for that purpose, I admired them for showing up, and hoped to be around at that age to be using the treadmill as well. Of course, I hope to be going a whole lot faster.

• “Roid Rage”, the nickname I came up with for the muscle bound trainer who was impossibly mean to me and to others. I hope it was steroids contributing to his personality and that he didn’t get that way naturally.

• My good friend who is such a good runner that I knew he was there just from different sound his feet made when running on the treadmill.

• All the boys from homes where TV viewing is not allowed, pretending to exercise so they could watch the game. If you are going to sit on the stationary bike, be sure, at least, to pedal.

• The time that the guy who used to be the trainer, the one who knew how to smile, the one who was as tall and as strong as a football player, told me that he wished had calves like mine.

• The older woman who showed up everyday at the same time, like clockwork. At first, I must admit I was annoyed when she was on “my” machine to walk and watch Jeopardy, when I wanted to run and watch the Sox. Eventually I came to admire her consistent commitment to getting in better shape. Even if she did watch Oprah and Dr. Phil, instead of NFL Today and Sports Center.

• The times I ran so hard and /or fast that not only was I drenched in sweat when I finished, but so was the treadmill.

I know I’ll find a new place to workout and that, over time, it will feel like my place. Still, I’ll miss the Y.

Running, Lebron and Me

2011-06-14T09:48:00.002-04:00

As a rabbi, I am often asked to explain my interest in sports. While there are many implications to the question, and the answer is complicated, I will focus on one part of the answer. Sports, at least for those who participate, help teach the value of hard work. More than in almost any area of life, sports teach us that your success is largely determined by how hard you are willing to work.

As I worked on my goal of qualifying for Boston, I understood, that, despite certain factors such as weather being beyond my control, my ultimate success or failure was in my hands. As I trained, the harder I worked the better I became. Each time I failed to reach my goal, I recognized that more was demanded of me if I was to succeed. Ultimately, it took running seven days a week and almost 70 miles per week to get there.

Which brings me to Lebron. I have spent a decent amount of time thinking about the almost visceral dislike that so many people, including myself, feel for him. Lebron wants to be a champion. After several years of pursuing that goal in Cleveland (for all intents and purposes, his hometown), he decided that he could never win there because… of everyone else. His teammates weren’t good enough; his team’s owner wasn’t spending enough money. Everyone was responsible, except for Lebron. So he decided, in his infamous words to take his “talents to South Beach”.

Someone suggested that if Lebron is to get a new tattoo, it should be one of a cart in front of a horse. Dirk Nowitzki, Lebron’s counterpart on the victorious Mavericks, won by working harder. Lebron wanted to get there without the work. Even in defeat, defeat that was largely brought on by his less than stellar play, he could not admit to his own shortcomings. He spoke of the “bigger man upstairs” having other plans (only Lebron could call G-d “the bigger man upstairs”). He spoke derisively of the fans. Again, no sense of his role in all of this.

Ultimately, I suspect he will get his championship ring. To do so, he will need to stop worrying about his teammates, owners and fans. Instead he might want to work on his post moves.

A Tale of Two Men

2011-06-06T12:01:00.001-04:00

I thought of two men as I ran in yesterday's Run for Israel, in Central Park; my dad and Fred Lebow.

People often ask me about how proud my dad would be about my running and weight loss. My dad, who was very overweight, often spoke to us about losing weight. He would start off by pointing out that “I know I am a fat horse, but…”. I know he would be glad that I have lost so much weight, but I am far from certain that he would appreciate all the running I do. He was big fan of my wife and was quick to point out when he thought I was not spending enough time with her. Perhaps it is my own guilty conscious speaking, but I can imagine him telling me to run less and help out more at home.

I think he would have appreciated yesterday's race. From his youth, my dad was a lover of Israel, a true Zionist. Seeing so many people from our community, religious and secular, Israeli and American, supporting one of the countries he loved, would have made him happy. I imagined him, along with my mom, cheering me on, and the three of us going to march in the Celebrate Israel Parade together along with the Yeshiva of Flatbush; where I teach and my mom taught.

Fred Lebow would have been amazed by the runners in this race put on by NYRR, the club he founded. Lebow who came from a very religious family, became somewhat distant from his religion (although not his family). The more he got into running, the less he connected with the faith of his fathers.

As I ran in the race, I was struck by how many observant runners were there. Men in kippot (skullcaps), or other head coverings, women in skirts. I don't know if Fred could have understood those of us for whom a commitment to Judaism and a passion for running go hand in hand. I'd like to think that, at the very least, we would have gotten him thinking.

Although, I passed a statue of only one of those men, I imagine both of them watching; one with a feeling of pride and the other wondering "what if". Who knows? Maybe both of them would have been thinking both of those thoughts.

An Old School Race Report

2011-05-31T10:45:00.003-04:00

As I drive home each day after work along the West Side of Manhattan, I watch with some measure of envy, runners running next to the Hudson River. Particularly on days when there is heavy traffic, I would much rather be out there with them. There is one part of the running scene that I don’t love though; the trendiness. As I watch the runners with their cool outfits, high tech watches and fuel belts filled with drinks with all sorts of artificially colored drinks, I find myself thinking yearningly of the origins of the New York running scene.

Back then, NYRR was a running club, with a president who only earned six figures if you put the decimal point up until four places. Runners ran in cotton (polyester was plaid, not moisture wicking), had only a few types of shoes to choose from, but most importantly, they ran out of passion, not because it was cool. That’s because it wasn’t cool. Running was mostly a fringe sport that attracted quiet ectomorphs.

The Van Cordlandt Running Club has been hosting trail races on or around the legal holidays. Yesterday was the latest. Despite the high heat and humidity, I knew I had to be there, having run their races before, and getting to run with my friend Yoni sealed the deal. The race had the feel of what races must have been like back in the day, with no fee, no free shirts, great people and a beautiful course. Each runner kept their own time (yes, I admit, mine was on a Garmin) and ran on a trail soaked in mud. The hosts did a great job providing us with plenty of drinks, as well as fruit (I shouldn’t expect otherwise when the guy in charge is a Fruitarian) and lots of encouragement.

It was not a day for pushing the pace and I regrettably allowed myself to walk a few of the challenging hills. Still, it was a challenging run, made easier by the shade of the trails. After a break at the half way point, we convinced ourselves to do a second loop so we would complete the Half Marathon we were shooting for. We crossed the finish line drenched, tired and smiling from ear to ear. No non-runner can imagine the incredible sweetness of watermelon after running in the heat. Sadly, I suspect that most runners can not appreciate the no-frills, all thrills type of race that we experienced. I think I will leave the Garmin home next time.

A Different Finish Line

2011-05-26T11:14:00.001-04:00

There are moments when I just thank G-d for being alive. As I ran easily around the track the other day, I had one such moment.

It was a warm and humid day; the kind of day that you try and stay inside. My first day back on the track since my marathon. As I ran along at a pace that would have once been hard, a gentle breeze touched my face. Even the dryness of my mouth felt impossibly good. Just as with the low moments, I know this feeling can not last forever, but I am just trying to take it in.

This Sunday is a 5K not far from where I grew up. Last year, I got one my one and only trophy there, in far lesser shape than I am in now. I feel like I would crush this race. I will not be running it though. This Sunday is my mom’s Yahrtzeit (the one year anniversary of her passing according to the Jewish calendar). I will spend the morning fasting, and try to spend the whole day thinking about life, family, G-d, goodness and stuff. There will be no race this Sunday. There will plenty of times for that. This Sunday I will cross a different finish line.

Good or Good Enough

2011-05-23T10:18:00.002-04:00

“The perfect is the enemy of the good”. Bill Clinton once used these words to describe his policy goals (perhaps his life goals as well). A focus on getting everything exactly right, he suggested, would come at the expense of doing a good, albeit imperfect job. A friend of mine recently told me a slight variation of these words. In his version “good is the enemy of good enough”.

Now that the euphoria has partially worn off from last week’s marathon and qualifying for Boston, I find myself thinking about my friend’s words. There are two ways to look at least week’s race. It was good, maybe even really good by my standards, but perhaps, with hard work or a different approach, I might do better. With this approach, last week’s triumph becomes this week’s baseline. While this has the effect of forever aspiring higher, it comes with an equal forever needing to go higher; a lack of satisfaction with reaching the goal. On the other hand, if I look at last week’s achievement as good enough, than I am done. Literally or conceptually, I cross running off my to-do list and figure out what comes next. Here to, this is a mixed blessing. While it might allow me to celebrate my success, this approach would eliminate my discovering how fast I can go. Even more, it turns what is more about process, at least for me, into being about results.

For now I aim for the middle where I feel good. Good enough to dream.

Shipping Up To Boston- A BQ Race Report

2011-05-17T11:05:00.002-04:00

Race Morning- My mind is a mess. Am I ready? Is it going to be too hot? What effect will the rain have on my time? Can I do it?

I pick up my friend YD from across the street and start driving towards Pennsylvania. It is only 4 A.M. but we need to get there early enough to pray, before getting on the bus to the starting line. We have nine friends meeting us for the prayer service. Do you think Ryan Hall ever had to do this before a race?

After a close call, we make it to the bus right before it leaves. The guys on the bus are locals who know the course backwards and forwards. I ask them why the first half of the course will be different this year. Apparently a church along the old route paid the race organizers $10,000 to move it. You can’t make this stuff up. For the rest of the ride I sit quietly and listen as they discuss whether they would stop to use a porta-potty if they had to go during the race or whether they would just go on the run. Ick.

I have been planning to run at a 7:35 pace, but I decide I will start with the 3:20 pace group that will be running at a 7:38 pace.

Mile 1- The pace group is going too fast. What do I do? Trust him? Trust my training? I try and stick with them.

Mile 3- The pace group has slowed down. I decide to trust my training. They will not get me there. I have to trust the training. More importantly, I have to trust myself.

Mile 4- I don’t like talking during marathons. I want to hold onto every bit of energy that I can. I listen as two runners introduce themselves to each other as Mary and Martin. Suddenly I have an epiphany. I recently heard of a brain study that indicates that people with names like Dennis and Denise are more likely to be dentists, as the brain steers people towards activities that sound like the person’s name. I bet that people with names like Mary, Martin and Marc (my English name) are more likely to run marathons. Note to self, never name a child Feivel. He will not be willing to run more than a 5K with you.

Mile 6- For a small race, the crowd support is great. I pass a woman and her young son cheering on runners. Suddenly the boy opens his umbrella and screams “yeah”. I don’t know what that means but it makes me smile.

I am in the midst of a big downhill stretch where I am going much faster than my race pace. I think of my friend Yitzy who taught me how to run downhills properly. I hope I don’t pay for this pace later on.

Mile 8- Some guy with ponytails in his hair, runs past me and tells me that I am looking great. I don’t know if he means it or is just being nice, but it helps.

Mile 10- My right shoe feels lose. I suddenly remember that even with a double knot, my laces come undone when wet. I have to stop to pull the knot tighter. AHH! For the rest of my race, my left shoe will be loose. No time to fix it.

Mile 12- Not feeling so strong. The doubts are creeping in.

Half way- I have not been looking at my time and am not sure if I am on pace. I look at the clock. 1:39:05. A half marathon PR by two minutes. All I need to do is repeat it and I am golden.

Mile 15- A guy starts making small talk and asks me my goal. I tell him “under 3:20”. He says “I guess you are also between 40 and 45”. (That is the qualifying time for guys in that age group for Boston). We run together for a while, until he falls off the pace.

Mile 16- I see a guy bent over, stretching by the side of the road. It is a friend of mine. He gets up, tries to run with me a bit and says “I’ll see you at the finish”.

I have not run farther than this since November. Can I make it to the finish? Will I hit the wall? Will I suddenly run out of gas?

Mile 18- The hills begin here. The hills that beat me last year on this course. The hills that made me walk. I decide that not only will they not beat me, but I am going to sprint up every hill for the rest of the race.

Mile 21- I remember this hill. This is where I feel apart last year. I sprint to the top and am feeling pretty good about myself. What goes up must come down, right? Not in the Poconos. A block later, there is another killer hill. If I meet the guy who designed this course, G-d help him.

Mile 23- There is a woman running ahead of me who is either the Mayor of Stroudsburg PA, or prom queen or something. I mean the whole place is cheering her on. I try and take in the cheers as if they are mine.

I look at my watch and check the time. I can not believe it. I have a shot. Quickly, I correct myself with some negative talk and tell myself that I will probably miss 3:20 by less than a minute.

Mile 24- I see a runner from my group who is one of faster guys I know. Amazingly I pass him. He calls out “Go get ‘em”. “I am trying” I respond.

I pass a synagogue on the right. Why aren’t they out cheering for me? Didn’t they know I am coming?

Mile 25- Less than 1 ¼ miles to go. I look at my watch. I have more than 10 minutes to make it. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

Someone cheers for the mayor/prom queen and tells her she looks great and to pass me. She does. A block later, I retake the lead. Moohaha.

Mile 26- We pass into the parking lot of the school where the race will finish. I look ahead and there are my wife and two youngest kids cheering for me. I fight back the tears.

Last 300 meters- Less than a lap around the track. My friend YD (2:51 finish and 11th place overall) is cheering for me and tells me to finish strong. I am going as fast as I can, but have no kick left.

3:18:40. 7:35 per mile. My goal on the dot. BQ. Holy cow. I did it. Holy cow.

My wife has a Dropkick Murphys t-shirt with “Shipping Up to Boston” on it. Is it odd for an Orthodox rabbi to like Irish Punk? I am vast. I contain multitudes.

I talk to my brother in Israel. He BQed a few months ago (he is still 33 seconds faster, but I am cool with that). WE are going to Boston. My wife and kids come over. I am in heaven. I am smiling so hard it hurts, in a really good sort of way.

I head home. Home to send out e-mails, FB messages and texts to everyone I ever met. To take my oldest sons to the Red Sox-Yankees game. (The Red Sox will win. It is a Boston sort of day). To celebrate.

My brother, with a small assist from me, sends me a message with one of the cleverest double entendres ever; “You pred because of the beet juice”. (Try and figure it out. It’s VERY funny). So many friends and family members respond with kindness and pretend to understand my insanity.

Come April, G-d willing, I am shipping up to Boston!

BQ!

2011-05-17T06:34:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, I Began a Quest. At first, I was Basically Quiet about it. Little by little, I started to let people know that I thought it would Be Qool to qualify for the Boston Marathon. After running my first marathon in 4:15, I knew I would have to Be Quicker to have a chance. Of course it would Be Queer to want to get faster and not work on it. Realizing that I had little speed, I Began Qilling myself in training. 40 miles a week BeQame 50, which soon BeQame 60+. Many friends BeQame fans of my Big Quest. It soon Became Qlear that their encouragement would Be Qey to my making it. Adding to the pressure was when by Brother Qualified before me. Even with all the training, it Became Qlear that I would need help from the weather. As race day BeQoned, I was very nervous. With longest runs only reaching 16 miles, I was scared I would BonQ. Late in the race, it Became Qlear I would make it. As the emotions washed over me, I tried not to BreaQ down. Waiting for me at the finish was my amazing wife, and two of our Beautiful Qids. I want to Be Qlear; I am thankful to G-d, my family, friends and blog readers. I am BasiQally floating on cloud nine. How will I celebrate? Maybe with a BarBQ.

A Little Beet Insane

2011-05-12T10:31:00.000-04:00

I am not exactly the health food store type of guy. It’s not that I am not into being healthy. I am very careful with what I eat, and as for exercise, I take that pretty seriously as well. It’s just that to me, health food stores are kind of weird, foreign and a bit crunchy, sort of like San Francisco. So what was I doing in a health food store the other day?

I sometimes wonder whether the articles in running magazines are big jokes at my expense. I can just picture the writers talking and saying, “Do you think we can get him to eat cauliflower?” “No, no, no, replies his friend, “let’s write an article about how wearing shorts inside out will make a runner faster”. OK, they probably aren’t doing that, but I am crazy enough to try any advice I read on running. So there I was in a health food store asking for beet root juice. Someone had written how drinking a liter of beet root juice each day during the week before a race was proven to improve performance and so I had to give it a shot.

In three days I make my next last chance at qualifying for Boston. Someone pointed out to me yesterday that this obsession seems to be based on qualifying, more than it does on Boston, and I can’t really argue. I have run more miles than ever for this race, had one of my toe nails turn (permanently?) black and even entered a health food store. It feels a little insane. Yet somehow, I feel this almost existential need to do this. To qualify, to somehow feel worthy, to make into the club.

I suspect some of you, even those who run, can’t relate to this. For those who do, I make a toast and say thanks for the encouragement, as I drink some beet root juice.

What's Up Doc?

2011-05-09T10:25:00.002-04:00

My head was still spinning. I had been diagnosed with Type II Diabetes, the disease that killed my father. Now I was at the doctor, the specialist in this illness. He was telling me that I was going to have to check my blood each day. How could I explain to him that I would never be able to do this? That the sight of blood puts me into a state of panic? That by telling me to prick my finger with a sharp object, he might as well have been telling me to cut off a limb each day? He gave me the choice of starting with medicine right away, or trying to lose weight first? I hate taking medicine. I told him I would try losing weight. He asked me how, and I told him that I had purchased a stationary bike and was riding it each day. He told me I would never stick with it.

I run my next marathon this Sunday. I have run everyday for the last two plus months, other than two days of Pesach (Passover) where Jewish law prohibits running. I have run each Saturday night in the dark, often by myself, sometimes in the rain. I hate running at night, but having no choice, I have done so. Saturday night, on my last night run before the marathon, I happened to run past that doctor’s office. I thought back to our one conversation.

That’s right, one conversation. I never went back. Within three months I lost enough weight that my Diabetes was gone. Within seven months, I ran my first half marathon. Within 10 months I lost 100 pounds and was at my weight from high school. I never drew blood once. In a way he was right. After riding the stationary bike every day for a few months, I started running. I didn’t stick with the bike. I only use it occasionally as a way for training for marathons.

He’s lucky he doesn’t have more patients like me. If he did, he’d have to find a new job.

Worrier King

2011-05-05T11:02:00.001-04:00

I am a worrier. It’s not that I enjoy worrying, I just worry. I am always sure that something will go wrong. I worry equally about things that are in or out of my control. With my next marathon only 10 days away, I am top form.

You would think that as a worrier, I would pick a conservative training plan with tried and true methods. Instead, after reading about a different approach in Runners World, I decided to use a different plan. Even the writer of the article said he was nervous when he saw that his longest run pre-marathon would be only 16 miles. There is comfort, he acknowledged, in doing long runs or 20 miles or more. Of course, for him, everything worked out well. He set a PR which had stood for 10 years. As for me, while I am sure I will beat my time from 10 years ago (every time I walk a block in less than a half hour I do that), and am cautiously optimistic that I will PR (I PRed this course last year with less training), I am VERY scared that I will not hit my goal time. Throw in my fear that the weather will not cooperate, and of course, I am a mess. On the positive side, I will not be in mourning for a parent during the week before the race, as I was last year.

Wish me luck!

Free!

2011-05-02T10:49:00.000-04:00

With the setting of the sun on Friday night, I completed the 12 month mourning period for my mom. It was a moment for which I’ve been waiting for a very long time, at moments yearning desperately for it. It is difficult to describe how it felt. Not surprisingly (To a hammer, everything is a nail) I felt in a way like I was crossing the finish line at the end of a race.

Of course that comparison only goes so far. In a race, the goal is to go as fast as possible, in order to finish in the shortest possible time. In this case, there was nothing I could do to effect the passage of time. Many times, it felt as if time had stopped, as if G-d had somehow slowed the setting of the sun. At times, I wondered whether time was going backwards. During the entire twelve month period, I felt as if I was in a bubble where all sounds from the outside were muffled and those from the inside were intensified. Already hyper sensitive to my feelings, I wanted so badly to shut them off; to drown out their noise. Was this the reason I was forbidden to distract myself by listening to music? To force myself to face my feelings?

There was no training for this race. The fact that I had already been through it with my father did not help. If anything, it made me dread it more. Knowing what was coming in many ways made it worse. Perhaps not always, but sometimes, ignorance is indeed bliss.

When I got home from shul (synagogue) on Friday night, I passed a mirror. I instinctively did a little hand raise, a la Rocky Balboa, similar to what I do when I finish a race. There was a difference though. At races I let out a scream, a bit primal in nature, as I cross, full of joy and relief to be finished, to have reached my goal. I do fell relieved to be done with the mourning and yearn to go back to feeling normal, or at least as normal as I ever feel. Sitting in my regular seat in shul, something off limits to a mourner brought me so much joy, it almost seemed absurd. Is this what it feels like to get out of jail?

I went to a wedding last night and it felt great to hear live music and dance and just be part of crowd. Truth is, even activities that I could do all year, feel different. A walk I took with my wife, as our three youngest children rode on their bikes, was particularly uplifting. Perhaps that is difference from other races. In general when I race, I dress as light and as free as possible. This past year’s race felt so heavy, as if I was carrying someone else with me. I don’t know if it was my mom, or just a heavier version of me. For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel free.

Change of Heart

2011-04-12T06:53:00.001-04:00

I suppose it is somewhat ironic that after writing about how running had become a chore, I was due to run the highest mileage of my training this past week. At 67 miles, it was also the most miles I had ever run in a week. So how did it go? Best running I’ve done in a long time, maybe ever.

How can I account for this change in attitude and experience? I think it comes down to admitting my frustration last week. As soon as I was able to admit that I was not enjoying myself, the joy came back. Feelings, it seems, are like little children (and big children and adults) in that they want to be acknowledged. Ignore them and they will figure out a way of getting your attention, quite possibly at a time that will be more inconvenient than the present. Give them a little attention, or simply acknowledge them, and they will feel heard and stop demanding your attention.

Maybe one day I’ll try and apply this to life beyond running.

The Law of Diminishing Returns

2011-04-05T10:29:00.002-04:00

I sometimes wonder, only half-jokingly, what it would be like to be a full-time runner, with a sponsorship deal, and nothing to do but run and train. I am quite sure that I will never find out what I would be able to achieve under those circumstances. Recently, in training for my next marathon, I have been training in what I thought would be the next best way. I have been running seven days a week and building weekly mileage totals way beyond anything I have done before. Although I have gotten faster, there have been some big negatives.

For the first time since I started running, I have no days off. ZERO. That is not just physically exhausting, but mentally exhausting as well. The time off gave me a chance to recover and relax. Without that time, I am more tired than ever. Additionally, all this running gives me less time with my family. As much as I have selfishly been willing to carve out training time, even where no time was available, this time I realize it is too much. Had someone else pushed me to back off I would have resisted, now however the realization comes from within. For the first time since I started running, it feels like a chore; something else to be crossed off my “to do” list. So this is it. I will not be training as much for future races.

So why not back off now? This might be my only chance to get a time that gives me a shot at Boston. Although, I will probably be shut out of the race, I have to give it a shot. I know the next six weeks will continue to be difficult, particularly with Pesach (Passover) in the middle, but the end is in sight. Having come this far, I need to know whether I can break 3:20. With a reduction in training days and mileage, I might never get there again, so, reluctantly, I am in. The call this the law of diminishing returns. It is too late to turn back. I look forward to it being over.

Beyond the Numbers

2011-03-31T10:32:00.001-04:00

I have always been a bit of math geek. In high school, I used to entertain my classmates by solving math problems in my head before my teacher could complete them on the board. While living in Israel, I would switch KPH signs into MPH using both 3/5 and 5/8. Nowadays, as a runner, I always have to finish my workout at an even number. There is something comforting about numbers, at least for me.

Not all things can be expressed in numbers. Today is the last day of the 11 month period after the passing of my mom that I need to say Kaddish (a prayer said by mourners). Additionally, as I have mentioned before, I attempted to lead prayers at least once a day during this time. Today, that streak comes to an end. I have probably recited Kaddish over 2,000 times over the past year and led prayers between 300-400 times. Somehow this feels bigger than a number though, something that is not easily quantified.
During these past 11 months, I have found myself wondering about what effect, if any, my prayers were having; on myself, on my mom and/or on the world. I have tried to figure out whether my need to lead prayers everyday was about my mom, G-d or some narcissistic need on my part, to go beyond what was expected of me as a mourner. Perhaps it was an attempt, with no other way of doing so, to prove my worthiness as a son. Maybe it was an attempt to hold onto my mom, as her memory fades from my mind, a futile refusal to let go. Without fully grasping why I have been doing what I have been doing, I have exerted great effort to keep the streak going. I have felt great stress on days when I thought it would stop. I can’t tell you why, but I had to do this.

I have one month left as a mourner. One month left to express grief, to feel sorry for myself, to feel different. Right now, as I am about to lose one more connection with my mom, it seems right that it is grey and overcast today. I started out my existence with my mom carrying me for nine months. I have tried during the last 11 months to carry her for a bit longer.

If I Forget Thee...

2011-03-29T11:13:00.002-04:00

The Western Wall, the city of gold and King David are some of things I think of when I think of Jerusalem. Until recently, running was not on that list. That all changed with the first ever Jerusalem Marathon, which was held this past Friday. What follows are some thoughts about the race.

My brother and other runners I know who live in Israel, frequently express the feeling that they lose out on cool races due to not being in the States. Now we are even.

Even before last Wednesday’s terror attack in Jerusalem (outside the building where the race expo was being held), I really wanted to run the race. After the attack, I really, really, really wanted to run the race. To stand (and run) with the people. Whatever the answer is to the problems there, it is not violence.

One of my favorite pictures from the race was the runner kissing the mezuzah in the wall of the gates of the old city as he ran by.

I have to admit that I would feel strange running in the old city near The Temple Mount in shorts. Seems almost sacrilegious. One might argue that we are always in G-d’s presence, an argument with which I can not disagree. Still, there are things I wear while running that I would not wear while praying. In the Old City, I always feel like I am praying.

Part of the race went through the eastern part of the city. There were protests from those who considered this to be a political statement. They appealed to Adidas, one of the main sponsors to withdraw from the race. Adidas refused. Hard to believe that this was a political statement on Adidas’ part and not a financial one.

Running on the stones of the old city has got to be rough on the knees.

People think it’s cool that I got to run races in Miami to raise money for the sick children of Chai Lifeline. I would trade five Miamis for one Jerusalem. Kudos to Moshe Deutsch for getting 60 runners to run for CL’s Israeli division. Some people talk about doing good, others do it.

Some say that every step one takes in Israel is a religiously meritorious act. If so, running a race there ought to get you into heaven.

I saw the elevation chart which shows the elevation changes with the races many hills. I hope my EKG looks like that when I am 90.

Forget BQing. I want to JQ.

Running Around on Purim

2011-03-21T10:46:00.002-04:00

Purim, for parents in my community, is a very enjoyable but hectic day. After hearing the megillah, we race around the neighborhood with our children so that they can drop off mishloach manos to their 328 closest friends. With six kids, we were in for a busy day.

Of course, yesterday was not just Purim, it was also Sunday, the holy day for long runs. Fortunately I had a light day, with only ten miles scheduled. Even more fortunately, I am married to the most understanding woman in the world, who recognized that without my run, I would turn from a joyous Purim celebrant to an obnoxious self-pitying ogre. Of course, to top it off, I am usually a stick in the mud, who refuses to get dressed up. Yesterday, my costume was a slow runner trying to get faster, complete with an Under Armor shirt that is so horribly ugly that I bought it on sale (if you have ever tried to buy UA, you know there stuff is NEVER on sale).

Suffice it to say that I had a great run. It was a beautiful day, albeit a bit chilly. I even saw my first “spring robin”, as our youngest son likes to call them. I ran at a too quick pace, which gave me the sense that I am gaining speed. Of course, I over compensated for all the calories I burned and ate waaaay to much junk when I got home. I took a quick shower, said “hi” to my very kind wife and took over the Purim shuttle.

We finished the day with a lovely meal where I made sure that any burned calories I had left from the run were more than used up. It was a glorious Purim and a great start to an exciting week, with a Bar Mitzvah coming up this Shabbos. G-d, family and running. It doesn’t get any better than this.

Over and Over and...

2011-03-17T10:38:00.001-04:00

Thoughts on the Road to Boston

There is a moment on those days when I run on a treadmill, where I start to lose it. As I “run” at a pace of 7 mph for exactly 60 minutes, I look down at the display and see, once again, that I have run 3.26 miles in 26:43. The monotony of the experience, combined with the feeling of déjà vu all over again (as Yogi Berra might say), and the knowledge that I will be there again (and again and again) is too much to take. Of course, I do take it and keep going for a mind numbing 33:17. I have a problem dealing with doing the same thing over and over again, as if I am stuck in my own version of “Groundhog’s Day”. Of course it’s not just running where I experience this.

I am towards the end of the year of mourning for my mom. As I’ve mentioned before, I decided to try and lead prayers (something that is supposed to benefit the deceased’s soul) at least once a day. I suspect that if I were to look at my watch each morning at 7:12, I’d probably find myself at the same place in the service each day. Despite the rabbinic exhortation to put yourself into your prayers, I fear that on most days I am doing the religious equivalent of running on a treadmill.

My father-in-law, before he retired, worked for IBM and Lockheed Martin in the same building for over 30 years. He drove the same route there and back each day. I would have gone crazy.

A mentor once compared teaching to being a hockey fan. He explained that when he went to a Ranger’s game (this was in the glorious days when they had not won the Stanley cup in over 50 years) the fans would boo the players on the ice, not just for losing that night, but because of all the years of futility. Of course, none of the players had been there over the long drought. He reminded me that when I felt frustrated in the classroom, I would often think of the offending student as if he had been the same one driving me crazy for years. He reminded me that there are no repeats in the classroom.

As much as I like, no, need variety, I recognize that there is something to be said for consistency. My mom worked at the same school for about two decades. Had she taught in different schools as I have during my years of teaching, would she have had so many friends who loved her so dearly?

Sometimes it is easy to stay in the same situation, even when it is not an enjoyable one. I frequently meet students who repeatedly make bad decisions that cast them in a negative light. I try and remind them that just because it is safe to stay in the same place, does not mean that it is good to remain in the same place. I say it as if I don’t do the same thing in my life.

Over and over and over and…..

The St. Paddy's Non-Race Report

2011-03-14T10:56:00.000-04:00

Out of all of the things I write, I usually get the best reactions for my race reports; where I give a mile by mile recap, and try and combine humor and poignancy. Still, despite running the St. Patrick’s Day Half Marathon yesterday, I have no race report to give over.

When I got to the race, I met up with two friends who I first met this past January in Miami. Despite the fact that they hadn’t done much running since completing their first marathon, they decided to try and run with me (no big deal, believe me). On a beautiful day, we got to run at one of the NYC’s great running venues, Van Cordlandt Park. Thanks to last week’s rainfall, it was a real cross country course as well, with healthy doses of hills, mud and logs to go over or on.

As much as I enjoyed the course, the company was even better. We talked, joked and pushed each other when our legs wanted to quit. Therein lies the lack of a race report. I got so involved in the running and conversation, that I had no time to compose my report as I ran. Not that I am complaining. Yesterday was the kind of day that helps me fall in love with running again. It was the kind of race that I wish I could get non-runners to try. No entry fee, medals, chips or closed streets. Just effort, sweat, dirt and passion. Throw in the Irish connection (I love all things Irish) and it was the perfect race.

I remember after completing my first half marathon, how I didn’t want to take off the medal, even when I went through the metal detector at the airport. Did I say there was no medal yesterday? It was with much regret when I got home that I took a shower and washed the mud from my legs. To me, the mud was as good as any medal I have ever received.

Prophet Sharing

2011-03-07T10:38:00.000-05:00

My not quite new shoes will be coming in the mail today. I don’t know how else to describe them. They have never been worn before but they are not the latest version of this shoe made by Asics. I don’t which improvements there were between version 16 and version 17, but I couldn’t see paying $40 for the difference. Still, if there marketing people failed get my extra money; they did succeed in getting into my head. The same shoes that were good enough for me last year, feel out of date and less cool. I made the correct choice, but feel bad about it.

I ran with a friend yesterday who owns a bakery. He told me that his customers are often surprised when he talks them into buying less than they think they will need. He points out that after a large meal, people are less likely to eat desert, and as such, fewer cakes and cookies should be purchased.

The millionaire football players and billionaire owners are trying to avert a work stoppage. On sports radio, the question is constantly asked “With whom are the fans siding?”. My first inclination is to say a pox on both your houses. Are either on the side of the fans? Still, to me the owners are more greedy. Their latest way of making money is by selling personal seat licenses (PSLs). Fans must pay money to have the right to buy seats. If that’s not extortion, I don’t know what is. The obvious answer is simple; stop buying the seats. Still, you are talking about people who have sat with family and friends in the same section for years, or in some cases decades.

I read an article about a man who had a conversation with his father, a rabbi renowned for his righteousness, before he went into business. His father told him that if he sold people things that they need, then he is a businessman. If not, he is something else.

The last time I wrote about a similar topic, a guy I know asked to be removed from my list. It seems my anti-capitalist rant upset him. Either that, or he was scared by the mirror I held up to him.

Is it Good for Running?

2011-03-03T10:33:00.001-05:00

The Marine Corps Marathon sold out in 28 hours. Boston, with its qualifying standards, filled up in only eight hours. NYC could probably have 100,000 runners every year, if it wouldn’t be a logistical nightmare. Running, it seems, is more popular than ever. Or is it?

Does the popularity of these major races really reflect an increase in serious running, or is it, perhaps, indicative of something else? It seems to me that running a popular marathon has become trendy with everyone from famous actors, to overweight weathermen, to athletes from other sports running them. This leads to everyone wanting to get in on the act. This is great news for the race directors of these races who are able to bring in large amounts of money for their organizations and themselves. It is great for the shoe companies, whose top of the line kicks are selling for $140. Is it great for running?

Some will argue, paraphrasing Ronald Reagan, that there will be a trickle down effect. In other words, even if people first sign up for races for all sorts of less than ideal reasons, many will discover the joys of running. I am not so sure. Having run in a few smaller races, it seems to me that those races without huge crowds, fancy race shirts and cool destinations are not filling up so quickly. If you are looking to be trendy, it is one thing to tell the guy at work that you ran the New York City Marathon; entirely another to say you ran the Bob Potts Marathon (real race, high percentage of BQers). Furthermore, for those who aspire to run a race in a fast (or at least faster) time, dodging undertrained runners who overestimated their finishing times can be very frustrating.

I love seeing new runners getting started, having been there myself. I do all that I can to encourage them. If you want to run a marathon, more power to you. If you are trying to cross off items on your bucket list, I hear skydiving is a blast.

If I Knew Then...

2011-02-28T10:46:00.001-05:00

There is a feeling I have, just on this side of jealousy, when I see a young runner running fast. Having started running less than four years ago, I am left wondering how I might have done had I started years before. I know that there is no going back, but I still find myself wondering “what if?”.

I spent the weekend on a retreat with my school’s sophomore class. We spent the time learning, talking arguing, thinking and singing. Basically, we got a chance to see each other in a different light. At several points over Shabbos (the Sabbath), I was asked to sing part of a song in front of almost 200 students and several dozen adults. Despite a small degree of nervousness and a large degree of a bad singing voice, I delivered. I found myself thinking of the same retreat almost 25 years ago, when I attended as a student in the same school. As the Rabbi in the middle of the room would have scanned the room looking for singers, I would have found myself trying to hide, shrinking down into my seat as if it was a cave and praying that he not ask me. Even if nominated, I would not have done it. Fear would have won out. Could things have been different back then? Perhaps my newfound confidence is a product of time and experience.

As my dad lay in his bed in the hospital, my head was racing. He seemed stressed, and I found myself making small talk in an effort to calm him down. After a while, I excused myself, told him I would see him in the morning and said good night. What would I have talked about had I known that would be the last conversation I would ever have with my dad? What might I have heard, that I will never know?

There is one class of sophomores with which I have struggled this year. I have been alternatively too lenient and then, as if I could compensate, too strict. I saw a side of them this weekend that I don’t get to see in school and I suspect that, if pressed, they would say the same about me. What might our experience have been together this year had I gotten to know them at the beginning of the year? Is it too late to salvage this year?

Truth is, had I started running while I was younger, my running would have been different. Less desperate I suspect. The ease of running with a young man’s body, the lack of fear of dying from the disease that killed my dad, would have made me a different runner. Better? Worse? I can not say. Definitely different though. I can’t go back. I’ll never know how things might have been. I need to keep my eyes on the road that lies ahead.

I have started a blog. Pass It On! http://middleofthepackrabbi.blogspot.com

The Name Remains the Same

2011-02-24T10:17:00.001-05:00

Thoughts on the Road to Boston

You might have thought that I would change the subtitle of my blog: “Thoughts on the Road to Boston”. After all, with the new changes the BAA has made for qualifying for Boston, what just recently seemed so close is now quite far away. I am reminded of the streets of Boston, where drivers complain that they see the street they are trying to get to, but are unable to get there. Still, I have decided to not change the name.

BAA’s decision has already impacted my running. I continue to push in my training, but I feel a lot less pressure. For a while, my plan had been to find a fast course, qualify for Boston, and then start running the enjoyable marathons that were more challenging. Now, I have reversed course. Yesterday, I registered for the Marine Corps Marathon, a marathon that takes place around our nation’s capitol, and is put on by the Marines. Best of all, the course finishes by the Iwo Jima statue, which, “Flags of Our Fathers” aside, is still one of the coolest places in America. Add in my strong feelings of patriotism and I just might be in heaven. Will I be able to run my fastest time there? Maybe not, but at this point, I just don’t care. I just want to continue to enjoying running.

I’d still like to think that I will make it to Boston at some point, later if not sooner. Who knows? As the pressure recedes and my pleasure increases with my running, I just might become a better runner. For now, Semper Fi!

I have started a blog. Pass It On! http://middleofthepackrabbi.blogspot.com

A Wicked Good Letter to the BAA

2011-02-17T10:26:00.001-05:00

Dear BAA,

I was excited to see that you posted the new qualifying times for the Boston Marathon yesterday. I am also glad to say that, after sitting down with an actuary, a lawyer and a professor of applied math from MIT, I think I understand your new standards. (For those of you who haven’t seen it yet http://www.baa.org/news-and-press/news-listing/2011/february/boston-athletic-association-announces-new-registration-process.aspx). I thought you might want to hear my thoughts, so hear goes.

I have been running for about four years. At some point, my goal changed from just running marathons to running them well, and with that came a desire to run Boston. I am not sure why. It could be because you guys are the only ones with qualifying times, or it might just be the really cool jackets with the unicorn. Either way, I started working harder and my times got better. Before long, my goal was in sight.

I get the need to limit the field and let the best runners run, I really do. I also understand that after last year’s registration fiasco, something had to give. Still, there are many things within the treatise you wrote that leave me confused and confounded.

Rolling registration where the fastest get to register first- It used to be that you could say after crossing the finish line “I qualified for Boston”. Now what do you say? I” qualified for the right to apply but probably be rejected by Boston”? “I get to run Boston if all the fast guys have their internet service go down for a month in the fall”? I must congratulate you however. It is now takes longer to apply for Boston and find out whether you made it, than to receive permission to purchase an M-16 in most states.

Even easier for women and old men to qualify- I am told that many runners enjoy running past Wellesley College as the women shout and try to kiss them. Now personally, being happily married and a rabbi to boot, getting kissed by a bunch of co-eds isn’t why I want to run, but I feel bad for those young ladies. All the younger guys will be running to fast for these women to catch them, the older men might creep them out and kissing women is probably not what they are looking to do.

Bad math- You said the qualifying times for 2013 would be five minutes faster. You also said there would no longer be a 59 second window. Correct me if I am mistaken but doesn’t that mean the times have changed by SIX minutes? Just saying.

Do I sound like a bitter guy who just realized he might not ever achieve his dream?- I am somewhat thankful for the decision you made. All of my focus on qualifying for Boston was making me neurotic. It was really taking away from my enjoyment of running as I kept searching for faster courses (“I hear the Kazakhstan Marathon has a net downhill”) and things I could do to shave seconds off my time. I haven’t given up on running Boston; it’s just that it has now become more of Shangri La like dream, which will only come true if my efforts meet a large degree of luck.

Meanwhile, I get to go back to what running should be; an enjoyable endeavor where I continuously strive to get better. I am hoping that running will keep me healthy as I hope to run a 4:30 marathon when I turn 145. I hear that guys who beat their time required time by 17 hours get to register first.

Slowly, not yours,

Pesach

The Rabbi and the Valentine's Day Race- A Race Report

2011-02-15T11:02:00.001-05:00

If you are a numbers obsessed runner, as I am, than the half-marathon I ran this past Sunday was a total and complete failure. If you are a runner who loves to run for the thrill off running, as I am, than Sunday’s half was one of the most amazing races ever.

When I heard about the race, advertised as “the only trail marathon in NYC”, I was enticed. Having done some trail running out in California, I was tempted by the challenge of running on an unpaved course. Trail running involves jumping over exposed tree roots and avoiding rocks, and generally getting out into nature to run. Throw in the fact that the race was at Van Cortlandt Park, one of the great running locations, and the fact that it was free and I was in. Did I mention that the race was Valentine’s Day race?

Admittedly, as an Orthodox Jew, and a Rabbi to boot, Valentine’s Day is not a day I observe, but I figured I was just going for the run. Besides, as I discovered, the heart shaped candy and lollypops weren’t kosher anyway. Sure it was hokey that every bib had the number 2 on it, but in order to show my individuality, I showed up for the race alone. Of course, that might have been because my friend who was supposed to join me, cancelled.

I suppose I should have been nervous at the beginning when I saw the ice covered course, but the race organizer announced that the course would get easier after a mile and a half, so I put my fear aside.

Mile 1- We are “running” on a sheet of ice. Going up a hill, I fall for the first of three times.

Up ahead, I spot a guy running with pink feather wings on his back. I suppose he is supposed to be Cupid. If he shoots my tuches with an arrow, I will punch his lights out.

Mile 2- I discover that when the organizer said it would get easier, he meant the ice would change to 4-6 inches of snow. I am running so slowly, I am practically walking. Still, I am practically out of breath.

Mile 3- If you ignore the snow (which would be at your peril) this is a gorgeous course. I can hardly believe I am in the Bronx. There are lakes in the Bronx? Trees?

There is a photographer waiting on the course. To slow down the runners, he has hung a giant gong in the middle of the course. Had he seen me, he would have realized that was wholly unnecessary.

Mile 4- What is this strange material I am running on? Oh yeah, asphalt. It lasts for less than 1/10th of a mile, but it is much appreciated.

I start to see pink feathers along the course. What has happened to Cupid?

Mile 5- The large brown spots in the snow are definitely not dirt. What could have done that? A large dog? A horse? A T-Rex? I hope that’s not what got to Cupid. I walk for a bit as I realize that this would be THE worse place ever to fall.

Mile 6- Almost half way there.

I get to the midpoint in 1:18. That’s a great time for a half marathon, but I’ve only run half of a half.

I see the people who are only running 10K standing on the side drinking water, and eating bananas and heart candy. I think I hate them, a most un-valentiney thought. I keep on going.

Second Half- Same as the first, just a little bit faster and a record for slowness burst.

Truth is, it is easier the second time around. Runners have smoothed out the snow a bit. I stop and hit the gong. I pass a few runners. I only fall once.

Being numbers obsessed, I realize that I will have to pick it up if I am to avoid my worst time ever, which I recall as 2:28 in my first race. As I get to towards the end of the course, I realize it will be close. I am running as hard as I can through mud and puddles. I finish in 2:28. (Later on, I will discover that I finished my first race in 2:27). There is no official time clock. In fact, the only clock at the finish has hands. We record our times in a notebook based on our watches.

This was not the race I had planned on, but it was an awesome challenge and a load of fun. I’d like to run the challenging course again, minus the snow. There’s another race on St. Patty’s Day. Do you think the green bagels will be kosher?

Generations

2011-02-08T10:32:00.000-05:00

If you knew my father (OB"M) later on in his life, it is hard to imagine that he ever enjoyed being a lawyer. I remember him walking through the door each night exhausted, not so much physically, as much as emotionally. I could see it in his face. It was clear to me, even as a child, that being a lawyer took a lot out of him. Those who knew him early on in his career say that he was different back then. He started out believing that he could use law as a force for good. Additionally, he loved mentoring younger lawyers. He remembered what it was like for him starting out, and he tried to always be there for the new guy (back then, it was almost always men).

When I first started out teaching, I liked to think of myself as the cool young teacher. The rabbi who got it; who remembered what it was like to be a teenager. I prided myself on being there for my students in a way that my teachers and rabbis were never there for me. Last week it hit me, that as I approach my 40th birthday, I am the age of many of student's parents. I don't where the time went, but along with my hair, it has disappeared. It is a sobering thought. I found myself wondering whether I had become "that guy". You know the one, the guy in the Breakfast Club who supervises detention. That day, I was reminded that I still have the ability to connect. A student, one who I must admit I am very fond of, told me that I was one of the only teachers who really cares about the kids. I hope he was wrong about the other teachers (and not about me!). Still, just the fact that he felt that way, meant a world of difference. Later, as I managed to teach a difficult Talmudic section with warmth and humor, I found myself thinking that maybe I still have something to offer. Of course, I also found myself thinking of my dad.

I am still coming off of the high of running the Miami Half Marathon. I have already written about the enjoyment I received due to running the race with my wife, brother and nephew. There was another part that really added to the experience. Many of the the runners on Team Lifeline, were not my age. Some were older, a few considerably older, but most were much younger; college age or thereabout. Realizing the joy and benefits that I have gotten out of running, I tried as best as I could to meet as many teammates as possible, and offer them my friendship and "expert", veteran advice. I talked them about pre-race jitters and about running through "the wall". It was far from a one sided relationship. I ended making some new friends, and even received a new nickname- "The Pace Maker". Of course, I found myself wondering whether that was a play on my name, or an indication of my old age, but I digress.

For hundreds of years, people have searched for the legendary fountain of youth. Through running and teaching, I think I have found it, along with another connection with my dad.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:

http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Smile, You are Having Fun

2011-02-03T10:43:00.001-05:00

In many ways, running for me revolves around numbers; mph, treadmill angle, and of course 3:20:59, the time I need in a marathon to qualify for the Boston Marathon. While I continue to enjoy running, and to use it as a time for relaxation and reflection, all the worrying and measuring can sometimes detract from the enjoyment. Which brings me to the half-marathon I ran with Team Lifeline this past weekend in Miami.

While Team Lifeline is made up of some veteran, serious runners (running addicts?), most of the runners are newcomers, running their first race, or for some, their only race. Many of the runners are painfully unaware of how much training goes into running a half marathon and despite the training schedule showed up somewhat undertrained. What makes these people so wonderful is that they still head out there to do their best, with only one goal; to finish. Finish they did, running, jogging, or limping, they made it. With smiles on their face, pride in their heart and hands raised in triumph, they crossed the finish line. They didn’t have to worry about pushing the button on their Garmin as they crossed the line or whether they set a PR; every one of them set a PR. Many came out with the desire to run another race to help Chai Lifeline’s kids.

I hope I can learn a lesson from these runners for my own running. Yes, I still want to run Boston, and plan to work my hardest to do so. Still, if in getting there, if I lose the enjoyment that running provides for all of us from the fastest Kenyan to the 7 hour jogger, what will I have gained? My teammates on Team Lifeline helped remind me that at its core running is fun and relaxing, not a chore. Some of them might have been impressed with my time. I was impressed with them.

Mimai Recap

2011-01-31T18:25:00.001-05:00

There is so much to write and so much to say. Over time I will share about our crazy trip to Florida and how we almost didn’t make it. I’ll talk about the weekend in Miami, the friends I made and maybe even share my new nickname. In the interest of brevity, or what passes for brevity in one of my (infamous?) race recaps, I will stick to the race itself.

Miles 1-2.68 - I have never seen a race start that is so crowded. I am no Kenyan, but I am starting pretty far up and expect runners, who can… run. So when I see two women walking in front of me and blocking my way, I am not happy. I am all for people taking as long as they can to finish a race. I think it’s great when skinny-challenged individuals exercise to lose weight. Would you find starting in the back? Is that too much to ask?

As you can tell I am tense and tired, and hence moody. I trudge through the first mile in nine minutes and become increasingly grumpier. The giant ocean liners fail to cheer me. I do not care about the singing of the birds. I am trying to see if I can run a fast race and am carrying more than my share of doubts.

Then I see Shua, a new friend from the weekend who has Spina Bifida. He is wheeling along in a wheel chair on the side of the road, with a look that somehow combines joy and determination. It is time for me to stop having a personal pity party and start taking part in running a race, which just happens to be one of my favorite things to do.

Mile 3- First interesting sign- “I don’t PAY to run, I pray to run”. This man, whom I think I have seen at previous races, is trying to remind us that at its essence running is a free activity that can be done whenever we want. Paying to run is foolish. He’s right in a way, and yet I know and he probably knows that his cause is probably hopeless.

Mile 4- South Beach- I spot a skateboard dude on his skateboard going in the opposite direction. “Wrong way” I tell him, in what seems like a witty comment to my oxygen starved brain. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be typing this now.

Mile 5- Katherine Hepburn is cheering on runners, or at least a woman who sounds like the actress playing Katherine Hepburn used to on Satuday Night Live. According to Wkipedia, Hepburn died in 2003, so it probably wasn’t her.

Mile 6- Some guy is giving out pink beads and holding a sign that says “Run like a diva”. What does a diver from Brooklyn have to do with running and pink beads?

The sign says “Go Mommy Go” which of course makes me think of mine in whose memory my brother, nephew, wife and I raised $21,000 for kids with cancer and are running. I miss her.

Then I think of the other mommy in my life, my kid’s mommy. The one who was crazy enough to surprise me and run this race last year. The one who is crazy enough to be running again this year…while pregnant. I love her.

Mile 7- What is it, a Jewish holiday today? There are over 400 observant runners out on the course for five different charities. I cheer for Team Yachad, Chai Lifeline and HASC. I see a co-religionist who is not running for any team. I call out “Go Team Yarmulke”.

Apparently Team HASC did not get the memo that each team is supposed to have a CH (think Challa) in its name in order to make it as frustrating as possible for any non-Jews to cheer for us.

Mile 8- Dang that guys from Team Yarmulke is fast. I decide that I will stay close to him for as long as possible. Soon I am thinking of him as my angel. He is going to pace me to a fast time. Wait, where is my angel going? A port-a-potty? Do angels have to go to the bathroom? Even if they did, there is no way that G-d would make them use a port-a-potty. I am on my own.

Mile 9- We come to Lido Island. I look around. It doesn’t look so Lido to me.

Mile 10- One more bridge and we are back in Miami. I go through the toll without paying. That’s right, I ran the toll.

Mile 11- I am really pushing it, at time going under 7 minutes a mile. It hurts, but in a really good way. Toby Tanser, humanitarian, Team Lifeline coach and all around nice guy, shouts out that I am looking strong. Never mind that he finished running the course 20 minutes ago. His words of encouragement feel good.

Mile 12- Almost there. If I can take the pain I can break 1:45. Not my fastest time but pretty good as I come back from my knee injury.

Mile 13- Digging deep- The Team Lifeline fan support REALLY helps, especially from my friend’s dad, who was my professor in grad school.

13.1- I cross the line with nothing left to give. 1:44:53. I am not yet back. Certainly not ready for Boston, but I am back-er than I have been since my injury.

I go back to 12.8, 1/3 of a mile before the finish, to wait for my favorite runner with a Team Lifeline sign. I see my brother and his son heading for the finish. 14 years old and doing his first half-marathon. My nephew that is. He finishes in less than 2 hours, ninth in his age group.

Knowing how much cheering helps, I cheer on the runners, by name, if it is written on their bib. There is nothing like hearing someone cheer for you when you feel like you have nothing left. Among the things I say:

· “1/3 of a mile to go, then you never have to run again”
· “There is a cold beer with your name on it waiting at the finish line”
· “Go Team Lifeline”

I even get to cheer on a former student who is running to help disabled children.

Then I see her. This year she is smiling and like last year, looking great. I jump back on the course to run the last part of the race with her. This is my favorite part of the race. It is something I hope to repeat many times (minus the pregnancy part). I hope the photographer got a good picture as we crossed the finish line. Either way, I will have a memory in my heart that will not fade.

Go Team!

2011-01-25T10:49:00.000-05:00

Running, in many ways is a sport for individuals, with its whole "loneliness of the long distance runner" thing. Still, despite that fact, there are ways to be part of a team. Cross country running, a popular sport in many schools (although sadly not in the Jewish school system, where I teach) is one such example. Long distance relay events made up of teams of 10 or more are growing in popularity. Finally, charity teams raise literally tens of millions of dollars each year for various causes. I have been thinking about the popularity of teams recently, as I head into what is likely to be my last weekend with Team Lifeline for a while, if not for good.

To begin, there is of course a big difference between rooting for a team, as opposed to being on a team. While the former involves getting vicarious pleasure, or equally often pain through the efforts of others, the latter is a personal experience. Even as I run past a runner who I do not know this Sunday, the fact that he or she is wearing the same shirt will cause me to shout out words of encouragement, at least if I am not in a world of pain.

It seems to me that teams fill the role that communities once filled. It was once common to know ones neighbors, and perhaps to sit outside on one ones stoop on a hot summer's day, shooting the breeze, while hoping for one. At least that's the way it is told to us. Be that as it may, those of us who live in urban settings often live in the worst kind of isolation, surrounded by people, yet all alone.

Religion at its best, helps create a sense of community. One of the great things about observing Shabbos (the Sabbath) in the traditional Jewish sense, is that it creates community as all synagogue goers must live within walking distance of their house of worship. Still, I must admit that the Jewish community is often way too fractured, with each slight difference in approach needing its own schools and shuls.

Into this void of loneliness and kinship steps the idea of teams, with their secular, or at least not inherently holy rules and friendship. Team Lifeline has been a family of sorts these last four years. A family I joined on a whim, not knowing how I would fit in. Since then, I have made many friends, recruited new members and had much more fun and enjoyment than I can possibly list. Like the end of Cheers or MASH, Sunday will likely have a huge amount of poignancy for me. It has been over four years since I made the decision to sign up. Four years later, my life is much richer for having done so.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:

http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Jewish Runner?

2011-01-17T09:41:00.001-05:00

I drove into Brooklyn yesterday for a photo shoot for Runner’s World magazine yesterday. No I am not going to be one of those guys with great abs on the cover. JRunners, a group for Jewish runners, with which I am affiliated, is going to be featured in an April issue dealing with running and religion.

I found myself wondering, what exact makes me a Jewish runner? Is it the fact that I answer questions with more questions? Is it simply the fact that I am Jewish and I run?

The photo shoot took place in a shul (synagogue). The goal, I suppose, was that there should be something noticeably Jewish in the picture. I guess that taking a picture in a neutral local wouldn’t go with the vibe of the article. Still, it seemed a little artificial. When we run together, we meet in Prospect Park, not in the Ocean Parkway Jewish Center. We drink Gatorade during long runs, not Manichevitz. I’ve never eaten a deli sandwich during a run. Moving beyond the clichés, what makes me a Jewish runner?

While I was waiting for the photo shoot to begin, I was listening to the radio. NPR had a story on a new production of “Romeo and Juliet”. This production is in Yiddish. The actors are all former Satmar Chassidim who broke away from the demanding religious strictures of their community. Perhaps, this was part of my answer. Are these Jewish actors? Is their cultural connection enough to make them Jewish? Is it their language? Their common upbringing? Certainly their former community would not view what they are doing as Jewish.

I had to leave the shoot early. I had to get to prayers, which as a mourner, I need to lead. A friend found me a place to pray which was very different from my usual place of prayer. Was this the answer to my elusive question? Just as there are no atheists in a foxhole, there are, I believe, no atheists in a marathon. Who hasn’t prayed late in a marathon? Looking around the room after prayers I felt very different from those around me. Yet we had all prayed together. There was beauty in this, and perhaps, a bit of an answer.

After prayers I went for a run in Prospect Park. As I ran, I noticed many Jewish runners. I, on the other hand, wore nothing that marked me as Jewish. I ran with both happiness and sadness at my anonymity. At that moment, was I a Jewish runner?

I suspect that some religious approaches might suggest that one should use running to bring non-believers into the fold. I have no interest in converting runners into Jews. I would like to convert Jews into runners.

A student once wrote his teacher complaining that now that he had left the house of study to work, he felt like he was living a double life. The teacher wrote back that it depends on how the student approaches work. One who adds a second room to the house in which he lives, is not living a double life. One who has two houses is living a double life. Is running separate from my Judaism? A time when I can blend in, while looking like everyone else? Or is it another place where I find and serve G-d, praying with my feet, as it were?

I look forward to the article and the attention seeking side of me, would love to be in a picture. You’ll know it’s me. I’ll be the one with the contemplative look on my face.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Taking a Break

2011-01-14T07:45:00.000-05:00

I don’t know what to say. Perhaps I should just say nothing. I am tired out. Tired from running long miles on the treadmill. Tired from fundraising, although we reached another goal this week. Just plain tired. I find myself wondering whether I should take a break from trying to raise money through running. By any objective measure, I have been pretty good at it, having raised around $40,000 over the last four years. Still, the pressure of hitting a number got to me this year, at least partially because it was for my mom. Asking the same people again has been tough. I can’t say that I would respond as well as many of my friends did. Still, at some point, shouldn’t I take a break and give them a break? I have seen those who wonder whether it is right to get a trip from a charity in exchange for raising funds. I have my answers to the question, good answers, but even so, I do sometimes wonder. I look forward to writing without a web address at the end. I look forward to running and pushing for Boston. I do not yet know whether this will be a temporary or permanent break. Two weeks to go.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

To Hill and Back

2011-01-07T11:40:00.002-05:00

I remember the game like it was yesterday. My brother, who was in his late teens, and I were playing basketball. Despite being four years younger, I was slightly taller. What was supposed to be a relaxed game of basketball, turned very intense. My brother couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t think that what bothered him was the fact that I was winning. The fact that I was competing as if my life depended on it, was too much for him.

Eric qualified for Boston yesterday, in just his third marathon. While I am happy for him, I must be honest and admit that it was hard for me to hear the news. I was supposed to be the one to qualify first. I had it all planned for May. When that didn’t work out and Eric beat my PR by three minutes in June, I knew this fall would be my chance to get there first. Then I hurt my knee. Now he has what I want. It’s not so much that he got there first. What if, I find my inner-voice asking, he is the only one to qualify?

I like running hills. It wasn’t always something I enjoyed, but I figured that if I was going to have to run them, I may as well learn to love it. The burning in my legs and lungs as I push myself up the hill feels good to me.
A friend has a magnet on his refrigerator which reads “Life is like riding a bicycle; if it feels easy, it is sign you are going downhill”.

A former colleague once told me that I reminded him of Pete Rose, the baseball great, who was so intense that he crashed into the catcher to score the winning run in the all-star game, a meaningless game. The catcher, Ray Fosse was never the same again. Rose explained that there is only one way to play the game.

After hearing my brother’s news, I came home and ran hills, as if somehow I could run my fear into the ground. Woke up this morning and the fear is still there. I got stronger and so did it.

Another colleague once told me that not every hill is worth dying over. I held my tongue, but wanted to ask whether any hill was worth dying over. I think we were both correct about the other’s weakness.

One thing you have to say about the hills, the heights bring the highs. When I get a “runner’s high”, it inevitably comes at the top of the hill.

I wonder whether Sisyphus ever stopped to enjoy the view, or at the very least, appreciate the workout he was getting.

The hill I like to run up is next to a cemetery. I call it “Death Hill”. I morbidly joke that if I die while running up the hill, someone can throw my body over the fence. I know. It’s not funny.

Before my injury I thought all I would need was hard work to get to Boston. Work harder, get faster. Post-injury, there is fear. Fear that it won’t happen.

I don’t know why, I have to do it. Even though I know that when I get there, there will be anew “it” to take its place.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

When Harry Met Rabbi

2011-01-04T10:39:00.001-05:00

After I became more religious, or at the very least, took on the trappings of being more religious, my mother OB”M always wanted to know who the culprit was. Who was it, she wondered, who had caused me to “flip out”. I never could give her an answer. Not only because I feared she would track him down and kill him, but because there was no culprit. My decision to change was a product of many experiences. No one event or person caused me to change.

It’s the same way with my running. I can’t point to one event or person that caused me to cross the gap from being a non-exercising “fat tub of goo” (to quote David Letterman) to becoming a runner who dreams of qualifying for Boston. There was my being diagnosed with Diabetes, there was Chai Lifeline, the organization for which I signed up to run my first half and then there was Harry. As I toyed with idea of taking up running, an idea that seemed fanciful at the time, I feared dying mid-run due to diabetes related complications. I Googled “running” and “Diabetes” and out came Harry Jacobs. Well, not literally, but after a few clicks, I was reading his blog about running and diabetes. This led to an e-mail, and then another, and before you knew it, we were friends. At least as much as you can be when you live eight billion miles away from each other.

There’s no reason we ever should have or would have met. Although we are both Jewish, our approach to Judaism is very different and there is an age difference as well. Not only that, but Harry Lives closer to the Arctic Circle than I do to DC. A place called Yellow Knife. For those of you are not experts in geography, that is in the Northwest Territories. For those of you who are not experts in geography, that is in Canada. Still, the internet brought us together. We were friends who had never met.

Until this past Sunday. Harry and his wife came to New York for the New Years. I don’t remember who suggested it, but we decided to go for a run in Central Park. There we were, two guys from very different worlds, who together had lost about a person or two of weight, running and schmoozing. We talked about running, Diabetes and life. To me it just seemed right. I love running. It has added to my life immeasurably. It never would have happened without Harry.

Thanks Harry.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

2010 Drop

2010-12-30T10:55:00.001-05:00

My oldest daughter has discovered a few shows she likes on the internet. If it’s a game show or a show where they build houses for poor people, she is there. One of her favorites is “Million Dollar Drop”. The contestants, husband and wife, start off with a million dollars. There are given questions with multiple choice answers. They can place the money on one or more answers, but not all. Whatever money is placed on a wrong answer drops away. They get to keep any money left over after the tenth question.

I am not a big New Years guy. As a teacher, my school year starts in September. Rosh Hashana falls out at that time of year as well. Still, with 2010 coming to a close, I find myself reflecting on my year as a runner.

I had big plans for the year. This was going to be the year I qualified for Boston, in the fall if not the spring. Then life happened, or the end of life, in my mother’s case. Running a race was hardly on my mind during shiva (the week of mourning). I almost didn’t run at all. When I did, I came up short, by over ten minutes. Still, I had another chance in the fall in New York.

Then I hurt my knee. I didn’t think I would get to run at all. It was a blessing that my injury gave me enough time to get ready. Just barely though. For me NYC was a fun run, not a race.

Every time money falls away on “Million Dollar Drop”, the contestants seem devastated. The host reminds them to keep things in perspective. While it is true that money has dropped away, there is a lot left for them to win. Perfection is gone, victory is not. $120,000 is not a million, but it is far from zero.

I didn’t qualify for Boston this year. I can’t deny that I am disappointed. Still my running year was not a waste. I stayed thin. I ran two marathons. I got faster. I raised thousands of dollars for kids who have cancer. I made new friends. I helped get a great organization off the ground. I crossed the finish line with my wife in her first major race. I ran with my kids. I ran with my brother in Israel. My sister started running.

I didn’t qualify for Boston. Still, the year was far from a waste. Bring on 2011.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

I have started a blog. Pass It On! http://middleofthepackrabbi.blogspot.com

Bear Neccesities

2010-12-28T09:29:00.000-05:00

Running Thoughts #27 Volume 4 -Thoughts on the Road to Boston

I have always looked at the pictures of polar bears (the winter swimmers not the polar animals) with the thought that they were crazy, as well as with a little envy. I wondered, given the choice, whether I would ever try it.

This past Sunday was almost my chance. A friend invited me to join him for a race by the boardwalk in Asbury Park. I checked out the website and saw that after the race there would be an optional polar bear swim. Immediately I started going through an internal debate. On the one hand, I've always been curious to try this. On the other hand, it is freezing and only a nut or a real polar bear would enter the water in that kind of weather. On the one hand ice baths are used to help sore muscles recover. On the other hand, said baths are taken in the comfort of your home where you can warm up immediately after you are finished. On and on it went. In the end, I'll never know what I would have chosen as, for various reasons, I didn't go to the race.

Since then, I have wondering about the attraction of artificially created adventures of this kind. Why is it that things like this never took place before the 20th century? Were people just too busy? Too conservative? More content with the ordinary than we are? Of course, one could ask the same thing about marathons, which, myth aside, are also a recent invention. Some of us, and I count myself among them, seem hardwired to avoid the humdrum of everyday life, seeking something more exciting. This can be a blessing as well as a curse; a blessing in that it spurs me on to try to accomplish new things, a curse in that much of life is just ordinary. While it is easy to get caught up in a book about war, or Shackleton's trip to the South Pole, Judaism, like many religions, demands that we sanctify the mundane.

There are many places I would like to go, things I would like to see. No matter where I go the journey begins inside of me.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:

http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Stuff

2010-12-23T10:33:00.001-05:00

What follows are a bunch of random events from the past few weeks. I am sure with enough effort a common thread can be found.

Last week while running, some sort of bird of prey (no, it was not a duck) swooped in right over my head. I spent the rest of my run wondering why. Did he mistake me for a fast animal that he planned to eat? Based on my pace, perhaps, he thought I was turtle. I once read, although I can’t find confirmation of this on the internet, that one of the Greek philosophers died when an eagle dropped a turtle on his bald head. The theory went that the bird mistook his head for a rock. Apparently, birds drop turtles on rocks in order to break the shell. I was running in a cap, so there goes that possibility. I am fairly sure it was not a vulture mistaking my pace for that of a dead man.

Bob Feller, the hall of fame pitcher, died recently. I met him at a card show with my dad when I was a kid. I never asked my dad, but I think it was the one time that I saw my dad in the presence of someone famous where he was impressed. I never could have imagined at the time that Feller, who was a big league pitcher by the time my dad was three, would outlive my dad by almost five years.

I had a situation this week with a student where I had to make one of two difficult choices. I think I made the right one, but I still feel really bad.

A veteran teacher from our school died yesterday. Today the hearse drove past the school so that we could show our respect. She died of the same set of illnesses as my mom. Like my mom, she taught for many years. There is something to be said for quietly doing your job day after day in a simple, serious and understated way.

After I injured my knee this summer, I was in a panic. Only after I learned that the injury was not as serious I first thought, was I able to get philosophical about it. Recently, I started having knee pain again, and I became quite scared. Last night, I went to a PT, who told me it was only minor tendinitis. The more things change…

A friend invited me to join him and an acquaintance for a race this coming Sunday. Between my injury and the uncertainty about the weather, I hesitated to sign up. Yesterday, I discovered that it was a walking race, not a running one. I saved $20. Sometimes the race is to the swift. Most of the time, in fact. This time, being patient paid off. I hope I learn something from that, although I doubt I will.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Welcome to the Club

2010-12-20T11:12:00.002-05:00

Theirs a picture from a number of years ago that I love. In it, are my parents, my brother and sister and me. We were on a family trip in Connecticut and everyone in the picture looks genuinely happy. There’s only one problem, with the exception of my mom, to varying degrees, we look like contestants on “Biggest Loser”.

A lot has changed since then. Both of my parents are gone. None of us knew at the time that this would be one of the last times that we would all be together. There has been anther change, this one for the good. My siblings and I have lost a lot of weight. One by one, we have started to exercise and change our eating habits with amazing results. So far, between the three of us, we have lost close to 200 pounds. As I might have pointed a few thousand times, I took up running. My brother who was already a runner, became more serious about his running. Along the way, some of our kids as well as our wives joined in. Little by little we became a running family. My sister’s husband joined in as well, and reached his lowest weight in years. As my sister biked, spun and swam the pounds off, I wondered how long she could hold out as the last non-runner in the family.

Yesterday, as I sat in a restaurant along with my family as well as my sister-in-law who is visiting form Israel and my brother-in -law from Texas, we got a call. My sister had gone out for a little run. What was supposed to be a one miler soon turned into two. Once she had gone that far, she figured she might as well run to the turn around point which was 3 ½ miles. You know what happened next. She had to get back to where she left her car and realized that running would get her there faster. Before you knew it, she had a SEVEN miler in da bag! There was only one response on our part.

Welcome to the club. Want to join us for the ½ Marathon in Miami?

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579
I have started a blog. Pass It On! http://middleofthepackrabbi.blogspot.com

Oh Man!

2010-12-16T10:34:00.001-05:00

It has been painful to watch Brett Favre’s effort this season to keep his streak of consecutive games played alive. As he has grown less mobile he has taken quite a beating and until this past Monday’s game when it got to be too much, he played through extreme amounts of pain and injury. I was reminded of the knight in Monty Python’s “Holy Grail” who, as he has each of his limbs cut off by an opponent, shouts out “just a flesh wound”. What makes a man keep on going when it is clear to all those around him that it is time for a break?

That question is deliberately worded. I specifically wrote “man” because in our culture, as well as many others, there is a belief that when a man gets hurt he should keep on going. Quitting, under all circumstances is seen as cowardly, no matter the degree of injury. Famed boxer Muhammad Ali literally kept on fighting until his brain was damaged. Even taking a much needed day off is frowned upon.

Recently, a friend of mine was injured 16 miles into a marathon. His injury was bad enough that he had to walk the last 10 miles. Still, rather than taking a break from running, or going to see a doctor, he decided to tough it out. He figured he could keep on running and the injury would go away. I was not the only one who advised him against this. Many of us pointed out that it was not it to risk long term injury for short term running. Still our pleas fell on deaf ears.

The amazing point about all this was that while I was dealing out this obvious and sensible advice, I too was trying to run through an injury. While it seemed crazy for my friend to ignore our suggestion, was it not outright insanity for me to do so?

Well, I might be crazy but I am not nuts. I finally decided to heed my own advice. I took a few days off from running. I went through a few days of pool running and riding the stationary bike, two activities that I fear one day might literally bore me to death. I have just started running again, more slowly and for shorter distances than usual. I am hoping this injury is behind me and that I can ratchet up my training again. Backing off from running might not make me less of a man, but, oh man, it drives me crazy.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Going Streaking

2010-12-13T10:26:00.002-05:00

Will he play or won’t he? Everyone is wondering whether Brett Favre will play in tonight’s Giants-Vikings game. You wouldn’t think it matters. His play has been less than stellar this year, and his Vikings are hopelessly out of playoff contention. So what’s the big deal? Favre holds the record for consecutive games played and if he sits this one out, the streak is over. I remember when Cal Ripken went through the same thing. With him, as his skills diminished, the whispers started. There were those who felt that if he really cared about the team, he would take a day off.

I recently read an article where the author encourages runners to set new goals for the coming year. Among them is to run every day. Start a new streak. I found myself wondering why I should want to do this. Is a streak by itself worthwhile? Aren’t there times where it makes sense to take a day off? Is the person who runs when he shouldn’t a hero or a fool?

For the past 7 ½ months, I have tried to lead prayers at least once a day, as doing so is considered to benefit deceased relatives, in this case, my mom. I have made every effort to do so, even when it meant going to other synagogues or waiting for long periods of time for a service where I could lead. I have worried myself silly when I thought I might miss a day. When I lead the prayers, I find it very hard to concentrate on the words. I am too busy worrying that I will take too long and make people angry. Curmudgeonly old men have complained when services have run 90 seconds too long. Does it benefit my mom if I pray this way, even if I am leading services? Does all this worry reflect concern over one of the last kindnesses I can do for my mom or is it, perhaps, something darker? Perhaps, I am obsessed with keeping a streak alive. I sometimes wonder whether missing a day might be the best thing I could do. Perhaps freed of the streak I could pray again. Maybe acting in a neurotic manner is not the way to honor my mom.

Of course, that said, I can’t do it. I can’t miss a day, at least not by my choice. I doubt that I will make it through the next three plus months leading prayers every day. I am fairly sure that the day is coming when I fail in my quest. It won’t happen by my decision though. I will keep on trying, hoping to somehow connect with G-d and my mom as I keep the streak alive.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Perspective

2010-12-09T10:15:00.001-05:00

I didn’t run a race on Thanksgiving. Despite the fact that I loved the ‘turkey trot’ I ran in last year, despite the fact that I loved the shirt they gave out last year, despite the fact that the first thing I did when I was able to start breathing again after last year’s race was to promise to make it an annual event, I didn’t do it. Instead I went to school with my son.

For good and for bad, running is an activity that focuses on the self. At its best, running allows me to think and achieve a balance in my life that does not always come easy. At its worst, running takes me away from my family more than I already am, more than I should be. Particularly with a goal of running a fast marathon, my running is training intensive. For me at least, this comes with a fair share of guilt and some questioning. I sometimes wonder whether I am overdoing it.

My son’s school had a father- son program on Thanksgiving. It was a chance to spend time together and see what he is learning. I missed out on a race. I missed out on a very cool shirt. I gained a lot more than that however. I got a chance to show my son how much he matters to me. I got a chance to prove that I have some self-control when it comes to my running. I got to remind myself that there are many things in life more important than my running. I got some perspective.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

A Unique Race Report

2010-12-07T10:42:00.002-05:00

Although I do exist in two worlds, which often seem to conflict, this past Sunday I ran in a race that allowed me to see the two worlds grow closer together.

I have often wondered what it would feel like to be there at the beginning when a major business venture like Google or Microsoft gets off the ground. While it would be presumptuous to compare JRunners to those companies, I think that I am witnessing something great as I watch JRunners, the organization that is promoting healthy living and running in the Jewish community, take off.

While I could easily describe the race and make excuses for my slow time, what excited me the most was taking part in a Jewish running event which took the Jewish and the running part seriously.

Trying to hold an event that is open to all parts of the Jewish community from Chassidic to non-observant, while also being open to those from outside the community is no small thing. In a community that is sometimes divided, over issues from the serious to the absurd, it is a huge challenge to bring everyone together. JRunners took a huge risk by holding separate men’s and women’s races. While some people would not have participated had this been a mixed event, others might have been less than thrilled at what they considered unnecessary and out of date. Whatever ones own thoughts might be on this issue, I respect JRunners willingness to take a stand. Seeing the heterogeneous crowd that took part in the event was all the proof I needed to see that JRunners made the right decision.

On the running side, the event was about as professional as anything I have seen. From the use of chip time to the colorful shirts and finisher’s medals, everything in this race was first class. Having now witnessed two the first two events; this past summer’s 200K relay and this 5K, I know I am not alone in looking forward to what ever comes next. More than that, I am glad to be reminded, on Chanuka no less, that the physical and spiritual worlds can harmoniously coexist.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Happy Runaka?

2010-12-02T10:16:00.001-05:00

It is difficult to feel uncomfortable. Instinctively when pain or discomfort comes our way, we try and get rid of it. I make a point of encouraging my students to sometimes hold on to discomfort, as it can be instructive.
I live in two worlds.

One is a world of time, speed, marathons and PRs. A world where I am encouraged to not just “run to live” but to “live to run”. A world where ads have pictures of incredibly thin people with six-pack abs, where you are never thin enough, strong enough or fast enough. A world where Chanuka is commercial, a chance to buy new things, or wish that you could.

The other is a world of spirit, emotion and soul. A world where I am encouraged to remember that the physical side is not the side that matters, not the side that lasts. A world where I aspire to be a person of depth, to be more like my teachers and parents and not just like everyone else. A world where Chanuka is represented by the flickering flame of the candle, something that is somehow physical and yet intangible at the same time.

To be sure, I can talk about how these two worlds can meet. How in the view of Judaism the physical and the spiritual do not do battle, rather they work together with the former serving the latter. I can talk about it, bring all sorts of examples from Jewish tradition that back up my assertion, and urge my students to recognize the truth of my words. But can I live it? Do I live it?

For now I’ll let the discomfort sit a little bit, and try and think about where I am truly at home.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Unbroken- A Story of Tragedy and Hope

2010-11-29T11:32:00.001-05:00

What gives one person to survive in incredibly trying circumstances when another gives in? This is a question that has been asked in various contexts, among them the Holocaust. I have read attempts to try to figure out how some made it through the living hell of Auschwitz, while others did not, or could not.

I recently had occasion to think about this. I just finished reading "Unbroken", an unforgettable book about Louis Zamperini's life. Zamperini, at one time a favorite to first break the four minute mile, put his running dreams on hold when World War II broke out. As an officer in the Air Corps, he saw action in the Pacific theater. After a plane he was in went down, he survived in a lifeboat, with no food and little water for almost seven weeks , and then for two years as a prisoner of war in a hellish Japanese POW camp. Finally, after the war, having become an alcoholic in his attempts to deal with his personal demons, he managed to recover and continues, at age 94 to live a productive life. The author of the book, Laura Hillenbrand (who also wrote the bestseller Sea Biscuit) chose the title to describe the trait that got Zamperini through the challenges of his life. He was, it seems, at least in retrospect, unbreakable.

A former student of mine, a young women of only 20, was found dead yesterday after having gone missing on Saturday morning. I did not know her well, but I have been unable to get her out of mind since I heard the terrible news. Apparently, behind her quiet and sweet disposition, there was a world of pain. This bright and beautiful young woman, who seemed to have so much going for her, had struggles that were not clear to me and, perhaps, not to others. At moments like this, I am left only with questions. I do not know if other students will reach out to me, but I am unsure what to say; to them or to myself. For now, I watch from 3000 miles away as her family, friends, classmates and teachers try to figure out how to deal with this terrible tragedy. I wish I could be there; for them as well as for myself. I hope that now, belatedly, this young woman has found peace through her pure essence, an essence that is unbroken.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Keeping It Real

2010-11-23T10:44:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, in trying to write deep or philosophical ideas, the truth gets covered up.

I was reminded of this on Sunday during a 10 mile run. Despite the fact that winter is only a month away, the weather here in New Jersey has been fantastic. Although it was a little cool when I headed out to run, the cool air felt great as I breathed it in. As I fell into my rhythm, I passed a duck pond, surrounded by trees, some of which still stubbornly held on to their foliage. Later, a huge flock of birds, perhaps less appreciative of the good weather than I, flew overhead heading for a warmer local. Further on I passed some small waterfalls, no less beautiful for having been man-made. There were ducks in the water, which seemed to not mind the artificial lake anymore than I did.

For almost an hour and a half, I breathed in the air and my surroundings, feeling thankful and appreciative for the many kindnesses that G-d has given me. That might not be deep or philosophical, but it is real.

Long May You Run

2010-11-18T10:44:00.001-05:00

Meeting someone who is among the best at what they do is pretty cool, but meeting a hero is more than that; it is inspiring.

At the NYC Marathon expo, I met two of the greatest runners of all time; Ryan Hall and Greta Waitz. I enjoyed meeting two people who made it to the top of the running world. Still there is a limit to what I take away from the experience. While I understand that good genes alone would not have led to their success, there is not much that I can learn from them. While I wouldn’t mind if Asics would offer me an endorsement deal to become a full time runner, I am not exactly waiting for that to happen.

I remember when I first saw the picture of Matt Long. It was not the picture one expects to see on the cover of a running magazine. While he was clearly in shape, his body was covered in scars. I opened the magazine curious to find out who this man was. Once I started reading I was captivated; captivated by the story of a fire fighter who was fit enough to qualify for Boston and to complete an Ironman Triathlon, and then had his life change when he was literally run over by a bus. As someone who sometimes allows life’s challenges to get me down, I was amazed by his comeback. Not only did he survive a near death experience, not only did he relearn to walk, but he ran the NYC Marathon, only a few years after his accident.

I got to meet Matt at the expo. He was there signing his book “Running Long”, which tells the story of his comeback in great detail. As much as I enjoyed meeting Ryan and Greta, I was inspired by Matt. I don’t know if I will ever qualify for Boston or complete an Ironman. I certainly have no plans to get hit by a bus. I do plan on being more resilient, of learning to keep on going even when I want to quit.
Gives new meaning to the term long run.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

The Family That Runs Together...

2010-11-15T10:52:00.001-05:00

When I was growing up, there was a commercial that tried to encourage prayer. The commercial showed a family praying. It closed with the phrase “The family that prays together, stays together”. Leaving aside what I thought of the commercial, or the idea of selling prayer as a way to connect a family, the motto has stayed with me. Recently, as my wife and some of our children have joined me in running, I have been trying to think of a similarly catchy phrase. “The family that runs together, has fun together”? Definitely not a keeper. “The family that runs fast together, lasts together”? Obviously, I have a long way to go.

Yesterday, only one week after the marathon, I, along with four of our children, got to sit on the sidelines and cheer on my wife, as she ran a 5K. Then a short while later, I got to “pace” our 6 year old daughter in a one miler, while her older sister ran solo, not needing my help.

Although my wife finished in 28:30, a time that was disappointing for her, I enjoyed sitting on the sidelines for a change rooting her on. From the first time I ran three years ago (35:28 at the same race) Rochie has given me nothing but encouragement. She has put up with my obsession with running, and the costs, both monetary and time, that come with it.

After Rochie caught her breath, it was time for the one mile run. Maayan, the child who is most likely to run a marathon with me one day, has the makings of a great runner. She is thin, full of energy, and like her mom, very determined. In the past she has done the run-walk method; running as hard as she could, until she could no longer breathe, and then having to walk, before breaking out, once again, in a mad sprint. We decided (by “we” I mean me) that her goal for the race would be to go slower but to run the whole time. While we ran, she gave a running commentary (“Look at that little boy. His t-shirt is almost as big as he is”), while I tried my best to get her to look where she was going. Although her breathing was a bit heavy, and I told her she could slow down a bit, she kept on running. Without 1/10th of a mile to go, we saw her older sister up ahead, who was walking a bit. I called out that she better start running if she wanted to beat her younger sister. She broke into a sprint and managed to finish in 10:29 good for 10th in her age group. 17 seconds later, with a finishing kick of which I can only be envious, Maayan crossed the line, placing 6th in her age group.

As we drove home after the race, everyone was chatting excitedly, even our two youngest who are not yet old enough to run. I tried to work on my slogan (I couldn’t even figure out what could rhyme with “The family that races together”). I couldn’t come up with anything, but I am not worried. We have time to work on it.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

NYC Marathon Recap

2010-11-09T11:08:00.003-05:00

2:00AM I wake up… three hours early. I guess those two alarms I set were not necessary.

5:35 I leave for the bus with my wife and youngest son. I am glad to have the company

6:15 After getting on the bus, I am greeted by a friend and fellow runner, Martin. Apparently I am his good luck charm as he has run two races with me and set PRs in both. Maybe I should start charging him money to race with him?

7:20 We get to Staten Island. Instead of helping us stop, the volunteer at the bus drop-off waves us on thinking we are an empty bus. Amazingly, the driver gets back on the highway. After a mutiny by the 40 plus runners, she agrees to drop us by the side of the road rather than going around to the next exit.

7:25 I find a port-o-potty. This will be a common theme throughout the day.

7:30 I make it to the minyan (prayers) area 30 minutes late. Certainly not the best prayers ever. My mind is everywhere but where it should be.

8:15 Having checked my bags, I hang out with some of the runners. It is cold. We stand around the few warmer areas trying to stay warm.

8:55 We head to the starting area, although the race will not beginfor 45 minutes. What do I do while I wait? Put it this way. When I passed the starting area yesterday on my way to work, I looked fondly at the bushes on the side of the road.

9:40 The cannon goes off. Sinatra is singing New York New York. Everyone is cheering. Fighting the adrenaline, I start out slowly as planned.

I knew I would be thinking of my mom, but not his soon. I fight back the tears and run on.

Someone calls out “Go Team Lifeline”. It is Ralph, a guy I know who is running for Team Ohel. I cheer for him and say hi.

Mile 2- We get off the Verrazano Bridge and the good folks of Brooklyn are waiting and cheering.

We pass the “Marathon Bank”. I can not understand how they are not outside running some sort of promotion.

We pass all sorts of doctors offices including orthopedic surgeons and psychiatrists. I can not understand how they are not outside running some sort of promotion.

Mile 3- My bladder is getting bladder-er.

The crowd support is amazing, but no one is cheering for me. Desperate for some love, I call out the name of my charity to some Orthodox Jewish women. Scared, they ignore me.

Mile 4- The lines at the porto-potties are insane. There are no lines at the Dominican restaurant. I dash inside.

I hear someone cheering with a strong New York accent and think of my dad. I know he would be out here today cheering for me if he was still with us.

Mile 5- I see someone in a Red Sox hat. I call out “Go Red Sox”. I will do this four more times during the race.

I hear my friend Aharon calling me. Like me, he is running his second NYC Marathon. Seeing him gives me a boost.

Mile 6- The signs are great. Some of the funniest are rated R however, so what happened in New York stays in New York.

Desperate for cheers, I look for signs that are similar to my English name “Marc”. The closer the better, but I'll take anything with an "M". I smile when I see Mark, feel good when I see people rooting for Marco, am buoyed by signs for Madeline and am encourage by people cheering on Madeline. Hey, whatever helps.

Mile 7- It is getting warmer and I ditch my favorite ski cap.

I see students cheering for their teacher. My students are home in bed. I hope the students who were out there cheering get better grades than the ones my students will be getting.

Mile 10- I am looking for my friend Arie with whom I have reconnected through Facebook. I haven’t seen him in 25 years. He and his fiancé are out there, along
with a million other New Yorkers. No luck, although he sees me.

I pass a sign that says “Run like a faucet”. I call out “more like a leaky toilet”. I have no idea what that means but desperate for oxygen, it seems awfully funny.

My bladder is now at its bladder-est. I stop again. Perhaps it is sacrilegious to say this, but I seem to be having my own modern day Chanuka “miracle”; every time I empty my bladder it immediately refills. I doubt they will make a holiday for my miracle.

Mile 11- I am in Williamsburg, home of one of the biggest Hasidic enclaves in the world. I recognize that that calling out “shalom” will mark me as a dweeb. Recognizing that it is the beginning of the new month, I start calling out one of the three possible phrases that might mean “happy new month” in Yiddish. This ensures that 2/3 of them still think I am a dweeb. Apparently some of the remaining 1/3 does as well. I do get a few smiles and waves.

13.1- 2:01 I am hoping to finish in less than 4 hours and will now have to push on.

I am now in Queens, the borough in which I was raised.

Chabad, a ubiquitous Jewish group used to give out Powerade because Gatorade was not kosher. Now that Gatorade is certified, Chabad’s sign says “free Glatt kosher snack”.Glatt kosher means the snack is some sort of meat. I am really curious as to whether they are giving out cholent or corned beef sandwhiches.

Mile 15- I reach the 59th street Bridge. I have no energy. Even when I hit 1st avenue, with its cheering throngs I struggle to pick up the pace. I start looking for signs that are blue and yellow, as those are Team Lifeline’s colors. Fortunately, those are the colors of some cheese company that is sponsoring the race. I pretend their signs are for me.

Mile 17- Someone cheers for me. It is my friend Steve. It really helps. I look up and see that I am by Lenox Hill hospital, the place where I was born. Apparently, good things happen to me there every 39 years or so. More frequent, if you include the birth of my sister four years after mine, which I sometimes do.

Mile 19- I am battling on. I see a guy with a yarmulke and say “shalom’. Yes, I am that desperate.

Mile 20- Somehow, I have gotten my second wind. I head off into the Bronx.
I pass runners who are wearing shirts that say Team Gimelstob. Justin Gimelstob is a former professional tennis player who has a bet with Andy Roddick for $10,000 to charity, as to whether he can finish the race is under 4:45. I am rooting for him. I like runners. Besides, his name sounds vaguely Jewish and when you are looking for Jewish sports heroes, you’ll take whatever you can get. I ask one of the runners, “Where’s Justin?” and he points to his right. I wish him good luck and I pass him.

I am in the Bronx and think of my dad, who grew up in the area.

While I am running, I hear the sound of someone spitting and then, you guessed it, I feel it hit me. I am grossed out. My first thought is” I hope he is not running for Team Dangerous Communicative Disease”. My second thought is “Hey, that’s warm”. It’s a cold day, what do you want from me?

Mile 22- I pass the point where my wife and kids cheered for me last year. This year, my wife is at a Bas Mitzvah. I miss them.

Mile 24- I enter Central Park. I am hoping to see two friends who are watching the race. Ehud, a new running friend, is one of the nicest guys I know. Despite being much faster than I am, he always offers kind encouragement. Melanie, works for Chai Lifeline and has offered kind words and deep thoughts since we met on the plane to Miami four years ago. I don’t see either of them, but I am glad to think of them.
I am pushing it as I realize I have an outside chance at 4 hours.

Mile 25- I pass the last water stop where a fellow Team Lifeline member is giving out water. I never stop that late in the race. I call out a quick hello.

I see a runner with an Israeli flag guiding a blind runner. Despite my desperation to get to the finish line, I go over and say “Am Yisroel Chai”. He smiles and I run on.

Mile 26- I am almost there and I am sprinting. I am going faster than 8 miles an hour. Moshe Turk, who does an amazing job running Team Lifeline cheers for me. I wonder if he thinks I have been running this fast the whole time.

4:01:10. I just missed my goal. My bladder did me in. Usually I would feel disappointed, but I am not. Four months ago, I had a knee injury that I thought would keep me out of the race. Three months ago I had surgery. Two months ago I started training. I only ran more than 15 miles once. I feel good. I feel proud. I am back. I will aim to qualify for Boston in the spring. For now I am happy. Happy that I am a runner. Happy to blessed with a great family and wonderful friends. Happy to be alive. Happy.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Letting Go

2010-11-04T10:26:00.001-04:00

When I wrote in last year’s NYC Marathon recap how I almost threw away my watch, rather than wearing it for the race, people thought I was crazy. Would it really have been a big deal to wear an extra watch, weighing less than a pound, throughout the race? Later in the race, I came close to throwing away my empty belt rather than wearing it for the last few miles. It felt impossibly heavy.

A quarter of an ounce does not seem like a lot. Neither does three ounces. So why are running-shoe companies always trying to produce a lighter product? Carry around anything for 26.2 miles and it starts to feel like a burden. You might not be able to quantify it, but every bit makes a difference.

What do you do when you can’t get rid of something heavy? When you can’t just deposit it in a trash can by the side of the road? What happens when the extra weight is inside of you? When it’s not the kind of weight that can be lost by better eating or through exercise? What then?

Fear can be a powerful motivator. It can be the thing that spurs you on to push yourself that much farther. Without my fear of failure, of not reaching some self imposed time in a race, I would not train as hard. There are times when the only thing that gets me out of bed to run, is the fact that I am scared of “failing”.

And yet.

What if there is another way? What if I could somehow replace my fear, a fear that sometimes crushes rather than pushes me, with something better, something healthier? What would it feel like to cross the line in a time I have never before achieved, and wait more than ten minutes before asking myself “what’s next”? Would I run faster? Would I enjoy my running that much more? Would I feel calm during the days leading up to the race? What if I let the fear go? Can I let the fear go?

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Touched by an Angell

2010-11-01T10:40:00.001-04:00

As strange as it seems, the last week before a race is the toughest time for me. Although, or maybe, because, running is at a minimum and free time is at a maximum, I go out of my mind. To make matters even worse, it is hard to adjust my carbs-heavy diet during this time and with less running, there will likely be more of me to carry 26.2 miles. This past Shabbos, I found myself reading Roger Angell’s memoir “Let Me Finish”, at least partially, to distract myself.

For those of you who have not heard of him, Angell is a contributor and former editor of The New Yorker as well as baseball writer of note. I knew him as the latter before I knew anything of The New Yorker. My dad bought me a number of Angell’s baseball books, which I appreciated at the time for the baseball more than the prose. Now that I have belatedly discovered the other side of Angell, it is too late to let my dad know how much I appreciate the prose.

Angell, who is 90, writes with a fondness for the past. Although he writes with nostalgia for the people and events of his youth, he refrains from looking at the past as perfect. Although I’d love to feel a connection to my dad’s past as I read Angell, I can not. It is not just the 15 years that would separate them if my dad was alive. Angell’s upper crust Upper East Side childhood, bears no resemblance to my dad’s childhood in the Bronx. While Angell grew up with both a regular dead and a famous step-dad (E.B. White author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little), my father’s dad was gone by the time my dad turned 12. Still, as I read through the memoir, I can’t help but feel a connection with my dad, wishing I could discuss this book to him. I dare to dream that I might lend him the book when I am finished, so that we could discuss its content more intimately.

As strange as it seems for a man of 90, each chapter comes across as a blog of sorts. Angell meanders through his past reminiscing wistfully, as he examines moments from his life, as one might examine an old photograph. Each paragraph seems to digress from the one before it, only to be tied together neatly by chapter’s end.

As I read his words, I compare them with my own, and, of course, mine come up short.
Just this past week, I found myself discussing Shabbos with my students. We talked of the real purpose of the day and why otherwise perfectly fine secular pursuits are put aside for 24 hours. Perhaps there was some degree of hypocrisy of reading this book, on the very first Shabbos after our discussion no less. Still, as I thought of my dad and grew nostalgic for a somewhat more innocent past, I felt as if I’d been touched by an Angell.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

A World Apart

2010-10-25T09:16:00.001-04:00

More than any marathon in the world, the New York City Mararthon is known for the diversity of peoples and cultures one encounters during the race. Each neighborhood has its own sounds, sights and smells for the runner to experience. Still, there is only one neighborhood which tugs on my soul and conscience.

Years ago, long before I became a runner, I saw a great picture in Sports Illustrated the week after the marathon. Five chassidic girls in matching dresses, stood, in age order, holding cups of water for passing runners. Without reading the caption, I knew these girls were from Williamsburg, where there is a large contingent of chassidim. Each year, the marathon passes through the heart of the neighborhood.
Chassidim seem to make other Jews uncomfortable, even those of us who are Orthodox. While most Jews try to cover upp signs of their Jewishness, or at the very least minimize them, Chassidim are openly and obviously Jewish. They dress differently and speak differently, and perhaps most significantly, they choose to remain separate, while most of the rest of us try to integrate into society around us, at least to some degree.

As I enetered Williamsburg last year, I was struck by a change in the atmosphere and energy level. While in every other neighborhood, the runners are embraced by the locals, in Williamsburg, they are largely ignored (or at least given the feeling that they are ignored). It is not that the locals are rude, far from it. Children stand out each year with drinks and candys for the runners. Still, it is clear that, given the choice, the chassidim would love to be able to go about their daily existence, without the inconvenience that the marathon presents.

For me as an Orthodox Jew, I experinced various emotions and thoughts as I ran through Williamsburg last year. While I have clearly chosen to live my life differently, I have much respect for their way of life. There are moments in my life when, overwhelmed by the secular nature of modern life, I wish I could withdraw to a more spiritual and insular community. Converesely, there are moments when I feel embarassed by chassidim and their distinctive ways. Why can't they just try and fit in? I looked around, feeling at once a sense of kinship with the locals, while at the same time, more than most most runners, feeling the sting of being ignored. I watched as other Jewish runners tried to greet the chassidim in Hebrew and Yiddish, but I continued to run in silence.

Although it might seem strange, I welcome the mixture of feelings and even the discomfort I feel as I run through Williamsburg. With more than half of the marathon still ahead of me, I know I will be embraced and welcomed in a way unique to New York. Still, it is this small chassidic enclave with its silence, that speaks to me.

Believe

2010-10-21T10:56:00.000-04:00

Great minds are lightening rods. You might love what they say, you might hate what they say, but it is hard to ignore what they say. The great Chassidic master, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, a profound and enigmatic thinker, was one such individual. Recently I have been thinking about one his sayings; “if you believe that you can destroy, believe that you can repair”. Like much of what he wrote, there are many layers in this short phrase.

At first glance, Rabbi Nachman seems to equate destroying and repairing. If so, he is saying that if you can do the former, you can just as easily do the latter. Personally this does not ring true. I find that it is far easier to destroy something than to repair it. Recently, in a film about the Yugoslavian civil war and its effect on the national basketball team, Vlade Divac said “It takes a lifetime to build a friendship and a moment to destroy it”. Fixing something that has been broken is difficult. Even now, two weeks from the NYC Marathon, more than two months removed from knee surgery, I struggle t get back to where I was as a runner. Even more challenging is the fact that the struggle is more mental than physical. I have no problem putting in the miles I need to improve. What I am struggling with is the mental willingness to push hard enough to get back to where I was. It seems that during my injury imposed layoff, I lost something; something I struggle to regain.

So what was Rabbi Nachman saying? I believe he was encouraging us to recognize the strength that we possess within. We have, he says, the ability to change things completely; to go from one extreme to the other. Just as we can take something that is working and functioning well and destroy it, we can do the reverse. We can reignite the broken relationship, repair the broken heart and recover the passion and commitment we once possessed. It is not easy, no where as easy as destroying. Still, the choice lies within.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Of Cleveland, Friends and Runs

2010-10-18T10:36:00.002-04:00

We drove about 900 miles this weekend to attend my closest friend’s son’s bar mitzvah in Cleveland. Here are some things I took out of the weekend.

- There is a city in Pennsylvania called “Mile Run”. I was disappointed to discover that it is not a city of moderately fit people. A “run” according to Google is a creek.

- On the way there we passed a sign that must have been put up by the Department of redundancies department. It read “Mile Run- One Mile”.

- That was much better than the factually incorrect sign we passed on the way back. This one read “Mile Run- Two Miles”.

- My wife is even more competitive than I thought. During the ride she told me that if she trained as much as I do, she would be faster than I am. Mustering up all of the maturity I possess, I told her that if that happened I’d either stop running or get divorced. I was joking…I think.

- When one forgets to pack running socks, it is good to have a wife who also runs. Thankfully, they were not pink.

- It is a REALLY BAD idea to eat eggplant parmesan the night before a 15 mile run.

- It is REALLY, REALLY BAD to take doubles.

- It is just plain STUPID to do so, and get less than five hours of sleep.

- Thank G-d, Suburban Cleveland has many wooded areas.

- Fall foliage is beautiful, but there are some things for which leaves were not intended.

- It is good to have a good friend who doesn’t abandon you when a 15 mile run that should take two hours, takes almost three.

- A grandmother can never be replaced, but it takes a special lady like my friend’s mom, to try.

- Watching your children play with your friend’s children is priceless.

- True friends are special. It would have been worth the drive, even if it had been 9000 miles.

The Gift

2010-10-13T11:05:00.000-04:00

If there is one quote that is most commonly used by high school runners in their yearbooks, I would guess it is the famous quote from the James Dean of running, Steve Prefontaine. Pre used to run at the front of the pack in order to push the pace, and when asked why, he said “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift”. Recently I found myself thinking about “the gift”.

When my knee injury required surgery and a two month break from running, I was extremely disappointed. I had been making progress and thought that I might qualify for Boston in the NYC Marathon. The injury made than an impossibility. Despite my best efforts to keep fit while I was recovering, I put on some weight and lost whatever speed I had. In the time since I was given the green light to start running, I slowly started adding on miles. This Sunday was my first big test. I ran my first race, a ½ marathon, which was by more than two miles, the longest distance I have run post-injury. Despite being more than nine minutes off my best time, I felt good about running well and pain free.

And yet…

A friend of mine decided to join me for the race despite not having run a step in almost three months. Without any training, he beat me by eight minutes. Without any training, never having run a ½ in his life, he just missed my PR, a PR I set with 55 miles a week of running. Although I joked about it with him afterwards, I would be lying if said that it doesn’t bother me. While I am naturally broad, even at my thinnest; he has the runners build. While I struggle to improve my speed, he was running sub-five minute miles in high school. Many would say he has “the gift”.

And yet…

I don’t know whether he will ever run a marathon, let alone qualify for Boston. It is not that he doesn’t want to; he freely admits that he just doesn’t have the level of commitment it takes, for now, at least. I, on other hand, will work as hard as it takes, to reach my goal. If I am less naturally qualified than others, than I choose to work harder to get to the finish line as quickly. Through all of this, I have started to apply this stick-to-itiveness to other areas of my life. Some people have told me that I am their inspiration for getting in shape. I have raised tens of thousands for charity and lost 100 pounds.

I will keep trying. To do any less would sacrifice the gift.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Staen Island Half Recap

2010-10-11T10:58:00.001-04:00

5:00 I wake up from a dream where instead of a bus taking me and a bunch of other runners to the start of a race, we are taken by plane. Only thing is, the plane is driving not flying. (Sadly, this is the fastest I will go all day.) I guess I am nervous.

5:25 About to head out the door, I eat two bananas and a pack of Sports (Jelly) Beans. Breakfast of Champions.

5:35 I pick up my friend who has chosen to run the race on the spur of the moment. He has not run a step in almost three months. I urged him to reconsider. I told him that I thought he would get injured. I am really afraid that he will beat me without any training.

6:15 I arrive in the parking lot, where 15 guys have gathered two hours early for a sunrise prayer service. As I am in the year of mourning for my mom, and need to lead prayers, I literally would not be there without their help. I am thankful beyond words.

7:02 The sun rises over the Manhattan skyline right as we get to the main part of the prayers. It is at moments like this where all seems right in the world.

7:15 An old man, who has been running for about 200 years, comes over and describes the course for me. Jewish tradition describes Elijah the Prophet showing up at moments of desperation to help those in need. Could it be?

Clark Kent time. I change from my prayer clothes into my running clothes.

7:45 I figure out the best porta-potty line. Best advice of running advice ever? Get on line right away. When you get back out, get back on line.

8:25 I go over my plan. I hope to run at 8:45-9:00 per mile pace. If I am feeling well, I pick it up at the end. I hope to finish in less than 2 hours. 1:55 if I am feeling great. I:53 if things go perfectly.

8:30 We are off. Adrenaline courses through my veins, or wherever it is that adrenaline courses. I try and slow down.

8:55 I keep on running too fast. I am averaging 8:35 per mile for the first three miles. Up ahead is the Verrazano Bridge, the starting point for the NYC. My heart skips a beat at the thought that despite my knee injury, I might actually make it to the marathon.

9:20 We hit a B-I-G downhill. What goes down must come up, at least on an out and back course. I am not worried. Elijah told me about this hill.

9:35 I spot one of the founders of JRunners, the group that is trying to get the Jewish community into running. I tell him how good he should feel knowing that the group has 20 runners at this race, many of whom would not be running without him. Throughout the race, we shout words of encouragement to each other. Maybe we should be known as the People of the Foot.

9:50 Back up THE hill. I take it nice and easy. I spot three runners helping a wheelchair racer up the hill. I offer my help, although they make it without me.

10:00 We enter Fort Wadsworth. In four weeks, this will be the area where 40,000 plus racers wait to start the marathon. It will feel more like a city than a fort. I think of my brother who ran the marathon with me last year. I wish he could do it again. I guess we’ll have to wait for Boston.

Mile 10 I am feeling good and pick up the pace.

10:05 Less than 2 miles to go. Time to throw caution to the wind. I cover the next mile in 7:20. I see him again. He is wearing all orange, including a huge floppy hat and giving passing runners high-fives. Elijah would never be caught dead in a get-up like that.

10:15 I start trying to pick off runners ahead of me. Hey guy in the all green, you are toast. Hey lady who passed me earlier in the race, it’s pay back time. I even pass the guy who won the race. Of course, he is walking in the opposite direction heading for his car, having finished over a ½ hour before.

10:20 I cross the finish line having run the last 1/3 mile at 6:40 pace. My lungs hurt, but I do not. 1:50:44. It is more than 9 minutes slower than my best, but so much more than I had hoped for.

10:30 I see my untrained friend. He finished in 1:42. It is his first half marathon. Did I mention that he did not train? I think I hate him. At least he is limping. After much inner debate and struggle I decide not to leave him stranded in Staten Island.

I am tired, sore and elated. When I hurt my knee this summer, I never thought I’d be running this soon. The marathon seems like a realistic goal. I wonder what Elijah will be wearing that day.

Four Days in October

2010-10-07T11:08:00.000-04:00

I will not use ESPN movies to come up with ideas for my blog
I will not use ESPN movies to come up with ideas for my blog
I will not use ESPN movies to come up with ideas for my blog

…starting next week

There are many reasons not to write about this past week’s ESPN movie “Four Days in October”. I call this blog “Running Thoughts”, the movie was a baseball movie. It is a stretch to write about a movie that I watched while running on a treadmill. Even more problematic, I already did this last week. Then at least, it was a running movie. Still, I can’t resist.

First of all, it’s October. As a red-blooded American, my mind is on baseball. Of course, my beloved Red Sox, whose miraculous come back victory was the theme of “Four Days”, are home for the playoffs. Even worse, the hated Yankees are still alive. Second, how often do I laugh, cheer and call out to the screen while running on the treadmill? As I watched the Red Sox comeback from down three games to none, down to their final three outs, scenes I have seen many times since their victory in 2004, I found myself doing all those things. Anything that makes me happy while running on the treadmill is connected to running. If I could have a pickup truck with a screen drive in front of me with this movie playing, I am convinced I could run a sub 3 hour marathon. It is that good. Third, there is pathos in watching the movie. Even though I know how the story ends, I found myself getting tense with every Yankees hit and every Red Sox out. Even more so, every Sox fan they interviewed had the same experience I had when I listened to the game as it happened live six years ago, a sense of certain doom. 86 years of futility can do that to a person, a city and even a region. Even if you are not a baseball fan, watching millions of us suffering fools finally taste victory has got to be pretty powerful.

After the Sox won the series, my wife told me about a short story she once read about a community that spent years futilely hunting a bear. After years, someone finally killed the bear. What should have been cause for celebration, led to depression. They came to realize that the failed hunt had brought them together. I fear it has become that way for the Sox. Real fans bemoan the fact that Fenway Park has become a place to be seen, rather than a place for real fans to watch a game, a place where people come to sing “Sweet Caroline”, rather than watch the Sox. It is hard for me to imagine that my youngest son, the only one who is a Sox fan (the others are Yankee fans, how is that for pathos?) will turn five tomorrow in a world where the Red Sox have won more World Series in the last ten years than the Yankees (note to G-d, please, pretty please keep it that way. I’ll be a better person, I’ll help orphans. PLEASE). The 28 years of suffering I went through before the Sox finally won, were worth it for moments of joy like I experienced while reliving “Four Days in October”.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Fox the Phoenix

2010-10-04T10:44:00.000-04:00

I have gotten used to not having a TV. I no longer know which shows are on, and other than occasional sporting events, there are few times, I wish I could watch. Only twice, in the 15 years since we got rid of our set, have I felt compelled to run in front of a screen. This past Tuesday was one of those times.

30 years ago, the idea of raising money through running was unheard of. Terry Fox, a young man, in his early twenties, changed that. After his cancerous right leg was amputated, he decided to run across his native Canada to raise awareness and money. Although he was a runner, prosthetics were not nearly as advanced as they are now. There was no internet to broadcast his run and he started out with little notice in New Foundland, with a goal of running over 5,000 miles.

Little by little, his countrymen and media started to take notice. People started coming out to cheer him on, run with him or donate. He found himself running a full marathon each day and then speaking to large crowds at night. All this time he slept in a van. Sadly he didn’t finish his journey. After 143 days and more than 3,000 miles, the cancer returned. A short while later, he died in his native British Columbia.

This past Tuesday, ESPN, as part of a series of sports themed movies, showed a documentary about Fox’s life. Although I had heard about his run, I found myself engrossed in the film. Watching him limp (it is hard to call it running) a full marathon every day, brought me to tears. As I watched, I realized that my “challenge” of running five miles on a treadmill was a joke. More than that I felt inspired; inspired not just to keep on running, but to use it as a cause for good. I found myself thinking of new ways to use running to help others.

Although Terry Fox did not finish his “Marathon of Hope” it would be absurd to view his quest as a failure. By the end of his run, he had raised 1.7 million dollars. Subsequently, over 10 million more was raised in a telethon. By the time of his death, the total had reached over 23 million. Fox’s story didn’t stop there. After his death, his family founded the Terry Fox Foundation, a foundation that continues to hold races, raise awareness and much needed funds. To date, over $500 million has been raised, all due to the efforts of this heroic young man.

When I finished my run that evening, there was still 10 minutes left in the film. I slowed to a walk to watch the rest. Although I had considered running for the rest of the time, it was probably for the best that I did not. It is tough to run through tears.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Rain Man

2010-09-28T12:03:00.000-04:00

While my wife was out for a run yesterday morning, it started to rain. I was concerned that she would return frustrated and dispirited. When she got back to the house, she informed me that I had no reason to worry. She informed me that she had found the rain refreshing. Friends often ask me how I have the will to run in the rain. Truth is, I find it much harder to run in the heat than in the rain. I still recall the first time I ran in the rain and how good it felt afterwards.

This week, however rain has another effect on me. We are in the midst of Succos (or Succot or the Festival of Booths). During this time, Jews leave their homes and dwell in Succas (temporary huts). This helps remind us that this world, with its physicality, is temporary, and thus, should not be the main focus of our existence.That is the goal at least. Although I have slept in a succa in the past, I find it hard to do so these days for various reasons. Practically, it works out that the main activity done in a succa is eating. During the first few days, when the family eats together, it is quite enjoyable. By midweek, the excitement starts to fade, for me at least. I find myself less than enthused about schlepping all my food outside. Which brings me back to the rain. If it is raining, one is exempt from the succa. I would love to be on the level where I would be disappointed to lose out on a chance to fulfill one of G-d's commandments, particularly one give on the holiday that is supposed to generate happiness. I am not. I welcome the chance to eat in my usual surroundings.

The rabbis of the Talmud saw rain at this time as a bad thing, a form of divine rejection. Thus, rain is not mentioned in prayers until the end of the the holiday. Furthermore, they waited two weeks after that to start asking for rain, to give the travellers to Jerusalem time to return to their homes in comfort. The day that prayer begins is the day that my firstborn son was born 14 years ago. Thus, despite my inability to fully appreciate the need for rain, this prayer has a fond association to me.

May this be a year where G-d literally and figuratively rains blessing down upon us in clear and obvious ways.

Tree's Company

2010-09-21T11:58:00.001-04:00

There is an old tree outside my house which serves as a starting and finishing point when I go running outside. I rarely gave much thought to the tree, although I appreciated its simple beauty and shade. Recently that changed. Starting last year, branches started to fall from the tree. After a while it became clear that part of the tree was dead. As more branches fell, we realized that we would have to cut off many of the branches if we would save the tree. Early this week, the deed was done. When I first saw the tree, I felt sad, although I was unsure why. Then it hit me. It made me think of my mom.

Growing up, I always had cancer on my brain. Not in a pathological sort of way, to the point of being a phobia, but certainly more than the average person. How many teenagers come home from school with a bump on their head and ask their mother to take them to the emergency room, convinced that they have cancer? (Of course, my mom, being who she was, was willing to take me there despite the unlikelihood of my fear). I suppose it was inevitable that I would have somewhat of an obsession with cancer. After all, it claimed my maternal grandmother’s life and struck my mother as well. On top of that, my father was a two pack-a-day smoker. My mother always warned him that he was going to get cancer. (There is some level of irony in the fact that when he died, he had many ailments and illnesses, but his lungs were fine).

As the teacher that she was, my mother taught me more than to be afraid of cancer, a word that she was hesitant to say. She taught me that cancer could temporarily slow you down, be a real pain in the tuches and cause a lot of pain, but it did not have to stop you, even as we knew that ultimately it would do just that. The first day after she got home from a double mastectomy, she took me and my sister to the movies, just to show us she was still the same mom we knew before. She might have had to visit the doctor more than the average person, but that didn’t stop from travelling all over the world and doing innumerable kindnesses for friends, family and complete strangers. Just last week, I ran into one of the guards from the school where she used to teach, who told me that as my entered the building each day, she would ask him if he needed anything. She had cancer, it did not have her.

The tree looks a bit strange, less than complete. Still it stands tall and, at least to mind, proud and unbent. As I aim to get back to running, (an activity that my mom always asked me about, even if she didn’t quite get it), I will try to run outside tomorrow for the first time in almost two months. As I stand under that familiar marker, I will recognize its new type of beauty and remember to keep pushing forward despite obstacles that might stand in the way.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Whatever It Takes?

2010-09-16T22:52:00.000-04:00

As crazy as it might sound, despite not having run for over a month and a half, I still hope to run the marathon in just over seven weeks. My approach has been one of "whatever it takes". During the time I was unable to run, I rode a regular and a stationary bike, used the elliptical machine and, having discovered an activity more mind-numbingly boring than running on a treadmill, "ran" in the pool. (Sadly, I was unable to locate a pogo stick).

Out of all of those activities, the most helpful was the pool running, as it gave me a chance to simulate running, keeping me somewhat in running shape. As part of my plan to get to the marathon prepared and in one piece,I plan to combine pool running with the real thing. Whatever it takes.

And yet...

As an observant male Jew, I do not go swimming with women other than my wife and daughters for reasons of modesty. The place where I pool-run has separate hours, but only three slots a week for men. Ideally, I'd like to be using the pool more often.

There is a true story about a rabbi who was about to enter a room, when he saw a man praying by the door. Recalling that it is forbidden to walk in front of a person who is praying, he waited for the man to conclude his prayers. When he was urged by his students to enter the room, he replied "I see a wall".

I wish I saw a wall. Knowing how badly I want to run the marathon, I came up with all sorts of reasons to pool-run during mixed hours. It would be good for my health; both mental and physical. Most of the women would be senior citizens. No one would know. In the end, I recognized them all as excuses.

I still believe I will get here doing everything possible, even if I can't do whatever it takes.

Change?

2010-09-07T15:20:00.000-04:00

Rosh HaShana, often referred to as the Jewish New Year, begins in a little more than 24 hours. I don't know about you, but I can't say that much has changed for me since last year. I am in the same job, same house and have the same flaws I had at this time last year, with possibly a few new ones thrown in for good measure. What reason do I have to believe that this year will be different? How can I stand before G-d and declare that I am willing to change, when the past year screams the exact opposite?

As a running junkie, I often preach with the zeal of the convert. It is not enough for me to be running, I want everyone else joining in. Often when I encourage those who are out of shape to try, I am turned down with a self-mocking comment. Something like "I can't even run a block". They are right you know. When I started, I couldn't either. I had tried to lose weight before with, at best temporary success. I had tried to exercise. Why would this time be different?

I could give all sorts of reasons why I was successful when I was, but I am not sure they would be correct. Bottom line is, I decided to hope against hope. To try when my track record told me that I would fail. To dream that things could be different.
That, I believe is what Rosh HaShana is about. A willingness to believe that I can be the kind of person I want to be. To undo some bad decisions I have made. It will be hard. Everyone, including me, has made peace with the imperfect me. Maybe things can be different. Maybe I can go back. Maybe it's not to late. Maybe this year will be different.

Father's Days

2010-09-01T07:56:00.003-04:00

Growing up, I looked forward to getting married and becoming a father. ln particular, I looked forward to having sons. I had no idea how challenging it would be; how rewarding it could be, how frustrating it could be.

The other night, I watched a video about a boy who has become friends with an elderly man, due to each being amputees and running together. It was much more than that, including powerful Divine Providence/serendipity. What has stayed with me the most though, is the father crying, all these years later, as he describes the day when he accidently caused the injury to his son.

I took my oldest sons to Yankee Stadium, the other day, for the first time. It was the first time at the NEW stadium, not the real one. The one where Ruth, Dimaggio and Mantle played. The one where my father took me numerous times when I was a boy. The real one. It was like a Pixar movie. It looked really great, almost like it was real. The worst part was that they built it to look like the old one. A historical stadium knocked down in order to build a neo-classical one nearby. Capitalism run amok.

I felt my dad’s presence as I walked, with my two sons, past the place where the old stadium used to be.

He used to drive us through the neighborhood after games and show us the apartment building where he used to live. It took a lot to picture that, as the building was only a shell, only used by rats and drug dealers.

He was a Yankees fan, so I suppose there was something Freudian about me becoming a Red Sox fan. Of course, continuing the picture, both of my older sons are Yankees fans.

I remember Willie Randolph, the Yankee’s second baseman in the late 70s coming to the plate 0 for 3. My dad said to me “Willie is due for a hit”. Of course, Randolph got a hit. I think I remember that happening more than once, although memory is a tricky thing.

At Monday’s game, Marcus Thames came up against a fastball pitcher. I leaned over to my son and said “If he connects, it is coming right here”. He did and it did. Meir got the ball. I would like to think that he will tell that story to his sons.

I was down in Baltimore yesterday. A former student passed away and I went to visit with his parents and siblings. It was the kind of visit that made me cry, although I waited until after I left before I let the tears fall. I spent most of the time speaking with his mom, a former colleague and his siblings, all of whom I taught. I kept on looking over at his father, one of the kindest, most decent people I know. He wasn’t speaking much, and I found myself wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling. I hope the family can make it through this with the love, warmth, humor and humanity I saw there yesterday.

I was struck by how much the oldest son, who is engaged, looks like his father. I hope he will be as good as a dad to his children as his dad has been to him.
I got home and gave my sons some cards I had bought for them. After a day like that, hugs weren’t enough.

My oldest son started running with me last week. Sort of. We go to a gym where I rehab my knee and he runs on a treadmill, looking over from time to time, looking for a little advice and a lot of approval. I hope he sticks with it. It will be good for him, both physically and mentally. Of course, it will be good for me. And us. Please G-d, us.

My dad would have been 75 next Thursday, the first day of Rosh HaShana.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Great and Holy

2010-08-24T11:10:00.001-04:00

“I’m not like you”, a person dear to me told me, “for you belief comes easy”. If only she was right.

The other day I was talking trash to my torn meniscus. I wrote on Twitter “If my torn meniscus wants to beat me, it will have to out to outwork me”. (If someone tweets and no one reads it, does it make any noise?) I wrote those words with a level of confidence and bravado that I did not feel. I often find myself wondering about people who have no doubts. Is it real or is it just a mask?

Of course, false certainty goes both ways. Those who are 100% certain in their non-belief make me wonder as well.

Six times a day, at the very least, I say a prayer asking G-d to make his name great and holy. What am I asking for? Is his name not great and holy already? The answer, it seems to me, is that as with many areas of life there is a vast void between reality and perception. G-d is already great. It’s just that we don’t always feel it.
A boy from a school where I used to teach is dying. His family seems to be handling this with tremendous faith. Me? I am a mess. I just cannot make peace with a boy so young leaving this world. I pray asking G-d to make his name great and holy. For the world, and for me, but especially for me.

I am a rabbi. Shouldn’t I be certain? I have often given answers to students struggling with these issues. Why don’t they work for me at moments like this?
There are those who offer proofs, as if G-d is some mathematical formula that can be proven. It seems to me that G-d can be found in the smile of a child, or in the tender moment when a mother comforts her child. In five step proofs? I have my doubts.

I hope my students will find teachers who struggle less than I do. For now, perhaps I can serve as a role model for how to search.

Please don’t write to that these words scare you. I am not falling apart. Just being real. G-d can be found in struggle at least as much as he can be found in proofs.
When I prayed this morning, it was the most connected I have felt in a long time. Great and Holy. Great and Holy.

Isn’t I possible for this boy, a boy who has lived so little of life to wake up this morning cancer free. Like it was all a bad dream, all of us wiser and more appreciative of life and its gifts? We’ve learned whatever lesson we are supposed to. Show us how great and holy your name is.

Please.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Rushin' Roulette

2010-08-20T08:56:00.001-04:00

The young woman, working on her PHD, was at camp using the campers to do research. “If you could have a quarter tomorrow, or a dollar next week, which would you choose?” Without a moment’s thought, I replied “The quarter”. She then asked the same question about a marker tomorrow versus a pack of markers in a week’s time. Impetuous in a way befitting the six year old that I was, I chose the marker. I don’t remember the rest of the questions, only that each time I chose instant gratification. The next day, the doctoral student showed up at my house and gave me the quarter, the marker and the other things I had asked for. I remember standing on my porch, filled with regret over my choices.

I started physical therapy yesterday. When the therapist unwrapped my bandaged knee, the contrast between my two legs could not have been greater. It looked like a before and after commercial. (“Are you sick of having fat legs and swollen knees? Then try running”) I know that with time I will get better and that I will get stronger. It has only been three days since the surgery, but I want to be back running tomorrow. No, not tomorrow, yesterday. The therapist made me promise that I would not do any extra exercises, other than the ones prescribed, before my next appointment.

There is a saying in Hebrew “Peri Hamehirut, Hacharata”, which means, loosely translated, rushing results in regret. The rabbis talk of taking the “long shorter way” instead of the reverse. I understand all of this intellectually, Still, in some ways, I am still the impetuous six year old I was so many years ago.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Let It Be

2010-08-17T10:26:00.001-04:00

I had a great dream the other night. I was sitting around the table with the Beatles as John Lennon tried to work out his latest song. He sang “Speaking words of wisdom” and then he paused. I couldn’t help myself and I finished off “Let it be”. He shot me a really nasty look. I don’t know whether he was upset because he didn’t like my lyrics, or whether he was annoyed that I jumped the gun. Perhaps he just didn’t like my voice. Before I could find out why he was upset, I woke up. Either way, I was content, knowing in the end he would choose “my” words.

Of course, in real life, we rarely know how things are going to turn out. Although I plan on running the NYC Marathon in 2 ½ months, I know that today’s surgery and the subsequent physical therapy, will determine a lot. I am nervous. I am fasting. Not as a form of penance, just one of the rules that the doctor gave me. Still, in some sense, it feels like today is a day of judgment. I feel silly as I type those words, knowing people who are struggling with real issues of the most serious nature. Still my ability to run, not just someday, but soon, means a lot to me. I am in the midst of trying to raise $25,000 in memory of my mom for children with cancer, through running. I know I am a different person when I run, a better one I think.

I wonder whether I should write “right knee” on my right knee and “wrong knee” on my left. I wonder whether telling the doctor of my need to run will make him do a better job. I wonder what G-d has in store for me. As I sit here waiting, it is hard to “let it be”.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

The Detour

2010-08-11T23:13:00.003-04:00

I don’t know why I started to give Running Thoughts, at least in the version I e-mail to people, the subtitle “Thoughts on the Road to Boston”. Of course, it is my biggest running goal to qualify for the Boston Marathon, but I don’t know why I needed a subtitle at all. Still it is there. I hadn’t really thought much about it, until I found out last week that I had a torn meniscus. Suddenly, the road that seemed so straight, only days before, was now anything but.

When I felt the pop in my knee, I knew I was in trouble. I sensed right away that this injury would be a serious one. Oh, I hoped that it wouldn’t be. I accepted the comfort from friends and family, who told me that it would be fine after a few days rest. Still, deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be.

Running, as many of you, has become much more for me than a way of staying fit. It has become a big part of who I am. So when I thought I might be seriously injured, it seemed to me part challenge, part punishment and totally overwhelming. I was alternatively mad, sad and depressed. I found myself wondering why G-d would take away something so important to me. Especially now, with all the challenges I was going through.

I was somewhat relieved to discover that the down time would be six weeks and not six months, but either way, I knew that the road to Boston was taking a big detour.
It had already taken a detour when my mother’s passing compelled me to run the more challenging NYC Marathon this fall, so that I could get a Jewish service beforehand, rather than the easier marathon I had hoped would get me my Boston Qualifying time. Still, I ramped up the miles and figured I’d do my best.

That is still the plan, although in a much different way than I originally intended. I still plan to run the marathon, although I will not be racing it. I will pool swim, bike and elliptical machine my way to continued fitness and then have five weeks to get my running legs back.

Those of you who think I can’t do it should keep their thoughts to themselves. I plan on doing it and will give everything I have to my rehab and training.

This will not be my fastest marathon. Far from it. Still, perhaps it will be my most meaningful, as I take the detour that has appeared on the road, unsure of where exactly it will take me, sure though I am of where, with G-d's help, it will finish.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Getting Carded

2010-08-08T21:37:00.000-04:00

There are times when I want to write about something, but struggle to figure out how to tie into running. Lat week, I took my son to the biggest card show in the country. I was trying to figure out how I could write about it, when, boom, instant inspiration struck. What follows are some random thoughts that occurred to me that day on everything from running, to cards, to my dad, to G-d.

My father used to take me to card shows when I was younger. He was not into cards but he took me because I was. I, on the other hand, still enjoy cards, and still have a small collection. I am sure this says a lot about the differences between my dad and me.

During the show, there were times when my son would go ahead and I would look for him. Other times, I would move ahead a bit and he would look for me. It seems to me that this parallels our relationship with G-d. Sometimes we look for him, other times, he looks for us.

As we wandered through the massive show I was looking at some cards from about 100 years ago and found… track and field cards. That’s right, 100 years ago, some executive at a tobacco company decided to put track and field cards in a pack of cigarette cards instead of baseball cards. I suspect he was soon unemployed. It gets better than that. The set had track and field and boxers in one set. What made him think of that combination? It wouldn’t be much of a fight between them unless the track and field guys could use javelins and shot puts in the fight.

My dad and I were once at a show, and off in a small room, sitting by himself signing autographs for a dollar, was Bob Feller, one of the greatest pitchers of all times. I could tell, at least I think I could, that my dad thought it was cool meeting him, although of course, my dad would never ask him for his autograph. I, on the other hand did, and treasure that autograph to this day.

In the set, there is a Jewish runner named Abel Kiviat. Kiviat was an excellent runner. Of course, I bought the card. On the back of the card, he is described as a “Hebrew runner”. What exactly does that mean? Did he run from right to left?

Tobacco cards of that time sell for $35 and up, much more for the stars, if you are talking about baseball. The track and field cards were $5 each. I’m sure there is a message in there somewhere.

Just as when you go to the supermarket it is good to bring a list so that you don’t spend more money than you planned, the same is true at a card show. We were both like little kids in a candy shop. I had to have self-control for two.

We live in a consumerist culture, where we are constantly encouraged to buy things we never would have thought we needed. I walked in never having heard of track and field cards, and walked out with four, with the hope of acquiring more.
Eddie Mathews, a hall of famer, once signed autographs for free after a show, for my friend and me. Willie Mays charged $300 for his autograph at this show and it was made clear that he would not personalize anything. If you look at their stats, Mays was better. That’s not the way I will remember them.

My mom once schlepped into Brooklyn on a Sunday morning so that I could get the autograph of my idol, Ted Williams. He didn’t even look up when he signed. Ted was a better hitter, my mom, a better person.

It is good to find a common language with your children, even if it is not the one you would choose on your own.

As a child, my favorite player was Carl Yastrzemski. My friend fit that into a song he sung at our wedding. I bought one of his cards at the show. It made me smile on many levels.

I have tried to figure out what makes some of us collectors and others think that collecting is crazy. I have my theories, but nothing certain yet.

Unlike many moms, mine never through out my baseball cards. Not only that, she took me to Fenway Park for the first time.

When my dad died four years ago, I led prayers during the 7th inning stretch at a game where I took my son. I think my dad would have gotten a kick out of that.

I supposed to go to card show one Sunday morning when I was about 12 with my friend Arie. When we were about to leave, my mom answered the phone and started to cry. That was the day my grandmother died.

When Bob Shepherd, the voice of the New York Yankees, recently died, another person who made me think of my parents left the world.

Cards remind me of a past, when things were simpler, or at least, in retrospect they seem that way, especially for those of us who didn’t live through those times.

I miss my parents.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Go Team!

2010-08-04T10:45:00.000-04:00

Warning: I will be using guilt, persuasion and thought to get those of you who do not regularly exercise to start.

I never saw a serious relay race until last week. As I watched the race at various checkpoints, I noticed something incredible. Despite exhaustion brought on by the combination of lots of running, little recovery, extreme heat and no sleep, the runners continued to reach their goal times. I found myself wondering how they were able to do it. It seemed that no one wanted to let down his teammates. It is one thing to slack off when it will cost only you, it is entirely something else when it their others counting on you.

As the year of mourning for my mom has progressed, I have tried to lead prayers as much as possible, something that is considered to help my mom. I have attempted to get to shul early enough to make sure that I would be there first. Sadly, I found myself viewing other mourners as competitors. Yesterday, I walked into shul and saw a good friend, who is also in the year of mourning for his mom. We each encouraged the other one to lead. In the end, I convinced him. For the first time, I genuinely felt comfortable giving over the prayers to someone else. I found that I was not looking at him as a competitor, but as a member of the team.

While the army urges us to view ourselves as a “team of one”, there really is no such thing. Everything we do, both for the good and the bad, affects those to whom we are close. Which brings me back to my warning about exercise. It is easy to reach for another doughnut or to make excuses about exercising when you think it is affecting only you. The truth is, it is affecting many other people as well. You have a team around you made up of friends, family and others, who to one degree or another need you and are counting on you.

Get started.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

I Can Only Imagine

2010-07-30T14:23:00.002-04:00

I was wrong, really wrong. Two months ago, after starting my latest running project, I was put in touch with a guy who was starting an organization, JRunners, for Jewish runners, along with two friends. Their first event was a 200K relay race. They were hoping to find 50-100 runners to run from Brooklyn to the Catskills, a distance of almost 125 miles. All proceeds would help Mendy, a friend of theirs who has ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). I thought they were crazy. With three months to go and only 20 runners signed up, I was sure the race would be a flop. Not only that, it didn’t sound challenging or fun. After all, each runner would be running about 12 miles, less than the distance run each Sunday by serious runners. Intrigued, I signed on.
The race ended yesterday. (How cool is it that I can’t write “took place: yesterday, as it started Wednesday and lasted over 20 hours?) It was an incredible experience despite the fact that I was not one of the runners.

Among the highlights:
• Watching Chaim, only 12 years old, keeping up, and passing, the old guys
• Having a runner get so into his run that he ran across the Manhattan Bridge instead of the Brooklyn Bridge
• The first race in history, I have no doubt about this one, that had a 2 hour “time out” mid-race to make sure all runners who wanted to, had time to pray
• Blood, sweat and vomit (no tears, as far as I know) poured out by 60 runners
• Getting to produce and be interviewed on a 3 hour radio show (JM in the AM with Nachum Segal, who really is an amazing guy) that was broadcast from one of the legs of the race
• Driving with my buddy Roy from exchange point to exchange point and watching tired and excited runners give everything they had
• Watching a friend, Moishe Gamms run the last two legs of his race after his foot got run over. He even sprinted the last ¼ mile to give his team the victory
• Seeing the camaraderie develop among the runners despite the differences in race, religion, level of observance and age
• Being in such a good mood that I stayed calm when my car stuck in a ditch for 45 minutes when I pulled over to man one of the exchange points
• Spreading the word about ALS in the community (We really made a difference)
• Raising lots of money for Mendy and his family
• Getting to meet Mendy

I never could have imagined the incredible success that this event would be on so many levels. I never could have imagined enjoying a race so much, when I wasn’t running in it. I never could have imagined how much could be accomplished by over 100 people (runners, volunteers and more) who cared so much about a fellow Jew, who they had never met.

What’s next for me and for JRunners? I can only imagine.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

I Do Not Intend to Find Out

2010-07-23T09:02:00.001-04:00

It happened again the other day. I got up early to run, got dressed and headed outside, while it was a little less hot and humid. As I turned on my running watch, the display read “Battery Low”. After expressing my frustration in a less than mature manner, I decided that I could do the run anyway based on having run that distance before. I did my run and everything seemed ok. Until two later when I did the run again, this time, having remembered to recharge my watch. I discovered that I had cut my previous run short by about .21 miles. Of course, a normal person would have let it go, so I did not. I made sure to tack that distance on to the end of my run, with a little more as “punishment”. Of course, the question has to be asked, would it have made any difference if I had not made up that small distance?

As a teacher, I have often been asked to explain why it was necessary for the Talmudic rabbis to add so many laws to protect the plethora of biblical laws. I often share an answer I once heard from Rabbi Nechemia Kibel (OB”M), an educator who really was like a father to his students. Back in those days, before the whole world had gone green, items that were fragile were sent by mail surrounded by Styrofoam “popcorn”. This popcorn prevented the item from breaking, in case it was jostled or even dropped. Often, when opening up such a package, I would have to wade through a lot of popcorn before I found the item buried in the middle. Surely, they could have taken out a piece or two, without any harm to the item. Perhaps a third, a fourth and a fifth as well. At some point though, one less piece of Styrofoam would have made a difference between the item making it whole versus the item showing up broken. Which piece would it have been? No one wanted to find out. So to be safe, the box was filled with the stuff.

Surely, when it comes time to run my next marathon in November .21 of a mile less will not make a difference. Perhaps I could get away with taking it bit easy. I do not intend to find out.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

One Step at a Time

2010-07-15T23:55:00.001-04:00

The boy, being a typical teenager, albeit one with above average intelligence, couldn’t pray. His conscience would not allow him to. He had too many questions about G-d that he needed answered before he could stand before Him in prayer. His teacher, a friendlier than average rabbi, noticed him standing there silently staring into space, while those around him stood and prayed. Afterwards, the rabbi approached the boy and asked if he could be of help. The boy told the rabbi his problem and asked the rabbi what to do. The rabbi replied “When I feel that way, I keep on praying”.

I remember the exhaustion I felt towards the end of my first marathon. I had nothing left, but I knew I could not stop. I kept on taking one step at a time, feeling like I couldn’t take another. Yet somehow I did, and then another, and another, until I crossed the finish line.

I am in training for my next marathon. My mother’s death has put a cloud over things and for the first time since I started, running has become more of a chore than a means of relaxing. I find myself constantly checking my watch to see how much further I have to go until I stop. Of course, it is not just running that feels this way. Still, I know that I will keep on going.

One step at a time.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

What's Your Butterfly?

2010-07-12T13:26:00.001-04:00

The little girl ran across the field chasing the colorful butterfly, in a scene that was as beautiful as an Impressionist painting. As we grownups stood watching her, we enjoyed the moment, certain as we were that she would never catch it. The girl, all of six, was of course too young to know the futility of her chase and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Suddenly, like a plane starting its descent, the butterfly slowly dropped and landed on my daughter’s outstretched hand. Apparently, it too had not been informed that he was not supposed to do that.

I woke up early yesterday morning to run early and try and beat the heat and humidity. That didn’t work out so well as, I felt beat up almost right away. By the end of my run, when I was supposed to pick up my pace for the last 20 minutes, I was sure I couldn’t do it. I stopped and rested, trying to convince myself to try. It was only with much cajoling and some words that I should probably not repeat, that I got myself to try.

It has been said that most of us live “lives of quiet desperation”. Not only do we stop dreaming, but we shoot down the few dreams we have, before really giving them a chance. There is a cynicism that we grow used to which is both painful and debilitating. It keeps us from growing, dreaming, running and trying.

What’s your butterfly?

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Get Real

2010-07-08T23:30:00.001-04:00

“You know what we doed in camp today?” the little boy, who couldn’t have been older than three, asked his mother, with an adorable ignorance of the rules of grammar. “We ranned around and we wuz sooo tired”. I smiled as I eavesdropped on the conversation between this young tike and his mom. The conversation was very sweet and the love they shared with one another was obvious.

I just started my newest training program for my next marathon. My every day is regimented in terms of mileage and pace. I am hoping that this coming race will be the one where I qualify for the Boston Marathon and fulfill my running dream. Still, the rigidity of the training is a challenge for me. I sometimes miss the earlier days of my running when I just ran and felt happy to be able to do so. In a sense, I have traded the joy of running for greater success.

I know many, if not most of the laws necessary to pray properly according to Jewish law. I am careful to follow the various rules of grammar as I pronounce each word. My prayer has technical accuracy but often seems to lack any inner feeling. It is as if the better I get at following the rules, the farther I get from God.

To be sure, I do not think there has to be a choice between technical accuracy on the one hand and beauty and grace on the other. The greatest musicians, athletes and religious personalities seems to combine the two. Still, for those of us who struggle to put the whole package together, I am not so sure that the heart should not come before the head.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Just Call Me Copernicus

2010-07-01T21:41:00.001-04:00

It is tough, even painful, to make a discovery that goes against everything you thought you knew. Right now, I am dealing with the pain of such a discovery.

When you are a child, everything seems to center around you. Your parents and everyone you meet, seem to be there to serve you. You see the sun out the window of your care, and it appears to be following you. At a certain point you grow up, or at the least are supposed to.

Belatedly, I am discovering that the world does not revolve around me. Copernicus convinced the world that the universe was heliocentric, moving the belief of the people away from the belief that everything revolved around the sun. Some would say he moved people away from a theocentric belief, that G-d was at the center of the universe. I am struggling to move away from a ME-ocentric universe.

As I sit here in a year of mourning, I struggle with the fact that the world goes on its way as if everything is normal. How can the sun shine when I feel so gloomy? How can it be that people do not answer to my kaddish prayer, with the same passion that I recite it?
Before, I went out to meet up with a group for a run. There was a car accident, along the way that made me late. How could this happen to me? Never mind the people who were in the accident. Clearly this was about me. How could the people in the group not wait for me? Never mind that no one had any idea I was going to be there. They still should have waited.

My response was to go for a group run by myself, running much harder than I should have been on an “easy” running day. I didn’t care. I wanted to run my anger and self-pity into the ground. Still, like the sun from my youth, I could not get rid of them, as they accompanied me every step.

I am alone in my orbit, a small star at best, with a minimal gravitational pull. I will see where this new reality brings me.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Mind Control

2010-06-29T12:49:00.001-04:00

Running, particularly running a long distance, is not easy. One of the ways to deal with the challenge is that I disassociate. Simply put, that means I stop thinking about what I am doing. Although at the beginning, when I first started running, I had to think about each step, now that it is second nature; my mind can be somewhere else while I run. In fact, it is while I run that I often think about what I write.

As part of the year of mourning for my mom, I am the prayer leader each day, sometimes as often as three times a day. It is considered to be an honor for my mother. It has not been easy. Although I am praying no more than usual, the need to be unusually punctual, as well as having to keep a pace that makes everyone happy, is a big challenge. There are times, knowing the words so well that while I saying them, my mind is somewhere else. I find myself fighting to keep my mind on the prayers. In fact, I thought of the idea of what I am writing right now, during prayers this morning.

Do I control my mind, or does it control me?

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Running Home

2010-06-24T11:06:00.001-04:00

I recently read a quote; I think it was from comedian George Carlin, who said that “you spend the first half of your life running away from home, and the second half trying to get back there”. I couldn’t agree more.

It is typical that during adolescence, we try to figure who we are and how we are different from our parents. This often involves questioning our parents and the values with which they have raised us. I know that in my own life, I went through this and made some foolish decisions along the way. Even today, slightly more than a year away from turning 40, I can’t help but feel regret and embarrassment at some of the things I did as a teenager. During the last 20 years, having figured out who I am, at least to some degree, I have come back to many of the values with which I was raised.

My favorite type of course for races is the “out and back”. These races, as the name implies, involve running the first half of the race away from the finishing area, while running back towards it for the second half. These courses feel like what I am describing above. During the first half, I have to figure things out for myself, not having seen the course before. During the second half, I retrace my steps, this time armed with the knowledge that I have run these steps before, and knowing that each step brings me closer to getting back to where I want to be.

These days, I find myself wondering what in fact I am running towards. With the passing of my mom, almost 7 weeks ago, I no longer have parents, to whom I can return. Soon, the house in which I grew up, will no longer be owned by my family. The destination to which I wish to return will not be there, at least in the way that I wish it to be. The only comfort I can find in all of this is the realization that there is still something to which I can still return. Perhaps, I have not been running towards a particular location the whole time or even towards my parents per se. Perhaps the values with which they raised me, is the place I need to get back to. I hope in that way I can still return home.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Time

2010-06-20T23:31:00.000-04:00

A good friend once described his day as having been a long one. In response he was told that all days are the same length. I have been thinking about these words quite a bit recently.

For the next 10 ½ months, I will be engaging in the various mourning rituals as a way of dealing with the loss of my mom. The first month and a half has gone by slowly and I have little doubt that this will be true about the rest of the year as well.

As the school year is almost complete, my students are taking finals. My job is to proctor. This means that I have to sit in a room, for up to three hours, watching the students. No distractions are allowed. No reading, no talking on the phone and no texting.I have debated with my students who has a tougher time. They insist that they do, having to take the test. As I mindlessly monitor them, I am not so sure.

My favorite setting on the treadmill is the random one, where the treadmill rises and sinks in random patterns for a minute at a time. The higher it goes, the harder I have to work. I make it through each challenging portion by reminding myself that a minute on a hill is till only 60 seconds.

The year of mourning is no longer or shorter than any other year. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. The mind knows what it knows, but the heart sees what it will see.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Why Bother?

2010-06-14T11:53:00.000-04:00

Let’s be honest. As a friend pointed out, the race is always to the swift. If he is mistaken, it is not by much. Sometimes the second fastest guy runs a better race, or the best runner has an off day. The 14, 238th best runner never wins. So why run at all?

Last week, I sat at a fundraiser for Chai Lifeline, the organization that helps children who have cancer or other life-threatening diseases. Like many organizations, Chai Lifeline is in need of a serious infusion of money and the people at this event were capable of delivering it. As I listened to the pledges get called out, I must admit that I started to feel bad. Three pledges by these wealthy donors amounted to more money than I would raise in my mom’s memory, even if I reach the goal of $25,000. It will take me more than six months and it will take many e-mails, phone calls and nudging. Why bother?

When I run a race, all I can do is see what I have in me. I will never be the best, but if I really push myself, and get past all of the laziness and excuses, I might reach my best. I will not move at the same pace as the fastest runner, but my heart will beat its hardest as I push it to its limits, just as his does. The $25,000 that I will raise will not solve all of Chai Lifeline’s problems. It will represent a real effort on my part; an effort to work my hardest, to push beyond what I have done in the past, all as a way of honoring my mom. Your kindness will help me do it.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

Symphony in B Happy

2010-06-10T11:55:00.001-04:00

It was like running in a movie, specifically a Disney classic. I half expected to see Bambi saunter by as I ran through my neighborhood.

I didn’t realize how much I missed running in the morning. I knew I didn’t enjoy running on the treadmill, even when it allowed me to watch ESPN. I thought running outside was good enough. If I rarely experienced the runner’s high, at least I was outside. Then, my schedule temporarily changed, allowing me to go for an early morning run.

The street was quiet and somewhat dark, as I started my run. I heard my breathing deepen in a way I can’t on noisy evening streets. The birds sang to each other, although it felt like they were singing to me. I saw a rabbit (the father in me wants to write bunnies, as the man in me fights against such a word) and then some more. Gradually, the sky lightened, as the sun began its slow rise. I allowed myself to run in an unfamiliar area, sensing that the newness of the experience would add to my elation. Suddenly, looking to my left, I saw the river. It seemed to not be moving, as, almost like a mirror, it reflected the sky. Even, when I ended up in a more industrial area, the trucks turning onto the street from the factory moved in me in their rhythmic consistency.

Suddenly, I came to “Death Hill”, the name I have chosen for the toughest hill in my area, which runs parallel to a cemetery. Feeling good, I chose to tackle the hill. I pushed hard, but ultimately, towards the top, it tackled me. Still, as I paused for a few seconds to catch my breath, I felt blessed to be alive.

PLEASE donate in my mom’s memory to help children with cancer:
http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

In Memory of Mom

2010-06-07T10:19:00.001-04:00

In the past I have tried to write something creative to start off the fundraising for Chai Lifeline, the organization that helps children who have cancer. This year, what is there to say? My mom died just one month ago after a long and courageous fight against cancer. Now it is our turn to continue the fight in her memory. Eric, Rochie and I (and maybe other family members as well) will be running this year for Team Lifeline as a tribute to mom. By raising money to help children who are sick, we will be battling cancer and helping children, something she did in her long and productive career as a teacher. By gathering as a family in Miami, we will share the love that she gave us. We have set a fundraising goal of $25,000. Yes that is a lot of money, but we will get there.

Please help.
www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56579

PRfection or PRfidy?

2010-06-03T10:38:00.003-04:00

Sooner or later it had to happen. So why did I try so hard to avoid it?

It is easy to get a PR (personal record) when you first start running. Your first race is automatically your best and with a little effort, you can easily improve on your humble beginnings. At some point though, no matter how hard you work or train, there comes a race which is not your best. It was a small comfort that when my time came this past Sunday, it was accompanied by a trophy for second in my age group. Still, I find myself wondering why the PRs mean so much to me and whether I went about setting them in the right way.

I recently sat in assembly where students were recognized for qualifying for the Honors Society. As I looked at all the students who qualified, I couldn’t help but wonder, perhaps a little cynically, whether so many students were up there due to hard work and a love of learning, or due to taking the right the courses and figuring out the system.

As my PRs started to come with smaller decreases in time, I found myself worrying about the inevitable. I started trying to make sure that I found races that would make it easier to succeed. Temperature between 47.807 and 49.753 degrees? Check. All downhill? Check. I found myself wondering whether a 5k where I would jump off a high mountain would be worth the PR despite the rough landing. Then it grew worse. I wanted some sort of recognition. Ideally to win a race, or at the least, recognition within my age group. My race on Sunday had far less serious competition than the race the next day put on by my running group, a race I had planned to run. I had reasons to run Sunday’s race, but still, I wondered whether I was just copping out. What would be next? Entering only races where the only competition is the local kindergarten B team?

Is a PR or trophy a worthy goal in and of itself? Is an “A” earned in an easier course worthy of praise? It’s worth remembering what it’s really about, or at least, what it should be about.

The Trophy

2010-06-01T08:08:00.001-04:00

I have received other trophies before. Still, this one felt different. The others had been given to all participants. I had certainly done little to contribute to victories on my little league team. Losses were another story. It felt really good to receive this one, after coming in 2nd in my age group and 14th overall.

After the race, which was held just a few miles from where I grew up, I went over to my mom’s house to pick up some things that had belonged to mom and were now mine. As I loaded the boxes into my car, the light and playful mood I had been in earlier changed to a more somber one. I reflected upon how transient life was. I found myself thinking about how my mom’s entire life seemed to fit into a bunch of boxes and wondered if that is what it is all about. How much to we really achieve in our lives if everything we produce can fit into the back of a truck?

I returned home and showed my family my trophy. My wife told me I looked like a little kid as I grinned from ear to ear. My kids seemed to think it was kind of cool. As I came upon my old little league trophy, appropriately enough with the bat broken out of the hitter’s hands, our four year old son asked if he could keep it. I handed it over and started to think.

The trophy I had brought home couldn’t have cost more than a few dollars, at most, to produce. Still, in my eyes, it was worth more. It symbolized all the effort I had put into training, all the times where I had competed in sports and failed to produce. The same is true of my mom’s possessions. They might not objectively be worth very much in terms of dollars and cents, but in terms of meaning, it is worth a small fortune. Like a trophy, these pictures, knickknacks and odds and ends will continue to make me smile and think of special moments.

My Precious Collection

2010-05-27T09:08:00.000-04:00

As long as I can remember, I have been a collector. One of those people who save everything. Now it is race bibs, shirts and medals. When I was younger, it was sports cards, ticket stubs and coins. I have always felt the need to hold on to mementos from the past, small things that gave me tangible reminders of places, experiences and people.

As my siblings and I have gone through our parent’s house this week, I have come to realize that I must have gotten this habit from my mom. My dad never saved much of anything. I suspect that he had no desire to hold onto memories of a painful childhood that included the death of his father and constant challenges from a difficult mother. My mom, on the other hand, saved everything. We have discovered old photos, birthday cards, postcards and coupons so old that the issuing company no longer exists. We have laughed as we have looked at old drawings and things we wrote, and cried while reading birthday cards our parents exchanged.
We have also struggled to come to terms with the fact that we will be selling the home we grew up in, the only place I have ever lived that truly felt like home. With that in mind, I went for a run to collect some memories from a neighborhood that will, soon, no longer be mine.

I ran through Flushing Meadow Park where I used to search with friends for cans and bottles, each of which brought a treasure of five cents. I ran past the pitch and putt, where my best friend and I tried to learn to play golf. I felt sad as I saw Citi Field, the Mets new home, built to look old, in place of Shea Stadium where I had come many times with dad. I ran across the Roosevelt Avenue Bridge, a bridge that once seemed so long, that we used to cross after using our local wisdom and parking in nearby Flushing instead of the crowded and overpriced stadium lots. From there I continued on towards the building where my maternal grandparents used to live. I passed the store where my grandmother used to buy me Garbage Pail Kids, cards which served as proof that I would go for anything if I couldn’t get sports cards. I passed my grandparent’s building and thought of the cookies my grandmother used to make, cookies that I can still taste, even now, almost 30 years later. I was surprised to see that, in a neighborhood that is overwhelmingly Asian, their synagogue still stands. I thought of their friends who used to pinch my cheeks as my grandparents showed me off. On the way back home I passed the hospital where my father died (how easily I could write “was killed”) almost four years before. As I ran past, I felt the illusion of youthful strength that will always be there, knowing at the same time, that one day, like all of us, his fate would be mine.

I have no old chest in which to store these precious collectables, no album in which to preserve them. Still, I know, that although they will never be discovered and held by future generations curious to know who I was, they will endure in a way that no coin, photo or baseball card ever could.

The Joke

2010-05-24T09:29:00.001-04:00

A joke is told of a rabbi who decides to wake up early on Yom Kippur (the holiest day of the year), while all of his congregants are sleeping, to squeeze in a round of golf. There is a great tumult in heaven as the angels urge G-d to smite the rabbi on the spot. Much to their shock and consternation, G-d decides that the rabbi will get a hole-in-one. The angels are beside themselves and ask G-d where the justice is, in giving him this once in a lifetime shot. G-d replies “Who is he going to be able to tell?”

I thought of this joke last week as I debated whether to run the marathon I had scheduled on the day the shiva (the seven day intense mourning period) for my mom ended. What if the rabbi committed his sin not out of placing golf above G-d, but out of a sense that in golf he saw a connection to G-d? It certainly wouldn’t get rid of the sin, but might it not mitigate it somewhat? Or at the very least, put it in a different light?

What if I had qualified for Boston at the marathon last week? Would the pride in my achievement have pushed me to publicize it, despite feeling guilty for having run?

I do not dismiss the very real possibility that running was the wrong decision. If my running was a poor choice, I hope that G-d, who knows me better than I know myself, sees it differently than other sins I have committed.

Remembering My Mom

2010-05-17T09:32:00.002-04:00

My mother is gone. She died last Sunday. On Mother’s Day, of all days. It is hard to write about running right now. It feels inconsequential. It is like focusing on the place settings at a wedding. My mind is not there. It is not that I am not running. Far from it. After much soul searching and discussions with friends, I ran the marathon that I was scheduled to run yesterday. I am not sure that I did the right thing. Either way, my mind is somewhere else.

I will not be writing a race report. Usually I give a recap of each mile with a mixture of humor (or at the very least attempted humor) and poignancy. I don’t have it in me. I suspect my feelings about my mom will be there in my writing for a while, consciously at the beginning and subconsciously afterwards.

I don’t know if she was “with me” while I ran. There are different views in Judaism about what the dead are aware of. I don’t know what to believe. Either way, she was on my mind for much of the race. When I struggled during the last six miles, I thought of her fighting spirit, and kept moving my feet.
Whenever I would call her after running a race, she would tell how proud she was. She didn’t really get the whole racing thing and would have been proud if I would have run a 5k in five hours. Still, she got the mom thing and was encouraging in all that I did.

I miss her.

Finding Your Race

2010-05-06T06:49:00.001-04:00

I was not very fast when I was younger, particularly in shorter distances. Let's be honest, I was slow. Not just, turtle slow, or even rhinoceros slow, I was glacier slow. The only highlight of my early running career I can think of was beating my friend Arie during tryouts for some team in the gym. Even then, I probably only won because he went slowly at first, not realizing how desperate I was to win. For many years I didn’t run unless I had to, rushing to catch a bus or avoid getting hit by a car. Then I discovered marathons. Although I lacked speed, I had the ability to run through pain and push hard for long distances.

Each year, I have students in my classes with whom I connect and others with whom I don’t. I can usually tell fairly quickly who will fall into each category. There was one boy this year that was different. He didn’t seem interested in the subject I was teaching, or at the very least, in the way I was teaching it. It wasn’t that he didn’t try. It was just that, at a certain point, his eyes got that glazed look and I knew I had lost him. I felt badly, for him and for me. For him, that he was stuck with me as a teacher and for me, in the way I always do, when I am unable to reach a student. Then I noticed something. Each time that I took a break from the subject I was teaching and got into a discussion involving philosophy and life, this same student came to life. He was involved in a way that I wished all my students would be. A gentle smile would appear on his face, an indication that something I said had reached him, even touched him.

In running, learning and life, it is rare that one size fits all. Given the chance, we all discover the race we wish to run.

My Role Model

2010-05-03T09:24:00.001-04:00

Many runners have role models. Whether it is the Olympic champion who inspired them to reach for greatness, or a coach who challenged them to reach their potential, there is someone who helped them achieve. My role model is a bowler.

I frequently think back to my first marathon. Tired and dehydrated, I wanted to quit. Still, I would not. I knew that whatever it would take, I would reach the finish line. I found myself counting steps. I told myself to just keep on going and to make it to the next mile marker. From whom did I learn the idea of always taking the next step, no matter how exhausted? From a woman who has never taken part in anything more athletic than bowling; from my mom.

A weaker person would have given up a long time ago. Getting the same disease that ravaged her mother’s body and then killed her, wasn’t enough to stop her. When it came back a second time, she fought it with everything she had. She doesn’t just fight it. She refuses to slow down. She keeps working as a teacher, a profession she loves. She continues to travel at a rate that would tire a Secretary of State. She dotes on her grandchildren, both our kids who live nearby, as well as my brother’s children who live in Israel. She receives incredible support from friends because she is always a friend. She is never too busy to help another person.

Now she is called upon to fight once more. The cancer has spread. I know she is tired. I know that she is beat up. I know that she will fight it with everything she has. It is her way. Who can ask for a better role model?

I Was Wrong

2010-04-29T11:15:00.001-04:00

I was wrong. There is no other way to put it. I thought I was saying something deep when I wrote that the three scariest letters in the alphabet are DNF (did not finish). Then I went to a meeting last Thursday that showed me how naïve and simplistic I had been.

The similarities between the man I heard about with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease) and I are many. We are both 38 and fathers of large families. So it immediately hit a nerve. Than I heard what ALS does to a person. How it shuts down his body little by little ultimately ending in death. How his mind stays active, but he is unable to move and ultimately unable to speak. How children are unsure how to relate to a parent who hears there every word, but is unable to do anything else. After hearing all of that information I knew I had no choice to get involved.

Before last week’s Boston Marathon, the Boston Globe had a feature written by runners, on why they run . It was a really touching section. A number of people wrote “I Run for those who can’t”. I know from personal experience how much running is transformed when you run to help someone else. It seemed like no coincidence when the founders of JRunners told me that that they were using that phrase for their organization. By the time I walked out of the room, I knew that I would do anything I could to help them in their quest to put on a 200K Relay this summer. It’s true I am busy and already have a lot on my plate. Still I am hooked.

I hope that in some way, you will join me.

What Would You Do?

2010-04-25T19:08:00.000-04:00

What would you do?

What would you do if you found out a friend had ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease? A friend with a young wife and five children? Would you awkwardly say “Let me know if there is anything I can do”? Would you stop coming to visit, uncomfortable with his worsening condition?

I recently met three men, no; three heroes in that situation who decided to do a lot more than that. They decided to organize a race with all of the proceeds going to help their friend and his family. Not just any race. A Ragnar Relay-style race, 200 km race from Brooklyn to the Catskills. (If you have never heard of the Ragnar Relay you have to take a look on Youtube and see what it is about). They are looking for 100 runners to make up the 10 teams who will compete in this race. Each runner commits to raising at least $1000. They are looking for volunteers and sponsors as well. They have been hard at work hiring a race director and other staff, with all of the costs coming out of their pockets. They have put in so much time that they have lost track.

I once heard a story of a rabbi who addressed a large group of people who were about to pray for the Jews who had been taken hostage in Entebbe. He told them to pray as if it was their own family.

I am asking for more than that though. Of course, the family can use your prayers. They need more than that though. They need you to be the answer to their prayers. They need you to act as if they are your family. I want you to join me in being partners with those three men and their organization JRunners to help the family.

Things that need to be done:
• Sign up for the race (Men only)
• Volunteer
• Become a sponsor or get your company to sponsor
• Share this message with everyone you know. (Not a runner? Not in the NY/NJ
area? Doesn’t matter. Maybe they will share it with someone who is. Maybe they
will volunteer or become a sponsor). My goal is that at least 5000 people read this
message.

I was wrong. The question is not “what would you do?” The real question is;
WHAT WILL YOU DO?

For more information about the race and the cause please click here http://jrunnersrelay.org/

The Perfect Storm

2010-04-22T12:36:00.000-04:00

I don’t think a man is supposed to have a favorite tree. If he does and is willing to admit it, he would be wise to choose the mighty oak or a never changing evergreen. What can I do? My favorite tree is the cherry blossom. I think they are pretty and, besides, my wife and younger children love them and seeing the pink of those gorgeous trees makes me think of my family.

I have been working for a while to try and appreciate cloudy and rainy days. I figured that either I could get upset every time there was bad weather, or I could come to appreciate the beauty of a stark grey sky, so I chose the latter. Yesterday turned into one of those days. Although it was mostly sunny when I started running, midway through the run, the sky started looking ominous. I half looked forward to the cool rain and half dreaded getting soaked to the bone. Little by little the sky grew darker and the wind stronger. I tightened the band on my running hat and continued my run. It started to lightly rain. The cool drops felt good. I turned the corner and hit a stretch that is lined by cherry blossom trees. I was hit by the beauty in the contrats of the grey sky and the pink leaves. Suddenly, the wind started blowing the tree’s leaves off the tree and I was treated to a shower of cool rain and gently falling leaves. The most incredible feeling came over me as I ran in my own personal ticker tape parade.

There is tremendous beauty around us waiting to be seen if we just open our eyes and minds to it.

The Scariest Letters in the Alphabet

2010-04-19T09:26:00.000-04:00

“What are the three most ominous letters in the alphabet?” asks the man with the deep voice on the radio. His answer; “I-R-S”. I have a different answer.

I recently read an article about a runner who is one of the favorites in today’s Boston Marathon. The article’s author points out that this runner might not even finish the race. He is known to drop out of any race where he will not finish in the top 3. To me this is unfathomable. If you enter a race, barring a serious injury, you should be in it until the finish. I still remember approaching an aid station during my first marathon. I was dehydrated and in pain and was looking for a few Tylenol. The women at the aid station asked me if I wanted to stop. Did I want to stop? Of course I did. Did I give it a second’s thought? No way. It didn’t matter if I had to crawl. I was going to finish.

Many years ago I had a student who was going through a rough stretch in his life. I tried to help in all ways possible, to no avail. A colleague of mine told me that I should pull back and recognize that I could not help everyone. He punctuated his story by telling of a former student who, despite my colleague’s best efforts, had left the school and not done well. I listened to his story but could not agree. To me, as a teacher, once you begin a relationship with a student you have to be willing to be in it until the end. I have had teachers and colleagues who seemed to only work the “winners”. All students without potential were cast to the side, literally or figuratively. To me this unfathomable.

The three scariest letters? D-N-F.

Unicorns

2010-04-15T10:34:00.000-04:00

I hope you’ll excuse me, but I have become a little obsessed with unicorns. Not only that, I am looking for one. I am trying to figure out what, if anything, it will mean when I find it. Make no mistake though, I will find it.

You might be thinking, perhaps not for the first time, he has finally lost it. Everyone knows there is no such thing as unicorns. Long ago people gave up the search for this mythical creature whose horn was said to cure poison. Well, perhaps I have lost it, but it has nothing to do with this search.

This Monday, Patriot’s Day, over 20,000 runners will be taking part in the Boston Marathon. The vast majority of them will have earned their spots by running a certain qualifying time based on their age and gender. It is one of the few marathons, and by far the most famous one, for which you must qualify. Sure you can get in by raising money for charity, but this is race you want to run after qualifying. The race is put on by the Boston Athletic Association, an organization whose symbol is a unicorn.

Two years when I started running, I kept wondering when I would be a real runner. Two years later and 100 pounds less, I think it is safe to say I am a runner. Still, until I make it to Boston, I feel like my journey will not be complete, or at least the beginning of my journey.

In a way, it is appropriate for the race to be associated with a unicorn. Sometimes I feel like I am chasing something imaginary. Other times, it seems like the chase is as least as important as the finding will be. I find myself wondering what it will be like to qualify, to run the race, to wear the jacket with the unicorn. Will anything really change when I join the club? Will I stop training so hard, giving up on a bit of my obsession, or will I simply find a new goal to motivate me?

One more thing, no matter what, I will have to wait two years to find out. Next year’s race falls out a few hours before Pesach (Passover). Even if I qualify, I will have to wait another year to run. Mark your calendar for April 16th, 2012 so you can cheer me on.