Breathe

I can't breathe, but I push on. This is why I've never really liked 5Ks. The pain, the struggle to bring oxygen into my heaving lungs. I keep looking at my watch to see how much farther I have to go. Almost there.

The past few weeks have brought a number of races and a few concerts, two things that seem unconnected, even if one did involve the singing of “Born to Run”. Still, there was a common element. As I watched Bruce with my brother at Fenway, and Moshav Band with my wife, I felt like I feel after crossing the line in a short race; the amazing feeling as air fills my body and my breathing goes back to normal.

I never realized how much I need music until my father passed away. That year, as I followed the Jewish custom of not listening to music as a sign of mourning, I felt an extra level of pain. I don't know whether I might have been able to receive rabbinical permission to listen, but I didn't ask. The very night that the year of mourning was over, I went to a concert and I felt it. As I listened to the music I had that feeling. I was breathing again.

It varies from time to time, what I want to hear, or more correctly what I need to hear. I have my ideas as to why it changes, but I'll save that for another time and place. Either way, I've found it interesting that as I've been to these concerts, I've reconnected with the pain of shorter races; not only accepting it, but embracing it. I don't think it's by chance that as I've done so, I've been able to set a few PRs and even win a trophy for winning my age group.

I am pretty sure that the pain and discomfort are what make the breathing feel so good. I can't even claim it's a tradeoff that I would willingly make. Still, there is something about pushing and fighting through the pain, accepting that it's there, and the wonderful feeling that comes as, just for the moment, I take in the oxygen and just breathe.

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The Evangelical Rabbi Learns a Lesson

A friend once called me, only semi-jokingly, an evangelical runner. Having gained so much from running, I try to share it with others (Want to lose weight? Try running. Want to be happier? Try running. Want to get rid of bad breath? Try running). When asked about how to make time for running, I generally said something deep and sophisticated like “Do you have time to be in the hospital?”.

Well call it divine providence, karma, luck, comeuppance or my preferred term, God's sense of humor, but this summer, I've learned to be a little less preachy.

It has often been said, with only the tiniest amount of exaggeration, that the two best parts of teaching are July and August. Having left teaching after 16 years, to start Team Just One Life, I am no longer off from work in the summer. In fact, I am not only working but find myself on the road, recruiting for the team. From the pork capitol of America (Washington D.C.) to the dairy capitol of America (upstate New York. OK I know it's not, but even the dog I saw there, was white with black spots) I am seeing the world, or at least the Northeast corridor of the US, which to a former New Yorker, might as well be the world.

Well, between the long hours, and the time on the road, I have had a harder time getting out on the road in the best sense of the term, RUNNING. It seems that it's a little easier to train when you are working from 8-2:30 with a break in the summer. Fear not, I am still getting in 50+miles a week, but it does mean waking up at ungodly hours and being a bit more flexible.

I still think running might be the answer to practically all that ails the world (get Abbas and Netanyahu to run together and there would be peace within 5 miles), as well as what ails man (I can practically swear that I feel my hair follicles starting to sprout again). Still, I'm a little less smug than I used to be and will understand if you can only mange 45 miles a week.

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Take the Leap

I received a friend request from my father-in-law the other day. At first, I have to admit, I thought it was a little strange. He's not exactly in the age demographic of most Facebook users. Still, upon giving it some thought, I thought it was pretty cool that he signed up for an account.

After I made the decision to end my career as a teacher, I received a call from a good friend. After he wished me luck, he added how much he admires my willingness to break away from what I was doing to try something new. He admitted that he is not thrilled with his job and wishes he he could change.

I spent 16 years teaching teenagers, or at least, trying to. I was frequently struck by the lack of willingness on the part of students who were making poor decisions to try and change. The thinking seemed to be based on the idea, that their current way of operating might not be working, but at least it was familiar.

It takes guts for a non-runner to try and take up running. At the beginning it's awkward, uncomfortable and frustrating. It's much easier to give up, or better yet, to not even try. Still, I know that it is not only my life that has been transformed by having fought through the uncomfortable initial effort.

We spend so much time talking about how life is too short and trying to live longer and yet, paradoxically, at the same time, staying in situations that just don't work. Often, we are alive, but not fully, trudging through life half asleep.

Of course, I had a little push getting to where I am. I can't deny that my new job comes with a steep learning curve. Still, I feel alive, productive and challenged. If I am successful, and I think I will be, I will also get to change lives. I suspect that there will be days when I will miss teaching. What I know that I will not miss is the feeling of being stuck, of being in a rut, in a situation that no longer felt ideal.

To my friend, my students and all of you I would say, take the leap. I suspect you'll be glad you did.

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Being My Sammy-est

The news came, as such much of my news does these days, on my Facebook wall. “You will be missed Sammy- RIP”. Never having met him, I would probably not have thought about the post, had another friend not soon-after mentioned Sammy in his status. Then a third friend posted and mentioned Sammy's ever-present smile. Intrigued, I decided I had to know more about this man who had touched so many lives.

This is some of what I heard:

“He was one of the most selfless men I knew.”

“When I was raising money for a trip for kids, while many hesitated to share their connections, he was first to make the calls for me, hooking me up with donors and freebies for these kids.”

“He was one of those behind the scenes guys. “

I could go on, but I think you can see the theme that emerged. I found myself regretting that I had never known Sammy, and that, now, due to his untimely passing, I would never get that chance. More than that, I realized how much all of us can use a guy like Sammy in our lives.

As I shared the information that I would be changing careers and starting a charity running program for Just One Life, there were many well wishers. Of those, some made offers to help. I was touched by the outpouring of kindness that I received from friends, family and acquaintances alike. Still, I was, at times, unsure who I could approach and for what. A precious few sensed this hesitancy and made very specific offers to help. Personally, I suspect that I would not have been the Sammy, offering not just an encouraging smile, but also giving of my myself personally in any way possible.

Then it hit me. Although I will never get to actually know Sammy, I can learn from his all too short life, and try, in some small way to be like Sammy. To try and be the kind of friend to others, that I am looking for in my own life. To give of myself, without worrying about what's in it for me. To do for others in a quiet, but real way.

May his memory be a blessing.

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Donning My Hardhat

On my drive home from work, I pass by the construction site for The Freedom Tower, the massive skyscraper that is being built on the site of The World Trade Center. I have watched it grow from a small non-descript building into a massive 1776 foot tall tower, standing high above New York’s skyline. I have always had a fascination with construction sites and this one has gotten me thinking as well.

I have no doubt that the finished tower will be a site to behold. No doubt, there will be a ceremony as people gather to celebrate the finished product. I wonder how many of the dignitaries who gather for the occasion, will recognize all of the work put in by the architects, construction workers and others, to get the building standing.

In the past, I have attended many race weekends with every detail carefully choreographed. I must admit that I never gave much thought to all the hard work that went into making it happen. I simply took for granted that I would get there and that everything would just happen.

As I build Team Just One Life into what I hope will be an amazing experience, I am learning all that it takes to make it happen. Now that I am past the dream stage into the building stage, I have many things that I need to do so that each of our runners will get the experience they deserve. I look forward to the end of our first race weekend, when I will be able to pause a bit to reflect on all that we have accomplished. For now, I’ll be donning my hardhat as I build Team Just One Life one flight at a time.

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New Job!

16 years in Jewish education. 16 years of teaching and learning, of connecting and caring, of trying and trying again. On the flip side, if I am to be honest, there’s also been 16 years of mistakes; of trying too hard, of taking things personally, of being tough when I needed to be nice, of being a sap when I need to show some backbone. In a few weeks it all comes to an end. I am changing careers. I am done with teaching, at least in the classroom sense of the term. Is it forever? That’s a very long time, so I’ll just say for the foreseeable future.

If you know me however, you know that I am hardwired to need to do something I find meaningful. I am not rushing off to head a Fortune 500 company. (What you just heard was the collective sigh of Wall Street. I always say, only somewhat facetiously, that I could run a Fortune 500 company into the ground in two weeks). I will be doing something I love. Something that I am passionate about. Something into which I can sink my everything.

When I first started running, I thought that it would be good for me as it would help me lose weight. Of course it did help in that regard, but it has given me so much more. A way to help the children of Chai Lifeline, to do a little bit for a young father with ALS, to help young teens who feel alienated from their religion and community. It has also given me friends. It might be somewhat of an exaggeration but sometimes I feel like half my friends on Facebook are rabbis and the other half are runners (of course, unlike myself, few combine the two). It has given me a way to help others and in so many ways, myself. Still, for a long time I was sure that there was one thing missing.

There are many organizations out there that do so much good in so many ways. Of course, like most of us, they have been hit hard by the recession. Sadly, I am not yet able to write out huge checks to solve these problems. What I can do, what I have wanted to do so badly, what I will be doing, is using running to help. Just One Life is an organization that helps expectant women in crisis, who live in Israel. The name of the organization comes from a Talmudic statement that equates saving one life with saving the world. Just One Life helps these women and their families financially and emotionally so that they can comfortably bring a child into this world. It is an amazing organization run by very special people. For more on Just One Life see here http://www.justonelife.org.

I have been given the opportunity to start “Team Just One Life”; a charity team that will use running (and in the future other sports) to help raise money for this vital cause. Of course, from experience, I know that it will do this and so much more. It will introduce people to a healthier lifestyle, it will create friendships, it will help people develop a side of themselves they never knew they had. In short, it will change lives. I hope you will open your hearts, minds, rolodexes and wallets to help. I know that during the last several months as I thought about where I would be going next, so many of you helped in so many ways. Often, I have been moved beyond words. I know that I have so many people who I count as friends and who have been there for me in so many ways. Amazingly, some have been people who I only know virtually. I look forward to your being part of this next stage of my life. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Run Happy- Boston Marathon Recap

As the holiday of Pesach (Passover) came to an end, my excitement grew. The Boston Marathon was less than two days away, and, along with my family, I’d be “Shipping Up to Boston” the next morning. On Thursday I had heard that it might be a bit warmer than usual, perhaps as high as 70 degrees. With no access to the web over the last days of my namesake holiday, I hadn’t given it much thought. As I checked the weather on my cell phone, I almost fell over. There were reports that it might reach the mid to high 80s for the day of the race. The Boston Athletic Association, the organization that puts on the race was recommending that runners not run, and, contrary to their usual policy, and offering a deferral for next year. For a few moments I thought about it. I hadn’t been able to train properly due to my stress fracture. Even with cool weather, I knew I would not be at my best. Then, the better side of me took over. I had chosen to run this race. I had worked hard to train for this race. This was the race I would run.

Race Start- I took the shuttle to the race start in Hopkinton, a picturesque New England town, with narrow brick house lined streets, put on the map by the marathon. I check Facebook, for the 187th time and there is a small note from my friend Roy wishing me luck. He reminds me of how far I’ve come. He tells me to “Run Happy”.

As I walked towards the baggage check, a young boy approaches me and asks me to sign his poster. I almost fall over. Totally flattered and knowing this might not ever happen again, I oblige, adding “The Running Rabbi” after my name.

A fellow runner offers me some sun tan lotion. Knowing that I “never burn”, I pass. Big mistake. VERY big mistake.

A guy covered in orange, this year’s race color, passes me. It’s noot just his shirt and shorts that are orange. His entire visible body is covered in orange something. I must admit that I am not a fan of dressing in costumes for races. The Puritan in me feels like it cheapens the race. Worst of all, judging by his lower bib number, the bugger is faster than I am.

Then we are off.

Mile 1- It is hot and only getting hotter. I try and start off slowly. With adrenaline rushing through my body and the beginning of the race being mostly downhill, this is easier said than done.

Unlike the New York City Marathon, which takes place within the confines of the city, The Boston Marathon is actually run to Boston with less than 2 miles being run in the city. Starting in Hopkinton, the residents of each small town show up in droves, cheering us on with all they’ve got. Equally important on this day, they literally seem to give us all they’ve got. Orange slices, bananas, Twizzlers and pretzels. It’s a veritable fourth grade birthday party. Most importantly they give us water; in cups and from water guns, garden hoses and open hydrants. Some pass out ice cubes. They think they are spectators. Today they are also life savers.

Mile 3- I take Roy’s words to heart. Today is not a day for PRs. I decide to enjoy this race and treat it as a victory lap. Much to my regret, I can’t high-five each of the thousands of children lining the course. Each time I high-five a little girl, I tell her that I only high-five the prettiest girls. They respond like, well, school girls.

I’ve never run with my name on my shirt, but I’ve heard that Boston is the place to do it. On the front of my shirt, my lovely wife has written “Running Rabbi”. For the only time in the race, someone calls out “Go Rabbi”. Later on I realize why. Looking down at my shirt, the writing is gone. Next time I’ll get a permanent marker.

Mile 5- We enter Framingham, pronounced like what you would be doing if you were into pig art. It is the town we stayed in last night, and where Rochie and the kids will be cheering. I am very excited.

Three little girls are doing the cutest cheer about going to Boston. I wish I was carrying my cell phone to record the scene as I want to remember the tune.

Having started at the end of the first wave of runners (the fast ones, thank you very much) and running slowly, I have the street mostly to myself. I play to the crowd. As I wave my arms, the cheers get louder. I ask them if I am winning.

Mile 6- This where I am supposed to see my family, but I do not. I am REALLY bummed. Even worse, I feel a blister developing. Not only do I NEVER get sun burns, but I NEVER get blisters. Perhaps I should buy a lottery ticket.

Mile 8- Having resigned myself to the fact that I missed seeing my family, I run on. Then I get a wonderful surprise. There they are on the left side of the road. Each time they have come to cheer me on at a race, I have always been too obsessed with a time goal to stop. This time I stop. I kiss my sons, I kiss my daughters and then, in my personal Wellesley moment, I [TRANSCRIPT INTERUPTTED].

Mile 9- I see a VW Bug as I am about to pass a group of boys watching the race. I go onto the sidewalk and VERY gently give one boy a punch and say "Punchbuggy yellow". Fortunately, his mother laughs hysterically instead of calling the cops.

Miles 10 & 11- We are in Nattick. This is the kind of scene that inspired Norman Rockwell. Bucolic New England town, men outside of their homes in lawn chairs listening to “The Sawx”, cute children cheering, towering spires. Wow.

As I run, I hear Sox updates on spectator’s radios. Just another advantage of running Boston.

I have no idea why, but there is a row of kids jumping on trampolines. One kid gets off. Channeling my inner Roy, I jump on for a few jumps.
Then I see them; two of the most iconic Boston Marathon figures; Dick and Rick Hoyt. Rick who is 50 has Cerebral Palsy. His father Dick, who is almost 72, has run The Boston Marathon almost every year since 1977 (as well as other marathons and TRIATHLONS) pushing Rick in a wheel chair. I don’t know whether he is hurt but Dick is sitting on the curb with his shoe off as a photographer takes pictures from a distance that is was too close if you ask me. Thankfully, as I find out later, the Hoyts finished their 30th Boston that day.

Thankfully, partially so I can go there. You had to know it’s coming…wait for it…wait for it…Dick and I Rick, today, I Hoyt as well.

Mile 13- I reach the half-way point in 1:57. I am feeling ok, but I know that I am going too fast and will pay later.

I hear the shrieks. I am approaching The Tunnel of Love, where Wellesley co-eds are shrieking and waiting to kiss the passing runners. They are on the right side of the road. I stay to the left, thank you very much. Some of the signs are funny. No, I will not tell you what they said.

One woman holds a sign identifying her as Teddy Bruschi’s daughter. Bruschi, a former New England Patriot, had a stroke a few years ago and has a foundation that raises money to help stroke victims. My son Meir is hoping to see him. At this point, despite the fact that I am not much of a drinker, I would prefer a different kind of Brew-ski.

Miles 16-20- Newton. The four hills of Newton are brutal on any day. Today they are worse. I love hills, but with a growing blister, sunburn and rashes in places you don’t even want to know about, I am afraid. Very afraid.
My heart is racing and I don’t want to end up in the hospital. I start a pattern of walking for a minute each mile, so that I will slow down. I’ve never tried for a slower time, but today is not a day to be a hero.

I trudge along, my back now hurting, due to altering my gait because of the blister. I want to punch the people who tell me “looking good”. No, I don’t. I look I was run over by a bus and then had my skin rubbed raw by a grater.

Heartbreak Hill. I alternate running, limping and walking. I know I will finish. It’s just a question of fighting through the pain.

“Go number 8813”. The spectators are awesome finding a way to cheer, even without knowing my name. As many of us take walk breaks, I hear “way to keep moving”. These are, by far, the best spectators in the world.

Then we are over the top. Normally downhills are a runner’s friend. Not today. As I let loose, my legs are begging me to stop. Boston College students line the streets shouting. I high five as many as can.

Mile 23- Brookline. This is the second time I am supposed to see my family out on the course, only this time I have mixed feelings. I don’t like the idea of my kids seeing me walk when I should be running. As much as I can, I run during this mile. Either way it doesn’t pay off, as I don’t see them.

I see the “Citgo” sign made famous by its proximity to Fenway Park. As much as I want to follow its first syllable, I try and follow its second one.

Mile 25- Welcome to Boston! I am pushing as much as I can. Then I see him. Orange guy is much less orange. Not only that, he is about to lose to the newly mostly red guy. MOOHAHA!

Mile 26- As I turn onto Boylston Street I am fighting back tears. The pain no longer matters and I am sprinting. I play to the crowd and the roar carries me. I am not Alberto Salazar, or Dick Beardsley, who made history on this course 30 years earlier (and who I met on Sunday!), but they could not have been any more excited as they raced to the finish than I am.

Finish Line- 4:09. 88 degrees. I simultaneously feel pain and pride. I am exhausted and exhilarated. A deep feeling of satisfaction washes over me. For the first time in forever, I have no idea what comes next. For the first time in forever, it doesn’t matter. Today I ran happy.