"He who you cannot teach to fly, teach to fall faster." -- Nietzsche
Last week I received an e-flyer from a local running store about an evening with Dick Beardsley: “Join us for a motivational talk by Dick Beardsley, one of America's most celebrated distance runners. His amazing story of triumph and tragedy captivates every audience who has the opportunity to hear his story.” The price was right (free), so my husband and I figured ‘what the hell?’
He looked good -- Dick did: like a runner still. Having been not quite 8 years ago when he and Alberto Salazar had their "day in the sun" at the 1982 Boston Marathon, I knew very little about his running exploits let alone the rest of his life story. An ‘aw shucks’ farm boy from Minnesota, he quickly charmed even the back-of-the-packers in the audience as he talked about how he didn’t even start running until his junior year in high school and was horrible at it until after he graduated and decided that rather than start a life of milking cows right away, he wanted to do nothing else but train for the Olympic trials marathon. With nothing but a $400 / month apartment and a love of the sport, he just ran, and ran and ran. His running shoes were held together by duct tape, though, so he soon figured that he needed to get a shoe contract. Dick's story about how he got a deal with New Balance is somewhat silly and obviously metaphoric. I would ruin it if I tried to recount it here, so I won't, but suffice it to say that ultimately New Balance sponsored him, he got a coach and he ran the race of his life at the ’82 Boston.
Hearing him tell the story of his Boston, naturally made me think of mine. When he woke up that morning he was hoping for an overcast day with about 45F temperature. Nope, it was sunny and perfectly clear. That year and mine as well (in ‘93 & ‘96), the race started at high noon with similar weather. When he discoursed about how each mile he wasn’t sure he could go another one, I thought of my second Boston, when I wasn’t in the best shape, when I too just took it mile by mile, soaked in the day, the moment, the people and the magnitude of what was going on.
During my second Boston, unlike my first, I was overweight, slightly injured and trying to prove to myself that I could run again, run far, run hard, and regain my former glory – or something like that. That was my senior year in college and while I had succeeded socially and academically, I had put on about 35 lbs over the summer and consequently had my worst cross-country season ever. Well, I ran my slowest times since I had begun running competitively. That season, though, I felt like I was running harder and with more heart than ever; but man, did I suck.
Ever since I high school, running had been my “thing.” I made it my thing because it was the first thing that I had found that I could succeed at, do better than most people at, by simply doing more of it. More mileage? Running farther? Pushing harder? All it took was time and I could better myself everyday. I liked that.
I liked it so much that I can still honestly say that running my first Boston Marathon (in 3:23:14) was one of the happiest days of my life. A gloriously sunny day, the first signs of spring and happiness and summer everywhere… crowds of people lining the course, cheering, celebrating, making every single runner feel like Joan Benoit must have felt in 1984 when she won the first women’s Olympic Marathon in Los Angeles... I felt like Joanie and I was running on air, 15 minutes faster than my qualifying time, averaging 7:45 seconds per mile for 26.2 miles, by the end not being able to even feel the lower half of my body, reaching for energy I had already expended miles ago, running on pure guts and sheer will. Thinking about it still makes me smile. I strove to regain that "thing" during the 100th Boston because that one was supposed to be so publicly momentous I felt I must make it so privately for me too.
But when I finished each of them and had my good cry with my fellow participants, I found my dad and he drove me back to campus. That night I slept well and the next day and from then on, I carried on with life as a student. What did I have to show? Sunburnt calves, sore legs, and a smug sense of accomplishment apparently invisible to all.
I remember when I had been in high school and disappointed by my finish at a race or failure to qualify for the next event my father tried to console me by telling me that such things were ephemeral:
“Do you know what Chris Everett Lloyd (or some other tennis player) did after she won the U.S. Open?”
“Had a cake… I don’t know, Dad.”
“She sat in the recovery room and cried.”
“Why?”
“Because she realized that it was all over. And it didn’t really matter.”
Oh, I remember thinking. Not me, I’d be celebrating. No way, damnit.
And after Boston – both of them – I did celebrate, sort of, in the only way I knew how. I think I may have had a milkshake and a good night’s sleep. Anyway, it wasn’t important. Running Boston was an accomplishment, but it was just something all mine, to file away, something that would bring me inner encouragement and confidence when my life felt less free and conquerable. That was all. In anticipation and in retrospect, it was a big thing -- but the experiences scarcely seem to live up to the gratutous hype that one imagines it should. Over the years my marathons have just become something more personal. And that is okay. I think that is where they belong.
For Dick Beardsley, that 80F day when he and Alberto Salazar ran sub 2:09 marathons, Dick finishing 0.6 sec out of first place, he was just happy to be there, just like me. Later in his life he underwent many injuries, most of them traumatic – like getting pulled into farm equipment, being hit by a truck, falling off of a cliff. Through the course of all of that he became addicted to prescription pain medicine, sadly addicted. So what his talk was all about was how we need to help people with similar conditions, not shy away from the stigma of drug addictions, see such cases as diseases too.
His was -- is -- such a sad but inspiring, heartfelt story: how he was a broken man so many times in his life and certain people took pity in him, believed in him and helped him to run the marathon that his life is. So many times he found himself in situations that he had no business living through. And he has. Wow.
Now he lives in Austin, TX. Someone from the audience asked him if he would be interested in running the Austin Marathon. He acknowledged that sure it’s in the back of his mind (it would certainly be a Hollywood sort of story, eh?), but with all that he has put his body through – most recently a knee replacement – he is just pleased to be able to run just over 3 miles in 30 min.
To hear him say so made me smile. I too have thought about running another marathon. Having had my foot reconstructed about 5 ½ years ago and being able to pick up running again 3 years ago, I smile to think about it. Now I can run 3-4 days per week, and just this past Sunday surrounded by singing birds, a sunny day & the first signs of spring, I clipped off a 10 mile training run at about an 8 minute pace. In the last mile or so, I was beginning to think that maybe a marathon was again soon possible… maybe. Then my left foot & leg hurt a little more than usual for the next couple of days ... So maybe not yet; maybe not yet. I am really just focusing on enjoying the magic of the road, the trail & the treadmill, happy to be in control of my addiction, happy to share it with friends who want to talk about it, happy to have had my day in the sun. That's what running is about.
06 April 2009
04 April 2009
As The Polygon Turns: What's Going On (Episode 21)
“So you guys want to hear what’s going on?”
“Yeah, tell us.”
“All right so President Obama’s speech about the AF-PK strategy is getting rolled out at 10:30… “
“– you mean the one we read yesterday morning & started 7 minutes ago?”
“Yeah, that one… and … at 1330 Greg Mortenson will be speaking in the conference room, there are two seats available, you guys interested?”
“Really??? Can we? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I will tell Captain Krunch that you will fill them.” (Captain Krunch is not his real name, by the way.)
Holy crow! My speechwriter-partner Bill and I were so excited! We reminded ourselves of someone whom we had met a few weeks ago when our principal was going to speak to his organization. This man's name was Josh (no I am not kidding) and ever since that event, Bill and I periodically joke about how that guy always seemed like he was about to wet himself with excitement. Now we felt like Josh.
For those of you who aren’t familiar, Greg Mortenson is the author of Three Cups of Tea – well, the co-author. The important part is that he is the main character in this book that demonstrates the tremendous difference one man can make towards spreading peace through education in Pakistan and Afghanistan, one school at a time.
Most of the action in the book transpires in the mid to late 90s through post 9-11, and one can extrapolate that the work of Greg and CAI continues to flourish today. But in the circles that I work and I would even argue that in the regular stories that one reads about or hears in the news, one seldom finds word or even signs of progress and hope in that area of the world.
So we got up to the conference room a little early and had our pick of seats – people in this building always run late. It was your basic conference room: a single large mahogany table with about a dozen leather chairs and laptops and another 15 or so more chairs lining three walls within two feet of the table. At the far end of the room, at the foot of the table, was a big screen display for presentations or video teleconferences; and above that was displayed the time of day in Local, Zulu, Bagdad, Stuttgart, Kabul, Hawaii, San Diego, etc..
Eventually nearly all of the seats were filled by people in the building, some of whom I recognized, all of whom I wondered if they had read Three Cups of Tea and were as excited as Bill and I were. If we’d been kids, dogs, or Rain Man, we would have been unable to sit still to save our lives.
The conference room door was open and Greg came strolling in with Captain Krunch in tow. He was beaming his characteristically big smile that I had seen in the pictures of his book – a smile that looked like the smile kids draw on Mr. Sun, a smile that you think people only put on for pictures. For Greg, this was how he was, how he is, how he approaches people, how he talks about his work, and how he instantly puts everyone at ease, makes everyone a believer. At this moment I vowed to myself that I would smile more often – whenever I get the chance. His smile made me feel great! I want to make people around me feel great too.
The local time on the clock was 1333, the time in Kabul 2233. Greg had flown here from Afghanistan that morning and wanted to give us an update about the situation over there from his eyes, familiarize us with his story, and take any questions people had. What I have since realized – actually I just figured out when I was putting links into this blog – is that during this recent trip in the region there was a ceremony in Islamabad where the government of Pakistan conferred upon Greg their country’s highest civil award, Sitara-e-Pakistan (“Star of Pakistan”) for his courage and humanitarian effort to promote education, and literacy in rural areas for the last fifteen years. Hmmmn.
So anyway, he gave his quick "elevator speech" about how he got into doing what he was doing and why he believes in it. He quoted to us a proverb that says if you educate a boy you educate one man, if you educate a girl you educate a village -- because boys will eventually leave or work for themselves, but women are centers of the home and the community.
"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?" he asked us. I was sitting about three feet from where he was standing talking to us from the head of the table. I couldn't stop smiling a big goofy grin. I just kept thinking 'This guy is great!'
"The Bad news," I excitedly responded. I don't think that anyone else had an opinion.
"Okay," he smiled at me, "I'll tell you the bad news first." I rubbed my hands together in a 'this is going to be good' fashion. "The bad news is that since the US invasion of Afghanistan in 2001, over 600 schools in Afghanistan and over 200 in the tribal areas of Pakistan have been bombed or destroyed." A collective feeling of crappiness came over us, we all sort of nodded and held our heads steady, accepting this consequence of our actions.
"But the good news is... The good news is... is there anyone from the press here?" Greg asked looking around.
"No, they were not invited," CAPT Krunch offered.
"Well, okay. Good. But here is a statistic that you never hear in the press -- and it is a great statistic: good news. In 2000, at the height of the Taliban, 7,000 students, all boys attended school. Now, at the end of 2008 anyway, 7.2 million students, boys and girls, attend school in Afghanistan and the FATA area of Pakistan! Isn't that great?! That is the largest percentage rise in student attendance of any area of the world! So we're doing it. There is success! You are doing good things. I do not want you guys to despair."
Over the course of the next 45 min to an hour he talked to us about the importance of relationships, drinking tea, listening to the people, but also making them earn everything that you give them. For example if CAI is going to build a 2,500 sqft school for a village, they will provide materials, skilled labor, and lunch for the workers every day they work; the village has to provide 2,000 hrs of manual labor. He says he gets a lot of grumbling at first, but the only way the village is going to have a vested interest in protecting that school from the Taliban, from letting it be turned into a madrassa, is if the village people have put in sweat equity. He encouraged us to drive hard bargains and not to give out charity. He reminded us to not only think of ourselves as leaders, but as teachers. And don't forget, never forget it is all about the people of Afghanistan and Pakistan. That is who all of this is for. What we are doing, the relationships we are building, the schools, the training of security forces... it is for generations, not something determined by or that could be measured by one, two, five or ten year budget cycles; it is a generational commitment. That is how the enemy, the violent extremists think about it.
It was such a treat to listen to a man with such wisdom, such humility. He really made us feel like he was part of our team, telling us what we've been doing right, helping to steer us towards what he has seen could be the right thing for the future, sharing with us his failures and frustrations... just helping to pull us along given what is going on.
“Yeah, tell us.”
“All right so President Obama’s speech about the AF-PK strategy is getting rolled out at 10:30… “
“– you mean the one we read yesterday morning & started 7 minutes ago?”
“Yeah, that one… and … at 1330 Greg Mortenson will be speaking in the conference room, there are two seats available, you guys interested?”
“Really??? Can we? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I will tell Captain Krunch that you will fill them.” (Captain Krunch is not his real name, by the way.)
Holy crow! My speechwriter-partner Bill and I were so excited! We reminded ourselves of someone whom we had met a few weeks ago when our principal was going to speak to his organization. This man's name was Josh (no I am not kidding) and ever since that event, Bill and I periodically joke about how that guy always seemed like he was about to wet himself with excitement. Now we felt like Josh.
For those of you who aren’t familiar, Greg Mortenson is the author of Three Cups of Tea – well, the co-author. The important part is that he is the main character in this book that demonstrates the tremendous difference one man can make towards spreading peace through education in Pakistan and Afghanistan, one school at a time.
Most of the action in the book transpires in the mid to late 90s through post 9-11, and one can extrapolate that the work of Greg and CAI continues to flourish today. But in the circles that I work and I would even argue that in the regular stories that one reads about or hears in the news, one seldom finds word or even signs of progress and hope in that area of the world.
So we got up to the conference room a little early and had our pick of seats – people in this building always run late. It was your basic conference room: a single large mahogany table with about a dozen leather chairs and laptops and another 15 or so more chairs lining three walls within two feet of the table. At the far end of the room, at the foot of the table, was a big screen display for presentations or video teleconferences; and above that was displayed the time of day in Local, Zulu, Bagdad, Stuttgart, Kabul, Hawaii, San Diego, etc..
Eventually nearly all of the seats were filled by people in the building, some of whom I recognized, all of whom I wondered if they had read Three Cups of Tea and were as excited as Bill and I were. If we’d been kids, dogs, or Rain Man, we would have been unable to sit still to save our lives.
The conference room door was open and Greg came strolling in with Captain Krunch in tow. He was beaming his characteristically big smile that I had seen in the pictures of his book – a smile that looked like the smile kids draw on Mr. Sun, a smile that you think people only put on for pictures. For Greg, this was how he was, how he is, how he approaches people, how he talks about his work, and how he instantly puts everyone at ease, makes everyone a believer. At this moment I vowed to myself that I would smile more often – whenever I get the chance. His smile made me feel great! I want to make people around me feel great too.
The local time on the clock was 1333, the time in Kabul 2233. Greg had flown here from Afghanistan that morning and wanted to give us an update about the situation over there from his eyes, familiarize us with his story, and take any questions people had. What I have since realized – actually I just figured out when I was putting links into this blog – is that during this recent trip in the region there was a ceremony in Islamabad where the government of Pakistan conferred upon Greg their country’s highest civil award, Sitara-e-Pakistan (“Star of Pakistan”) for his courage and humanitarian effort to promote education, and literacy in rural areas for the last fifteen years. Hmmmn.
So anyway, he gave his quick "elevator speech" about how he got into doing what he was doing and why he believes in it. He quoted to us a proverb that says if you educate a boy you educate one man, if you educate a girl you educate a village -- because boys will eventually leave or work for themselves, but women are centers of the home and the community.
"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?" he asked us. I was sitting about three feet from where he was standing talking to us from the head of the table. I couldn't stop smiling a big goofy grin. I just kept thinking 'This guy is great!'
"The Bad news," I excitedly responded. I don't think that anyone else had an opinion.
"Okay," he smiled at me, "I'll tell you the bad news first." I rubbed my hands together in a 'this is going to be good' fashion. "The bad news is that since the US invasion of Afghanistan in 2001, over 600 schools in Afghanistan and over 200 in the tribal areas of Pakistan have been bombed or destroyed." A collective feeling of crappiness came over us, we all sort of nodded and held our heads steady, accepting this consequence of our actions.
"But the good news is... The good news is... is there anyone from the press here?" Greg asked looking around.
"No, they were not invited," CAPT Krunch offered.
"Well, okay. Good. But here is a statistic that you never hear in the press -- and it is a great statistic: good news. In 2000, at the height of the Taliban, 7,000 students, all boys attended school. Now, at the end of 2008 anyway, 7.2 million students, boys and girls, attend school in Afghanistan and the FATA area of Pakistan! Isn't that great?! That is the largest percentage rise in student attendance of any area of the world! So we're doing it. There is success! You are doing good things. I do not want you guys to despair."
Over the course of the next 45 min to an hour he talked to us about the importance of relationships, drinking tea, listening to the people, but also making them earn everything that you give them. For example if CAI is going to build a 2,500 sqft school for a village, they will provide materials, skilled labor, and lunch for the workers every day they work; the village has to provide 2,000 hrs of manual labor. He says he gets a lot of grumbling at first, but the only way the village is going to have a vested interest in protecting that school from the Taliban, from letting it be turned into a madrassa, is if the village people have put in sweat equity. He encouraged us to drive hard bargains and not to give out charity. He reminded us to not only think of ourselves as leaders, but as teachers. And don't forget, never forget it is all about the people of Afghanistan and Pakistan. That is who all of this is for. What we are doing, the relationships we are building, the schools, the training of security forces... it is for generations, not something determined by or that could be measured by one, two, five or ten year budget cycles; it is a generational commitment. That is how the enemy, the violent extremists think about it.
It was such a treat to listen to a man with such wisdom, such humility. He really made us feel like he was part of our team, telling us what we've been doing right, helping to steer us towards what he has seen could be the right thing for the future, sharing with us his failures and frustrations... just helping to pull us along given what is going on.
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