...And Some Days You Eat The Feathers.

This post is a little on the long side but if you have the patience to stay with me, you might feel as I do that it sort of comes full circle.

I am one of those people who truly believes that you have to have a little cloudiness in your life in order to really find joy in the sunny day.  One of the many things that I love about living in New York, or the northeast in general, is the extreme swings in temperature and climate.  I think that the springs and summers are more enjoyable because we have to work our way through a couple of months of cold and snow.

In any event, over the span of 20+ years, my two daughters each took many, many years of dance classes.  Over the years, their dance teacher would hold parent visitation days in mid-November where the students could prepare a dance piece of their own to a song of their choosing and perform it for their parents, grandparents and other visitors.  This was always a much-looked-forward to event, and one day during the early fall of 1994 was no exception.

 

Except that my always-prepared 8-year-old daughter was uncharacteristically unprepared, despite her assurances to me during the weeks leading up to the visit that she had it "all taken care of".  One of the things I tried to do when raising my family was to try to at times step back and let them try to figure stuff out, sort of helping them establish and develop autonomy. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't.

So as her parents, grandparents and a host of others watched her wing her way through her 3 minutes of should-be dance school fame, I could see and feel the disappointment that washed over her.  Later on in the car, she voiced those feelings to her grandparents and me.  My very kind, wise father  (who had a million inspirational words of advice - "be good to your feet and they'll be good to you!") quietly listened as he drove us all back to my house, and when she was done bemoaning her less-than-stellar performance, he very gently said to her, "You know, sweetie - some days you eat the chicken and other days you eat the feathers."  That was all he said.  It was just enough and there was no need for me to jump in and add anything, or offer a lecture on preparedness.  The car remained quiet for the rest of the short drive.  I could see her little face analyzing the statement, her eyebrows knitting together as the wheels in her brain started turning it over to process the meaning....meaning that sometimes you succeed and sometimes you don't.  This phrase became one that she used and re-quoted many times in the years since...and the fact that my dad suddenly passed away two weeks after that incident probably served to underscore the lasting impact that statement had on all of us.

In the almost-20 years since, my little 8-year-old has had many, many successes, reaching milestones and accomplishments and making it all look so easy even though I know it wasn't- receiving awards and distinctions, becoming a leader and role model, graduating from college summa cum laude, getting her Masters' degree, becoming a talented vocalist, musician and dancer and presently seeking her law degree - even actually saving someone's life once 10 years ago - plus, she's an amazing daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece and friend and more to so many....just an all-around great human being.  There were so many times that I wished that Grandpa were around to see her emerge victorious, although I'm sure he knows.

 

So this past Wednesday, despite a gung-ho start to the morning run, it became quickly evident that I, too, was going to end up with a figurative plate full of feathers. 

 

As it happens, the lion's share of the blame was on me - It got too late. It got too hot.  I chose a lousy route.  Too much traffic, too humid, too many interruptions in the sidewalks, water bottle not cold enough, excessive, ridiculous hills....you get the picture.

 

"WOE IS ME!!!!", I thought.

 

Then, that same evening, I attended a kick-off meeting for the members of MSKCC's Fred's Team who will be running in the marathon...and not a moment too soon.

 

After I arrived at the kick-off, I made myself a plate of the light refreshments offered (hummus, pita, unsweetened iced tea, vegetable sticks), got myself seated and immediately found myself immersed in a conversation with a lovely couple -  they wanted to know - what was my story? was it my first time? Theyassured me that I would become "hooked" on the marathon/Fred's Team experience and just about were the nicest, warmest people ever, genuinely interested in the individual stories of me and so many other people there. I told them of the many friends and loved ones who had had experiences of varying outcomes with cancer;  I told them that I was a little scared, and the man said "that's why you're here tonight!"  So of course, I asked them what brought them there, and they told me that in 1972, their daughter Aubrey was four years old and treated for leukemia until she was 11 at Sloan Kettering.   Inwardly, I braced for the tragic ending to that story, but then they said that this year Aubrey will be running her 30th marathon!  They keep asking her to "retire" from marathoning, but her reply is that as long as she can run for MSKCC, she will.  Even though I just met this man, the pride in his voice was overwhelming.

A slide show began of inspirational photgraphs of past marathons, showing happy, smiling Fred's Team runners from all phases of the marathon.  Running, stretching, posing with friends,  cheerful groups clustered in the pre-dawn excitement on the Staten Island Ferry; the joyful crossing of the finish line in Central Park.  Periodically Aubrey's dad would reach over and enthusiastically slap me on the shoulder or knee and exclaim "look! that's going to be you!!!" 
 

Then the speaking portion of the evening started, and doctors spoke, then Aubrey spoke, then two sisters who lost both parents to cancer a year apart spoke.  The sisters told how they had run the 2011 marathon in memory of their recently departed dad, and how the 2012 marathon was going to be run in support and honor of their mom.  Then Hurricane Sandy happened, the 2012 marathon was cancelled in NYC and their mom died shortly thereafter - so in 2013 they ran in memory of both of their parents and just how much more meaningful it was for them to train hard and raise funds and honor their parents in this way.

It was just about then that I realized for about the zillionth time how amazing the universe is and how we all just end up exactly where we are supposed to at the time we're supposed to be there in order to have the experiences that we do so that we can learn from them.  We have good experiences and not-so-good ones, we have lousy runs and crummy days at work; performances that fall a little short of the mark, disagreements with our friends and families and colleagues and experience loss and sadness and grief and so on, but we also then get to have great performances and cook delicious food; meet amazing people and have fulfilling, rewarding experiences and get a new opportunity every single day to try to make things better or give back to others just a little bit.

 

Whether it's chicken or feathers, or winter or summer or cloudiness or sunlight, we all experience exactly what it is we're supposed experience when we do so that we can move ahead, progress, grow and bounce back and learn from it and share and bring what it is we've learned to others.

I left the meeting with a real sense of new motivation and energy, my metaphorical plate of feathers from earlier that day already a distant memory.  The next day's run was great.  Today is a "rest day" (sans yoga, even) but tomorrow I get to tackle 9 miles - and I will definitely be reporting back on that!

 

For more information on the work that Memorial Sloan Kettering and Fred's Team does, please visit www.fredsteam.org, and another very interesting charity that has piqued my curiosity can be found at www.givebackbox.com.