Tuesday, January 19, 2010

I Have A Dream...


This week marks the one year anniversary of the inauguration of Barack Obama and the celebration of the 81st birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Although I have always been inspired by and my life has been shaped by Dr. King, I hadn't realized the extent of it until I watched the inauguration of President Obama. Less than 50 years before he was inaugurated, a man like Barack Obama would have been forced to the back of the bus. A far cry from the front seat on the stage at the base of the U.S. Capitol Building with the nation, and the world, as a captive audience. I found myself deep in reflection about how far we'd come. But how very far we still had to go.


(Although a contrast to the normal musings on my blog, I "wrote" this while running so I guess it counts as a rumination from a life on the run.)
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January 20, 2009

In light of the presidential inauguration and the “new” America, I reflect.

On August 28, 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. told millions about the dream that he had. He dreamed that his children would someday “not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” He dreamed that they could, one day, walk hand in hand with children of any race and not be judged or hated or killed.

Twenty-six years later, almost to the day, I began Kindergarten at Samuel Powel Elementary School in Philadelphia. As a six year old, I couldn’t understand the significance of the experience that began then and would continue for the next five years. Looking back, however, I am amazed. It was a place that Dr. King could only dreamed would become a reality. My classmates and I were exceptional, though at the time, we were unaware.

We began school together. We learned together. We graduated together.
We were Christian- Protestant and Catholic. We were Jewish. We were Muslim. We were Agnostic.
We had parents who were doctors, teachers, waitresses, activists, military personnel, ex-convicts and artists.
We were neighbors. We were classmates. We were boys. We were girls. We were black. We were white. We were mixed race. We were friends.
We had black teachers and we had white teachers.
We didn’t notice skin color as anything more than pigmentation. We saw only what was inside, the outside made no difference.
We had trust funds. We had food stamps.
We had parents: a mom and a dad, two moms, grandparents, a single mother, a single father, a brother or a sister, a loving guardian.
We were named Abigail, Farrakan, Elizabeth, Lamont, Jack, Bronwen, Mohammed, Debby and Azziza.
We celebrated birthdays, but understood why our Jehovah’s Witness classmates choose to go to another classroom.
We learned about why our classmate Mohammed didn’t eat with us at lunch for a whole month during Ramadan.
We sang “Jingle Bells”, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” and “Kwanzaa, Oh Kwanzaa.”
We knew that my best friend’s first kiss was with a black boy and no one thought oddly of it, except that it happened when they were both Kindergarteners.
We learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks as figures of the distant past, because their dreams and fights were irrelevant to us, they were our reality.
We drank from the same water fountains. We walked in and out of the same doors. We ate at the same lunch tables. We rode the same buses sitting next to whoever we wanted.
We played kickball every morning together. We sang in chorus together. We learned and played violins and recorders together. We mourned the death of a classmate from a house fire together. We cheered the Phillies in the World Series together.
We were not taught how to hate. We were not taught about ignorance. We were not taught about cruelty. We were not taught about judgment.
We were taught about acceptance. We were taught about tolerance. We were taught about equality. We were taught about freedom.
We were, together, equally black and white: gray, if you will.
We joined hands, “little black boys and black girls…with little white boys and white girls,” just like Martin Luther King Jr. had dreamed we would someday be able to do. We did it everyday.

This was not a specialized, radial, free-thinking, progressive school. This was a small inner-city public elementary school. It was, however, undoubtedly a very special place. A place that, for those who were lucky enough to have attended, shaped minds, promoted independence and fostered vastly intelligent children. I am a better person for having had the experience. I am forever indebted.

The talk of the post-election “new” America is something that I have already experienced. And having experienced it, I hope that America can become like my elementary school class- gray, where we don’t see color, gender, ethnicity, orientation, class. A place where we can all work, live, help, share and love together. Because when that happens, everyone will be amazed at the power we will have.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

This Is It....

Tomorrow marks the official day one of the Ultimate Ultramarathon Training Plan (according to Bess & Abby) in preparation for the grand pooh-bah of my running career to this point: The Bel Monte Endurance 50 Ultramarathon. Just seventy three (yes, 73) days from tomorrow, I'll lace up my sneakers and embark on a journey up, down, over and across 50 miles of trails central Virginia.
I haven't been doing a great deal of running to set a nice base for the start of the official training. The last month has involved:
- record cold and down-right bone chilling weather- the temperatures the last two mornings have been below freezing....COMBINE. 15F on Sunday, 16F yesterday. NOT running weather, if you ask me.
- nearly 10,000 miles of travel (to destinations domestically and internationally)
- two minor but annoying head cold/cough like sicknesses (probably due to the combination of the two aforementioned factors)
- very sporadic running

Although the ultra has been on my radar for a while, it has always been a thing of the future. Lots of statements akin to "when I'm training for the ultra..." and "that would be good for the ultra..." have come up, but it always seemed a distant concept. Not anymore. It's now baby. (Well, tomorrow.)

It's undoubtedly going to be difficult. I know that going in. A trail race, a 50 mile trail race at that, is different in many ways from anything I've ever done. The training is more strategic and specific compared with a marathon or even triathlon. The mindset must be to "just finish" rather than achieve any PRs or top finishes.

There will be a lot of running (and some walking), many sore muscles, probably some bumps and bruises (I've been known to be a bit clumsy on trails), and lots of dirty clothes. But I'm prepared for it and anxiously looking forward to the challenge that the training and race will bring.

Here goes nothing. Or something. Or everything.