Will Run for Cookies

Another soggy Thursday afternoon - we have been lucky that way.  No matter what the weather during the early week, we can count on plenty of rain and mud for our Trailblazers' run each Thursday.  Trailblazers is a program at the Whatcom Family YMCA that brings kids to trails, so they can blaze.

Wipers are thumping in a steady rhythm across the broad windshield of the YMCA van as I turn the red beast into a dark tunnel of evergreen trees that leads to Lake Padden Park.  Sitting directly behind me are 11 little people, bouncing in their seats with tons of boy energy.  Once parked, my co-pilot slides open the van door and the occupants bust out, racing to the playground to climb all over the equipment like ants on a picnic.

Our number doubles after the second van arrives.  Two girls, three coaches and a whole bunch of boys.  We move to the basketball court for drills.  “High knee skips!” Coach Jen hollers as they bolt across the pavement.  “These are warm-ups.  This is NOT a race!”  she reminds them.  Yeah, right.  For a good number of these kids EVERYTHING is a race.

Last week I had the pleasure of leading the route through the trails in my own neighborhood.  “Leader” is probably not a realistic term.  I was designated Chaser.  The general rule is that no Trailblazers should run ahead of the lead coach, or behind the rear, or sweeper coach.  The reality is that the competitive, high-energy, louder-than-life top-dog kids are going to duke it out the whole time for the lead, and the front coach hangs on for dear life.  

The run with the front pack was actually quite fun, and I called it my interval training for the week since we had to stop at all major turns to let the rest of the runners catch up.  We would run full-out for a quarter mile or so and STOP, gasping for air while the group gathered again.  When the sweeper coach approached along with the lolly-gagging stragglers, the top-dogs would start to walk up the trail in order to get the best position at the start of the next sprint.  And then we were OFF!

The mid-pack coach probably has the most peaceful, pleasant job.  You get to run with the level-headed kids who can run a steady pace and chat and don’t need to stop to catch their wind.  These kids breathe hard going up the steep trails, but then enjoy rolling effortlessly down the winding, wooded paths on the other side.

On THIS soggy Thursday, I am the sweeper.  My job is to stay with the tail-end group for safety, and to nudge them along the way.  Turns out I have three fellas to walk/jog with through the horse trails of Lake Padden.  These guys are so busy planning how they were going to turn one boy’s pet kitten into a super-hero that their minds are not on running.  A steady jog on the flats turns into a power hike on the hills and eventually a gentle stroll.  I hear all about the green and blue color-coordinated mittens and cape, and how this feline will carry a cannon that shoots popcorn and every kind of chip you can think of.  One fellow, Hank, would tire of the conversation and take off for a bit, running his heart out, but when the big group gathered he would rejoin his two pals and try to motivate them to run more.

Then I find out why Hank wants his two friends to run.  Apparently the Car Pool Mom told them at drop-off that she would give all three boys Girl Scout Cookies if they ran their hearts out today.  Hank’s mind is on cookies.  And each time he reminds his pals of the deal, they break out into a sprint…temporarily.  While we jog we chat about cookies.  How my dog will do ANYTHING for dog cookies - she doesn’t even need a leash on walks because she follows me for cookies.  Hank thinks it would be cool to cover a jet-powered car or spaceship in dog cookies so she would chase it into space.  Good idea.

When the boys slow to a stroll I shout “cookies!” and they pick up the pace.  During the last half mile each of the three boys ask me more than once, “Do you think we ran our hearts out today?”  

Each time I answer I try to choose my words carefully, “Well, I think you pushed yourselves,” and “Sure, and your goal next week can be to run even more!”  All they need to hear is the “Sure…” before they agree that they should ask me this question in front of Car Pool Mom.

In the end, the boys covered over 3 miles in the rain.  They climbed a few steep hills and slogged through some sloppy mud.  Their faces were damp with sweat and their cheeks were pink from the effort.  With visions of cookies dancing in their heads they felt like they ran their hearts out.  Bring on the cookies.

I think we have found a new motto to put on the back of the Trailblazers’ t-shirts:

“Will Run for Cookies!”

Love and The Three-Legged Race

On a recent afternoon, after I had said my goodbyes to co-workers at the Y,  I headed out the back door and up the steep concrete steps leading to the alley.  Ahead of me was a retired couple.  They stopped climbing and stepped aside to allow me to pass.  “We have bad knees,” the woman said.  “It’s gonna take us a while!”

“Oh, my knees have their bad days, too,” I replied.

We reached the alley together, more or less.  The man told me, as he linked arms with his wife, “Yep, I have a bum left knee, and she has a bad one on the right!”

“Well, you two ought to sign up for a three-legged race.  You’d do great!”  I joked.  We all laughed.  We parted ways and I could hear them giggling and chatting as they shuffled to their car.

My guess is that this charming couple had been together for decades, likely their entire adult lives.  They moved and talked together with ease, anticipating the other’s words and movements like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers on the dance floor.  I’ll bet their feet had danced together countless times, nimbly prancing, weaving in a complicated pattern upon many-a-dance-floor.  And now, in their golden years they lean on one another, just a little, with their bad knees in the middle.  

If we are lucky, we all have somebody in our life that we share this connection with.  Somebody who knows what you are thinking without hearing the words.  They recognize a look in the eye or a gesture that tells all.  And because they know, they react predictably and the dance of life continues.  

My sister once described my husband and I as using the Vulcan Mind-Meld to communicate.  For those of you who didn’t grow up in the 70s when, in my family, we marked time in Star Trek episodes, the Mind Meld is a technique for sharing thoughts, experiences, memories, and knowledge with another person (or alien).  The VMM is a form of telepathy that usually required physical contact.  From the beginning of our time together, we have shared this connection with only a few hiccups along the way.

If we are super-fortunate, we have more than one kind of partner in life.  The most typical  partnership is initiated by romance and results in love, but often this connection exists through family ties or platonic friendships.  You know each other so well that you don’t have to explain yourself.  My sisters and I have an extensive vocabulary and plenty of silly phrases that would sound like a foreign language to an outsider.  My daughters and I have simple gestures that will send each other into belly-laughs.  There are some long-running themes among my running group (pun intended) that, although we cannot speak of them in the company of others without blushing, can be alluded to with one single letter.

I think of all of these things on this red-heart emblazoned holiday, this day of love.  I have never been a believer in the obligation to buy roses and chocolates to express my affection.  I don’t expect a romantic dinner during which we gaze at each other under the light of twinkling candlelight.  I feel like love and appreciation should be understood every day of the year. 

Beyond February 14th my husband and I will continue to put our foreheads together for the Vulcan Mind Meld if we are lucky. We will tie our ankles together with an old rag, his left to my right, and continue trudging through this crazy life in our own personal three-legged race.

Making Connections

We have a delightful fellow in our community named Larry.  This diminutive, silver-haired fellow walks the trails and takes the bus downtown to visit the YMCA.  You’ll know it is him immediately because he is likely to blurt out, “Hey!  I know YOU!” which may or may not be true.  Lucky for me I have met him before and I can say, “Hi Larry!  I remember meeting you on the trail!” and shake his frail hand while exchanging brief small talk.  If he is not sure he might say, “I know you!  You are my mother,” or some other confusing relation.  Once you introduce yourself you will forever be recognized and greeted by our friend, Larry.

Although Larry’s behavior is not typical and makes some people uncomfortable, I don’t think it is all that strange, either.  Every day when I walk my dog, run the trails or even grocery shop, I strike up conversations with strangers.  Just this morning I chatted with three different sets of folks that I had never met, mostly about their dogs.  After a short exchange and a scrub behind the ears (for the dog, of course) we parted with a jovial, “Have a great day!” and I carried the glow of making a connection throughout the day. Next time I see them in the park I can wave and greet the pooch by name.  This is a nice reminder that we live in a community.

Of course there are the  people we encounter who have music plugged firmly into their ear-holes and can’t hear our greetings.  You can usually tell them even before you see the wires trailing down their necks by the blank, absent stare in their eyes.  Most of the time I’ll try to make eye contact and say a quick hello, but the zombie, straight-ahead stare tells all and they pass without a nod or a wave.

The other day I’m pretty sure I saw a woman with earphones actually drooling, mouth half open as if she were involved in some unmentionable private matter.  Eyes somewhat glazed over and fixed on some point in the distance, she jogged along on the same trail as my dog and myself, but in a completely different world than the one we inhabited.   I do realize, though, that listening to music is what gets some folks out the door to exercise, so I try not to judge.

Personally, I enjoy making connections along the way.  A little laugh or the shared spotting of wildlife makes me feel part of something bigger. Even if I don’t know the person’s name, political affiliations or even which team they root for, I’ve made a teeny connection.  Through the coincidence of time and place, we are out there sharing a common experience.

The next time you leave your front door, don’t forget to hold your head up and make eye-contact.  Look up from your phone in the grocery line and make faces at the baby in the cart in front of you.  Save the texts for later so you can exchange baby stories with his Mama.  And when you see a friendly little guy on the trail or downtown and he says, “Hey!  I know you!” you can smile and say, “You must be Larry.  Pleased to meet you!”