Finisher 2020

It is an impressive piece of hardware.

Not just because you could probably knock someone out with it but to me, the most striking part is what it says -

Finisher 2020

During the summer, my husband enrolled in the virtual Richard S. Caliguiri City of Pittsburgh Great Race. I almost forgot I was part of the original plan to participate in the event. The idea came to us after my uncle passed away back on January 1. I wanted to honor his memory by competing in the Great Race as he did some 30 years ago. 

There was a photo on my grandparents’ television of my uncle crossing the finish line. I was always so proud of this photo and, as a kid, I would look at it in awe. That photo remains etched in my mind now that I completely comprehend how much preparation it took for him to be ready for the 6.21 miles. 

To be honest, I knew I had a lot of work to do to get ready for an event of this magnitude. My longest run had only been a 5k and that took everything I could give. But when you make a plan in January for something that would take place eight months later, you figure you have plenty of time to prepare.

No one knew what would happen just three months after the ball dropped on 2019. 

When I look back on our original Great Race plan it seems like decades ago. I had completely planned on getting myself in running shape and proudly crossing the finish line wearing a tee shirt showcasing the bib number from my uncle’s race. 

So as with most things that were planned for 2020 - the Great Race became a virtual event. That sealed the deal for me in terms of participation. I didn’t want to honor my uncle virtually. It was back in May when organizers decided to make it a more pandemic friendly event and by that time, I had already made the switch to cycling. (My family and I started taking frequent bike rides to pass the time when we were in lockdown.)

My husband decided to still go through with the race. I was proud of him for entering his 10K time of 50 minutes and 14 seconds which he earned running around the former Eastland Mall site. Once he submitted his information, he was mailed the typical race swag - event t-shirt and medal. 

Again, the medal is an impressive piece of hardware, with the event name and date on it framed by the city skyline and autumn leaves. But I particularly like the way the word “finisher” and the year “2020” come together in the left-hand corner. Looking at the medal, really examining it, I thought we all deserve a medal for getting through this year. God knows it wasn’t easy. 

These past 360 days seem more like 1,080 days and even looking back to this past January seems like a completely different year. We’ve all had obstacles and disappointments to overcome but we’ve made it. We all deserve a pat on the back and definitely a medal!

Yes, I realize that moving from December 31, 2020 to January 1, 2021 won’t make a big difference. There is no magic fairy that is coming down to “poof” all the bad away, but putting the past 365 days in the rear-view mirror and looking ahead to a fresh clean slate does add a little spring to my step. 

There are so many things to look forward to in the year ahead - covid-19 cases decreasing, restrictions being lifted, socially UN-distant family gatherings, please add your wishes and desires to the list. 

I would like to thank each of you for being a part of my 2020 therapy. Writing these blogs and often getting feedback has been one of my comforts during these past 12 months. I hope we continue to stick together through the upcoming year ahead. I wish everyone a hopeful and healthy 2021.

Flippin' Crazy

It all happened so fast. 

In the blink of an eye I was laying face down in the snow thinking one thought and one thought only.

I'm dead. I'm dead. I've died. I'm dead. 

Ok. That sounds a bit weird to be thinking of a line from the movie Finding Nemo (the scene when Dory and Marlin think they have been eaten by the anglerfish) right after you've heard every bone in your neck crack, but that is where I was at.

Let’s rewind. The other day, I decided to take my kids sled riding where I used to go as a child. After we received eight inches of snow and our superintendent declared a snow day, I felt like I didn’t have a choice. The fates were pushing me in the direction of fun. 

We have been very fortunate to have a small hill in our backyard that has provided an avenue for sledding for the past 16 years. Our neighbors have been gracious enough to let my kiddos ride the powder highway into their yard for almost two decades. While that is nice to have, it is also nice to take it to another thrill level and that was my mission.

There is a large hill, a.k.a. “The Mound”, in McKeesport. It not only was the best place for winter recreation but in the summer, it was a great place to watch the July 4th fireworks. It was close enough to our house that my brother and I could walk there if we had to, probably a ten minute trek, armed with sleds and a dream.

There was a little dip at the bottom of the hill that if you hit it with enough speed your sled would go flying into the road so it was important to always have a spotter in case a car would come by. I called the dip the “backbreaker”. 

I had taken my kids to The Mound before but it has been a while since we’ve had a significant snow. I could only entice two of the three kids to go but nonetheless we packed up our sleds in the van and made the 7 minute drive. 

Once there, the kids and I hiked to the top of the hill. I forgot how hard it was to trudge uphill through ten inches of snow. I was surprised to see there weren’t many sled tracks visible. Usually, The Mound is a pretty popular place for kids to go. But this just meant my kids would have to go down a few times before really getting the full speed effect. 

My youngest was frustrated by this and using his saucer sled made things a bit more difficult. (You have very little steering ability with these types of sleds.) So I had to keep providing encouragement. My daughter though, was having the time of her life on her orange toboggan type sled - speeding down the hill. 

At first, I was just an observer and car spotter, but my daughter’s enthusiasm was contagious. I wanted to try too! So I made a couple runs down the hill, channeling my inner kiddo -yelling all the way down. I guess I got carried away and decided to give the saucer a go as well. 

At this point my son had made a good path and I followed it for the most part.  I did veer to the left in an uncharted section of snow which stopped me in my tracks. I started to walk back up the hill and my daughter decided to go warm up in the car. I told my son three more runs and we would go home. 

He was now using the orange sled which was way better for this type of snow and I was demoted to the blue saucer. My next run was the fateful venture that resulted in the saucer spinning around and, as I was traveling backwards down the hill,  pretty fast I might add - I hit something that booted me from the saucer and propelled my legs to go completely over the top of my head. 

My son watched the whole thing in amazement and was totally unaware of the potential for serious injury. He exclaimed, “Wow, Mom you completely flipped!” 

As I got up, somewhat in shock, I realized if I could walk and move my head things must be ok. I also told myself if I had broken something I would be in pain. I told my youngest to wrap it up. It was time to go home. 

It has been a few days since the sledding incident and I am happy to report I am ok. I am still a little sore but I think my shoulder area bore the brunt of the flip which is probably why I am not writing this in a full head/neck harness. 

My take away?  I am not sure. I mean I don’t want to think I am too old to go sled riding but maybe I’m too old to go sled riding? Although next time, I could pad it up like the Steelers do before they take the field. I can get some nice shoulder pads and a padded helmet and make a real statement when I hit the slopes in the ‘Port.

Who knows? But for now the only saucer I’ll be coming in contact with is the one that goes underneath my coffee cup. 

Merry Christmas everyone! 

 

St. Nick Reboot

Now that we have jumped head first into the Christmas season, there is a lot of talk about Santa Claus' alias - St. Nick. Growing up Byzantine Catholic, looking at ornate icons of the saints during liturgy each Sunday, I could never quite understand how the man we know as Santa evolved from St. Nick but as long as there were presents involved, who was I to question it.

St. Nicholas Day (December 6) was celebrated each year when I was little by putting our shoes by the door the night before in hopes of receiving small treats and money. There was nothing extravagant about St. Nick Day but I remember fondly the chocolates, coins and sometimes dollar bills that would be waiting in the morning. (Tradition has it that St. Nicholas once secretly threw bags of dowry money into the window of a poor family to save the daughters from being sold into slavery which morphed into the shoe custom of today.)

As a young girl I attended a Catholic school in McKeesport which was named for St. Nicholas. December 6 was celebrated first by going to liturgy, then special lunch in the cafeteria with a visit by the saint himself. I am not sure who had the honor of dressing up in the bishop's vestments (appropriate for Nicholas who during his lifetime served as a bishop in a town in Turkey) but once he arrived we would stand and sing the Hymn to St. Nicholas in both English and Church Slavonic. 

I was a painfully shy child and I did not like it very much when I was called to "perform" in front of people. Once I began piano lessons, I became the reluctant Liberace whenever someone came to visit. "Kris, play that new one you just learned. You know that one I like with the da-da-da and bab-bab-baaa." Yes, my parents were proud just to hear me play but I was so nervous I could hardly read the notes. I tried to get through as quickly as possible so I could be done. 

One day when I was six we went to visit my grandpap Nick in the nursing home and I was once again called to perform. This time I was asked to sing the Church Slavonic version of the St. Nick hymn. Obviously, I did not want to do this. I could muster my way ok enough through the English but seriously, another language? Plus, my grandfather was suffering with Alzheimer's disease and did not recognize anyone in the room that day. Not my mom, not his wife and certainly not me. 'So why did I have to sing,' I thought?

I did not want to disappoint my mom even though I was troubled by selfish thoughts. It did not occur to me at the time how painful it must have been for her to be there with her father who was not present - or so I thought. 

I began singing and after the first few words, I had accompaniment. My grandfather joined me without missing a beat. He did not remember his family but he remembered the words to a song he probably sang countless times on his name saint's feast day. As you can imagine the tears flowed freely from the eyes of my mother and her mother, once again catching a glimpse of the man they knew. 

At the tender age of six, I was not able to fully comprehend the moment and could only wonder why these ladies, who had asked me to sing in the first place, were now obviously upset. Six-year-olds do not know how to recognize tears of joy.

Now decades after that beautiful memory, I have my own Nicholas, named after his great-grandfather. He has a special meal each year on his feast day and even though he is in his twenties, he did engage with me this week when I asked him what he would like us to prepare. And yes, he and his brother put out their shoes last night.

At church on Sunday I will hear the words that gave my grandfather a voice in the silence of his disease. Centuries ago, St. Nicholas may have secretly brought gifts of money to the poor but in the 80's he gave my family the sweetest gift when two unlikely voices joined in his name, bringing joy to our world that Christmas season.