this is not a victory speech

"You know, Rach, when you told me you were going to do this, I thought you were drunk or something. "

My father said this to me on the phone last night, and aside from the fact that it was no later than noon and I was driving a car on the highway when I told him, I can't blame him a bit. I'd have thought I was drunk too, if I weren't the one having the thought.

I'm not exactly sure what spurred me to sign up back in August. I had promised I would, sure, but that was months ago and the person I promised was out of my life and not about to hold up his end of the bargain, so I didn't owe anyone anything. But a promise is a promise, and a handshake deal is still a deal, even if it's certain that you'll be welched on. So I went to the Team in Training information session, and I signed a contract, and I began the story.

I had the narrative arc all set in my head. Sad, insecure fat girl embarks on a task that challenges her physically and emotionally, stumbles, gets back up, completes task and is thin and confident at the end and maybe even gets the guy back. Victory! Except what happened was "sad, insecure fat girl embarks on a task that challenges her physically and emotionally, gets an ear infection and doesn't run for a month, has a bitch of her time getting her barely-won groove back, doesn't finish the race because she's too slow, and feels like an asshole. Oh, and she's actually gained a little weight and the guy's long gone." Not the fairy tale ending I had hoped for.

But I know that there is a positive side. I know that I left the course only because I had to, and not because I just didn't want to do it anymore. Sure, I wish I'd gotten a more dramatic ending - either an arms-up dash across the finish line or being carried across by a hot EMT or something - but I pushed myself farther than I ever thought I could go, and that's something to be proud of. And, perhaps most shocking, I actually had a really good time. I danced. I ran. I met new people. I high-fived a tuba player. I took off my clothes in a Port-a-Potty. And I cried a lot, overwhelmed by the support of my friends and family (both in person and on the internet) and by the support of complete strangers.

This is the part where I talk about Team in Training.

The people involved with TNT almost literally carried me along the race course. Every 20 feet someone else in a purple singlet would cheer "Go Team!" at me. Or "Hey, Massachusetts, you got this!" Or "Hey, Rachel. You doing okay? You look strong!" Thousands of other racers had names on their backs, like I did, of people they were running in honor of. There were lots of slogans. "You think this is hard? Ask my wife about her chemo." "For my 4 year old niece." "I'm running for you." These shirts, and the people in them, propelled me further and faster than I thought I could go. Coaches sidled up to me, told me to pump my arms more and to keep my head up. They reminded us that happiness was a choice. That what we were doing, collectively and individually, mattered and that we should be proud. Team in Training raised 4 million dollars with that event alone, and that's money that will save lives. I am honored to have been a conduit for a fraction of that money getting to that organization. Thank you to all of you who gave. Thank you for being part of the team.

So, it wasn't the happy ending I had hoped for. And maybe that's okay. But maybe it's just that the story isn't over yet. Ask anyone I've ever dated, and they'll tell you that I'm not a girl who takes the word "no" very well. So there is a significant part of me that is ready to do this again next year, just to make sure I beat it. And maybe I will do that. Or maybe I'll do something else. A different race, or lion taming, or something else altogether. I'm turning 35 this year, after all, and I'll have to do something stupid to celebrate that. Whatever my next step ends up being, I'm grateful to know that you'll be there to run beside me, and that you're on my team.

Oh, boy. Here we go.

Tomorrow morning at 7 AM, I'll be on a flight to Orlando. I'll be spending every minute until then thinking about whether or not I've packed enough socks, whether or not I should bother trying to sleep tonight, and whether or not I should get on the plane at all. I already know the answers to those questions (I have, I won't, I should) but I'll obsess about them anyway. And then once I land I'll obsess about getting to the hotel, getting registered for the race, and drinking water. Then I'll obsess about my friends getting into town, and my dad getting into town, and whether my dad and my friends like each other or if I'll be forced to split my loyalties for some reason. (Won't happen, they're all wonderful.)

And so it will go, all weekend long, until 6 AM Saturday morning. Then the gun will go off, my feet will start to move, and I won't have to think about anything else until someone tells me to stop moving.

See you on the other side, when my brain starts up again.

this entry brought to you by the number 10

Ten years ago, I was a newlywed. Today I am a single lady.
Ten years ago, I lived in the same sleepy suburb I grew up in near my friends from high school. Today I live in a less-sleepy suburb near those friends and a lot of new ones.
Ten years ago, I had no idea what improv comedy was or that anyone in Boston performed it. Today I'm an established member of the community.
Ten years ago, the idea of even watching someone else move on foot for ten miles seemed impossible. Today it's something I've already done.
A lot has changed.

I was nervous leading up to Saturday's run. I hadn't done the long run the week before, and the most mileage I'd done at once was 6. I did a mile on the treadmill at work on Monday and it took FOREVER, so there was no way I was going to come in under 3 hours. I'd lose a shoe. Break my ankle. Coach Andy would get mad at me and kick me out of the program. My headband would suddenly not fit and my ears would freeze. Somehow, something was going to go horribly wrong and I would find a way to screw up and be a complete failure. I put on my sneakers, sure that humiliation was tying itself to my laces.

I got to the meeting point on time, did a little stretching, figured out the first part of the route, and was on my way.

Nothing really eventful happened. I saw a blue jay, which was nice. I smelled some pine trees and some fireplaces and some cinnamon rolls. There was a dead skunk. At least I think it was a skunk. Hard to tell. But I didn't have any sort of breakthrough or epiphany or great idea for a blog post. I just kept going. When parts hurt, I stretched them. When my mentor offered me water, I took it. I got lost once, and tried to figure out how standing at a crossroads between Saugus and Wakefield was symbolic, but it's not. I just kept walking, and passed the point where I was supposed to stop. No one was there to pick me up, so I kept going. For a total of10 miles.

I was one of the only people to finish their miles that day. People got hurt or couldn't make the time limit. My coach didn't realize that I had done it, but didn't seem all that surprised when I corrected him and told him that I had. And I had to admit that I wasn't that surprised either. I know, deep down, that this half marathon is something I can do. The hardest part of all of this has been figuring out how to believe the voice that knows it over the other, louder, meaner one that I'm so used to hearing. It's getting easier. A lot has changed.

About Mikey

This is a piece I did at the fundraiser last month. Everything I perform gets written long-hand in a marble Mead notebook, and I have a tendency to lose those notebooks. I don't want to lose this piece, so I'm putting it up here.

I'd like to talk for a second about Mikey. My sister Jill met Mikey DiPersio when she was 15. He was a Saint Bernard of a kid; big, goofy, always smiling, and always doing his best to make sure you were smiling, too. He loved Jill tremendously. He was fiercely loyal, and would do anything for her. And she was completely not into him. From the big sister perspective, he was perfect. Because we were obnxious teenagers, my sister and I weren't that close back then, so I was glad for Mikey, because I knew he'd take care of her in ways that I couldn't. He protected her from the jerks she dated, and was a shoulder to cry on when she figured out that they were, in fact, jerks. And he took care of me, too. When the stereo on my Buick Century needed to be replaced, he spent hours in the driveway, calibrating things to make sure the bass would make the windows shake and expand, but not explode. Which is important.

Then Mikey started to get sick. Because we were kids, we didn't worry all that much, but when a guy as big and strong as Mikey gets as skinny and drawn as he got, even a kid knows something's wrong.

I was with Jill when she got the call. We were up in her room, and she was on her princess phone. It was a clear one, and you could see the pink and purple wires inside. She picked it up, and for the rest of my life I will remember the way her head dropped and she crumpled against the desk she was sitting on. I will never forget the way all the blood left her face until she was as transparent as the receiver in her hand. And I will never, for the rest of my life, forget the sound of her voice as she said "What kind of cancer?", as though there were a response to that question that would make everything okay again.

Because we were kids, we didn't pay a lot of attention to medical terms. But we knew it was cancer, we knew it was in his blood, and we knew it was bad. And just like Mikey had always been there for her when she needed him, Jill sat by his side when he was sick. And when he got better. And when he got sick again. The second time hit him hard and fast, and and not long afterward, at 21 years old, Mikey died. That was 11 years ago, and I know not a day goes by that my sister doesn't think of him and miss him.

And that's why I'm running this race. To thank Mikey for being a brother to my sister when she needed one, and to do everything I can to make sure no one else's little sister ever has to lose someone they love.

technical difficulties

The donation widget over on the right there seems to be having a bad day. So here's the link where you can donate.

http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/wdw11/rvanderste

You are all wonderful, well-dressed people who I personally admire and would like to hug for an uncomfortably long time.

I'm back. Sort of.

I hate posts where people apologize for not posting in a long time. But still, I feel incredibly guilty because I have been really, really lax. But I have reasons! REASONS!! And I will get into them now.

Well, I'll get into them in a second. Because first I want to talk about the fundraiser. Back in September, I got some amazing and hilarious friends together and did a show called "The Rhoda Monologues" at Mottley's Comedy Club in Boston. The show was a take-off of a show I've been doing for a few years called "I'm the Rhoda", where some friends and I explore the dynamics of female friendships and the built-in competitive dichotomy and other made-up words. Anyway, the show went really well, and people showed up, and we made a bunch of money and I was beyond thrilled. And then I went out to celebrate with my friends, and my wallet, with a bunch of money in it from the raffle, got stolen out of my bag. I was HEARTBROKEN. Absolutely destroyed. People had given me their hard-earned money, which no one has an excess of, and trusted me to give it to one of the worthiest causes on Earth, and I had completely fucked it up. So, like I usually do when I'm upset, I complained about it on the internet. And people came out of the woodwork to donate more generously that I could have imagined, and more than made up for what was originally lost. You did good, folks. You did really good. Thank you.

And then, I got sick. I've been sick with an ear infection for 24 days now. I've been completely miserable. I was in a lot of pain, I couldn't hear anything, my balance was off and I was puking. An all-around terrible time. And during that time, I did zero running. My team long runs went from 4 miles to 7 miles without me. I am WAY behind. I also did no blogging and no fundraising, and so I'm behind on that, too.

But I'm back now.

I still can't really hear out of my right ear, and I've got a lot of doctor's appointments left to go to, but I got approval today to run again. So, it's time to get back into the swing of things. I'll do my part if you'll do yours. As you may recall, I have a generous donor who is going to match all my donations once I get to 50% of my goal. I'm currently at 37%, so if my math is right, which is unlikely, we're about $400 or so from reaching that point. I'd like to hit it by my "recommitment date" of November 4th. Can it be done? I think so. If I can run 7 miles out of the box on Saturday, I think my awesome and generous internet friends can round up a few hundred bucks.

So!! It's business time. It's time for me to get back in the game, and time for you to make that donation you totally meant to make, like, a month ago, but forgot about. Let's get this done, okay? And then I can leave you alone and get back to sitting on the couch all the time.

I have always been a procrastinator. I was the girl finishing her homework seconds before passing it in. Waiting until the last day of the month to renew her inspection sticker for her car. Not saving any money during the month and then scrambling to pay rent. I still haven't written anything for my fundraiser show on Thursday. (You guys know about the fundraiser show on Thursday, right? The Rhoda Monologues? At Mottley's? 8:00? 12 bucks? With raffle prizes and amazing comedy? With tickets available at www.mottleyscomedy.com? Oh, you know? Great.)

I've always done it because it's never not been okay. I always manage to pull something out of my butt and make it work at the last second. It is becoming increasingly clear that that's not going to happen with this race. I can't just show up on race day and expect to be able to move myself 13.1 miles without putting in the work first. I need to do the training. I need to work to accomplish a goal. It sounds really weird, but that's not something I've ever actually done. Most things in my life have just sort of come easily to me. I'm really smart, so school was no problem. And when it was, I left. I have a lot of great friends who are willing to help me out with stuff I can't do myself. If something's too hard, I either don't do it or just get someone to do it for me. But no one can run this race for me. No one can make me eat the right things, keep the right schedule, put on my sneakers and put in the miles. Those are all things I have to do myself, and I have to keep doing them, all the time, in order for it to get any easier. This is not something I'm having an easy time of. But I'm trying to remember that the goal isn't just to get across the finish line, but to get across strong, on my own two feet. And to do that, I have to work for it.

I know I have a few readers who are runners. How in the crap do you keep yourselves motivated?