Grief

I completed my running plan this past week. It went great. I feel fresh and am so glad that this week is a "recovery week". 

On Friday, I finished up a 15-mile run. I was feeling really proud of myself. I showered, got into work and checked in on email and social media where I saw this news: 

Michael Ollis, a childhood friend of mine was killed in action in Afghanistan.

His father was my coach. The first coach I ever had that said these words to me "If you want to play college soccer, you can get there. Let's do what it takes." And then he helped me to do exactly that.

His daughter Kelly and I spent every Saturday and Sunday together playing soccer. And you know who was always there? Michael.

During every practice and game. Meal and party. Little Mikey was there. He was 10ish years younger than us but he was hilarious and we all loved him like he was our brother. 

I remember hearing he was going in the Army and going to the Middle East. Every time there was a major conflict or attack, I would be scouring the news for a piece of information about him. Hoping for the best. Every time he came home and the family would post pictures on Facebook of him,I would breathe a deep breath and be so glad he was safe. 

On Friday, a classmate from hs posted the news of his death of Facebook and it was the first thing I saw. It felt like I got hit with a bat. 

I am so deeply sad. Mikey was killed in Afghanistan during a battle with an IED and small arms fire. He was only 24 years old and had recently been awarded the Bronze Star. He was truly a hero.

With my own father having retired from the Army, I know the sacrifices families make to protect our freedom. But never have I felt it so acutely as I walk around my town in relative safety and freedom. 

I am so proud to have known and loved Mikey Ollis. He is a American Hero.

As my father said yesterday when I spoke to him, "You don't get to choose those whom you fight for. We stand for freedom and that what he was doing." It's a different life and one that is hard to explain or understand when our biggest problem is that we ran out of coffee filters and forgot to buy more. In other parts of the world, life or death is actually being worked out daily. Simple basic necessities are being fought for on behalf of innocent people. And we have 24-year-old men standing up and dying and fighting for just these people.

I am so proud SSGT. Michael Ollis. I am so sad for Bob, Linda, Kelly and Kim. 

I feel a million miles away because I am. 

These are the times when it is hard to have moved away and to have lived a deep life with those you lived amongst. 

I can't wait to get up there for the NYC Marathon and hug their necks. 

Mile 1: Staten Island

A lot of people think about the NYC Marathon and Staten Island and think of it as simply the starting point. Mile 1. Just get off the island and onto the bridge and then the race will begin. 

This is EXACTLY how I felt in high school.

Now I can't wait to get back there. 

My dad was stationed in Bayonne, NJ. We moved from Carlisle, Pennsylvania and were assigned housing on Staten Island exactly two weeks before I started high school. We moved onto the base, Ft. Wadsworth onto Mont Sec Avenue and thought we were going to be there for two years. 

This was our house. 

We ended up living there for four years.

I lived at the top of that fire escape. 

This is actually a duplex-type house. We lived on the left side.

I loved the front porch.

 It was old and ginormous. And awesome. 

One 1/2 hour ferry ride from Manhattan. For four years of my life. 

It is still crazy to think about. 

 I played an insane amount of soccer on in high school. If you know high schoolers who play travel ball, you understand. If you don't, buckle up...because eventually you will and it will frustrate the bejesus out of you because they don't do anything other than that.

Well, that was my life in high school.
Every Saturday and Sunday morning we were on the soccer field. Or getting ready to spend the entire day/weekend/night on the field.

With that being said, we would watch the setup for the marathon the whole week. The mile long urinal, the port-a-potties, the signage, the goodwill donation boxes...it was insane! International kids at my high school would go into the radio studio and record pre-race instructions for international racers. The whole place was crazy for the marathon.

And I would have to get up super early in the morning, get across the Verrazano Narrows Bridge so that we would be able to avoid the race and get to our soccer games. Then we would have to hang out on Long Island all day waiting for them open the roads again so we could navigate the insane traffic, then back across the bridge to get home.

My mom and I would get home to be greeted by my dad and brother who would share with us the "goodwill bounty" of the day. All of the clothes that runners throw off before the race would become next years "pre-game" clothing for me. I loved old school Adidas warmups and really worn out sweatshirts and this was like HEAVEN. My dad would find all these things, wash them and have them waiting on me when I got home. 

I had two pair of Adidas pants that I wore until there were holes throughout them in college from Marathon Sunday. 

The craziest thing about running this marathon is that I have NEVER GOTTEN TO SEE IT. 

Not a minute. I always wanted to. It's like a myth to me. 

Because of soccer, I never got to be a part of this most insane race on the planet. 

Then this year, I was so excited about the marathon, just tuning into to see what would happen. 

Then the weather turned. 

It turned nasty. 

Mayor Bloomberg and the race directors were making crazy decisions because well...

people's homes and lives were all the sudden: GONE. 

These were my classmates from high school! 

Their parents, grandparents, themselves!

Facebook was crazy. 

Also, I had several friends who were supposed to run the race. 

It was nuts. 

They needed to cancel the race, but what a tough situation for everyone. 

Right then, I knew I wanted to be back there on the starting line the next year. 

2013.

One year after Sandy.

17 years after I graduated from high school. 

The place that got me off the island and into South Carolina.

Playing college soccer.

Working in ministry.

Meeting my husband.

Gaining a career.

Having kids.

So much has changed in me since I left Staten Island and so much of me was formed during my years there. I love that I grew up there and that I was able to leave to have the life that I have now. 

I can't wait to get back and hit that starting line. 

Classic New Yorkers. 

Click here to donate to Inheritance of Hope 

and help me get there! 

NYC Marathon

I all talk and no action when it comes to the NYC Marathon. Obsessed with it but not to the point of running it. Yet.

Marathon Sunday was yesterday and like all good former New Yorkers, my mind and heart turned towards Central Park.

Well, not so much Central Park-just the Verrazano Narrows. The start line for the race is on Staten Island.

It was literally outside the front door of my house when I was in high school living on the base at Ft. Wadsworth.

Unfortunately, on Marathon Sunday I always had soccer games. So we had to get up before 6am and get across the bridge BEFORE they closed it. But my dad and brother would hang around watch the start and then collect all of warm-ups that everybody ditched at the start line. We would go through it all, find the good stuff and take the rest to Goodwill.

Weeks before the start of the marathon; port-a-pottys would arrive, a mile long urinal, and all kinds of supplies would get into place. The whole fort would be a buzz. The kids in my high school that were from other countries would be selected to record arrival/start instructions in their native languages for the loud speakers.

It gets in you.

I spent some time this morning on the NY Times Marathon Blog and I just saw this video. It shows in two minutes what the start of the marathon looks like from the top of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. While you watch, to the right of the bridge on the water is a fort. Just above it is the road I lived on.

We spent MANY MANY days in high school exploring that old spooky fort. It makes you all kinds of nostalgic.

Maybe next year.