There is this old parable about the girl who went half way across the world to meet the boy next door. I remember it vaguely from my childhood. The story went something like this: there was this girl who was determined that her soulmate was out there, so she left home on this grand adventure to a place far far away to find him. In this place she meets a boy that she's crazy about and it turns out they have a lot in common...down to their address. She lives in Apt 5F, and he lives in Apt 5E.
Well, I cased the island of Manhattan looking for an apartment, and finally found one...in the building opposite from my parents. In the same complex that they live in, and what's more, my mother once lived in this exact apartment when she was single. I am the girl who went searching all over town for the apartment next door.
But all irony aside, yes, I'm moving and it is quite official. In exchange for poverty, I will finally be able to hear my own thoughts, under my own roof.
My impending date-of-habitation has given me the opportunity to participate in something every Virgo loves more than Christmas: the opportunity to organize organize ORGANIZE!!!! That is how I recently spent my Saturday. And in doing this I had the chance to experience something quite unexpected: my life in the past year and a half was literally paraded before my eyes.
Now I have to talk about my friend Don. Don once told me that in the first year out of college and into the adult world, you become the person you are ultimately going to be. Whoa! No pressure there. There is also another point in mentioning Don. This might be hard to believe, but sometimes I tend to whine a bit when I'm stressed out, or things aren't going my way. Don, in particular, has reminded me more than once that I lead a fantastic life. And sometimes I do need reminding.
Saturday was interesting. Around my parents' apartment I went, waltzing with a giant trash bag. I took no prisoners. But when I say I literally relived the past year and a half, I mean it. In the course of the Great Clean, I found movie stubs to every movie I went to, and with each one I remembered what time of year it was and who I went with. I found programs to the Philharmonic and Shakespeare in the Park. I found the Broadway Playbills I've amassed over the past year. I found photographs of my vacation to Fort Lauderdale, and my comical New Hampshire mountain climb in July. I found receipts....carefully thought out gifts that I bought for people who are no longer in my life, and the gifts that in turn gave me. And the whole time, I was gradually realizing that it's been a year of healing, and growth, and regrowing, and living.
Now, I don't want to sound shallow. Remember, I do volunteer...but I also got to see where my shopping over the past year has gotten me. I held up many a dress or top on Saturday exclaiming "ooohh! I looooovvveee this." Part of the fun of cleaning is finding the things you forgot you had.
And speaking of finding the things I forgot I had, I guess I found evidence of the person I will ultimately be, and I was glad. Now I'm going to move her across the way!
Monday, November 15, 2004
Sunday, November 07, 2004
WHAT Mary's Been: A Watergirl at the New York City Marathon
If I had to limit who I am to one-word terms, these are the three labels I would probably choose for myself: a life insurance underwriter (that is my profession), a singer (am celebrating 15 years as a "music-hobbyist" and am currently preparing for another concert in a month), and a writer (yes, that is really what I'm attempting to do here, believe it or not).
Once in a great while I get the opportunity to stray from the roles I've adopted and, just for a couple of hours, I get to take on a new "occupation" (which is almost always volunteer). For example, last March I had the opportunity to be one of the pledge-takers working diligently away answering phones for a Channel Thirteen pledge drive. For a few hours, I was a member of the television industry, and it was an incredible night because PBS made more than $250,000, which broke a record. Today, I got to take advantage of another incredible opportunity: being a water-girl at Mile 16 of the New York City Marathon.
When my friend Victoria presented this opportunity to me back in early September, it was a little hard to wrap my head around what we'd actually be doing. Vic lives around the corner from Mile 16...the famous site on the route which is right off the 59th Street Bridge. Since the Marathon is run in all five boroughs, the 59th Street Bridge marks the runners' first entry into Manhattan. As a side note, this morning, when my other friend Leah (who also participated) was asking what was so special about Mile 16, I replied that it's a scene of great revelry as the runners enter Manhattan...which is nothing new because most people feel like celebrating everytime they leave Queens and enter Manhattan (sorry! sorry! hideously snobby thing to say...and to go on to actually write, but we all know I have a wicked streak).
ALL cheap shots aside, this morning I rolled out of bed a mere 15 minutes later than I would normally sleep on a week day, and found myself on First Avenue, wearing a Pine-Tree Green windbreaker with a huge "POLAND SPRING" printed on the back, and a badge around my neck that said "marathon staff." Our first task was actually something I found oddly therapeutic: taking a million wax paper cups, sheets of cardboard, and perhaps the greatest number of gallon jugs of water ever assembled in one place, and creating a giant water tower...four layers tall, on long, varnished tables. It was my job to pour the water in the cups before the wind could blow them away. It felt great...getting to grapple with the wind and overcoming it after only a few minor spills...also my right arm (which held the jug) took advantage of the odd toning-opportunity.
The Tower of Water completed, we focused on getting ready to welcome the runners in other ways. We were given these giant orange "rooters" which are long tubes that you blow up, and when you slam them together, they make a racket....and I mean come on, they are big, and plastic, and orange, so it goes without saying that you have an automatic party where these contraptions are concerned. Amongst my group of friends, we also found an essential use for these rooters: 'thwapping each other with them. Thus, the therapeutic activities continued.
We got to put the rooters to good use, however, when the first athletes started coming through...all of these athletes were very special because none of them had the use of their legs, so they were travelling on special racers powered exclusively by their upper body. It was beautiful, really, to see these athletes compete and to keep in mind the example they were showing: that we must work with what we are given, but even when something that devastating happens to you, things like marathons are still possible with a lot of hard work and the right attitude.
Following the special athletes, the Elite Runners started coming through. These are the people that I have watched the marathon on television for every year since the seventh grade. They fascinate me because they typically complete this monmouth race in under two and a half hours. To me, that's heroic. I learned today that these heroes didn't seem to need all that much water, because here we all were, in a line of 60 people on First Avenue, holding out water, hoping...HOPING that one of these Olympians would choose our cup (and also that we wouldn't drop it, causing them to trip, and lose the race). There certainly weren't many takers at first.
But once the other 29,750 runners started coming through, we started going through cups rapidly. I also discovered the REAL reason why I'd gotten out of bed so freakishly early on a Sunday: male marathon runners err on the "cute" to the "Oh My Lord, I've Forgotten My Own Name He's So Gorgeous" side. Delivering much needed hydration to these adonis-es? Um. Yeah. I can do that. Furthermore, we were told before the start of the race that many runners typically displayed their names on their shirts, and when we saw this we were encouraged to cheer them by name. Delivering much needed hydration to athletic adonis-es...AND having a mandate to HOOT at them?! Again....
Leaving my blatantly PI sexual harassment aside, Vic and I cheered everyone, irregardless of whether we wanted their phone numbers. Some people were serious about it and just kept on going (heck, I would, you are pretty vulnerable by your 16th mile of running), but many smiled...and I mean real, genuine "aw shucks, go on!" smiles, and some even sped up once they heard us yelling things like "Lookin' good, Emma!!!!" I also had a lot of French runners taking my cups...which I think is a good sign because I've been dying to go back to Paris on vacation (I got to visit Paree for two and a half days on a high school tour and fell a petit bit in love with it), but with the recent election I was thinking of postponing until there's a president in the White House who can rub two braincells together (yup, went there, BRING it!!!). However, now, who knows, I might go, being careful to state that I'm "from New York City."
Two keen observations that Vic and I had, as we recapped the experience: 1) we are both damn tired, and this is humbling, considering the exhaustion we feel is NOTHING compared to those wonderful runners. 2) these athletes were in a zone today...completing something they'd trained for VERY hard, yet many of them still took the time to thank us for handing them water. Some even thanked us for being there. Being able to come out and help out my heroes today involved no disillusionment. Though they were sweat-drenched, haggard, and just trying to keep on going, they still displayed unprecedented class.
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Once in a great while I get the opportunity to stray from the roles I've adopted and, just for a couple of hours, I get to take on a new "occupation" (which is almost always volunteer). For example, last March I had the opportunity to be one of the pledge-takers working diligently away answering phones for a Channel Thirteen pledge drive. For a few hours, I was a member of the television industry, and it was an incredible night because PBS made more than $250,000, which broke a record. Today, I got to take advantage of another incredible opportunity: being a water-girl at Mile 16 of the New York City Marathon.
When my friend Victoria presented this opportunity to me back in early September, it was a little hard to wrap my head around what we'd actually be doing. Vic lives around the corner from Mile 16...the famous site on the route which is right off the 59th Street Bridge. Since the Marathon is run in all five boroughs, the 59th Street Bridge marks the runners' first entry into Manhattan. As a side note, this morning, when my other friend Leah (who also participated) was asking what was so special about Mile 16, I replied that it's a scene of great revelry as the runners enter Manhattan...which is nothing new because most people feel like celebrating everytime they leave Queens and enter Manhattan (sorry! sorry! hideously snobby thing to say...and to go on to actually write, but we all know I have a wicked streak).
ALL cheap shots aside, this morning I rolled out of bed a mere 15 minutes later than I would normally sleep on a week day, and found myself on First Avenue, wearing a Pine-Tree Green windbreaker with a huge "POLAND SPRING" printed on the back, and a badge around my neck that said "marathon staff." Our first task was actually something I found oddly therapeutic: taking a million wax paper cups, sheets of cardboard, and perhaps the greatest number of gallon jugs of water ever assembled in one place, and creating a giant water tower...four layers tall, on long, varnished tables. It was my job to pour the water in the cups before the wind could blow them away. It felt great...getting to grapple with the wind and overcoming it after only a few minor spills...also my right arm (which held the jug) took advantage of the odd toning-opportunity.
The Tower of Water completed, we focused on getting ready to welcome the runners in other ways. We were given these giant orange "rooters" which are long tubes that you blow up, and when you slam them together, they make a racket....and I mean come on, they are big, and plastic, and orange, so it goes without saying that you have an automatic party where these contraptions are concerned. Amongst my group of friends, we also found an essential use for these rooters: 'thwapping each other with them. Thus, the therapeutic activities continued.
We got to put the rooters to good use, however, when the first athletes started coming through...all of these athletes were very special because none of them had the use of their legs, so they were travelling on special racers powered exclusively by their upper body. It was beautiful, really, to see these athletes compete and to keep in mind the example they were showing: that we must work with what we are given, but even when something that devastating happens to you, things like marathons are still possible with a lot of hard work and the right attitude.
Following the special athletes, the Elite Runners started coming through. These are the people that I have watched the marathon on television for every year since the seventh grade. They fascinate me because they typically complete this monmouth race in under two and a half hours. To me, that's heroic. I learned today that these heroes didn't seem to need all that much water, because here we all were, in a line of 60 people on First Avenue, holding out water, hoping...HOPING that one of these Olympians would choose our cup (and also that we wouldn't drop it, causing them to trip, and lose the race). There certainly weren't many takers at first.
But once the other 29,750 runners started coming through, we started going through cups rapidly. I also discovered the REAL reason why I'd gotten out of bed so freakishly early on a Sunday: male marathon runners err on the "cute" to the "Oh My Lord, I've Forgotten My Own Name He's So Gorgeous" side. Delivering much needed hydration to these adonis-es? Um. Yeah. I can do that. Furthermore, we were told before the start of the race that many runners typically displayed their names on their shirts, and when we saw this we were encouraged to cheer them by name. Delivering much needed hydration to athletic adonis-es...AND having a mandate to HOOT at them?! Again....
Leaving my blatantly PI sexual harassment aside, Vic and I cheered everyone, irregardless of whether we wanted their phone numbers. Some people were serious about it and just kept on going (heck, I would, you are pretty vulnerable by your 16th mile of running), but many smiled...and I mean real, genuine "aw shucks, go on!" smiles, and some even sped up once they heard us yelling things like "Lookin' good, Emma!!!!" I also had a lot of French runners taking my cups...which I think is a good sign because I've been dying to go back to Paris on vacation (I got to visit Paree for two and a half days on a high school tour and fell a petit bit in love with it), but with the recent election I was thinking of postponing until there's a president in the White House who can rub two braincells together (yup, went there, BRING it!!!). However, now, who knows, I might go, being careful to state that I'm "from New York City."
Two keen observations that Vic and I had, as we recapped the experience: 1) we are both damn tired, and this is humbling, considering the exhaustion we feel is NOTHING compared to those wonderful runners. 2) these athletes were in a zone today...completing something they'd trained for VERY hard, yet many of them still took the time to thank us for handing them water. Some even thanked us for being there. Being able to come out and help out my heroes today involved no disillusionment. Though they were sweat-drenched, haggard, and just trying to keep on going, they still displayed unprecedented class.
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
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