I'm a 10!

I ran 10 miles yesterday! Can you believe it?! I barely can.

Back in January, when I first received the flyer and contemplated participating in the half-marathon in San Francisco, I remember saying, “Can you imagine that? 13 miles. Wow, if I could run that, that would be amazing.” And now, here I am saying I ran 10 miles and running an entire marathon. I can hear my grandpa’s voice right now, “See, kid, whatever you put your mind to, you can do.” And I’d like to add that it’ll take you beyond anything you ever expected.

So, in honor of becoming 10’s, and due to the painfully needed cool weekend we finally received, I think it’s time we had an ITALIAN LESSON!

As many of you know, I have been learning Italian from language tapes (mp3’s), because while I grew up with it spoken around me, I just never became fluent in it. I’ve always wanted to learn it, and Spanish, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. So, with all that being said, today’s word is mangia.

You’ve heard this word, if not in a Scorsese flick, than definitely in an Olive Garden commercial. It’s a word that definitely requires a certain degree of underarm fat to say it properly. And while some of you say the word casually, “eat” and point to spread laid out before you, for most of my life, thanks mainly to my great-grandma, I only heard it as “EAT!” as in, “Mangia! Mangia! Eeeaatt! Eeaatt!”

She was in her 70s by the time I was born, and she had white hair with sparkling blue eyes. She always had her door open and always had a pot stewing. I would visit her every Sunday with my grandpa after she came back from church. We always arrived through the back entrance into the kitchen, and immediately our arrival (and she did it with all guests), she would begin a 10-minute process of walking between the table and the cupboard to pull out armfuls of Tupperware containers filled with her various homemade cookies. By the time she was done, you couldn’t see the tablecloth. So when she said “Mangia!” it wasn’t an invitation, it was a command. I absolutely loved her cookies, so I didn’t need much coaxing to start eating them, but not stopping to take a break without her yelling at me was tough! I mean, when will adults learn to ease up and let kids eat cookies at their own speed, scheesh.

But thanks to my language tapes, I learned a thing or two about mangia and the wonderful world of eating. Instead of telling me, she could of asked, “Mangia?” (Wanna eat?) or perhaps, she could of asked, “Verribe mangiare quell’cosa?” (Would you like to eat something?) See, how polite that is. And then on top of it, she could of ask “Adesso o piu tardi?” (Now or later?) I mean, I think I’m emotionally scarred here. Still to this day, when I see cookies (or any sweets for that matter), I must eat them. It’s like I’m race track horse and my great-grandma has just rung the bell, “Mangia! Mangia! Eat! Eat!”

But maybe in the end, I’m all wrong and my poor great-grandma, may she rest in peace, is receiving some undue slander. Perhaps she was actually cheering me on all this time, saying “You’re eating! You’re eating!” Too bad I didn’t know all this sooner.

It sure can be tough being Italian sometimes. No wonder we’re fighting all the time. It’s probably because we don’t understand what we’re saying to each other, especially if you’re too busy eating cookies and not paying attention.

Oh well, what can you do? No matter how it’s said, you have to eat, right?

Or (apparently) as they say in Italy, “Mangia la minestra o salta dalla finestra!"

("Eat this soup or jump out of the window!", an expression meaning “You have no choice.”)


Well, that concludes our lesson. And until next time… please be well and mangia! mangia!