Rossini the Runner - AIDS Marathon, Italy 2006

L.A. Marathon

2007-03-12T09:29:00.000-07:00

You might be wondering what I’ve been doing since I’ve come back. Unfortunately, not much running. You know how it goes, working a lot in January to pick up the slack for the holidays, then, you know, auto accident in February. You know how things go. It’s nothing to get alarmed about, but it did prevent me from running.

I’m easing back into it again, and what better way to celebrate getting motion again then to support other runners. Last weekend, I joined some running buddies at the L.A. Marathon. “What?”, you might be asking, “But I thought you just said…” Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t running. I helped APLA pass out water and Gaterade at Mile 19.

Rochelle and I decided to volunteer for the latter part of the marathon, so by the time we arrived, many runners had already completed. Practically everyone that passing us were walking and looked rather haggard. It was a surprisingly warm day, which wasn’t helping them, poor things. So, I got to be quite a cheerleader. “What to go! Keep it up! You’re doing great!” Another very cool feature about this marathon was that if a person registered by a certain time, their first name was printed directly onto their number bib. So, we would also call out their names. It was so rewarding to see a bit of sparkle return to tired eyes and smiles magically appear as they kept trudging forward.

Since Mile 19 was downtown, it was very convenient to just use the transit system, so that added to my experience. On the way back, the train was rather crowded with marathoners. My favorite moment was at one particular stop where the trains were cleared of its passengers. Watching the herd of slow-moving runners shuffle along the platform made me laugh. I thought, “It’s the Night of Living Runners!” I wish I had brought my camera, that’s for sure.

Being part of this experience definitely got my “let’s get running” juices flowing. The hard part is just getting back into the habit of it, but I'm sure that'll happen. I just keep reminding myself: one step at a time.

So stay tuned. More soon…

SPECIAL POST: Italy Trip Finale

2007-02-19T12:48:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! Forgive my lengthy pauses between posts. It’s been a rather productive new year, and hopefully some great news to come in the months ahead.. So with that, let’s take a quick little tour of my last leg through Italy, where I traveled alone.

First stop, ROME.

I can’t tell you why, but I wasn’t expecting to get real excited about this city, but then I went to the Colosseum and everything changed. I mean, how could I not like Rome? It’s my kind of city. Grand. Outgoing. Hedonistic. I can’t imagine anyone have an in between opinion about this city. Either you like it or you don’t.

Oh and look, my house is just next door.

I stayed three nights in Rome, and fortunately, since I was staying in a hostel that made connecting with folks a lot easier (lots of Australians this time of year). My highlight, though, was while venturing out alone.

Last night in Rome. Two men. Italian. Both with heads shaved bald. Both shared the same birthday (different years). There names: Stefano and Sandro. Great guys. They actually became friends while traveling in America, and we all shared a laugh over their similarities. The best part was when the three of us were walking around, and Sandro turned it into an architectural tour, giving us insights into the how’s and why’s of Rome’s stunning buildings. My experience was made complete when they drive me back to my place in one of those little European cars. It was a blast! At the end, we exchanged email addresses and such, and I had to start laughing, when Sandro asked, “MySpace?” Oh, such a small world we are becoming.

By the time I had to say goodbye to Rome, I didn’t want to leave. I felt like I had become a resident. Well, maybe I dream about that for the future. Right now, LUCCA is waiting. Off we go!

Well, after a stop in Florence, of course. See, I left Florence without buying a pair of boots. Over the course of days that had passed, those boots became a damn near obsession of mine. So the plan was on the way to Lucca, stop in Florence, get the boots, get on the train, and go.

It was going to be my one big splurge. I didn’t even know if by buying these boots, I would wind up penniless at the end of the trip. Oh well, I figured, if that happens, at least I’ll look great at my funeral. But there was a snag in my plan. Or rather, a tear. Seems like the only pair in my size required a little stitching at the seam. If I wanted them to do it, I would have to wait for the seamstress to return from lunch, hours later. Buy or don’t buy?

Oh hell, let’s get ‘em. We’ll fix ‘em in Lucca. And that set the pace for my visit. I was a LOCAL IN LUCCA. I was there for two nights (or one full day) and I had all these errands to do. Laundry, post office, and such, so that’s what I did. I stayed at this adorable place, and had the shared dorm room all to myself.

The tourist information office pointed me to the place to get my boots repaired. The man spoke English because he had lived in Australia for some time, but we didn’t need to speak the same language for him to understand the look on my face when he mentioned replacing the whole seam. I told him to do the best that he could so that I could have them by 10am the next morning.

Then I stepped out, navigating my way through the beautiful historic center of Lucca,

to eat local treats at the open-air market, went to the local post office and successfully handled that transaction in my broken Italian, and even had a bottle of wine uncorked at the local grocery store. I even took a stroll up along the ramparts (the walls surrounding the city). Lions are everywhere in Italy and here is no exception.

And when no one was looking, I even did a cartwheel. (I only do that when I’m really happy.)

And sure enough, the next day, at 10am, my boots were ready, one hem slightly imperfect, but perfectly mine. Then, to make it unforgettable, he wouldn’t charge me. Smiling, he said, “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

With boots in hand, I hopped on the train again, and continued to head north to CINQUE TERRE.

Cinque Terre literally means “five lands”, and it is five small coastal towns strung together by hiking paths. I stayed in RIOMAGGIORE for three nights, and what an experience!

I made my way to Bar Centrale. There I met Alberto, Richardo, Stefano (some locals) and Kim, whose name received a quick translation: Cassandra. Some hours and quite a few drinks later, Kim and I agreed to meet the next morning to walk the Cinque Terre, and then later that evening, meet up with Richardo and Stefano for dinner. Richardo insisted on cooking for us.

The next day, her and I took a local train up to the first town, Vernazza,

had lunch, and then walked two towns south to Cornegia. Perched high up on a mountain, the trails weave between breathtaking views of the sea and inland farms.

By the time we were down, we couldn’t wait for dinner. Kim and I met Stefano at Bar Ivo, and on our way to Richardo’s home, we stopped and picked up a bottle of wine, from a local grower. Dinner, of course, was amazing and just whole lot of fun.

And then, like that, it was time to leave. Cinque Terre felt so like home that it was strange to get on the train again. And as the train moved north, the sunny sea disappeared and turned into a gray sky and flat land.

Next stop: MILAN. My plan was to only stay a night, because I was really hoping to catch a quick train to Lake Como. Although radically off-season, I wanted to buy my friend, Tania, a poster that she fell in love with at one of her favorite restaurants in Los Angeles. But since I had to stop in Milan, I figured while I was there, why not walk through area around Via Montenapoleone to explore Milan’s most-known asset: Fashion. (Yeah, it was fun.)

The next morning, my plan to go to Lake Como was underway, that is, until I was holding the ticket in my hand, but couldn’t find the train. Unfortunately, there wasn’t going to be a train. But on the bright side, the previous night, while visiting the Tourist Information office, the agent was so generous to give me a gigantic Lake Como wall calendar. So, feeling a little comforted by the fact that I had something, I settled in my seat as the train took me, instead, directly to VENICE.

Well, what started as a short train ride turned into a Day of Misdirection. The hotel I booked was on the mainland, not the island. (Be careful about that should you travel to Venice.) And when I was able to negotiate my way out of my current room, it then took hours to find the new hotel.

In the process, I met Eric. He was trying to get out of his room, too, and I couldn’t have walked in at a more perfect moment. When I said I wanted out, he jumped up. “Me, too.” I thought, “Cool, look at that. I already have a buddy.”

Not so fast. Eric (not his real name since he was born in China), who works for DHL in Germany was visiting due to amazing flight specials offered in Germany, like “10 Euros to Any Destination in Europe.” Anyways, after we finally made it to the new hotel, we went back out to catch a bite to eat and check out the Venice nightscene. And that’s when things took a turn.

Every place we walked into he was rude to the waitstaff, and then he was trying to get all over me. Needless to say, the first chance I had, I ditched him. And of course, as my luck would have it, I have a photo of him.

The next day, under gray skies and light showers, I experienced an almost perfect day. I was just peaceful to walk around, watch people play with pigeons in St. Mark’s Square,

eat gelato, and when my feet started to hurt too much, I sipped on quiet a few Proseccos (a sweet drink native to Venice) during happy hour at Buraco Jazz club. Soon after I decided to leave, it didn’t take long before I made friends at another bar. Eventually a group of four of us all had dinner together. I guess you could call it a feast for my last true night in Italy.

I had a hard time saying goodbye to Venice, and fortunately the slow vaparetto took an hour to get to the train station. That actually did make it easier.

I went back to Florence, hung out at a pub before catching a bus to the airport. And for my last adventure, I spent the night, there, in the airport with a local resident who was flying out on early next morning to visit her family in China.

So we talked on and off, between our attempts to sleep on hard plastic chairs. And then before I knew it, the airport came to life, I boarded my plane, and came home.

With that, I just wanted to say THANK YOU again for making this all possible, for all your support and encouragement. This was an experience of a lifetime.

And stay tuned, because I’m not done yet. It’s time to get back to some running.

SPECIAL POST: Family in Marche

2007-01-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

Are you ready to eat a lot of good food and down shots of grappolino? Good, because we’re going to see the Rossini’s in Marche!

** THE TRAIN STATION **

I took a three-hour train ride from Cortona to the station in Senigallia. Since my cousin Carlo knows less English than I know Italian, I relied heavily on the translation efforts of my friend, Sonia, who can speak Italian and whose family is also from Marche, and the staff at the Hotel Baglioni, where I stayed for the marathon in Florence, to help make the arrangements. I figured once I was talking to him in person that I could hand gesture my way through any conversion. I am Italian after all, but the details of my arrival were just too important.

So it was strange when I arrived and he wasn’t there. I was tired, and I was freezing. And after being in the loveliness of Cortona, the graffiti on the Senigallia station walls put me a little on edge.

I tried calling, but the telephone cards are like Rubik’s Cubes to me. Even when I thought I figured out how to place a call, the phone just rang and rang. Was I really getting this right?

Worse thing, though, I wondered if, after all this, I would be just hoping on the train again, never meeting my relatives, and traveling onward to Rome.

Fortunately, though, I eventually did get through, and it was Marisa (pronounced Muh-ree-za), Carlo’s wife. From what I could understand was that she was happy to hear from me, and that Carlo had left his cell phone outside, but I couldn’t seem to get my question answered, “Dové Carlo? In treno stazione o in macchina?” Eventually, it sounded like I would be seeing him soon enough. I hung up the phone and sat back down on the cold metal bench.

Not even a second later, the doors opened, and a hurried man walked in.

“Jennifer?”

“Carlo?”

And I swept out of the train station, my luggage quickly removed from my hands, a giant hug, and away we go!

I found out later that it had taken him so long, because the lady at the Hotel Baglioni had told I had blonde hair.

** BEGINNING MOMENTS **

Of course, before I could completely thaw out, the first thing that Carlo asked was how long I was planning on staying. “One night,” I said. “Just to meet you is enough,” and he said, “Until you leave.” In the end, after a couple days of intense negotiations, I agreed to stay for a week.

The town of Montignano is only ten minutes up a hill from Senigallia. It was night by the time I arrived, and in general, I didn’t get many photos, but in the days that followed, I learned that Senigallia is around 300 years old. Across from the station is a castle/fort, and like many towns off the sea, it was once a lookout point. Everything that extends out from this point looks like it has been built in the last 50 years or so, and has a slightly worn beach town feel to it.

Needless to say, we were home in no time. And get this, it’s Great-Grandpa’s house! By the way, Carlo’s grandfather is brother to Great-Grandpa, capisce?

Marisa made some tortellini, which Carlo and I picked up on the way home, followed by minute steak and potatoes. It was so similar to Mom’s cooking. They showed me their photos, and I got a little choked up, as Grandpa would like to say. Here’s my favorite photo, and it seems as though everyone has it:

Now, from what I understand, not everyone in this photo is family. It’s more like three or four families, but they all have been in this town for generations. It seemed like everyone I met could point to someone in this photo. So as far as I’m concerned, everyone I met is family.

** THE ROSSINI TEST **

But the question whether I was really family was posed.

At one point, Carlo wagged his pointer finger up towards the ceiling, and said (in the Italian equivalent), “Let’s see if you’re a Rossini.” Then he pulled out the grappa, poured me a shot, and placed it in front of me.

Well, what do you think happened? (As if that was a test. Please.)

What really won them over, though, was my computer skills. In no time, I was whisked upstairs to troubleshoot some issues / questions Carlo had about his laptop. Somehow, even with everything in Italian, I managed to figure it out, and explain it to him so he understood what was going on. In the process, he saw how fast I typed, and next thing I know, he’s dictating his email responses to me. That’s where I had to stop.

But we all had a good laugh. Either that, or the grappa was kicking in.

** OPEN THE WINDOW **

Things are really made well in Italy, even things like windows. They are very well constructed, super sturdy, and built in layers, so that you can enjoy them wide open in the summer or have them completely locked down in the winter. It was around 45 degrees while I was there, which I was told was warm for the season.

As Carlo and Marisa showed me how to open the window, they told me about the time cousin Sandy had visited. She wanted to open the window, and if I understood correctly, was having difficulties.

“Apertura la finestra!”, they said, laughing with glee, followed by, one of the few English phrases they knew, “Open the window!” I got a kick out of it, too, so after awhile that was just something that was injected into conversation.

The next morning when I did open the window, this is what I saw.

Beautiful, isn’t? I can only imagine how lovely it must look in the summer. According to Sonia, the best food (product) comes out of Marche. There are plenty of farms, and everyone seems to have one hand in the earth. Even Carlo and Marisa have two small lots, one for grain (to make bread) and the other, for olive (for olive oil).

** VISITING GREAT-GRANDMA **

Beyond those two small lots, hardly a block away down a dirt road from the Rossini home, is an abandoned home.

That happens to be Great-Grandma’s home. Although I didn’t go inside, but I did take a little something with me: a little rock.

Just beyond Great-Grandma’s house is the cemetery where most of Montignano’s families have come to rest.

Another street or so away is the church where they were married – Mary and Orlando Rossini. The church is located in Piazza Giordano Bruno.

And beyond that, down a hill, is the sea.

** MANY MEETINGS **

From the moment I stepped into town, I was introduced to a lot of people, and somehow I managed to keep up with five people talking to me at once. It was a lot of fun, though, and at times, rather funny all together. It goes without saying, of course, that their hospitality over flowed. I was shuttled from one home to another and one restaurant to another. All that was allowed of me was my presence.

On the first night, the bulk of the people I would meet all got together for pizza. Here we are:

In Italy, they have sausage like in Chicago, and it’s called salsiccia. And what a treat that was for me! It’s been years.

The next day, we had lunch at the Osteria sul Lago.

It was another big outing:

And aren’t they cute?

Okay, I can’t remember their names for the life of me, but he was the first person I met that spoke some English, which apparently was more than I could handle. Seems that after being completely immersed in the Italian language, I started to think in it. As I struggled to speak with him, I thought to myself, “Good god, I’ve arrived in Italy speaking broken Italian, and I’m going to leave speaking broken English.”

Later that night, I met some descendants from Great-Grandma’s side.

Before I left, thankfully I remembered to bring a handful of photos, one of each American relative, to share, and while I was there, I always made sure I brought them on me.

Well, when I started showing my little plastic baggy worth of photos, Paola (if I remember correctly) pulled out all her photo albums. It was a blast! Her son, Sandro, had a different opinion however.

To make matters worse, I asked if I could borrow a photo, so I could scan it at Carlo and Marisa’s, but Sandro offered to do it instead. Well, that opened up the flood gates and photo after photo was being handed to him, from Carlo, from me, and most of all, his mom, who kept saying, “Sandro. Sandro.”

I can still hear his name being called. Eventually, I grabbed an entire photo album and handed it to him, “Sandro! Sandro!” We all had a good laugh.

The most famous night, hands down, was the dinner with Carlo’s friend, Salvatore, a farmer, his wife, Marisa, and the man with the beard whose name I bite my fist trying to remember. He is also a friend as well as a retired police office (Polizia) like Carlo.

Now, if it hasn’t been clear up to this point, my Italian was very broken, but we all managed. I can only imagined that they struggle to understand me as much as I working to make myself understandable. I was complimented often by my efforts, but I received only one complaint and that was by Salvatore.

He said, in Italian, “I’m not woah-ME-KNEE.” The word he was saying was uomini, which means men.

So, I quickly replied, in Italian, “Hey, if you’re not a man, well…”

This, of course, just made him keep starting over, and repeating the same thing. He wasn’t ever quite reaching whatever point he was trying to make, and in the process, everyone starting cracking up, the ladies especially.

By the time, we got it all straightened out that Salvatore was a man and that I should be pronouncing it “WOAH-me-knee”, everyone at the table was practically in tears. Here’s our uomini photo:

After that, well, I just had to apertura la finestra (Open the window!) and went to the window manufacturing business of Marcello.

Across the street from the company is his home and a farm. And look! I’m holding a baby bunny.

Afterwards, I went to Sabrina’s house, joined by her husband, mom, and two sons, who are 16 and 22 and very into American culture. They think Italy is (roll eyes) whatever. (Of course.) She works at the deli.

The following day, which was day #7 of 8, Francesca, along with her mom, Morella, and husband, Frederico, picked me up and treated me out to a lovely Frasassi cave.

She has a little boy, Filipo, but he didn’t make it, because he was in school, and her father, Giuliano, didn’t make it because he was not feeling so well.

The cave is packed with waxy stalagmites and stalactites. Here is the only photo I managed to take before I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t understand anymore. After all, it does sound exactly the same. “Sorry, I don’t understand no fotographia.”

And Francesca was an absolute too, asking the tour guide if he spoke English, which I was expecting him too. When he said he didn’t, she worked so hard, even pulling out a pocket dictionary at time, to translate what he was saying.

After the tour, we went to back to their apartment. Francesca lives on the top floor.

What a view, huh? Her grandparents live in another unit on the floor just below her, and her parents, where we had lunch, live on the floor below that. So they’re all in the same building.

It was a delicious lunch, but after seven days of being oh-so gracious to have double helpings of everything, well, my poor digestion just couldn’t keep up anymore. I need to excuse myself.

After that Frederico kept teasing me, “How are you feeling? Bleeeeh.” Ah, yes, for some things, there are no cultural barriers.

No worries, though, I managed to take a little nap and get my appetite up and running just in time to go to the Cesar’s!

See that cute couple on the right. Get this, his name is Cesare and her name is Cesarina. Those are her parents, Elsa and Mario. They grew up one house away from each other, and they are still very much in love today. You can tell that they lead a very joyous life. Their two daughters, Silvia and Luanna, are just as amazing, and here we speak the international language of “Charlie’s Angels”:

I’ve also been given very strict orders to find Brad Pitt and bring him back to Italy. Once in you say you live in Los Angeles, everybody wants you to catch them a star, sheesh!

So, are you feeling full yet? Well, I hope you still have just a little bit more room left, because on my last night, we all went to a steakhouse. Despite the fact that we live off the sea and our ancestors were in the fishing business, we all eat red meat like it’s going out of style. Carlo and I noticed that lovely similarity and would constantly rub our hands together and say, “Carne!” (meat).

Needless to say, this particular place was chosen especially for me.

But it wasn’t all eating, drinking, and food coma. I enjoyed quite a many of my afternoons with Marisa, singing (she has a lovely voice) and watching “Amici”, which I became totally hooked on. See, “Amici” has two groups – the singers and the dancers. So it’s like “American Idol” meets “Dancing with the Stars”. Plus, on “Amici”, they are recorded during their rehearsals as well as live performances. It’s so “Fame”, only the scarves are tied slightly differently, because well, they’re European.

** LEAVING MARCHE **

It was difficult saying good-bye, partly because I couldn’t move from all the weight I gained while I was there. But that’s okay, I’m treating every pound as a memory.

It was such a wonderful experience. I felt immediately at home, and after a few days, I felt like anything in this world was possible. You know THAT feeling?

Carlo and Marisa made me promise to return within a year. It’s a promise I’d actually really like to keep. And of course, I told them they had to come out here.

But in the meantime, we have the memories, and we’ll always have the looouuuuve!

** STAY TUNED **

Next week, I’ll be finishing up our winter running break with the last segment of my trip. So stay tuned, and enjoy the reprieve, because before you know it, it’ll be all about running again.

The Adventure Begins

2007-01-07T22:12:00.000-08:00

To celebrate the New Year, this week’s update will be about the rest of my trip in Italy. So stay where you are, keep sipping your Bloody Mary, and while contemplating how one can really have a clean slate, especially after all you’ve done this past year, you naughty thing, please read on:

As you might remember, I had three glorious weeks in Italy. The trip can be essentially broken down into three segments: the marathon, which you’ve heard about, meeting my relatives in the providence of Marche, and then the last part, traveling solo (alone).

After the marathon, I stayed two more nights in Florence. Long before I actually booked the tickets, APLA was booking the hotel rooms. They would pay for three nights, and then they asked if I wanted to pay for an additional two. I thought, “why not?”

It was perfect, because I had a chance to walk off the marathon, and really get to enjoy the company of my fellow marathoners. The highlight was on our last evening, where a group of six of us ate at Trattoria 4 Leoni. This really kicked off my culinary adventures in Italy. Marco, our waiter, handed us menus, and before we could really study them, he asked, “Do you trust me?” We all looked at each other. Okay. And then the food started coming, dish after dish. What an experience!

The next day, we said our goodbyes. Those participants that made their arrangements completely through APLA were heading towards the airport and the rest of us were heading to different cities. My roommate was off to Venice. Rochelle would be heading to Rome the following day. And I wanted to make one little stop before I went and saw my family.

I took the train south down to Cortona, and actually, Rochelle decided to make a day trip of it and join me, especially when she heard that I was seeking out the house of Frances Mayes, author of the “Under the Tuscan Sun.” I have to admit that I don’t often get struck, but I read her book years back and I was really touched by it. A writing teacher I had recently had informed us that she was trying to get us to write poetry, or in other words, the stuff that pours out from our hearts, because no matter what form it is in, when it from that place, then there’s a rhythm that naturally flows. It’s the poetry you can’t make up and die trying to create, and then without any effort at all, it appears. That’s what that book was like for me, and that’s why I had to make the journey.

It was an overcast day, and as we made our way closer, it just looked worse. We got on a bus that curled its way up tight winding roads. It was mid-afternoon and, not knowing what to expect, and feeling responsible for Rochelle’s happiness, I was worried. I started thinking, “Oh please, let it be clear enough to see the house.” Just then, around the bend, the sky was clear, and there was sun! Cortona, being on top of the hill, is high enough to live above the clouds. We were struck.

It took a little too long to get my room, but we headed out, trying to beat the sun. Based on the directions I found online, we just needed to walk uphill (it’s all uphill in Cortona!) and at a tavern, turn left. When we asked a driver how to get there, in broken Italian, he asked us to hold on, asked another guy for directions, understood how to get there, and then asked the wedding party he was waiting to escort away if he could leave for a few moments to drive us up the hill! Only in Italy.

Unfortunately, Rochelle didn’t get to see it, and the following day, when I did find her house, I realized how close we were! While there isn’t a large front lawn, rather it’s quite close to the road. It is a quite road that looks out into a cascading valley of green. The façade is worn, but the coral makes is so warm and inviting. And so I sat in front of it for a little while, declared that to be my life one day, and then wrote a short thank you note and placed it under the candle.

Afterwards, I had another amazing meal. Steak with a pesto green sauce and a wine that was perfectly selected by my waiter. Somewhere between the 45-minute walk downhill back into town and that meal, I fell in love with Cortona. If there was a small town I ever feel like I could live in, it would be that one.

I think it was a perfect way to move from the hectic energy of the marathon to the long awaited moment of meeting my relatives.

(Stay tuned for next week the next segment of this exciting journey. I figured I should stop now. Give you a break. So, please, go and make yourself another Bloody Mary, because trust me, you’ll need it to deal with alcohol content of next week’s edition, which is overflowing with Booze! Carne! and Loooooove!)

The Day I Ran

2006-12-24T14:16:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays, everyone!

I’m back home and now, just in time for Christmas (but a little too late for Channukah), here is the exciting conclusion! It’s dramatic too and without even trying!

-1 -

So if you remember I flew out on Thanksgiving. The flight and arrival went very smoothly. I arrived Friday and followed all the instructions on minimizing jetlag and actually did very well.

Florence is such a beautiful city, and it was so exciting too seeing the hotel filled with all of us. Apparently, the previous year there were only 50 Americans in the Florence Marathon. Our organization had totaled to a little over 400 participants.

Many of us, myself included, had only a full day to get acculumated and get registered. Registration was a nightmare. I made sure to get on the first bus, only to get there and the marathon didn’t have our health forms on file. After two hours and most of the morning shot, I signed a waiver that removed all responsibility from the marathon organizers. It was okay, though, aside from getting my runner number, I got this very cool red Florence Marathon top and I got to see my name on the Starters’ List which filled up half a wall outside the convention center.

(The Starters List. I'd show you my name, but I have to develop my photos. I'm using Rochelle's and Jose's digital pics. Hee hee, I'm sneaky.)

- 2 -

Later that night, the AIDS Marathon folks held a Pasta Dinner for all of us. It was $25 ticket and no meat, only pasta, but it did provide the opportunity to be with everyone for one last time. The organizers sang, had us laughing, and of course, reminded us that we shouldn’t change anything we’d been doing up to this point, which made us laugh even more. We all looked at each other, and simultaneously, “Please. What have we been doing that’s the same?” We laughed some more. We even took photos. We’re smiling and throwing up “Greta Waitz” signs (our pace group). We were here. We were finally doing it.

Here's one:

(Left to right: Last row - Me, Garth, Greg, Elaine (with the best pose ever!), Rochelle, Can't remember his name, Jared; Middle row - Yanti & Gretchen; In the front - Jose)

Personally, I like to refer to those photos as THE SHINING photos. Banquet hall. Smiling faces. Then blood down the hallway. You know how it goes, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Well, after our lovely and quite spirited Pasta Dinner, we all did the responsible thing and returned to the hotel. “10pm. Perfect,” I thought, as I made my way to my room. I planned on taking a shower and laying out all things I needed for the following morning. When I walked in, my roommate and one of my friends from my pace group, froze and gave me a weird look. “You’re not going to bed are you?” she asked. After a moment or two, it came out that she was going to have a massage… in the room. Now her hopes were that I would leave the room, but it wasn’t happening. So while she got her massage, I got ready for bed. In the end, it all worked out perfectly and we turned off the lights a little after 11pm. I immediately fell asleep. The day had exhausted me. Perfect.

- 3 -

That is, until 2am, when I woke up as easily as I had fallen asleep. I was wide awake. I got up, went to the bathroom, and then some time later, I heard Rebecca, my roommate, get up and do the same. “Can’t sleep either?” I asked into the darkness.

“Yeeeeessss,” she answered in a half whimper, half laugh.

Then we returned to silence and quietly laid there, hoping that the other person was falling asleep. Eventually, Rebecca left the room entirely, and I felt relieved. “Good, now I can turn on the lights,” I thought to myself, because whenever I have insomnia, it’s just best to get up and go with it.

When she returned, she starting laughing, “Oh you’re up! I left so you could sleep!”

It was almost 4am by that point, and since we had to wake up about 6am, we just gave in and stayed up together. We wondered how many of our fellow runners were awake as well.

- 4 -

We found out the answer to that the following morning – quite a few. Practically everybody it seemed. We laughed as we made our way through the breakfast buffet. I grabbed cereal, runny scrambled eggs, and bacon. I had some coffee, but I wanted Diet Coke, and I really wanted my Kashi Go Lean Oatmeal with those yummy little crunchies. I thought I would get some soda when we got done with breakfast, but it dawned on me when I stepped outside, “Oh, it’s 6am on a Sunday in Florence. Everything’s closed.”

“That’s alright,” I told myself. “I feel good, amazingly good.”

Before we left, I did run back upstairs for my rain poncho. It had been overcast with a likeliness of rain, but I was really hoping it wouldn’t. “By the power of Garth’s red Nikes, no rain!” we all agreed as a pace group. We also agreed, Garth, Rochelle, Elaine, and I (only a small portion of our pace group) that we would stick together throughout the race. With the rain poncho stuffed in the side of my bra, the camera down in the front of it, and Garth, Rochelle, and Elain nearby, I was good to go.

- 5 -

From the Piazza Unità (near the train station) we walked to the river, then caught (or rather, pushed our way onto) a shuttle bus that took us up the hill to Piazzale Michaelangelo. That was funny, because we got a kick out watching all the men lined with there backs to us, doing what men do. Although my favorite, was one man standing behind a bush, facing the road, and with a proud look upon his face, he had both hands resting on his waist. I think he was doing the same thing, but I’m not sure.

Once we got off the bus, we made our way pace area. I didn’t know this, but they start people based on their speed. So the fast runners who will finish the marathon in an ungodly 2 hours will be at the front, while the more leisurely 6 hour finishers, like myself, will be all the way in the back. It makes sense, but it’s not something you think about. They also have Pacers or Pace Leaders. These are men with balloons tied around their waist. On one of the balloons, it says something like 4h or 5h, meaning the number of hours it’ll take for you to finish. Very handy if you are running alone. Of course, though, there wasn’t a 6h Pace Leader. Apparently, after 5 hours, you’re on your own.

Anyways, we stayed huddled up there until our time came, about 5-10 minutes after the official start. There was around 6000+ participants in this race.

- 6 -

But when we did cross the start line, it was so exhilarating. While it was said that there aren’t many spectators in Florence for their marathon, there were plenty at the start. The announcer pointed to all us kids in yellow, said “AIDS Marathon” and then a bunch of stuff in Italian that resulted in the crowd going “ooooh” a moment later. After that, they really cheered us on, and down the hill we went.

It was perfect. Any threat of rain had somehow disappeared, turning into a sunny Fall day. We running down hill, past villas, nuns (one of whom blessed us), and old men with caps yelling, “Vai! Vai!” (Go! Go!) or at times, when we were walking, to go faster, to move it along. One of them looked like my Uncle Romolo. Truth was, the faces, the expressions, and attitudes were so similar to home that I felt like I was looking at my family half the time I was in Italy.

Anyways, all was going well. We liked that the markers we in kilometers, rather than miles. “That’s a lot easier. Like we’re accomplishing more,” said Rochelle.

As we leveled off, we ran into town, with early risers (or those who were woken up by the commotion ahead of us) peered down from their windows, all framed with green wooden shutters. “Buon Giorno!” we yelled upwards enthusiastically. What a good day! Hello Italy, we’re doing it!

- 7 -

And then that’s when it happened. Like forgetting to put enough gas in the car or something, I hit mile 5 (or rather, 8 Km) and everything was gone. I was completely drained. “Uh-oh,” I thought, and kept going, not saying a word. The beauty of Florence kept me going. My little group was holding steadfast together, and there were all these wonderful people cheering us on, and as the day progressed, the children came out too, wanting high fives as you passed them.

I figured at the next water stop, I would try this salt drink the Italians created to replace the salts in your body. The water stops come every 5 km, so we would be coming upon one soon. Hopefully that would work.

When we got there, I shot one down. Tasty. Like lemonade. But I couldn’t tell. Keeping up with the pace was becoming grueling for me, and by the next stop, while I still took a “Sali” or salt water, things were starting to look bleak.

I was dizzy. My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I felt like I had googly eyes, that were spinning around in my head. I was just drained. My body felt heavy, and I just wanted to collapse. I wanted to put my head down and sleep a little. If only, if only.

But I told myself to keep going, to stay with the group, at least make it to the half way point. That was only a few miles away at the 21 km marker. I could do it. I could make it halfway.

It took everything in me, but I made it halfway. In the last km, I started walking a little more than running, but I was able to keep up with the group. We all seem to be suffering by this point. Garth was having pains in his shoulder again. Elaine was falling behind, too, at times, but like me catching up. Rochelle was struggling too, her legs were hurting, but the opposite was true for her… as long as she kept moving, she was fine.

- 8 -

Then Elaine fell back and eventually out of sight. Then, I had to make the decision to the same. I just couldn’t keep up with Garth and Rochelle. I couldn’t even run. I was too dizzy. I kept waiting to faint.

So I walked. I tried not to beat myself up, but I couldn’t believe it, after all this time, I might not even make it. When I made it to the next stop, I took down 2 sali waters and kept walking. People on the sidelines would cheer, and I just had my head hung low. I looked back every now again for Elaine, but I never saw her. It’s just me now. It’s just me now.

- 9 -

I even ran into Jared at one point, and when he asked me how I was doing, I was on the verge of tears. “It doesn’t look good. I have nothing to give. I don’t know if I’m going to make it.” He smiled. “Well, you’re doing good. Just keep going like that. Take your time. Take a rest. You have plenty of time.”

Then I thought (and I swear to god, it’s true), I thought of everyone and everything said to me over the past six months. And I realized I just couldn’t go home saying I didn’t finish it, not while I had something in me. I figured I would run until I collapsed. I figured, worse comes to worse, I could walk the rest of the way back. Sure, they would open up the city again, and I wasn’t sure of the course without the other runners around me, but I could always walk the last 12 miles or whatever back. If that’s one thing I know I can do is walk. I can walk forever, if need be. Hell, my great-grandma would walk a couple miles from her house to church or to the grocery store well into her 70s. We Rossini’s can walk. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just keep on going. My head started to lift a little. “Hey,” I said to myself. “Let me see if can run.” And I did. I ran. I felt okay. The sali water must be helping. I better keep with 2 shots every stop. Until my muscles started locking up.

Okay, and maybe a shot of water.

- 10 -

So, I gave up any idea of a pace. I ran when I could. I walked when I needed to. I just kept moving forward. Eventually, the trucks, clean-up crews, and other such vehicles marking the end of the race passed me. “That’s okay,” I thought. “There are still plenty of people around me.”

And there were. It was not until I was in the never-ending park, which every Florence marathoner will easily tell you was the worst part (“When will this end already?!”), I really looked around at the runners around me. There was one gal from my group with horribly bad knees. We ran around each other for a while, until eventually she passed me up for good. There was another gal that hobbled as she ran, because she had to keep one leg straight. It seemed like everyone around me was hurting, and hurting bad. And yet, they kept going.

I thought that these people in the back are just important, just as noteworthy, if not more so, than the ones in the front. Yeah, it’s an amazing accomplishment to finish in a little over 2 hours, but try hobbling for six! That’s endurance, if you ask me.

When we finally got of the never-ending park, I ran into Jared again, who asked me how I was doing. I was doing good. The 2 sali-1 water combo was making it possible for me to keep going. At every stop I would take this combo, walk a little bit, waiting for it to kick in, and then brrrr, like a horse, I would take off. Eventually after 4 km, it would start to taper off, and I would get dizzy again. I would walk, more than ran, that last kilometer until the next stop, until I could get my power combo back. Yeah, I felt good. I was starting to feel hopeful I would make it to the finish line.

And then Jared gave me even better news, I was only about 7 miles from the finish line, and if that wasn’t amazing enough, it looked like I would still be making it around the 6 hours mark! Who would have ever guessed?

- 11 -

The only downside was that it was around 1pm and the streets were wide open. When I made my way down the road running parallel with the river, heading towards the Ponte Vecchio, I had to fight cars and people, none of whom wanted to stop, and they definitely didn’t get out of your way.

Eh, it’s alright, though, I’m used to it. And besides, there were plenty of folks along the way still cheering us on.

After awhile, I could feel the finish line. I was close. When I saw the last stop, at 40 km, I zoomed by it. Only 2 km to go, and I feel great!

People were even telling me. “You’re almost there. Just around the bend.”

Until I was told that three times. And then put-put-put… I lost my gas again. “Where is the finish line?” At one point, I came upon this long stretch with barricades, and I thought “Here it is!” until I saw runners doubling back.

“You’re not done?! You’re still running?!” I yelled out to one of them, who looked just as bewildered as I did.

I was damn near spitting by this point. “Damn, Florence, and their parks, and their stupid course.” Truth was, I was in really bad shape. I should of stopped, I told myself. I couldn’t even run. I tried at one point, but had to stop after 30 seconds. It was just too much.

Luckily, Gretchen saw me. Having already finished, she was on the other side of the barricades with her husband and a few other folks from my pace group. She also told me I was almost there, to which I snapped, “That’s what everyone keeps telling me!” And then in a helpless whisper, “but it never comes.” I kept walking. Slowly, like I was dragging myself.

“Okay, honey,” she said and started to walk along side, explaining the remaining part of the course in detail. I was already doubling back by this point, and she told her husband she would be back. “Okay, I’m going to walk with you to the end. See, the end of the road there.” I nodded, if you want to call it that. My head bobbled. “Okay, at the end there, the road will curve to your right. That’s when people will start cheering. Then the road will immediately curve to the left. You’ll run on the red carpet and you’ll be done. It’s really close.”

“Okay.” We talked about how her run went. Very well and smooth. I wish I knew how I would have done if I was in top form, but that’s okay. I’m almost there. And sure enough, just like she said, the road curved to the right and there was everybody, cheering like wildfire. Gretchen said softly, “Now, go.” And I started to run again. I turned to the left and there was Jared at the end of the red carpet, on the other side of the finish line.

“I knew you could do it! Kaw! Kaw!” he yelled out. The “kaw, kaw” was a reference to Galaxy Quest. He never saw the movie, but he liked my description of that particular scene. It made me laugh, and when I crossed it, I just remembering holding onto his hands, being half hunched over, stabling myself. “I did it. I did it. Okay. It’s done.”

- 12 -

I didn’t cry, although afterwards, I saw some did. I did, however, wobble over, like a drunken Harry Carey, to a Tobacco shop (Italy’s equivalent of a 7-Eleven) and got a Diet Coke (ahhh) and peanut M&M’s (mmmm).

I met up with Rochelle, Garth and Elaine, who were all sitting on the steps of some church, perhaps Santa Croce, who knows. I was just too happy to sit. I was happy that I had made it.

Here's a photo of us... Look at my head-is-swollen-I-look-like-Leonardo-Dicaprio-with-my-sexy-squishy-face....

(Yeah, not a flattering photo, and wearing yellow isn't helping. You're lucky you are seeing this at all. What you do in the name of a marathon. Left to right: Me, Garth, Rochelle and Jose)

After awhile, I decided to head back with Rebecca and Michele. We had to walk back, which was about 30 minutes through the crowded streets of shoppers. On the way, we saw fellow AIDS Marathoners, lost, unsure of the route, unsure of the destination. We would give them directions, and they would continue onward. I thought how that was almost me. How I had made up my mind to do the same thing, if need be.

Later, I found out, Elaine didn’t make it. She fainted, and afterwards, she tried to go back in the race, but the medics wouldn’t let her. That was almost me, too.

So all in all, I am saying this is best run ever, because it was certainly my worst run ever. After the marathon, I hobbled around for two days with very sore legs. A week later, the nail on my right pinky toe fell off. And I cut up my belly due to the friction caused by all that stuff in my bra, ha! So, I feel fortunate to say that I made it across the finish line, much less to say that after all that I went through, I finished in 6:19.46. I feel fortunate for the past year, but much like the marathon, it has been filled with difficult moments too. And I just feel grateful that I’m still standing here today and that I have all of you.

Thank you so much! Merry Christmas!

P.S. And don’t worry, in my next update, I will tell you how the rest of the trip went. Think of it as a good New Year’s hangover read. See ya :)

P.S.S. Here's a closeup of the finisher's medal...

P.S.S.S. And here's a redeeming photo of me celebrating post-marathon. Cheers!

-------------------------------
SPECIAL THANKS
-------------------------------

I would like to specially thank Agape International Spiritual Center for their generous contribution of $500.

http://www.agapelive.com

Thank you, Reverend Michael!

Also, I would like add the following people for helping me through the rough spots, and there were many...

Tania, Stannie, Christian, Sonia, and Patricia

Thank you, everyone, for your support, your donations, and for actually wanting to read these updates! I kept going because of you.

Who Shot JR?

2006-12-07T10:59:00.000-08:00

Hi all!

Have you been wondering what’s happened to me? Did I make it across the finish line? Are you having flashbacks to that long summer where you wondered "Who Shot JR"?

I know, it’s been tough and trust me, I’d like to tell you all about it but quality internet time has been difficult to come by.

So stay tuned. I’ll return on the 20th with the full story.

Hope you are enjoying the holiday season!

Italy, here I come!

2006-11-21T00:45:00.000-08:00

Well, folks, we’ve finally made it! On Saturday, I finished my training with an easy 8 mile run through Griffith Park, and the next time I write you it will be from Italy!

Needless to say, I’ve been quite busy getting everything in order because I leave, which is on Thanksgiving Day. Thanks to the time difference I will arrive in Florence on Friday, check into the fabulous Hotel Baglioni and then off to the Expo to pick up my race bib, timing chip and final race instructions.

On the night before the race, we will all join together for one last time for a pasta dinner. I was surprised to learn in the last month that on race day, the groups don’t always stick together. Rochelle, Garth, myself and hopefully a few others will try to find a way to do so. I can’t imagine anything more fun than crossing the finish line with my fellow runners. After six months, it would be too strange not to.

But who knows, maybe I’ll be so swept up by the run that I won’t even notice if my fellow runners are with me or not. The Florence Marathon sounds breathtaking. And rather easy, too. (Well, aside from the mandatory 26.2 miles and six-hour time limit.) After some extensive hill training over the past six months, we get to enjoy a rather flat course. In fact, we go downhill for the first mile or so, because we start off at the Piazzale Michelangelo, make our way down to the river, across Ponte Vecchio, which I can’t wait to do!, and then weave our way around the rest of the city.

After the race, I will begin my journey into the rest of Italy and realize a childhood dream of mine by finally meeting some of my relatives! The Rossini side is from the Marche region, and I’m in touch with one of my cousins, Carlo, who lives there.

I also have a list of “must do’s” for friends while I’m in Italy… like buy Virgin Mary trinkets, go to Lake Como and get a poster or take a bunch of good pictures, send a postcard from Vernazza, which is one of the towns in the Italian Riviera, and so forth. I’m very excited about traveling the long way from Florence to the other coast in Marche by going through the hill towns in between. And of course, I plan on seeing the major cities as well… A Roma! A Venizia! A Milano!

In all honesty, I can’t believe it’s all happening. I feel guilty sometimes, because I’m so blessed for all this. After all, the primary focus is to help people living with HIV/AIDS. If I happen to improve by any small measure in the process, hey, even better. But I’ve received so much more than that – better health, new friends, and the knowing now that I can stretch beyond my vision. When you add it all up, what’s $3,800? It doesn’t seem enough. I can only hope that the recipients of this money feel the same way.

Well, I better get back to packing… Off to Italy I go, hi-ho, hi-ho!

Recovery Resistance

2006-11-13T23:23:00.000-08:00

I’m almost there. Can you believe it?

You would think I would be bursting with excitement, but it’s just too surreal for me to grasp. I know once I arrive in Florence, it’s all going to hit me, but right now, it’s still in the future. With this marathon taking the good part of this year, the training has simply become habit. I wake up. I run. Repeat. The fact is that, in less than two weeks, I will board a plane that will take me to Italy, but as far as I’m concerned, Italy might as well be another planet. (Some of you would argue that it, in fact, is.)

Adding to all this is the fact that I’m in pre-race recovery mode. We’re only running 8 – 10 miles for our long runs every week now. By the time I do the marathon, a month will have passed since I ran anything near 26 miles.

Of course, I seem to be repeating this in my professional life as well. I’m in the midst of a job change, and now that I’m approaching the big day, it seems like I have to put everything on hold. I have to wait until I return.

All I want to do is cross that finish line. I’m the kid in the back seat asking, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” I’m suspended in time and space. I’m held at 23 miles and I can’t seem to run the last three. I just want to move forward. And I think, you know, if I had to watch Rocky going through a recovery period, I probably would of walked out of the movie.

Fortunately, an article came my way, called Taper Traps and I realized that I’ve struggled a little bit with “That Sinking Feeling”. Reading this article helped. I realized that I haven’t been allowing myself to stop, rest, and ready myself for the long run.

It always amazes me how standing still is far more a difficult challenge in life, than say, running a marathon. It’s one of those things, I beg for at times (“Oh, please, just let me rest!”) and then when I receive it, I don’t know what to do with it. I become nervous about what I should be doing and nitpick over what I’m not doing. Thanks to the article, I had to face what I’ve been doing to myself for the last week or so. Running in circles!

So now I’ve been working on enjoying myself, taking pleasure in 8-mile runs that seem easy and short, while I make my final preparations for the trip. And besides, there are some wonderful things to look forward to between now and the marathon, like the Bon Voyage Party the wonderful people at APLA are throwing for us runners. That’s this Thursday. Then once we are in Italy, we’re having a dinner all together the night before the marathon. Pasta, of course.

I figure with that kind of incentive, I can learn to take it easy.

Celebration Run

2006-10-30T10:03:00.000-08:00

This week the folks at AIDS Marathon had us do something different. All the Honolulu trainees met at Griffith Park, while all the Florence runners, including little ole me, gathered at Santa Monica to do a 23-mile Celebration Run.

We met at Santa Monica High School at 7am, and it was immediately obvious that the day was going to be slightly different. Half of the site reps and coaches were in costume. My favorites were Team USA girl in blue, red and nifty sequin silver bracelets and Captain Awesome, “who took Jared’s place” and sported goggles and a red cape.

Now, before we run, our site reps and coaches will tell us how proud they are of us, review the course, and send us on our way. This time a rep from APLA came out and shared with us a letter he had recently received. The man who wrote the letter, thanking APLA, was tested positive back in 1985 and has not only managed to stay alive, but also managed to regain his life in the process. He said, at one point, that APLA was (paraphrasing) “so patient and helpful that my only choice was to move forward.” That can be said about the training program as well.

Receiving maximum motivation to take on 23 miles, we were sent on our way about 7:45 am. We strolled a couple blocks westward and entered the beach at Shutters. Immediately hooking south, we began our run.

It’s amazing how much distance you can cover, especially when it’s normally been measured by walking. The first major site we passed was Venice Beach still rubbing its eyes. It ends at Pacific Avenue, which is really Marina del Rey, and did a slight zig-zag into an alley that ran parallel with the beach, taking us into a sleeping residential area packed in tight with three-story beach bungalows of every architectural style. There are no streets here, only sidewalks, with small manicured lawns on either side, all leading their way to the shore.

We reached a turn-around point somewhere in the alley around 9am and as we started back towards the direction we came, we started seeing the city wake up. First we saw cute dogs of every size being escorted by their owners, then construction workers. As we passed through Venice Beach, store owners rolled up their metal doors and large street cleaners noisily made their way along the boulevard. Roller bladers and bicyclists started appearing in our path, as we noticed outdoor dining areas were starting to be sprinkled with patrons.

We past Shutters Hotel, our original starting point, and followed the path until it brought us to Temescal Canyon Road at Pacific Coast Highway. There we turned around again, eventually leaving the beach all together at San Vicente. From that point we ran beyond 26th street into Brentwood, looping through the neighborhood and enjoying a little hill running along the way. Eventually (you guessed it), we turned around and came back the same way we came, passing Santa Monica Pier for a second time until we reach the high school.

We arrived around 2pm, running 2:2 (that’s run 2 minutes, walk 2 minutes) for 6 hours at a very slow training pace. It was great to get a feel for the marathon would be like, but it was one we all struggled through. For some reason, Saturday was particularly warm for this time of year, reaching a high of 81 degrees. Despite the cool breeze coming off the Pacific, we battled with not having any shade cover.

Also, everyone was hurting. Many of us have problem areas by this point, and I must finally confess that includes me. Like quite a few kids in my pace group, I have the I-T band injury. It happened about a month ago, and I know all too well what that “sharp pain in the knee area” feels like. Fortunately, with Advil and a handy Ace knee brace, I don’t feel a thing during the run, but I started feeling a pull in my calve muscle on the opposite leg. I started laughing, “oh god, I’m going to be a mummy by the time I cross the finish line.” I was doing good in comparison to some of the other runners, who were battling I-T band with either ibuprofen or brace, pounding headaches, sore feet, and kinked shoulders. I don’t know anyone in our group who wasn’t suffering.

Yet, we had each other. There were so many volunteers who went all out by decorating their stands and overflowing with Halloween treats, that it provided a fun excuse to stop, rest the sore part of the body for a moment, and laugh easily for a moment. Also, many had signs that read “You are heroes”, and that sometimes would make me smile.

Most of all, though, it was my group that got me through those 23 miles. When we finally made it back to the high school, our site reps had created a finish line, complete with a finish line with an arch made of yellow and red balloons. As we crossed, our site reps were there and they gave us each a medal. The entire time I thought how I was standing there because of the group. As I looked around, all of sudden, I thought of that letter and realized, yet again, thanks to this program, “my only choice was to move forward”.

So, that’s that. After this, we meet for a couple 8-mile maintenance runs before we leave for Florence to do the actual marathon on November 26th.

Stay tuned and don’t forget to donate.

See ya!

The Top 10

2006-10-17T02:19:00.000-07:00

This was a pretty easy week – only 10 miles. Only, right? I can barely believe it myself.

Well, all us kids are getting pretty excited as we approach 26 miles and our final destinations (Florence and Honolulu). Most of us by this point have booked our flights and now we’re in the midst of planning what we’re going to do. I have to start planning.

So to celebrate 10 miles becoming easy, here is my Top 10 list for why I like running in an AIDS Marathon:

10. My chances of ending up like Marlon Brando have significantly decreased. (I can eat, let me tell you.)

9. I can tell you the distance between places without an odometer. The length of marathon for most of us L.A. residents is simply called “morning commute.”

8. I no longer worry about being stranded without any money in this city. I can just run home if necessary. (Although I’m still gonna keep my AAA card.)

7. Not only have I met some amazing people, but seeing them every week gives me “the glass is half full” attitude towards life. And if I’m wrong, who cares? I’m too busy looking on the bright side.

6. I get to go to Italy.

5. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, yum.

4. Oranges, yum.

3. Did I mention that I get to go to Italy?

2. I get to help my friend, Stannie, and her family, keep Uncle Ronnie’s memory alive.

1. I’m affecting people’s lives in a positive way, possibly saving them, and without a doubt, keeping at least a handful of gay men looking fabulous. Oh-KAAY. (That affects us all folks. Think about it.)

Wow, I could keep going with that list, all jokes aside. It has been such a positive experience for me. I hope you had a good laugh and I’ll see you next week!

Way of the Red Ribbon

2006-10-10T11:42:00.000-07:00

This week was a rather special week. Aside from running 20 miles, we were all asked to wear red.

APLA wanted to create a red ribbon out of their runners, and boy, did we become exactly that! Think about it, the fastest group easily had to take two hours to run 20 miles, and my group clocked in a little over five hours. So with all of us involved, we became a ribbon that stretched for miles. How I would have loved watching us from above as we made our way through Griffith Park yesterday morning!

While the organizers explained to us that the purpose of wearing red was to reconnect us to our reasons for running, they also wrote:

“APLA was founded in the spirit of friendship over twenty years ago. You became part of that continuum by gathering to run each week and raising money to fight a disease that continues to elude us, but continues to bring us together. You are changing people's lives. I know you've heard it before, and you will continue to hear it as we get closer and closer to marathon day. Never forget that you are making a difference. Never forget the incredible courage and strength you have displayed. Never forget that you are a hero. Have an amazing run. Take it one step at a time. And remember...I will be there supporting you every step of the way.”

At first, when I read that I thought “how sweet” and started rummaging through my closet for something red. As I looked, I thought of Uncle Ronnie. I thought of my friend, Stannie, and her family still feeling his loss today. I thought of myself back in January holding the flyer in my hands thinking maybe I should do this. I thought of all the people I’ve known in my life that have struggled with their health. All these thoughts brought me to a knitted red shawl. I folded it over once until became a long ribbon and tied it around my waist.

Then, as we ran, every time I saw a fellow runner in red, those words of encouragement came back to me. Granted, it’s usual for us to cheer each other on, but something about the red made the words stick, take longer to evaporate or something.

That’s when it hit me… Every week, I receive and give this level of enthusiasm. And even crazier is that we’re all sincere about it, too. Stop and think about the last time, in full cheerleader mode, did said to a friend, “Woo-hoo, you’re awesome!” Or possibly hearing from a relative, “Way to go!” The folks at APLA love calling people “hero”. Try calling yourself a hero without laughing or without wearing a costume (you know who you are). It really has an amazing effect.

I notice it the most when I’m with the group, and with all of us wearing red, it’s impossible to ignore, because during the five hours or so that we run together, the conversation is always going and always fun. Complaints are hardly ever heard. We seem to never focus either on our frustrations from the week or the pain we might experience during our run. Our attention seems to be simply elsewhere.

And that’s just it, every week, when I connect to this feeling of support and good cheer, my focus shifts to what’s right in this world and what’s good about us. The part of me that’s scared or nervous is soothed, and I become again filled with joy and with hope. And slowly over the months, without me even noticing, a red ribbon has stretched its way out of me and gently weaved its way around everything in my life.

Perhaps we need to start calling each other heroes more often.

Just Keep Running

2006-10-02T16:49:00.000-07:00

If FINDING NEMO was set on land rather than at sea, Dory might have been better known for saying, “Just keep running. Just keep running.”

And if there’s been any time that Dory has been known to float through my thoughts, well, it’s been this week, that’s for sure.

In many ways, this marathon, with all its mile markers, has charted the progress of my life’s transformation this year. It’s been quite a metamorphosis, long in the making. I can’t tell you how much of a joy (and relief!) it is to see all this finally happen this year, even despite the scary moments. And trust me, there have plenty of scary moments.

One of the big things that’s needed to happen for me to move forward in my life is to become my own boss. Working for the now and for the future has been a constant challenge for me throughout my life. I mean, how do you pay the bills now and work towards a dream that seems to be always just out of sight in some untouchable future? Or to put it another way, I didn’t know how I was going to make it through January, much less make a huge shift like this.

Yet, when I started training for this marathon, I had this thought that by the time I crossed the finish line, I would be my own boss, and nor have I been able to shake that feeling.

Well, now, as I approach 20 miles, I can officially and proudly say that as of today, I am my own boss. See, my job came to a surprise end this past week (that happens in showbiz) and rather than thinking of it as thought I’m out of work, I’m treating it as if I just started my new career. This time I’m working for me.

On the day I received the news about being laid off, just before any worry could set hold, my friend, Pasqual, called me. During our conversation, he said, “You know, that’s what I love about endurance sports. Once you run a marathon or bicycle 50 miles, it puts things into perspective, you know? Life just becomes easy.”

I had to laugh. It’s true, and I hadn’t even seen it in that way, because I’ve been too involved in the race itself. All this time, I’ve been focusing intently on the next mile. Too busy looking towards the finish line, waiting for it appear on the horizon. I haven’t even thought to look back. Yet, when I did, everything up to this point flashed before me:

Wow, 20 miles!

Wow, nine months of extraordinary change!

I’m here. I’ve made it this far. I’ve somehow made it this far!

And turning my head again towards the future, it does put things everything into perspective. What’s six more miles, really? Why do I still become unsure at times if things will work out? They always do. So I booked my ticket to Italy and I decided I’m going to stay a month. In my state of clarity, I figured, eh, it’ll work out.

So, I guess, in the end, it’s always that easy, and maybe the talent we try to develop is knowing that as we move forward rather than waiting to see it when we look back. And should we get a little lost, then all we have to do is remember:

Just keep running.

---

Let’s also thank Pasqual for generously and brilliantly donating $18 to me… 18 times. That’s over $300 and a tidal wave of good luck. Thank you, Pasqual!

-------------------------------
ANNOUNCEMENTS
-------------------------------

LAUGHTER IS THE SHORTEST DISTANCE
While this isn’t for AIDS, I must help my friend, Catalina, with her organization…

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.” – Victor Borge

MARSHALLS is proud to sponsor

A NIGHT OF COMEDY
with
LOUIE ANDERSON & FRIENDS
benefiting
SOJOURN SERVICES FOR BATTERED
WOMEN AND THEIR CHILDREN

Friday, November 3, 2006
at the Skirball Cultural Center
2701 N. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles

Drinks and appetizers at 7:00 p.m.

Performance begins at 8:00 p.m.

Tickets $50.00 per person (which includes drinks and appetizers).

To purchase tickets or for more information call Donna Miller at (310) 264-6646 ext 235.

Look at me, FINALLY 18!

2006-09-26T00:43:00.000-07:00

Like turning 18 years old in this country, running 18 miles is a huge milestone. It’s a number that many long distance runner associate with 100% confidence in their marathon. The old saying goes, “If you can run 18 miles, you can run a marathon.” So with that, I am proud to say, I finally became 18 (-mile runner, that is).

Besides feeling good about taking on such an incredible distance, I was even more amazed to find out that the number 18 is a rather powerful number. According to Jewish tradition, 18 means “good luck”. It’s a blessing. Since the Hebrew word for “life” is “chai”, which has a numerical value of 18, it has become customary to give in multiples of $18. Whether it’s a monetary gift at a wedding or a donation, the giving of 18 is an expression of blessing a long life.

They aren’t the only ones that think this way. In Chinese traditions, this number is interpreted as “one is going to prosper.” Coincidentally, I had Chinese on the eve of my run, and my fortune cookie read, “Luck is coming your way.”

With the number symbolizing coming of age in this country, it’s quite easy to see that the number 18 is symbolic in saying “good things are coming.” And I should say so… In exactly two months, I’ll be crossing the finish line in beautiful Florence, Italy knowing that I helped people living with HIV/AIDS. I don’t think I could feel more fortunate than that.

-------------------------------
ANNOUNCEMENTS
-------------------------------

SHED THOSE EXTRA MILES

Are you tired of seeing those extra airline miles you never plan on using? Or feeling the weight of those unneeded hotel points? If so, wait no longer… give them to me!

I’m planning my trip, and since I plan on staying longer, the small portion of donations that go towards my travel expenses won’t cover my full stay. Since this is my first time to Italy (much less out of the U.S.), I have to take advantage of the opportunity to meet my relatives and explore the history of my family.

I’m still planning everything, but if you’re interested in donating this way, please let me know. Email me at runnerla4119@sbcglobal.net.

BINGO WAS IT’S NAME-O

Fellow runner, Theresa Blaskovich will be hosting a Bingo Event at Hamburger Mary’s on Santa Monica and Sweetzer this Wednesday, September 27th. Feel free to stop by and join in on the fun!

ANOTHER BLOG

Here’s a blog kept by a great lady from the Saturday “Grete Waitz” pace group… http://www.tuscansole.blogspot.com/

Diary of a Time Traveler

2006-09-18T23:20:00.000-07:00

I find the need to confess to you that I ventured out, away from my usual territory and in doing so, I must admit I crossed the boundaries of time and discovered a strange and wondrous people.

On most Sundays, I begin my mornings with a hardy run along side my peers, but then a fortnight past, I needed to have a yard sale on such a day and this gave me fright: How could 16 miles be ran and a yard sale be had?

I did a series of calculations. I even masterminded my resources (mainly friends) for quite some time, and yet after many hours in my study, I could not stretch the limits of time beyond its usual perimeters to permit me to engage in both activities within a single day.

Finally, after almost a week, alas I had thought, why not travel back to Saturday! I heard, in rumor and story (more campfire tales than I care to remember!) that there is a people that engaged in the same activity and at the very same place, but in a different time.

Unsure of what this would bring, I ventured out still. Out into the chilly dawn. Out into the unknown. Out of such ordinary habits – oh sweet morning of slumber! I climbed into my carriage and made my way to the site I have been told of where they gather.

And behold, they exist! It is not just a bedtime story. They are real!

They are large and bold group, twice in number as my own. The natives of this time are as vibrant in character as they are in their style of dress. They are awake, but even more so, they are perky and talkative, speaking much of their adventures.

They have one particular habit that is the most strange and curious to me. It appears the bulk of them participate in the action of festivaling later in the evening. They call this “partying” where they drink fine spirits and, sometimes, not-so-fine spirits. They have this holiday weekly in honor of themselves. As one gent described to me, they do this “to unwind, let go from the week.” I find that it is a concept I must explore more in depth, and soon I believe. Soon I shall.

All in all, I must say, the Saturday natives have accepted me as one of their own, and I find I have the similar affections towards them, although I must confess that I do hope to pass onto them is the value of peanut butter jelly sandwiches, for here they seem to be lacking. With that being said, I am fascinated by their strange and lively culture. I shall travel to their time from this day forth whenever the running is short and for recovery, while keeping with my people, the Sunday folk, now for only the long runs. What I shall discover in my future visits with these new people, I can only wonder.

-------------------------------
ANNOUNCEMENTS
-------------------------------

XANADU: ROLLERSKATING DISCO PARTY

Come out THIS THURSDAY to support the Grete Waitz & German Silvas Pace Groups!

Moonlight Rollerway
5510 San Fernando Rd
Glendale, CA 91204
(818) 241-3630

Thursday, September 21st
8:00 pm – 10:30 pm

Your $20 cover (donation) will include:

* Your entry fee
* Two free raffle tickets
* Your Xanadu Roller Disco Party Gift Bag

Bring extra cash for:

* Purchasing additional raffle tickets for foxy [can’t read what it says]
* Including a “Slow Dance with a Marathon Runner”
* Purchase refreshments

Any checks brought, made out to APLA, as donations to the charity will be tax deductible. Please put the name of the person, in the memo whose account you would like to credit.

Xanadu ~ Your neon light will shine… for YOU ~ Xanadu

Getting My Yard Sale On

2006-09-11T23:10:00.000-07:00

What a weekend! Well, I might be comatose, but please know, there is a smile on my face.

The Yard Sale was a great success! Last minute, I pushed it up to 9am, but that didn’t stop the hardcore yardsalers from arriving at my place at 8am. Good thing, at that moment, I had decided to start pulling my stuff out. So it was a hectic start, but hey, I was happy they were there.

And they just kept coming… One man that bought some of my larger ticket items – like the guitar and surround sound system – had made a point to come to my yard sale because I was fundraising. Isn’t that cool?

Once the dedicated yardsalers started to pitter away, the local came out. Fortunately for me, I have a church at the end of my block, and this weekend, I was slightly more blessed than usual. The church was having a fair (free food, inflatable house, and so forth). So once mass was over, the fair really helped keep people outdoors.

It ran very smoothly, too, thanks to the help I received from my wonderful friends, Christian and Stannie, helping me (again). They’ve been with me for every outing I’ve done, and for some strange reason, they keep coming back to help me. And if that wasn’t enough, after it was all over, they even helped me bring the remaining items to Good Will. And while I'm on the subject, I should also thank Kip, Jennie, Tania, and Regina for their donations. So, let’s give them all a round of applause!

All in all, it was perfect. It was perfect L.A. weather – mild and sunny. I had a steady flow of visitors, and everyone who stopped found something to buy. And it was the first time in the five (going on six) years I’ve lived on this street that I really got a chance to meet some of my neighbors. In my opinion, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Until next week…

Coming Soon...

2006-09-11T08:21:00.000-07:00

Hi all!

Stay tuned... an update coming tomorrow morning!

See ya!

Food, Glorious Food

2006-09-04T03:10:00.000-07:00

Unless you’re a five-year-old kid or a parent of a five-year-old kid, you probably haven’t seen “Ice Age 2: The Meltdown.” In fact, you might even be asking, “Ice Age, what?”

Well, no worries, I watched it for you. It was really no trouble. Someone had to do it and I was happy to do it. (I really was!)

Well, as the title implies, the movie opens with the ice age coming to end, and thus, everything is melting. It doesn’t take long before the animals realize that it’s a matter of time that their valley will become flooded. They need to get out quick, but where to? With the terrain changing rapidly, a birds’ eye view is necessary. Thankfully for everyone, a vulture arrives more than willing to help.

Sure enough, later on, our heroes find themselves separate in a desperate situation, and (surprise, surprise) the vultures are there waiting. As our heroes start to make their way through, the sloth (played by John Leguizamo) ponders in his adorable lisp, “I wonder what they’re thinking?”

Then this happens:

It was by far my favorite moment in the movie, and it seems every time I return from a long run with my group on Sundays, I become submerged into the vultures’ song. (And I don’t just hear the song, maaan. I am the song.)

While it’s necessary to eat as we run, there’s absolutely nothing better than knowing at the end of it, there is a table overflowing with treats just for me. See, everything tastes especially good after you run. Oranges are more vibrant. Watermelon is sweeter, and on those hot days, it’s nothing short of heavenly. There’s also pretzels, candy, and bagels. The entire table is covered in foods loaded with sugar and salt, because that’s what our bodies need after a run. (Kids, can you say carbs?)

During those last hundred feet, I already have my eye on that wooden picnic table. When we arrive, Coach Mike clocks us in, asks if we had a good run, and a little “uh-huh” comes out of my mouth as I move away from the group and beeline it to the table.

Since there always a crowd surrounding the table (given that I’m one of the last groups to return), I have to jerk above, around and below the various limbs blocking my view. While everything is delicious, there really is only one thing I want in particular and sometimes I have circle the table to find it. The bowls are colorful, but opaque, so it can take a couple attempts, a couple “bowl checks” if you will, and then, wait, could that, yeah, there it is… sweet, delicious peanut butter jelly sandwiches! And it’s cut into quarters, just like Mom use to make.

As I peer down into the bowl, my eyes are wide with all the options before me. I start to hum “Food, Glorious Fooooood. We’re anxious to try it,” and dive right in. I’m not even polite about it. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m an adult anymore. I’m feel greedy and possibly even giddy. Within two quick snatches, I step away from the purple bowl with two squares in my hands.

Then I make my way slowly towards the tree off to one side of the table, eating one of the squares as I go. The leaves shimmy a little in the morning breeze and welcome me to enter its shade. Once I make my way through the first square, I take the remaining piece, hold it with both hands, and start to sway gently from side to side. I’m definitely not an adult anymore. PB&J hasn’t been this good since the first grade.

Halfway There

2006-08-27T20:06:00.000-07:00

I’m halfway there! (A cake even told me so.)

I’m very proud to announce that I ran 14 miles yesterday. That’s slightly over a half-marathon.

Some of you can remember, waaaayyy back in January, when I was first considering signing up for this program. I thinking about running the half-marathon in San Francisco, and I thought I was nuts for even considering that at all. I mean, I thought of myself as such a non-runner, I even had a motto: “I don’t run unless there’s a gun.” Needless to say, the thought of running 13 miles was kind of big.

Within in a couple months, it just got worse, because somehow, even though I hadn’t even walked a mile, much less ran one yet, the thought of a half-marathon in San Francisco became comfortable. Why not take on a full marathon in Honolulu? Just before I signed up for Honolulu, fortunately someone mentioned Florence. I asked, “Florence? As in Florence, Italy?” That was correct… and oh yeah, one other thing, this marathon has to be completed in 6 hours or less. And not to mention the additional $1,000 I would have to raise. No big wup, right? (Close in on panic attack.)

And now, 14 miles, can you believe it?! Well I can. I never doubted myself for one second.

It was a good run. There was a beautiful morning yesterday. Although it was a little bit on the chilly side for the first couple hours, the air was clear and fresh. We ran out from Griffith Park onto Forest Lawn Drive all the way to Barham, up around Warner Brothers until Hollywood Blvd. Then we turned around and headed towards the park again. That was only the first half. We ran back out and headed up Victory Blvd, expanding our usual route northward to Olive. When we returned to the site, everyone nearby started cheering and clapping us on. “You did it! You did it!”

And as all good stories should go… then we had cake. It was a small white cake with lemon filling was brought out to celebrate this moment, and it was gooooood, too.

So I’m halfway there, but in a way, I’m already there, because I have now realized what I thought was once impossible.

Finding My Way

2006-08-21T22:00:00.000-07:00

5,6,7,8... No wonder I was watching CHICAGO this weekend. Apparently, I needed the inspiration.

See, as some of you know, when I decided to take on this marathon, with all the challenges it presents, I said to myself, "If I can do this, then I can do anything." What I thought was going to be the most thing was the running has turned into my limitedness in resources. More simply put, I'm broke, my loved ones are broke, and they only know people, you guessed it, who are broke. When I signed up for this, I took a deep breath, and said to myself, "I will find my unique way." Being part of this was something I had to do.

So when I get nervous, which happens sometimes, I keep saying to myself, "I will find my unique way to the finish line." I need it in moments, for example, like this week, when I will be turning in a recommitment form, which legally binds me to give APLA $3,800 whether I run or not. Scary, huh?

But wait, there's more!

The part that really gets my heart racing is that by the end of September, APLA needs the full amount. So basically, the deal is that they charge your credit card with the remaining balance and then you continue to fundraise until March 2007. Problem is... I don't have a credit card, or rather, should I say, I don't have a line of credit. If I can't get the balance low enough for me to put cash money on the table, I don't get to go. That scares me more than getting injured. That's the panic attack always waiting on the other side of the door.

When that happens, I try not to smoke a cigarette and remind myself that it will work out, and sometimes, I'm fortunate to have that reminder comes from an outside source, as in CHICAGO this weekend. After watching it once for fun, I decided to watch it again with the director's commentary. At one point, Rob Marshall (the director) said that really this story was about how life is a stage and that we are all in search of our unique act. I had to laugh. How true, I thought.

Just like Roxie Hart, I've been fumbling my way towards my goal (while trying not to get caught in the net of certain doom). When I see that, I am reminded of the fact that I'm still standing here is the testament that I will make it to the end. In fact, ever since I've signed up for this marathon, I've always seen myself crossing the finish line. And just as Roxie succeeds in the end, I too will find my own unique way too .... just maybe with a little less razzle dazzle.

Update Coming

2006-08-21T07:20:00.000-07:00

An update will be posted by tomorrow morning. With my motherboard dying, may she rest in peace, it's been a struggle to get computer time. So the update will be postponed by a day, but it will be coming... So stay tuned!

Visit Me Next Saturday in Studio City

2006-08-14T10:20:00.000-07:00

Come visit me! Spread the word!

I'll have a little table setup outside at Trader Joe's in Studio City this upcoming Saturday (Aug. 19th) , so please come on by and donate a few dollars. Remember $10 or more gets you a button, but anything will help me towards my goal.

Trader Joe's is located at 11976 Ventura Blvd, east of Laurel Canyon Blvd, in Studio City, CA 91604 within a shopping mall. I'll be there from 2-5pm by the front doors / watermelon.

And please (pretty please) spread the word!

Thanks!
:J

Down for 30th Birthday Maintenance

2006-08-13T20:21:00.000-07:00

Sorry to say, folks, but there will be no post this week since it was my 30th birthday this past Friday. It's not because I've fallen into some deep depression or anything like that, although it does kind of scares me that that is the standard reaction. In fact, I've been actually quite happy about the whole thing. I say, goodbye twenties, it's been fun, but I moving on to bigger and better things!

No, truthfully, I didn't want to go through the effort of making a "true" post. I just wanted to enjoy this weekend. Unwind. Alright, recover, recover! from my night of induldgence. Cupcakes, dancing, and sweet liquor. I did it all, I did, and I confess, I had to recover. There you have it. So, I just wanted to relax (recover) this weekend. I truly hope you can understand.

And with that, I leave you with this question:

If the option were available, would you subscribe to a newsletter format of these posts? Basically, every Monday, you would receive an email with the latest post rather than having to come to the website. I figure it would not only be more convenient for you, but it would be a great way to point out any changes/additions that I make to the site. So I would love to hear if you're interested, but also any other great ideas you might have.

Well, I need to go back to relaxing (recovering) and I'll see you next week!

Facing AIDS 25 Years Later

2006-08-06T22:32:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to share an article with you that I read a couple months back (thanks to Julius for passing it on to me) -

25 Years of AIDS by John Yewell

While I've been seeing it mentioned more so lately, I'm sure there might be a few of you out therestill that aren't aware that it's been 25 years since the outbreak of AIDS. I certaintly hadn't realized it until I saw this article.

It was interesting, too, because it crystallized a specific reason why I was running. Up until that point, since I hadn't personally known anyone directly with HIV/AIDS, I felt like I didn't have a concrete answer. Sure, I can say that I care very deeply about people's health. And I can tell you that I liked how this program seemed to channel my activist energy very well. I guess I just wanted something more. Call it Italian guilt or something, I don't know, but I was having a hard time with the best explanation to myself or anyone else being "well, I grew up with it."

Then this article came into my hands, and I thought "25 years! It's been that long?" That's when it hit me. Wow, I grew UP with it. I mean, I was on the eve of my 9th birthday when Rock Hudson died and the AIDS epidemic was officially recognized. By that point, though, we all certaintly knew about it. We just weren't sure how we would get it. It was something unknown and scary out there that could get us at anytime.

It horrified me, and even more so, it added much to the alienation I was already feeling. See, my first few years of life was, well, very "My Big Fat Italian Family." I lived in a rather abundant household with mom, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, dogs, and of course, everyone was loud and full of life. When my grandparents moved out of state just before I entered first grade, my mom and I moved out on our own and into a new community. Everything changed, and certainly nothing felt stable after that for years to come.

By the time I was in junior high, my mom was working two-, sometimes, three jobs, often leaving with my babysitter, who fortunately became very much like an older sister to me, and then eventually alone when I became old enough. As well, the fact that I chose to spend my summers with my grandparents only isolated me more. It was very hard to make friends, much less keep them. It seemed like in no time at all, I had became extracted from the world, isolated from it, and losing touch with it rapidly.

The world seemed to unravel more every day. It become more unknown and because of it, scarier. The arrival of AIDS just amplified it all. Especially during those early days, when there was a great fear of coming into contact with someone. Touching should be avoided. The fact that it was scary to shake someone's hand made me afraid to touch what anyone had touched, and thus, made me afraid of everything. It could be anywhere.

It was as if making a sustaining connection with someone, already feeling rather difficult, became impossible because of AIDS. It was a personal attack, too. AIDS had to come along specifically to make sure that I would stay removed and alienated. It was out to get me. It knew my name.

Reading the article brought me back to those days, and sure, it's all moved on from there. AIDS, my life, all of it, has made it on more stable ground, but to have grown up with it directly impacted my life and my sense of the world around me. So sure, of course, I'm running for the Uncle Ronnie's of this world, the loved ones who have felt such a loss, as well for those today struggling to stay alive, and for all the good APLA provides. But I'm also running for kids like me.

In that way, it can never get me. Not really.

---

Click here for a look back at the last 25 years.

I'm a 10!

2006-07-24T08:12:00.000-07:00

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!

Miscellanea

2006-07-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

Hope you've made it through this weekend all right. I have to imagine it's pretty hot everywhere. It was a rough one here in Los Angeles. We hit 112º on Saturday!

Please forgive me for this post being a bit dry this week. I have so many wonderful insights to share with you, but I had to share some announcements. But I will tell you this... I ran 9 miles with my group yesterday, and I swear, it scares me how easy it is for me. Even in the heat. I'm loving it!

So, onward to the announcements!

As you might notice, things keeping popping up all over my page:

BUTTON PICTURE IS NOW AVAILABLE
There's a picture of the button now for you to reference. Right now, you'll still have to email me if you want one, but I'm hoping I can figure out something to either erase that step (or at least, make it easier). So, we will see. No promises.

LINK TO DONOR FORM IS NOW WORKING
I realize that I never told you about the donor form (PDF) link is working. So download away!

MY AMAZON SHOP HAS OPENED IT'S DOORS
Well, my Amazon shop is finally up and running. For those who don't know, I've been doing a very slooooow spring cleaning, which I do about twice a year. I always wind up getting rid of a quite a few things and normally, I give it all to the local Good Will. This time, since I'm trying to raise money for APLA, I thought I would post these items (mainly books) on Amazon. Hopefully it'll work.

The prices are rather high, I realize, but check it out to see if you (or someone you know) might be interested in any of these titles. And there's more coming, too! I just received another box full of books thanks to my friend, Tania, who has been doing some spring cleaning of her own. As well as, I have an Ovation AA21 acoustic guitar that I just haven't gotten around to posting (because I haven't gotten around to getting a box to ship it in), but I figure I'd price it at $150. I think it's in excellent condition and would make for a lovely gift to any budding guitar player. So, there's quite a few things to be sold and if you're interested in any of it, but the price is just too steep, just let me know. We'll work it out.

HELP ME GET A HAT
The Marathon people are trying to give us runners an incentive... a hat. Check it out:

Schnazzy, ain't it? Well, if I receive $250 in donations by August 2nd, you guessed it, I get THE hat. In case you were planning on donating, let this be incentive for you.

BLUE HAWAII SCREENING
One of my fellow runners is having a rather cool fundraising party, and while I'm still deciding if I can go, I thought I would pass it on just in case you thought it was interesting. And if you go, you will earn me $5, but you have to purchase your ticket before August 11th!

Blue Hawaii: Under the Stars

Relive the days of the Drive-In!
(minus the car)

Food, drink and Hollywood excitement with the one, the only Elvis Presley. Featuring a special showing of his cinematic classic: Blue Hawaii.

Your $25 per person suggested donation includes food, drink and an evening of entertainment, complete with live Hula Dancers and a special 30 Foot High screen for showing Blue Hawaii.

Saturday, August 26, 2006
7 pm - 11 pm

AIDS Service Center
1030 S. Arroyo Pkwy.
Pasadena, CA 91103

So purchase tickets now! .

You must be on the guest list. No tickets will be available at the door.

(And it says something about Hawaiian attire being required. I hope they mean "suggested" or "encouraged".)

WE HAVE COME TO THE END

So there you have it. Despite all these announcements, I'm sure there are still a few things I'm forgetting to tell you. (It's bad. I know!)

Well, I promise next week will be bigger, better, bolder! Okay, maybe, I'll just strive for shorter. Ha!

See ya next week :)

Uncle Gene's Annual 10k Birthday

2006-07-16T23:53:00.000-07:00

Happy Monday, and thanks for coming back!

So, Uncle Gene's birthday party was this weekend!

Okay, so he's not my uncle (he's actually Rebecca's) and yesterday was the first I met him. Pssh, details, I tell you!

It all started a couple weeks ago, when Rebecca, one of my new marathon buddies, invited me to this unique celebration. See, Uncle Gene's birthday party involves a 5k/10k run/walk. Now, some of you might be thinking, "OMG! I'm not in shape for that!", and then there some of you wondering, "Wow, that's really soft gold." But don't worry, it's actually very cool.

About 18 years ago, as Uncle Gene was realizing that he wasn't getting any younger, that's when his wife, Aunt Jan, and him decided to channel his fondness for running into his birthday celebration. And they've been doing it every since! This year, Uncle Gene is turning 72.

Uncle Gene, and his wife, Aunt Jan (if I remember correctly) live in Marina Del Rey, so they reserve an outdoor tenthouse at hotel just off the coast with a beautiful view of the ocean, and set up a course that takes you along the beach, past outdoor cafes and around yacht yards. It's very serene, especially at 9am in the morning.

Most people walk the 5k, which is approximately 3.1 miles, except for a handful of people who run either the 5k or 10k. Rebecca and I ran the 10k. So did Uncle Gene, his older brother (by a year), and a few other seniors. And of course, they were all ahead of us. They ran the entire time, while Rebecca and I used the run:walk ratio (run 3 minutes, walk 2) that we use on our long runs every week. We kept teasing them, "We're marathoners. We don't neeeed to run the entire time." It was really supportive though, and we were woo-hooing and clapping as we passed each other.

Aunt Jan organizes everything for this event, and let me tell you, she goes all out. It's great! Everyone who participates has to wear a "runner" number, including animals. Yes, there are always a few dogs that participate every year, and this year was no exception. Signs with arrows are posted. Course maps are made. Permission from the city is granted. Group photos are taken. A complimentary t-shirt, hat, button and photo CD is given to every guest, including +1's, like myself. My personal favorite, though, is the start / finish line with a large digital timer display! And then, a photograph is taken of each person as they cross the finish line!!

Then, we notate our times, so Aunt Jan can hand out fun awards/prizes, which I missed because I had to leave, but to me, more exciting was the fact she posts a big list of everyone's times for all 17 previous run/walks. So pretty much, you can see what Uncle Gene's did 18 years ago, and if I were to be there next year, I would be on the list, too.

No one sings happy birthday and no gifts are given to Uncle Gene. After the run/walk, everyone fills their plates with fruit, bagels, lox and schmear for brunch, and by the time they are done, the cake is ready and waiting to be served on their individual plates. And instead of gifts, they set up a jar for a charity of their choice, encouraging people to turn that gift money into a donation.

Then, Aunt Jan announces everything from "fastest walker in the 5k" to "fastest dog". Or at least that's what I've been told, and I think she gives out a ribbon or something. After seeing everything else, I'd almost be surprised if she didn't. It was so official looking, that local residents that crossed our path inquire what competition we were in, ha! Unfortunately, though, I had to go, but it was just so lovely to be part of it all. As Rebecca said so wisely when she was first telling me about this, "What a great way to celebrate life."

After running 8 miles with our group on Saturday, Rebecca and I ran another 6.2 miles at Uncle Gene's with a finish time of 1:21:21, which was great and right on target for our pace group.

Then, about half way through our run, it struck me that I woke up at 6am on a Sunday morning (me, a night person!) to do all this, and as I was running, I realized I couldn't imagine doing anything else more fun.

Look at me? A Blogger!

2006-07-10T19:55:00.000-07:00

It's official - I'm a Blogger now. (Am I saying that right? Using the right lingo?)

Well, I wish I would have thought of using this site sooner than tonight, but oh well.

The updates that were posted on the AIDS Marathon site have been moved over here, and I'll start posting a new update every Monday.

BTW, what you think of the title of this site? I couldn't think of anything!! Suggestions are definitely welcome.

Also, I can't get the link "Download the Donor Form" working properly. I'm providing a PDF version in case anyone prefers to mail in their donation. Until I can figure it out, it looks like you can still get to it by copying the link, then pasting it into the address line. And if I'm completely wrong about that, then I'm sure I'll figure it out by the end of the week (the latest).

Although this is a bit tricky, I wanted to let you know that $10 gets you a button. I say it's tricky because it's more work for you, but I'm telling you because I would love to reward you for your generosity and time. Basically, once you've donated, you have to email me with your name and mailing address. I will post a picture of the actual button next week, but this is the design.

Anyway, please come on back and let's get the party started!

In Memory of Uncle Ronnie

2006-07-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

My friend, Stannie, recently told me about her Uncle Ronnie who passed away from AIDS. I was really touched by her story, and immediately connected to the obvious close bond that they shared, as well as the loss her and her family still feel very strongly today. So I’m running in memory of him. I'll post a photo of him soon, and here is his story:

RONNIE DEE MILLSAP
October 26, 1958 to November 16, 1994

Uncle Ronnie was one of those rare and special people who was always thinking of how to bring joy into other people’s lives. Whether it was making fruit baskets and delivering them to the elderly ladies who lived alone, or buying hamburgers at McDonald’s and passing them out to the homeless, Uncle Ronnie always seemed to be constantly looking for ways to reach out to people.

One of Stannie’s favorite memories of her uncle was when she was a little girl. He was working at a store at that time, where occasionally he would run across Barbie dolls with defects in it. Since there was a strict company policy that employees could not take home any damaged goods and that they had to be thrown away, Uncle Ronnie would drive back to the store after it closed for the night, just so he could retrieve the dolls from the dumpsters and give them to Stannie and her sister. Throughout the years, the girls accumulated quite a collection thanks to Uncle Ronnie.

To him, everyone was important and much of his life was dedicated to making sure people knew that they mattered. That’s what AIDS took away from us. We lost kindness and acceptance. We lost the security of knowing that there was a hand to hold when we needed it. We lost a light that shined in our lives. We lost Uncle Ronnie.

Uncle Ronnie passed away in the Fall of 1994. A few months after his death, Stannie's mother found a letter he had written to god during his final days tucked away in his bible. Since then, the letter has become something very dear to everyone in Stannie’s family, and in honor of him, it’s posted here in its entirety.

On behalf of Stannie and her family, I like to say that we miss you, Uncle Ronnie. Please know that you’re still alive in our hearts.

I thank you
God
For another day
You’re in my heart
And there to stay

Your Healing hands
Have touched my soul
And you made me bloom
Just like a rose

You gave your
Only son
That’s true
And I would die for you

But please dear god
Before I go
Give me more time to
Let all know

That I have so
Much love to give
And maybe it will
Help them live
To know I care
So much

I have two special
Girls in my life
Delena and Stannie Jaye
I’d love to see them grow up
Before I’m on my way
For they are my special darlings
Who make me want to stay

And don’t forget
Dear Lord
Jeremy J., Clinton
Jason & Joel
For they are always in my heart
And they are like my own.
We don’t say a lot but
I feel more inside emotion
For my feelings tend to close
Me up and if I could only live
Here on this earth a little while
To my boys my heart I’d give
Complete

There’s two more girls
Dear lord I’d like to mention now
My sisters Beth and Pat
Beth has given me much greater gifts
Than gold she gave me her love since
I was one day old.
She is my (mom) too
You see she ranks with
Mamma & Daddy
She is my friend
Who I can love and Trust
I can tell her anything and
She will set me Straight
We don’t always have to agree
And we do like to debate
For both of us are much alike
We give and we don’t take

It breaks my heart to see
When she puts herself down
For to me
She is a beautiful person from
The “outside” in
Not just from the inside out
Because she glows of love and beauty
And always straight from the heart

I had to mention her ahead
For she Says just what she Thinks.
That stinks or that just sucks
Sometimes her language is so bad
She should be driving trucks.

I wouldn’t want her to be any other way
Because I love the (truth)
And she will spill
It all out no matter how uncouth.

My other love for pat
You see is also very strong
When I was young on Mill Street
I’d see her sit and primp
She’d rat her hair and
get dressed up
And set real limp
Still feel not quite happy with herself
She is beautiful to all in school
The kids would turn to see,
The blonde,
The brunette and the
Red head
She is quite shy, like Marilyn Monroe
She has that hidden quality that she turns
Off & On.
Of all my Brothers and Sisters
She is the one I worry about the most
For She has had a troubled life
In love for love she gave was not returned

But I see now she has a man
Who cares enough
To show his love for her and tenderness
Two things you really have
To have to make a marriage work.

I’ll now say now
I also have 2 good brothers too
Charles is good & kind to all
and his Love for Judy is true.
But if it weren’t for Jason
The sky would not be blue

Donnie’s
Love for me is shy
And he keeps it all inside,
But I can see right through it
All he loves me very much
And if he hurts I can feel his pain
We do communicate
He really is a nervous One
With anger love and hate.
We don’t work good together
For he gets mad and shouts.
But I understand how he feels
And I love him even more
He calls me up when nobody’s around
And ask me to take trips
To nice places he has been &
He sends me insurance papers
And always try’s to give me good advice
I love you Donnie

Now there is a love
I could never change
She’s my momma
She’s kind and gentle loving caring
And if She could she would
Take care of the whole world
She is definitely my mom
For she and I both
Have the same emotions and care
For the same things
She is my heart
She is my lady
She is my mom
She is my friend
She is my greatest Love of all
And if she cries I die inside
She makes me laugh
And that’s hard to do
She brings out all in me
The things that are good and true
I love you mama
And always will forever & in Heaven

I love my uncle jess too
For he is full of love.
He gets a little cranky
But that’s because he’s old

Thursday, June 28 - Running with the Group Now

2006-07-10T19:49:00.001-07:00

I’m back! And I’m finally running with the group now. It’s actually been about three weeks and it’s amazing what a difference it makes in the long runs. I decided way back that once I started with the group, I would let them train me from there, so running with the group, the longest we have ran so far has been 5 miles. Next week, it’ll be 6. It’s funny. I don’t even worry about the long runs ever since I’ve been with my group, because we talk and laugh, so the time (and the miles) fly right by. The hardest challenge has been arriving at 7am, but I’ve managed to make it every time and now it’s pushing my overall schedule earlier. I can’t seem to sleep back 8am, even if I really, really try. I’m not complaining though. It’s so worth it.

I was realizing the other day, that although there are many obvious benefits I receive in doing this program (getting fit, traveling, etc), that really the part that makes me feel the most alive is that through this marathon I have finally been able to channel some of that do-gooder energy of mine. I remember when I first contemplated signing up, I thought of it as “all around positive”, but being on the inside now, I would almost put it another way. I like that I’m not in argumentative mode (writing a letter, participating in a march, etc) to see change, or in this case, help people struggling with HIV/AIDS. It really has nourished all areas of my life.

Well, if there weren’t any technical difficulties, you should also see a picture of me posted now. Granted it’s not an action shot, but at least it’s something, and I’m working to take a more athletic, running photo of me posted soon.

Also, for those of you who picture me with a cigarette in hand, well no more, because I can proudly say that I’ve been a non-smoker now for over a month!

Well, that’s the broad strokes for right now, but stay tuned -- next time, we’ll do an Italian lesson!

Tuesday, May 9 - Starting to Run Now

2006-07-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have decided to begin running now, so that I'm in tip-top shape when I officially start with the group on June 10th. Following advice from runners I have had the pleasure to talk with as well as the book Marathon that this whole program is based off of, I have run 3-4 times a week (depending on my schedule) with 1 stretch-training / workout-at-home day thrown in there, and of course, Saturday being my designated long run day. With all that being said, I'm very happy to report that I ran 6.2 miles this past weekend! My pre-training, needless to say, is going very well, and I'm amazed how much fun I'm having in the process. I honestly never thought I would be saying that, but it's true!

Also, I've been studying the Italian language (from CD's) and that has been going pretty well. Not as quickly as I would like it to sometimes, but I keep moving forward. Right now, I can give very basic directions (like it's here or it's there) as well as a say that I would like to eat. You know, the important stuff. So hopefully, by the time I get to Florence in November, I will be able to hold decent conversations in Italian. How I keep hoping!

Well, gotta run! I'll update you soon!