When I started to get semi-serious about running I promised myself I'd only run for me. No running clubs, no teams, no fundraising. Just me. If I happened to make a friend or two, or a husband (we went for an 8-miler on our second date) along the way, fine, but heading out for miles on the road or on the trails was something just for me.
No sharing. ALL FOR ME!
Except I lied to myself, apparently. A few months ago the social worker at the Ronald McDonald House on the grounds of the children's hospital kind enough to employ me called to say that the house had been chosen as an official charity for this year's 2011 Philadelphia Marathon.
Here's how the conversation went:
Me: Ok, thanks for sharing that.
Her: Well,I know that you run.
Me: Yes, I do.
Her: And I know that you've run marathons.
Me: Not, like, every day or anything.
Her: Want to join the team? You only have to raise $900** and it will be fun. And the fundraising is for this specific house, not all of them.
Me: You mean you don't have to share the money with any of the other houses?
My interest was piqued. My hospital (like I own it) serves all sorts of kids from all sorts of places and all sorts of socioeconomic backgrounds. The Ronald McDonald House, as you probably know already, houses families who have to come from a distance of at least 25 miles in order to have their child receive necessary medical care.
Some babies in my unit remain inpatients for a year, if not longer. The RMH asks for a fee of $15 a night per family but never turns away anyone who is unable to pay. Some families pay $10, some $5, some nothing--whatever they can afford. All are given a giant private room, bathroom, meals and a beautiful house with a small staff of professionals and volunteers equipped to familes through what is likely the hardest time of their life.
I work specifically in the NICU. The average length of stay in our unit is more than a month -- we've even had first birthday parties for kids who have been too sick to ever leave the hospital. The RMH gives familes the opportunity to be with their kid every day, to not have to worry about housing, or food. These expenses add up, even for families who were financially stable before welcoming a sick little one into their family.
Take one family, for example (I am sort of changing some of the stuff because I like my job and don't want to lose it in fear of violating HIPAA). Mom and Dad couldn't wait to welcome their first child into the family. His nursery was ready, pregnancy, labor and delivery were as boring as could be, apparently. But as soon as the little guy tried to take his first breath, well, he couldn't. He was scooped up and brought to the NICU where I work when he was just a few hours old.
His parents stayed behind, choosing to come to the NICU to meet their son for the first time together as soon as Mom was released. The Ronald McDonald House immediately made room for them and Mom and Dad were able to spend hours and hours every day with their little guy. Mom and Dad got to know us, we got to know them and their kid.
One morning I came to work and the first person I saw was Dad crying in the hallway. His son had just died after two months in the hospital. I spent most of the morning with him and Mom. All they kept saying was that they were glad they got to spend so much time with their son, thanks to the Ronald McDonald House. Mom and Dad had cut back drastically on their work hours in order to be at their baby's bedside. Dad soon began to worry how he was going to pay for his son's funeral.
The RMH paid for everything.
If this was the only family the RMH ever helped, I'd still run as part of their team. In 2010 the house assisted more than 535 families, all coping with caring for a seriously ill or critically ill child.
So what the hell, I finally figured. If so many families are helped by the RMH, how can I not suck it up, raise a few bucks and run 26.2 miles to help ensure that this help remains available?
If I get less lazy than I currently am I hope to have families who have stayed at the house write guests posts about the help and support they received. I probably won't get any less lazy or any less creative though so I will probably just sporadically post the link to the fundraising page I will eventually create in case anyone has extra dollaz that they don't know what to do with.
** Everyone on the team had to pay $100 to join. The Philly Marathon has donated 25 entries to the RMH team with the caveat that team members pay the entry fee as a donation to the house. I dig this because I like to run ... why should other people's donations pay for something I'd be doing anyway? The money raised by the team goes directly to the RMH.
Showing posts with label cute babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cute babies. Show all posts
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
All Who Wander Are Lost
Would you like to see an incomplete list of people/things that have a better sense of direction than I do? No? Ok, then, here it is:
• The DVD case for North Shore
• My 21-month-old cousin
• George Donner
• This cat
• My copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare from college
• Kale
• Etc.
I missed an entire day of high school toward the end of my senior year because I got lost driving to school. I wasn’t the new kid or anything – I’d lived in the same house since 5th grade yet I took 8,897 wrong turns and ended up in front of the Washington monument, 20 miles from my school.
Things did not, unfortunately, get better as I got older. In college, with the help of a good friend, I went over the Ben Franklin Bridge six times in attempt to find The Spaghetti Warehouse, three whole miles from where I lived at the time. Total necessary trips over the bridge to get to The Spaghetti Warehouse? None.
Often, I contemplate which makes me more sad – the fact that I spent a Friday night going over the same bridge six times by accident or the fact that I spent a Friday night trying to go to The Spaghetti Warehouse on purpose.
Things haven’t changed. Whenever I go somewhere new I have an atlas (I am not kidding), MapQuest directions and at least one GPS ready to go. Yet still I get lost.
I am extremely fortunate that my lack of internal compass carries over to foot-based activities.
A few years ago I hung out in Oslo for a week or two, mostly because I am a dork and thus became mildly obsessed with the Vigeland Park. I went for a run one day through the park and toward some hills in the distance.
After about 30 minutes I reached the hills and ducked into the woods. Not too smart and no proper trails but it was beautiful and I wanted to explore. I reasoned if I went straight ahead and up I could easily find my way back by turning around and going straight ahead and down. Incorrect. Four hours of running/jogging/hiking/uh, will I ever see another human again/if I do will they have Gatorade?/I wonder if I can survive on the moss growing on that log over there/maybe I will at least find Viking bones later I made it back to the hostel.
Best unintentional long run ever.
A year or two later Bill was on a kick for a bit that I should know how to navigate in adventure races so we spent many early weekend mornings orienteering. We were surrounded by dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr who wore outfits like this…
…and this …
… while I wore running shorts. Each time. I never learned my lesson and ended up looking like Edward Scissorhands and Freddy Krueger played Pirates of the Caribbean swordfight on my legs. The lack of appropriate wardrobe was the high point of my orienteering career. Low point? Getting so lost at one meet that the dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr had to come looking for me.
The fun continues. Last week I and my friend Christine headed to Columbus, Ohio, to meet my friend Annemarie’s new adorable kid.
Columbus, home of a marathon so flat with so few turns that even I can eek out a time just good enough to sneek into the Boston Marathon. The course is basically a couple of straight out-and-backs and a few loops and goes within a block of Annemarie’s house. The course markers are left up year round giving locals or bobos visiting from out of town the chance to train on the exact race course.
On Sunday I headed out for a quick run. “I will be back in 20 minutes,” I told my friends. I quickly found the 25-mile marker for the race and decided to head to the finish line and then back to their house. Impossible to screw up.
Fourteen miles and 109 minutes later I made it back.
From the 26-mile marker I headed right when I should have headed left and ended up seeing most of Columbus on foot. At one point I ran onto the entrance ramp for a highway but realized my mistake before I had to merge.
“Columbus is the size of a pea,” I kept telling myself. “I will stumble upon their house sometime soon.” Thirty minutes went by. “Well, as long as I don’t see signs for Cincinnati I am ok.” I looked up and saw a sign for Cincinnati.
“Um, hmm,” I thought. “I am still in marathon recovery mode. This might not be good. Even more tragic, my iPod battery is low.”
Eventually I saw the mighty Columbus skyline and headed toward it reasoning that at least I knew I was in the right city. A half-hour later I saw signs directing to a landmark only a mile or so from Annemarie’s and finally wove my way back. I felt like a champion!
My buds admitted they were starting to get worried, but here is why I love them: “Well, I just guessed that you found the marathon route, followed it for a while, tried to come right back but went in the exact opposite direction,” Christine said. “I thought you would eventually come back.” And I did.
• The DVD case for North Shore
• My 21-month-old cousin
• George Donner
• This cat
• My copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare from college
• Kale
• Etc.
I missed an entire day of high school toward the end of my senior year because I got lost driving to school. I wasn’t the new kid or anything – I’d lived in the same house since 5th grade yet I took 8,897 wrong turns and ended up in front of the Washington monument, 20 miles from my school.
Things did not, unfortunately, get better as I got older. In college, with the help of a good friend, I went over the Ben Franklin Bridge six times in attempt to find The Spaghetti Warehouse, three whole miles from where I lived at the time. Total necessary trips over the bridge to get to The Spaghetti Warehouse? None.
Often, I contemplate which makes me more sad – the fact that I spent a Friday night going over the same bridge six times by accident or the fact that I spent a Friday night trying to go to The Spaghetti Warehouse on purpose.
Things haven’t changed. Whenever I go somewhere new I have an atlas (I am not kidding), MapQuest directions and at least one GPS ready to go. Yet still I get lost.
I am extremely fortunate that my lack of internal compass carries over to foot-based activities.
A few years ago I hung out in Oslo for a week or two, mostly because I am a dork and thus became mildly obsessed with the Vigeland Park. I went for a run one day through the park and toward some hills in the distance.
After about 30 minutes I reached the hills and ducked into the woods. Not too smart and no proper trails but it was beautiful and I wanted to explore. I reasoned if I went straight ahead and up I could easily find my way back by turning around and going straight ahead and down. Incorrect. Four hours of running/jogging/hiking/uh, will I ever see another human again/if I do will they have Gatorade?/I wonder if I can survive on the moss growing on that log over there/maybe I will at least find Viking bones later I made it back to the hostel.
Best unintentional long run ever.
A year or two later Bill was on a kick for a bit that I should know how to navigate in adventure races so we spent many early weekend mornings orienteering. We were surrounded by dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr who wore outfits like this…
 |
 |
| I won't lie ... at first I did a bit of internal mocking. And then I realized that these peeps could crush me in all sorts of sport. |
… while I wore running shorts. Each time. I never learned my lesson and ended up looking like Edward Scissorhands and Freddy Krueger played Pirates of the Caribbean swordfight on my legs. The lack of appropriate wardrobe was the high point of my orienteering career. Low point? Getting so lost at one meet that the dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr had to come looking for me.
The fun continues. Last week I and my friend Christine headed to Columbus, Ohio, to meet my friend Annemarie’s new adorable kid.
Columbus, home of a marathon so flat with so few turns that even I can eek out a time just good enough to sneek into the Boston Marathon. The course is basically a couple of straight out-and-backs and a few loops and goes within a block of Annemarie’s house. The course markers are left up year round giving locals or bobos visiting from out of town the chance to train on the exact race course.
 |
| See? Doesn't that look easy? |
From the 26-mile marker I headed right when I should have headed left and ended up seeing most of Columbus on foot. At one point I ran onto the entrance ramp for a highway but realized my mistake before I had to merge.
“Columbus is the size of a pea,” I kept telling myself. “I will stumble upon their house sometime soon.” Thirty minutes went by. “Well, as long as I don’t see signs for Cincinnati I am ok.” I looked up and saw a sign for Cincinnati.
“Um, hmm,” I thought. “I am still in marathon recovery mode. This might not be good. Even more tragic, my iPod battery is low.”
Eventually I saw the mighty Columbus skyline and headed toward it reasoning that at least I knew I was in the right city. A half-hour later I saw signs directing to a landmark only a mile or so from Annemarie’s and finally wove my way back. I felt like a champion!
My buds admitted they were starting to get worried, but here is why I love them: “Well, I just guessed that you found the marathon route, followed it for a while, tried to come right back but went in the exact opposite direction,” Christine said. “I thought you would eventually come back.” And I did.
 |
| Together again. |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)