For Maxine

Last night I ran my weekly 4 mile race.

I have run it many times and in a way running the same course week after week does something to you. In essence, the race becomes a familiar friend that you visit once a week. You see each mile as a conversation, your shoes hitting the pavement with a thud and your breath heavy and even. Some weeks the conversation is tough. It can be about pain and self-doubt. Often, it is hard due to many miles run that week, other times it is painful due to injury or poor pacing.

This week the conversation was about my family. Over the last year I have been through a lot and there were a lot of times that I didn’t think that I could go on. The only thing that I could hang my hat on during this time was my family. My parents steadfast support was the stuff that most people only dream of. Often times my thoughts have turned to them while running, however, this week I was thinking of someone else.

My grandmother, who is the oldest living member of my family at 92, has always been the nicest person I have ever known. She is some sort of incarnation of Ms. Claus. With her curly white hair and constant adorable wink, she is the picture of what a grandmother should be. As a reporter for years she was well known throughout the town of Fort Dodge, IA. As kids when she would take us to Tom Thumb for burgers, or pretty much anywhere in town we would run into at least 2 or 3 people who knew her. I thought she was famous. The truth was, that her sparkle, her amazing personality, led her to make friends with almost anyone and also was a tremendous asset to her in her job.

She also raised two amazing women, my mom and my aunt. Both of whom are role models for what intelligent, thoughtful, caring women should be.

This week she is in the hospital, and I wish that I could give her some of my strength. So I ran as fast as I could, but I felt light and even when the breath burned my lungs I didn’t waver. I beat my best time, and finished 3^rd, earning a spot in the newspaper. The whole time I just kept thinking, “I’m not giving up tonight, I'll fight as hard as I can. I will dedicate this run to her.”

When I got home, I took all the medals I have from all the triathlons, marathons and other road races I have run over the past 6 years and put them in the box. Today I am shipping them to her. Those medals are a piece of me and I hope she can gather strength from them on her journey, wherever that may take her. She is a greater champion than any medal can grant her, because she has lived a life of love and of purpose. Let us all strive to do the same.

A list of my medals:

Jingle bell run 5k

New jersey half marathon

Vermont city marathon

Ras na heireann 5k

Philly independence tri

Title 9 womans tri

Cranberry tri fest

Patriot half ironman triathlon

Uccidere il drago

Running in Rome is a funny thing... Over here, even in Italian, they call it "jogging".

The side streets are better than the main street for running, mainly because the sidewalks are narrow and crowded. The B and B proprietor, Barbara, says, "the air is much better on the side streets, don't you think?... Because of the pollution." I am just happy not to have to chose whether to dodge the overgrown ivy and pedestrians or dodge the throng of fiats and smart cars that whizz by. Barbara says to me, "I saw you out on your run, and I used the horn. You seemed very serious and fast." I replied that I was just trying not to get lost. I had a hand drawn map (that on my first 'run' out I seemed to stop and check every ten feet) and know only about as many italian words as I have fingers so if I get lost....you get the idea.

The side streets have no sidewalks so I have to run in the road...but after the first tenuous time out, I feel free! Dodging the cars becomes a game and I love the winding streets. The rolling hills are great fun and in stark contrast from Firenze. Apartment complexes line the hills and I wonder what it is like to live here. A few miles from the Tiber river...where new and old collide. Gucci and ancients walk the line, playing chicken...jockeying for importance.

In Firenze, running up to the piazza del Michelangelo, I felt like rocky running up the art museum steps. Triumphant, I stood looking out on the city...reflecting on the wonder that had washed over me in the previous few days. One of the most important being the de chirico exhibit and visiting the piazza Santa croche afterwards. Envisioning what the painter felt as he laid brush to canvas. Of this whole experience I thought of his words, "what is there to love if not the enigma."

Location:Via Campione d'Italia,Rome,Italy

European slaying, take one.

My red eye flight led me the Firenze airport at 12:30, 3 hours before my friends wedding was about to begin. I caught a cab ride across town to the train station, successfully navigated the italian ticket machine, and hopped abroad the first train I could to Prato. My watch showed 1:30 upon my hustle across the square in Prato to catch my next cab ride to the villa where Luca, the groom, had booked me a room....or at least was supposed to. I had no confirmation number, and no phone number for the "boarding house" as he had called it. While this made me a bit nervous, I had heard rumors about the Italian way and their relaxed nature of things, so I figured...when in Rome. I showed the driver, whom spoke no English the address, she nodded as her slender frame hoisted my huge suitcase into the trunk. Twisting up the alley that they called a road through the countryside, honking the horn around the corners to let the oncoming traffic know that we were there (2 cars could not fit on the same road, the blind corners needed the honk)
The car grinds to a halt and she looks at me in a way that says, "TaDa". To my right are some huge gates and a sign for a villa carved into them. The villa looks straight out of "under the Tuscan sun" and is amazing.
As the cab speeds away, I think to myself, if this is not the right place....I'm screwed. Let's recap: I'm a few miles from town, I have no idea where I am, I don't know the language, and it's 2 hours until the wedding.
I haul my large suitcase, which holds my world for the next two weeks, into the courtyard and look around for a door.
After I have situated myself, I stand in front of two large wooden doors fit for a castle and press the buzzer with my fingers crossed. My heart sinks a little when a voice emits from the speaker in incomprehensible fast Italian. I stammer nervously, "I'm here for Luca and Michelle's wedding." Hoping that the person who holds the keys to the bedroom I hope to sleep in that night understands some English. Like magic, the door opens and the proprietor takes one long look at me and says, "you must be from Boston!"
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I don my heels for the two mile walk to the church, feeling like the victorious warrior I was. My reward? One of the best nights of my life, at a wedding that was so beautiful and special, it made me say, " if I ever get married again, it will be here."
Keep your heart open and adventure will find you.

Location:Florence, Italy

"I can't"

As I have embarked upon this journey and this mission to slay the dragon I have realized many things about life and about myself.

A year ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I was on track with a life that I thought I had wanted and everything seemed in place for my future. But I realized that:

1) we never know what other people may do, only what we ourselves do is in our control.

2) having a plan and being 'on track' checking off boxes along the way does not bring us happiness.

3) we are all capable of more than we can even imagine.

One thing, however, has not changed. Since as long as I can remember I have always hated when someone says, "I can't". This is because, very often, whatever they are naysaying they could do if they only applied themselves.

When I was in middle school I was lazy and confused. I didn't fit in with the people in the school and I had decided that I was dumb. When it came to school, I gave up trying and having expectations for myself. One day when I got another mediocre grade on an paper, my teacher at the time turned to me and said, "Ann, you are better than this." It was at that instant that I knew she was right and that I had been holding myself back. I rededicated myself to school with more focus then ever before. While I knew that I may not get straight A's, I knew that I had to do my best. I knew at that moment that I was doing this for myself and for no one else.

In graduate school there were many people whom put me down and told me I would never get my Ph.D. The darkness creeped back in and started to jade everything I did. I worked so hard I was hardly sleeping and hardly eating but still I didn't feel as if that were enough. My old method of hard work and determination didn't fit this new environment. One day a fellow student told me that I had what it took to succeed. From that moment on, that spark of positivity changed everything. I went from thinking I would fail no matter what I did, to thinking that I was going to pass the tests that I took. I started believing that the reactions that I set up would work. What I needed was not hard work, but self confidence... a new piece had been added to the puzzle.

Recently, I have been going through the hell that is a divorce. For those who have not gone through this, the only comparison I can think of is a death of a close family member. I thought many times that I didn't have the strength to go on. Many mornings after crying myself to sleep, the alarm would ring and I would think, "I can't" and then I would think to myself "get up and live." This was my life for months on end...putting one foot in front of the other. I put one foot in front of the other in a literal sense, running, even when I broke my wrist. One day someone came along and said to me, 'you can run fast, you are amazing'. A few days later I beat my 5K personal best by minutes, running faster than I had in my entire life. I feel that this new piece of perservance has shown its face in a new way. I already had knowledge and self confidence in my corner, but knowing that I was truly capable of anything was way different. That and doing something by myself with no support and totally for myself was also new.

While we may not have control over others, we have control over our own actions and saying that 'I can't' is limiting the endless possibilities that we have at our fingertips. And many people whom have said it in my presence will know I will correct them and say, "no, you can, you just choose not to." So I challenge you, what choice will you make?

I make the choice to slay the dragon, everyday.

ANNual ROWLEY

So, I got up early this am to undertake my mission.... the 1st annual Rowley 5K

When I first found out about the race, I knew at once I had to run in it. Rowley is my maiden name which I am trying so desperately to get back and Annual makes it seem like my name is actually a nickname, which as a kid I always wanted.

That said, Rowley is a far way from Somerville, and as I hate driving... I was not looking forward to hauling my ass in a car all that way. SO, I hatched a plan. I would ride my bike to the race and then run it. I quickly glanced at the map.... 30 miles, totally doable. 9am race start time, I got this. Print out 'bike' directions from google, iPhone in tow, sunscreen, running shoes, water bottles, bike lock, Bailey bag, check.

Alarm rings, I shove some cereal and coffee down the hatch and I'm off. 6am... I have 3 hours to make it. All of a sudden I get a visual of a clock counting down like that lame ass show 24 and I'm Jack Bauer except my ass looks hotter in spandex and my bike is my weapon of choice.

I start following the iPhone directions (for walking) mainly because it seems like less turns. I ride and I ride. Through Medford and Malden and all seems well with the world, until 10 miles or so in I hit Route 1. Now, mind you, I am not a Mass native and rarely venture to towns named Saugus because really, who does?! I then see a highway and a sign with a big X through a bike. I catch my breath and my mind starts to race. Could I bike home and drive instead? Would there be enough time? Maybe I should just give up, this is silly and stupid anyway... I didn't even pay the registration fee, no harm no foul. But then I think, 'what is the point to a mission, if there is no risk of failure'. So I break out the Google directions, 53 turns in all, pair it up with my iPhone and see if there is a way to get back on track. I locate a juncture between my current location and the 'bike directions' and head off iPhone checked about every 5 min or so to make sure I'm getting back on track.

I then remember that website for the race said registration closes at 8:30 and think to myself that I must try and make it by then... but pray for a reprieve if I don't.

Pedaling faster and faster, I hit mid 20 MPH on the flats. My bag sits square in the middle of my back.... somewhat heavy but mainly seeks to create a sweaty mess. Finally, after crossing over 128 and 95, I hit route 1 again....it is now 8:40 and I am wondering 1) will I make it and 2) are they gonna laugh in my face when I want to register. I zip by a wild turkey, a sign for the 5K and in the distance I see the cherry top of the police escort for the race. I do not pass go, I do not collect $200, I proceed directly to the registration table, hopeful.

The kind lady seems unfazed when I ask to register a mere 10 min before the race. I quickly sign my name, fork over a twenty and run off to lock my bike, and switch my shoes. My heart rate drops just in time to hear the air horn, and we are off.

I weave through kids, lots of them and slowly find my pace. When mile 3 hits, I tell myself to go for it. I push, harder and harder and when I see the school, I can hardly breathe at all. My quads are burning from the ride and I tell them to shut it.

I see the clock and push it out for one final tenth of a mile... crossing the finish line in what used to be an imaginable pace to me, but now is 50 sec slower than my personal best. I chit chat with the other runners and slowly walk over to see the results, orange slice and water bottle in hand.

My eyes scan the sheet, expecting nothing other than to see my name and smile but next to it I see a note 1/9. WHAT?! I say....I won my age group. I wonder how this is possible, 1) because I rode 35 miles frantically and 2) because I have never won anything at any running, biking or tri competition ever.

I wait my turn and when my name is called I go up to collect my "I won a 5K" sticker after the announcer says proudly, "Ann Rowley, This race was named for her."

My name had never sounded so sweet.

Annual Rowley

Who knew my name was short for annual?

My idea: ride my bike the 30 miles to the race, run it, then ride home.

60 miles riding, 3 miles running.

http://www.coolrunning.com/major/10/rowley5k/