…for the families of Sandy Hook. You can donate any amount you want and run or walk whatever distance you can. Email me your photos and I’ll post them. Send me your running time and you could win. It’s only been a month since Sandy Hook and help is still needed to recover.
Learn more about the Sandy Hook Remote 5K here – and seriously, get up and go for a run! It’s only going to do good.
I’m not a mom –but I’m like one. I’ve always had dozens of cousins and now I work in the parenting space, so I often find myself relating to mothers and tucking away ideas and tips for when that day comes. Maybe it’s that mothering mentality that everyone notices about me that made what happened at Sandy Hook so devastating to me.
It was a day like any other — I received an email from our news editor alerting us that there was a shooter in Connecticut and we planned to follow it to see what happened. I don’t think anyone was prepared for 20 children and the 7 adults to lose their life in under ten minutes at the hand of one shooter. And post-tragedy, I still don’t know what the answer is to make schools safer. Part of me thinks there will always be disturbed people who do these heinous things but a bigger part believes in the good that could come out of it — and in stricter gun control laws, too.
I spent most of the weekend following Sandy Hook in a daze — praying and thinking about those families who just lost a special little light that lit up their entire lives. I thought about their full stockings on Christmas day that will never be opened. About all of the things I’ve experienced that they never will. About how heavy and broken so many hearts were, are and will continue to be.
There isn’t really anything anyone can do. No way to get those moments back, no way to make the moments before last longer. No way to give them one more hug or one more kiss.
But I wanted to do something.
Inspired by what the Running Mama did for Hurricane Sandy, I decided to do something similar through Confessions of a Love Addict for the families affected at Sandy Hook. Regardless if you’re a runner or a walker or just want to give a donation, anything goes a long way to rebuilding lives and to keeping the memories alive of those lost.
Here’s how to get involved in the Run For Sandy Hook Remote 5K
How it Works:
On Saturday, January 19, you and a group of your friends will run/walk a 5K wherever you are and then email your race time to confessions.loveaddict@gmail.com. All who sign up for the race will be entered into a drawing for a fun, awesome grand prize pack. The winner will be announced on January 20. The more money you donate, the more chances you have to win! (**Note — if you don’t want to run, you can still donate!)
Sign up here to join the race
Donate money here ($20 suggested minimum, but any amount is great!)
(Note: you’re not officially signed up for the race until you donate something)
All money raised will go to the United Way of Western Connecticut Sandy Hook School Support Fund.
I will also post photos of runners, so send them race day!
Please feel free to spread the word and to ask me any questions you have. If you’re in NYC, I’ll be planning a run in Central Park — so if you want to join, you’re more than welcome to, just email me.
Thanks for helping out Sandy Hook — there’s not much we can do, but joining together can make a huge difference.
When there’s a moment at some bar in some part of town on some night when you’re feeling highly unlike yourself, yet more liberated than you’ve ever felt at any time or place — maybe ever — and you feel like the decision you always thought was wrong, somehow, in some way, feels more than just somewhat right… don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Don’t let those nagging voices, those lingering interpretations of what’s good and what’s bad, what’s moral and what’s immoral hang over your head or damper your bed. When you’ve spent your entire life avoiding doing what you’ve really wanted, what you’ve really craved for fear of what it says about you or what it would mean or not mean — there sometimes comes a moment when instead of denying yourself…
You learn to say yes.
When you play by the rules and you get up with the clock without delaying your rise-and-shine time, and you leave the bar at the strike of midnight so dark circles don’t weigh your eyes. When you’re the first to arrive and the first to leave, when you’re the girl who skips the extra drink as your high-heeled friends tiptoe away in yellow cabs with open minds into the night, into the evening that could bring up more questions than answers. When you’d rather know the plan before agreeing to the route, or when you’d prefer to be the leader of the shenanigans instead of the one who lets the Autumn wind blow her whichever way it might. When you’re so used to being so in control of everything and everyone and every situation, without a surprise, without anything or anyone having the chance to stir up the path you’ve laid so carefully. So meticulously. So rationally. When you’ve been that woman and it’s taken you far, there comes a point when the bartender asks if you’ll have another round and instead of listening to the clock tick…
You learn to say yes.
When the love you thought you found has been gone for so long that smells aren’t familiar and places don’t ring the bells you’ve forgotten how to hear. When your heart can’t remember the last time it desired to leave the comfort of your chest or when your head fit like a missing puzzle piece on the chest of some man that you felt could be more than a stranger. When your mind rolls around in reckless matter, trying to detect the signs between the sentences, the maybes among the definitelys and the definitely not’s. When you feel like there’s nothing you have to give and there’s no one worth trying to find or any love worth the risk. When another date feels like another date on another day that will end in a cold, empty bed on a cold, bitter night. When you know that most likely, he won’t — whoever he is — be different than the rest, but you’d be better off to at least meet his eyes and share a glass of wine…
You learn to say yes.
When every last bone in your body aches to stop and your lungs fill up with such rage that you’re sure they will burst before you reach the lightpost a few paces ahead. When you know that pleasure is still two miles away and in that time you’ll have to suffer through the freeze and battle through the careless pedistrans, not watching you come, not caring to move out of your way, not interested in the runner who decides to break a sweat instead of sweating over a date you won’t like anyway. When you can see your goals and you can feel your body adapt to meet them, but the warmest place to land is your bed — not this unforgiving pavement that you pretend doesn’t make your ankles sore. When you really, really want to give up. When your limbs want you to stop. When you come to the conclusion that you simply can’t go any harder or faster, you decide to disagree and fight back.
You learn to say yes.
When you’ve always known what’s next or at least where you hoped you’d be. When you’ve felt certainly certain and positively positive about everything that mattered and all that you dreamed of. When you’ve spent endless hours obsessing about the tiniest of details and the smallest of cracks, the could-be’s and the would-be’s, the opposite ends of the spectrum and all that’s in between. When you’ve mapped it out and factored in a few curve balls that no one said you could prepare for, but you — you figured out a way to do just that. When you’ve crossed your t’s and lined your eyes, slimmed your thighs and been brought to your knees. When you’ve met all of your promises and held up all of those pretty little standards that you’ve straightened up in perfect little rows around the magical city you call home.
When there’s a moment where all you want to do is plunge into something or someone or some place, just to see what happens. Instead of telling yourself how badly it could turn out and how you might feel or how you might regret….
You learn to say yes. You just say yes.
As dozens of scattered droplets, falling gently yet surely across my tired body, I kept my eyes tightly shut until the warmth made me accept the morning. I let the stream splash against every patch of skin and ring of hair, saturating the impurities and freshening the scent that’s so distinguishingly mine. Along with the grime from these filthy pavements and soiled city streets, I let the clean wash away my worries, too. I exhaled my frustrations off my brow, the heaviness off
my heart and the ache that causes tension from my bones to my emotions. Though invisible to anyone but me, I saw the muck swirl its way down the drain, leaving me wide awake and shining in the rising sun across Amsterdam.
I let my shower cleanse it all away.
In motion with the bright beats of the pre 9 a.m. crowd, I sauntered in tall wedges from my padlock door to the closing ones of the subway. The rhythm floated through my vibrant blue hi-lo skirt, perfectly in sync with the early August breeze that’s as rare as its lovely. I let the music play as I dared to close my eyes on the subway ride, knowing that a sudden stop or a passenger with unruly intentions could cause a detour I wouldn’t appreciate. The harmonizing voices serenaded me all the way to work, singing words I yearn to hear from the man I can’t wait to meet one day.
I let the music take me to a place where my dreams have lyrics.
I listened to all of them, all around me, near and far, chatter away. About the weather (hot), about their weekends (nice), about their weeks (busy), about the men they have and wish to have (plenty!). I imagined their pink nails tapping away at the keys, putting something in motion while sipping the coffee that’ll keep them awake. I watched their lips move and their eyes light up, full of ideas and excitement, sleepiness and interest. I spoke the language of a manic Monday morning in brief sentences and tenured phrases, meant to show empathy and understanding, meant to put us both on the same page.
I let the ones I love talk away my day.
Praying that delays and rain stray, I counted the minutes until I’d arrive at my stop. I walked quickly in those wedges that made my ankles sore and promised them that soon, they’d be out of these painful pieces and into the running shoes that mold to their every curve. I breathed deeply and slowly as I rounded the first mile, watching the life of the park unfold around me. The soccer players kicked, the volleyballs bounced, the basketballs spun, the bikers did circles around me and the runners nodded as we passed. All sweating, all moving, all feeling it all roll off of us, knowing the only thing we need to focus on is one step and then the other. One more step, one more mile.
I let my run, run away with me.
I watched the couples walking back from the park — some on one end of a leash, others gripping a stroller, many just holding onto each other — and I tried not to smile. I felt nighttime arriving for the first time in months, and that green reflecting top meant to protect me, wasn’t warm enough, even after 40 minutes of jogging. I glanced from lightpost and traffic stop to those glittering eyes of a duo so obviously in love, and I tried to figure out which shined the brightest. I took my time picking up fruit from the grocery store, helping someone older and slower in front of me and striking up a conversation with the clerk who rarely gets thanked. I walked around the block, past those men sitting on stoops, those ladies selling frozen yogurt and the kind homeless man who knows me by name, and though I was sweaty with makeup running down my face and my toes tired from all their work today, I gave them all a smile. I made sure they felt noticed, even in this boisterous land.
I let my city restore my faith, again and again.
Finally, I made it back to the place I started. Trying hard not to obsess bitterly about the lack of text messages or the conversation gaps I wished weren’t so, I put away my iPhone. Hoping whatever it is, however it’s going can wait until I open my eyes in the morning, I sat down my Blackberry to let it charge. I peeled off those running clothes and shoes, I freed my face of its daily armor. I felt the crispness of my sheets, the softness of the bed I bought with the money I made doing the things I love the most. Without the fuss or the must, the paths to follow, the people to know, the city to invigorate or irritate me, without the rushing and the gushing, the loving and regretting, without all of it in between — there was only one thing left at the end of the day:
Me.
And I thanked the powers above that I was enough. That I can endure and I can slow down, I can embrace and I can relate. I can go and I can move, I can relax and I can inhale. And yet, after all that a day puts me through, time and time again, over and over — I can still be the same me that walked out that door…ready to face whatever is in front of me. And whatever will ever come my way.
I’m usually not forgetful. Really, I’m one of those odd characters who remarkably recalls something that happened six years ago in a fleeting moment. But yesterday – I could not have been more absent-minded.
I won’t make excuses, but this week has been superbly busy. One of our biggest issues of the year is in the making, our office is moving to a new location next week, I’m on the mad search for a new apartment, I’m running daily, attending a happy hour or two, Skyping with Mr. Possibility extremely early or late my time or his, and you know, this, writing daily blog posts. Not to mention some Twittering, Facebooking, Tumbling, and when I’m lucky, maybe getting seven hours of sleep.
I’m not complaining – I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed to have a life that’s full, that’s ever-evolving, that’s full of the best things a city could offer: great friends and grand adventures. Nevertheless, sometimes with so much going on and residing in a place that encourages less rest, hard work, and more play – I’ve found myself a little off my A-game recently.
Case in point, after work and after viewing yet another vacancy on the Upper West Side, I made my way to the gym, excited about releasing all of my stress with a healthy four-miler. When I arrived, I was happy to see a moderately-empty place and a treadmill readily available for me. I rushed to the locker room to change so no one would take my coveted machine before I had time to dress down and throw my hair up. After putting on my running shorts, I discovered not only had I forgotten a sports bra, but also a hair tie and socks. For a successful, focused sprint, all three of these items are necessary – even if the ladies aren’t exactly luscious, they do deserve and need support.
Frustrated with my forgetfulness, I did a few reps to relieve stress on the abs, arm, and leg machines, and then decided I was brave enough to brave the semi-chilly weather outside. After dropping off my gym bag and Longchamp at my temporary apartment, I hit the pavement…well, running, of course.
Though the sound of my own feet beating the road matching the beat of the music usually soothes me and clears my head, last night, I just couldn’t get the rhythm. I wasn’t losing my breath, but I also wasn’t finding my clarity. Out of my zone and continuously burying myself further into my worrying fit, I felt someone behind me. Suddenly on guard and wondering if it was possible to be unsafe at what I consider an early hour, 8:30, I quickened my pace without glancing behind. Though it was only a few seconds, the moment that passed seemed to be in slow motion, but as I turned the corner, I realized the shadowing I noticed was not an intruder, but just my own shadow.
Somehow, on the edge of the park where I was running, the way the street lamps mixed with buildings hovering above caused me to not only have one dark reflection, but three: one behind me (what I saw), one to my left, and one in front of me. I’m sure this has happened to me a dozen times without my recognition, but on Central Park West in that experience, I couldn’t help but watch my threesome of shadows come together as the light changed as I moved.
Symbolically, I felt like I was witnessing my past, my present, and my future mold into what those things make up: me.
Twenty minutes later, walking back to my apartment and stopping for a much-needed Greek yogurt (current food obsession), I thought about how much of what causes me anxiety or worry is stressing about the things I can’t change. And most of those headaches have to do with wondering what will happen in times I’ve yet to experience. Like on May 1 when I move to an unknown location or when Mr. Possibility settles in New York for an extended period of time, after several bouts of traveling. Or where my byline will appear six months, a year from now, or the networking event I’m attending in a few weeks. And then my forehead scrunches up in such a way I’m sure I’ll have wrinkles there one day (we’re ignoring the fact I already sorta do) -I struggle with letting go of what was. Like the friendships that just aren’t the same anymore or the people I should call more, but don’t. Or the battle I have to apologize for pain I caused years ago, when in reality, the wounds are healed, and if not scared over, they’re most likely disappeared forever.
But worse than wrestling with all the places I’ve been and all the places I hope to go, I often forget to value the place I am today. Though I remind myself (and I’m often told) that the only path leading to peace is not really a paved road at all, but the spot I’m standing – I’m often too busy running away from it to realize its beauty. I’m too scared of the past sneaking up on me, too concerned with where I’m going, that I rarely see how all of the pieces come together, effortlessly, in their own way and right, without much trouble at all.
I don’t really believe there is a way to fully release our experiences, nor do I think it is healthy. We must take from our own educational past to continue to grow, and we must have something to go toward, if we’re going to get anywhere. But without accepting, and dare I say, loving the person we are right now- the past and the future don’t matter.
A few steps before my front door, on the phone with my mom, I stopped in the middle of my block, and took note of the shadow before me. Wildly stretched longer than I’ll ever be or would ever care to be, I saw the shape of my body. Without any distinctive features or coloring at all, I didn’t resemble myself – but I knew the street reflection was me.
It was me, myself, and my shadows. With the most important of the trio not the shades of dark and light surrounding my feet, but the part that was real. The part that would still be, even when I walk inside, and leave the rest behind.
