42 Hours in the Woods

 

What can 17 people with over 160 years of collective experience in their field accomplish in 42 hours?

Seemingly, quite a lot.

In mid-September, 17 HIV-professionals came together.  They escaped their clinics, offices, and cubicles.  They flew and drove between 1 ½ to 4 hours to get to the woods in southern Iowa.  They came together to be inspired by prairie grasses, flowers, spider webs, grasshoppers, slugs, deer, bunny rabbits, one lost kitten, and an expansive night sky with no light pollution to interfere with star and galaxy gazing.

Click here to see a beautiful slide show by Jordan Selha of the event

It is in this setting that each of these 17 individuals unzipped from their dogma and destabilized fragmented and stagnant protocols that are no longer quite as useful in the fight against AIDS as they used to be.  They did this through a sort of “gestalt”; a being able to view the whole as other than the sum of its parts.   The first morning walk set the stage with an immeasurable number of beautiful, strongly woven, dew-kissed spider webs.  The metaphor was too blatant to miss.  Nature was screaming to notice the strong web of interconnectivity between the participants from all over Iowa-Sioux City, Des Moines, Urbandale, West Des Moines, Ankeny, Jamaica (the town), Waukee, Iowa City, Washington (the town), and even Washington DC (the Capitol)(of the United States). 

But the metaphor goes beyond interconnectivity. There is interdependency in a spider web-an infinite beginning and infinite end. And, of strength. This group came to know and understand that respecting the interdependent web is an effective response to the dangers of both individualism and oppression.  That it can be our solution to the seeming conflict between the individual and the group.
That evening, sitting around the fire, this group didn’t just think “outside the box”. They BURNED the box.  Thus, “the box” was destroyed and the group escaped.  They took the unencumbered and open road of understanding and hope and created a new tribe with a new language without the confines and walls of "the box".

Most impressively, these 17 individuals set aside insecurities (in some cases slayed their insecurities) and removed the blinders that they had imposed.  They faced, head on, difficult conversations and challenging relationships.  They faced them with openness, respect, and even innovative ways. 
Whether this group was in a conference room or a cabin, on the hiking path or around the fire-pit, there was an engagement in open dialogue, complete with authentic listening, a lot of passion, and even more laughter.  Oh, boy, did this group laugh! The kind where your belly hurts, the muscles in your happy face ache from such a workout, and laughing tears creep out of the sides of your eyes. 

Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes. -Unknown

There were shaky and cracking voices too.  There was the dilemma of succumbing to public tears. Or not.  Why? Well, when you’re sitting around a campfire, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, engaging in a refreshing, yet slightly scary, interchange of ideas pertaining to your professional life, many realizations, and remembrances, that fighting for the underserved, the stigmatized, the traumatized, is, has always been, or has become…your life’s work.  And…in this setting…it is impossible to ignore the ferocity of responsibility associated with your life’s work. 

Push…gently…respectfully push…beyond your comfort zone…where lessons await…to move you forward…to move your colleagues forward.

To burn, baby, burn that box.

Thus, 42 hours after they met for a Wednesday night barbeque, they left with a renewed passion and energy, a reinvigoration of spirit and hope, to meaningfully, collectively, contribute to an AIDS-free generation - and to the best health outcomes for Iowans living with HIV.

And, some SMART goals to get there.

Why Grandma's?

Why Grandma’s?

A Short Tale of Cancer, Divorce, Solstices, and Family.
And, Running. 
Of course.

I swore I’d never do it again.  No need to tax your body that much.  No need to take that much time out of your life to train.  Half-marathons.  Now that’s where it’s at!! Long enough to really be a challenge but short enough to not consume your life and wreak havoc on your body.

I’ve done two full marathons in my life. 

The first was Chicago in 1999. Trained for it while planning my wedding, getting married, and honeymooning. Ran it all wrong, finished in 4:47 and then didn’t run again for ten years.  I ran a 10k in 2010 and was surprised how fast I did it, was all set to do some more 10k’s (the other perfect distance), and then BOOM. Pow.  “You have cancer.”  This was shortly (3-weeks “shortly”) after Boom. Pow. You’re divorced.  Blech.

After finding out I had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on the summer solstice in 2010, the first thing I said (after hyperventilating because I thought I was going to die at 41 and leave two boys, six and three, motherless) was, “Damn it, if I survive this, I’m going to have to run another marathon.”  Because I knew of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) and Team in Training (TNT). 

Sure enough…Summer 2011, I started training for the full marathon in Savannah, GA with TNT.  Raising money for an organization that most certainly had significant impact on the success of my cancer treatment.  In the midst of my training two things happened.  First, my grandpa died exactly 92 years after he was born-of lymphoma.  His memorial contributions were directed to the LLS, via me and TNT.  No going back now! I had to, had to, had to, finish this race.  Even if, and this is the second thing that happened, a month later I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, underwent two lumpectomies one week apart, and 6 ½ weeks of radiation.  I had my last radiation on a Thursday morning and then got on a plane to Savannah that afternoon.  I finished the race in 4:50. Twenty minutes slower than my goal.  I hated every step from mile 15 to the end.  Pain in my knees, my hip, and cursing for 11 miles.  Sometimes I can’t even believe I finished it. I was swearing for 11 miles that I would never, ever run a full marathon again.

But I AM running another full marathon.  Less than three years after Savannah.  It’s a popular race called “Grandma’s Marathon” that takes place along Lake Superior, near Duluth, MN.  This time is different though.  Just one reason is that I have run several (a lot actually) 10k’s and half marathons since Savannah.  When the Grandma’s Marathon’s race director sent an email asking for stories about why participants are running Grandma’s, I couldn’t resist submitting mine.  I love stories.  Here’s a passage I love from a novel I read a few months ago:

“Stories are people.  I’m a story, you’re a story…your father is a story.  Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we’re lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while,

we’re less alone.”

From Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter

 

I was restricted to 300 words to describe why I’m running Grandma’s Marathon.  Here is what I submitted:

 June 21, 2014 will be exactly four years since being diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  To celebrate surviving and thriving not only that cancer, but also breast cancer the following year, is not the only reason I’m running my third full marathon on the summer solstice.  It’s also because I was born on the winter solstice and I believe that the solstices are a powerful affirmation of life.  The dichotomy, the extreme, and the balance between darkness and light make me feel alive.  Running a “medal-producing race” in each state does too.  By the time I finish Grandma’s, it will be the 11^th state I’ve run a half or full marathon in, seven in 2014. 

But, probably the most important reason I’m running Grandma’s this year is for my brother.  The only time I have ever been in Duluth was with him and my dad for Father’s Day 1991.  Twenty-three years ago in June, my dad, brother and I road-tripped to Duluth from Ames, Iowa, spent the night in a hotel, and then meandered all the way north to Ely.  It was the only trip we ever really took with my dad.  He was elated to share with us the beauty he saw in the region.  The region him and my mother honeymooned in 1967.  My dad, then 48, died suddenly the next summer while I was backpacking in Europe. 

After a very difficult year, my brother is (re)learning about the significant healing power of running.  The power of having a goal.  And, the power of long runs with his sister.  Long, bonding runs in below zero temperatures with ice and snow, in the pouring down rain, and in the relative heat.  Culminating in a bonding summer vacation in a cabin by a lake.

 Oh, and 26.2 miles.