no man's land

Today is November 11, Veteran’s Day here in America. Collectively, we pause for a moment (usually when we realize there is no mail service today) and remember the various veterans of wars our country has taken part in. Commonly, we consider the Vietnam War and the ongoing Iraq War – those safely within living memory.

But in other parts of the world, this is Armistice Day, the marking of the end of World War I. British wear red paper poppies on their chests for weeks before November 11, in remembrance of the 60 million European soldiers who fought in The Great War.

In one of my many running playlists, I have a special song that reminds me of kindness and brotherhood that sparked one night on the battlefields during Christmas, 1914. The song is All Together Now by a 1990s Liverpool band called The Farm.

The song itself is a historical account of a temporary, trenches-decision ceasefire between British and German soldiers fighting in Belgium. In the cold, miserable night, the Germans decorated a small tree to celebrate a nationally beloved holiday. The British eventually joined in and the two forces met in “no man’s land,” the flat border separating the two camps.

They laughed, joked, sang carols together and generally agreed to abandon their weapons for just one night in what I believe to be one of the most touching gestures of peace in modern history.

Here are some of the lyrics of All Together Now:

December 1914 cold, clear and bright
Countries' borders were right out of
sight
When they joined together and decided not to fight

All together now
All together now
All together now, in no man's
land

The boys had their say and they said no
Stop the slaughter
let's go home, let's go, let's go, let’s go, let’s go home.

OK, that last part always makes me sing out loud – partly because the song always seems to appear when I’m on a long run, homeward bound, and more than ready to finish, and partly because it’s catchy and fun to sing. Any family members who happen to be running with me laugh, or sing along.

I’d like to think that the no man’s land party was just one example of kindness shared and hatred forgotten that we absolutely need in order to have a nourishing, sustaining society. In no way can we add up all the moments of kindness during a war so that they will outnumber the moments of bloodshed and evil, but it’s nice to know that they existed, if even for just a fleeting moment.

Intellectually, I know that these soldiers finished their party, went back to their trenches, slept a bit, and the next day picked up their guns and continued to fight. It was probably a very difficult thing to do.

But being kind isn't nearly as difficult as we make it out to be. Maybe if we all hold stories like this in our hearts, it will remind us to reach out and extend the hand of friendship when times get hard. Or maybe even just when we feel the impulse.

I can hope, can’t I?


Here’s more information about the WWI Christmas Truce of 1914.

the sun of change

Wow. The world feels like a different place this morning. Already I have received phone calls and emails from excited friends who sound like they are in the dawn of a new day. They have very high hopes for a long and especially prosperous day under our new president-elect, Barack Obama. Or maybe they are just happy to have avoided “more of the same” for the next four years.

And what an awesome responsibility we have heaped at the feet of Mr. Obama. If ever we needed an “out of the box” perspective, it is today – well, actually it was yesterday…and last week…and last year.

I have to admit that I tricked my kids. Both of my sons have taken a varying interest in the election since they have talked about in our home and in their schools.

But I wanted to seal the deal. I wanted them to be able to say “I remember where I was when Barack Obama became president.”

A few days ago, I told them each I was sure that John McCain would be the victor on Tuesday. “Naw, Mom!” Kit said. “Obama will win! He won at our mock election at school.” (This from the little boy who “voted” for George Bush four years ago. “He seems like a nice guy,” was his conclusion. Not too far off from half the country’s reasoning at the time.)

“Nope. I don’t think so,” I answered in my most self-assured voice.

So I challenged each son to a bet. One dollar said Senator McCain would be our next president.

“You are SO going to owe us a dollar,” said Cameron. “How do you think you’ll spend your dollar, Cam?” asked Kit.

Bingo. They were hooked. My 15-year old didn’t need this shenanigan, but my 10-year old lapped it up like a kitten. I couldn’t peel them away from the television and laptop last night.

Cameron took the helm at the remote, switching between NBC and BBC America, whose coverage was hilarious, I might add. (It was a crack-up to see the American-born experts struggle to understand the various accents – and rather bizarre questioning -- of the presenters.)

The night before the election, we found a “Electoral College Quiz” online and took it together, missing all questions but one. I have to say we are all much smarter about the Constitutional process now.

I fell asleep before 9, not knowing who held which state’s votes. And then I dreamed that John McCain did indeed win the seat, and I offered my shoulder for tender-hearted teenagers to cry upon.

When I woke up and made my way downstairs this morning, my husband told me I was two dollars poorer today and my boys whooped and hollered and wanted their cash. I told them I’d have to make good later in the day. “I don’t usually carry that much cash on me,” I said.

And sadly enough, with the economy such as it is, that’s the truth.

Good morning all! Welcome to our NEW DAY. May the sun of change smile upon us all.

another marathon tale

My marathon tale has two parts. This is the second part (for the first part, click here.)

When I set my goal to run the first leg of the five person relay at The Detroit Marathon, I was very nervous. Seven miles was far more than I had ever run by the time I registered and I didn’t have a group of people interested in joining me.

Technically, if I couldn’t find five people to share the 26.2 miles, I’d have to run the entire thing myself or forfeit the $200 I plunked down to register. (My son Kit still can’t believe that anyone would actually PAY MONEY to run in a race, but that’s a different post.)

So I held my breath and registered my team. And then I went out and ran my usual three breathless miles.

Over the summer months, I gradually increased my running distance. I was careful not to increase by more than ten percent in a week. At that rate, I knew I had plenty of time to reach my goal.

And I worked on recruiting team members. I asked many people, and many people turned me down. “Good luck with that,” they told me. Finally, I recruited my 15-year old son, Cameron. He hates running, but promised to do his best. He even did some training runs with me in the rising heat of the early morning summer weekends.

My running partner Amy also joined the team. She was so enthusiastic, I got excited each time I talked with her about the marathon. We planned running playlists and talked about what we’d wear and how fast we thought we might tackle our respective race legs.

Amy talked her friend Jen into taking a leg, and I found Sue, a pal from my school community who had already run the relay in previous years. Yay! The voice of experience joined us. Now our team was complete.

Eventually I reached my goal of seven miles. Occasionally I’d run an extra mile, just to know I could do it. It felt good to have eight miles within my ken. I was confident I’d finish my leg with no problems.

It was time to assign legs. I was already set. Jen wanted the three mile leg, Amy was happy with the four-and-a-half. Sue would take the five-point-nine, and Cameron reluctantly agreed to the five-and-a half. In my head, I hatched another scheme to get maximum running time with my husband David, who was covering the full 26.2 on his own.

Our plan was beautiful in its simplicity. I’d start out with David, run my seven miles, and then hand off to Cameron, who would run the next five-and-a-half. Between us, we would run half of the marathon alongside David, then send him off with best wishes and whatever carbohydrate-rich foods we could stuff in the pockets of his shorts. We knew we’d see him at the finish line a few hours later. I was thrilled that I would be able to run next to the person I’d trained with all summer. I knew we would support each other when it got challenging.

The day before the race, we learned that the start times were staggered, with David setting off a full five minutes before me. We planned to meet under a statue at the turn in the road. We separated to our respective corrals and waited for the gun, the throng of anxious bodies keeping us warm in the sub-40 degree pre-dawn temps.

I heard the marathon starting gun and sent a silent wish of luck to my husband. Five minutes later, the half-marathon and relay gun sounded, and I was off.

With over 18,000 people registered in the race, I don’t know what craziness made me believe I’d ever find my husband. I scanned the crowd behind me and raced past those ahead of me frantically searching for a royal blue shirt and black hat, but no luck.

When the realization hit me that I’d have to run the full seven miles alone, I felt so sad. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! But I plodded on, running the first four miles (to the ascent of the Ambassador Bridge) without stopping.

In the midst of it all, I have to admit to feeling like this running stuff wasn’t so much fun. I didn’t acknowledge that it would be every bit as hard (at times) as my training runs. But it was!

And then I hit my point of equilibrium. This is the point where my breathing becomes consistent, my heart stops its heavy thumping, and I (almost) forget that I’m running. This is the part that I love. And it came not a moment too soon.

I scaled the four percent grade of the Ambassador Bridge, came flying down the other side, persevered across the Canadian river walk and found my relay point – and Cameron. I was so glad to see him! He wondered where Dave was and I told him it was a long story and that he should just get moving.

I stood there with a lemon-lime Gatorade in my hand wondering if that was all. My part was over. And then I saw Dave. He was five minutes behind me, at the very back of the pack. But he looked good and strong and I sent him on his way to find Cameron.

Which, of course, he never did.

Our relay team finished in under five hours, just like we predicted. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. That’s what I like about running: I feel so good after I finish that I (almost) forget how awful it feels in the midst of it all.

a tale of one marathon (and two crutches)

Last Sunday morning, we Charltons were up even earlier than we usually are. The day was finally here: October 19. The Detroit Marathon. The day we trained for. The past five months all came down to just one day.

We gave it our best shot, and the marathon gave back. And then it just kept giving. But not in a nice way.

My husband, David, trained for the whole 26.2, while my son, Cameron, and I had much smaller goals of being two runners in a team of five to cover the miles, relay-style.

David’s journey started with a simple wish to complete a marathon. He’s a regular guy who has been running since he was a college student, competing in whatever 5K and 10K races came his way. He’d even run two half-marathons. And now, in his mid-40s, his goal became larger: run the whole thing. And finish it. Before they closed the course. In under six hours.

Seems fair enough.

So he trained and trained, stretching a 16-week program to 18- or 20- weeks, so he’d be extra ready. He ran the final 20-mile leg of his training, tapered off his training, carbo-loaded.

And you know what? “The marathon was EASY,” he says. For the first 20 miles. Then, at mile 21, right about the time he exited the famed Belle Isle stretch, it got hard. Really hard. “I just couldn’t go any further,” he remembers, and not because he hit “the wall” (known to runners as the point when the body uses all stored energy and has nothing to feed from.)

David’s pain was in his lower right leg, deeper than a shin splint and so intense he couldn’t continue running. He says he considered stopping and waiting for the Weary Wagon to pick him up, but the DNF (Did Not Finish) loomed too large in his mind to consider it. If he had to walk, he was going to make it on his own to the finish line.

And that’s what he did, for the final three miles.

We waited at the finish, all of us gathered together to witness the glory that crossing a marathon finish line must be. Son Kit said a few times “What’s keeping Dad? Why is it taking him soooooo long?”

I wondered the same myself, too afraid to voice my concern. What if he was hurt, or worse, had collapsed? When the time ticks on and it seems like everyone who is going to finish has already done so, the streets of Detroit become a desolate place (even more so than they tend to be in the full throng of the average day.) I worried that David was lying in an exhausted heap in a gutter somewhere.

A couple minutes before the six-hour mark, I climbed on top of a street side planter to get a better view. And there in the distance, I eventually saw him. Hobbling for sure, but moving at a pace somewhere between walking and very, very slow jogging.

I shouted and screamed. Kit echoed at my elbow. He did it! He finished the marathon! All in his own good time.

Of course, a few days, one ER visit, and in full use of two crutches later, we worry that a stress fracture is keeping David from putting any weight on his right leg.

That’s just a small gift from 26.2 miles of the streets of Detroit.

But we are proud of him, even if the fun of fetching his books, his water, his Motrin and his ice packs is wearing a little thin.

People see David coming on his ever-so-slow crutches and joke “Well, he doesn’t look ready to run a marathon any time soon!” Little do they know that’s exactly what put him in this condition in the first place.

Which brings us to next year. Another marathon? It’s too soon to tell, but the fact that David can reminisce about the race already makes me think this won’t be his last marathon, which is fine.

Any time you can set a goal, even a lofty one, and achieve it, I say you deserve to do it again. And again and again and again. Even if you have to do it on crutches.

In fact, THAT’S a sight I’d like to see.

a sponsor i can trust

There’s some big excitement among runners here in Detroit. This Sunday, October 19, is The Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Marathon.

The official excitement started when the Detroit Free Press hit our breakfast table on Monday. Our various names were proudly displayed in the special marathon insert. Cool.

But then, I started to notice something interesting. And honestly, I might not have thought about this if it weren’t for an essay by Stephen King in Entertainment Weekly a few weeks back. King asserts that baseball (another beloved sport in our home) has been ruined by TV greed.

Here’s what he means: when no double play, no chat on the pitcher’s mound, no seventh-inning stretch can go by without an endorsement by corporate America, you know the sport has gone to the big guys. He mentions the Coke-sponsored seventh inning stretch at Fenway Park, and we have the Wallside Window pitching change and the Verizon Wireless call to the bullpen at our own dear Comerica Park.

King says “I tell myself I'm cynical — hardened to all this — and mostly I am, but I'm still amazed at how corrupting television can be...although there's no doubt MLB has loved being corrupted.” Unlike King, who is truly angry that baseball has gone corporate, I just chuckle and shake my head.

But then I begin to see what he means.

I’m not surprised that each Detroit Marathon event is sponsored by another company – The Free Press and Flagstar bank headlining the 26.2 gig. The 5K Run presented by Compuware flies by me, but the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Kid’s Red Nose 5K Fun Run is just plain too much to say.

The pace setters are, by the way, The Bally Total Fitness Pacers, and en-route energy will be provided by The New Balance/University of Detroit Cross Country Team GU Energy Gel Station at the 14.7 mile mark.

I wonder if I could get corporate America to sponsor ME for the 7-mile leg I’m running in the marathon relay? And if so, who would I choose? Comcast Cable? No – I give them too much money each month to be comfortable doing even more for them. 7-11? Nope, not me. These days, I’m more likely to be sponsored by Clorox Disinfecting Wipes or Sun-Maid Raisins or Ultra Palmolive Concentrated Dish Liquid.

But I’d really like to be sponsored by a company that I like and whose logo I would feel proud to wear. Trouble is, these companies aren’t at all part of big corporate America. Hardly anyone knows about them except me.

Maple Creek Farm CSA (community supported agriculture) has, for the past 10 weeks, been helping me feed my family wholesome, organic produce, so I’d consider wearing their name on my chest. Erwin Orchards has some of the best U-Pick apples in Michigan, so they get a vote, too. Garden Fresh Salsa is one of my favorites – and hey, it turns out they too have a close relationship with the Detroit Tigers.

I guess when all is said and done, the one company that I know inside and out (and can trust without flinching even a little bit) is my own company: Team Charlton. Four co-owners, no employees, just love and trust and a shared vision for the future.

Yep, I’ll put that logo on my hat and wear it, any time.