Nostalgia and the Cowtown Marathon

The Cowtown Marathon this weekend will bring back a lot of memories for me. My late friend, Charles Ogilvie, who ran in that race well into his eighties and took me to many carbo-loading dinners, used to say it began in my living room, and I think it did. My ex was part of a group from the Institute for Human Fitness, and several men met weekly on Sunday afternoons to discuss programming. The Institute, a part of what was then the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine, had a program to promote health through fitness and preventive medicine, rather than treating illness. What happened to that approach is sad and a bit stupid, but it’s a story for another day.

At the time Joel (my ex) and I had a friend, Anne, living with us. While the men talked fitness, Anne and I were out in the kitchen whipping up the richest desserts we could imagine. I particularly remember her Italian Cream Cake. And the men ate like there was no tomorrow. Fitness?

At any rate they came up with the plan of a marathon. This was back in the late 1970s—do the math: this is the 37^th running. It took months of planning, endless committee meeting, countless volunteers—I was coordinator of publicity and worked with my dear friend Melinda Mason from the Star-Telegram. I’m not sure why they chose a date in late February, but they did.

The night before the first race, we were sitting in our bedroom when we heard it—sleet! Joel spoke eloquently, “Shit! I didn’t want sleet.” Next morning the ground was covered with ice, snow and sleet. He left way early, and the four kids and I followed cautiously, not quite so early. What I can’t believe to this day is that I turned the kids loose in the Stockyards District while their dad and I worked—Jordan must have been really young at the time, but I guess she had her siblings to look after her. Still, I would no more do that today than I’d run a marathon myself. The kids loved it, looked forward to it each year, and have told me since there was always a huge group of kids they hung out with—yeah, where Marine Creek passes under buildings in dark tunnels and rocks anyone could trip on. I don’t like to think about it.

Having abandoned my parental responsibilities, I had a ball, talking on radio stations, taking care of this and that detail, arranging trophies, who knows what? At the end of the day, all four kids magically reappeared and all was well. It was one of the highlights of my year.

Joel never ran until the last year of our marriage which was really frayed by that time, so I didn’t get the joy of welcoming him across the finish line. After we divorced, I worked one or two races, but it wasn’t the same, and I gave it up.

This Sunday the full marathon will go by my house, and I’ll watch the runners, judging their style and timing, and my thoughts will be far back in the distant past.

Jordan will power walk the 5K, and Jacob will run it though he’s made it plain he won’t stay with his mom. He wants to run with his buddies. I’m not sure he even knows what role the grandfather he never knew had in starting the race. But I know, and I remember, and I offer a silent salute.

Anticipatory anxiety

This winter may be the worst I remember--oh, not here in Texas though for what we're used to it's been worse than usual. I read somewhere today that Texas has two seasons--winter and summer. And they take turns appearing in the same week. But across the country, particularly the Northeast, the pictures of snowdrifts are appalling. I grew up in Chicago, and I remember bad winters, but nothing like what we're seeing. My prayers go out to those stuck in this snowy winter land. A little snow is pretty--but this is beyond belief.
But tonight, in Texas, we're hearing bad forecasts, and I admit to a little anticipatory anxiety. Tomorrow it is to rain; Sunday night in the wee hours it will turn to sleet, and Monday the high will be 32--won't do much to get rid of that sleet. I am preparing to hunker down for two or three days. Invited friends for a quick and light sandwich supper tomorrow--so we could discuss the couch and finish one part--but send them home in time for the Oscars/Downton Abbey, whichever they choose. One wrote me, "We'll see you tomorrow night, before winter hits us again." And I'll be grateful for their company in what I anticipate will be a time of seclusion.
I have already made up my mind that Jacob won't have school Monday--I don't know why it takes the school board so long to decide this when it's already clear to me. If that happens, and if his dad's office is closed, he'll stay home; if school is closed and his dad's office isn't, he'll spend a long day with me. If he has school, I already have a neighbor in mind to ask to bring him home. I don't want to venture even across the street on sleet-covered streets. Oh, my, how I dislike that kind of weather.
But the funny thing is that sometimes the forecasters get us all in a snit, like my anticipatory anxiety, and then it turns out not to be nearly as bad as predicted. It may not sleet, or it may warm up enough to melt--or who really knows what can happen?
I liked the old days of weather forecasting, when it wasn't such a precise science, when they didn't tell us a week ahead what weather to dread, when they didn't tell us the cold index or the heat. Tell me it's 32--I don't need to know the chill factor.
You all stay warm and safe and pray for the rain we need so much but not for sleet. Please.
 

Storms and bridges--a lesson in anxiety

 

This picture of me was taken tonight by friend and neighbor Susan Halbower after we attended a dinner and concert at TCU. I post it because I am usually so un-photogenic. My grandfather once told my mom the only place he'd hang her picture was in the barn. She was a beautiful woman, but she didn't photograph well, and she passed that gene on to me. So I'm grateful to Susan for this picture.

It was 81 and sunny today, the best of all fall days. When I stepped out to get Jacob at school, I thought how pleasant it was to be comfortably warm but not hot. So why did I wake up at 5:00 this morning obsessing about sleet and freezing rain? Because by Friday the temperature is to drop 50 degrees and the weather will bring us that dreaded “wintry mix.”

When my brother lived in Colorado and we’d tell him schools were closed, he’d laugh and say, “What you got, guys? An inch?” But snow is one thing; ice is another. And North Texas gets ice.

Anxiety is pandemic. Everyone goes into anticipation mode when the weathermen (weather persons?) first mention ice, sleet and freezing rain. We talk about it for days, dread it, stock up on groceries, act as if the end of the world is coming. Yes, I’ll go to the grocery Thursday morning—my list includes a new flashlight (which I forgot on the hardware run today).

I told Jacob today that this weekend we would use the iPad sparingly (to save some battery for Juju to read) and we might have no TV and no lights. “You and I might spend a cozy time in front of the fireplace,” I told him. “Well, that sounds exciting!” When did seven-year-olds get so sarcastic?

Tomorrow I’ll bring in plants and water those I leave out heavily—most of the herbs should make it without any trouble, but the fern and plumbago I’m trying to save need to come in, as do the bright red cyclamen that Greg planted today for the front porch. He also brought four perfect small poinsettias—just what I wanted for my Christmas decorations. It’s beginning to look like the holidays around here.

Back to worrying. How will I get Jacob at three if it starts sleeting? Jordan assures me neighbors with kids at the school will help, and she’s probably right. I’ll be glad to have my grandson as company Friday and Saturday (his parents are going to a John Mayer concert in Austin). The last time I set my mind to being housebound (the storm that wasn’t), I was alone. I much prefer company! And I know that by Sunday or Monday at the latest, we’ll be moving freely about the city.

I used to know a man who said to me, “Go on. Bring that bridge right on up here.” I’m dragging that storm bridge as hard as I can. And me a kid who grew up in Chicago and lived in the “icebox corner” of Missouri. But still I feel that dread in my bones