The Beatin' Path

Scary in the Canyon

“We are going to go from one edge of the Grand Canyon to the other – starting at the top on one side, down, across, and back up – all in on day,” she told me.  “And you are coming with us.”

SHE is Coach Jenny Hadfield.  SHE is an acclaimed endurance coach, author, and marathon training “rock star” from Chicago.  SHE decided this was going to happen as a dedication to her father, lost to a brain tumor, as a fundraising opportunity for the Tug McGraw Foundation.

And SHE wouldn’t take “no” for an answer; actually, I was kinda scared to say “no” to begin with.

I had no idea what I was in for, but she’s a pro.  I didn’t know anything about trekking poles or fast-packing or orienteering or headlamps, but she does.  I’ve run through the streets in the daylight; she’s run through the jungle of Borneo at night.

So I figured I better just take her lead.  I was gonna have to do this thing, one way or the other.  She told me how to dress, what to eat, how to train, and most importantly, how critical it is to carry only what you need in order to keep down the weight of our backpacks during our journey.

So when I made my little addition to our already bloated burdens, she was a bit hesitant.  I thought it made sense, what with the holiday already on the horizon.  And with a planned stop at Phantom Ranch…we could all sink out teeth into these…

Happy Halloween!

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(The first Rim2Rim4Roy took place at the Grand Canyon on Tuesday, October 8, 2008.  Team McGraw {Coach Jenny Hadfield, her brother Scott and ] tackled over 24 miles, with 11,000 feet of elevation change and raised over $10,000 for the Tug McGraw Foundation in memory of her father, Roy Hadfield, whose adventurous spirit lives on in all of us.

For more on this event from JennyHadfield.com, CLICK HERE.)

The Light Within LIT

We decide to meet over dinner.  Ruta, the manager for the rock band LIT, has set it all up.  She had originally introduced me to Allen’s story of his inspirational fight against a brain tumor – (Read “With Drumsticks and a Rocker’s Spirit”) – and now the band wants to meet me.

They are thrilled that I am going to represent their drummer and musical brother in this weekend’s New York City Marathon.  They are impressed by the physical challenge of the marathon; even more so, they can’t believe that I have chosen to represent their longtime friend in this effort.

But they want to be a part of it.

A.Jay (2nd from right/lead vocal), Jeremy (left/guitar), and Kevin (far right/bass guitar) – awesome guys.  Their commitment to Allen and supporting him through this journey defines true friendship and family.  “What do we do?  How do we start?  Man…this is just such a great thing.  Thanks for doing this for us – for Allen,” they tell me.

Then…they begin to share stories about all the friends, fans, and family that have rallied around this man.  So many people choosing to be as close to him as possible as he struggles with his hideous assailant.  Continuously vigilant, unceasingly embracing; it is unbelievable, the people, they tell me.

“And Allen (pictured with his daughter, Gina) is always so upbeat; it’s like, he’s almost taking care of them...of us,” they say.  “It’s really harder on everyone else around him; he’s so positive and smiling and fun to be with.”  They find this curious, in that so many people are gathering around him in an effort to be reassuring – yet he already exudes such joy and confidence.  Funny.

So I have to ask them.  “What if one of the reasons all those people want to be so close to him is because of what he gives THEM?  His spirit, his enthusiasm, his optimism, his perseverance?  What if they aren’t just trying to be a light of hope FOR him…but are instead basking in the light of hope that IS him?

It got pretty quite for a moment. 

"Yeah," they smiled.

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(It is to be my honor to represent Allen Shellenberger, brain tumor survivor and drummer for the rock band Lit, in my running of the New York City Marathon 2009 on November 2 as a member of the Team McGraw charity endurance team.  To honor Allen and support brain tumor research and improved quality of life through the Tug McGraw Foundation, CLICK HERE.)

Buried Treasure

Those few things most cherished can easily be lost, drowned in a deafening barrage of excess and drivel.  (Read “Breakfast Club Philosophy.”)  But what of those rare treasures that we hold most dear?  What happens when we fail to recognize them…or worse yet, hide them away…ultimately from ourselves?”

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Most think first of the treasure chest filled with gold or precious gems, gathered from ships and stored under lock and chain.  Riches brought together by swords wielded by pirates, each looking to steal away and keep the bounty for himself.

When opportunity arises, often by moonlight, that one rebel pirate finds his chance to sneak away.  He takes these things and secures them in a wooden box to which he holds the only key.  Digging a hole, just large enough and deeper than necessary, he buries his treasure under a mountain of earth, doing what he can to refill the hole and disguise his hiding place from the rest of the world.

He then contrives a complicated maze of a map that should lead him back to that spot…whenever that very moment arises when he chooses to revisit the things most dear to him.

What if he loses his map?  What if he forgets his way back?  What if he does find that solitary place where those things were buried away…but the treasure is not there anymore? 

Not that I have to worry about protecting a collection of golden coins, crowns, or jeweled chalices; I don’t have any of that stuff.  Still, I do have some pretty valuable things.

An old embroidered patch from a six-mile cross country race in Dallas from 1978 that I ran with my dad.  It takes me back to the many runs, many miles that I logged with him over the years, both literally and figuratively.

A key to my uncle’s house.  He’s gone now; I don’t use it.  But it reminds me of the many times I stayed with him.

The jacket I was given in the dead of winter overlooking a frozen lake because “if you’re gonna be here, you’ve gotta have this.”  A suit of armor presented at the gate of the castle.  I was made welcome…and was expected to return.

There are other things – old text messages or magazines or cassette tapes or Christmas cards or “man, I forgot I even had these” discoveries – that make my heart swell, and yes, sometimes ache, as I relive the memories that accompany them. 

It’s not the burying, the forgetting, the locking away of things in a dark, cold emptiness that brings value to a chained up box of stuff.

 It’s the finding of them, the unearthing of treasures thought lost or even nonexistent, that brings us a smile of discovery or the warmth of remembrance.  And then we realize that it’s the people that they’re connected to, that we’re connected to, that we find most precious.

Embrace your treasures.  Share them.  Be thankful.

And put the shovel away.

Lists

I have a lot of irons in the proverbial fire.  Many tasks to be addressed and responsibilities to fulfill.

I have lists consisting of emails to return, video clips to edit, rooms to clean, “thank you” notes to send, photos to tweak, blogs to write, laundry to wash, events to plan, workouts to complete, web pages to build, phone calls to make…and fires to fight.

My stuff always remains the lowest of priorities.  The personal stuff that doesn’t seem to affect other folks.  I will always blow off something of mine to deal with something of theirs.  That’s a clear choice for me, though it’s not always the right choice.  When I get torn is when something of theirs conflicts with something of his and then something of hers.

I try to get it all done – (though I never seem to win that fight) – leaving the wreckage of my own world for another day.  Then that day comes and goes, and I never notice, as it gets lost in yesterday’s wreckage. 

Just like it did yesterday.  So to get focused, get clear, I’ll make another list. 

Some are written on index cards.  Others are jotted on the back of envelopes previously filled with junk mail.  Sometimes I’ll send myself email from my phone with things that need to be added to the “to-do’s,” and then add those items to the previous email I sent myself…and send it to myself again.

The most significant lists, the ones that should really help me succeed, are the ones written on “legal pads,” as if the word "legal" creates a greater imperative for me to take them seriously.  It doesn’t work that way, probably because I have more than one legal pad working at a time, each filled with whatever blew through my head at the particular moment I found myself with pen in hand.  Notes, rants, incomplete phone numbers, song lyrics, things I wished for that will never happen.  Garbage.

And then there’s the stuff on the envelopes, the index cards, or in my email that never get moved over onto this new “serious” list.

I should get organized.  Work faster, swim harder, and dig out of all this crap.  Make a plan.  Okay.  Time to sit down and make my REAL list…

…If I could just find a pen…

With Drumsticks and a Rocker’s Spirit

Some might not see these as the best tools to fight the clinical diagnosis of a brain tumor.  Folks would rather talk about world-famous physicians, ground-breaking developments, and the latest cutting-edge treatments.

And these are important…but for survivor Allen Shellenberger, renown drummer for the rock band Lit, there are times when this battle can best be mounted someplace other than in a hospital surrounded by medical professionals.

Flanked by his musical brothers of over 20 years, positioned behind the arsenal of a drum kit, armed with a stick in each hand and a thunderous kick pedal underfoot, this inspiring musician may well fight his best fight as he shares his rocker’s spirit with fans across the world.

(Click to view Allen Shellenberger "My Hero" Tribute Video.)

If you are a musician, amateur or otherwise, you can understand.  Certainly there is a thrill to be found playing on a huge stage in a sea of thousands of screaming fans.  But there is also a thrill, a more personal one, in sitting down with a guitar, at a piano, behind the drums, whatever, and pushing all that energy through your instrument when no one else is around…because it’s just what we need to do.

We fight our fights in whatever way best suits us.  As I celebrate Allen’s spirit, I appreciate his tender weapons of choice: friends, family, laughter, music.  And I love this about him; he’s not laying down…and he has not put the sticks away.

Play on, my brother.

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(It is to be my honor to represent Allen Shellenberger, brain tumor survivor and drummer for the rock band Lit, in my running of the ING New York City Marathon 2008 on November 2 as a member of the Team McGraw charity endurance team.  To honor Allen and support brain tumor research and improved quality of life through the Tug McGraw Foundation, CLICK HERE.)

These Kids Got Class

When word reached this second-grade physical education class in Illinois that two friends and I would be crossing the Grand Canyon on behalf of brain tumor patients, they knew this would be no piece of cake.

After all, it was a P.E. class.  They get in there and work with their coach week after week, running and playing and sweating through various activities for the duration of a class period.  They know what it feels like – or at least, they know what a piece of it feels like.

They didn’t know that the temperature would likely span sixty degrees from the top of the canyon to the bottom.  They didn’t know that we could be starting at dark…and finishing at dark.  They didn’t know that what many folks do over the course of days, we would be completing in a matter of hours.

But they knew it would be hard, and they knew the value of a well-placed “attaboy” on the way to the start.  So I was thrilled to receive and then share with my climbing compadres this poster and well-wishes from these students, as well as their thoughtful advice: “Be careful and watch out for bears, lions, and wolves because they ‘hide out’ in the Canyon!”

Will do, guys; thanks for havin’ our back, and we’ll throw you a wave from the other side!

(If you would like to make a contribution to support Team McGraw's effort on behalf of brain tumor research and improved quality of life, donate HERE.)

Rim2Rim4Roy

Jenny Hadfield, acclaimed running coach and author, recently came to me with an idea for a fundraiser to honor her father.  She and her brother were set to take on an adventure...and she insisted that I come along.  Below is what she has posted in her blog at www.jennyhadfield.com about what she has planned.

What have I gotten myself into???...McMahon
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I realized the past few months that I've pretty much been living in a fog for the past two years. After losing my father to a brain tumor, my gram and dog to old age, I just went "away" emotionally and physically. Almost in autopilot...

The good news is that I am realizing this and that must mean I am on the other side of it. Life rolls up and down and it sure is nice to be on the up part again! Speaking of up and downs, I am doing something that has been on my Life List for years. I've created an event (personal) called Rim2Rim4Roy to honor my father and put my strengths to good use.

This October, my brother Scott, a good friend and celebrity keyboardist Jeff McMahon (of Tim McGraw), my husband John Bingham and I will tackle twenty-five intensely rugged miles over 11,000 feet of elevation change in the Grand Canyon to raise awareness and funds for the Tug McGraw Foundation.

Our journey will take us 8-10 hours and none of us really knows what to expect (except maybe sore quads). I can hardly wait to take the first step. One, because it will be a cathartic adventure and will feel good to finally put action into something I've felt so helpless over. And two, it will be an epic adventure that I hope to bring others to down the road and continue to honor my father and raise funds and awareness. Stay tuned on that account...

We are shooting to raise $11,000, the total amount of the elevation gain and loss. If you are interested in supporting our cause, you can donate HERE.

More details on training and the Rim2Rim4Roy Adventure coming soon...

Happy Trails,

Coach Jenny

The Business of Keepin' On

“Endurance.”  In my trusty laptop thesaurus, there are a lot of synonyms. 

“Forbearance.”  SAT word.  “Grit.”  Yeah, I like that one.  “Patience.”  It’s a virtue, they say.

“Keepin’ On.”  That’s basically what it is.  Knowing it hurts, knowing it will, knowing it’s crap, and knowing you have to…so you do.

In life, there are times you don’t want to have to draw that sword.  I’d rather not have to go through this; I don’t want to have to push through that.  Can’t it just be easy this one time? 

Nope; it doesn’t work that way.  Life is hard.  We all have our stuff, but we keep rolling.  That’s probably how I wound up putting “marathoner” on my resume.

Endurance training = life training.  Keepin’ on.

It seems like I’ve always leaned that way.  I ran track for a couple of years as a kid, but no one every accused me of being fast.  The sprints were not my cup of tea.  The hurdles didn’t work for me, and the field events – javelins and shot puts and discuses (discussii, discussions?) – just weren’t up my alley.

So I ran the mile.  As a kid, it was still an endurance event.  For us grown folks, milers sure seem like sprinters.  But as a kid, I was one of the few that would try to hang in there and do the event that most didn’t want to do…‘cause it hurt.

Back then, I did longer stuff with my dad.  Five-milers after work, the eight-mile Turkey Trot in Dallas on Thanksgiving – those were fun.  I didn’t win those, either, but I finished ‘em all.

Did my first marathon back in 1995 in Dallas.  It hurt.  It was freezing cold and all the spilled water at the aid stations froze solid on the street.  Tiptoeing through that was fun.  Twelve years later, I ran the 2007 New York City Marathon. 

For the record, they stll hurt. I’m doing it again in 2008. 

Keepin’ on.

Breakfast Club Philosophy

In the movie THE BREAKFAST CLUB, there is a scene where two students in detention are sifting through one another’s things.  Bender (played by Judd Nelson) is seen brushing his teeth with one of Claire’s (played by Molly Ringwald) makeup brushes.  Claire is flipping through his wallet filled with photographs of various girls:

BENDER

               How come you got so much [crap] in
               your purse?

CLAIRE

               How come you got so many
               girlfriends?

BENDER

               I asked you first...

CLAIRE

                    (shrugs)

               I dunno...I guess I never throw
               anything away.

BENDER

               Neither do I...

CLAIRE

               Oh...

I guess we all do that with different things; I know I do.  I’ve got a life full of things that don’t have to be there, don’t serve a purpose, and just take up space.

My voice mail is always full of messages I’ve already listened to…but I still need to go back and “write that number down.” 

My desk is cluttered with junk that has already been dealt with, still needs to be dealt with…or never has to be dealt with…if I would just take a look at it and throw it away.

My email is…obscene.  I save a lot of it for business, in case I need to recall it for some reason.  But despite the remarkable insight of my father, who saw to it that I learned to type back in high school, I just can’t type fast enough to see my inbox dip below, we’ll say, HUNDREDS.

My closet is full of I don’t know what but I thought I had to have it and keep it so I put it in the closet.  The closet in the guestroom is full of the stuff that wouldn’t fit in my closet.

The stuff that didn’t fit in either one is in storage, and I’m paying for that.

We come into this world alone, and then we wake up buried in a stack of unread magazines, unnecessary chores, and glittered MySpace messages from folks that send out “I love you” to all ten thousand "friends" via BULK MAIL.  

I want to throw away so many things that simply strangle my days, suffocate my world, and lock my mind into rudimentary routines that achieve nothing.  Rid my world of noise and clutter and trash and proven examples of emptiness. 

Leave more room for the things that matter…and the clarity that helps us recognize them.

But it’s hard.  We pick through the worthless “time burglars” and still find the occasional gem.  A few of those messages, emails, pictures, things are a way to hang on to memories that, at one time, brought us joy or hope or calm or laughter.  An accomplishment well done, or a belief much appreciated.  We still have those feelings when we stumble onto THOSE things…even when life has led us beyond them and we’ve had to leave them behind.

“Click here to DELETE.”  Okay…click.  Then I’m asked, “Are you SURE?”

Are you kidding?  Do I want to carry around a purse full of Claire’s crap?  Do I want Bender’s wallet simply full of “somebodys?”

But then there’s Allison (played by Ally Sheedy).  She dumps out her “is there anything that WOULDN’T fit in that bag” bag on the seat, and Brian (played by Anthony Michael Hall) asks her…

BRIAN

               Do you always carry this much
                                [crap] in your bag?

To which she replies…

ALLISON

     Yeah...I always carry this much
     [crap]...in my bag...You never know
     when you may have to jam...

Nope.  Not ready to let that one go yet; back in the bag.  “RESAVE.” 

I’ll try again tomorrow.

Gettin' Back to the Box

It was a good idea.  But in truth, there wasn’t really an option.

What with all the touring I do, rolling around out there, carrying music from state to state, I can’t keep an eye on everything.  And I certainly can’t plan on checking my mail every day at home.

 I’ve got a piddling little mailbox at the house.  After only a couple of days, bills and junk mail are screaming to get out, trapped in between half-price coupons for Arby’s sandwiches, local newspapers that are already outdated, and offers for yet another credit card with a ridiculously low interest rate for the first two weeks before it jumps up to a 43% annual rate.

“No, I don’t need a different cell phone plan.  No, your life insurance policy is not interesting to me.  No…they haven’t lived here in years.”

So I got a real post office box.  Down at the post office.  A big one.  Makes sense.  If I’m gone for a week, correspondence can be tossed safely in a crate until my return.  Bob or Fred or Ralph won’t have to figure out what to push against in order to gain more leverage because, “dang it, I don’t care how full this box is…this magazine is going IN THERE!”

But sometimes, I’m gone for longer.  The stacks get bigger.  Last month’s magazines are still in the bottom of the white corrugated two-handled crate bearing the words “United States Postal Service” across its chest, awaiting my return…and the new issues are arriving.

More statements, more bills, more letters, more stuff continues to accumulate in my absence.  My list of “things to do” is building at the incremental cost of a postage stamp…and I’m not even home yet.

And when I do get in from the road, the post office is the first stop.  And of course, it has to be during “office hours,” since they’ve been holding it for me.  So I swing through to get the box, carry it home, and begin to live the illusion of “getting a handle on things now that I’m home for a while.”

Woah…this is heavy.  I think I just hurt my back.