There are some funny parenting moments from my childhood...
Like the time I was playing basketball at the end of the driveway with Evelyn and Joe. Remember the game, Horse? You should. Evelyn missed a shot after me and I, foolishly, yelled out: "HOR! You're HOR!" This, of course, sounds like I am calling my sister an awful word synonymous with prostitute. Believe it or not, I was unfamiliar with either definitions. I was immediately called into the house by Mom and punished-- sent to my room to think about the awful uses of lower class vernacular. It was a perplexing hour of punishment, let me be the first to admit it.
Or the time I was running around the house in the madman fashion the Powells normally partook in as our new addition was in progress. Dad and I were supposed to make our way to Saint Francis of Assisi Chapel in Springfield in about 10 minutes. Energetically exploring the imaginative saga within the confines of my mind, I dove through the window separating one of the the main rooms in our home from the adjacent in-house construction site. A fraction of a second passed in the slowest of motions as my leg swung unforgivably and knocked, from their resting place, a stack of windows that the contractor was about to install the next day. I barely had to look, I heard it first-- the glass shattered into ridiculing pieces. I yelped. My father hollered. I teared. My body seized and ran toward the stairs. My father grabbed my arm. I wept even harder. My dad, surprisingly, forgave me. We went to the chapel. We prayed. I went to confession. I made the sign of the cross and knelt in the pew and shook the hands of all church goers about me. I was in the clear. And then it happened. I was not taken out to McDonald's or to the Frozen Lemonade stand or to the gas station for a bottle of pop. I was exiled from the post-church pleasures and excitement. I learned my lesson.
I will have to continue, as there are innumerable amounts of stories to be told and miles to go before we sleep....
The Whole Family
Christmas 2006
12/14/11
12/8/11
Pre-Race
Every runner, regardless of talent, strength or team placement, has a pre-race strategy. When a runner can master exactly how to mentally and emotionally prepare for the next race on his plate, that race and that season will come together.
As a high school and college runner, I followed my raceday preparations as though it were a religion. Without them, running was incomplete.
The night before, I made sure every ounce of homework was completed before dinnertime. (Sometimes, that homework didn't get done.) At dinner, I piled my plate with Ziti (never spaghetti!), red sauce and a mason jar of water on the side. After dinner, I sat in the quiet of my room away from the noises of the Powell household and prepared my raceday bag--my racing spikes, my uniform, my number (if I had it), my team warmups, extra socks, trusty trainers, and my raceday blanket-- all while listening to Barbara's Soundtrack to Running.
I visualized my race. Visualized my opponents. Visualized aggression and speed. Even visualized the obvious pain I was to face.
The morning was always the most important to me. Waking with butterflies fluttering wildly in my belly, I would get out of bed and stand in front of my full length mirror. There, I would look at the runner that had trained all season to get to this point. I read over and over the inspirational quotations pasted up by my mirror:
"The will to win means nothing without the will to prepare"
"The greatest pleasure in life, is doing the things people say we cannot do."
"May your mind be strong and your feet be swift. Our Lady of Victory, Pray for Us."
"To win without risk is to triumph without glory."
Down the stairs I went to the same breakfast I always have before a race: peanut butter toast, a banana, and a small cup of coffee. I filled my Nalgene to the brim, the one with the peeling hip numbers 2 and 5 from my best races that season.
I followed this formula for 8 years of competitive running. And although I faced both good races and poor ones, I was confident each and every time I stepped on that line in my box with my team and looked down at the sea of competitors. I was prepared.
How do you prepare for Race Day?
As a high school and college runner, I followed my raceday preparations as though it were a religion. Without them, running was incomplete.
The night before, I made sure every ounce of homework was completed before dinnertime. (Sometimes, that homework didn't get done.) At dinner, I piled my plate with Ziti (never spaghetti!), red sauce and a mason jar of water on the side. After dinner, I sat in the quiet of my room away from the noises of the Powell household and prepared my raceday bag--my racing spikes, my uniform, my number (if I had it), my team warmups, extra socks, trusty trainers, and my raceday blanket-- all while listening to Barbara's Soundtrack to Running.
I visualized my race. Visualized my opponents. Visualized aggression and speed. Even visualized the obvious pain I was to face.
The morning was always the most important to me. Waking with butterflies fluttering wildly in my belly, I would get out of bed and stand in front of my full length mirror. There, I would look at the runner that had trained all season to get to this point. I read over and over the inspirational quotations pasted up by my mirror:
"The will to win means nothing without the will to prepare"
"The greatest pleasure in life, is doing the things people say we cannot do."
"May your mind be strong and your feet be swift. Our Lady of Victory, Pray for Us."
"To win without risk is to triumph without glory."
Down the stairs I went to the same breakfast I always have before a race: peanut butter toast, a banana, and a small cup of coffee. I filled my Nalgene to the brim, the one with the peeling hip numbers 2 and 5 from my best races that season.
I followed this formula for 8 years of competitive running. And although I faced both good races and poor ones, I was confident each and every time I stepped on that line in my box with my team and looked down at the sea of competitors. I was prepared.
How do you prepare for Race Day?
Piece of Peace
I know that when I fall into the rhythm of the run, I am at peace.
When the trees whisper softly with their windy Autumn breath and the sun quietly laughs with its rounded belly as it sets beyond the Park.
When my feet brush the ground with cool, quick kisses, trailing the dirt path with loving adoration for the miles they meet.
When my own breathing and beating heart create a symphonic wonderment with the scurrying squirrels, the crunch of my footfall and the sounds of the almost-bare branches raising their arms up in victory for me.
When I become lost in the spiritual embodiment of the run, when my body loses touch with the realities of the world and hones in on its own movements, the beauty of muscle and sinew and bone in perfect unity with the beat of my heart and the rise and fall of my chest.
When all the world no longer matters. When my simple footfall in the woods becomes the only matter of importance, the only measure of happiness, success, honor. When I become the run.
That. That is when I am at peace.
Where do you find your peace?
When the trees whisper softly with their windy Autumn breath and the sun quietly laughs with its rounded belly as it sets beyond the Park.
When my feet brush the ground with cool, quick kisses, trailing the dirt path with loving adoration for the miles they meet.
When my own breathing and beating heart create a symphonic wonderment with the scurrying squirrels, the crunch of my footfall and the sounds of the almost-bare branches raising their arms up in victory for me.
When I become lost in the spiritual embodiment of the run, when my body loses touch with the realities of the world and hones in on its own movements, the beauty of muscle and sinew and bone in perfect unity with the beat of my heart and the rise and fall of my chest.
When all the world no longer matters. When my simple footfall in the woods becomes the only matter of importance, the only measure of happiness, success, honor. When I become the run.
That. That is when I am at peace.
Where do you find your peace?
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