I know I bitch about the N Train more times than most
people; although, I truly believe we all share the same thoughts about
commuting. Here, we find solidarity. Since the beginning of the year—no,
actually, since Sandy, I’ve been feeling like quite the mixed bag of feelings:
I am a spoiled, “effing” brat. The week before Sandy, I
remember being really unhappy for choosing to buy a certain “healthy” cereal,
one that tasted like rabbit food. I was going to post a status update about it
in search of solidarity for others who have tried eating healthy cereal, only
to find that some of it tasted like chalkboard and woodchips. This particular “flavor”,
(not brand), just happened to suck. Then, Sandy happened. People’s lives and
homes were destroyed, kids were swept away, and I am sure kitties drowned (you
all know how I love cats), and here I was…perfectly safe, Pineapple the Cat
purring on my tummy, unhappy with my cereal purchase. Total asshole.
The same thing again happened with the Boston Marathon. I
ran a marathon in February to make up for not running the NYC Marathon in
November (coincidentally due to Sandy). This marathon in Central Park was one
of the most mentally challenging things I’ve done in my life. I am grateful
that I had good friends to come out and support me—some even ran with me—and without
them, I would not have been able to finish (Dana Krashin, Ashley Balevander,
Chris Szabo). It was the only race I have ran where I was in tears. By Mile 13,
I wanted to call my best friend here in the city, also a runner, (and forever,
Nichole), and by Mile 15, I wanted to call my mom. That’s how shitty I felt,
and I was used to running 20+ mile days. After finishing that marathon, I felt
grateful for the support of my friends.
Then I went up to Boston to see my friend finish. Proudly
jealous, I camped out at the finish line to see the elite women—my idol, Kara
Goucher, was racing, and I could NOT miss her. I remember admiring the
wheelchair racers whirring past us at Mile 26. I remember thinking how
remarkable they were, and how grateful I was I had two legs to run on. I had
always silently thanked my mom for good stems, and I wondered if I would have the
will to race like that if something ever happened to them. I felt humbled.
We left the finish area and meandered around for a few
hours, planning on meeting up with our Boston Marathoning friend (Dana Krashin)
before she finished. Then shit hit the fan. People lost their fucking legs, for
pete’s sake, but—people lost their sons. Their daughters. Their joy.
Last week, my mom didn’t text me for about a week, and this
is really rare for her. I thought, “what the eff is going on?!? She’s mad at me”.
(There is nothing worse than having your mother mad at you, FYI). I finally
texted her, and it turns out she got a new phone. Also, a favorite aunt died
last week—one who was always cheery and loved by everyone in the family. I felt
down, and weird, and I had to make an effort to appreciate not only the things
around me, but also the things I could not see—memories, moments, aspirations…you
get it.
Today, again I felt like an asshole, walking around
Roosevelt Island when people’s legs were being strewn about Broadway in my
home-hood Astoria, taking the tram with so much smugness against the N Train.
All I have to say now is, thank God—I have legs to walk
around on, but, more importantly—THANK GOD—I have fucking hope and joy in my
life. Thank God maybe 90% of the time, I am the only one who thinks I’m an
asshole.
Love you, Friends and Family.
Angie
