I am not a writer. I don't know how to write this.
For four months, my life has been consumed by training for the NYC Marathon. My first marathon. The life of my wife and my children has been consumed, dealing with me out training at 5am, asleep at 9pm, too tired to ride bikes, no time for the fall apple picking.
And yet the whole week of the race, I had this headache, this overbearing sadness, and had lost the will to run.
I am not one for individual gestures that stand up only in name. If the race had been run, with or without me, they would have used the same amount of water, the same amount of people, power, food. So I would have run. But I prayed I didn't have to. 3 days too late, the Mayor finally made the right decision. The race was off, my personal cloud lifted, but not that for thousands of others.
Sunday morning, a group of us set off to Central Park for a run, inviting our synagogue community to support and donate to the relief effort. The sight was amazing. Literally thousands of people, from every nation, supported by a huge crowd offering everything from water to Gatorade to Gu to pretzels. We only ran 10 miles, enough to shake off urge to run. I didn't have the heart or the inclination to run 26 miles around Central Park - I am lucky enough to live here and (in theory) could do it any time.
We went home and sifted through clothes, blankets, food, collecting bagfuls to take for distribution. The response at the synagogue was overwhelming. In just a few hours, we collected enough to fill four minivans. We left the City at 8.30 to deliver to a holding location in Queens. However, we arrived to find that they couldn't believe the response - there was too much stuff! We had to go straight to the point of need.
We were taken with an escort to Long Beach, passing the police checkpoint. Driving through Atlantic Beach in complete darkness, all seemed normal. Then the landscape changed. Clean streets replaced by piles of garbage, broken fences, sand in the streets. And darkness. No people, no cars. Just police. It was like a slum and a war zone. A total devastation of a wonderful beach community where we have spent many happy summer days. And this, after several days of clean up, with the darkness hiding the true extent of the damage.
After a brief quizzing from the police as to what we were doing, we unloaded the cars at the synagogue, knowing we had in some small way helped those who would need extra blankets from the cold, food to eat not just this week and next but for time to come. Then we went home. Back to our families. Back to the heat and light. Back to a full fridge and a warm bed.
There will be another NYC Marathon next year. We pray there will never be another Hurricane Sandy.
For four months, my life has been consumed by training for the NYC Marathon. My first marathon. The life of my wife and my children has been consumed, dealing with me out training at 5am, asleep at 9pm, too tired to ride bikes, no time for the fall apple picking.
And yet the whole week of the race, I had this headache, this overbearing sadness, and had lost the will to run.
I am not one for individual gestures that stand up only in name. If the race had been run, with or without me, they would have used the same amount of water, the same amount of people, power, food. So I would have run. But I prayed I didn't have to. 3 days too late, the Mayor finally made the right decision. The race was off, my personal cloud lifted, but not that for thousands of others.
Sunday morning, a group of us set off to Central Park for a run, inviting our synagogue community to support and donate to the relief effort. The sight was amazing. Literally thousands of people, from every nation, supported by a huge crowd offering everything from water to Gatorade to Gu to pretzels. We only ran 10 miles, enough to shake off urge to run. I didn't have the heart or the inclination to run 26 miles around Central Park - I am lucky enough to live here and (in theory) could do it any time.
We went home and sifted through clothes, blankets, food, collecting bagfuls to take for distribution. The response at the synagogue was overwhelming. In just a few hours, we collected enough to fill four minivans. We left the City at 8.30 to deliver to a holding location in Queens. However, we arrived to find that they couldn't believe the response - there was too much stuff! We had to go straight to the point of need.
We were taken with an escort to Long Beach, passing the police checkpoint. Driving through Atlantic Beach in complete darkness, all seemed normal. Then the landscape changed. Clean streets replaced by piles of garbage, broken fences, sand in the streets. And darkness. No people, no cars. Just police. It was like a slum and a war zone. A total devastation of a wonderful beach community where we have spent many happy summer days. And this, after several days of clean up, with the darkness hiding the true extent of the damage.
After a brief quizzing from the police as to what we were doing, we unloaded the cars at the synagogue, knowing we had in some small way helped those who would need extra blankets from the cold, food to eat not just this week and next but for time to come. Then we went home. Back to our families. Back to the heat and light. Back to a full fridge and a warm bed.
There will be another NYC Marathon next year. We pray there will never be another Hurricane Sandy.
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| Honestly, I could see out of my rear window! |
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| Running with thousand of friends |
