Month: June 2020

I’ve been reflecting on how to express my feelings over the last couple of weeks about the horrible murder of George Floyd and I just had no words to say. Then, this morning I came upon this beautiful painting called Analogous Colors and poem by Titus Kaphar in Time magazine and I wanted to share it with others. As an ally I remind myself that I need to amplify the voices of people of color now more than ever. Please read and share as you feel moved.

I
cannot
sell
you
this
painting.

In her expression, I see Black mothers
who are unseen, and rendered helpless in
this fury against their babies.

As I listlessly wade through another cycle of violence against Black people,

I paint a Black mother…
eyes closed, furrowed brow,
holding the contour of her loss.

In this what it means for us?
Are black and loss analogous colors in America?
If Malcom could not fix it,
if Martin could not fix it,
if Michael,
Sandra,
Trayvon,
Tamir,
Breonna and
Now George Floyd…
can be murdered
and nothing changes…
wouldn’t it be foolish to remain hopeful?
Must I accept that this what it means to
be Black in America?

Do
not
ask
me
to be
hopeful.

I have given up trying to describe the
feeling of knowing that I cannot be safe
in the country of my birth…

How can i explain to my children that the
very system set up to protect others could
be a threat to our existence?

How do I shield them from the
psychological impact of knowing that for
the rest of our lives we will likely be seen
as a threat, and for that
We may die?
A MacArthur won’t protect you.
A Yale degree won’t protect you.
You well-spoken plea will not
change hundreds of years of
institutionalized hate.
You will never be as eloquent as Baldwin,
you will never be as kind as King…
So, isn’t it only reasonable to believe that
there will be no change soon?

And so those without hope…
Burn

This Black mother understand the fire.
Black mothers understand despair.
I can change NOTHING in this world,
but in paint,
I can realize her…
This brings me solace…
not hope, but solace.
She walks me through the flames of rage.
My Black mother rescues me yet again.
I want to be sure that she is seen.
I want to be certain that her story is told.
And so, this time
America must hear her voice. This time
America must believe her.

One
Black
mother’s
loss
WILL
be
memorialized.

This time
I will not let her go.

I
cannot
sell
you
this
painting.

In honor of Global Running Day which was Wed, June 3, Coach Jenny suggested that we write a letter to “running” to talk about what it means to us so here goes…

Friday, June 5, 2020

Dear Running,

We certainly have had a complicated past. I know we met informally when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember much about you back then. I first formally met you I was in middle school or high school in gym class during the 9 minute run. I detested you with all of my being back then and would do anything not to deal with you. Often I would “forget” my gym clothes at home so I didn’t have to participate in class. Now that I think back, it really wasn’t you that I detested so much as it was what inevitably came with you. SWEAT! You see as a girl growing up I think I inherited my Dad’s genes in terms of sweat. I didn’t sparkle, glisten or even perspire like all the other girls seemed to do. No, I hard core SWEAT with all of my being anytime I did any physical activity, including running. Sweating made me very uncomfortable probably mostly because it wasn’t the “lady-like” thing to do. I was embarrassed at my sweaty self and didn’t want to be back in classes around the boys feeling and looking like that. Since I had no control over this, I just preferred to hang back and not do sports at all. Enter choir geek, which by the way was pretty great in its own right.

Fast forward to my fortieth birthday and I was ready to re-make your acquaintance again in order to help in my weight loss journey. At first I just walked, but after 1/4 of a mile I decided to run…and there I was…running in my clunky and chunky New Balance cross-trainers, feeling free and not giving a flying f**k about sweating! I came to realize that sweating is actually good for you…it cools your body down. I decided not to run away from my sweat, but embrace it – own it! Sweating is bad a**!

From here on out we became good pals. You gave me what I needed so desperately back then – a jump start at getting about 41 pounds off my body. I told everyone about you, my new best friend, and all the benefits you provided me. It has been about 11 years since we became best friends and we have been through a lot together during that time. You have been there for me when I was steaming mad and helped me run really fast! You have been there for me when I was brokenhearted and had to cry through my run. You have been there for me when I was full of joy running with my best gal pals cracking up and solving the worlds’ problems. You have been there when I celebrated finishing my first race. You have been there for me when I ran hard races, easy races and races that just sucked. You have been there for me when I was stressed and had to run the crazy off. No matter my feeling or mood, you have supported me through it and always made me feel better afterwards, no matter what. You are my escape, my fun, my fitness plan, and my faithful companion. Thanks for always being there even when I doubted myself and didn’t feel like I could call myself a runner. I hope I can count on you for as long as I can in this life. And I promise from now on, I’ll never forget my sneakers.