On Kathrine Switzer and Living 261 Fearless-ly in BloNo

A few years ago, Kathrine Switzer came to Illinois State University for a speaking engagement, followed by a short community run where you could Run with Kathrine.  She was doing a book tour, I believe, and kicking off a global running community called 261 Fearless, Inc.  The goal of the community was simple: share your love of running - specifically with women in mind - empowering women around the world through running and walking.  

She was kicking off an "Ambassador" program, which was free to participate, and essentially asked you to blog or comment or share on social media channels a couple of times a month on a given topic.  With the goal of engaging the public and fostering community using the hashtag #261Fearless, #BeFearlessBeFree, #Runwith261 and others.  In exchange for participation, you got a shirt, some discounts with partner brands, and access to a private Facebook page dedicated to Fearless Ambassadors.  It was pretty cool.  It's how I came up with my mantra:  Live it.  RUN It.

I suppose I should back up.  Who is Kathrine Switzer?  I don't know if you know her.  The very short version is that she was the first woman to run the Boston Marathon with an official bib.  This was in 1967.  The race director tried to forcibly remove her from the course but she and her teammates fought him off and she finished the race.  It took 5 more years before the BAA officially ALLOWED women to enter the race in 1972.  There were 8 women that year.  Eight.  Kathrine was bib number F6. (Not to be confused with the men's bib numbers, which were... you know... numbers.)

It was Kathrine's activism that helped start the Avon International Running Circuit - a women's racing series including marathon distance.  It was Kathrine's activism that helped convince the International Olympic Committee to create longer distances, including the marathon, for women to compete.  The first Olympic women's marathon wasn't until the 1984 Olympics in LA.  

So Kathrine is pretty badass.  

I wasn't able to attend the event and run with her, but I joined the Ambassador program and helped spread the love.  261 Fearless Inc grew globally and began operating local clubs in Europe.  When they offered an opportunity for some of the Ambassadors to attend a Train the Trainer and become a 261-certified running coach, I jumped at the chance.  

Last summer I attended the 4-day training in Des Moines, where I met two other women who were pursuing a local club as well.  One woman from Brazil who had flown to Des Moines specifically for the training and the other from Des Moines.  There were more trainers than trainees, but we had a great long weekend together.  Kathrine herself joined us for the final two days and I actually got to share a meal and a few drinks with her at dinner.  Literally!  She and I were seated next to one another and were debating the same two entrees and she suggested we each order one and just split them! 

I returned from the training and began the lengthy process of establishing the Club and filing state and federal paperwork to incorporate the Club as an Illinois not-for-profit organization.  The Hubs and two of my girlfriends agreed to be on our founding board of directors, and late last year, we became THE FIRST 261 Fearless local club in the United States.  

Greetings from the founder, President, and certified Coach of 261 Fearless Club Bloomington-Normal.

Our mission is to empower, engage and connect women through non-competitive, non-performance-based running and walking.  261® Fearless Clubs are not traditional running clubs.  We offer a different club model: placing no emphasis on distance or pace.  We offer an hour of non-competitive social running.  We play games and do activities, incorporating running often without members even realizing it, like playing tag.  There is a short group run at the end of each Meet Run, and no matter what her experience or pace, all participants are able to be part of the run and enjoy it.

This year was the 50th anniversary of Kathrine's historic Boston Marathon finish.  She and over 100 other women teamed up to raise over $800,000 for 261 Fearless globally and ran the Boston Marathon together last month.  No one from our area was able to join that crew, but we created an event to celebrate locally:  we had special shirts printed and organized a 26.2-mile route throughout BloNo, and held the first-ever full marathon in Bloomington-Normal.  Event participation was free and open to the whole community, but we purposefully kept it small since it's a HUGE endeavor and our first-ever attempt at organizing such a long run.  

It was billed as a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure style relay, meaning you could join the group at certain points along the way and we would all run together.  Members could run one mile or all 26, as long as we all stayed together.  The event was a TON of work but very successful.  Eighteen women participated.  We raised over $500 to support our club and THREE women completed the full distance - all three completing their FIRST MARATHON.  I couldn't imagine a better way to honor and pay tribute to Kathrine's groundbreaking run.

I'll attach some photos and close out this long post.

Initial meeting with Kathrine.  It was VERY, VERY hot in Des Moines.

Receiving my certificate after Train the Trainer.  Did I mention it was VERY, VERY hot and humid in Des Moines?

Our "official" Des Moines training group photo.

At the start of our Fearless Together Marathon Relay event, April 8.

The first women ALLOWED to run Boston

The 2017 Boston Marathon Team for 261 Fearless.  Along with over 12,000 other women running the race this year.

I Should Have Written This Months Ago

I thought I was past this whole Pussy Grabbing Thing. 

Yup, I don’t like Trump.  I think he’s a disgusting misogynist who clearly has no regard for women whatsoever. And yup, he managed to pull together enough Electoral College Votes to get himself into office.  And yup, I accept that.  I don’t like it. I don’t like him. I think he’s dangerous.  But yes, I accept that this man will become the leader of our country. 

And I was willing to let it go, the Pussy Grabbing Thing.  It was appalling, it shook me when I heard it, it took me a LONG while to put it down once I picked up that thread, and I can hardly conceive that a man who speaks of the women in his life in such derisive terms was subsequently elected to the Presidency, but the media and the voters moved on and so would I.  I would move on and accept this reality.

And then THIS came into my world:

Photo from Mary Numair (cropped)

A new President?  One I don’t like and didn’t vote for?  Fine.  But this?  UNACCEPTABLE.

What I REJECT, what I expect all decent men and women to REJECT LOUDLY AND UN-EQUIVOCALLY, is the idea that words and images don’t matter.  

WORDS MATTER.  IMAGES MATTER. 

Bragging about grabbing a woman “by the pussy” is unacceptable.  MERCHANDISING the “grab 'em by the pussy” concept is so far beyond as to be truly deplorable.  (You don’t like the word “Deplorable?”  Fine.  Try “Reprehensible,” “Dishonorable,” “Disgraceful,” “Intolerable,” or “Sickening.”  Pick your own; I’m good with all of them.)

  

Don’t talk to me about “Locker Room Talk.”  Don’t give me any nonsense about “harmless jokes."  And DO NOT tell me I’m being sensitive.  This message trivializes sexual assault.  This message normalizes something that is already ENTIRELY TOO COMMON.  

This message is NOT HARMLESS.

There is NOTHING harmless about the type of physical harassment that women are subjected to on a DAILY basis.  I have personally been subjected to this kind of “harmless” assault.  EVERY woman I know over the age of 9 has been subjected to some version of assault, most have experienced it NUMEROUS times. 

Every friend of mine.  

Every mother I know.  

Every daughter. 

YOUR DAUGHTER.  If she’s older than 9, SOMEONE has made her feel uncomfortable in some “harmless” way. A schoolyard bully has yanked down her pants or loudly pointed out she was the first in class to wear a bra.  An adult has looked at her too long or in the wrong way.

I have been grasped, groped, fondled, stroked, kissed, and shoved.

Men have grabbed my ass, my thigh, my knee, my breasts, and yes, my privates. Want some highlights?

The Creepiest: A man gently stroked my arm during a professional function – while complimenting my outfit and leering at my chest. 

The Most Blatant: A man once took hold of the fabric of my blouse and yanked it forward to look down my shirt.  This man LITERALLY said OUT LOUD that he was ENTITLED to do that, to see skin that I had chosen not to display. 

The Most Insipid: Male “friends” have touched me inappropriately in social situations. 

The Worst:  The boyfriend of a close friend once grabbed me and stuffed his tongue down my throat for no apparent reason, then walked away once I shoved him off of me, never said a damn word about it. 

And that’s only the PHYSICAL assaults.  Men have propositioned me in all manner of situations and suggested all manner of things I could do for them or they could do “for me.”  As if, apropos of nothing I’ve been given some impossibly lucky opportunity to be manhandled by a random stranger. 

These men did and said these things to me, most of them in BROAD DAYLIGHT.  With the exception of that one disgusting kiss, every single one of these incidents occurred in PUBLIC spaces, bars full of people, on the street or subway, a crowded bus or in a not-at-all-crowded diner or in the middle of a WORK FUNCTION in front of a couple hundred coworkers. 

It’s disgusting.  It’s demeaning.  It’s shameful.  In every form, every time something like this happens, my first thought is WHY?  (What made that man think I was open to that?  Why did he think I would be OK with what he did to me?  What did I do to provoke that comment?)  Is it really any wonder that rape victims are so reluctant to report or that SO MANY WOMEN blame themselves after an attack?

After many of these incidents, I did nothing.  Sometimes it seemed pointless. (Some Rando on the street yelled for me to show him my tits, what are the cops gonna do – issue an APB for Asshole in a White SUV?).  Sometimes it seemed like more trouble than it was worth (Jackass in a bar grabbed my ass.  I could tell the bouncer or my boyfriend / husband, but it’s just going to cause a scene and we were getting ready to leave anyway.  Let’s just go.).  

There are a few incidents where I did nothing.  I did nothing because it was just TOO HARD or too complicated. (I need this job. Or My friend needs that guy and she can make her own decisions.  I don’t want to be The Reason They Broke Up.)  And I Did Nothing.  And to this day I Said Nothing. (And there’s a whole other Shame-Circle for that.)

These men, EVERY SINGLE ONE, felt they were doing absolutely nothing wrong until I took action: to push them away, yell something, make a complaint to HR, a knee to the groin, kick in the ankle or elbow in the chest.  Why?  What is it that makes a man think it’s completely OK to grab a woman, a stranger, uninvited, in a public place, in broad daylight?  Something he would surely never do to another man. Certainly many factors are at play in such a decision.  But it’s so prevalent, so ubiquitous, there must be common ground between so many men that would normalize this behavior.

I have never experienced a traumatic sexual assault or rape.  My experiences have been humiliating, demeaning, but have left me relatively unscathed. 

Yet these words.  THESE images. 

Photo from Mary Numair (cropped)

As Michelle Obama so simply put it, they shook me to my core.  Months later, I am shaken when I am reminded of them. 

If this is MY response, with my relatively benign history of being publicly assaulted by men in my life…

IMAGINE THE RESPONSE of those women who are victims of more serious assaults. 

What do these words and these images evoke from them?

Yes, Words Matter.  Images Matter.  Call Spencer’s Gifts Today. 1-800-762-0419. Ensure they stop selling this particular T-Shirt.  Tell them you believe it’s inappropriate for a corporate venture to profit from the normalization of sexual assault.  Tell them you do not think that sexual assault is funny or that sexual assault victims are a joke. 

* * * * * *

When I called 1-800-762-0419, I pressed 8 to speak with Marketing.  After talking to the woman who answered, providing my name and phone number (I do not expect a return call), I asked if she could share with me the name of their supplier or others involved in the selection and distribution and sale of these particular shirts.  She could not, but forwarded me to the Public Relations department, where I was sent to the voice mail of one Kevin Mahoney. 

I left a detailed message for Mr. Mahoney.  I asked him to return my call, and told him I’d like to provide my feedback to their supplier, vendor, manufacturer, and the designer of this shirt, if only he could kindly provide me with their names.  I haven’t heard back from him, but I think I may call again tomorrow and ask for him directly.  

It felt good to let my voice be heard.  

I have stayed silent far too long.  

The Story of Me, The Little Folksinger, and a Boy Called Patrick

This month, the folks at #261Fearless asked the Ambassadors to write, blog, and post about the women who inspire us, in honor of Women's History Month.  I am inspired by so many women in my life - bloggers I love, my grandmother's bottomless well of kindness, my mother's inventive problem-solving, my girlfriends' amazing athletic and child-rearing feats. Then there are the women I have learned about - scientists, biblical characters, writers, teachers, athletes, activists, entrepreneurs and even celebrity evangelists!

As I thought about this assignment, I kept coming back to something I wrote on my personal Facebook page years ago.  It shares a bit of my own personal history as well as my connection to an artist who has been influencing and inspiring me since I was really still a teenager.  

What I've written here is, I suppose, a lot more about me than about her.  But she has shaped my life, helped me become who I am.  Her writing continues to help me see the world through a wider lens, one with a sharp focus on equity, MAtriarchy, and empathy.  I love that I have an opportunity to share this connection publicly.  And perhaps some day I'll have an opportunity to thank her personally.

I wrote this post in June 2011.  I've added some links and changed a few names, but left it otherwise unedited.

My recent trip to Buffalo, NY for work allowed me a long-awaited opportunity to visit the headquarters of Righteous Babe Records, the historic building known simply as “The Church” which Ani DiFranco and the RBRrrmy have renovated into business offices, merchandising space, an art gallery and performance venues.  I was graciously offered a tour of the whole facility and the opportunity to thank a couple of the women who work to support an organization that has had a profound influence on my life and my little world.  The trip provided a moment of closure, a long-delayed end to a complicated chapter of my life that started almost 18 years ago.  I wanted to write something to mark the occasion; to say goodbye and let it… go.

The first time I heard Ani’s voice, it was her poem “My I.Q.” on the Puddle Dive album (http://www.righteousbabe.com/ani/puddledive/l_myiq.asp).  It was Fall of 1993.  Nearly 20 years later, I can recite that poem verbatim, right now.  I won’t repeat it here. Too many of you have been forced to listen to it in the wee hours of the morning or in the ladies’ room at weddings or in my car, or… well, you get the idea.  The poem struck a chord in me and woke me up in a way that made me wonder if I had ever really been awake, and certain I had been asleep far too long.  Three minutes later, I heard “Blood in the Boardroom” from the same album (listen at http://www.righteousbabe.com/ani/puddledive/index.asp).  I’d never heard anything before that could be described as both “feminist” and “whimsical” at the same time – it was like being struck by lightning!  In a word, I was hooked.

It was about two months later I learned I was pregnant.  When my son Patrick was born and placed with his new family in the summer of 1994, the grief I experienced was infinitely more profound than I expected.  I was utterly unprepared and I didn’t have the tools to deal with it. 

I credit MANY things and people in my life for helping me learn to live with my decision.  The Hubs and The Brother-In-Law caught the lion’s share of the burden.  They taught me it was OK to laugh and have fun, even when I was feeling sad or angry.  They gave me permission to have joy in my life.  They provided me a “free space” where I could be as bat-shit crazy as was necessary.  They made me feel safe.  Always.  The Hubs's Best Friend, too, put up with my need for a free space – for a while (and he was right to suggest a limit to it).  I owe these men a debt I cannot repay.

I was battling the urge to self-destruct, learning to cope, fighting my way back to myself and this process took years.  During this time I learned this:  the knowledge you made the right choice, that you did the best you could under the circumstances, is not the same as having peace with that choice.  It was sometimes cold comfort in the face of the consequences of my decision.  I believe some wounds never heal.  But with the right help, you might get them to scab over and maybe even stop the itch. 

In the midst of this turmoil, I had my family – including my amazing mom whom I cannot begin to discuss here – my friends, my ambition, my own naked determination to move forward… and when none of these were enough and I felt myself beginning to drown in my own sorrow, I had Ani’s music.  Her records were a life ring in a sea of grief.  They provided a focal point outside myself and I grasped hold of that circle of hope and it allowed me to rest, check out of my life for a while, return to fight when my strength was restored.

In the past 17 years, my relationship with all those who were there for me during that difficult time has deepened and solidified.  Ani, being only a few years older than me, has matured and continued to write songs that closely correlate with my own experiences, opinions and politics.  I believe my perspective has been shaped by her music as much as by anything else in these years.

My son turns 17 years old today.  By all accounts he is healthy, smart, and well-rounded.  He was raised in the same community his whole life.  He has friends he’s known all his life.  His parents were able to provide opportunities and a level of stability I could only dream about in 1994. 

I am reminded again today that I made a decision I can be proud of.

A Walk Without a Dog

Today, I took a walk.  I went somewhere I’ve never been before, and walked around for a half-hour or so.  In a new place, one I’ve never visited with The Hubs, or with one or both of the dogs for an adventure, or even on my own or with a girlfriend, I walked.  The path was steep, so I climbed and climbed, slowly and slowly.  I watched my footing, as one does when navigating unfamiliar terrain. 

I did not think about my deep sadness.  I did not ponder grief.  I did not recall watching my dear bully struggle, in pain, and labor for breath.  I did not think about how useless and stupid I felt, watching him in his last moments, unable even to help him die with dignity.  I didn’t brood about how deeply affected my family has been by our big strong dog’s sudden but still somehow drawn-out passing. 

I didn’t mull over how much work I had waiting back at the office, or consider what I should do first upon my return.  I did not make a mental list of tasks and priorities.  I did not plan what’s for dinner or what I’ll do this weekend. 

I wasn’t even avoiding meditating on all these things.

I just watched my footing.  And I walked.

Live it. Run it. A Manifesto of Sorts?

I am applying for the 261 Fearless Ambassador program.

One of the questions is this:

If you could give advice to other women who are trying to incorporate running into their life, what advice do you want to share with them? 

This question sparked some passion in me that I could barely control.  I had to edit it down to the space allotted for responses.  So I thought I'd share it.

Here is my answer:

When I started running, I did everything I could to do it in private.  I didn't want anyone to see me trying to run, trying to teach myself how to run.  I had led a very sedentary life and in my late 20s I was trying to completely change how I viewed myself, the type of activities I spent my time on, and what I wanted to do with my life outside of work.  

I was afraid other runners would ridicule me, I was afraid that drivers on the street would honk and make fun of me, yell things from their car windows and embarrass me.  I was fat and I felt old and clumsy and I was terrified of being seen in public trying to change that.  

Eventually I gained the confidence to join a group of beginner runners.  Essentially it was a Couch to 5k-type of program and it COMPLETELY CHANGED MY WORLD.  My outlook on this activity was radically changed by the time I'd finished the 10-week program.  

I learned that the running community is not a group of high school jocks who are going to make fun of me for being slower or for struggling.  It’s a group of SUPPORTERS who have my back!  

The “intimidation” and "fear" I experienced was really more about fear within myself.  Fear of failing, fear of succeeding, or maybe just fear of trying something new.  

Don’t let THAT stop you!  

NEVER LET FEAR STOP YOU FROM DOING WHAT YOU WANT!  

Go out in the street!  

Run and walk on the trails locally! 

If you really need an excuse or to take attention from yourself, 

GET A RUNNING PARTNER - GET A DOG!  ANYTHING.  

Just don't ever let fear control your actions.  

It's YOUR life.  

Live it.  

Run it.

Actually, now that I've written that last bit, I like it so much I think I'll make it my new tag line.  Because this blog isn't really about faster times and weight loss these days; it's about how I'm living my life, and the ways I'm changing how I live my life.  I like it!

Happy, Safe and Warm

This post first appeared as a "Guest Post" on www.carlabirnberg.com. Carla is amazing - check her out!

The Hubs and I rescued this pitbull two years ago.  He's anxious, sometimes unpredictable, and early on, there were moments when he was downright scary.

We didn't know his history.  His behaviour and responses were like nothing we'd encountered in previous pets.  We wondered how to train him.  We worried if we didn't fix him address the behaviours, he'd do something really bad and end up euthanized. Longstoryshort, we brought in a professional who taught us how to teach this dog.  How to read him, how to redirect him.  How to remind him that he doesn't have to be in charge all the time.  And slowly, he learned to trust that we could keep him safe.

He still gets agitated sometimes, and when he does, one way I calm him is to make him sit (this is essential - he can't "hear" me if he's too agitated to sit), and I kneel (get down on his level), hold him steady with my face right by his (but not blocking his view of The Scary Thing That's Got Him Upset) and whisper as calmly as possible:

The world is a happy, safe and warm place.

No one and nothing can hurt you here.

Happy, Relaxed Louie

Until Louie bounded into our lives, I don't think I ever gave much voice to my own feelings on whether the world is truly a happy, safe and warm place.  Certainly people and things can hurt me (and have, of course).  From my early teenage years until I was... well into my 20's I guess, I can't quite say... I didn't really find the world to be all that happy, safe and warm.  For a variety of reasons that I won't go into, there was a great deal of instability in my life that carried on even once I had the ability to control such things (which one cannot do as a teen, but somewhere between 14 and 25 that responsibility shifts and it's on you, right?)  During that time, I would not have used any of those words, Happy-Safe-Warm to describe my experience of life in general.

I can identify the moment when that began to shift.  It wasn't a switch that was flipped (I don't feel safe did not overnight become I Feel Safe), but the day I met The Hubs, my world view began to change.  It was not "love at first sight" but within a matter of weeks, I found myself gravitating to wherever he was.  I wanted to cocoon myself in his apartment and never leave.

Louie is a fan of the Cocoon Lifestyle

I wouldn't have used these words at the time, but looking back,

I felt that as long as I was there, 

I was cloaked in something that made me feel 

Happy, Safe, and Warm.  

I felt that no one and nothing could hurt me, as long as I stayed inside of that bubble

And why would anyone leave such a bubble?  Ever?

The Hubs is a talker.  When he's happy, he's talking.  When he's angry, he's talking (but louder).  When he's reminiscing, he's talking (storytelling, more slowly).  When he's tipsy, he's talking (animatedly). When he's agitated, he's talking (faster and about anything and everything BUT the thing that has him agitated). He was willing and able to do all the talking, and he didn't need me to say much.  No pressure to talk about my feelings (yech) or my history (oh dear god no I don't want to get into that) or my plans for the future (at that point there were none to speak of) or my worries or my fears or any other damn thing.  I could sit with my feelings and listen to him and when (if) I wanted to talk, he'd listen.  Meantime, he would carry our conversations.

I wasn't SILENT, mind you.  I just didn't want to talk about anything REAL.  Not then.  I wanted to stay in the bubble, and I didn't want to acknowledge that anything else existed. And these days, The Hubs is one of maybe three people I really want to "get real" with.  (Yes, I know.  Louie isn't the only one around here with Trust Issues.) (Or maybe not? Maybe all anyone really needs is those three people.)

I read two posts from Carla Birnberg recently that sort of rattled my brain, kept bouncing around and wouldn't leave me. The first, about the concept of having a Safe Person, brought all this history to mind.  It reminded me how unstable, unsafe I felt in the Bad Old Days of my early 20's.  It reminded me what a blessing I have in The Hubs.  He has been my Safe Person.  We didn't call it that, though.  We just said "You're my favorite thing to do."

The second was this post about... well, to be honest, her words prompted me to talk to others about it, and I have had trouble explaining what this post is about!  I guess the way I read it, it's about the definition of "listening."  It touched me and reminded me of a specific conversation.  Her post resonated with me so much that I commented:

I worry often that The Hubs thinks i’m never listening. He’s a “yammerer” too and in the earlier days of our relationship when we’d snuggle into the wee hours I would often fall asleep, ear to his chest, listening to his voice.
I asked him if it hurt his feelings when I’d fall asleep while he was mid-sentence. He brushed it off – I think it DID, at least a little, hurt his feelings. Until I explained:
“Your voice calms me like a lullaby. It makes me feel happy, safe and warm. I never want you to stop talking and I never want to interrupt.”

We don't really snuggle late into the night these days like we used to. (When did that stop? And WHY? I resolve to incorporate more snuggling.)

He is STILL my Safe Person, my favorite thing to do.  

He still makes me feel Happy, Safe, and Warm.  

Every.  

Day.   

When we met

20 years later

Last weekend - Snuggling RETURNS!

They Called Her Rissa Bear

I had intended to maintain radio silence today in honor of my family's loss, but decided it was meaningless unless folks knew why.  My cousin's daughter, just 2 years old, was a warrior.  She lost her battle last week and the family gathers today to celebrate her life.  She was beautiful, sweet and had a profound impact on everyone who met her.  The family has asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to Unique, the Rare Chromosome Disorder Support Group.  If you are so inclined, please donate and let them know Rissa sent you.  They work to provide information and support for families and caregivers of children like Rissa, and their work was meaningful to my cousin and all her family.

Other friends and family members created the following tributes to Rissa.

Warrior Angel

Rissa

Fare thee well, little Warrior.

I know my family is holding tight to one another today. And my heart is with them.

I'll be back with my regularly-scheduled programming in my next post.