Posted on April 19, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

I noticed in the paper that this week is National Oral Health Week in Canada. A recent trip to my dentist prompted me to write a story about the experience. I feel quite certain that each and every one of you reading this has at least one dental story.

A few of our children weren’t big fans of the dentist… not our dentist in particular. It got so bad they he would come out to the car to examine them.This was certainly above and beyond the call of duty.

I’m working on a few other stories. Our youngest daughter is expecting her first child any day now. This will be our third grandchild. Most people are aware of the challenges that women go through with childbirth but what about their husbands? This is a male perspective on the joys of childbirth. I am almost certain that I am going to get into trouble over this one!

 

Posted on April 18, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

If you are first time visitor to my blog, thank you for checking in. If you want to view recent stories, simply scroll down the page. They are all there.

We all have had a few days to digest the events from Boston this past Monday. The devastation that this has wreaked on so many innocent people is incalculable. It’s hard to believe that someone could go out and cheer on, not only friends and family members, but everyone who is running, and then find yourself in a hospital with a shattered body. Or worse. I am like many who cannot stop thinking about that little boy and his family.

Boston is so unique. The marathon is a festival and more than a million people line every square inch of the route. They cheer as wildly for you as they do for people they know. And they stand there for hours upon hours.They pass you food and drink and high fiving small children is such a joy. This is what makes this tragedy so hard to deal with.

The response to my story on the events of Monday has been something else. People from such far flung areas as Kuwait, Australia, France, Norway and Mexico, have checked in on my blog. And I have received dozens upon dozens of texts, e-mails, Facebook posts and calls. I want to share any credit for the story with my wife Betty who edits all of my work. I wrote this story at 4:00 a.m. the morning after the bombings. I hadn’t slept well and just had to get my thoughts on paper. When I got to the end, I didn’t have much left in the tank. My ending was weak and while I was showering for work, she replaced my ending with the last paragraph that you see in the story.

My running partner, Charlene and I will travel to Halifax on Monday for a memorial run in Point Pleasant Park to commemorate the victims and the injured. Please keep all of these people in your thoughts and prayers.

…. and have a great day!

Len

Posted on April 16, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

I know exactly what it is like at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.   I was there last year and the year before.  If you are a runner, it is sacred ground.  It is the Holy GraiI.  It is always a chaotic scene.  It is an area filled with people and emotion.  For runners, it is a mixture of pain, relief, exhaustion and joy. There are thousands of fans and family on Boylston Street.  And of course, there are hundreds of volunteers and medics who comfort you and keep you upright so that you can get to the family meeting area with a shred of decency.

As of April 15, 2013, you can add one more chapter to finish line stories; tragedy.

Every time that there is a natural disaster or a man made one we struggle to process what is unfolding on the television.  When I received the initial call from my daughter in Montreal, my very first thought was a gas leak or some accidental explosion.  I could never imagine that what I was about to witness over the next four hours was an act of wanton violence and destruction.

Like many other runners and friends, I was following the race very closely.  My long suffering running partner was competing for the fifth time and three other friends were making their maiden voyage over hallowed ground.  Knowing you are tracing the steps of all the great marathoners in history is a very humbling experience.  I was charting my friends’ progress online.  By the time all hell broke loose I knew that three of the four had completed the journey from Hopkinton to Copley Square in downtown Boston.  For some reason the fourth, Lori, had disappeared off the radar.  My initial thought was that she had succumbed to injury.  I know her well.  She is a tough old bird but it happens to the best of runners.

When I turned on the television the reality of what was happening hit home.  I stared in disbelief at the confusion and carnage.  I watched in shock as the concussion from the blast leveled runners right in their steps, yards from the finish line.  I saw the smoke, the fireball and the blood on the sidewalk and realized that the venerable Boston Marathon had changed forever.

The next several hours were a blur of phone calls, texts and e-mails.  I contacted all of the runners first.  My running partner was actually in the finish area when the first explosion hit but came away physically unharmed.  Two others, a husband and wife team from a neighboring community, were safe as well.  This journey was to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream; to run in the Boston Marathon as a couple. The dream quickly turned into a nightmare.

I turned all of my attention and worry to my friend who was still unaccounted for.  I knew she should have been close to the finish line at the time of the explosions according to her earlier splits.  And I was aware that her husband, an Ironman competitor and former Boston marathoner, was supposed to be at the finish line to witness her monumental achievement.  It was well over an hour before I received a text that they were both unharmed.

The marathon, for those of you sensible enough never to have done one, stretches 26 miles and 385 yards.  I know from experience that the last few hundred yards can be the toughest.  Your muscles are utterly depleted, screaming for you to stop.  You might also be suffering from major league blisters on your feet and severe chafing on many body parts.  And most of us have experienced the joys of several blackened toes after blood vessels burst under the toenails from the incessant pounding.

Lori told me that she came around the corner on Beresford Street and entered Boylston Street.  This is about 300 yards from the finish line but it feels like 300 miles when you are near the end.  With only a few moments remaining in the race, the achievement of her lifelong goal, the second explosion struck just steps away. As it was Patriot’s Day, she thought at first that cannon had gone off somewhere.  And then she was swarmed by police and medics removing her and all the runners from the course.  Unharmed.

Under normal circumstances, to be so close to the finish line at a marathon and not to finish would be devastating for a runner.  Only a marathoner understands the preparation that is required to get to Boston.  I spoke with Lori a few hours after the tragedy and she was both philosophical and circumspect. The expected disappointment of being “so close yet so far” was replaced with shock and sadness at the loss of life and the shattering of limbs and lives.  I assured her that she had indeed finished the race, in her heart and in her soul, regardless of finish times and medals.

In 2012 we ran Boston in blistering heat, spurred on by a community of friends and strangers alike who supported us in so many ways.  On April 15^th 2013 this community reached higher and farther in response to unspeakable tragedy.  Goodness must prevail.  Boston will be forever changed but we cannot and must not lose its spirit and soul.