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a movement of remembrance and recovery

Running on a River

1/26/2016

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Running on a river contributes to my physical and mental well being.  Today, I reflected on the riparian visions grounding me in times of crisis.  I then thought about how and why rivers came to play such an important role in my ability to remain (relatively) calm in the face of emotional confusion or unhealthy urges.  In doing so, I recognized a need to return to a schedule of regular runs along my present home river, the Wabash.     
 
I spent twenty years calling the city of "Dirty Water" home before moving to Lafayette, IN.  The years collapse and intermingle and then come together again, making life in my twenties and thirties a series of random flashes, much like a meteor shower.  At some point in the late-1980s, I lived with Maryclaire and our red-haired friend Amy in a brownstone in Cambridgeport.  Amy, whom I once touted as my soul mate, introduced me to some of the most important things in life, like folk music and noodle kugel.  In our apartment at Fairmont Avenue, we attempted the impossible: squeezing three independent and individual women into two and a half bedrooms.  It was more than the low rent that led us to perform this herculean and ultimately impractical feat.  It was also the exquisiteness of the well-placed apartment.  The turn-of-the-twentieth-century structure had open faced brick walls, hardwood floors and an old-fashioned tub with feet.  It was an irresistible space, in part, because Amy's dad, the landlord-carpenter, was inspired by the simple lines of Shaker design.         


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Announcing My Intentions

1/19/2016

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Stacy, Susan, and Cindy
BED had led me to withdraw from relationships that were important to me, and so I determined--amid the tears and guilt that came with it--to nourish the friendships that I still had and to take off the mask of success and achievement.  In particular, I wanted to tell Susan and Cindy, fellow friends of Maryclaire from high school, that I suffered from BED and was actively seeking to recover from it after a thirty-five year struggle. 

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Day One

1/16/2016

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It is a cold winter day on 28 December in San Diego--47 degrees at 9 am.  I am dressed in black shorts and a long sleeve orange shirt, determined to start training today for my 10 K. for Claire on 11 June.  The waves of the Pacific Ocean crash behind me, and I feel a burst of optimism.  I can raise money for this scholarship and do so by facilitating my own recovery from BED.
 
I feel I must set the right tone for this first run, and so I turn to classic hip hop: "I Go To Work" by Kool Moe Dee.  I was not "with it" enough to have listened to this song back in 1989, when it first came out, but it is a perfect start: "I go to work, like a doctor," the rapper begins, and then kicks in with:
Open the door playtime is over
Time to go to work and show the
Sucker in the place who run their face
The base and a taste of who's the ace
Start the race I'm coming in first...

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A Sign from the Universe

1/15/2016

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I am flying from Indianapolis to San Diego two days after Christmas.  I will spend New Year's Day next to the Pacific Ocean.  I distinctly remember having sent Maryclaire a New Year's greeting last year from Treasure Island in Florida.   Maryclaire, always busy and trying to catch up, and this even before she was married and had four children, had responded to it on 2 November 2015.  Her text to me that morning began "Hello Dear One" and ended "I'd really love to see you.  Bless."  I read that text message--a four paragraph precious gem--for the fiftieth time. 
 
Maryclaire has now been gone for two weeks: How can this New Year's Day be so different from the last one?  How can one year make such a difference in the lives of so many?   
 
I text Maryclaire's husband Jay from the Chicago airport as I wait for my transfer to San Diego.  There, I will begin to train seriously for the 10 K for Claire.  But just because I am "escaping" from the mundane to a condo right next to the Pacific Ocean does not mean that I have shut down my grief or forgotten that Jay and his family still suffer.    
 
I want Jay to know that I am thinking of him, which is exactly what I write: I am still thinking of you and wanted you to know you and your family are constantly in my thoughts.  I AM going to run a race for Claire on 11 June in Portsmouth.  My training officially starts tomorrow.  I miss her so much and am filled with regret over time lost.  Running to raise money for her scholarship will help me.  As for you and the children, I wish you peace.  I am a phone call away.  Let's talk soon. 
 
My text is wandering thoughts, but Jay's response is short and pointed.  It gives me chills: June 11 is our anniversary.​


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A Heartbreaking Realization

1/15/2016

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The photo is undated, and yet it is clearly a precious memento of a bygone era when we--well, if truth be told--would hang out at bars all too much of the time.  Claire is wearing my favorite green batik dress from those days--perhaps the late-1980s or early-1990s--and she has accessorized it with the necklace known as her "fairy bell."  What is she staring at so intently?  Cindy steals the show in her short blue dress.  With arms extended, she invites the viewer to a seat at our table.  Susan, who today does cross fit and advocates a sugar-free diet, is--ack!--smoking with the refined air of Audrey Hepburn circa 1961.  And then, there is me: I insert myself into the group and so into the lives of these amusing and fascinating women.  As I look at the photo, I wish Steve Jobs had invented the camera-ready iPhone twenty years before he actually did so that we could have captured more of these moments together.  (I suspect Susan, Cindy and Claire--mothers of eight among them--are awfully glad he did not.)    

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Honoring Maryclaire

1/15/2016

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On 12 December 2015, forty-eight year old Maryclaire Ward Paullis lay down in the lower bunk of her sons' bunk bed and took a nap from which she never awoke.  Maryclaire is survived by her parents as well as her four children--ages nine to twenty years old--and her husband, Jay, of twenty-one years.  While her immediate family mourned this unexpected tragedy, a community of hundreds also needed to deal with their feelings of sorrow and distress.  There is no doubt in my mind that dozens upon dozens of people, if asked, would today raise their hand and count Maryclaire, or Claire, as many knew her, as being among their three closest friends.  This is because Maryclaire had a gift for laughing out loud and leading others to do the same.  She made people feel special because she recognized their individual gifts.  And she saw enchantment in the ordinary, such as a crooked tree or a weather-beaten rock.  Such traits explain why I--a friend from high school--still counted her as one of my three best friends thirty years after our graduation...and eight years since I last visited the Paullis family in New Hampshire.   
 
In honor of Maryclaire I have decided to run a 10 K. race for charity in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on 11 June 2016.  
Running this race is no easy task given that I have for six months been in treatment for Binge Eating Disorder (BED).  According to the National Eating Disorders Association, this term signifies an illness "characterized by recurrent episodes of eating large quantities of food (often very quickly and to the point of discomfort); a feeling of a loss of control during the binge; experiencing shame, distress or guilt afterwards."  People with BED often gain weight, but, far from merely an aesthetic dilemma, this mental health disorder can be diagnosed as "life threatening."   
 
As a result of BED--as well as co-occurring depression and anxiety--my weight has ballooned more than sixty pounds.  Now at 5' 7" and 202 lbs., I find myself at the average weight of the ideal NFL running back.  And yet, despite this choice of metaphor, I have not gone for more than a cursory run, an activity I had once loved, in many months.  In recovery, I look forward to finding my "new normal," and regular running will be part of the active lifestyle I seek to embrace.  In effect, I am going from "couch potato" to 10 K. in honor of my precious and longtime friend, who was always, in life, and now in death, such a support when I was going through hard times.  
 
The charity of choice is to be a scholarship to Sparhawk School that will be established in Maryclaire's name.  This innovative private school aspires to enroll as many students as possible from diverse economic backgrounds.  This scholarship will ensure that one more deserving young person has access to Sparhawk's progressive program.  In it, the student will learn more than basics about math or history; he or she will also be actively and deliberately encouraged to become an independent-minded and confident individual.  As succinctly affirmed in its mission statement: "Ours is a program, then, that honors children, values inquiry, encourages exploration, allows for innovation, and celebrates ideas. Children in our school gain skills that allow them to be self-initiating, self-directing learners, as well as joyful, responsible, and independent beings." 
 
Maryclaire had been involved in Sparhawk School since its foundation in 1993.  It was her first job after graduating from Lesley College with her Master's degree.  At that time, we both lived in the Boston area, and so I know how excited she was to teach at a school where she could implement the innovative and effective curriculum for which Sparhawk School would become known.  Teaching young children was so much more than a job for Maryclaire; it was her vocation.  And she sought always to reveal the magic and the beauty of the world to her students.    
               
I am proud to have called--to still call--Maryclaire friend and am proud to help secure donations for a scholarship in her name.
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    Stacy E. Holden 

    Remembering and recovering through running and blogging.

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