Running on Faith

When I go running, I completely lose myself.  It's an amazing experience where I get a chance to shut out the real world, channel the music on my iPod and let my mind run free.  I haven't been running that much lately but I just found out I got a spot in the New York City marathon this year, so I have begun to step it up a bit and many of these runs have found me talking to my mom.  She loved the fact that I was a runner.  My Pop Pop, Mimi's dad, was a runner and I actually have a medal he won while running track in college - a very special piece that has been with me since I was in high school.

Recently, my runs have been hard.  I'm out of shape and need to get back on track rather quickly, particularly if I'm going to complete this marathon.  I've started telling people about my intent to run the marathon, largely because I feel the more people who know what I'm up to the more likely I am to run the damn race.  A lot of people have asked if I am running for a charity, which I suppose comes out of the fact that my two sisters rocked it in the 3 Day Walk last year.  Oddly, I find running to be a very selfish thing for me - it's my race, my run and I really don't want to be giving anything away.  I know this is very self-centered, but it's who I am and how I feel right now.  I just like to run, enough said.  And I am very selfish, just ask my husband!

As I was running today, I had this great conversation with Mom (great because I was the one carrying her side of the discussion, which worked to my favor!!).  I was telling Mom how I began to feel bad that I wasn't running for a charity.  We had this great dialogue around my reasons for running and how it was perfectly fine to run my race, and run it for me.  Then it dawned on me, or maybe it dawned on Mimi.  I should run my race and encourage others to do what they want for their favorite charity.  So I am going to take off on November 6th and run 26.2 miles through all five boroughs of New York City.  I am not going to raise any money.  I am not going to pledge any dollars, or any goods, or any time.  I am going to run, and I am going to run with Mimi.  I have decided to have her name printed on my bib that day so when I run through all those miles of the city, the crowds will see her name on my chest.  Maybe a few of them will shout "Come on Mimi, you can do it!" or "Go Mimi, go!"  They will cheer me on and shout her name, and she will be with me every step of the painful 26.2 mile way.  How cool is that?

As Mom and I run the New York City marathon, I encourage all of you to do something for your favorite charity, if you are so inclined.  Give where you want to give, volunteer where you feel your time is valued, and offer up just a bit of yourself to others.  Mom was really good at that.  I am not.  So I am going to run, talk to my mom, and feel some inner peace hoping that others will give where I could not.

I don't have a recipe for today but I'll find a good one to help me carb load the night before the marathon.

Irish Pride

A week from today is St. Patrick's Day and I am really dreading this holiday, probably more so than the big ones.  Mom was fiercely proud of her Irish heritage and she would go all out on St. Patrick's Day.  Corned beef and cabbage, Irish soda bread, the Clancy Brothers playing in the house.  She would don her green and wear it proudly.  It was a day Mimi cherished and she would run around talking in a brogue all day wishing the luck of the Irish to everyone she met.  So next week is going to be a tough one.

Mom made no bones about the fact that she would have liked an Irish son-in-law, and she made sure Pete knew in no uncertain terms that an Italian surname was not going to cut it in her book.  I wouldn't say they got off to a rocky start, but Mom's inability to pronounce Pete's last name and the fact that he doesn't have a lick of Irish in his lineage didn't really help.  Mom was actually baking Irish soda bread the first time she met Pete and I am convinced this was some sort of subliminal attempt to get him to change his surname to something Gaelic.  Subtlety was not one of Mom's strong suits.  But, hard as she tried, there was no changing the fact that she ended up with one Italian, one English and two Polish sons-in-law -- there has got to be a good joke in there somewhere . . .

As a family, we focus a bit more on our Irish heritage than we do on the Italian.  It's not that we aren't proud to be Italian, we are and the kids know it.  It's just that the Irish have way cooler music, tend to be a bit more of a partying crowd, and have their own holiday. The kids all adore their Notre Dame apparel and Pete has one of the largest collections of Irish music this side of Dublin.  We even toyed with having Regan take up Irish dancing but she got so mired down in sports that she couldn't find the time, and I'm convinced that Thomas is part leprechaun.  I think even Pete would admit, with no disrespect to his Italian ancestors, that having some Irish in your background is pretty cool.

So, as we head into the Irish holiday, I do so with a very heavy heart.  I miss my mom immensely and I miss her zest for life.  I miss the cards she would send the kids for St. Patrick's Day and the "top of the mornin'" greeting she would have for me on the phone.  I miss her smile and her wit, and I really miss the banter she and Pete would throw around whenever they were together - those two made quite a pair. I can, however, say that I will not miss her Irish soda bread.  Bordering on blasphemy, I admit I cannot stand the stuff. That said, I don't want to rob my kids of this great tradition so I'm going to start tonight and attempt to make it, hoping I can turn out at least one decent batch by March 17th and make Mom proud.

Slainte!

Irish Soda Bread

4 C flour
1 C sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
2 sticks butter, softened
1 C raisins
1 1/3 C buttermilk
1 egg yolk (to brush top)

Preheat oven to 350.  Mix all dry ingredients.  Cut butter into dry mixture.  Add raisins. Mix in buttermilk a little at a time.

Knead dough on a floured surface.  Shape into 2-3 round loaves.  Cut cross in top of loaf and brush with egg yolk.  Bake for 1 hour.