Wong Fei Hung once said something about competition being good for us because it showed us the weaknesses in our training. I'm going to come face-to-face with any weakness in my marathon training program in less than one week. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
I've always been fairly athletic. I held a grudge against one girl for an exorbitant amount of time for beating me out of the last leg of the 4x400 relay Presidential Physical Fitness team for my middle school in the 7th grade! Hello! (I still ran on the team, an 8th grader beat me out of the 4th leg.) I was a cheerleader for a time in middle school. Cheerleaders do some crazy athletic things! I ran track and cross-country in high school, although I was never particularly good at it. I also participated in other sports both on the high school and university (club) levels. Not until I discovered martial arts in my late twenties did I find the "sport" that appealed to me most. I started taking Kung Fu in Georgia and continued in New Hampshire, earning a black belt at my school there, and then starting with a new school when we moved back to Georgia. I was a decent student (I have three former instructors that may very well read this and beg to differ) and really enjoyed it. No doubt I would have continued in my martial arts training except that we moved to North Carolina. There isn't a Kung Fu instructor that I've found within an hour's drive of our house. Not logistically feasible with a two-year-old and a husband that puts in some crazy work hours. Not willing to settle for a different style of martial arts and needing SOMETHING as a vehicle for stress-release, I began running again.
I never really quit running, not since high school, but this time was different. I was running for myself. There was no team, no school pride, no other sports to prepare for, no health-consciousness, no reason beyond self-satisfaction to get out there and get it done. I found that I was enjoying my runs more and looking forward to leashing up my four-legged running partner even when the thermometer registered below freezing. I made a New Year's resolution in 2011 to run a half marathon. Never having run that distance before, I withheld all expectations and set out to run my own race. I proved that I could cover the 13.1 mile distance on October 8th, 2011. On December 3rd, 2011 I broke two hours for the same distance and was suddenly faced with living up to my own declaration that if I broke two hours in the half I would register for a full.
Here we are, a little more than a year after my first half marathon and I'll be running 26.2 miles on Saturday in Savannah, Georgia. I ran the distance a few weeks ago--no medals, no shirts, just me on the trail--and I know I can physically do it. The next weekend I PR'd my half marathon time, running the same course that constituted my very first half marathon, but the Rock-n-Roll Marathon in Savannah will be the largest race I've ever entered. More competitors, more fanfare, more hoopla. I'm trying really hard not to let self-doubt creep in.
Wong Fei Hung was absolutely correct in his assessment of competition being good for us. My husband is a little "Type A" with his competitive personality; he wants merely to pulverize the competition and he pulverizes himself after any competition he doesn't win. I tend to be a little more pragmatic and see the race as Wong Fei Hung would have...an opportunity to reevaluate my training and better prepare myself for the next competition. This doesn't mean I don't dream of surprising myself. I've already considered changing my race corral based on the finish time of my last race. I do know that I won't run well at all, though, if I let my brain go to mush due to worry. Best let this one play out according to God's plan and then I can have a conversation with Him later if need be.
Whether it's Debate, One-Act (I remember those days), Quiz Bowl (I remember those days, too), a soccer game, or an individual footrace, competition keeps us humble and keeps us realistic and keeps us GOING! I am a firm believer in the necessity to flex both the brain "muscles" and the body muscles. Competition allows us to do both at the same time. The competition is not necessarily against your opponent (or your 5,000 opponents), but against yourself. Don't shy away from the challenge. Whether the challenge brings validation or an awareness of what needs to change, EMBRACE IT! And feel free to wish me luck Saturday, November 3rd!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
"Handling" Death
A woman that I have had only a small amount of contact with in real life but consider a dear friend due to our contact in cyber life recently escaped what would have been a very precarious legal situation by the skin of her teeth. She evaluated a dog that a local Medical Examiner was considering training as an HRD dog. "HRD" stands for Human Remains Detection. It's a nice way of saying Cadaver Dog. My friend felt that the dog in question wasn't a suitable detection dog. Some dogs are, some aren't. Good for her for stating that the dog wasn't a good candidate. Doubly good for her considering the Medical Examiner has been brought up on charges for STEALING "training aids"--in this case, human remains-- and mishandling ("gifting," to unrelated individuals) unclaimed (meaning the bill wasn't paid) cremated human remains. Yikes. My friend asked me what I thought of all this when it happened. I was very happy she came out unscathed by association, and I remain that way. Now that a few days have passed, I have a few other things to get off my chest regarding this situation.
My mother died in 1997. She was three months shy of being a five year cancer survivor when she was killed in a car accident. Everybody dies. What happens to you when you die depends upon your belief system. Personally, I have a very convoluted belief system that I won't unveil in detail right here right now. The important thing is that my mother wished to be cremated. She made this wish very clear to me before her double mastectomy surgery in December of 1992. Mercifully, though she looked frighteningly pale and nearly dead after surgery, it wasn't a decision I had to make public at that time. My aunt and my grandmother were the ones onto whom that burden fell. I was living in Georgia with my dad at the time of my mother's death, and my mother had moved to Tennessee. My parents were long since divorced, but I will never forget the anguish in my father's voice when he had to deliver to me the news of my mother's passing in the early morning hours that day. I didn't take it well.
People do weird things when they are grieving, and a lot of my family members did a lot of weird things over the next few months, myself included. My oldest brother, suffering from Multiple Sclerosis, didn't take our mother's death any better than I did and I found myself ensconced in an odd sort of marriage and family counselor position to him and his wife, even though I had neither a spouse nor children at the time. Needless to say, certain things regarding my mother and her passing were handled by my aunt and my grandmother. My brother passed in February, 2001 due to complications from Multiple Sclerosis. Consider it a blessing; I'm not sure he would have been able to weather the storm that was about to ensue.
The rest of 2001 was spent building out the kennel and completing some K9 and K9 handler training. I remember 9/11 and driving to the kennel and discussing doomsday plans with my then business partner and my friends and clients the Honabachs. I had trained an HRD/SAR dog for the Honabachs, and my personal dog at the time was also an HRD dog. We were "invited" to New York as the 2nd relief search team, two weeks later. We declined. We had already heard about search dogs and their handlers falling ill. Two weeks after a building collapse there were certainly no survivors. The risks of handling that much death in such a small space far outweighed the reward of a pinpoint positive indication. Besides, we had limited work on real rubble piles. It wasn't a good fit and it wasn't necessary. It did make me feel good that we were even asked to go to New York, being that we were a fledgling team from Georgia. No doubt our connections to law enforcement made that happen. Requests for dogs trained to detect explosives ("bomb-sniffing") dogs began to pour into our little facility. Those are some stories for another day!
Fast-forward a few more months. The kennel is finding its groove. My best friend is living at the kennel and working for me on a part-time basis as my kennel manager while she establishes herself in her real career pursuits. A former client of mine is about to come on board as my second trainer and eventual business partner after completing his National K-9 certification. I'm training both civilian and law enforcement handlers in the art of Search and Rescue, Mantracking, and Human Remains Detection. My life is good!
One day, my best friend/kennel manager says she needs to talk to me. We sit on the front porch at the kennel and she tells me about the tragic scandal at Tri-State Crematory. How did I miss this on the news? Probably because I had worked the last six months without a single day off (seriously). She tells me that my mother was one of those sent to Tri-State Crematory. I didn't know THIS because I didn't have anything to do with making the arrangements for "handling" my mother's body. My best friend knew because my aunt had called the kennel trying to reach me. I spoke with my aunt later that day. She let me know that she had held on to the cremains she had been provided with, feeling that the time wasn't right to spread them at my great aunt and uncle's farm as per my mother's instructions. Good thing! When the DNA testing was completed, we learned my aunt hadn't even been provided with my mother's cremains. She had, for nearly five years, been harboring the cremains of a MAN completely unrelated to our family! Thankfully, that man's cremains were returned to his family.
We have never received my mother's cremains. I have no idea if my mother's remains were scattered in some picturesque place, if they sit on some stranger's mantle, or if hers was one of the bodies left to decompose in an over-sized septic tank on the Marsh family property. Regardless of your belief system, that is a disturbing thought. Funerals are for the living. People purchase burial plots or urns or cemetery spaces for their cremains to console the loved ones they leave behind. Living people need a way to "visit" with and "connect" with their ancestors, even if that means picturing in their minds a beautiful place where ashes have been spread. I choose to picture a beautiful place when I think of my mother because she was a beautiful woman and she would have wanted her cremains to feed a beautiful field of wildflowers. A rotting cesspool fertilizes nothing. I suppose there really is such a thing as too much information. My knowledge of body decomposition as a necessary byproduct of K9 training teaches me that too much decomposition in a small space is detrimental, rather than beneficial, to the surrounding environment.
I have knowledge of law enforcement officers doing some pretty crazy things to obtain HRD K9 training materials. I have been provided with some of these training materials. I have never had in my possession any training material that has been STOLEN. Not stolen from the deceased and their wishes, and not stolen from the living, those left behind that yearn for a decent way to connect with their lost loved ones. Tri-State Crematory didn't have any stake in K9 training or training materials, but I suddenly felt the need to tell this story. There are plenty of legal ways to obtain awesome training materials that won't cause sleepless nights for relatives of decedents. If there are any fledgeling HRD K9 trainers reading this that need to know what these are, please just ask me. Patience and the ability to ask are the only necessary tools. If you are a current trainer, consider how you handle your HRD training materials, out of respect for the deceased AND the living!
As for me? There's an old Belly song that comes to mind: "Be there when I feed the tree." Preferably in the chalky, anonymous form.
My mother died in 1997. She was three months shy of being a five year cancer survivor when she was killed in a car accident. Everybody dies. What happens to you when you die depends upon your belief system. Personally, I have a very convoluted belief system that I won't unveil in detail right here right now. The important thing is that my mother wished to be cremated. She made this wish very clear to me before her double mastectomy surgery in December of 1992. Mercifully, though she looked frighteningly pale and nearly dead after surgery, it wasn't a decision I had to make public at that time. My aunt and my grandmother were the ones onto whom that burden fell. I was living in Georgia with my dad at the time of my mother's death, and my mother had moved to Tennessee. My parents were long since divorced, but I will never forget the anguish in my father's voice when he had to deliver to me the news of my mother's passing in the early morning hours that day. I didn't take it well.
People do weird things when they are grieving, and a lot of my family members did a lot of weird things over the next few months, myself included. My oldest brother, suffering from Multiple Sclerosis, didn't take our mother's death any better than I did and I found myself ensconced in an odd sort of marriage and family counselor position to him and his wife, even though I had neither a spouse nor children at the time. Needless to say, certain things regarding my mother and her passing were handled by my aunt and my grandmother. My brother passed in February, 2001 due to complications from Multiple Sclerosis. Consider it a blessing; I'm not sure he would have been able to weather the storm that was about to ensue.
The rest of 2001 was spent building out the kennel and completing some K9 and K9 handler training. I remember 9/11 and driving to the kennel and discussing doomsday plans with my then business partner and my friends and clients the Honabachs. I had trained an HRD/SAR dog for the Honabachs, and my personal dog at the time was also an HRD dog. We were "invited" to New York as the 2nd relief search team, two weeks later. We declined. We had already heard about search dogs and their handlers falling ill. Two weeks after a building collapse there were certainly no survivors. The risks of handling that much death in such a small space far outweighed the reward of a pinpoint positive indication. Besides, we had limited work on real rubble piles. It wasn't a good fit and it wasn't necessary. It did make me feel good that we were even asked to go to New York, being that we were a fledgling team from Georgia. No doubt our connections to law enforcement made that happen. Requests for dogs trained to detect explosives ("bomb-sniffing") dogs began to pour into our little facility. Those are some stories for another day!
Fast-forward a few more months. The kennel is finding its groove. My best friend is living at the kennel and working for me on a part-time basis as my kennel manager while she establishes herself in her real career pursuits. A former client of mine is about to come on board as my second trainer and eventual business partner after completing his National K-9 certification. I'm training both civilian and law enforcement handlers in the art of Search and Rescue, Mantracking, and Human Remains Detection. My life is good!
One day, my best friend/kennel manager says she needs to talk to me. We sit on the front porch at the kennel and she tells me about the tragic scandal at Tri-State Crematory. How did I miss this on the news? Probably because I had worked the last six months without a single day off (seriously). She tells me that my mother was one of those sent to Tri-State Crematory. I didn't know THIS because I didn't have anything to do with making the arrangements for "handling" my mother's body. My best friend knew because my aunt had called the kennel trying to reach me. I spoke with my aunt later that day. She let me know that she had held on to the cremains she had been provided with, feeling that the time wasn't right to spread them at my great aunt and uncle's farm as per my mother's instructions. Good thing! When the DNA testing was completed, we learned my aunt hadn't even been provided with my mother's cremains. She had, for nearly five years, been harboring the cremains of a MAN completely unrelated to our family! Thankfully, that man's cremains were returned to his family.
We have never received my mother's cremains. I have no idea if my mother's remains were scattered in some picturesque place, if they sit on some stranger's mantle, or if hers was one of the bodies left to decompose in an over-sized septic tank on the Marsh family property. Regardless of your belief system, that is a disturbing thought. Funerals are for the living. People purchase burial plots or urns or cemetery spaces for their cremains to console the loved ones they leave behind. Living people need a way to "visit" with and "connect" with their ancestors, even if that means picturing in their minds a beautiful place where ashes have been spread. I choose to picture a beautiful place when I think of my mother because she was a beautiful woman and she would have wanted her cremains to feed a beautiful field of wildflowers. A rotting cesspool fertilizes nothing. I suppose there really is such a thing as too much information. My knowledge of body decomposition as a necessary byproduct of K9 training teaches me that too much decomposition in a small space is detrimental, rather than beneficial, to the surrounding environment.
I have knowledge of law enforcement officers doing some pretty crazy things to obtain HRD K9 training materials. I have been provided with some of these training materials. I have never had in my possession any training material that has been STOLEN. Not stolen from the deceased and their wishes, and not stolen from the living, those left behind that yearn for a decent way to connect with their lost loved ones. Tri-State Crematory didn't have any stake in K9 training or training materials, but I suddenly felt the need to tell this story. There are plenty of legal ways to obtain awesome training materials that won't cause sleepless nights for relatives of decedents. If there are any fledgeling HRD K9 trainers reading this that need to know what these are, please just ask me. Patience and the ability to ask are the only necessary tools. If you are a current trainer, consider how you handle your HRD training materials, out of respect for the deceased AND the living!
As for me? There's an old Belly song that comes to mind: "Be there when I feed the tree." Preferably in the chalky, anonymous form.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Those "defining" moments.
I have always had a difficult time labeling myself. I've stated before that I'm a walking dichotomy. Even in high school I was never specifically ONE thing or ONE type of person. The only two things that I have not hesitated to call myself, at least not since March of 1998 and October of 1999 are "dog trainer" and "Charles's wife". I began training dogs a little before 1998, but went at it as a full time career with no holds barred as soon as I learned I had scored an A+ on my final exam at National K-9. Don't hate.
There have been lots of other things I have done, achieved, experienced, whatever. I've run two half marathon races. I ran the distance of a full marathon just yesterday. I'm running another half marathon race one week from today and my first full marathon race will be November 3rd. I have a difficult time referring to myself as a runner. I've earned a black belt in Kung Fu. I'm waaaay out of practice these last four years, but even at the top of my game I'm not sure I ever referred to myself as a martial artist. I love to paint and sell prints of my work for money and allow people to commission me to paint portraits of their dogs and their loved ones, but I have a hard time calling myself an artist. I've worked as a vet tech, but I'm not an LVT. And acting? Let's not even go there.
Today I was driving my four-year-old son to the park. His Pre-K class has a little "pet" this year, a stuffed dog named Nomad. Nomad goes home with and experiences the life of a different child in his class each weekend. On Monday, the child is supposed to return Nomad to the class along with their contribution to his life story: pictures and an outline of his weekend at home with them added to a 3-ring binder behind the weekend before spent with another child. So Nomad was going to the park with us. Parker mentioned that Nomad was scared of wolves and coyotes. I might know a little bit about canids, so I patiently explained that there was no reason to fear either. He asked what coyotes ate, and panicked for our future puppy when I gave him an honest answer. I patiently explained that we wouldn't let that happen, and Boss (our adult German Shepherd) would certainly help keep any puppy we get safe. He asked me if I had ever seen a coyote in person. "In fact I have." I responded. He asked when. I told him the story of the time I was delivering a dog to a police department in a rural area south of Atlanta when a coyote went streaking past us in broad daylight and how odd that was. The K-9s didn't even have time to react. Parker became very concerned. Nearly in tears, he said "I don't WANT you to do that! Why would you do that?" I was confused. "What do you mean, buddy?" I asked. He said, "I don't want you to drop dogs off to the police." Wow. Suddenly I understood. He really had no clue what I did pre-Parker. He has seen me work dogs, but...
Pre-Parker I trained all sorts of dogs. I dealt with all sorts of behavior problems. I did Search and Rescue training, I did Service Dog training. I didn't care if the dog wanted to eat my face off or became a sniveling peeing mess the first time we met. I was determined to better the life of every dog and owner I trained. But my favorite thing to do was Police K-9 training. Taking a puppy (or more difficult--an adult dog that was "donated"), raising it, and training it to perform multiple tasks with speed and precision is, to me, the culmination of a working partnership. For crying out loud, I remember delivering a dual-purpose K-9 to a department and doing a recertification for another when I was like seven months pregnant. The kid was there! How could he NOT know...Plus, not to toot my own horn too loudly, I think I'm a pretty darn good dog trainer.
When my husband and I decided to have a child I wasn't looking to become a Stay-At-Home-Mom. Not at all. I counted on doing what tons of mothers do: the fantastical juggling act of being mom, wife, homemaker, AND wage earner. Boy did life throw me a curveball! When I was about five months pregnant we learned that Parker had a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. Not only did the cardiologist recommend he not go to daycare, the cardiologist told us our baby boy could not be allowed to cry before his first (and possibly second) surgery or he might go into cardiac arrest! There wasn't a daycare that I contacted that would take him. Rightfully so. Daycare was out. Staying at home with Parker all but one day a week--God Bless my Mother-in-Law--was in. Fast forward a birth, an open-heart-surgery, and a 1st birthday later we're clear to go to daycare. Grandma enjoys her days with the wee one, so it's daycare two days a week. I'm back to working three days a week and I'm pretty happy. Life likes to throw me curve balls.
My husband got a promotion, and with it a one-way ticket to North Carolina! Yeah, Charles! Since that promotion, I've been fortunate enough to not HAVE to work. I love North Carolina. I love our neighbors. I love my son's preschool. I continue with my dog shampoo and with my art because I love it, and I've trained a few dogs here and there, more to help out friends than anything. I have a website but I don't "advertise" the training anymore. Do I miss it? Absolutely. The first thing I start to say anytime someone asks me what I do is "dog trainer". I'm involved in a few online groups for dog trainers and try to participate when I have something of worth to offer (and when it's too much fun not to). Will I go back to training dogs on a more full-time basis? I sure hope so.
Back to today: Parker was in the backseat listening intently and asking questions at all the right times when I did my best to explain how I trained dogs to work with the police and then trained the police to work with the dogs. After I had satisfied all his questions, he asked simply "Why don't you do that anymore?" Without hesitation, I said "Well, buddy, if I did I wouldn't have as much time to spend with you." There was silence in the backseat. A single glance in the rearview mirror nearly brought me to tears. Parker was looking out the window with a smile on his face that tied his ears together.
Definitely add "Parker's Mom" to the things that truly define me.
There have been lots of other things I have done, achieved, experienced, whatever. I've run two half marathon races. I ran the distance of a full marathon just yesterday. I'm running another half marathon race one week from today and my first full marathon race will be November 3rd. I have a difficult time referring to myself as a runner. I've earned a black belt in Kung Fu. I'm waaaay out of practice these last four years, but even at the top of my game I'm not sure I ever referred to myself as a martial artist. I love to paint and sell prints of my work for money and allow people to commission me to paint portraits of their dogs and their loved ones, but I have a hard time calling myself an artist. I've worked as a vet tech, but I'm not an LVT. And acting? Let's not even go there.
Today I was driving my four-year-old son to the park. His Pre-K class has a little "pet" this year, a stuffed dog named Nomad. Nomad goes home with and experiences the life of a different child in his class each weekend. On Monday, the child is supposed to return Nomad to the class along with their contribution to his life story: pictures and an outline of his weekend at home with them added to a 3-ring binder behind the weekend before spent with another child. So Nomad was going to the park with us. Parker mentioned that Nomad was scared of wolves and coyotes. I might know a little bit about canids, so I patiently explained that there was no reason to fear either. He asked what coyotes ate, and panicked for our future puppy when I gave him an honest answer. I patiently explained that we wouldn't let that happen, and Boss (our adult German Shepherd) would certainly help keep any puppy we get safe. He asked me if I had ever seen a coyote in person. "In fact I have." I responded. He asked when. I told him the story of the time I was delivering a dog to a police department in a rural area south of Atlanta when a coyote went streaking past us in broad daylight and how odd that was. The K-9s didn't even have time to react. Parker became very concerned. Nearly in tears, he said "I don't WANT you to do that! Why would you do that?" I was confused. "What do you mean, buddy?" I asked. He said, "I don't want you to drop dogs off to the police." Wow. Suddenly I understood. He really had no clue what I did pre-Parker. He has seen me work dogs, but...
Pre-Parker I trained all sorts of dogs. I dealt with all sorts of behavior problems. I did Search and Rescue training, I did Service Dog training. I didn't care if the dog wanted to eat my face off or became a sniveling peeing mess the first time we met. I was determined to better the life of every dog and owner I trained. But my favorite thing to do was Police K-9 training. Taking a puppy (or more difficult--an adult dog that was "donated"), raising it, and training it to perform multiple tasks with speed and precision is, to me, the culmination of a working partnership. For crying out loud, I remember delivering a dual-purpose K-9 to a department and doing a recertification for another when I was like seven months pregnant. The kid was there! How could he NOT know...Plus, not to toot my own horn too loudly, I think I'm a pretty darn good dog trainer.
When my husband and I decided to have a child I wasn't looking to become a Stay-At-Home-Mom. Not at all. I counted on doing what tons of mothers do: the fantastical juggling act of being mom, wife, homemaker, AND wage earner. Boy did life throw me a curveball! When I was about five months pregnant we learned that Parker had a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. Not only did the cardiologist recommend he not go to daycare, the cardiologist told us our baby boy could not be allowed to cry before his first (and possibly second) surgery or he might go into cardiac arrest! There wasn't a daycare that I contacted that would take him. Rightfully so. Daycare was out. Staying at home with Parker all but one day a week--God Bless my Mother-in-Law--was in. Fast forward a birth, an open-heart-surgery, and a 1st birthday later we're clear to go to daycare. Grandma enjoys her days with the wee one, so it's daycare two days a week. I'm back to working three days a week and I'm pretty happy. Life likes to throw me curve balls.
My husband got a promotion, and with it a one-way ticket to North Carolina! Yeah, Charles! Since that promotion, I've been fortunate enough to not HAVE to work. I love North Carolina. I love our neighbors. I love my son's preschool. I continue with my dog shampoo and with my art because I love it, and I've trained a few dogs here and there, more to help out friends than anything. I have a website but I don't "advertise" the training anymore. Do I miss it? Absolutely. The first thing I start to say anytime someone asks me what I do is "dog trainer". I'm involved in a few online groups for dog trainers and try to participate when I have something of worth to offer (and when it's too much fun not to). Will I go back to training dogs on a more full-time basis? I sure hope so.
Back to today: Parker was in the backseat listening intently and asking questions at all the right times when I did my best to explain how I trained dogs to work with the police and then trained the police to work with the dogs. After I had satisfied all his questions, he asked simply "Why don't you do that anymore?" Without hesitation, I said "Well, buddy, if I did I wouldn't have as much time to spend with you." There was silence in the backseat. A single glance in the rearview mirror nearly brought me to tears. Parker was looking out the window with a smile on his face that tied his ears together.
Definitely add "Parker's Mom" to the things that truly define me.
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