I was taking a walk the other day and thought about how I had recently turned 35 and thought maybe this would be my year to run a marathon. I thought about kicking off my training by turning my walk into a walk/run interval workout. And then I thought about my grandma.
She once told me a story about when her grade school gym class was required to do a one mile run. A few weeks before that class, she went down to the school track. At first, she walked one step, then ran one step, walked two steps, ran two steps… The next day, she did the same thing: walk, run, walk, run. The next day, the same: walk, run, repeat. She kept building until she was prepared to run the mile.
If that is not the basis of marathon training, I’m not sure what is.
If that is not a life lesson, I’m not sure what is.
So I started running. I ran for about .25mi and started walking again. And then I thought about my grandma.
This grandma is my mother’s mother. We don’t usually tell other people this, but I’m her favorite, and she is mine.
My grandma often tells me the story of the day I was born. I was her first grandchild. She tells me that she is the first person who got to hold me, and she tells me she loved me the moment she set eyes on me. She tells me the story of when I named all of my family members after Sesame Street and Muppets characters. At the wise age of 3, I donned her Count von Count, and she is still lovingly referred to as Grandma Count by our family to this day.
And then I ran again. I did another .25mi interval, and, when I started walking, I instantly thought about my grandma…
My grandma once told me about her friend, Penny. She was the only black girl in her whole elementary school, and my grandma, as a first generation Italian American, was the next darkest complected. That meant they were friends and together tried not to care what anyone thought. My great grandma, Momo (my grandma’s mother), would not let Penny come over to their home. At the time, my grandma didn’t understand why and was still friends with her anyway. My grandma tells me she wonders about Penny now and what her life was like.
I ran. I walked. I thought.
My grandma used to tell me these few little quotable sayings. She would recite them often, and I eventually memorized them: “The decisions you make dictate the life you live.” and “Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.”
My grandma tells me she appreciates how my mom still cooks all of our Italian family recipes, passed down from the “old country:” pasta sauce, ravioli, cavatelli, Easter bread, wedding soup, limoncello, pizzelles… She likes to hear that I sometimes help and even try to do a few of them on my own too. She commends my mom for spending so much time in the kitchen with Momo when she was alive and getting to know all of recipes. Grandma Count tells me that my mom will not always be here to help me and that I should continue to write everything down. If I don’t remember, who will? Somebody has to pass down the family recipes.
And then I ran. And I walked. And I thought.
My grandma tells why she liked working in a male dominated industry, like I do. She worked for the railroad and retired from CSX after nearly 30 years of service. She tells me that she had to work harder than most, earned the respect she received, and was proud of her job.
My grandma tells me Happy Birthday every year. Sometimes, it’s two days early, sometimes it’s a couple days late, but I don’t take it personally. My cousin, my sister, and I all have birthdays within a few days of each other. I don’t mind because it means she’s thinking about all of us.
And I am still alternating the running and the walking. Every time I walk, I have another thought about my grandma.
My grandma tells me that she loves me, infinity and beyond! Or that she loves me, to the moon and back! Or, my favorite, that she loves me, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck!
She tells me to come visit her anytime. And I do.
Thankfully, Grandma Count is still alive and well. She still tells me stories about her life, and we still reminisce about shared memories of mine. I acknowledge the fact that someday she will not be here to tell me things anymore, so I will keep training for that marathon…running and walking and thinking of her and writing everything down. If I don’t remember, who will? Somebody has to pass down the family recipes.
