Girls on the Run

Come on Over

2011-02-04T19:16:00.000-08:00

Hey friends...so...as you may have noticed I haven't been contributing much to this blog. I seem to be journeying into another realm. Please visit me and if you want come along to my new blog entitled www.wanderingthroughnothingness.com.

We could have some fun and learn along the way.

Molly B.

Parenting

2010-12-31T03:12:00.000-08:00

"When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years." - Mark Twain

So...no one said that parenting would be easy. Actually no one said anything much about parenting. What I heard from most folks was how having kids would fill my life with boundless joy. Somewhere in all the mix of that conversation, no one spent much time conversing on the topic of parenting itself. Surely, when I was pregnant and joyfully ingnorant about what lay ahead did anyone say, "Good luck, sister. Parenting is hard and at times you will question the very foundation upon which YOU have built your entire life."

I write this morning smack dab in the middle of the holiday season. My children are nestled in bed...well that's not totally true...one is nestled underneath a blanket on a couch in the living room, cell phone hanging by its cord half way off the couch next to her and the other is nestled in the guest bedroom of his best buddy's house, my last contact with him was at 1:20 a.m. this morning.

I am the mother to two teenagers. That alone makes those who have been through it shake their heads and then respectfully offer up the secret handshake as former members to the "parent-to-teen" fraternity. Before I entered the land of teendom I used to say things like, "Oh...it can't be that challenging. I have an open relationship with my kids. They know they can trust me to be a resource for them when they are troubled" or how 'bout this little ditty. "I actually look forward to the challenges of the teen years. It is through those challenges that we will find strength. It is through those challenges that the hard edges of our exteriors are worn down to reveal the shining light from within." (Is this where the sappy music plays and the playful giggles of children dances upon the air?)

Yep...all the glory of language and the mantra of collaborative parent-child parenting worked so well...at least while things were easy and my kids were still...well...little kids.

But I've got news for you. It's not easy. The first line in one of my favorite books of all time "The Road Less Traveled" states that "Life is difficult."

Ironically, what I'm discovering, though, isn't that life is difficult, but that accepting that life is difficult is the difficult part (Does that make sense? Please tell me that makes sense!)...especially when you are a teenager and you haven't lived long enough to see that "this too shall pass" and that everything really is gonna be okay. As the mother to teenagers nothing is harder for ME than seeing my children grapple with the difficult parts of THEIR lives and their resistance to accept that it is difficult and is just gonna be really hard at times. Maybe its about time I accept it, too.

I'm not sure why I find myself writing about this, this morning. I know that whenever I post a status on my Facebook page such as "Hang in there" or "This too shall pass" or "Life is hard--accept it and then the hard isn't something to dread," I get literally dozens of "thanks you's" from people who need to hear it too.

And so this morning, I'm not sure who I'm writing to or for. Maybe it's you or maybe it's me. Or maybe my teenage children or yours...but the fact remains. Life is hard and can feel SO hard that we get frustrated, impatient and at times downright shaking-in-our-boots fearful; but I know, having lived to the ripe ole' age of 50,that interlaced somewhere in all that hard, icky stuff really does lie a soft chewy middle--something my teens and I will eventually sink our teeth into--something that really will push us to a deeper center and a place of greater joy and richer, more meaningful connections--something that will undoubtedly taste so good and be so sweet, if we just stick it out.

So...the secret is out. Parenting is hard. So is life. Secret handshake revealed.

Gratitude comes in the strangest of places and at the most interesting times.

The Circuits of Our Highest Potential

2010-12-18T04:22:00.000-08:00

“There comes that mysterious meeting in life when someone acknowledges who we are and what we can be, igniting the circuits of our highest potential.” Rusty Burkus

I am a very visual person. I immediately react to images as they come in through my eyes. I also do my greatest works of creation with my eyes closed. I can spend minutes a day, “picturing” what I wish to see in the world.

I’ve been attending many of our New Balance Girls on the Run 5k’s across the nation. Our numbers have been growing exponentially. Thousands and thousands of people are coming to the events. Virtually every city that hosts a New Balance Girls on the Run engages multiple tiers across their communities. We are no longer just impacting girls…but entire communities.

When I started Girls on the Run, my vision, while detailed and focused on the individual girl, also encompassed a larger viewpoint. In the very first materials, I discussed frequently of “the Girl Box” and the restraining limitations it’s placement over our bodies, voices and spirits had on our potential. I spoke often of “shattering that Girl Box” and creating a world where all girls and women are free to be themselves. The Girl Box was a metaphor for the gender stereotypes that cultures/societies/religions/political systems/familial systems (basically people) use to place others in a subordinate group in an effort to elevate themselves to a position of dominance.

Ironically, what I didn’t know at the time was…that my belief (along with constant conversation on the topic) in the Girl Box’s control over girls and women was actually a form of supporting its continued existence. The more I spoke of its control, the more control it had. When I viewed an airbrushed and dramatically altered image in a magazine, I was enraged. When I learned that one of my friends had chosen to “enhance” her breasts, I was both angered and judgmental of her. When I saw (at the time) Britney Spears and other teen idols perform with little to no clothing, I was furious. I was furious at them for “caving in” and I was angry at a culture that suggested that caving was the way to success, popularity and fame.

What I didn’t realize at the time, was how much all that anger was simply a form of giving the Girl Box more power. The angrier I got at it, the more it seemed to come up everywhere. The more I resisted it, the more it seemed to wedge its way into my life. The more I spoke of its existence, the more frequently I found it in people, magazines and circumstances. The Girl Box “context/filter” was affecting every byte of data coming into my reality.

Over the last several years has come a softening of that resistance. I’m not angry at it anymore. I just choose not to focus on it anymore and to focus on those instances, people and circumstances which free us, love us and lift us up. I think that Girls on the Run was the universe’s way of providing me with that freeing and unique perspective…one that I had trouble finding all on my own.

“That image is airbrushed and altered. How interesting that someone would consider this beautiful. Beautiful to me, is a woman draped beneath her natural skin. Character lines across her brow, around her eyes and lips, tell the story of a life well-lived. Breasts that naturally fall upon her chest are there to share the wonder of her changing femininity and the depth of her evolution. That image is airbrushed. I give it no attention, power or meaning.”

“My friend chose to get her breasts enhanced. How interesting. I love her so much. She helped me through a difficult time in my early sobriety. She has been a symbol of strength for many in how she managed her husband’s untimely and early death. She is a woman on her way, evolving, as I am evolving with every minute that passes.”

I pass up on the entertainment magazines that compare, gossip, bully and pass judgment on entertainers and opt for publications that tell stories of their perseverance, dedication to their craft and noteworthy performances.

Interestingly, I thought it would take decades and decades to eliminate the Girl Box…but ironically it doesn’t exist in my life anymore. Alright, so occasionally it will crop up…more so around my age these days then around my gender. It usually comes when I’m tired, ungrounded or too rushed…but I just recognize that the beliefs attached to it are those I can either choose to accept or not…and of course I choose not to accept them. Why would I choose to spend time with anything, person or situation (even a thought) that would limit the magnificence of who I am and what I bring to this world?

I find that I am no longer angry. Anger at the existence of the Girl Box or any other limitation on us suggests somehow that we have no control over those limitations. But the truth is…we do. We can control our thoughts and our actions…and every small action, word and thought I have which gives power to those things that enhance my potential is in essence not a shattering of the Girl Box but the elimination of its existence at all.

I stand at each finish line and watch the exuberant and radiant girls as they lift their hands high and realize that the Girl Box, not only has no control over her, but doesn’t EVEN exist in her reality. Our task, as leaders within this organization is not to resist or be angry at the Girl Box, but to join HER in her reality and recognize, once and for all, that the Girl Box is simply a figment of our culture’s imagination.

In her world, limitations don’t exist. In her world, we are free, limitless and able with each thought, action and word we choose to live our lives as she does…exuberant, radiant and with our arms, hearts and souls held high for the world to embrace, honor and celebrate! As a matter of fact, we expect nothing less. Look at me!!!! I’m amazing and so are you!!!!

Isn’t that why we are all somehow attracted to Girls on the Run? Here we can unravel from the imaginary world we’ve believed was real and connect to something that is truly real, pure, box-less and authentic. How has Girls on the Run helped you recognize and achieve your potential? What limiting (and imaginary) beliefs did you choose to accept before you came to Girls on the Run? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Letter To My Younger Self

2010-11-28T04:58:00.000-08:00

Recently our local NPR station re-broadcast a show featuring Ellyn Spragins. The show featured her book entitled "Letters to My Younger Self." At that time, I was asked to write a letter to my younger self, that would be featured in a local publication entitled "Charlotte Parent." This led me to re-read the letter. As I've suggested, something about the holidays seems to lead me to a space of memory...certainly to an array of emotions that are deeply felt. In honor of that space I'm re-delivering the previous blog (from a couple of years ago) entitled Letter to My Younger Self. I encourage you to write one. There is something quite cathartic and even healing about writing it.

Several months ago I was asked to write a "letter to my younger self" for a magazine. The concept was based on a fabulous book authored by Ellyn Spragins entitled "What I Know Now: Letters to my Younger Self." Her website is http://www.letterstomyyoungerself.com/. When you get a minute visit it. The idea is based on that old saying that if I knew then what I know now...well...you know how it goes. Here is the letter I wrote to myself. I invite you to do the same. Amazing what we really knew back then...but were just afraid to unleash!

Year 2009

Dear Molly:

You are quite remarkable, you know. Everyone around you sees it. That sparkle in your eye…it was there the day you were born and is irrefutably the most beautiful part of you.
I know, though, that at such a young age it might be hard for you to see it. As bright as your spirit is, the world tells girls, especially girls with a wild and wonderful side, that how you look is more important than who you are. But Molly, I’ve got a wonderful and powerful secret for you. Anytime, you feel less than, ugly or somehow unworthy, you can (and I know this is hard to believe right now), listen to the inner voice inside of you that knows better.

I know, I know. It’s easy for me to say that because I’m 48…and it looks like I’ve got it so together. But truthfully, in many ways, I’m no different than you. I have fears and doubts just like you. Sometimes I get so angry and frustrated that I scream and shout and cry so hard I think my heart will burst, but the beauty of growing older and living a rich and often troubled life is the perspective it provides. “This too shall pass” was an expression your mom used to always say, and I didn’t quite understand what it meant until I got older and realized that the goal in life wasn’t always to be happy, but to be content.

Yeah…I’ve got news for you. Life isn’t always easy or fun. Sometimes it hurts so much you will feel like you want to scream and shout and run away. The pain sometimes will be unbearable. But you will survive, because that little inner voice is never fully gone. She is just waiting for you when you are ready to rediscover her.

Boys? Oh my God. In several years you’ll discover the power of your own sexuality and how easy it is to use it to get the attention the outside world tells you, you need to be pretty, popular and happy. But truth is, you already have everything you need to be whole. Oh, but I forgot you already know…that inner voice reminds you of that every morning when you head out the door for your morning run. When you are alone with the sunrise, the chilled morning air and the sound of your footsteps on autumn leaves, you hear her, talk to her and love her. But once the school day starts and the noise of the ”should and ought to” voices take over, she gets tucked away. That’s okay. Running will be your sanctuary, the window in your day, when you hear her and your power, beauty and strength are celebrated.

There is much irony in writing this letter to you. I want to tell you that you will be okay and that all the pain, fear and self-doubt you will feel and that will challenge who you are and at times in your life actually challenge your willingness to live, are going to lead you to your life’s calling, the wonder of parenthood and even your serving as role model to many, many girls your age now. But I can’t. No matter how much I want to protect you, warn you and tell you that you are beautiful, whole and powerful, this is something you will have to realize in your own time and in your own language.

Just know, Molly, that in those darkest moments, those most vulnerable moments, those moments when it’s hard to breathe and the ability to see outside the moment is blinded by self-doubt, you are not alone. I’m waiting on the other side…the powerful you. The woman you have become. Empowered, beautiful and overwhelmingly grateful that the life you are creating is mine.

I love you, Molly.

The Simple Things...Gratitude Runs Deep

2010-11-25T05:57:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure why the melancholy comes during the holiday season. Perhaps it’s the remembering of an unsettled childhood…or perhaps it’s the recognition of things left undone or that can never be. I know that the holidays provoke within me a deep sense of sorrow, gratitude, yearning, wonder, love, tenderness, peace. The amalgam of emotions is so…so…diverse it’s hard to settle on just one.

I am grateful for so much…my life, in many ways, feels like a fairytale. I often feel as if much of what IS happening is a bit surreal. This small baby of mine, Girls on the Run, is growing exponentially thanks to the support of so, so many loving, passionate and caring people.

And yet, now as I write to you I feel this tug to remember, honor and celebrate those individuals who have given much to me over the years…who are often not directly linked to my work…but who have impacted it without even knowing. The list is infinite but here goes a small first try:

Hank: My boy, my son, young man. You have given much of your time, your story and your own life…so that your mom can travel the world sharing her heart with so many others. I know it’s hard sometimes being my son. You are trying so hard to navigate the waters from little boy to strong man, just as any young man would, but to do this in what often feels like a world with a thousand eyes watching…I know this can be challenging. I love you my boy. I am grateful for your strength.

Helen: My girl, my daughter, young woman. You have joyfully shared me, your Mom, with thousands and thousands of other girls…and at times I know this was challenging for you. Yet now…yes now that you are a young woman, I’m beginning to see you joyfully share yourself with the girls in Girls on the Run. I am grateful for your willingness to step up.

James: My ex-husband….yeah YOU! We’ve been through a lot over the years, but I think we’ve graciously come around full-circle to the place we now occupy. I’ve been reminiscing a lot lately about the early days of Girls on the Run and frankly, my friend…it would have never had the wings to fly had it not been for your willingness to, at least for the short term, release your own professional aspirations so I could heed the call. I am grateful for the lessons we learned and the space we now occupy.

Connie…James’ wife. Surprised? Not really. You are so strong. Take away the connection we have through my children and just give me you. You have served as a role model for me in so many ways. You are a strong assertive and noble woman who has shown me, more times than you realize, how to stand up for what I believe in. I am grateful for your power.

Lacy, my dog, my friend, my confidante. Honey…you’ve been through all of it with me, my new life as a single mother, the fears, the tears and the growth…and remained loyal, loving and present. You are an old woman now and your leap isn’t quite what it used to be. You tire easily, but you are always right there next to me, even now, you rest at my feet as I write. I love you sweetie and am grateful for your unconditional love.

All the children, spouses and “extras” connected to Girls on the Run. I recognize the work we do is intense and at times, pulls your wife, mom, father, partner away from time with you. I honor you for allowing them to do their work and change the world. You are as much a part of that change, as they are. I am grateful for your understanding.

Chase, Matt, Maggie, Suzy, Tripp,Josh, Blake and the many other young men and women who have helped care for my children when I travel. I’ve often said that it takes a village to raise my children. You have all, in your authentic and uniquely-spirited way shared a piece of yourselves with my children, who have through knowing you, grown, matured and become the people they are becoming. I am grateful for your ability to love my children and to be there for them, when I cannot.

Gloria, honey I saw you yesterday and maybe that’s why you are on my mind today…my homeless friend, who sits with me and my children, for an hour or more, to share a cup of hot chocolate, on those occasions when the world brings us into the same physical space. You are so bright, so genuine and so beautiful. You have welcomed me and my children into your unique and sometimes frightening view of the world...the turmoil of your childhood, the choices you had to make to just survive it...you remind me, my dear, of why my work is so important. You have brought more gratitude into the minds, bodies and souls of Hank and Helen than you realize. I am grateful for your beauty.

John, the caring and tender “bag boy” at our local grocery store who always asks about the kids first and then my work. People like you are the salt of the earth, my man. Your disabilities soften you, open you and reveal your vulnerabilities in a way that comforts, soothes and welcomes others into your space. You keep me grounded, hopeful and recognizing how contented we can be. Over the years, your kindness has garnered quite a following. You help me to see how we can change the world…by how we treat one another…in the space we have been given. You remind me that my work is simply the accumulation of one relationship after the other...each as important and meaningful as the other. I am grateful for your hospitality.

My evolving relationship with Big Mama. Big Mama is the big me, the Divine me, the One who has stuck with me through thick and thin. The older I get the more I come to appreciate HER presence in my life. She is nameless really, but a powerful, powerful force which has carried me through it all. I am grateful for Her/My/Our evolving connection to and love for one another. Big Mama, we are in this together aren't we? My work exists because You do. What's next to challenge, love, push, pull and enrich us? I love you.

Oh…the list could continue forever. Really. Forever. The gratitude within me is welling up, over and flowing from every cell of my body! Joy to follow, Love to lift and Peace awaits! Who are a few of the less-often-thanked individuals who have impacted you? Will you have some time today to thank them? If not for real..how about in thought? Go on. Give it a shot. Happy Thanksgiving Ya’ll.

Bullying and the Art of Catching a Softball

2010-11-12T02:47:00.001-08:00

“

"Hate and force cannot be in just a part of the world without having an effect on the rest of it.” Eleanor Roosevelt

We’ve all been bullied…at least everyone I’ve ever talked to has experienced the painful attack of a bully whether it was directed at them or someone they knew.

When I was in fifth grade, we moved to a new neighborhood. Walking the new route home one day, some kids--about six of them waited in the bushes outside one of the houses on my route home. As I approached, they rushed out, pushed me to the ground, took off my shoes and my socks and ran off with them. I had to walk home the rest of the way in my bare feet.

Now this may seem like no big deal…but the truth was I was incredibly self-conscious of how “skinny” I was. In my mind I was the skinniest girl around and my legs were the skinniest in the whole universe…so skinny in fact that I always wore thick wool knee socks whether it was 20 degrees outside or 90 to camouflage both my thin calves and my insecurity showing them. (We had a dress code that required us to wear skirts or dresses every day.) Somehow the embarrassment I felt for my body had become evident to some of the kids in my new neighborhood and they capitalized on it.

For weeks, I altered my route home. I would take a different route each day, sometimes adding as much as ten minutes to my estimated time of arrival back home. I made every effort to avoid the girls at school, often holding back a much-needed visit to the bathroom to avoid running into them in the hall.

And then the bullying just stopped. One of the girls, the girl who had actually been the ringleader didn’t show up at school. For two weeks, she was absent. I remember feeling this incredible sense of relief. School felt safe again.

What I didn’t know at the time, but discovered later that year, was her older brother, a tenth grader at the local high school, had hung himself on the back porch of their home. She had found him when she came home one afternoon. Apparently, he had been struggling with his sexuality. Rumor had it that his father had repeatedly humiliated him for his apparent lack of masculinity and the kid just couldn’t live with his family anymore, much less himself.

We are all well aware of the effect bullying is having on kids. The news we hear on the topic tends to often focus on the extreme cases: The recent suicide of a Rutgers student after being videotaped without his knowledge; the young girl who committed suicide after a nude photo of her had been passed through hundreds of cell phones at her high school; a group of high school students (both boys and girls) who ruthlessly beat another girl to near death; the violent tug of a ponytail, by an opposing teammate, during a much publicized soccer game.

What we don’t often see or choose to give any attention to is the significant amount of bullying that goes on in the adult world. We either are oblivious to the fact that it occurs or we don’t want to fess up.

I admit that I’ve all but completely disengaged from the entire political debate because I am no longer willing to listen to the hateful and derogatory comments from all sides that are ultimately unproductive in and irrelevant to finding solutions.

I am excited by much of what is coming out of Hollywood these days; but am also challenged at times to find television shows, movies and news coverage of the Hollywood industry that don’t at times glamorize and glorify bullying behavior.

We, as adults, are becoming lazy. We bully the bully. We bully ourselves. We bully each other. We choose the easy route…the one that sieves it down into a few easy words…words which alienate…a quick fix to help us feel safe over here on our side…to feel connected to each other…even at the expense of those who don’t always fit our cultural, social, political or economic standard. We fight, claw and force our views on people with the language of anger, defensiveness and aggression because we need to win…win at all costs…to be right, victorious and vindicated.

Is it any wonder, based on the anger being expressed by adults in our culture that our children are bullying? Where we put our energy, time and conversations is where our culture and society will land. We create our reality with where we choose to put our vision. Children see and learn from the world around them. They are not inherently mean, racist, sexist, homophobic, or evil. They are simply the long arm of our own adult views. They are what we are. They see what we allow them to see. They become us.

I have never forgotten something Ms. Godfrey, my P.E. teacher, shared with me, not too long after the sock-stealing incident. She described the proper way to receive a softball in your bare hand. Rather than allow the ball to come straight into your hand…you should gently move your hand in the direction the ball is traveling, as you receive it. This way the impact is not hard, direct and painful to your palm…but instead the additional space it travels serves as a cushion, a buffer— a little extra time and space for the hand to absorb the impact.

I remember making the connection, even at that young age, that giving a bit of space between the harsh words of a bully and their impact to my spirit…was not only a good thing for me, but for them as well. To recognize that bullying is not okay and to confront bullying behavior in a healthy and assertive way meant also NOT “throwing it back” --that to receive the ball, deal with it assertively, constructively and with love rather than throwing it back with anger, words, name-calling and vengence was without question the bravest and most courageous contribution I could ever make to humankind. My impact is that great!

I realize now, that it is ALL just so darn connected. Of course, the issues surrounding racism, sexism, age-ism, homophobia, some elements of poverty, even war are very complex, but deep down I wonder if they aren’t really all the result of insecure people feeling the need to elevate their own status through the use of bullying words, actions and images, and that to end its painful and often life-threatening results someone has to be brave enough, secure enough and loving enough, to catch the ball and simply not throw it back.

And as I write to you now, I realize that I have much gratitude for the girls, who hid in those bushes, waiting for me. They showed me that being hurt doesn’t feel good and that years later I would, thanks in part to the pain I felt and the pain they felt consider creating a space where ALL girls and women, including them, could come together and know that they are loved—that part of being human means figuring it all out—evolving to a high place whether we are the bullied or the bully.

It’s not easy to be THAT secure and rooted in our own self-worth to view with compassion rather than judgment the anger and hurtful words of the bully, but I’m willing to try. How ‘bout you come along with me? Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we start a program…where all people can join…feel safe and know that they are loved. What do ya say?

What is your immediate response to this? Feel free to post. I’d love to hear.

Being Me. Being You. Being Us.

2010-10-28T10:58:00.000-07:00

”To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. E.E. Cummings.

Lauren Kaminsky works in our Girls on the Run-Chicago office. You need to check out her blog sometime: www.chicagonow.com/outsidethegirlbox Back in July, I made the trek with Katy Brown and Liz Kunz, from the International office to announce our exciting new partnership with Garmin. I had the opportunity to meet Lauren. I also had the opportunity to meet Olivia.

Olivia rocked! She was vibrant, fun, a little nervous, honest, real, present and best of all her fabulous OLIVIA-SELF. Last week Lauren shared with me a beautiful tribute that Olivia wrote to share her thoughts about our experience of meeting each other.

Here it is:

Hi, my name is Olivia, and I am a Girls on the Run participant. I have had a wonderful experience by meeting Molly Barker, the Founder and Vision Keeper of Girls on the Run. When I first found out that Molly was coming to my town I was so excited, but then all my joy was drained when I found out my parents couldn’t take me. I was so upset, I thought that would be the perfect time to meet my hero. Then out of nowhere my guardian angel appeared and offered to take me. She was planning on going and had to pass my house so she picked me up!

Once I got to the Garmin store in Chicago, Illinois, I knew it was a day to remember! There was a giant Girls on the Run poster and all the employees were wearing Girls on the Run t-shirts. I ran though the door and I was overwhelmed with excitement. Then we were led upstairs for the main event, when I caught sight of Molly. Her smile filled the room with glee. And then it was my turn to meet Molly. I was definitely anxious, and I had butterflies in my stomach, but as soon as she spoke my anxiety was gone. I started to smile and immediately we got into a deep conversation. She kept saying things like “I love to meet Girls on the Run participants!” and I was so excited that I was finally able to qualify in that group. Then when we were in the middle of a conversation of “silly bandz” it was time to listen to her speech.

Molly talked about girls who had a wonderful experience in Girls on the Run and girls who accomplished great goals and all that she said was inspiring to me. I was sitting in the crowd thinking. Thinking how Molly has helped so many girls my age with so many problems that can be solved with a life changing run. And I realized that I wanted to be like Molly when I grow up.

Wow. What can I say? I share this with you because it made me cry. It opened me up. It made me realize how important being true to ourselves is as we push the mission of Girls on the Run forward. It reminds me of how important our work is in the lives of little girls.

It reminds me of my humanity!

Speaking at the Garmin event and/or any large event is something I truly enjoy! I have found that revealing my innermost self is, ironically, a much safer thing for me to do with a large group of unknown folks, than with those I know intimately. There isn’t the same chance for being hurt. If someone I don’t know rejects me…well…I can handle that. It doesn’t matter…at least not at the same level of “matter” that I risk if someone I know, respect and love, rejects me.

And yet…truthfully? There isn’t a single person within my circle of intimate friends who would reject me should I share myself completely. Not a one. The ability to be that open rests not in their response to me, but in my fear of a response that never will be.

And so…lately I’ve intentionally and almost forcefully had to make myself be a friend…not only in being a good listener, but in being a good talker/sharer/revealer. It’s been a little bit scary to admit I don’t have it all together…that I still have self-doubt…still struggle at times with relinquishing the Girl Box messages…that I sometimes feel as if I’m blazing a trail on my own and without direction…to admit that I feel anxiety at times…wonder if I have the strength and courage to mother two teenagers…confused, cry at night and shout out in anger.

I’ve noticed, though, that the more open I am, the more I receive. It’s like the blockages which have limited me from sharing my fears have been removed and made room for more “others” to feel safe in sharing theirs with me. The depth of my conversations with people…all people…not just those I know intimately, now well up from a beautiful and richer space. We get to the stuff that matters more quickly. There is an immediate comfort with each other, simply because I am more comfortable with myself…all of me…the raw, the real and the vulnerable…the strong, the brave and the courageous.

I credit Olivia, you, the girls and the spirit of Girls on the Run for this transformation…a space for me to practice self-acceptance and the power of trusting others …and then finding the courage to translate that into my personal life…to step outside my comfort zone and get real..I mean REALLY real with those closest to me. To admit my humanness and love myself not in spite of it, but because of it.
What ways has Girls on the Run helped you become a better friend, partner, spouse, sibling, daughter, person in your intimate relationships. Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

I'm Scared and Excited, Both at the Same Time!

2010-10-18T11:04:00.000-07:00

"Love comes when manipulation stops; when you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable." Dr. Joyce Brothers

Alright folks. Remember a few weeks ago when I was incredibly nervous, overpreparing and thinking WAY too much about my TEDx talk. Well...here it is. In lieu of a post of any kind, I'm going to opt for sharing this. I have to admit it's a little bit scary putting myself out there into the universe like this...but where I keep coming back around to see...is that all of us, whether we are young, old, man, woman, left-brained, right-brained...we all just really want to know that we are loved.

And I am now willing to see and know that I am, without a doubt, loved and therefore know that sharing my story and the depth of WHO I AM is okay, safe and may possibly serve as an invitation for you to know that you too, can do the same.

Please feel free to share with others. I'd love it if this helped grow Girls on the Run and allow others to see the depth of our work. Or perhaps to see something new about themselves and in the process, set themselves free.

http://www.youtube.com/user/TEDxCharlotte#p/u/0/R85waJqmucQ

The Red Boot Unification Project

2010-10-09T03:45:00.000-07:00

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Eleanor Roosevelet

My Red Boots (note capitalization) are causing quite a stir…Not a serious one, but something about the boots is connecting with folks.

Last week I was having coffee in Caribou and a woman walked up and asked, “Are you Molly Barker?” I responded, “Yes.” She pointed at my boots and smiled, “It’s those boots.”

If you don’t know why the boots are important to me, let me pull up a few words from a previous post to put them Into context.

Today I turn 50 years old. My daughter bought me a pair of bright red cowboy boots. There is something significant, for me, about getting red cowboy boots on my 50th birthday. Fifty used to seem old. I am not old. Old people do not wear red cowboy boots. Kids don't buy their mom red cowboy boots if they think she is old. I recall an interview with Gloria Steinem. The man interviewing her said, “Well Ms. Steinem, you certainly don’t look 43 years old.” Her reply? “Well, honey…this is what MY 43 looks like.”

On the bottom of one boot, my 12 year old daughter wrote, “I love you so so so much.” And on the other boot she wrote, “Now there is just more age to love.”

Throughout the many years of delivering Girls on the Run I am always moved by the stories of the women and men who share themselves with our girls and our program…the stories of what it was like…confined and limited by their buy in to the stereotypes, behaviors and fear housed within the Girl and Boy Box…and what it is like now, free of those limitations. The specifics of each story vary, but rooted down at the core of each one rests the universal and irrational belief that “Who I am, is not good enough.”

Awareness is such a funny thing. The expression that a “fish doesn’t know it’s in water until it’s not” is just so true. The older I get the more I realize that I’ve spent so much of my life confined by the box…a box that is often defined by my gender…which is a whole other box altogether…not even aware that I was in it.

I started to push against the walls of the Girl Box when I began to fight them. Alcohol, excessive exercise, men, work, self-loathing…what I didn’t realize back then…that fighting the Girl Box was unnecessary and futile. Fighting only fueled it more. Giving any of my energy and attention to my anger at it and toward those I felt perpetuated it, bought into the belief that it existed in the first place.

In reality, the whole thing is made up. There are no Girl Boxes, Boy Boxes, restrictions on our potential. Where the mirage comes from would take days to analyze and list. Advertising? Yes. The media? Yes. Our families? Yes. Our culture? Yes. Our social circles? Yes. Our need to fit in? Yes. Our fear? Yes. But the reality is this. The Girl/Boy box is a lie, an untruth, an imaginary made up context/filter that we fuel with our belief that it is real, that it matters, that if I don’t believe in it, I am crazy and will be left behind.

Take a minute…and imagine…imagine what it would be like if you were free to express yourself. Imagine how it would feel and how you would show up to the world if you knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that you were brilliant, magnificent, strong, and beautiful, just as you are.

Now, rather than imagine it, believe it…because you are. I am. We are. The only “thing” between you and your own magnificence, beauty and potential is your believing that you must be, act and conform to a set of standards that are non-existent, imaginary, make-believe.

The only thing between you and your highest self is you.

And that’s where those crazy Red Boots come in for me. Yeah…they are nothing more than a couple of boots, with a red pigment applied to them…but they represent my POWER…my power to step away from the irrational beliefs I’ve found myself buying into lately that I am getting “old” and that “old” means settling down, dimming my expressive self and slowing down somehow.

I am not done. No way, brothers and sisters. I’ve got a lot of work left to do in this world and these boots were made for walking…walking here, there and across the globe!

So I ask you…what talisman/token will you carry/wear/own that represents your willingness to shine, to be, to express yourself…to at last be free of the irrational thoughts and limitations you’ve allowed yourself to believe. What will you carry/wear/own that reminds you of your magnificence, brilliance and beauty. Go get it, find it, wear it TODAY. Why wait? WHY WAIT?

I know I often ask for responses, but in this case, I’m not kidding. Let me know. I need to know that I am not alone. Is it red boots? A gratitude stone to carry in your pocket? Is it a feather in your back pocket? What will you choose to set yourself free?

Let me know, right here, right now.

And while I've got ya...here’s a little psyche up song to get you on your way!

The Girls on the Run Effect

2010-10-06T17:56:00.000-07:00

“When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek the new. The restless craving within our soul spurs us to climb, and to seek the mountain view.” Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I came across this video a couple of weeks ago. It fired me up. It awakened something I hadn’t felt for a while. Restlessness. Take a minute and watch it.

Oh…I wish. I wish I could find a home for the restlessness in my spirit. It definitely ebbs and flows…but right now… I feel it strong, pulling, and tidal in its effect on me.

The spirit housed within Girls on the Run is immense, powerful and magnificent. Do you feel it? The wave? The movement? The call?

I remember the first visual tug of it. I was sitting on the porch of my Uncle’s beach house. November 1st, 1995. My son, Hank, was nestled softly into my arms. He was just six weeks old. The cold wind of approaching winter swirled around us while the sun, like soft down tucked into quilted comforter draped across our two bodies… persuasively warming me and my baby to find comfort in sleep.

We slept for a time…my feet firmly planted on the floorboards beneath…leaning back ever so slightly on the hard rocking chair. He and I were occasionally stirred by the creaking of old wood wrestling with the powerful strong wind.

I drifted in and out of sleep…the pull and push of much needed new mother-sleep with the overwhelming joy of wanting to stay awake and know the new life resting there in my arms.

When it just came--the vision of it--somewhere in between the conscious space of this world and the other one. I’m still so amazed by the clarity of it:

I was running…over fields and streams, fast and deliberate…first on the soft landscape of nature and then onto the hard asphalt of city streets and alley ways. When out of nowhere, they emerged…little girls. Tall, short, small, little, black, white, brown, long hair, short hair, ribbons, baseball caps, dresses and shorts. They were laughing, smiling, ponytails flying, arms pumping. They were breathing with intensity, smiling with joy and bounding with strength. Thousands of them came--from every corner, every alley, every street, every field, until I was lost in the sea of them--the movement, the joy, the push, the pull, the tug and lift.

We ran up what appeared to be an infinite set of steps to peak high atop, with our hands in the air, leaping for joy, running in place, smiles on our faces and a feeling of ONE. Our strength and power uniting us.

I feel a sense of that now with the breadth of the program and its incredible reach. All of us--coaches, council directors, volunteers, GOTRI staff—we are all running in that immense span of change, hope and love.

And yet to still feel this restlessness…to know Girls on the Run, to know that what we have is so beautiful, magnificent, transformative and available while so many girls are still tucked away, both realistically and metaphorically in alley ways, isolation and withdrawal.

I sit here now, oddly peaceful with the fact that our work will never be done, but hopeful enough to never, ever stop believing that it will be.

Where are you with your life's calling? Is there an ebb and a flow? Do you fire up and then bring it down? How do you balance your frustration, anger and restlesslessness with your hope, love and optimism? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

I'm 50! I Can Kick, Stretch and Kick!

2010-09-21T04:47:00.000-07:00

“Fifty years: here’s a time when you have to separate yourself from what other people expect of you, and do what you love. Because if you find yourself 50 years old and you aren’t doing what you love, then what’s the point?” Jim Carrey

Today I turn 50 years old. My daughter bought me a pair of bright red cowboy boots. There is something significant, for me, about getting red cowboy boots on my 50th birthday. Fifty used to seem old. I am not old. Old people do not wear red cowboy boots. Kids don't buy their mom red cowboy boots if they think she is old. I recall an interview with Gloria Steinem. The man interviewing her said, “Well Ms. Steinem, you certainly don’t look 43 years old.” Her reply? “Well, honey…this is what MY 43 looks like.

I come from a long line of very youthful folk. My mom was running and practicing yoga until the day of her death. She actually did run and practice yoga on the day of her death! My father, an avid sailor and squash player, was inhibited a bit by his years of cigarette smoking, but he would walk a brisk 18 holes of golf, in no time at all.

My brother was (and still is) an elite cyclist and my two sisters, are both athletes, but did not have the same benefits that I did…both being born long before Title 9.

The youthfulness of my lineage isn’t only in the way our bodies show up, but also in our attitudes. You can see it in our eyes. My mom, known for her progressive attitude and authentic spirit had a sparkle in her eye that was very child-like. She approached life with a youthful curiosity and a willingness to share her vulnerabilities. As she grew older, there was a tendency even toward being “wacky”, a characteristic that most people who knew her would definitely mention.

My dad, less open, at least until he got sick, always seemed older, but once he knew the years remaining in his life were limited (he was diagnosed with a brain tumor at age 60) he, too, became more child-like, open and fun-loving. There was the return to his eyes of a beautiful and youthful twinkle…something I had never known existed, until then. I am so grateful.

In honor of turning 50 and the growing freedom I feel to come home to my younger (and real) self, I thought it might be fun to list the top ten things I have learned from the girls we serve…and then in the next few weeks, attempt to do every one of them in celebration of the last half of my life!

So here goes:

TOP TEN THINGS I’VE LEARNED BY WORKING WITH 8 to 13 year old girls!

1. When you are happy, it is perfectly acceptable to stop whatever you are doing and go into complete “Dance, Dance Fever” mode. Don’t think too hard about this. Allow the dance to be interpretive and come up from your soul. If this means doing a full-blown “worm” on the floor, go for it. If it means, cartwheels and/or break dancing, don’t hold back, brothers and sisters. Dance, until you can dance no more!

2. When you are sad and you feel like crying…cry. There is no reason in the world, not to. Crying is not anything to be embarrassed about or to restrain yourself from doing. Crying can actually feel good.

3. When you are hurt, either physically and/or emotionally, let someone know that you need their help and their love. Don’t be afraid to say “Hug me. I’m hurt.” You’d be surprised how much that helps in the healing process.

4. When you are angry, let someone you trust know first. Tell them everything. Get all the mean parts of your anger out of your body before you actually confront the person who has angered you. Being human isn’t always a piece of cake and sometimes we think really mean things. That’s okay and just part of being human.

5. Trust yourself. If something doesn’t feel right, trust whatever it is that is giving you that feeling. Nine out of ten times, you are right.

6. If you have something to say, say it. Why the heck would you ever want to hold back an idea on your insides when there is plenty of space outside for the idea to live? Share your big ideas even if they seem utterly undoable or ridiculous. You’d be surprised at how many other people might also have the same idea, but just not know or have the words to express it.

7. Daydream. So, maybe sitting quietly isn’t something that adults do very often, but lying on your back, watching butterflies and making shapes out of the clouds in the sky all provide direct routes to the deeper ideas in your imagination. Your destiny is found in your dreams.

8. Stare at people. Sure, this will make them uncomfortable, but every once in a while a stare leads to a connection and a connection is where friends are found. (The best place to stare at people is on an elevator, so says my daughter, Helen Barker.)

9. As you get older, the fashion magazines and the “age police” will tell you what to wear and how your body should look. They just make that stuff up. Wear whatever you want to wear. If you feel like wearing red cowboy boots with a pair of running shorts, this is perfectly acceptable. Don’t think too much in this category. The human body is pretty cool. Take thirty minutes sometime and just see what your body can do. Leap. Jump. Fly. Skip. Dance. Amazing! Let your spirit be your guide!

And last but not least… the topper, the whole enchilada, the icing on the cake and the cherry on the sundae…

10. Love people. Love them “just because.” Love them with all of your heart. Tell them you love them…tell them a lot. Tell them every day that you love them. Love them with your words, your body and your eyes. Tell them you love them with cards that you decorate yourself, with gifts that you made with your own two hands. Love because you are love. Love. Love. Love.

What would be the top one or two things you have learned the children in your life? What inhibits you from being child-like? What one or two things do you promise you will do this week to celebrate the child in you? Let me know!

Circulate Love!

2010-09-15T18:41:00.000-07:00

“She realized as a girl of eight that if she sat down and wrote her stories, she could escape the parts of life she did not like, embroider the parts she did and thus control the life she had.” Dudley Clendinen

This week I am prepping for what may be the talk of my lifetime. On Friday September 24th I will be presenting at TEDx Charlotte. I will have 18 minutes to share THE big idea…behind my life’s work.

Yesterday I had an afternoon coffee with a good friend of mine. His daughter, now a grown woman and preparing for her wedding, was in my first “middle school Girls on the Run” group. (We didn’t call it Girls on Track back then!)

Per his usual self (which is fabulous by the way) he called me out on something…always direct and to the point he looked me dead in the eye and said “you think too much.” I smiled. Is this the part where I’m supposed to be shocked? As if he is sharing something with me that I (and every single one of my friends, family members and Girls on the Run colleagues including YOU) didn’t know?

I wanted to start laughing loudly…”I think too much? (Now put emphasis on the I...) “I think too much?” I repeated back to him with a huge smile on my face.
That’s what I do…I think…I think sometimes until it hurts. That’s why I practice Yoga. That’s why I run. That’s why I write. That’s why I enjoy spending time with the girls in our program. That’s why I dance with my daughter Helen. That’s why I can sit for hours with my son Hank and laugh at ridiculous YouTube videos. That’s why I created Girls on the Run. That’s why I meditate. I gotta give my thinking brain a rest every once in awhile and just be…allow…love.

So prepping for this TEDx speech has really kicked my thinking brain into high gear. What is the Big Idea behind Girls on the Run? How are all the dots connected?
When I look back over all I have written, done, sought, desired, found, allowed and been, one theme rises up. What do we provide to girls and all those connected to our program? What do we REALLY GIVE them?

This is where the laugh begins…somewhere around my solar plexus and then works its way up my spine. This is where I’m almost embarrassed to admit that the idea isn’t big at all…I’m astounded by its simplicity and baffled by why what we provide and do for girls isn’t provided and done by everyone.

What do we do? We provide an experience, where the stories, filters and contexts we individually buy into (and culturally and socially promote) are eliminated and spirits are free to thrive. We offer up a space where those who enter are loved, welcomed and invited to be…be angry, be happy, be joyful, be scared, be loved…just be. We mutually (girls and adults) share our vulnerabilities and in doing so create a safe space, a space where how we showed up yesterday may not be how we show up today and so each hour together is an opportunity to “start again”, “create again”, “begin again”. We grow, evolve and explore the many facets of being human while being rooted in and aware of the mysterious power of unconditional love.

The challenge though to creating this space…is all that darn thinking we do…the stories we construct…the STUFF we begin thinking around middle school because we think everyone else is thinking it. (Unravel from that one will ya?) The amount of time we spend analyzing, figuring out, justifying and rationalizing our STUFF gets in the way of and totally distracts us from being available to be and see the love that is available to us at anytime…if we just allow ourselves to receive it. Turn off the thinking and turn on the heart!

I mean think about it (so much irony again…in all this darn thinking.) Have you ever once thought that maybe…just maybe you are beautiful just the way you are? That all those definitions of beauty are an imaginary construct and that we create these constructs to distract us from our real purpose because we are afraid of our own power? We’ve been so brainwashed into thinking (see there’s that word again) that there is a perfect beauty…when really the whole thing is completely made up…a story we believe because if we really do accept our own beauty, worth and love we might just really be beautiful, worthwhile and loveable ? That we are magnificent beyond our wildest dreams and that our magnificence really isn’t the dream; the stories that restrain us are.

The idea is simple and been revealed in many ways over eons of time:

Love opens hearts.

Open hearts bring forth love.

Someone has got to get the ball rolling. Why not let it be you? What space will you create today to open hearts?

Share with me what circumstances, situations and/or moments (they could be VERY simple moments) where you have felt and feel love’s presence.

My Father's Hands

2010-09-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

I don’t talk or write about my Dad much.

I think for a while, it hurt too much…or maybe there was some unfinished business there.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about him a lot.

Through my child-eyes back then, it appeared to me that he was always working. He was an insurance salesman, who did well financially. His ability to connect with folks was something, that many years after his death, people would mention when his name came up in conversation. He was a politician, consummate gentleman and community activist. He served on the City Council for several years and ran for mayor of Charlotte, in 1976.

But what I remember most about my father…were his hands. They were strong, weathered from years of hauling line through winch on his beloved sailboat…the telltale signs of sun and wind left age spots there that I thought were beautiful. I was always intrigued by his hands…their strength. I loved to hold his hand during church or feel them throw me high into the air and know that they would be waiting safely for my return as I fell back to earth.

And yet there was something strangely delicate about his gestures when he spoke. I distinctly remember the way his fingers would hold a cigarette…it was poised there between index and middle finger, his wrist slightly cocked. He would slowly bring the cigarette to his lips…inhale deeply and then exhale with lips closed…the smoke would exit slowly from his nostrils, swirl around him, with his eyes often squinting or closing until the smoke had lifted.

The memories I have of him, I could probably count on two hands. Like the time he made me eat all the squash on my plate. I hated squash. I was seven years old. Somewhere in my attic, rests a photo of me, sitting stubbornly at our dining room table with that plate of squash goo on my plate, my mom standing to my left with a martini and a cigarette and my sister standing behind me, smiling.

Or the time, I was in sixth grade and was sick with the measles. My mom was out of town and the rash first appeared across my little-girl chest and belly. My dad respectfully observed the rash where it was safe, in the space around my belly button…aware of my pre-teen angst around developing chest (or lack thereof).

When he sat on the floor of my bedroom and cried…sobbed really, his shoulders uncontrollably rising and falling with each inhale and exhale…sharing the news that he and my mom would be separating.

Or as he lay on his hospital bed…the night before his surgery. He was only 60 when the brain tumor brought him to his knees, both literally and figuratively. I was just 20. I held his hand and we said the Lord’s Prayer together that night…the night before they determined that he had little time left…maybe six months.

He lived another two years. Hank Wilmer was that kind of man…strong, determined and stubborn.

For some reason, I had a hard time loving my dad. He wasn’t around…when I was a little girl. My mom struggling, with her own demons, was completely unavailable to mother even herself, much less me. Unsure and poorly equipped, my dad simply disappeared. He emotionally and physically checked out. He lost himself in his work and his political life…he lost himself out there and I often questioned, as many kids do, whether I did something to push him away.

But now, I recognize that my father is fast becoming one of my greatest teachers. My anger or lack of understanding for him has gently slipped away in recent weeks. How liberating to see him as a man…a man simply doing his best to deal with life on life’s terms. I don’t know specifically what drove him away…but I do know that he, like me, you, my son and daughter share this experience we call human.

If I’m honest with you….really honest to the point of revealing something I’ve been a bit ashamed to admit but can do so now with tenderness and understanding of myself, the anger I’ve had for my dad has spilled over into other areas of my life: my work in the early years, my marriages, my personal relationships, my own need at times to escape or seek the love from others I felt lacking from my Dad and also from self…but thanks to Girls on the Run and my continuing journey out of my own Girl Box, I’m recognizing that the boxes we allow to confine us aren’t restricted only to women. Men have them too and as limited as I often allow myself to feel by the Girl Box, the shackles that restrain men are as powerful and scary as those that restrain us.

I only now am beginning to understand and gently accept his humanness…the pull he felt to be a man, a father, provide for his family and how scary it might have been watching your wife crumble and fall…feeling unequipped because you were…because men after all, at least in his generation were supposed to be strong, capable and sufficient.

I miss my Dad…he would have been so proud of me…but I get a do-over every time I see one of our girls cross the finish line with her father. I am deeply touched by a father’s love and can celebrate my own Dad again and again at Girls on the Run. I think in ways, I do not even yet understand, my father is becoming my greatest teacher. Teaching me to love in spite of what hurts…to love in spite of what feels missing…to love inspite of feeling unloved at times...to love because he loved the only way he knew how…don’t we all?

Who has been a person in your life you have struggled to love? Is there a way to shift your understanding in such a way as to see him/her as a teacher perhaps? How does your humanness show up? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

The Girl Panel

2010-09-02T16:55:00.000-07:00

“Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven.” Henry Ward Beecher

Alright…go with me on this. I think children should be involved in every major decision ever made in the universe.

Let’s pretend that every time we need to place someone in a position of “power” (I use that term very loosely) we should have a panel of children as the final hurdle over which the individual must jump to receive the position.

I can see it now. A CEO is being hired for a major corporation. He appears before the panel. Questions begin:

“Do you have any pets?” “Where do you go on vacation and who goes with you?” “How many kids to you have?” “Why do you wear that suit when its 95 degrees outside?” “What is your favorite flavor ice cream?” “Is that a wig?””What do you eat for breakfast?” “Does your mother kiss you every night before you go to bed?”

The content of the questions doesn’t really matter…it’s the manner in which the responses are given that will either resonate (or not) with the kids.

Here’s another example. A person is running for Congress. She wins her district but has to appear first before our panel of experts (kids). Questions begin:

“What color is your hair? It looks kind of multi-colored to me.” “How old are you?” “What’s your favorite food?” “What do you love to do and why?” “Why do you wear that suit when its 95 degrees outside?” “Do you own any fur coats?” “What board games do you enjoy?” “Did you like school?” “Do you smoke?” “Do you skateboard?”

Kids are just so downright honest. They are beautifully transparent, honest and “unfiltered.” They haven’t yet made up stories (or been pulled into stories) about how people “should be, look or act”. They are instinctively and intuitively plugged into their born-into-this world innate ability to just be…here I am, there you are, let’s spend some time together, the world is okay.

I am reminded of Katherine. She was only nine years old and a typical tomboy—hair unbrushed and usually covered by a baseball cap worn backward. Her high-tops were worn and faded.

A couple of weeks into the Girls on the Run program, Katherine told me (quite nonchalantly I might add) that she had a special gift that only a few people in the entire universe possessed. Of course, I was thrilled by her willingness to share this with me. “Katherine…that’s so exciting. What is this amazing gift?”

“I can fly,” she replied…a sly smile on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“You can fly?” For one brief second, I considered rebutting her, but I reconsidered. Who am I to know? Maybe she really could fly. I mean… heck why not?
“You wanna see?” she asked.

Katherine took my hand and escorted me to a small hill, adjacent to the school’s driveway. “Wait here,” she stated, pointing to a spot (which felt as if it was reserved just for me) at the bottom of the hill.

She took in a few deep breaths, shrugged her shoulders and marched the 25 yards to the top of the incline. Her eyes tight, nose scrunched, and arms held out at 90-degree angles, she concentrated really hard for a minute. Then with absolutely no warning at all, she began flapping her arms like a huge pterodactyl and started running full speed down that hill. At the bottom, just before it leveled out, she leaped high into the air, and for that moment, breath held, time stopping, Katherine, my nine-year-old friend, took flight. And for that moment I took flight with her.

Katherine can fly. She hasn’t yet bought into an outer world that suggests otherwise. Her freedom to be, along with the other girls I’ve met over the years, has re-introduced to me the world I knew back then, but had stepped away from around middle school. In this world there simply are no limitations… I can run in the rain, sing in the car, cry when I feel like it, yell when I’m mad AND love every aspect of myself (and others) in the process. They’ve shown me that there really are no boxes that confine me; it’s all been made up…a lie…a story… and one that I can choose to buy into, OR NOT. They live in a world where real is real, love is love and hope is…always.

So, to get you in the kid-mood, watch the following video and then answer the questions which follow it.

What have you learned about yourself spending time with kids? What do you hope the children in your life say about you now and when you are no longer here? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Reunited and It Feels so Good!

2010-08-26T17:37:00.000-07:00

Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
Veronica A. Shoffstall

Last week I ran into an old friend. I was eating dinner with my sister Emily at an awesome local Thai restaurant, when she came in. I felt her presence several moments before I actually saw her. She was radiant…full of light and just as I remember her from long ago…filled to the brim with unconditional love.

I knew her back when I was a kid. She was a kid too…but somehow always seemed a bit wiser…there was a grace about her…a word I wouldn’t have used then to label her, but an ease that just made everyone around her feel comfortable, safe and warm.

In sixth grade we parted ways. I began to heed the voices of the outside world…seeking the love I thought was missing from my life…in things, people and circumstances. During that process, she slipped from my life, as quietly as she came into it. Over the course of my sixth grade year, she would occasionally check in with me…humbly, patiently and without force…just a reminder that she was still my friend and always there for me should I need her.

Finally, in seventh grade, she disappeared altogether. I might occasionally think of her and receive in my thoughts a dim memory of our connection, but quickly I would redirect myself to the pull of adolescence and the rules of growing up.

When I was fifteen, I started running, first with my Mom and then by myself. It was during those solo runs that my ‘recalls’ of her began to escalate. Inevitably, somewhere during a six mile run, I would hear her voice--quiet, strong and loving. It was as if she and I were running together through the woods: in autumn, listening to our feet on red and dying leaves; in winter, feeling wet snow on our eyelashes; in spring, hearing the first call of cricket’s at sunset; and in summer, smelling the sweat of humid noon. At run’s end, I would with bittersweet tug of heart, leave my memory of her along with my running shoes on the back porch and head straight into my house of things, people, circumstances…hoping that somewhere in there I would find happiness, contentment and satisfaction. Somewhere in that house of pretty is as pretty does I would surely find the love I had felt when I was with her and would recall so sweetly during my time on the trails…the kind of unconditional love that heals, inspires and reveals our own brilliance.

When I was giving birth to my children, she dropped me a quick “Hello, I love you” kind of connection. Her words would sound out frequently in my thoughts, especially during those precious mother-moments of nursing, changing diapers and babies taking first few steps.

The first season of Girls on the Run, I ran into her enough that I began to think it a bit odd. I would see her while I coached. She would run by in a blur and call out my name from across the track. We would wave and for the hour I was with my girls I could feel her love rain down upon me, as if she was there. Her warmth was infinite and her presence was felt even though only in my memory of her.

So, when she walked into the restaurant and sat down with me and my sister, to stay for while, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I had become increasingly aware of her presence and I had thought of her frequently. She had been a significant part of my life, even though I hadn’t told her so. She had been a source of strength for me…a reminder of love’s power and its ability to nourish joy…pull it up from seed to stem to blossom.

When she sat down to join us, I remember feeling for the first time in many, many years, the way I felt when I was friends with her back in elementary school. My heart felt as if it would lift right out of my chest and the immense amount of energy I felt was clearly palpable and present to those around me, particularly my sister.

The love I felt from her and for her was like a tidal wave washing through every cell of my body, each beat of my heart rising and falling with the joy of our reunion. When dinner was over, we walked out together, drove my sister back to her hotel and chatted some more. I poured my soul out to her, the fears I had felt for so long--the longing I had deep down in my soul for love and tenderness toward self and how elusive my search had been in outside sources…the frustrations I kept coming up against, trying to find it in people, things and even at times my work at Girls on the Run.

She held me close…that kind of embrace where loves flows from spaces never touched to those never known…and then she whispered.

“I’m so glad you let me back into your life. You know? I’ve always been here. I’ve always loved you. Always.”

Her name? Her name is Molly. She is the one who is with me now…right here inside…one in the same...unconditionally loving herself…right here, right now…as I am.

Her name...is Love.

What does unconditional self-love look like and feel like to you? Do you give it to yourself? What holds you back from giving it to yourself? Fear? Anger? Messages you received from the the boxes you allow to confine you? Why Is self-love important? What do you think?

"Set 'Em Free"

2010-08-06T15:15:00.000-07:00

“I know not how I seem to others, but to myself I am but a small child wandering upon the vast shores of knowledge, every now and then finding a small bright pebble to content myself with.” Plato

Okay…so I preface this blog posting with an apology to my male friends, readers and colleagues. The content of this may bore you, embarrass you or simply seem irrelevant, but I’ve got to “go there” because I’ve been “going there” a lot lately and when I have to “go there” that means I’ve got to write about it, talk about it and then if I’m really moved by it, do something about it.

What is the “it” I’m talking about? I’m talking about the physical ways the Girl Box continues to show up in my life. When I started Girls on the Run I was 36, right in the thick of it…only then coming into an awareness of how the Girl Box held me captive. Slowly but surely, things that I thought were important have simply fallen away. My need to conform to the unattainable standards of the Girl Box are joyfully surrendering to an attitude of “who cares” and I’m becoming child-like again…less concerned with the status quo. (Pretty soon I’m going to be that lady wearing the sweat pants, red hat, striped toe socks and Birkenstocks. Whoo Hoo!)

So what am I trying to say? Dare I say it? Does it matter? Alright so here goes…I’m beginning to let go of my “morning ritual.” What do I mean by my “morning ritual?” That daily process I undergo of putting on my game face...you know that thing I/we do every morning to tackle the day. The list goes a little something like this:
1.) The drying and straightening (or curling) of the hair;
2.) The application of make-up and wrinkle-defying creams;
3.) The application of numerous body lotions. There are now lotions specifically designed for feet, hands, face, belly, cellulite, elbows and knees…keeping track requires a journal.
4.) The choosing of (this can take hours) and stepping into clothing that is relevant for whatever the day brings. This could be a suit or perhaps something a bit more frivolous but however it lands on the frame it is sure to accentuate certain body parts;
5.) The choosing (this process can often determine the choices made in number 4) and climbing into shoes that may be terribly uncomfortable but are really cute
6.) And yes (alright guys, here’s where it gets a bit awkward) strapping on the bra, that lovely contraption that holds ‘em in, pushes ‘em up and in some cases makes ‘em bigger! There are bras for every occasion and these often can, according to fashion experts, make or break that first impression, whether in a professional business meeting or on that first date.

Undergarments apparently have a lot of power over other people.

Now before everyone goes running for the exits, let me explain what’s really going on here. Lately, I’ve found myself returning to the world of the girl. I watch with wonder the way an 8 year old girl navigates the world. With eyes wide open, she sees things as if never seen before. There is an open stance, a fresh approach, a completely untainted and “unstoried” perception of the world around her.

What I love, too, about girls are the various physical ways they show up for life. They appear to me to be very much in charge of their morning ritual. Every one of them has their own unique style. You can on any one given day see lots of: pink, curly hair, straight hair, unbrushed hair, T-shirts, plaid vests, giggles, seriousness, smiles, tears, high-tops, glitter, purse, no-purse, sunglasses, bows in hair, baseball cap, knee socks with sandals, Halloween costumes, princess tiaras, skirts, pants, lace, jewelry…there are as many ways to show up for life as there are 8 year old girls.

And as I write to you, I find that somewhere over the last five to six years I’ve allowed myself to be, even in the work that I do (how ironic!!!), more tangled up with some of the physical expectations of the Girl Box. The need to appear as if I’ve got it SO together has restricted my ability to laugh, dance and get goofy.

I’ve been more inclined to shake hands rather than hug, hold back rather than speak up and actually found myself afraid to do an energy award even when I feel this intense desire to do one! (Any upcoming sponsors don’t know what they are in for!!!!)

So…while make-up, hair traditions and pushing ‘em up in a bra may appear to be mundane and seemingly irrelevant acts I carry out each morning, what I’m discovering NOT going through the process is how liberating it is to let them go. I find myself physically walking/running/skipping/hopping through the day like an 8 year old girl…totally comfortable in my skin, unafraid to be who I am.

This physical freedom manifests in my actions. I really am more inclined to dance through the grocery aisle (particularly if my daughter Helen is there), laugh out loud and for several minutes during Yoga, sing really loud in my car with the windows down and walk up to an older couple and tell them that the way they are lovin’ on each other has totally rocked my day.

So I invite you to see what it feels like. Seriously, try eliminating one piece of your morning ritual (if you have one) or if you are willing to go full-on, skip the whole thing! Go without the suit and wear something that feels easy and unrestrained. Skip the mascara or foundation, blush or lip gloss. Don’t burn your bra, but leave it at home. Set those puppies free and see how it feels. Let your hair air dry and see what it looks like, feels like and how it shows up. You might be surprised. Be aware of how AWESOME it feels to show up for life, like an 8 year old…unstoried, uninhibited and best of all un-boxed…and see if something else has space to emerge. A laugh? A tear? A dream? A totally new perspective perhaps?
What part of your morning ritual are you willing to release? What have you been holding back, afraid that others will thing you too child-like, unrealistic or maybe even “crazy”? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

(Postscript: The moment I posted this, someone sent this to me. I had to share. Smile, won't cha?)

Flow...There it Goes.

2010-07-22T17:57:00.000-07:00

“Experience has taught me how important it is to just keep going, focusing on running fast and relaxed. Eventually it passes and the flow returns. It’s part of racing.” Frank Shorter

I’m in route to Washington D.C., enjoying a night’s stay at a Hampton Inn in Henderson, NC. Today’s it’s a full day at a conference sponsored by Ashoka. That means the attention my weekly blog entry typically receives is limited. I’m feeling a bit fragmented. Which leads me to the topic of this week’s commentary…FLOW.

As I’ve shared in numerous blogs lately, I’ve become a Yoga groupie. Everything about it enhances my life. Everything about it also enhances my running life. Running has taken on more vibrant hues of gold, yellow, orange and red. The space seems bigger, broader and more available and the air seems richer, more tangible, Oxygen-rich and cleaner.

Getting into the space of “is-ing” is often referenced as flow. The last two days I’ve spent time with 25 women…representing 8 new councils. The conversation seemed to migrate toward the place of flow…the space where all systems are go...the separateness we feel with the world simply slips away and the fragmentation of our experiences disappears. The space where time becomes nothing but background noise and we just are…present and worthwhile.

Spending time with our girls at Girls on the Run is like that for me. I love how the hour and fifteen minutes seems to float by…I’m available to every girl in my group, aware of other challenges in my day, but not tangled up in them. I am on…immersed in the experience.

Running and yoga provide that same sense of flow as do time with my kids, a really good book, burying myself in blankets beneath a cold-aired room or opening myself up to the sun, waves and salty air of a day at the beach.

When I was much younger, flow came intermittently. The noise of my life was much louder than my willingness to quiet it and so flow seemed to just happen, sporadically and often unexpectedly. Now, thanks to Yoga and an intentional desire to find the quiet corners of my experiences, flow can happen anywhere…it’s my willingness and my awareness of its presence that allow it to occur.

What activities bring you to the space of flow? How can you bring flow to other areas of your life? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Why It Matters: The World I Live In Starts With Me

2010-07-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

“A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.” M. Gandhi

I am on vacation. Today I watch and allow. The rain taps on the windows of the beach house where I am staying…a “hi how are ya?” from the sky above.

My days have consisted of little other than waking, meditating, thinking, running, yoga, eating, watching and allowing—a divine chance to reconnect to the Self, the one who takes risks, steps out and with right-brain fully engaged, believes that she can change the world.

I am struck this morning, by why it matters. Why I matter. Why you matter. Why Girls on the Run matters.

It matters to the 12 year old girl, from Peoria, Illinois, who for three years has struggled with anorexia nervosa…nothing left to house her spirit other than bones and skin. Her eyes are wide, intense and uncertain. She is starving herself to become beautiful, unaware that she already is, bones, skin and spirit; wanting to know that she is loved. It matters to the 12 year old girl in Ethiopia, torn from the inside out while giving birth to her baby, urine and feces from her body stain her clothing, she and her baby dying from malnutrition. They are starving, cast out from their village, wandering, wishing and seeking the love of just one other.

It matters to the fourteen year old girl in Atlanta, Georgia who, after a few beers with her friends reluctantly has sex with her boyfriend… unintended, but so it goes. At least in her mind, he will love her, maybe. It’s worth a shot, so why not? It matters to the fourteen year old girl in Somalia, carrying water with her sisters back to their village, overtaken by a group of boys. She is brutally raped. No one wins. The boys do and know only what they have been shown by the men in their lives. They know not what they are missing, the tender touch of a woman, the love between two…The real and raw of it; the transformation possible.

It matters to the nineteen year old girl in Burlington, VT who for graduation wants nothing more than breast implants, to be loved, accepted and alive, be one of the pretty girls…popular, attractive and powerful…to be desired by many…seeking love in that mix somehow. It matters to the woman-child in Mali Africa, tied down and restrained while her clitoris is removed, cut, mutilated. Her body disfigured, but her spirit intact; eyes wide, scanning the space for one loving person.

It matters to each of them, each time I choose to speak negatively of myself, my age, my body or my character. It matters to each of them, each time I choose to judge, criticize or condemn without seeking first to understand, be compassionate, gentle and kind.

I watch the rain fall from heaven above, feel the thunder in the wood boards of the house where I sit, see the lightening bridge the space between here and there, me and you, us and them and know, without question, that what I do, what I say and who I choose to be matters…to them.

I yearn to love that much.

The world I live in starts with me.

What actions will you take today to create the world you wish to live in?

2010-07-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

“I exist as I am. That is enough.” Walt Whitman

This weekend I had a moment of insight that shook me up from the inside out.
I was talking with my friend, Cris. We were discussing the space in our lives where we felt the most real, accepted, loved, secure and present.

This after a discussion around a personal issue that had me feeling fragmented, unsure and downright angry at myself. Cris had gently revealed a blind spot in my life, which I had intuitively known was hiding there, but was afraid to confront. His “third eye” view along with his ability to tenderly remove the blindfold of my unwillingness revealed an area of my life that required some attention…attention I had been avoiding.

The voices in my head were all clamoring for lead vocal in what I would call the anything but harmonious “You blew it again” choir. “You are not dealing well with this,” one shouted. “Run away. Just don’t deal with it,” another shouted louder than the first.” The final and loudest of all, “Come on Molly. You simply are inadequate when it comes to this issue. Give up.”

So…in an effort to QUIET the shouting cacophony of the “You blew it again choir”, Cris encouraged me to ask the question, "Where do I feel safe, real, accepting, loved, secure and present?"

My answer to where this space existed for me was immediate…requiring absolutely no thought whatsoever.

“Girls on the Run.” Even just the mere mention of the words brought a peaceful feel to our discussion.

“Well then,” he suggested. “Go there now. You don’t have to be at Girls on the Run to feel Girls on the Run.

So…I just started thinking and feeling Girls on the Run: accepted, warm, loved, un-judged, welcome, present and encouraged. I was able to see that my willingness to examine the scary stuff, the stuff that has limited me from evolving, growing and becoming my greater Self was a very positive and very brave thing to do. Stepping outside my comfort zone and seeing behaviors that limit me (but have in the past felt safe simply because I have known nothing else) is what Girls on the Run is all about.

I am not inadequate. I am unfolding, revealing, blossoming, evolving.

The next time the “you blew it again choir” (or any of the other top 40 hits of the Girl Box” start singing in my head) I simply need to go to the “Girls on the Run” playlist and hang out there for a minute or two. The Girl Box can’t survive there, what with all the love, acceptance, support, joy and willingness harmoniously sharing their voices.

I am reminded of a letter I received from Ashley not too long ago.

Dear Molly,

I just read your book, Girls Lit from Within and I have to say, it made me cry. You may have been in the Girl Box at a few times in your life, but you are incredibly wonderful. I had one foot in the Girl Box when I started Girls on the Run. Girls on the Run welcomed me into the family even with one foot in the Girl Box. When I am at Girls on the Run I feel loved and hugged. Since I started, I have not felt The Girl Box’s darkening affects again.

I met you once at a 5k celebration. Light flows from you and you can see the positive cord plugged right in to the top of your head. I see the positive cord plugged into my head too. Girls on the Run gave that to us.
I love (add lots of little hearts) Girls on the Run. Girls on the Run rocks!!!!!!!

Be beautiful girlfriend,

Ashley

(The operative word there, at least for me, is be.)
If you are involved with Girls on the Run, what feeling does the space give you? How do you feel when you think about Girls on the Run? If you are not involved with Girls on the Run, what spaces do provide you with a feeling of being loved, accepted and embraced? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

The Boxes that Confine Us

2010-07-06T13:51:00.000-07:00

"By watching the mechanics of the mind, you step out of its resistance patterns, and you can then allow the present moment to be." Eckhart Tolle

This will be a quick hello accompanied by a VERY quick post. I've been practicing Yoga a lot lately. I was initially attracted to Yoga as a means to enhance my running...a little something to even out the tightness that accompanies long distance running.

What I have discovered, though, is much richer, meaningful and far deeper. Yoga takes me outside the physical, cultural and societal boxes which attempt to define and confine me and into the powerful space of being empty, open and receptive to whatever the moment brings.

So here is an invitation. (Thank you Debbie for sharing this with me!) The next time you are thinking too much, overanalyzing, anxious, depressed or stuck in a thought pattern that is...how shall I put it...driving you bonkers, try this:

Breathe...Relax...Feel...Watch...Allow.

If Yoga isn't your thing, try this while on a run. Write each word on a finger tip and kick your heels up and out the door! I promise...yes I said PROMISE without a doubt, the sky will not appear brighter, but be brighter, the objects within your view will not seem more vibrant, but be more vibrant and you will experience something marvelous, real, free and untethered...YOU!

Trust is Love in Action

2010-07-02T02:55:00.000-07:00

“The best proof of love is TRUST.” Dr. Joyce Brothers

Hank is fourteen years old. Last night he spent the night with his best buddy Sam…I’m quite certain there were at least three other boys hanging out with them. All I can say is “Thank Goodness” for the cell phone. How did my parents EVER survive without one? At any moment, I can text Hank and engage him in a conversation that eases my concerns and lets me know that he is alright.

Here’s what it looks like:
Mom: Where r u?
Hank: Sam’s house
Mom: What r u do n?
Hank: Hanging out.
Mom: Cool. Sweet dreams.
Hank: Sweet dreams 2 u. I luv u.
Mom: Luv u 2.

That’s it. Certainly no literary prize for expressive writing, but at least some peace of mind. Hank is safe.

When I was 14 years old there could be huge gaps of time between conversations with my Mom. Bonnie and I would go to the swimming pool at 8:00 in the morning and not get home until 9:00 at night. My mom just had to trust that I was where I said I was, as well as safely there. There was a tremendous amount of trust required to let me go, explore and evolve. Sure, I made some decisions that in hindsight may have appeared to not be the best or the most well-considered. But over time I have come to realize that each of these experiences, whether perceived at the time as “bad or good” have moved me toward increasing levels of strength, courage and self-awareness. Now, when in the heat of a a seemingly negative experience, I can, see that these are not “bad or good” by nature; only opportunities for growth and self-examination. I can trust the process. I can trust the experience to teach me something. I can trust that something wondrous will be rooted in the outcome.

Trust has been an area of focus for me lately. It seems to currently be a consistent thread woven in and throughout the encounters I’ve had lately, not only with others, but within myself. To trust or not to trust. I can, if I am not intentional allow too much thinking come in; let the previous experiences of my life shadow my willingness to open my heart and just trust…trust that if my intentions are rooted in love, then all will be okay.

I think this is why Girls on the Run has been such a life-changing experience for me. Yes…lately I’ve been featuring our coaches, parents and girls in the blog, but after months of travel and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my life's work and the beautiful Power this program brings to the world, I realize that I’ve changed immensely since I started it...and where the change has been most obvious in my life, is in my ability to trust. To trust our volunteers and our colleagues, to trust those within our GOTR International Office, to trust myself. This ability to trust has trickled out into my personal life…trust in my children, trust in my friends, trust in my significant relationships and trust that the experiences I’m having are (whether they feel like it at the time or not) conspiring in my favor!

When you get down to it, the program, both in curriculum content and in organizational structure is built on trust. The girls learn it in the lessons and we experience it in our exchanges with one another. Trust allows us to openly confront, share out opinions, be ourselves and know that no matter what we will be loved, respected and valued. Trust allows us to admit we are wrong, apologize and be vulnerable. Trust allows us to ask for help, lean into the support of another and rely upon others. Trusting ourselves allows us to give our word, be accountable and follow-through.

Thanks to the immense amount of trust the girls have in ME I am courageously learning to trust and in the process gaining the ability to examine thoroughly my role in situations where I am afraid to.

How is trust showing up in your life? Are there patterns of resistance to it or do you trust freely and easily. What thoughts do you conjure up that support your ability to trust or not trust. Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

The Body...The Essence

2010-06-19T17:27:00.000-07:00

“Eventually you will see that the real cause of problems is not life itself. It's the commotion the mind makes about life that really causes problems.” Michael Singer

Who are you?

I’ve been reading a fabulous book entitled “The Untethered Soul.” This question is posed early on in the book. Much of what the book brings to light isn’t what you are, but what you are not.

Fifteen years ago if you had asked me that question I would have come back with a whole host of responses. “I’m Molly. I’m a runner. I’m a woman. I’m a terrible cook. I’m messy. I’m married. I am an educator.” That list could go on and on.
Today when asked that question I would comfortably land on a response that back then would have appeared meaningless and frankly, I’d have thought, a little bit “whoo whoo.”

Who am I? I respond simply “I am.”

The older I get the more aware I become of how often we define ourselves by the physical forms, circumstances and people around us. “I am fit. I am rich. I am married.”

The interesting thing to consider, though, is the same person who can now say that “I am the founder of Girls on the Run, I am 49 years old and I am single” was at one time the same person who said, “I race road bikes, I am 35 years old and I am married.” The form, circumstances and people in our lives change, but the one constant is the me inside there, going along for the ride.

Take a look in the mirror sometime. Sure…you see a body, some eyes, the reflection of the room behind you…but down inside the physical form reflected in the mirror…lives the YOU inside of there. The you that stays constant, is forever present and knowing life through the experience we call being human.

When I focus on the me in there, an internal kind of giggle bubbles up. When I stop thinking, I can literally feel the essence of the me riding around inside. Call me crazy, but the incessant talk that goes on all the time (yes we all have it)…well…someone has to listen to it. Who listens? I do…the I that never changes. The I inside. The I hitching a ride for the length of time my body is in existence. The thoughts change because of the context, experiences and circumstances around me, but the me who listens, never does.

To experience the essence of you...try this small experiment this week. When referencing your body, remove the possessive from your sentence. For example, instead of saying “I am tired,” try saying “the body is tired.” Instead of saying “I feel hungry,” say “the body feels hungry.”

Women, in our culture, identify so much of our essence, being, selves with the body. See how you respond or don’t respond when you say “the body is stuffed” rather than “I am stuffed.” See what happens when you say “the head hurts” rather than “I have a headache.”

The need to identify ourselves with the physical form slips away and we can more objectively observe the body as something to experience, nurture, care for and appreciate. We no longer identify our worth with the physical.

This ability to observe how we internalize, bring in and identify with the messages of the outside world is at the core of what Girls on the Run is all about. We help girls to become “the boss of their own brains.” We give girls the tools to step back from the whirling world around and examine with open eyes, the messages they not only receive from “out there”, but turn into those they hear on the inside. The outside world requires that we fill in the blank “I am…”with a descriptor of our physical manifestation whereas Girls on the Run gives girls the freedom to not only NOT fill in the blank but remove the blank altogether and simply know the joy of being.

This is deep stuff. I’m not sure I would have “gotten it” when I was younger…heck even just a year ago. But I’d like you to give it a try. Lean into it. Trust the process. Let me know how speaking of your body in the third person feels. Does it make you laugh? Does it feel weird? Does it allow you to see that you are NOT your body, but the spirit that resides within? Does the body become something you appreciate? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Love Without Conditions

2010-06-14T13:06:00.000-07:00

“The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well.”Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

I’ve been traveling a lot. After next week, I’m basically done until mid-July.
I love the travel. Because I don’t coach Girls on the Run anymore, the travel provides me with the one-on-one experiences with our girls, coaches and other volunteers that I love so much!

On one of my most recent trips I was visiting a Girls on the Run group. The girls were finishing up their community impact project. I walked into their gym, and after a nod of their heads in my direction, they went diligently back to the task at hand…making puppet socks for the kids at a nearby hospital.

After several minutes, I gathered them into a circle, promised them I would only take a few minutes and proceeded to create some space where we could all just get to know each other.

After several minutes of learning what their favorite foods were, giggling about Justin Beiber and discussing their greatest gifts to the world, I asked, as we closed, for each girl to share something she learned, liked or appreciated about Girls on the Run.

Last to come up was Sarah. I hadn’t heard much out of Sarah the previous ten minutes. She wore glasses, was petite in stature and was there in a state of what appeared to me to be “sizing up the situation.”

She, being the last in our circle to share, stopped for a second or two, drew in a deep breath and then out of nowhere, shared…

“Being a girl today is hard. Being a girl with epilepsy is really hard. But Girls on the Run is there to help all girls, because all girls need help sometimes. I have made good friends, learned coping skills, learned life lessons, and gotten a lot of confidence.

When I’m at Girls on the Run, I don’t think about school or the seizures or anything else. I am with friends, who love me and support me just the way I am. I can breathe in, look at the cars or the sky. I know that I am in safe place doing something I like doing with people who are my friends, who support me, love me and allow me to be whatever it is I am that day: scared, strong, weak, happy. They loved me into loving myself, even with the epilepsy.”

You could have heard a pin drop in that cavernous gym.

Unconditional love. Love with no expectations, no desired outcome and no strings attached. Loving…simply because. Girls on the Run creates a space, not necessarily for girls to be themselves, but to simply BE…what/who/however she/it/that shows up.

When have you experienced unconditional love? Who do you love unconditionally…I mean really love without any expected return? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Without Words: You Will Be Too

2010-05-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

“The most common way people give up their Power, is by thinking they don’t have any.” -Alyce Walker

The Road can make a body weary. I’ve been traveling…a lot. The joy, the smiles, the happiness, the depth of what we are doing has a way of working their way deeply into my cells…particularly when the body IS weary. The physical-ness of me becomes less of a barrier and I feel more transparent. I become more emotional.
I am in Kalamazoo as I write to you. I drove in from Ann Arbor yesterday, after an incredibly moving event with Danielle Plunkett-Johnson and her team. Follow that with Sandy Barry-Loken and her amazing team holding their annual volunteer recognition event last night here in Kalamazoo.

I spent over an hour yesterday preparing my speech. I don’t often require much prep time, but yesterday I pulled together some new “material” to share with our Kalamazoo “family”.

I never got around to sharing it.

I didn’t need to. Anna (on the right in photo above) and Jessie(on the left) said it all.

Jessie is a fourteen year old graduate of the program. Her mom was a faithful coach for six years…and Jessie was on her mom’s GOTR teams over each of those six years. She is now in 9th grade.

Jessie confidently walked to the stage, took to the podium and proceeded to read, with passion like none other, a poem she had written that won a literary award here in Kalamazoo.

Before you read it…seriously…I want you to settle in. Take a few deep breaths, because you will be left breathless when you are through:

Beauty
By Jessie Fales, Kalamazoo, MI

Judge a girl by the mounds on her chest,
by the curve of her spine,
by the silk of her skin,
by her hair’s shine.
Stare at her hips,
gawk at her thighs,
act as though she’s only a feast for your eyes.
Let your gaze travel over every inch of her body,
and then, when you finally like what you see,
call her beautiful.
And if this is how you determine beauty, then you are a fool.
Because beauty is not found in the vessel,
but it is found in what that vessel contains.
The most beautiful shell in the world could break,
and then you would have nothing.
But if you would look at an ordinary oyster,
you would find in her the most beautiful pearl,
a treasure that you’ve always ignored.
Beauty can be found everywhere, if only you take the time to look.
It is in she who finds a reason to laugh, when life gives her a thousand reasons to cry.
It is in the girl who can rise from the depths of despair.
It is in she who dances in the rain.
It is in the girl who speaks her mind.
It is in she who goes against the grain.
It is everywhere.
And if you choose to ignore all of this beauty,
and focus on that which only meets your eyes,
then you are a fool.
A fool who will never know what beauty truly is.
I was a goner at the word gawk in line six. The words of this powerful woman-girl hit me deeply in my solar plexus. I found myself nearly thrown to my knees with their impact. THIS is where it starts. THIS is the Girl Box…gone, obliterated, eliminated, SHATTERED!

Anna is next. She walks to the stage after a heartfelt series of words from her mancoach, Paul. (Yes…I said MANcoach!)

She reads her words, bravely to 200 plus women and here they are:
When I started GOTR, I felt like the bi-polar girl who was chubby, hideous, unwanted. I’d walk in school with my head down, belly sticking out, eyes clenched shut, lips tight… so scared and felt so hated I didn’t know what to do. I felt the world was after me and wanted to klomple me, smack me down because I was so hideous.

Everybody starts out scared. I thought I could never run. My heart ached but my team cheered me on. I learned that your team was there for you. And I was able to finish the 5K. I said “me, I thought I could never do that”

Second year, who knew… new school, coaches, team. The kids were nice to me. What a relief. Coaches Paul and Steph and assistant Jen rocked! They gave me the nick name, Anna the Brave, for being able to run and everything.
The last year I was more fearless. I could go into school with my head up, smiling, waving to my buddies.

Then I became assistant coach to Paul. I got depressed, but GOTR kept me brave… kept me going. When I was coaching, I was running and cheering girls like older kids were for me. I wanted to be that kid. I wanted to help them feel that somebody may like you just because you’re you. I wanted those girls to turn brave, fearless.

If I didn’t do GOTR, I couldn’t have faced some scary treatment for bi-polar and depression. I learned how to boost my self esteem and like who I am; and I did the 5K 4 times… Oh Yeah! I also learned how to face bullies (it’s like getting IVs… and I get a lot of these).

Seriously, I don’t know how to explain it.
And then she was done.

Now it’s my turn. I slowly walked to the stage. And was, for the first time in what has become a career that involves public speaking, literally left without words. They had already been said. They had already been shared. They had already been…I just stood there and cried, like a baby…completely moved by the bravery, the real-ness, the POWER each of these girls had claimed as their own and then had the courage to share with me, us, the world.

As I write to you this morning, I recognize, that with each passing year, I am more able to see with eyes wide open, the impact our efforts are having in the world. Fourteen years we’ve been at this and YES! The Girl Box, the imaginary space we, as adults might have bought into, believed and felt confined by, no longer exists for Jessie and Anna and the thousands and thousands of girls our program reaches. The cultural, systemic and individual change I dreamed of back in my early 30’s is truly occurring and Girls on the Run is playing a significant role in that change.

So there you have it. I’m done. The words have all been said. Now I just want to feel, embrace and be content with the silence, the wonder, the awesome Power within and that which we have come to know as Girls on the Run. When have you been left "without words." Tell me about it at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Batman Bill Wears Pink

2010-05-14T07:00:00.001-07:00

So...just so you know...Batman Bill has brought an entirely new audience to www.mollyontherun.blogspot.com. If you don't know who Batman Bill is, read the blog entry just ahead of this one. He is fast becoming a Girls on the Run Legend.

I think THIS picture says it all! (Please note, that not only is the man sporting a pink shirt, but pink hair as well.)

Batman Bill

2010-05-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

“A child’s hand in yours…what tenderness it arouses, what power it conjures. You are instantly the very touchstone of wisdom and strength.”
Marjorie Holmes

Today’s Blog Entry is going to be extraordinary…extraordinarily different. Different because I’m not going to write it. I’m going to use the words of someone who recently wrote to me about the impact the program has had on HIM. Yes…I did say HIM. I’m finding, seeing and feeling the impact this program is having on the men of this world, more and more every day. It’s such a beautiful, beautiful thing to see how many men have shown up, laced up their shoes and run, stride for stride, side by side, their little girls in all of the New Balance Girls on the Run 5k’s I’ve attended.

The letters and emails I get from these fabulous guys reinforce that love abounds in the hearts and minds of the men who take the time to tenderly tread that starting line with their daughters!

And so, please take the time to read the beautiful letter that follows. I asked Bill if it would be alright for me to share this and his response…”ABSOLUTELY!”
So here goes. Bill…you have NO idea how much your “man-influence” not only impacts the girls you directly serve, but all of us connected to Girls on the Run.
Rock on there, Mister.

“Dearest Molly,

My name is Bill or my coaching name the girls gave me is "Batman Bill". I am an assistant coach at Reidenbaugh elementary in the Lancaster, PA chapter. First I want to say, Carrie Johnson and Jennifer West are amazing directors and have made it so easy for us to focus on the girls and not the nitty gritty stuff. We are one week away from our 5K and there is a buzz of excitement around these parts.

I just wanted to share with you my experience from a "Mancoach's" point of view.

I got involved when I was looking for races to run, as I am training for the Athens Classic Marathon that is the 2500th anniversary of the birth of the marathon, It will actually be running on the original road from the town of Marathon to Athens, how cool is that?

I am not a runner, at least I wasn't when I decided to run a marathon. I literally started running the first week of December. So I am online one night in the winter and am looking up 5K races to sign up for to get some races under my belt and I see GOTR 5K. What’s this? So I read all about you and the program and was amazed.

I have three kids an 11 year old daughter, a 6 year old son and a 4 year old daughter. I was so impressed with the work that you are doing. I had to know if there was one in my daughter’s school. I emailed Jen and asked if my painting business could be a sponsor for the race and if they had a team at Reidenbaugh. I also wanted to know if there was any way I could volunteer as I believed that this was a worthy cause. Her response was yes, and yes, and she went on to say if I wanted to be a positive male role model, it would greatly be appreciated.

Wow! As you know it is tough to carve out two afternoons a week when you are in a contracting business, but worth every extra hour I had to tack on to other days to make up for the time.

It has been such a privilege to work with all these beautiful women. In today’s world, Dads are working long hours, or if they coach, it's a sport, soccer, T-ball, etc. but running? And it's not really coaching. It is encouraging, teaching, challenging, reflecting, being a role model, conversing. I think this job is way more fulfilling and harder as we tackle life's issues in these little lady’s lives. I think it is a tougher job than just coaching a sport. You have to be transparent and be completely real and not so tough, at least as a "Mancoach.”

It has taught me to be more compassionate and to understand my daughter more. Our relationship has grown exponentially. This has just been an amazing experience.

Last week we ran our practice 5K in the rain, all girls present completed it, the last girl to come in had many of her teammates run out and cheer her on as she came in. I started to tear up, but quickly hid it as I haven't completely climbed out of my "Boy Box.” I kid, but it truly changed me.

ME being the "fun Dad" and an energetic Adult ADD-er, I somehow introduced the Banana cheer earlier on in the season. So at the end of the 5K practice run, with many parents standing around, the girls begged me to lead the Banana cheer! I have to say it was not easy as a guy to do the Banana cheer let alone in front of parents, but it was very freeing.

That is one thing about GOTR. It is freeing. It helps these girls untie the chords that hold them in that box and allows them to stretch out their wings and fly.

Thank you so much for your sincerity, transparentness and passion. It truly shows to our girls and their parents all the way from the top.

So far as the Azalea T-shirt color this season, when I first heard that color, I thought, “You gotta be kidding me!” I never have and never will wear Pink! You can call it Azalea, but guys don't equate flowers with colors. It's pink and I don't want to wear it.

Well I wore it proudly on our practice 5K and many cars passed by the school as I was running, and I really don't care anymore what people think, because I have a healthier self image from this experience as well. Thanks Molly, I can't say it enough.

Bill Caloviras”

(I just re-read this again and feel myself tearing up…again. Oh my goodness, who would have EVER thought when I started this program, I’d be getting letters like this. Again…gratitude abounds.)

What moved you in Bill’s letter? Please let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org

The Joy of Being

2010-05-08T03:34:00.000-07:00

Those who have not found their true wealth, which is the radiant joy of Being and the deep, unshakable peace that comes with it, are beggars, even if they have great material wealth. They are looking outside for scraps of pleasure or fulfillment, for validation, security, or love, while they have a treasure within that not only includes all those things but is infinitely greater than anything the world can offer.

Eckhart Tolle

Audrey Ashkin is a Girls on the Run coach. I had the opportunity to meet her recently at a site visit, right here in my hometown of Charlotte. Audrey shared with me, what I consider, a fabulous example of why working with girls is just so darn real. So here goes:

Audrey was running next to Katie. Katie is in 3rd grade and is definitely one of the fastest girls in their Girls on the Run group. Audrey, not being as fast-paced as 9 year old Katie, thought to herself, “The only way I am going to keep up with this girl is to get her talking while running at the same time This might actually slow her down a tad.” And so Audrey, being oh so wise and admittedly mildly manipulative asked Katie, "How do you run so fast?" Of course, Audrey was hoping for a long and dramatic soliloquy on the benefits of running, diet and a lengthy list of the extraordinary character traits required to be so self-disciplined. What she got instead was, undoubtedly one of the most brilliant and articulate responses possible.

"I just put one foot in front of the other and go.”

Ahhh…the simplicity of kidspeak. Somewhere around middle school, we begin to take on the stories of the grown-up world and feel this need to complicate things. I know for me, just enjoying running for the sake of running wasn’t enough. I had to start doing, performing, justifying my actions in order to explain myself. I had to compete, win, bring home a trophy, and create stories to prove who I was and why I did what I did. I couldn’t just be fast. Soon, this need to achieve, win and prove myself became evident in everything I did. Instead of being content and at peace with myself, I had to DO things to feel worthy and at peace with myself. I had to justify my existence by performing my way through life rather than being my way in it.

Recently on my flight home from St. Louis (after an extraordinary and uplifting two days with Jill Indovino, her fabulous staff, coaches and girls) I was seated across the aisle from Amanda. Amanda is about 10 months old. For some reason, Amanda enjoyed staring at me. What started off as a simple game of peek-a-boo turned into a full-frontal staring match. For at least ten minutes, the two of us just looked at one another. People around began to notice, but that didn’t distract either one of us from our mission. We were intrigued with the newness of each other. Amanda was (remember my last Word Up) is-ing and joyfully invited me into the “joy of being” with her for the ten minutes we spent staring at one another.

There is a great story about the Buddha. The Buddha was said to give a silent sermon during which he held up a flower and gazed at it. After a while, a monk who was present began to smile. He is said to be the only one who understood the sermon.

Don’t get it? Read on.

You see a child sitting alone in a sandbox at the park. She is crying. Her mother, who is quite young, is laughing and sitting in the lap of a young man on the park bench nearby. What stories do you create in your head about this situation?

How ‘bout this one? A 20-something girl is crying. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. A boy, close in age, is gesturing with his hands. He is pacing back and forth as he talks. What stories do you create in your head about THIS situation?
Let’s try one more. You wake up one morning and for no apparent reason, feel sad, down-in-the-dumps…some would say mildly depressed. What stories do you make up in your head to justify these feelings of sorrow?

What I love about working with girls in our program is their innocent way of just seeing things for what they are. “I feel sad. No need to know why. I just am.” They experience the sadness by noticing it, leaning into it and just being it. They feel no need to explain why, they just are. They see the facts and the real of a situation but don’t feel any need to justify or create stories to explain what they see. They just see it.

As the monk so eloquently saw the flower, beautifully and simply, so goes the view of an 8 year old. I put one foot in front of the other and go.

Lately, I’ve been excited each day to pause, breathe and observe the thoughts, internal-talk and stories I make up to explain a situation. I’m spending more time staring at the familiar, long enough until the story of it slips away. I am then able to see it through infant eyes, as Amanda saw me. She didn’t see Molly Barker, the founder of Girls on the Run, mother of Hank and Helen, woman, or plane-mate. No, she saw me…being. Plain, simple and present.

What stories have you told to explain, rationalize or justify something you saw, felt, did or heard? What happens when you take away the story and just see something/someone for what it/she/he is…I’d love to know.

That Girl's Not Fat: She's Big-Boned

2010-04-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

“Heaven’s, no. That girl isn’t fat. She’s big-boned.” -Helen Wilmer

Do I dare do it? The topic is kind of scary. Actually it can sometimes be taboo. But I’m going to go for it because…well…because I have to for me, you and the girls in Girls on the Run.

Obesity.

Yep that’s right. And while we’re at it, let’s admit it. Obesity is the politically correct way to say fat. At Girls on the Run I’ve avoided the conversation because just the mere mention of the word “fat” can wreak havoc on a woman’s sense of worth.

Fat. There I said it. And it didn’t feel very good, either.

Merely a descriptive word, an adjective, fat is perhaps one of the most dreaded words in the English language. (As a matter of fact, in a survey recently conducted by the Girl Scouts of America, the numero uno fear of girls wasn’t nuclear war, their parents getting divorced or even bullying. Nope! It was getting fat.)

Even the mere mention of the word “fat” has become taboo.

“Shhh. Don’t call her fat. She isn’t fat she’s “Chunky.” “Big-boned.” “Strong.” “A Big Girl.” We are terrified of the word because of the shaming stories our culture tells about it and the people who are.

I’ve been traveling a lot lately. I’ve met many, many beautiful young girls. Inevitably we get around to discussing the importance of being “comfortable in our skin.”

“What do you think it means, to be comfortable in your skin?” I always ask.

The wisdom of 8 years olds always amazes me:

“To feel good about who you are.”

“Loving yourself.”

“It’s good to like yourself just the way you are.”

“To feel safe with your thoughts.”

So, to honor all those fabulous girls…yes all 62,000 of them that last year Girls on the Run had the privilege to share time with, I’d like to introduce an approach to the “obesity epidemic” that those fabulous girls…yes all 62,000 of them…have introduced to me.

I call it the “Just IS It” approach. (Trust me…just say it out loud and that alone will bring a smile to your face.)

Do this sometime. Watch an 8 year old girl. She floats. She runs. She twirls. She naturally moves through space with a flav-ahhhh (yes say it like that, for added impact) that is wonderfully and fabulously all her own.

Children this age are still very much surprised by their bodies and the amazing things they can do. They love to dance, jump and skip, totally uninhibited. They are surprised when they successfully pull off a double turn and successfully land on both feet. “See? Did you see what I just did?” They move through space with a sparkle in their eye--a curiosity to see, feel and experience the space around them.

They are perfectly content with themselves and the minute they are in. Eight year olds are just so darn good at “is-ing.”

I consider the challenges I’ve faced over the years seeking that kind of peace with myself. Somewhere around sixth grade I forgot how to “is”—to be content just being who I am.

The Girl Box didn’t help. Over the years our Girl Box culture reinforced the made-up notion that peace comes from somewhere outside oneself.

“Buy this, try this, use this and then you will feel good.”

Well, go figure. I don’t know a single 8 year old girl who spends much time thinking about the kind of car she drives, the fullness of her lips or her hips or the size of her bank account or breasts. These have all just been distractions, a crazy kind of obsession with the external…distractions that have kept me from what really matters, like loving, feeling the sun on my face and dancing in the living room with my fourteen year old son, Hank.

One little girl put it so succinctly several years ago. Think of your body as some kind of fabulous little sports car…or if you prefer a hybrid, a stretch limo or in my case, a small fuel-efficient, powerful get-around-kind-of-economy-car.

Riding around inside that skin (car) YOU are in, is the BIG YOU…the unique you that is big, bold and beautiful! Nourishing, fueling and taking care of the vehicle (body) that houses that fabulous YOU allows your body to stick around long enough so that the YOU riding around in there actually has time enough to dance, enjoy life, love, evolve and as our children do so well…“is”!

Get it? We are not concerned with physical fitness because we want to look a certain way.

We do it to nourish, fuel and love our bodies so that the BIG YOU on the inside, has the ability to thrive, flourish and find its way out into the world before the body can no longer sustain itself.

Healthy weight management is a very complex issue in a culture that focuses on the external.

The physical way we, particularly women, show up in the world is often a determinant of our “success” in the world. But I’m convinced that Girls on the Run is onto something. The more opportunities we provide for girls and women (heck ALL people) to focus on, celebrate and honor the BIG YOU resting within…right there on the inside…the better care we naturally end up giving to the outside. The more time we spend using words which celebrate and create safe spaces to honor WHO WE REALLY ARE, the less time we spend shaming, judging or damaging the bodies that house them. The shift in focus to the beauty within really does create a beautiful “without.”

So today…consider the following question. How will you nourish, fuel and care for the skin you’re in, so your big, bold and bodacious YOU can get out into the world? How will you implement the “Just Is It” body plan?!!!

Muscular Empathy

2010-04-08T14:39:00.000-07:00

(Photo from www.realmensproject.org. To learn more about their amazing work visit their website.)

I want you to meet a new friend of mine. His name is Bill Drayton.

I had the opportunity to spend some time with Bill the last several days at the Ashoka Future Forum. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Boh9zKQl5oc) Bill is the Founder of Ashoka.

On Tuesday afternoon, I sat down with Bill, several other Ashoka Fellows and staff and some fabulous folks from the Knight Foundation. (www.knightfoundation.org)

The topic was empathy.

Bill Drayton founded Ashoka 30 years ago. Ashoka supports the work of social entrepreneurs from across the globe. Bill believes, as do I, that a big idea in the hands of a social entrepreneur can literally transform the world. Instead of fixing what is broken, a social entrepreneur creates something new altogether. Currently Ashoka has supported, inspired and connected approximately 2000 fellows. I am fortunate enough to be one of those.

Thirty years of carefully examining the connections that bind us, one to the other, has led Bill to see how empathy is the one significant thread that weaves its way through the tapestry of all of the fellows’ works. Every Ashoka fellow is gifted with the ability to view multiple perspectives…to see through the lens of another…to walk in someone else shoes and in my words…love deeply, authentically and wholly.

I was moved several times in the middle of that meeting, but at one point I could no longer contain my tears. I was as present as I’ve ever been.

I realize that my entire life has been focused on elevating the power of the feminine. (The feminine can be honored and held by both women AND men). Tuesday afternoon,I participated in a dialogue where nine very influential men and women understood that power. A part of me rejoiced in knowing that from the spheres of influence seated at that table, something grand was happening. Something grand IS happening.

At last the power of empathy, compassion and love are, indeed, rising up to a new level of awareness across all sub-groups of our world, including the world of men

Bill Drayton is leading that crusade.

I've often felt like a bull in a china shop trying to force empathy, love and compassion on the power-elite...and have known all along that forcing these concepts on anyone will never work. Yesterday I saw and FELT the power of empathy at work in the room and know that as long as we all hang onto IT…as long as we unabashedly claim it as our own and as a driving force behind the work that we do, we will be living the very thing that will bring about the shift we are looking for. In theory, (my idealism is talking now) not only will individuals be at peace with themselves and their neighbors, but so too will nations. As Gandhi said..."Be the change."

And so, today I honor the men, Bill Drayton included, who are willing to talk, live and practice empathy. I am going to intentionally recognize and express my gratitude to the men in my life who so openly share their love, compassion and tenderness with those around them.

As a reminder of the power of empathy, I find myself needing to re-tell, re-mind and re-honor this father…this man who so epitomizes the power of “muscular empathy” a phrase we coined during that meeting. So here goes...this one's for Bill.

His name is Paul. He is 39 years old. A handsome professional man, Paul drives a BMW and wears custom suits with starched crisp white button-down shirts. He is respected and reserved. Yet little known to his friends is the hell in which he has lived. You see, 8 years ago his wife, his life partner and best friend died. She died giving birth to their daughter Shelby.

Shelby’s entrance into this world wasn’t easy. For hours, over 20 innocent and vulnerable hours, Shelby and her mom worked tirelessly to take her from the warm safe waters of her mother’s womb to this world. So when Shelby was finally lifted into this world, her mother went on to the next.

Paul’s world isn’t what he had expected: the crisp starch of his collar, the million-dollar home and a daughter, who looked like every other 8-year old, but had the intellectual and conceptual understanding of a 4-year old.

His life felt like hell. It’s hard work being a single Daddy with a developmentally delayed little girl. Every morning as he would gently brush her hair, Shelby would tell him stories--stories that break a father’s heart. Stories of how she is afraid to speak sometimes, because the other students at her school make fun of her. Stories of how they call her dummy or generally disregard her as anything, but a nuisance. Paul didn’t know what else to do and so when the Girls on the Run brochure floated home in her book bag, he enrolled her. Shelby’s spirit soared at Girls on the Run. Her teammates understood her uniqueness and accepted her not in spite of it, but because of it.

Over the program-weeks, Shelby had come to trust her teammates. They weren’t like the other girls at school. They didn’t make fun of her. They wrapped their little souls around her and walked her through the Girls on the Run games and activities. The Girls on the Run girls were different. They listened to her when she had something to say and they saw the humanness of her. They valued her for who she was.

On this particular day, Shelby was running in her first Girls on the Run 5k and her father was there to see her. I stood at the finish line cheering clapping and high-fiving girls as they crossed that finish line. One hour later every girl had finished. “No wait,” the police escort informed us. There is one more little girl. And so while most folks had moved on to the after-party in the nearby park a handful of us waited.

When off in the distance I saw a little figure walking, as if on a mission. Her arms pumping beside her like pistons. Her blonde pigtails flopped on either side. Her coaches were beside her, smiling and crying. Slowly word spread that Shelby was finishing and one by one folks returned to the finish line. As Shelby made her way up that last stretch of road, hundreds of people ran to take their place roadside.

The momentum was building and then as if directed to do so I looked to my right and there dead center in the finish line stood Paul. His starched shirt, khaki pants and polished loafers. His hair was perfectly placed. Shelby’s jacket was neatly draped across his left arm.

The man was stoic, reserved, empty eyed… and alone.

And then without warning, this man, this brave, brave man dropped to his knees…Shelby’s coat falling to the asphalt below…and with wild abandon, he lifted his arms to the heavens above and wept from the depths of his soul. Tears were flowing down his cheeks to the earth below, like small blessings on the path of his daughter’s approaching feet.

I won’t ever be able to shake the image of this man as he fell to his knees, surrendering his pain, revealing his willingness to shed the external armor of a man trapped in the box of cultural success and apathy, to expose his soul, his core, his vulnerabilities. To welcome his little girl, Shelby, as she ran to him, there at the finish line. Welcome her with his arms around her small body. Welcome her to this new life, this new heaven, the one in which they could inhabit peacefully together.

Running is no longer a means to an end, but a powerful metaphor for what could be.

Empathy, Hope. Joy. Determination. Compassion. Strength and of course the greatest of these…Love.

And so…please, I want...no I need…. the hope that each of you possess. Send me your stories of those men in your life…who have empathetically given, revealed and lived love. Let’s honor them. Now, in this space, this time and invite them to share themselves with the world of Girls on the Run.

Baking Cakes, Peace and Running

2010-03-31T17:57:00.000-07:00

“Joy is not in things. It is in us.”

Richard Wagner

Not too long ago, I was driving in my car, serving in the capacity of what currently feels like my most significant role as the mother to two children: chauffeur. And while sometimes I feel like that is the extent of their use for me, particularly as they enter the teenage years, I realize that the car is a fabulous place to engage their sponge-like minds and have conversations that might otherwise not happen. I mean, they are captive for whatever length of time I have them in the vehicle!

“You know, you guys hear me all the time talking about doing the things in life that bring us joy. For example, you both know that my work brings me a great deal of joy. I love working with kids, the volunteers and the staff at Girls on the Run.

So, what brings you two the most joy?”

Hank, immersed in a skateboarding magazine, was riding “shotgun”, in the front seat next to me and Helen was fiddling with her I-Pod in the backseat of the car.
Hank, now a young man, lives, breathes and eats skateboarding. He didn’t even look up, pause or take a breath.

“Skateboarding, of course.” His response was to the point, simple and clear. The tone of his voice was monotone and the sound of it was in that new and fabulous man-pitch that comes with being almost fifteen.

“Helen? How ‘bout you? What brings you the most joy?”

Everything Helen does and says exudes a kind of glitter, pop and fizz. She stopped messing with her I-Pod, and looked up from her throne in the backseat to make eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.

“Mother (interject sing-song kind of voice with twinge of exasperation), I’m only 11. How am I supposed to know what brings me joy?”

I drove along for another minute or so, just letting the silence sink in a bit.

Hank turned another page and Helen fiddled a bit more with her I-Pod.

We are driving along, for at least another good five minutes, when I hear from Helen, who is now staring somewhat dreamily out of the window. “Although I will say, that baking cakes does set my spirit free.”

This is when, as a mother, coach or teacher it becomes almost painfully difficult to not laugh out loud. Her choice of words was so…well…so like something I would have said.

Needless to say, I dropped Hank off at the skate shop and proceeded to go with Helen to the grocery store. We bought six different cake mixes and all the ingredients necessary to make icing from scratch. Later that afternoon, I watched her working in the kitchen, battling bowls with wooden spoons and measuring utensils. The girl was clearly as close to nirvana as one can get.

In my younger days, running was that place of joy for me. I’ll admit that at times it was joyful because it provided me with an opportunity to escape much of the chaos I was creating with the imaginary stories I was telling around relationships, work and family. I was running from rather than to.

Now, though, the joy I get from running isn’t the escape it provides, but the peace it brings...the presence within me that I feel when I run. When I run I feel beautiful, powerful, and real. The pieces of me that I share throughout the day are all assimilated back into one beautiful tapestry . . . one amazing piece of reality . . . one experience that is mine and mine alone. The physicality of it provides me with a powerful reminder that my body is capable, strong, powerful, and MINE.

Every time I run, I make a statement to the world, "I own my action, my body, my thoughts, and my experiences. I do not and will not buy into the stories which objectify, sexualize, diminish, or dominate me. I am real. I am human. I am spirit manifest within this strong, healthy, and beautiful physical body. I honour that which rests within me and in doing so feel and choose joy.”

When I run, I rise above the stories which define and limit my joy and go to a space where the stories are not only diminished but eliminated. My mind becomes empty and the joy of just being...present, within and real...can find a home there.

As I get older, I realize that it isn’t the running, in and of itself that brings me joy. No, joy comes when I willingly recognize and let go of the stories I tell and buy-into about myself and the world around me. Joy comes when I just am...present...being...at peace.

I can find joy even in the simple things:

Folding my children’s clothes...I feel the soft fabric beneath my finger tips as I tenderly and lovingly place shirts and shorts in their dresser drawers;

Waiting in traffic...observing the people in the cars around me, watching the stop light go from red to green, seeing for the first time the flower garden rising up, roadside, planted there by a local community group;

Washing dishes...feeling the warm water across my hands, seeing the bubbles emerge from water, towel to pan, pan to shelf, good meal in my belly;

I will run today, feel the warm sun on my shoulders, hear my breathing, and feel my feet on the ground. Joy will be there, as she always is, patiently waiting for me to clear out some space and let her in.

What brings you joy? When are you most joyful? Are there areas of your life that seem joy-less? What could you do differently to possibly find the joy that is hiding there? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

I'm Done With THAT!

2010-03-25T09:11:00.000-07:00

“I reject your reality and substitute it for my own.” Adam Savage

I come from a long line of storytellers. My Dad was one of the best. He was a well known politician who often shared vibrant and very dramatic stories to further his political platform.

Kids, as we know, have an active imaginary life. Just watch any child play. A stick becomes a wand. A rock becomes a mountain. A bottle becomes a musical instrument. Children have this uncanny and beautiful way of weaving intricate stories around seemingly mundane objects.

Children also have an uncanny and revelatory way of weaving intricate stories around the “what is” of their personal lives. If Mom is crying a lot and Dad is yelling, then the child’s active imagination begins creating stories to rationalize the discomfort they are feeling. Because children are, by nature, ego-centric they land on a story which usually involves them starring in the lead role, front and center.

“Yesterday, I came home without my lunchbox and Mom got upset. I can be less forgetful and then Mom won’t cry so much. I need to do better. ”

“This morning, I dropped my books on the floor and woke Daddy up. He got really mad. I need to try to be quieter.”

“My mom drinks too much and my dad is never around. Clearly I am not good enough or they would both love me.”

“The popular girls pick on me because I’m fat. I’ll never be good enough.”

“Even though I’m in the popular group, I don’t really fit in. If they really knew who I was, they’d push me out so fast.”

Four weeks ago I attended a leadership retreat at the Center for Intentional Leadership entitled “Quest for Personal Leadership.” (To learn more, check out their website: http://www.centerforintentionalleadership.com/course-qpl-personal-reinvention.php I highly recommend it!) Tom Lane, our facilitator for the retreat told me I was in for a life-changing experience. Little did I know!

For three days, I was in a room with 18 people. Strangers at first. If I knew anyone, it was only tangentially. Over the course of that first day we shared our life stories. All 18 of the individuals seated in that room, shared gut-wrenching and poignant stories of their upbringing, revealing the most raw and real of themselves. We cried, we laughed, we shouted, we were and at the end of our telling those stories…we were overcome with a feeling of one-ness…each of our stories revealing within the very act of its telling one universal imaginary story and it was:

“I am not good enough.”

What starts as nothing more than our child-story to bring order and meaning to the day-to-day ins and outs of our young and “unexplained” lives, ends up being a universal theme adopted by our culture, society and the systems we create. The circle never ends. Our culture perpetuates the “I am not good enough just as myself” story and our children are influenced by it. Children adopt the story as true and then grow up to be the adults who create the systems that perpetuate it.

An entire advertising industry has built itself upon this story.

Some religions, many of them dangerously demeaning to girls and women, have built empires upon this story.

Governmental systems have institutionalized this belief in many of their practices and policies.

Education in America is rooted in this belief through requiring children to demonstrate their job/college worthiness with high performance on test scores and measurable academic achievement.

By the end of that three day retreat I told my new friends that I was done with buying into, explaining away and making up stories to explain why my potential was limited…why the Girl Box limits me.

The longer I am involved with Girls on the Run the more it reveals about my own story-telling and the stories of our culture. I now see that Girls on the Run provides tools that enhance a girl’s blossoming sense of self, and also provide her with the skills to critically think through situations…to unravel her self-worth from the stories our culture makes up about her and to think for herself with a clear mind and an open heart.

What stories have you made up about yourself that have allowed you to buy-in to the made-up messages of the Girl Box? Are you done with that? If you are not those stories, what/who are you?
Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Gloria Steinem and My Pantsuit Revolution

2010-03-11T19:54:00.000-08:00

“Revolutions come from combining what exists into what has never existed before.”

Gloria Steinem

Gloria Steinem (born March 25, 1934) is an American feminist, journalist and social and political activist who became nationally recognized as a leader of, and media spokeswoman for, the Women’s Liberation Movement in the late 1960s and 1970s. A prominent writer and political figure, Steinem is today considered one of American history's most important women and one of the most transformative figures of the twentieth century. She has founded many organizations and projects and has been the recipient of many awards and honors. Whether or not you agree with her politics, the woman is an icon.

I had the privilege to meet Ms. Steinem a couple of weeks ago. She was in town speaking at an event sponsored by the University of North Carolina’s Women and Gender studies program. (http://womensandgenderstudies.uncc.edu/index.php) About fifteen Charlotte women had lunch with her several hours before her speaking event.

Gloria is 76 years old. She is about my size (for some reason I expected her to be bigger), and her presence is powerful. She appeared to float about the room. She was clearly at peace. We talked during lunch about systemic and cultural change. We talked of youth, girls and boys. We talked of the men in our lives and the influence they have had. We shared our anger, sorrow and peaceful resolve. When i asked her what she felt as she looked back over the legacy of her life her response was...”I don’t really have any regrets,” she exclaimed. “I just wish I had been less lady-like.”

In June of 1970, a piece written by Ms. Steinem entitled “Women’s Liberation Aims to Free Men Too” was printed in the Washington Post.

In 1970, the women’s movement was in full effect. I was in 5th grade that year. It’s no coincidence that in the fall of that year I and a few girls staged the Myers Park Elementary Pants Revolution. All girls at my school were required to wear skirts or dresses. Pants were not allowed. I didn’t think this was fair. We couldn’t play on the playground the same way the boys could. The monkey bars were out of the question. So too were cartwheels, hand stands, football and standing broad jumps.

To tackle the problem we secretly passed out flyers recruiting volunteers to help stage this revolution. Several girls signed up from each grade and we met at the monkey bars during recess to discuss our plan.

On one specific day in October, all girls at Myers Park Elementary would wear pants. We would let everyone know of our plan.

The big day came. I came downstairs in a pantsuit. I won’t ever forget it. I walked into the kitchen, both excited and afraid of what the day would bring.

My dad was sitting at the breakfast table.

“What are you wearing?” he asked as he peered over his reading glasses.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I tried my best to be nonchalant.

“Isn’t there a dress code? You aren’t allowed to wear pants are you?”

“No, but today we are all...”

My father interrupted. “Go back up and put on a dress.” His gaze calmly returned to his newspaper.

“But I can’t. I’m the one who organized...”

Again my father replied, but this time with that look that meant business: “Go back up and put on a dress.”

I wore a dress to school that day. I was the only girl in the entire school in a dress. My friends were okay with it when I explained my predicament. The outcome? The dress code was changed and the following week I played uninhibitedly on the monkey bars in my brand spankin’ new pantsuit!

We’ve all staged our own little mini-revolutions. Some, such as Ms. Steinem, more publicly and others like my own mother who in her more private way bravely stepped outside her “girl box” to recognize and activate her magnificent and beautiful potential.

But no matter the venue, it sometimes takes more than a gentle nudge or a tender pull on our culture to create systemic change. Sometimes we have to just painfully yank off the outdated and limiting view held by the status quo to reveal a new layer beneath...expose the real, the raw and the honest.

When have you bravely stepped outside your comfort zone to stage a mini-revolution of your own? Tell me about it. I’d really like to know, share and celebrate that mini-revolution with you! Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Silencing the Stories

2010-03-07T02:36:00.000-08:00

In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth. ~Mahatma Gandhi

If I take a few minutes and consciously listen, there's a lot of talking going on inside my head. Consciously is the key word here.

Several years ago I was dealing with a very stressful personal situation. I wasn’t sleeping or eating well. I was frequently sick, often irritable for no real explainable reason and was having this strange sensation under my skin like pins and needles. I went to the doctor, hoping in some kind of perverse way that he might reveal some hidden disorder that was causing my skin irritations, frequent outbursts and overall malaise. It's so much easier to blame it all on someone or something else!

“Are you stressed, perhaps? More than usual?” I remember wanting to laugh out loud, thinking, “What? Do I look stressed? Two kids under the age of 4, I’m training for a marathon, I’m sick and tired all of the time, I’ve got this business I’m trying to get started, financial strains are inevitable and this other thing that is on my mind 24/7 is eating me up from the inside out? What? Me stressed? You’ve got to be kidding.

“Maybe, a little.” I responded.“Well, let’s consider this prescription.” He quickly scribbled out something that started with an X (and it wasn’t xylophone, the only word, until then, I had ever been aware of that really started with the letter X), handed it to me, and sent me off with, “This should help.

”Darn it, I thought. No severe illness, immune disorder or digestive malfunction. I was…like many other new mothers well-done, cooked and stressed out to the max, all, ironically by my own doing. The stories I made up then, about motherhood, work and child-rearing would, no wonder, leave most women frazzled, empty and worn-out. I was unconsciously trying to live up to some kind of "mother-standard" that somehow had snuck its way into my psyche. The stories I made up then were, many based on outside influences, but were all nonetheless, imaginary. There was no one standing over me with a wooden spoon and a set of pans screaming, "Mothers do this and look like this" and yet often times this is how it felt to me as I drove myself into the ground attempting to be "the best" mom in the world.

The car ride home was no fun. I felt defeated, deflated and a little bit afraid. There was no sound at all, other than the hum of my car’s engine and that darn choir of imaginary voices in my head, all competing for lead vocal in the "this is how good mothers look sympthony.“See? You really are stressed out,” the sympathetic one agreed.“Poor thing, you’ve got so much on your plate,” the enabling one chimed in.“You are pathetic. You are completely incapable of managing your life,” the shaming one declared. Each voice had power and each had their own story about what I should be doing and what a good mother looked like.

Yet, mysteriously, one voice rose above all of the others. This voice was different. She was quiet, hollow and delicate; powerful and resilient, loving and best of all story-less! She was the voice of Silence. I hadn’t heard her for years…not since the stories of chaos had pushed her aside. I wanted to visit with her again.

So, the next morning, I drove to the cross country course at a nearby college and ran 8 miles across paths I’d never known existed. I heard the squish of my feet on wet, black leaves, my breathing as it fell in sync with my footsteps and my heartbeat when I paused at the crest of a hill. My fingertips were white with cold and my body was sweat-drenched with effort.

I thought of nothing as I ran beneath dry crooked kudzu vines clutching tree limbs made barren by winter’s cold. The stories of what I should be and act like were gently quieted...disappeared altogether actually... as I jogged across brown grassy fields soon to be warmed by the chilled red light of winter’s sunrise.

My friend Silence was there, on that run and in those woods. I found comfort in her strength…the way she gently led me from the story world outside myself to an internal space where time was suspended and I just was...alive, breathing, peaceful and present.

Now, I visit with Silence, everyday, to nourish my soul and refuel my spirit. I always find her in the woods, nestled in behind the soft scent of honeysuckle in spring or rising up in the dry red dirt of blazing summer sun. She tells me things that the demanding and imaginary stories of my external world don't like, like: I’m a good mother; I am beautiful; I am enough; I am at peace; I am grateful; I celebrate this run, this day, this breath.

I won’t let anything interfere with my regularly scheduled appointment with Silence. The prescription I opted for was to meet with her more often...sometimes it’s thirty minutes in the morning before my kids are awake or writing as I’m doing now, but always and forever during my runs in the woods.

Where do you find Silence? Do you intentionally seek her out? What happens when you listen to nothing? How do you feel?

(P.S. If you are interested in hearing less and being more...consider the following trail race seres The River Bound Race Series is a joint production of N.C. Outward Bound School and U.S. National Whitewater Center. The four-race series will take place on the 400 acres/14 mile trails at the Whitewater Center as a fundraiser for the N.C. Outward Bound Scholarships. Girls on the Run will have a presence there and we'd love to see you! http://www.usnwc.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=70&Itemid=349)

Aging Happens (along with a few other things.)

2010-03-04T16:26:00.000-08:00

"With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come."
Shakespeare

Susan Gray is the first person you will see or talk to when you contact Girls on the Run! She is the sparkly voice on the other end of the phone or the happy face you will see when you walk in our front door.

Susan is currently coaching Girls on the Run to a group of vibrant 3rd-5th grade girls at a local school. She was walking with the girls, from the school out to the play ground, when the following conversation occurred.

Girl: Do you work at Girls on the Run?

Susan: Yes.

Girl: Well, I thought so. You are the first Girls on the Run coach I’ve had who always wears clothes with Girls on the Run on them. What do you do there?

Susan: I do lots of things at Girls on the Run. I answer the phones. I welcome people. I work with all the people who are interested in bringing Girls on the Run to their hometowns.

Girl: Wow. That’s a lot.

Susan: I also help Molly Barker with her calendar and all of her travel. Do you know who Molly Barker is?

Girl: YES! She is the woman who started Girls on the Run.

Susan: That’s right. She is the founder.

Girl: (long pause, a few steps and then nonchalantly): Is she still alive?

Susan shared this story with me a couple of days ago and I literally laughed out loud for several minutes.

Couple her question with the fact that I turn 50 this year and…well…I wonder if the Universe isn’t trying to humorously welcome me to this process we call “aging.”

This brings me ‘round to one of my all time favorite quotes and it comes from Gloria Steinem.
A reporter was interviewing Ms. Steinem, many years ago. “Ms. Steinem, you sure don’t look 43 years old.”

“Well honey,” she replied. “This is what MY 43 looks like.”

Whether we are in our teens, 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and/or up (!) aging happens.

AND wonderfully so! There is no more a beautiful process than growing older. I consider the landscape of my body and the stories it tells.

The scar on my right hip: Riding my first century ride (100 miles) a dog crossed the road at mile 87. My friends, Bob, Dave and Rob stopped to help me. I finished the ride that day thanks to their support. I fondly remember them now, though I haven’t spoken to them in over 20 years.

The lines at my brow: I have a photo of myself in second grade. Those lines were there, an indication of my intensity even then and my passion now.

My skin and the tell tale signs of sun, wind and hours outside: I remember sitting by Susan Anderson’s swimming pool one summer between 9th and 10th grade, lathering up with baby oil, drinking a Tab and listening to “Some Kind of Wonderful “ by Grand Funk Railroad.

Celebrating where we are in the process of aging is a challenge. When I’m unfocused, I unknowingly allow the stories our culture has made up regarding that process, to seep into my psyche, my self-esteem and feelings of worth. I will admit it though…It’s just so hard sometimes to celebrate the process when the noise of the outer world is so darn loud. Use this, try this, do this and then you can be this.

I recognize that the process of growing older is just that…a process and each of us has and will have a very personal and intimate relationship with it now and in our futures.

Today I will intentionally celebrate the changing and aging landscape of my body. I will seek out images, people and messages around me where aging is honored. I will be aware of the language I use and do my very best to stop short of a negative or humorous comment about aging and replace it with wonder, admiration and love for myself as I enjoy being who I am, right now and in this minute!

What are the cultural stories/beliefs you grew up with about the aging process and how have those affected you? What do you believe now? Are those stories serving you in a positive way?

Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Birthday Suits and Cowboy Boots

2010-02-17T17:28:00.000-08:00

“I love my eyes. I love my mouth. I love my belly. Oh yeah…and I love my heart too.” Helen Barker

The last time I did a triathlon was in 2001. I did a half Ironman in Florida. I hope to return to the sport this summer with attempts at a few events around the nation.

Returning to the sport after a 9 year reprieve is something akin to getting re-married…except this time I’m nine years older. My body is also nine years older. That precarious balance between committing to it and giving it all I’ve got while also gently carrying my older body, my experience and more years of life through the training is just that…a precarious and interesting balance for me to try and achieve. There is a comfort in my skin this go ‘round that I lacked back in 2001. My participation in the event this year is connected to something richer, deeper and more meaningful.

Last week I made a surprise visit to a fabulous little girl named Aislinn. Aislinn had to do a project on a notable Tarheel (North Carolinian for those of you who don’t know what a Tarheel is) and she chose to do her project on me. Her mom, her Girls on the Run coach, her teacher, our council director in her area, and I were all in cahoots with one another…planning the fun surprise visit. (Here’s a picture of me with Aislinn and her wonderful mom Beth!)

I’m just like a big kid. I looked forward to visiting her school as much as I know she enjoyed my being there. I spent an hour or so with her fourth grade class. We laughed. We talked. We played.

During that hour together I learned a lot of amazing things.

Faith: “Being comfortable in your skin means just being yourself.”

Ben: “Saying thank you when someone compliments you is showing confidence in yourself.”

Jake: “It’s always more meaningful to show what you feel through your actions rather than telling what you feel with your words.”

Aislinn: “Running showed me that if I set my mind to something I can do just about anything else I set my mind to do.”

Thomas: “Never give up.”

Rosie: “I love space. One day I will be an astronaut.”

Madison: “I cry because I worry a lot. Running helps me not worry as much.”

Maddy: “I don’t run to cross the finish line. I run because its fun and I see things I haven’t seen before.”

Many of you have seen me speak to kids. My heart sings when I am with them. I feel a bit like the Pied Piper of running or the Art Linkletter (showing my age here) of sports. I am in my element there, maybe because I am nothing more than a big kid at heart, in mind and in spirit!

I kicked off my time with Aislinn by sharing a fabulous, and very entertaining, story (if you are 9 years old) about my daughter Helen. The story goes like this.

One summer day I was getting ready to run. It was very hot outside and my kids were hanging out inside the comfort of our home, alongside their Dad.

“Alright, guys. I’ll see ya later. I’m headed out for my run. Back in about an hour.”
When I returned, James, my children’s father, was out in the yard cutting the grass. The engine of the lawnmower was rumbling and so I yelled loudly so I could be heard. “James, where are the kids?”

He yelled back. “They’re in the house!”

Ringing wet with sweat I walked into the house and made a beeline for the linen closet, grabbed a towel and came back out to the den.

Hank was just four years old and comfortably lounging in the biggest lazy boy chair you can imagine…or at least it appeared so with his little 4 year old body nestled down inside the comfortable cushions. He was watching television and sipping on an apple juice. His feet were propped up. He was, after all, master of the universe.
“Hey bud.” I’m now toweling off and cooling down. “Where’s Helen?”

In the fabulous way that all masters of the universe respond, his gaze never left the television and he responded in that amazing master of the universe (MOU) nonchalant way…”I dunno.”

“Alright,” I replied. I go to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, continue to towel off and start looking for Helen.

Helen was about 14 months old at the time. She was definitely walking by then…or more like toddling.

“Helen, where are you? Are you hiding from Mommy?”
I’m walking through the house.

No response other than the quiet voice of “mother-angst” beginning to speak. I cannot locate my daughter.

I walk rapidly back outside. “James, where’s Helen?” This time my voice is firm, loud and demanding.

The lawnmower is still running. “She’s in the house,” he shouts.

I now rush back in, toss the towel to the floor, throw the water in the sink and begin searching high and low for the girl. I’m looking under the sink, behind the shower curtain, in closets, under the bed. She is nowhere to be found.
The mother-angst has now turned into full-blown panic.

I stand directly in front of the master of the universe, purposefully blocking his view of the television and emphatically ask, “Hank. Where is Helen?”

MOU looks up at my face and shrugs his shoulders.

I run to the telephone, place my right hand on the phone, lift the receiver and am proceeding to dial 9-1-1 with my left, when I take a glance out our front den window.

I see something…off in the distance. About half the length of a football field away, she is found. I drop the phone, pull open the front door and run in her direction.

As I approach, the mommy angst begins to drift a bit and the mommy belly laugh begins to emerge. Each step closer, the girl…MY girl…comes into greater focus. I’m not sure if it’s the diaper at the end of our driveway, the hot pink cowboy boots on her chubby little toddler legs or the naked butt cheeks that first bring it up…but without warning the belly laugh erupts. It is loud, relieved and downright “tickled.”

Helen is walking down the street, completely naked, decked out in nothing but her “fave” hot pink cowboy boots. She is on a mission. To where? I have no idea…but she is hell-bent on getting there. She is waving as cars slowly go by. She is purposeful, driven and clearly headed to a destination that only she knows.
I run to her, scold her for fleeing our home (in that futile way that mothers do when they are laughing at the same time). I grab her free hand. We wave to the passing cars together on our way back home.

Today I will run six miles, lift some weights and hit the pool this evening. I don’t plan on doing any of it too fast. But it will be purposeful. While I won’t be wearing my pink cowboy boots, I will be decked out in my own body, celebrating it all along the way. (With clothes on I might add!)

I realize that my return to the sport is a way to honor the progress I’ve made in my own woman-evolution. I am purposeful with no REAL destination other than just moving along, waving at folks along the way, seeing what’s out there and being present with it all. I wonder what I will learn and feel and what will reveal itself over the course of the next several weeks. I look forward to being as Helen was, comfortable in my skin. To, as Maddy so eloquently put it, “not run to cross the finish line…but run because its fun and I see things I haven’t seen before.”

I wonder what will show up this time. What have you learned by participating in an endurance event? Let me know by commenting below.

Girl's Liberation, Girls on the Run Style!

2010-02-11T17:25:00.000-08:00

“People think I’m trying to make a fashion statement because I never wear a bra. It’s really that I’m a tomboy at heart.” Cameron Diaz

Even as young as age 8, girls begin to label emotions as good or bad. Unfortunately this perception can lead to their future attempts at avoiding those they consider bad. “Bad” emotions are generally those that make us feel less comfortable…such as fear, anxiety, anger, frustration and boredom. “Good” emotions tend to fall on the “more comfortable” side of feeling…joy, happiness, excitement, peace.

Lesson five in our Girls on the Run curriculum provides an experience for the girls to reframe the words they use to describe the emotional spectrum. The words bad and good are virtually eliminated as descriptors for emotions and the words “comfortable” and “uncomfortable” become their replacements.

I won’t ever forget Emily. Emily was in fourth grade when I met her. Emily had strawberry blonde hair that cascaded in ringlets to below her shoulders. She had the fairest of skin, pink cheeks, noticeably blonde eyelashes and a spunky little spirit that was as bouncy as her hair!
We had just completed the warm-up. The group had decided, thanks to some fabulous insight and processing on their part, that emotions were not good or bad, but simply comfortable or uncomfortable. Learning to deal with our uncomfortable emotions was what growing up was all about! “I may not have it figured out yet, but as I get older, I’ll bet I get more comfortable with the emotions that, right now, feel uncomfortable to me.”

Each girl is given a bingo card with 12 different emotions typed into each of the 12 boxes. When one of the girls completes a lap, the coach gives her an “emotion” that she then marks off the card. The object of the workout is for each girl to run laps, learn what constitutes an emotion and in the process get as many bingos as she possibly can!

About five minutes into the workout, Emily walked up to me.

“Coach Molly. I’m not feeling very comfortable.”

“Okay, Emily. I hear ya, girl. What’s up? Are you feeling an uncomfortable emotion?” I had naturally assumed that her use of the word uncomfortable was connected to how we had used it only moments ago, within the context of the lesson.

“Well,” she replied completely exasperated. “I forgot my jog bra…and well… you know.” She pointed down to what would be breasts, if she had them and nodded her head. “Running without it, is just..kinda…actually a lotta…uncomfortable.”

It was hard for me to not chuckle. Emily was in fourth grade. The girl wasn’t showing any signs of puberty. There were no buds, no curvature of hips, no signs of anything other than being the fabulous fourth grade, free-spirited, spunky, straight-waisted girl who stood before me.

I had, however, noticed earlier during the lesson, that Emily was sporting a brand new “cuppy bra.” A cuppy bra is what many stores are now selling to girls, at an age long before they need it, to create the look of real breasts. They come in a variety of sizes, but suffice it to say…they are soft molded shells that basically house nothing but empty space when worn!

“Oh Emily, sister. I totally get it! I know how that is. I know how uncomfortable it is to run without my running bra. So girl, I can only imagine. You just feel free to walk today. Okay? No problemo! You just walk on with your fabulicious self!”

She smiled at me. We were bonding. We were having a woman-to-woman, heart-to-heart conversation about womanhood, our changing bodies and all the trials and tribulations of growing up and out!

I’ll never forget watching her walk away from me on her way to her next lap. Her step was bouncy. Her hair was bouncy. Her spirit was bouncy. And unfortunately so too was her cuppy bra. With nothing underneath to hold it in place, the darn thing kept sliding upward. Walking was bad enough, but my guess is that running would have brought that stinkin’ bra all the way up and out of her shirt collar. Eventually the uncomfortable device would be wrapped around the top of her head with the straps tangled up in the sleeves of her tank shirt. No wonder the girl couldn’t run! Her breasts (or molded cups) would have ended up on her eyes!

The lesson continued. Girls were laughing, giggling and running by me securing new “emotions” and filling in the squares on their bingo card. Spring was here. The sun was bright. Our spirits were bubbly, our energy was high and the mood was celebratory; but poor Emily was confined to walk…strapped in by her new cuppy bra and her first try at “being grown up.” Her step wasn’t bouncy anymore. It seemed that even her hair was less so.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily had only done two laps. “Come on Emily.” The girls were asking her. What’s up? You normally are running like everyone else. What’s going on? Why won’t you run?”

I could see the novelty of the once fabulous and mysterious cuppy bra wearing off. She had tried running again, but was SO distracted by needing to hold the stupid thing in place, that running now became an impossible feat.

“Whoohooo! Good job girls.” My assistant coach and I were cheering on the girls as they progressed around the track and I monetarily lost focus on Emily and her plight. I patted a girl on the back as she passed me by and turned to look across the track to see how Emily was doing. There she was, standing perfectly still and looking quite wonder-woman-esque. Her arms by her side, her eyes and face upward toward some distant (and very dramatic) horizon. She was still, silent, strong and weirdly (humorously) stoic.

(Insert long dramatic pause here and some really powerful instrumental music. Follow it by a small drum roll and continue reading.) And then the girl, with rapid-fire motion threw her right arm up into the air, statue of liberty-like-ish and began to run. Waving in the wind of her forward movement and bubbling up like the fire within our very own Lady Liberty’s torch, was the cuppy bra, grasped tightly in the hand of that uplifted arm.

Emily was leaping, running, twisting, turning, running backwards, forewords, sideways and everyways in between. When Emily made it around to me, with that cuppy bra lifted high above her head, she said with a fierce determination and a no-nonsense tone of voice, “Free at last. I am free at last.”

And I’ll be darned if she wasn’t right on! She WAS Free at last. Free of the cuppy bra. Free of the need to be something she really wasn’t, at least not yet anyway. Free to be the goofy, wacky, spring-haired, bouncy Emily she was meant to be. No wires, no straps, no objects were going to restrain or limit this girl. NO WAY, NO HOW!!!! Just try her!

She tucked that bra into her book bag, kicked into high gear and proceeded to run around that track like there was no tomorrow.

As I fondly remember this day in Emily’s life, I am reminded of many in mine. The coming and going, the in and out, the wish for and rejection of the Girl Box’s power. As I write to you now, I take this moment to celebrate Emily and her willingness to assume the lead role in her own life’s story. I marvel at her ability to intentionally take risks, step out and test the waters of womanhood. I honor her zeal to learn from her mistakes, missteps and miscalculations. I am grateful for Emily who reminds me of the precious, innocent and vulnerable 9 year old Molly…you know, the one who always did her very best. The one who hit a few bumps, scraped a few knees and fell down a few times as she stumbled along the challenging path of growing up; the evolving Molly I am now, who tries so hard to be strong; to stand up for herself; to remain alive, real and herself while exploring the unchartered waters of relationships, motherhood, and her future.

I yearn to, as Emily (and many other well-known leaders) so succinctly put it, “be free at last.” Free at last to be, to love and to live! To remove the fears and facades of the restraining Girl Box, tuck them peacefully into the book bag of my past and run, uninhibited, free and like there is no tomorrow!!!!

What messages/elements/thought processes of the Girl Box, still linger (or distract you) in your life as you evolve, learn and “grow up”?

Love Letter to My Colleagues

2010-01-28T18:37:00.000-08:00

“Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving”
-Kahlil Gibran

This post is going to be simple and to the point. I’m grateful. Overwhelmingly grateful for the amazing people who have been showing up at my door, ringing the bell, and then making their way into my space, my life, my heart. And so…to wrap it all up (those in attendance at the summit will know the extreme amount of self-discipline I’m showing at this moment to not comment further on the words wrapped up like…) here goes this year’s GRATITUDE LIST FOR SUMMIT 2010 (These are in no particular order):

The 2010 Girls on the Run Summit gave and gives me an immense amount of gratitude for:

YOU -the Summit attendees! What is it about Girls on the Run that attracts such amazing and talented women? It is because of each of you that this organization thrives and serves more and more girls each year. The energy in Austin was palpable and we are all united, one with each other, whether in Charlotte, Los Angeles or New York.

The employees of Girls on the Run International: The event was well-organized and easy to navigate. I am grateful for the team at Headquarters and my guess is the connection they have for one another was felt by everyone in attendance.

Jenny Hadfield: WOW. I feel as if I’ve got a friend for life. Her willingness to share her story, her spirit and her guts with us touched everyone in that room. My guess is, based on conversations she and I have had since, she was touched as well. Check our her blog: http://askcoachjenny.runnersworld.com/2010/01/off-the-beaten-path-girls-on-the-run.html referencing her experience at the summit.

Dr. Maureen Weiss: How could you NOT love this woman? Down-to-earth, authentic, REAL, Mo is one of the most intelligent academicians around. She is renowned in her field and her work in youth development programs is well-respected. We all were affirmed by her amazing words and her work at the Tucker Center. Her research validates and affirms that our work, at Girls on the Run is relevant, critically important AND changing lives.

Kristin Armstrong: What a peaceful, beautiful-souled woman. Her presence in our midst was inspiring. We felt so honored that she brought along her own daughters, her best friend Paige and Paige’s daughters…the whole thing was a surreal moment for me and an empowering one for all. Check out her blog, http://milemarkers.runnersworld.com/2010/01/willing-to-be-seen.html outlining much of what she shared with us.

Our sponsors: WOW. We are so fortunate to not only have relationships with these amazing companies but with the individuals associated with them as well. I’m convinced that what draws these corporations to Girls on the Run is the connection that individuals have to our organization. We touch each and everyone at a level deeper than a standard business relationship. Molly Reynolds from Secret; Chris Mann from New Balance; April Whitlock and Kathryn Thompson from Carolina Pad; Jackie McFee, Sarah Churchill and Gail Peterson from Jackie Studios; Patty Parrott and Kelly Colwin from Horizon; Allison Barrington from Gigunda; Jana Bartlett and Sonya McCabe from Goody.

Our amazing break-out speakers: The insight and expertise that each shared will take our organization to a new level and allow us to reach more girls each year. Thank you Susan Patterson, Teresa Purcell, Illene Roggensack, Robert Bales, Chris Weiss, Katy Brown, Lauren Byrne, Marjohn Elyaderani, Kelly O’Brien, Beth Gregory-Wallis and Karen Raseman for sharing your knowledge with us.

The small, off-to-the side conversations I had with so many of you. We laughed, we cried, we talked about children, our lives, maintaining balance, husbands, partners, finances, running, quiet time and our personal evolution. These off the record conversations are what make our woman-to-woman connection so meaningful, powerful and transformative. These are what draw me in, year after year, to dig a little deeper, explore a little further, RISK a little bit more to share who I am and what I stand for. I am so blessed to know you.

This list could go on and on and on, but in closing this post, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my run with Lauren Byrne. Lauren works at Girls on the Run International and is one of the funniest human beings you will ever meet. One afternoon at the summit, we decided to go for a 5 mile run. We were both battling colds, but thought the outdoor air would do us some good…so off we went. I’m attaching our route, thanks to her Garmin watch. (Okay…so I have to admit, this really was the coolest thing in the world…to be able to actually plot out exactly where we went, how long it took us etc.)

As you can see, we got lost. (See photo above.) We were running up, down, back and forth through Austin trying to find the hotel, which you can ALSO see was right under our nose. When Lauren sent this “snapshot” of where we had been and how we had moved in, around, up and down Austin trying to locate the hotel…I thought I would die laughing. Such a metaphor for my life…I’m always looking, searching, changing routes and trying to find what is usually right there in front of me or within me, all along.

Gratitude abounds, joy lives within and I delight in the warmth, connections and love this program brings to me on a daily basis. Celebrate, sisters. Embrace, Love, Laugh, Honor and know that our work is changing lives…including mine, yours…ours!

I love you all,
MWB

Congressional Congruence

2010-01-24T05:23:00.000-08:00

“From the pain, comes the dream.
From the dream, comes the vision.
From the vision, come the people.
From the people comes the power.
From the power comes the change.”
Peter Gabriel

There is this point in every marathon where it hurts. I don’t care if you’ve trained for a year, two years or many. Somewhere between 17 and 23 miles there is this point where things just hurt, plain and simple. The body says no. I’m done. Kaput. It’s over. No more.

This has affectionately been the space most runners call “the wall.” The wall is hard to describe. It’s not a cramp or a decrease in cardiovascular functioning. The wall occurs when the glycogen stores (the fuel in our muscles) we’ve been depleting for 17 or 18 miles are just that…depleted. The fuel we need to ignite neurons to move muscles simply runs out. The best way to stave off the wall is to continue fueling for the first 18 miles. A variety of companies have come up with nutritional products that can be easily ingested. Generally they are goopy, slimy-textured products that go down easily, but may require a good deal of self-discipline to get them into your mouth in the first place. Ick.

I say all this because if you’ve done a marathon, you are more than likely at this moment nodding your head, smiling or grimacing. You know. You’ve been there and done that. If you haven’t done a marathon you are probably, especially after reading what I’ve written here, questioning the sanity of anyone who does. I can remember at one point during the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon, when I hit the wall around mile 19 of the marathon, hearing a voice inside my head actually laughing at me. She said, “And you know what Molly, you paid a lot of money to do this.”

I’ve been rambling recently about the back and forth between the left and the right, the conservatives and the liberals, the ‘you said this’s’ and the ‘he said that’s,’ the one side and the other side. And I landed on an understanding where Girls on the Run is in all of that back and forth and coming and going. We are the space, the stomping ground, the vessel, the in-between, the sanctuary, the haven, the settlement where both camps can stand together and share. It is through the sharing of ideas that minds are changed…where critical thinking becomes just that critical.

Without the ability to share, listen and be heard we could NEVER make informed decisions. The beliefs we would land on would simply be the beliefs of those on the “side” where we grew up, hang out and sit in. We have to be willing to listen to the other side in order to grow, evolve and critically use our brains to land on our own beliefs, philosophies and core values.

What Girls on the Run does and why I opened with the marathon experience is provide that “common ground.” It is the safe haven where big, little, tall, short, brown, white, black, and rich, poor, old, young congregate. Everyone who has been there knows the pain of that wall. Every person, whether liberal or conservative, knows the joy of crossing the finish line. Every person, whether thin or not, can appreciate the effort required to train for and show up at the starting line. There is a universal understanding that flows beneath the surface of every running event, whether a 5k or a marathon. Everyone crosses the same starting line, feels the surge of adrenalin there, knows the pain of their own exertion and the exhilaration of the finish. Stories ‘round the finish line are infinite. The shared experience, the common bond, the brother and sisterhood is real, tangible and is capable of bonding people for life.

And so…I land here. Imagine for a moment, our Congress and Senate members choosing a race. Actually let’s not make it a choice. Let’s make it a have to. They must all complete (like an eco-challenge event) the same race in order to keep their office. And…let’s choose something doable. Say…mmm…the Girls on the Run 5k in D.C. Okay…and then they train for it. Every Saturday, when in D.C., a group of them decide to get together and walk/run the mall (the graveled path near the Capitol). They start together, but with all training programs naturally break into groups. The fittest finish the workout first. Those less fit bring up the rear.

Eventually a few gather for breakfast afterwards. Then those that are interested add some interval training every Tuesday and longer runs every Thursday. They shed their suits, don their game face and get out there and train.

In May, they all toe the starting line and finish the 5k. One congressman in particular has some physical disabilities that require him to walk the 5k. Several of his fellow congressmen and women decide to go back and help him through the last mile. They walk together, all cheering him on. Joy abounds as they all cross that finish line together.

I know I’m crazy and I know I’m an idealist…but why can’t this happen? Why can’t we dream that one day the common ground covered by a 5k produces common ground between opposing viewpoints. The truth is it already does. Why can’t the wall of a marathon, when experienced by the left and the right, serve as a reminder that we are all human, all vulnerable, all real and all the same in so many ways! The truth is, IT already does! Why can’t I dream that one day, the leaders of our nation will know what I feel each time I train for a 5k, 10k or half-marathon…how it gently pushes me just outside my comfort zone…where in spite of all my intelligence, education and resources, I still feel the pain of the wall, the anxiety at the starting line and the joy of the finish. I know, as I look to my fellow runners, that we are one in the same at mile one, two three, four five….twenty-five and twenty-six….point 2.

There is common ground. Always. We just have to believe it, then create it and finally have the nerve and the willingness to step onto it. I say we make it the Girls on the Run 5k. Come on. I dare ya!

Talking to Squirrels and Other Animals

2010-01-18T11:58:00.000-08:00

"If I judge people, I have no time to love them."

Mother Teresa

Last November, I was visiting a Girls on Track site.They were almost 2/3 of the way through the program.

We started our time together inside. The winter winds were whipping up outside and I wanted to have some "quiet time” to get to know each other.

We started with something simple. “So, let’s go around the circle and share our name, our age and our favorite music group." We went to my left and around.

I then introduced them to the notion that everyone…EVERYONE comes to earth with a set of gifts…these gifts are uniquely ours and how, when we use our gifts, the world’s work gets done. Some of us are writers, some of us are thinkers, some of us are politicians, some of us are leaders in the traditional sense and some of us are leaders in our own quiet way. “So…how ‘bout each of you sharing with me one of your gifts…tell us…what gifts have equipped you to do your world’s work?

The girls began to answer in no particular order. Jewel was an excellent friend. “I can talk to anybody. I don’t judge people.”

“Cool, I responded.”

Sierra was a writer. “I have really good ideas in my head and I enjoy putting them down on paper so that other people can see my ideas. I write for our school newspaper.”

“Excellent, I responded.”

Heather shouted out. “I can sing.”

“Will you sing for us now?”

“Really," she responded. "You want me to sing now?"

"Yes of course. Please, wouldn’t you guys like to hear Heather sing?"

"Yes," everyone responded in near unison. Heather sang a few bars of Taylor Swift. We all clapped when she was done.

Everyone had shared…almost. To my right was Maggie. I had noticed her when I walked in the thirty minutes earlier. Her sparkly eyes and her infections smile were enough to melt any heart…especially mine.

“Maggie, I notice you haven’t shared. Do you want to share one of your most fabulous gifts?”

“I’m afraid to. You will laugh" She took a long deep breath, pause and then looked to the ground. “They will laugh.”

I let her words sink in…not wanting to minimize or take away from her fear. Heather spoke up. “We won't laugh Maggie. We are all friends here. We can say anything.”

Jewel jumped in. “Yeah Maggie. It’s okay…really.”

She looked up at me. I know it’s there, but I am ALWAYS struck by the intangible that this program brings. The language of love that floats in and through the invisible space of our gatherings. I looked deeply into her eyes…remembered being eleven…so afraid to speak up…afraid of being judged…remember being 32, staring at my own reflection in the silver blade of knife’s edge… paralyzed by the fear of my own potential...a fear I had carried for decades…the hiding away of all the light and brilliance that was me…afraid of ridicule or even worse indifference.

“It’s okay. Maggie. We are all here for you girl.” Words I had so longed to hear when I was eleven.

“Alright then. Here goes.” Maggie looked to her lap, took a deep breath and then without any further hesitation, said. “I can talk to squirrels.”

I didn’t respond right away. I mean, to be completely honest, holding back a downright 'laugh-out-loud’ response was somewhat of a challenge. About all I could summon at first was “Wow."

No one else spoke and the silence felt too long, but I stayed with it anyway.

“Yep." Maggie nodded her head a bit more confidently now. No one had laughed. Her friends had listened. “ I can talk to ‘em…squirrels. I talk to them in my yard, the park, wherever they are.”

The reality that someone in our midst could talk to squirrels began to settle in.

Jewel, asked, “That is AMAZING. Do they talk back?”

Yeah…all the others chimed in. Do they talk back?

"Well, not really," she said. "The truth is I just seem to kind of attract them. I’m kind of like a squirrel magnet."

“Unbelievable” the girls responded. We had a regular Snow White in our presence.

For a good five minutes we talked about Maggie’s ability to communicate with squirrels.

"There is a lot you can do with that you know," one of the other girls said. "You can help the animals with a talent like that." And so the conversation went.

I walked away from this experience initially tickled…a kind of bubbly giggle made its way into my body. My step was light, up and bouncy.

But then as things so frequently do for me…the raw of this began to work its way into my being. The notion that something as simple as her ability to unequivocally and unabashedly share something so frightening, real and within… to her friends is where I believe true cultural change occurs.

Over the years, I’ve met many, many women. Each of us brings to this world our own story, our own experiences, our own Girl Box and our own talents. And over the years I have come to realize that what Girls on the Run does so profoundly and so richly is provide a deep level of tenderness and acceptance toward all of our sisters. Girls on the Run has opened my mind to my own propensity to judge and shown me that down deep…really down underneath all the judgment and intolerance what we all want really, is to feel important, fully accepted and unconditionally loved just as we are and where we are in our own personal evolution, whether its talking to squirrels, talking to ourselves or dealing with our own demons.

As large as this organization has grown, I think what is uniquely our gift to the world is our ability to keep it personal, simple and real…to open our minds to understand what drives a girl…a woman…an individual. Girls on the Run provides for every girl and every woman, regardless of the barriers, power differentials, institutions, belief systems and stereotypes she is battling in her own life, an opportunity to feel worthy, whole and warmed.

So our potential is limited not by any external source, but by those within. If we aren’t willing to both put our real selves out there and at the same time unconditionally love one another, how can we expect to create a culture for our girls where they do the same? How can we expect to fearlessly express ourselves and be heard if we do not fearlessly allow others to do the same and listen? How can we expect to be respected and honored if we only are willing to accept and honor those whose views match ours?

I believe that Girls on the Run, at its highest potential, is simply a place where people can reveal themselves and at the same time value, respect and embrace others who do this as well. To serve as a vessel, meeting ground and sanctuary where we don’t determine the context, or assume that any one perspective is ultimately the right one, but give the girls the tools to decide for themselves what is the right one. To give them the power, in a safe, loving and open environment to be the boss of their own brains.

I love how this program is growing, changing and evolving into a vessel of unconditional love…where all who come in contact, are tenderly welcomed and gently encouraged to explore, evolve and question the different routes to self-worth, contentment and empowerment in their way…in their own time and at their own pace.

I guess I've finally landed on that tie that binds...and it is indeed rooted in self-acceptance, mutual respect and...that's right...love.

Blinded By the Light, Wrapped Up Like A WHAT?

2010-01-14T14:03:00.000-08:00

bloop-er (bloo-per)
-noun
1. Informal. An embarrassing mistake, as one spoken over the radio or TV.

Well, it’s that time of year. Next week Girls on the Run is hosting its annual summit. Over 200 of the fabulous women and men engaged in our program will descend upon Austin, TX to network, learn and bond. I'm thrilled that Kristin Armstrong, Coach Jenny Hadfield and all of our fabulous sponsors...New Balance, Kellogg's Frosted Flakes, Secret Deodorant (Proctor and Gamble), Goody's Hair Accessories, Horizon Fitness and a BRAND NEW fabulous partner (more to come on that next week)will be there to celebrate, learn and network with us.

I’m finalizing my remarks today from home and am reaching out for last minute input from those of you who read this blog.

As we’ve done in past years, we reserve the Tuesday night dinner for a celebration of our girls, our coach of the year and ourselves! Typically there is a lot of joy, gratitude and LAUGHTER (pho sho!)

This year I’m going to be highlighting some fabulous bloopers…both within and “without” our Girls on the Run network. Remember this video?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfVBJJRZ7dw

(Please ignore viewer comments beneath the video.)

I recall my 3rd grade friend Nina who went on and on for several minutes about the dangers of Tabasco…only to learn a few minutes later that what she actually meant was tobacco.

How could we forget Ramona the Pest? That rambunctious little 8 year old Beverly Cleary protagonist who in her first book was distraught for her friend who was told by their teacher “to sit here for the present”…who DID sit there for a quite a long time and he never received the present.

Or my other little friend Claire who shared with me her “Psssst secret” that she was very concerned about her grandma Eva. I asked why and she shared with me that “in the Lord’s Prayer…you know the one you have to learn for confirmation and that we say in church every Sunday, they talk about “deliver us from Eva.” She was concerned over God’s apparent dislike of Eva and HIS urging us to be apart from her.

Or my own daughter Helen (when she was just six years old), shared on our ride from school, after a long and apparently detailed in-class discussion on Martin Luther King and his amazing legacy, that in no uncertain terms and completely out of the blue that she” would probably marry a black man one day” and who in the same week informed me that her two female white mice were lesbians…because one of them was pregnant. (What she hadn’t pieced together was the fact that her mouse was already pregnant when we purchased her.)

What about the infinite number of misinterpretation of the words in a song. INXS had a song entitled “Suicide Blonde.” My best friend Lisa was in the car with me singing to it and replaced “Suicide Blonde” with “Soup and Salad Bar.” And of course, there’s always one of the funniest…“Blinded by the Light” by Manfred Mann. The words somewhere in that song are “wrapped up like a something that I never understood. Need I say more? To this day, I still don’t know what that word really is.

I mean, let’s face it. Even the idea of a blooper provides for remarkably funny entertainment. Who could forget this one?

So..come on now…send ‘em to me (TODAY or this week!!!!). Lay it on me! Shout it at me! Throw it to me! Send along your funniest word, sentence or idea bloopers…either those you have heard yourself or those you have heard about…from your girls, coaches, kids, family members, colleagues and/or acquaintances.

Send them to me at molly@girlsontherun.org. And okay…one final one…here goes…one of my favorites…

"Lefties, Righties and Everything in Between"

2010-01-07T10:35:00.000-08:00

“The way to build a system that works is to build it from very simple systems that work.”

Kevin Kelly

I’m tired!!!

I’ve been engaging myself with people who are, by example, encouraging me to question everything I have ever thought, believed and heralded as truth.

I’m exhausted. I feel as if I am a newborn child, listening, seeing and touching for the first time. Political viewpoints I had cast aside as counterproductive, misleading and in opposition to my philosophical beliefs are now, through these infant eyes of mine, revealing new and fresh sounds, images and touch-points. Religious credos I had previously considered limiting and self-serving are now, unveiling deeper revelations into my own unwillingness to tolerate, accept and love unconditionally.

Neurons are firing, carrying fresh information; burning new paths of awareness that slowly but surely twist the lever to allow more light to enter between the Venetian blinds of my own limited life experiences. I’m stepping outside comfort zones and risking the sanctuary of what I have known to explore, examine and educate myself in areas that have previously been unavailable to me and in many instances intimidated me.

And while I’d like to say that all of this has been revelatory, enlightening and enriching, it hasn’t. It’s been frustrating. I’m in search of the common thread…that golden piece of chain that links us to the other…tribal connections from the generations before us…the common pain, universal knowing, the thing that somehow brings us to the place of one in this mantel we call the human condition. The one belief, core value or shared experience that allows you, me, all of us to connect, to get along.

I’d like to believe that love was the universal shawl under which we all find warmth, peace and sanctuary, but I’m learning that using language to describe love is like trying to describe the taste of watermelon or the color blue. It just isn’t possible. Words carry with them a host of varied impressions, perceptions and reactions based on our life experiences and therefore provide nothing more than a possible connection. How I describe the sensation of love, may not be the same series of word-choices someone else might use. As a matter of fact, what I write may. for some, not represent the feeling of love at all!

And so…I keep looking. I keep seeking, wondering, hoping for the tie that binds us. I know it exists because I can see, hear and touch the result of it…it being woven throughout the experience I’ve come to know as Girls on the Run. There is something intangible…mysterious and invisible that goes on between girl and coach, girl and girl, family and our program. The distance we cover, together; the sharing of one spirit with another. I find myself sitting and feeling the program, rather than being able to describe it.

And so…when I get caught in the push, pull, and hype around lively political or religious debate…and am left feeling frustrated, powerless and frequently angered by the lack of common ground between opposing camps, all I need to do is remember the incredibly simple philosophy which rests at the core of Girls on the Run; True systemic change occurs when people change. If I want our political, religious, governmental and societal systems to focus on finding common ground, then it is up to me to intentionally choose actions, thoughts, and deeds which build bridges rather than burn them, connect people rather than separate them, focus on the good rather than the evil and through it all love, love and then love some more.

My power, your power, OUR power is that great.

Super Fiona Rules as Queen of the World

2009-12-24T04:49:00.000-08:00

Eric's Little Super Heroes: this run's for the girls! | KOMO News - Breaking News, Sports, Traffic and Weather - Seattle, Washington | Eric's Little Heroes

This video came across my email this morning. (To view the video run your cursor over the link above. Sometimes it takes a couple of tries to get the video to run!)

I receive a lot of videos, but never one with quite the same “flava” as this one. Humorous, bubbly, effervescent, light-filled and downright smiley…this video brought a giggle to my soul and a tickle to my heart.

It pulled up something from inside that I’m having a difficult time moving from “feeling” to “word.”

So…here’s where I’m going to just let go. YOU…TELL ME WHAT THIS VIDEO BRINGS UP FOR YOU? Either email me at molly@girlsontherun.org or better yet comment here. Let’s see how much fun we can have with this. Not sure where any of this is leading, but I'll be curious to see what words we all come up with!!!

Oh and of course…I wish for you, a season filled with joy, love and peace!

Politics and Driving To Work: Different Routes with a Common Goal

2009-12-15T09:04:00.000-08:00

“The fish only knows that it lives in the water, after it is already on the river bank. Without our awareness of another world out there, it would never occur to us to change.”

Alright folks. It’s that time of year—time to take stock in where we’ve been, where we are and where we are going.

I am, as most of you know, a devout believer in the notion that we create our future. My mom used to always say, “You’d better be careful what you wish for…because you might just get it.”

Of course, it is a smart and fiscally sound practice, for any organization to take an inventory every one to two years…to see where it’s been, where it is and where it’s going. In the business world this is called a strategic planning retreat. Girls on the Run had its strategic planning retreat with board and staff a few weeks ago. The strategic plan will serve as the map (with coordinates) for our next 1 to 3years.

Lately I feel as if I’ve been on my own personal kind of strategic planning retreat. The world has introduced a number of people that, on first impression, seem to have very oppositional views to those I have held for the last twenty or so years. Their entry into my life carries a mysterious quality with each “hello.” Surely, I must have “invited” these opposing viewpoints into my life for a reason.

But thanks to their persistence and my willingness to enter with an open-mind, I’m discovering that in many instances we are all wishing for the same thing. The desired outcome of our world-view-strategic-plan is the same…it’s the “how to get there’s” that may be different; and even after further discussion and semantically picking apart the words we use to describe the “how to get there’s”--even those often have a similar route. The dots all connect. It’s just the WORDS WE USE that are different.

Digging deeply into how I came to believe what I do in my life, specifically in the political and spiritual realm, has revealed to me that I have, for much of my life, believed in what I’ve been taught by the people around me. I guess that’s pretty obvious. These recent introductions to people outside my typical day-to-day life have revealed to me how much I don’t know…how much I’ve been a victim (for lack of a better word) of my own up-bringing. I’m not in any way suggesting that my up-bringing was lacking. I’ve become the person I am because of it and the life experiences I’ve had since then…but the recent knock-knock-hello-in-there—from people who are far more educated and studied on the topics of spirituality and politics have humbled me, intrigued me and inspired me to learn more, know more and as Brooke, my Girls on the Run (11 year old) friend said to me last week, “Be the boss of my own brain.”

In an effort to become the “Boss of my own Brain” I decided to launch a to-do list…a cerebral kind of checklist that I would engage in the approaching year. Here’s what it looks like:

1. Meditate every morning or at least as many mornings as is possible. I’m going to take at least 20 or more minutes to empty my brain of everything. This is harder than it seems, but I’m going to give it a shot anyway!

2. Research and read five books that give an unbiased overarching portrayal of our nation’s political history and landscape. I want to understand the framework on which the various political parties position their party platforms.

3. Ask a lot of questions of the people in my life. “Explain your viewpoint to me.” “I don’t understand how you came to that conclusion. Please do tell.” Using another one of my Mom’s favorite quotes, I will “Seek first to understand and then be understood.”

4. Take a different route to work every day for the next month. This action will be a physical reminder to me that there are many different ways to any desired goal. I want to experience that on some level, even if it’s just in this small way, everyday.

5. Volunteer (I have limited time I realize) with a population that is unknown to me. I will have absolutely NO preconceived notion for this group of people. I want to base my experience with them solely on the experience. I want to draw conclusions based on what I learn from them…not from established systems, studies and research…but on what I will know…being there. (I’m not sure this is possible, but it’s worth a try.) There have been some opportunities for me to do some alcohol recovery work with women in prison. I think that would be a good place to start.

6. Journal about it all.
In closing, I’m sincerely asking you to help me. Help me figure out other physical, mental and emotional tasks I can add to my to-do list that will push out those notions that I’ve adopted “just because” or “because that’s what I’ve always known, heard, believed” and help me “be the boss of my own brain.”

What do you say? What actions do you take to keep an open-mind? What questions do you ask to fire up untouched and unused neurons in your brain? Come on. Tell me something I don’t know! Awareness awaits!!!

Email me at molly@girlsontherun.org

I Watch the Candle Burn

2009-12-09T05:23:00.000-08:00

“A candle loses nothing, by lighting another candle.”

Anonymous

This morning…the rain falls. Lightning and thunder, an anomaly for this time of year, rage outside of my window. The wind howls.
A candle is lit beside me. I am mesmerized by it…the infinite number of shapes the flame takes within the glass.

Something quite marvelous is afoot.

I’m waking each morning with a delicious kind of anticipation…eyes wide open, wondering, seeking, yearning. I’m opening emails with a new kind of vigor. I’m peering into each moment with an expectation to find something new, revealing and different. I’m questioning, wondering and pondering the message tucked away inside each exchange, glance and thought.

I am reminded of Madeline. I rarely walk laps with the girls, but several seasons ago, my assistant coach took the helm and I walked several laps with a group of girls. At some point during the hour, Madeline and I ended up alone.
We walked together—my friend, Madeline, and me. Our hands clasped and our stride in sync. After a minute or two, I asked… “Madeline, how is it that you and I ended up together? What happened so that you and I have been given the chance to know each other? How does all of that work? What is that all about really?"

Madeline thought for several seconds—small puffs of air exiting her mouth with each step.

And then she spoke—with the assurance of someone who has absolutely NO doubt about the words to follow. “Well it’s like this,” she said. “God has an idea. But He has a problem because he somehow needs to get that idea down to earth. So what He does is...He wraps a body around the idea, and then sends it here to be born. If the idea is a really big one, He wraps two or three or lots of bodies around the idea, so that the really big idea can get here.

And that is, of course Molly, how we get our gifts and our talents. They are God’s tools to help us get the really big idea out of our bodies and onto earth before our bodies die.”

I took her hand, slowed our walk to a stroll and knew that this would be a moment I would never forget. That if there was a Divine—a Higher Power—God or something greater than all of us out there, or in there—He, She, It—was right there in the words of that small girl-child.

I consider the words of Madeline now as I sit in this peaceful space.

The candle beside me, burns, flickers and pulls me in. I watch the flame as it breaths in the oxygen around it…changing, morphing, dancing, burning away the wax to reveal new wick. I feel as if I am this candle, burning and breathing in the life around me, tasting each delicious new experience...wondering what each will bring to the sometimes frightening process of melting away what I have known and what is comfortable, to what I will know and that will challenge me. To, in this glorious process, reveal THE idea…the big, beautiful and bold idea around which this body is wrapped. To manifest--in a million pieces of light—my, your, our greatest human potential.

I watch the candle burn and delight in its radiance.

What elements of who you are, have been revealed thanks to the love, tenderness and gentle push from those around you? Who were and are those people who elevate you to your potential?

Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Clowns, Roses and Bright Green Shoes

2009-12-02T14:23:00.000-08:00

"Our thoughts create our reality—where we put our focus is the direction we tend to go.”

Peter McWilliams

Okay folks. I’ve been on the road a lot! So I’ve decided to revisit the concept of a previous posting with a slight twist added at the end. So be sure to read all the way through so you can play “the game.”

Something fun I've done with my kids in the past is the "What do I want to see today?" game.So, here is how it works. Ask yourself the question, "What do you want to see today?" The object of the game is for each person, who chooses to play, to name something they rarely see, that they want to see some time over the course of their day. The challenge, however, is that the "thing seen" must be seen a total of three times. No more, no less.

Several months ago, my daughter Helen set a pretty high bar. "I want to see three pink cars." We had no plans to attend a Mary Kay seminar in the next 24 hours so the apparent likelihood of seeing three pink cars before my daughter's bedtime was slim to none.

Well...I'll be darned if three hours later, two of the three pink cars had been spotted. The remainder of the day, as we went about our errands, we searched high and low for the final pink car...but to no avail...the car did not reveal itself.

About 8:00 just before Helen's bedtime, I realized I had run out of my asthma medication. (I was diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma in my early 20's) so off Helen and I trekked to the pharmacy. The prescription was ready for us when we arrived. As I stood at the check-out counter, Helen squeals with delight. "Mom. Look! The pink car. See! THE pink car!" Helen is pointing to a small pink toy car which is precariously balanced on the magazine rack, apparently forgotten and left there by another family.

We left the car there, but OUR mission was accomplished. Three pink cars had, indeed been seen.

So…I think it’s time we played this game as a group. Consider it like a very cool scavenger hunt…a creative way to entertain yourself over the next couple of days.

I’m going to provide you guys with three sets of three items. Your goal is to find the items over the course of the next three days and then report back to me that you found them. Now, for the game to work, you have to really look…I mean REALLY look for the items. This is actually a ton of fun and proves my point, that what we wish to see, we see. If we look for good, we find it. If we look for compassion, we find it. If we look for love, we find it.

So here goes. Find three of each of the items over the course of the next three days:

Three pairs of bright green shoes
Three Clowns
Three Roses

Let me know, when (note my absolute certainty on your finding these items) you see these items and consider how you might apply this to change the world.

Where do you focus your energy? Are you focusing your sights on people, circumstances, systems and ideals that support your vision for yourself and your girls? How could focusing on gratitude, acts of compassion and people of strength create the change we wish for the girls of the world?

Let me know what you think at molly@girlsontherun.org!

Connecting the Dots

2009-11-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

“You are the reason the sun came up today. Believe it.”

Mike Dooley

There are times when I simply cannot connect the dots.

As a kid I used to love the “connect the dot” games I’d find in the “Highlights” magazine at the doctor’s office. I would try to imagine what the final picture would be, but in most instances the outcome never completely matched what I had initially envisioned. Somewhere though, around three quarters of the way through the numbers, I could feel a delicious kind of anticipation as the image would magically emerge from the connection of all those dots.

I often feel like my life is about connecting the dots. I love to apply meaning to the physical experiences of this life, to conjure up hope, passion or love from what to others, may appear to be nothing more than a random series of events. Sure, a sunset is just a sunset. But if I breathe deeply beneath the glory of her reds, oranges and yellows, I feel joy, peace and surrender. What to some may be the end of the day is for me a time to ponder the greatness of the sky, the smallness of me and the peace that comes from feeling both powerful and humbled beneath the tapestry of approaching night’s sky. You see? Nothing really has meaning until we give it meaning.

I’m at one of those times I simply can’t connect the dots. I intentionally added two days to a work-related trip, two days for me to refuel, refresh and re-me. I love the travel, the speaking and the time with our girls and volunteers, but have learned over the years that Molly-time is critical to my emotional, mental and physical health.

So on one of my recent “re-me” times…I met two people who, without knowing, are permanently tattooed on the neurons of my brain. I can close my eyes and get a strong visual picture of them. I haven’t yet figured out how their stories will be connected. I’ve yet to connect the dots of our shared experience. And so I invite you to come along. My guess is by this essay’s end, I’ll have figured out how Amelia and Vincent are connected.

The story starts with my walking to the Starbucks in Atlantic Beach, Florida. I had just finished my morning presentation and was looking to take in the sun, the ocean air and enjoy a strong cup of the Starbucks Joe.

I ordered my coffee at an outside window, took a seat outside and proceeded to just enjoy the moment, when I see her out of the corner of my eye. A beautiful, vibrant and alive young woman rolls up in her wheelchair. Her strawberry blonde hair accentuates a youthful and open, radiant face to which I am immediately attracted. I wanted to know her story. I wanted to understand her joy. I wanted to understand her peace.

Seconds later, a homeless man begins begging two men for a few dollars. “I just wanna call my mama,” he pleads. “Could I have just a couple of dollars?” The men ignore him.

I stand up and walk to him. “Here,” I said. “Take this.” I hand him a five dollar bill.

He thanks me profusely…for several seconds he showers me with his gratitude. “Miss, I see you have a phone. Could I use it? Can I just use your phone to call my mama? I want her to know that I’m okay.”

I hesitate. I take a few deep breaths. “What’s her number? I’ll type it for you.”

He gives me her number. I type it into my phone. I hand him the phone.

“Mama!” he shouts out gleefully. He proceeds to talk with his mother. I tried my best to give him his privacy and so at this point, the only chair remaining on the Starbucks outside deck is a chair at Amelia’s table. I ask her, “May I sit here?”

She says yes. I sit. The homeless man continues to talk to his mom; tears are streaming down his face. I sit quietly with Amelia. We are both struck by the oddity of this particular moment. The homeless man then proceeds to sit at the last chair available, of course, at the table with me and Amelia.

Amelia and I are silent, as he wraps up his conversation. After saying his final farewells, he hands the phone to me and begs me to tell his “mama” that he is okay; to tell her that her son Vincent is okay.

I talk with her for about a minute. She doesn’t want to talk. She’s heard it so many times before. We hang up.

And there the three of us sit: Amelia, Vincent and me. The silence was painful at first. I wasn’t sure what to do with this opportunity. What do I say? Surely there is something I am to gain by being here. These circumstances are too odd to be random. So I turn to Vincent. “Tell me about you.”

The three of us chatted for fifteen minutes, each sharing our stories. Vincent is an alcoholic. He has seizures when he doesn’t drink. He can’t lie and shared with us that the first thing he planned to do with the five dollars I gave him, was go to the liquor store. He has two children. He is 46. He misses his mother’s love like any son. He misses his children, like any father. He is one of 9 children. His mother is in her 70’s. He hasn’t been able to get his act together and frankly wonders if it is even worth it at this point. “I just want to sleep,” he kept saying. “All I need is a hotel room and some sleep.” Vincent is drunk, homeless, tired and so sad about the path upon which he now walks.

Amelia is 25. She currently works at a rehab center for people who have disabilities or become disabled. Her job is to help secure the needed resources for people with disabilities so they can become thriving, independent community members. She ended up in her chair at age 15, after a botched scoliosis surgery. She was walking one day and the next she wasn’t. She shared with me and Vincent that she could either accept her situation and deal with it, or she could be angry about it. She chose to accept her situation and find joy in her circumstances. Of all the things she does in her work, helping her clients find joy is her first priority and a gift she was given by others that she, in turn, shares with them.

I shared with Vincent and Amelia that I was in recovery for alcoholism. That I had once been lost, confused and unsure too…but on July 7, 1993 I had a moment of clarity when I knew that I needed to get help. Three years later, after getting a lot of my own life in order, I started a program for girls to help them see how powerful, beautiful and wonderful they really are, just as they are..

Vincent walked away. He looked back over his shoulder several times. I walked back to my hotel and Amelia returned a few emails.

As I write to you, I want so desperately to connect the dots…to unequivocally state the reason Amelia, Vincent and I met. But as hard as I try, I can’t find it. There seems to be too much randomness to this experience--the inequity of joy. The ability for some to see through the pain of their story to the joy that rests on the other side and the inability of others. How unfair it seems that Amelia and I, are able to see the challenges in our lives as the root of all upward growth, the cornerstone of our personal evolution.

And Vincent, who still wanders the streets of Atlantic Beach, unknowing and unaware that the first step to beating his addiction is a drastic change in his perception; a willingness to see how powerless he really is, and to not just seek help, but let others help him.

Maybe the connection for this story is the lack of one. The inability to explain why this is, or maybe it’s too early to connect the dots. There are too few of them. The image is not yet ready to be revealed…

BAM. I’ve got it! As I write I realize that I’ve landed on the connection at this moment and right before your very eyes.

Whether I see Vincent again, in this lifetime or not, Amelia and I are two of the dots in the “connect-the dots” experience of Vincent’s life. So, too will be the others, the future “dots”, who when connected to me, Amelia and each other, over time and in the right order, will reveal the image of Vincent I see now and that that will be revealed to him when enough dots show up and are connected. I can with only a few dots see what Vincent could be, will be and is (not just in physical form yet), but it may take many more dots for HIM to see! (Just as it happened for me. Who knows? How will Vincent emerge in a new image I'm creating now for me, with my life?)

We never know the power of our influence. You could be the one final dot in the “connect-the-dot” game of someone’s transformation.

Nothing ever happens by coincidence…at least not in my reality. Your reading this could be a dot in your “connect-the-dots” life’s story. What do you think???!!!!

Madeline's Heaven

2009-11-17T17:07:00.000-08:00

“I am like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a lovely constellation, where we all sparkle in the heavens forever.” Amy Tan

I just returned from a beautiful experience with our Girls on the Run Council in Atlanta. Saturday night, Sue Payne and her crew put on a fabulous event to thank board members and to spread the word about the program. On Sunday morning, 1100 runners, girls in our program, parents, caregivers and running buddies showed up to participate in the Girls on the Run 5k. The Atlanta Youth Soccer Association, New Balance (thank you Matt) and Goody’s Hair Accessories (thank you Jana and Jennifer) were all present to support our efforts!

At the awards presentation I stood on the stage and tried to soak it all in…to be completely and wholly present. The sea of orange Girls on the Run t-shirts, the smiling faces, the sweat and wonder at what had just been accomplished seemed to go on forever. Really…as I’ve shared before I simply can’t fully comprehend how “big” this program has grown.

But I do get some level of understanding when I really focus on how all this makes me feel. I remember when I was a kid, hanging out at the park. I used to love to walk onto one end of a see saw and gently make my way across the wooden plank toward the other end. Slowly I would proceed across the wood…smaller steps as I approached the middle. At some point (and I can actually feel it now as I write to you) I would feel a delicious kind of anticipation, wondering when the plank would move from one end being on the ground to the other end being on the ground. The tipping point was never quite known, but it was always certain to come.

As I wake up each morning and “google” Girls on the Run and cruise through the various news stories and blog entries about our program I feel as if I’m approaching the fulcrum of the see saw…the tipping point for our program is slowly approaching. The word is out. . .the girls, the coaches, the women and men attracted to Girls on the Run are each steadily walking toward the middle of that board with me. It’s easy to lose sight of "the girl" in all of that. The girl in me, in you, in each other...

I remember vividly, in the late fall of that first season in 1996, I was wrapping up with my Girls on the Run girls at Charlotte Country Day School.

The weather all day was unsure--in a constant state of changing its mind--would it be rainy, cloudy, cold, warm, thundering, or sunny? Our attempt to do the final lesson was in question right up until the 3:30 hour when I met the girls. We stood in our circle of friendship together and all said one word about our Girls on the Run experience. I've heard them all by now..."Awesome, Real, Cool, Fun, Running, Love."

As we walked to the track, I felt as if I was peering through an emotional kaleidoscope…one turn to the right and I felt joy. A small turn to the left and I felt sorrow. This was, after all, our last day together.

The girls began to run. The clouds were building, a thunderstorm was rumbling hundreds of miles away. Rolling, building, powerful. Madeline was the smallest girl in Girls on the Run. At some point during the workout portion of the lesson, Madeline came to me, her tiny hands cupped around the corners of her mouth. She whispered, "Molly, come here. I have something I have to show you. I must show you. Please."

I was busy handing out game pieces and cheering for each girl as she ran by me. "Sorry Madeline, but I really need to stand here and cheer on each girl."

"But Molly you have to see this." She continued to cup her mouth with hands on either side and whispered, "I think I see Heaven."

Well, that’s certainly interesting, I thought. If Madeline sees heaven surely I must see it too. So we each grabbed the hand of the other and ran as fast as we could to the far end of the track. "Look!" she said. "Look. I see Heaven." I turned to my right and was struck speechless by what appeared before me. Dark black clouds surrounded a brilliant white light…. like the blade of a silver knife this light pierced the sky and sent beams of itself down on the earth miles and miles away. "See," she said, completely convinced. "Heaven!"

I was reminded of the heaven I saw sixteen and a half years ago, on that run of July 7th, 1993. When only the day before I had considered my end—to run the following afternoon amidst the power of an approaching thunderstorm. To, at mile five of that six mile run, see, feel and know the brilliance of my own potential followed by the desire to seek moments of similar power as often as I could from there on out.

"Madeline," I said. "Yes. Heaven, surely." But I didn't need to look to the sky. I didn't need to look to some distant space in time. I only had to look at the two small, but brilliant rays of light--there in Madeline's eyes to know that indeed, heaven is right there, resting inside her little girl soul...that little girl body.

Heaven rests in me and you and the brilliance of our own lives. I am convinced, as convinced as Madeline was that she was witnessing a glimpse of heaven on a stormy day, that Girls on the Run is creating our own heaven, a place of safety where girls can feel a peace of such depth, simply being themselves.

What moments of peace have you experienced as you make your way toward living your greatest human potential?

Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

.

The Quest for Certainty

2009-11-10T07:19:00.000-08:00

“The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.” Erich Fromm

I’m at a space of in-between--the unsettling space between what I know and what I can't yet articulate.

I remember once when I was in my early 20’s; I was in a space I’ve come to call “the space of not-knowing.” At the time I couldn’t articulate it as anything other than an anxiety producing state of mind. My sister Emily and I were talking about the unsettled-ness of that space and the anxiety it provoked and she likened it to being between two trapezes. One hand releases one of the ropes and the other is reaching for the one that is sure to come, but depending on where we are in the release and then catch…there is some time in that process where we are suspended mid-air…hurling through space…unsure, uncertain and praying for the other rope to hurry up and appear.

When I was younger, particularly in my 20’s this place created such discomfort, that I usually did one of two things:

1.) I numbed out by trying very hard to be anywhere but where I was. I might drink, run, work, sleep, eat or party. I would DO something to disengage from the uncertainty, not in a healthful or stress management kind of way…but in a denial or not-present kind of way.

2.) When number 1 didn’t work I would often turn to number 2 which was to make up stories to explain the anxiety. Instead of just being present with it and owning the fact that “I don’t know where I’m going, what’s happening or why I’m feeling this way” I would make up stuff…the stuff was usually focused on something outside myself, such as a person or situation.

Here is a perfect example. Several years ago I was feeling a lot of uncertainty around what my role at Girls on the Run should be. In the early days of our development I wore a lot of different hats. I was fundraiser, spokesperson, curriculum developer, coach, trainer and manager. As the program grew, it became critical to the sustainability of the organization to delegate, empower others and enrich the program with additional people who could utilize their gifts and talents to fill in the gaps which were clearly absent from MY skill set.

But, as necessary as it was to delegate these tasks, when they were removed from my to-do list, I was left with a void. This state of “empty, unknowing and uncertainty” skyrocketed my anxiety levels to an all-time high! I was restless, irritable and discontent. To alleviate some of that anxiety and the unsettled-ness of the empty space within, I immediately began to fill it in with all kinds of activity. I started training for a marathon. I started creating new initiatives and thinking up ways to engage myself with other organizations. My wheels were spinning out of control and my thoughts were as well.

I also started making up stories. There were lots of stories that involved other people, both in and out of the organization, but the underlying theme of these stories was rooted in the Girl Box messages I had received over the course of my lifetime and had come to claim as my own: “Molly, you are inadequate, incapable and not good enough” which when translated into work words showed up as “Molly, you are inadequate, incapable and not intelligent enough to serve in a leadership capacity with this organization.”

On November 6th, 2007, I was hit by a car. For six weeks I couldn’t walk and for six months I couldn’t run. As I look back over the course of those six weeks to six months I feel my body take a huge sigh of relief. As scary and as painful as that time was, I was forced to hurl through space…releasing the handle on one rope and pray, meditate and believe that the other handle would miraculously appear.

I journaled, meditated, and spoke with friends. I tended to the simple things in life like paying bills, helping my kids with their homework, curling up with my dogs and writing thank you cards. I floated in the in-between and made a very intentional and conscious decision to have faith…that somehow, somewhere if I just waited long enough and with patience, the clarity and the knowing would arrive and so would the rope. The stories to emerge would be ones filled with strength, character and power.

Two years later I can say with a certainty I couldn’t have dreamed of then that the rope did appear and it said, “Celebrate YOUR gifts and talents and allow others to do the same.” This shift in perception has catapulted Girls on the Run to a new level of not only growth and sustainability but a new level of deeper awareness…a deeper awareness that is showing up in all kinds of ways such as how we structure ourselves from a business perspective; and the creation of brand new, deeper and more relevant Girls on the Run and Girls on Track curricula.

So now…while I sit here…in a space of unknowing and as I write to you, I feel a huge sigh of relief and an almost visceral giggle begin to erupt from my being. What lies ahead for me? What rope will I catch? What will it tell me? How will it show up and from whom?

What have been your unhealthy mechanisms for dealing with the anxiety of “not-knowing” and how have those mechanisms changed over the years? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Just Picture That!

2009-11-03T17:30:00.000-08:00

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” Mahatma Gandhi

I remember back in November of 1995. My son was six weeks old. My mom and I took a few days to go to the North Carolina coast. We loaded up her car with diapers, plenty of food and our need for some quality mother-daughter time.

The solitude offered by winter’s beach is just so palpable. The quiet of it... beaches raw and exposed; the wind is wild with its restless howling, flying uninterrupted in the cold space above the waves and around the dunes. Sunlight’s edges, unhindered by summer’s humidity, are crisp, cold and sharp. Rays of sun cut through winter clouds, piercing the landscape of some far-away horizon.

One afternoon I was on the porch, rocking Hank as he lay nestled in the crook of my lap. The dramatic play of ocean’s waves, wind and sea gulls were performing only yards from our front-row seat. I was reading a book that at the time was very popular. “Reviving Ophelia” was the first of many-to-come books which addressed the deep and profound impact gender-roles and stereotyping had on tweens and pre-teen girls.

About 75 pages into the book, I could read NO MORE. Majorie Pipher’s words were pulling up memories from my own past—painfully revealing wounds not yet healed, only bandaged with alcohol, relationships, people-pleasing and a host of other quick-fix solutions.

The rising warmth of winter sun was tenderly falling down upon the two of us…me and my boy. I watched him sleep and marveled at the occasional flutter of eyelid or twitch of baby-finger or foot.

Tears slowly emerged from the corners of my eyes.

Surely, there is more to life—my life—than covering up, bandaging and running from the wounds of my past. Hank, my baby-- like spring’s first sprout, sprig and blossom, rested so peacefully in my arms. He was my son, my future, the hope of all that is good, beautiful and possible in me, in him, in all of us, in the world.

I closed my eyes, leaned back to fall gently into the lap of that rocking chair, to take it all in, the peace, the wonder, the gratitude, the joy and desire for something greater not just for Hank, but for the girl in me and the girl in all of us.

When I was struck by it—the first clear vision of IT. I was running through the streets of an unknown city. I rounded a corner, when there she was—Molly—me, at age 8. I motioned to her to join me, and she did. We ran together for several steps when another girl, I didn’t know, joined us, and then another. Slowly, but surely they emerged and began to run with me, hundreds eventually. Women were now in that mix, a huge pack of us, running through the streets, when we came to a large set of steps, a hundred or more of them lay before us. We paused and then one by one and step by step we climbed to land at last at the top. All of us there--a sea of women and girls; we lifted our arms, hands held, and rejoiced together.

As simplistic as this sounds, I hold onto this vision with faith and strength anytime I’m feeling challenged by the operational side of what has become Girls on the Run International. I hold tightly to this vision when I’m not sure what path to take, both at the personal and professional level. I feel the presence of it now as I write to you and the power of my own potential, the challenge of life’s climb and the strength I gain in its ascent.

Since that amazing November afternoon, there have been only a handful of visions as clear as this, but they have all been glimpses of my potential, the potential of my children and of this organization. As large as our numbers are these days, I can’t get a real sense of our impact. My finite brain is just that…finite. But I can revisit that vision, those steps, those hands held high, the sea of faces, smiling, empowered and rejoicing.

What vision have you seen with such clarity that it defines the path your life now takes? How has your vision been challenged and how do you stay on course?

I’d really like to know. Comment here or email me at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Hey...This Will Only Take a Minute!

2009-10-16T07:02:00.000-07:00

Alright Girls on the Run fans. I was in Cincinnati the last couple of days and had a fabulous time meeting with some of our "networkers" and contributors there as well as the fabulous folks at Proctor and Gamble with the "Secret Deodorant" Brand. (Secret is one of our Girls on the Run corporate sponsors!)

I got home last night after numerous delays...around midnight! Being a bit wired after some roller coaster flight turbulence, I tried to wind down by reading through a few emails.

That's where "Kate" comes in. Kate had just finished reading my book, "Girls Lit From Within: A Guide to Living Life Outside the Girl Box."

One chapter in that book (it's for girls ages 8 and up!) encourages the girls to make a gratitude list.

Well, Kate really wanted to share her list with me and so I'd like to share it with you! (These are her words...)

My Wonderful Family;
My Friends in the Different Cities Where I Have Lived;
My Education;
Girls on the Run;
My Sports Ability;
Cousins;
Grandmother;
My House;
My Books;
My Thoughtful Brain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So...Kate got me thinking. When I started Girls on the Run, thirteen very brave girls showed up! And now...NOW, we are in more than 150 cities across North America with over 60,000 girls currently participating! Those of you, who know me personally, know how important it is (and how invigorating it is) for me to spend time with our girls. As the founder of this organization, I must keep my finger on the pulse of the girls we serve...plus there is, at least in my opinion, no better way to stay REAL, GENUINE and AUTHENTIC, than by hanging out with kids. They teach us so much about being ourselves!

However, due to the extensive amount of travel this wonderful growing program now requires of me, I don't get the one-on-one experience with our girls as much as I'd like.

Therefore, thanks to Kate, I'm launching another blog specifically designed for girls...girls both in and out of Girls on the Run. The topics will be relevant to their lives and each post will explore a variety of "tactics," girls can use to stay "out of the Girl Box."

So...if you feel like check it out...at www.mollybarkerontherun.blogspot.com. And please, if you know any girls (whether they are in or out of Girls on the Run), let them know I'd like to "meet" them...over there on the fun, wacky and girl-side!!!

Thanks to all of you for your belief in this program and choosing to live the authentic, genuine and real lifestyle we encourage!

What Does Make-up, Make Up?

2009-10-10T03:56:00.000-07:00

I think it's always important to be honest. So, true to my word, I should tell you at the outset, there will be nothing of particular significance shared in this post. Basically I'm just trying to kill some time until the sun comes up so I can head out on a long, glorious Saturday morning run!

Yesterday afternoon, my daughter and I went to the mall, for no reason other than to just hold hands (can you believe my 11 year-old STILL holds hands with me?) and look at “stuff." (Yeah, like Buffy, that’s so awesome…oh my GAWD.) After the obligatory stop at Abercrombie (I can still smell the store this morning) and Delia's we stopped by a make-up and skincare store.

I am 49 (not even close to old) but am starting to show some signs of aging on my face. (Like this is a bad thing?) Years of training in the outdoors will do that to a woman's skin. I’m not concerned about it one bit…but thought, for the fun of it and because Helen and I were enjoying each others company, I would ask this wonderful teenager,who worked, in the store for her assistance. (Alright she probably wasn't a teenager, but I felt like I was old as I asked for her help. Funny, I didn't feel old before I entered the store. What's that about?)

So anyway, this very young and very confident make-up/skincare consultant is going to consult with me and teach me how to apply certain products on my face. I sit on a stool. Helen is on my left, said skincare/make up consultant is slightly to my right. "These products will eliminate some of those obvious signs of aging and sun damage.” (May I interject a quick comment here. I think my teenage friend was trying to make me feel good, but this statement somehow didn't help.) She applies something first…that has a very important medical name. I am afraid of it, but she applies it anyway. She applies the product in what I would call "military fashion." My head is pushed back several inches with each application. My daughter Helen thinks this is hilarious and begins what eventually turns into a running commentary of the entire event. "Mom...gosh...PLEASE stop making those faces!"

Layer number one, completed, my personal make-up/skincare consultant now applies something else with a brush. We have several "something elses" to go. By the end of this consult, I feel as if I have several inches of “something else” other than me, on my face.

Furthermore, she applied the something else’s so close to my eyes they are now hot red and beginning to tear up.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” I said stoically, trying to be sure that the make-up warrior in me didn’t reveal the fact that my eyes felt like they were going to permanently rebel against the mysterious-named-store toxic poison and close forever.

Meanwhile, Helen, my eleven year old is telling me in my left ear (loudly by the way) in a kind of sing-song voice and in no uncertain terms, "Doesn't look any different." My make-up consultant continues to apply another layer of something else and Helen is persistently telling me throughout the latter stages of my makeover, "Doesn't look any different, Mom. Doesn't look ANY different."

When the consultant is done, I feel as if my face will crack if I smile, wink or speak. I am blinded at this point by that darn third layer and weave my way dangerously toward the check-out counter. I opted not to purchase the "something elses package" and ended up purchasing some fruity lip gloss for Helen and blush for me.

On to the food court.

I washed my face three times last night before bed…and still this morning woke up to eyes that are beet red.

I think I’ll just love my face the way it is and save the money for my children's college tuition.

What Role Does Food Play in Your Life?

2009-10-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

My Sexy Insides

I run and eat my veggies
to my body I must be kind
but just as important
is how I feed my mind

Unclenched and wide open
my mind and heart must be
this is the only way which
allows for me to see

How beautiful the world is
and all that it does hold
whatever my thoughts create
is what I'll see unfold

Feel free to call me pretty
but look deeper to find what hides
what I am truly proud of -
that is my very sexy insides

Amy Penwell

Alright. This post will be short and sweet. Like my daughter or the birthday cake I ate last Friday at her birthday party. Short…sweet.

Let’s just go there. Come on. We haven’t visited a hot topic in a while.

So, here it is.

Food.

Yep, that’s right.

Food.

We all have a relationship with it…kind of like a family member. We bring her in, sit her down and spend a lot of time with her. Sometimes she is entertaining, at other times she is comforting and then there are other times when she is all business, satisfying our hunger and strengthening our bodies.

Our relationship with her is often rooted in the messages we got as young girls from our “girl boxes.” As a matter of fact, in one study, the number one fear for 81 percent of 10 year old girls was "getting fat."

That’s right. It’s not nuclear war, death or global warming. It’s getting fat.

My first peek into an awareness of how food can be so deeply entrenched in our psyche occurred when I was 26. I was training for my first triathlon. I became increasingly concerned with what food I put into my body. The caloric count, number of carbohydrates, fat grams and protein amounts I ingested were an important part of my training regimen. To be honest with you, I wasn’t a whole lot of fun to be around.

I was eating out with friends at a Mexican restaurant and per my usual and much disciplined self, ordered the salad. “Would you like that in a bowl or a tortilla shell?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dang. You mean I have to decide. Why don’t you decide for me?”

“Tortilla, of course!” the waitress responded.

I devoured that salad. I was hungry. Training for an endurance event like the Ironman requires a lot of fuel and RE-fuel after an intense series of run, bike and swim workouts.

And there I was, at meal’s end, up against the ropes…it was me versus the tortilla bowl. Our boxing gloves were on and the fight was fueling up. Who would win? I backed into the corner of my mind and tried to pretend it wasn’t there. But it just kept taking those visual jabs at me.

A left first, next a hard right and then I caved. I broke off a small piece. I ate it. It was good. So I broke off another piece. I ate that one too and I’ll be darned. It was good too! I ate that entire bowl, in teen tiny bits and pieces.

By the time I was done, there was nothing left but the oily wax paper on the plate beneath. My plate was empty, my stomach was full, and the shame was initially unbearable. Her voice was whiny, shallow and judgmental. “Molly, you were doing so well…at least until you got to that bowl. How could you? Is this in line with your training program? Is it? Molly, I’m asking you? Is it? IS IT?

And in that moment…a little light bulb went off. I realized, as simple as this sounds, that the Molly who walked into the restaurant is no different as the Molly who just finished that darn bowl. I am strong, athletic, articulate and funny. I am kind, caring and compassionate. Whether the tortilla bowl is in or out of my belly has absolutely NO effect on who I am. The food I put into my mouth doesn’t define who I am. I do!

I'll admit I'm a little embarrassed to be sharing this moment with you. I'll also admit that I'm 49 now and had plenty of time to develop a "functional" relationship with food, but it can all still be very, very complicated. Most of the time it's healthy, but sometimes when I'm stressed, tired, or anxious I may reach for those boxing gloves again and go a few rounds with myself. And if I'm really honest about it, to suggest that it can sometimes have a kind of power over me…well…makes me feel shallow, hollow and a little silly for admitting it. Talking about it is a bit like being caught right out of the shower. Somehow owning up to how we view food reveals something about our vulnerabilities, bared there for all to see.

Believe me; I’ve had my share of issues. (Who hasn't?) As many of you know, my numero uno challenge was alcohol…but food, exercise, relationships…they’ve all sat down for dinner with me on occasion, to test, challenge and, at times, shake me into confronting my own feelings of self-worth and where my real power comes from.

These days, Tortilla bowls, Reese’s peanut butter cups and my daughter’s birthday cake all have a place in the Molly Barker “food for life” pyramid. So too does moderate exercise, veggies,daily hugs, plenty of water, fresh fruit, my best try at 8 hours of sleep and love. Yep, that’s right love is on that pyramid, right there at the top!

It’s all connected to my living a healthy, honest, forgiving and full life.

What role does food play in your life and how has it changed over the years? Let me know right here or email me at molly@girlsontherun.org. If you don’t want to share, that's cool. Try journaling about it or take a minute and consider where and how food plays a role in your life.

And to see the fact cited here and other ones as it relates to our behaviors around food, check out this website:

http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/uploads/file/in-the-news/NEDA-In-the-News-Fact-Sheet%282%29.pdf

My Mother's Touch

2009-10-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

Every fall I feel my mother's presence. September marks the anniversary of her birth. She died in April of 2002, alone in the steam room at our local Y. She took to the steam room, as she did regularly, after her daily run, to relax a bit before heading to dinner with my daughter and son. She was found by a friend of mine, only minutes after her heart stopped beating.

I really miss her touch, even now. Her tender touch...the touch of her fingertips, the stroke of her hand across my face as she would gently push aside strands of stray hair from my eyes...her strong embrace and the reassurance that only a mother can give. "It's all gonna be okay, Molly. Trust me, girl. You'll be okay."

Only a few months after her death in the fall of 2002, I remember so vividly, even now, showing up to coach a group of girls in Girls on the Run. Thirteen bright and enthusiastic girls anxiously awaited their first day in our program. I walked up to them, all of us so full-up with anticipation. Seven years prior, I had started Girls on the Run. I remember walking up to the original thirteen little girls at this same location--nervous and unsure of myself but fully convinced that something powerful was about to occur. Many of the thirteen on THIS day in 2002 were younger sisters of that inaugural class. One of those was an innocent and wide-eyed Sarah. "I recognize you," I said. "I know your sister, Katy."

"How did you know she was my sister?" she asked.

"You look just like her, only you are you." Sarah smiled at me and skipped ahead to join the girls ahead of her.

Sarah was a lot like her sister, Katy. She appeared unfocused--somewhat disconnected from herself, with a strange, detached smile tucked neatly and quizzically between the corners of her mouth. Her big sister Katy, had been like that. Katy used to walk next to me--as close as she possibly could without actually getting in the way--always helpful and always with that smile--awkward, mournful and beautiful all at the same time.

It was the fall of 1996. I was coaching my first season of Girls on the Run. Katy's mother called me. "I'm going to the hospital for a few days. I just can't shake this depression that's eating me up inside. I wanted you to know because Katy feels a real connect with you. And while I'm completely useless as her mother right now, I need others who can stand in to support her."

"Of course I'll support her," I replied. "But is there anything I can do for YOU?"

I was humbled by this woman's willing vulnerability. "No," she cried. "There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do."

Hearing the desperation in her voice, the crying out...I wanted to hold this woman--this mother--stroke her hair, embrace her, lift the mother-guilt from her shoulders, and tell her that everything would be all right. "There is nothing you can do," she told me. "Nothing."

Katy continued to come to Girls on the Run--brought there by her grandmother, babysitters, and occasionally her father. Her mother was in the hospital for weeks.

Several years later, in March of 2002, I was at our Y. Seated on a couch in the ladies locker room Katy and Sarah's mom was there. "I'm working again now," she said. "I'm trying to quit smoking but having a tough go of it." She smiled that detached smile, as if she knew this was the point in the conversation when she was supposed to feel something. "I'm divorced and getting on with my life," she said. I sat down next to her, placed my hand on her shoulder, and told her how strong she was and how good it was to see her taking care of herself. Her eyes looked deeply into mine, as if begging me to make it so, to make her strong. "Tell Katy hey, would ya?" I asked her. "What grade is she in now, anyway?"

"She's in 9th grade now," she replied. "She misses you. This fall you'll meet my youngest, Sarah. She has been wanting to do Girls on the Run since her big sister did it." She smiled.

I went for my daily run, did my grocery shopping and went to work. I picked up my kids, squeezed them tight, kissed them on their cheeks and cooked dinner. Another ordinary day in March.

And now here was her youngest,Sarah, lined up side by side with her teammates. One of the Getting to Know Each Other exercises we play on our first day together is a game called the "I like Relay." The coach shouts, "If you like chocolate chip cookies, take off" and all those little girls who love chocolate-chip cookies fly around the assistant coach who is standing thirty years down the field or track. "If you think school is fun, take off." All but two ran. "If your parents are divorced, run on." Three girls took off.

Sarah was one of those. When she returned to her spot, she said. "My parents were divorced before my mom died."

I looked at this beautiful little girl. "Your mom died. I'm so sorry, Sarah." I asked the assistant coach to continue the game while I walked over to her. "Come with me a minute," The two of us walked a lap together. She talked animatedly about how school was going, what her big sister Katy was up to and what it was like now that her Mom was gone. When we finished that lap, I took her hands in mine and looked deeply into her eyes.For that moment the rest of the world ceased to exist and in this moment it was me and Sarah and the bond being formed between us.

"This past March, she suffocated, in her bed." Sarah could hold back the tears no longer and we sat there together, cross legged on the track, both of us with tears rolling down our cheeks, holding hands and being...together.

Eventually the silence came.

I flashed back to my March conversation with Sarah's mom, there on the couch at the Y, and wondered about the true circumstances of her death. I fondly caressed the memory of my own mother, often seated there on that same couch, after a long run, resting a moment or two before she slipped into the steam room. I held one of Sarah's hands in my one hand, brushed aside the strands of hair from her eyes, with my other, and told her "Honey, everything is going to be okay. Trust me girl. You're gonna be alright."

We sat quietly for several more minutes and then she said, "I guess I better get back to the group now."

And I said, "Yes, I guess you better." We walked back the last hundred yards, holding hands and missing our moms.

I miss my mother so much, her embrace, our early morning runs and her words of soft assurance, but oh how fortunate am I, to have the privilege to feel her love, embrace and comfort every time I spend time with the girls in our program.

It's all in the circle...the coming, the going and the rounding out. The soft, the tender, this moment and my mother's love. "Molly, it's all gonna be alright. Trust me girl. You're gonna be okay."

2009-09-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

C.S. Lewis

Lately, I’ve been overwhelmed by my circle of friends. If you are reading this, I would consider you in that circle.

I feel as if Girls on the Run is at a tipping point…the word of us is far and wide these days. On airplanes, in the grocery store, in a restaurant, I catch site of our logo and my breath is simply, taken away. Several months ago I was driving to Jacksonville, Florida. Somewhere along I-95 a car with Georgia tags drove by me with a Girls on the Run bumper sticker on the back.

Of course, I sped up to see who was at the wheel. Do I know her? Where is she from? What’s her story…like I’d somehow be able to figure that out going 70 miles per hour down the highway…the wonder of it all.

It is quite surreal for me to see that logo crop up all over the place. There is this immediate connection I feel to whoever has proudly emblazoned that across his/her chest. While we don’t personally know each other, we know each other. We’ve experienced the same words, the same philosophy, touched the same authentic and real space we’ve come to know as the Girls on the Run experience.

This connection falls not only within our ranks, but outside of them as well. Enter stage left, Bev Lassiter. Bev is a Charlottean. She and I have walked around in similar spots for years, but never officially met. Two years ago she called the office.

“I’ve got an idea,” she was almost whispering. “I can’t share it with everyone just yet, but I’d like to sit down with you and see what you think.”

Of course, I was intrigued.

A couple of weeks later, Bev walks in for a visit at our office.

Bev is one of those “sistas” who can sport the pink, lily print and the matching hand bag, like my diva daughter Helen. Bev is petite, put-together and definitely (please note bold AND italics on that definitely!) a sparkplug.

“I’m President-Elect of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs of NC and every President gets to pick her ‘Special Project.’ I want Girls on the Run to be mine.”
Not sure yet, what this meant exactly, I was intrigued.

“This means that over 6000 of our club members from across the state will be raising money for your North Carolina Girls on the Run councils. We hope to raise over $50,000 for you to distribute to those councils.”

After a moment (or many) of catching my breath and figuring out what to do with what this almost-stranger had shared with me, I started to cry.

“Bev, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Well,” she said, “Let’s start by figuring out how we make it all happen.”

Here’s how their efforts surprised me at their annual GFWNC conference in Wrightsville Beach, NC:

(Nice expression mm? That’s Ellen Patterson on the left, me with the funny face, Bev with the glasses, wearing a wonderful Lilly dress underneath that huge cardboard check and Georgann Sapp, the rockstar responsible for organizing the junior members of the organization around this campaign!)

We are currently rounding out our first year with their efforts. Ellen Patterson, her go-to colleague has organized the campaign with the help of Georgann Sapp. The creation of shoe bags, pearl necklaces and quilts, along with fundraisers (“Women on the Walk” is one example), pennies from pockets and women just asking have raised over $30,000.

Twenty-something’s and eighty-something’s have come together around tables in communities from all across the state to support our girls. Hours of conversation, planning, crocheting, sewing, dreaming, being will bring our program to thousands of girls across North Carolina who might not otherwise have the experience. I gratefully acknowledge all of their hard work, but also wonder what they might be receiving in return. What conversations have transpired, while nimble fingers have needle-pointed pillows, or baked cookies? What laughter has been shared as they’ve told stories of their own youth? What tears have welled up when reminiscing old times, lost loves and the fears and joys of growing older?

The circles of our influence are never fully known. But I know that when I see our logo, I havean emotional response that is deep, heartfelt and real. I know that the power of this program is felt whether we are delivering it, funding it, cheering for it, participating in it, working for it, writing about it, reading about it or simply observing the logo.

Not only are our girls realizing their greatest potential but so too are all those to whom even just the word of our program reaches.

I received this email today.

Hi Molly,

I just couldn't contain my excitement and had to send a picture of the very FIRST group of Louisiana Girls on the Run!

I'm not sure why I've been reduced to tears all day...but in my gut, I know.

And, I suspect that this picture tells the tale. A vision of these girls has been in my mind since I first clicked on the white state of Louisiana on the GOTR website and realized that there was a chance to change it to a glorious shade of purplish pink. These girls have occupied my mind during all of my runs. And when I listen to what has been my inspiration song for years - 'Unwritten', they are the part of the song that goes..."reaching for something in the distance...so close you can almost taste it - release your inhibitions...feel the rain on your skin"

Last night, my 10 year old bundle of sweetness named Cary cried deep tears that I'm not used to seeing. She confided in me that she had been playing four-square at school with the boys. In her words, she was "queen" and she was winning. And then...it happened...one of those defining moments. She tripped and fell over a boy, Matt. And everyone laughed. And my little girl - who LOVES this game and has always had fun playing with the boys - told me she never wanted to play again. My oldest daughter and I both tried to console her but something was different in her soul.

And the only thing...THE ONLY THING...that gave me hope at that moment and silenced my heart was knowing that next week - she would be part of Girls on the Run.

I begin coaching next week - my daughter and a group of girls - and then another photo of joyful 'girl' perfection will exist. What will lie beneath the photo??? So many beautiful hearts just waiting for your lessons...

So...a heartfelt thank you. I have never in my life felt more connected to a purpose...so excited for a beginning and so sure of an outcome!

Heidi

So to Cary, Heidi, Bev and Ellen, I thank you back. To all of you for putting yourselves out there everyday for our girls and each other, I offer you my gratitude.

Who are you grateful to be working with? Tell me about her or him at molly@girlsontherun.org.

To learn more about the General Federation of Women’s Clubs through North Carolina, please visit their website at www.gfwcnc.org. If you’d like to learn more about their organization at the national level please visit www.gfwc.org.

Talk About a Revolution...

2009-09-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

Matt Harding

Sometime you should ask my daughter Helen to imitate me. It really is one of the funniest things you'll ever see.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, rolls up her sleeves and begins this whole routine..."Come on girls...You can do it! Good job...GOOD JOB...Keep going. That's it, Believe in yourself. Never doubt. If you smile you can run stronger. Celebrate the day. Celebrate your body. Celebrate yourself" And then she starts jumping up and down and running in place, dancing and basically looking like a complete and total maniac.

"Helen, is that really what I look like at Girls on the Run?"

"At Girls on the Run? Mom, you look like that MOST of the time," she will respond. "Only more!"

So, I'll admit it. I'm a complete and total goofball when I get around kids. This goofball spirit that manages to lie dormant at most other times of the day just erupts and completely takes over my being..

"Hey sista. What's up? How ya been? Whas crakalackin?" I'll hold out my hand (for a return high-five slap) to just about any third grade girl, anywhere, anytime. Doesn't matter whether she's actually done Girls on the Run or whether I know her...because I want to know her. I WANT TO PLAY!

Over the years, I've learned that being playful isn't something that just happens...we have to make it happen. There is this voice from inside the "Girl Box" that tells girls that it isn't sophisticated or grown-up to play, act silly or be a goofball. You can see it happen around fifth grade. The willingness to just break out into a disco, anytime--anywhere, simply disappears and girls become inhibited and overly concerned with what other people think. They just lose that fun, silly, playful spirit.

Whose fault is that? Is it theirs? I think NOT! I think it is OURS. Heck, if adults were playful, silly and uninhibited more girls would see it, want it and never lose it!

So I ask you...no, I'm telling you...no, I'm demanding you to try this small experiment with me. Seriously...I'm NOT joking. (Even though I have a huge smile on my face, I'm NOT joking!)

I think we need to incite a "Dance Revolution!"

To prepare yourself for our global revolution, you have to watch this video. Come on now. WATCH IT! Take a look and then come back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY

On THIS MONDAY...September 21st at 4:00 EDT I want you to break out into whatever level of dance you can muster up. If you are a Volume 10, I want to see an all out full body disco or runnin' man. If you are a Volume 1, I want to see, at least an attempted disco or booty shake. For all of you in between, let it rip. In the words of the King of Pop himself, "Show me what you can do."

If you are so inclined, ask the people around you to join you. "Come on. This is fun. Join me." I have absolutely NO doubt that the retiree standing behind the grocery check-out line would love to disco. She's probably not discoed since she was twelve years old and YOU...yes YOU...will be her liberator.

I have no doubt that the guy fixing the broken pipe under your kitchen sink has NEVER danced while on the job. I'm quite sure there is some kind of rule against that, but ask him anyway. "Come on buddy. Put down that wrench and DANCE!"

Okay, so he will think you are completely crazy. He may even talk about it for the rest of the afternoon...heck the rest of his life...but who cares?

If you can...forward this blog to anyone and everyone you know. Maybe if we are lucky it will make it to the floor of Congress, an international tennis tournament or even a celebrity-attended music awards show.

We need to add a little play to this universe. A little goofball. A little FUN!

MARK YOUR CALENDARS FOR Monday, September 21st for 4:00. Go ahead. Do it! And then around 5:00 (or 4:01 depending on how it went) I expect a report, from each and every one of you that rose up to this challenge and for one minute, on September 21st, 2009 at 4:00 EDT, stepped out of whatever boxes that restrain and confine you, to dance...to remind the world that being playful and child-like (rather than childish) is a pretty amazing way to be. (I'll be snapping photos...so be prepared to see those on Monday evening!)

Seriously (or playfully), post your comment here and show your allegiance to the belief that if we all just took one minute (or a few) and danced...danced like no one was looking...there might be a lot less finger-pointing, name-calling, shouting at, hearsay and bullying and a lot more attention to the things that really matter, like laughter,compassion and the power that comes when we dance with each other.

An Open Letter to Miley Cyrus

2009-09-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

“The struggles I'm facing.
The chances I'm taking.
Sometimes might knock me down but
No I'm not breaking.” (Miley Cyrus Song)

September 14, 2009

Dear Miley:

My name is Molly Barker. I am the founder of Girls on the Run International and also the mother to a ten-year old girl. You’ve become such a part of our life; I thought I might make the relationship official. You know—think of you as the person you are rather than the pop star icon, Disney mogul and multi-millionaire the world typically sees. I mean, after all, I hear your voice the moment my daughter awakens. So come on in, pull up a chair and take a seat. I’m a huge fan and oddly enough, trying to get past all that fame “stuff.”

We’ve listened to you for years, but as of late your music has taken front and center in our morning ritual. Your voice, like mist on a crisp fall morning, floats from beneath my daughter’s bedroom door. She sings along. Her slippers like broom bristles drift across her dusty floor. The boy of her dreams holding her, they dance. He is special, this one--you know--the one in math class who sits three rows up and two rows over?

You are just sixteen. I can’t imagine what your life is like, everyone wanting a piece of you. The agents, the paparazzi, the media--navigating the waters between childhood and growing up are hard enough, but to have the entire world watching, the entire world judging, you must be a very brave and self-assured young woman.

I remember being sixteen, wanting to grow up so fast, the anger and frustration of it all. Sometimes it hurt so much I would scream, shout and want to run away. At sixteen, there is so much to feel; the joy of first love, the wished for first kiss and the sorrow of first loss. It was all just so MUCH, at sixteen, somewhere between wanting desperately to be grown-up and wishing for the simplicity of youth.

My daughter dances while you sing. She is poised there on the edge of adolescence and you in the middle of it. She talks about you like you are family, nonchalantly mentions the latest news of your life as if you had told her yourself. You are often the topic in carpool, her girlfriends chatter away. Their descriptions of you are positive, respectful and genuine.

As they talk, I marvel at how you have stayed the course in spite of the crazy world in which you live. How you stand tall amidst the”should and ought to” people telling you how to dress, act and be something and someone you are not. I admire how you have stayed true to yourself, your ideals and your beliefs.

But I also know that these decisions to honor, embrace and celebrate who you are don’t come about without a lot of fear, anger and self-doubt. Not because I know you…but because I was sixteen once.

And so, the mother in me wants to rise up and cry out to you. Please, PLEASE don’t cave in. For the sake of my daughter and the millions more who eat, drink and breathe you, please, PLEASE, stay true to the role model you have become. There are millions and millions of girls watching, listening and observing your every move. Your power is infinite in the influence you have on so many. Stay strong, stay real, stay Miley.

But the girl in me--the woman in me--the founder of Girls on the Run knows that you will have to realize your power in your own time and in your own language and that part of growing up to become a strong, healthy woman means learning from your mistakes, missteps and miscalculations. Often times this means taking risks, stepping out and testing the waters! I remember being sixteen and how difficult it was, in my simple, un-famous life, trying to be strong, stand up and remain alive, real and myself while exploring the unchartered waters of boys, adulthood and my future.

Just know that in those darkest moments, those most vulnerable moments, those moments when it’s hard to breathe and the next right step is difficult to see, I encourage you, as I encourage my own daughter and all the girls in Girls on the Run, to explore, evolve and question your way to adulthood; to go your way, in your own time and at your own pace and know that the strength you will find, will be your own.

Keep pushin’ on.

Molly B.

What element of YOU, did you hide as a child/teenager that has re-revealed itself in your adulthood. Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Girls on the Run Solemates

2009-09-07T18:07:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a runner all of my life.

I started running with my Mom when I was thirteen and discovered the sanctuary it provides. My mom started running in her early 50’s…a means of running toward the new woman she had discovered mid-life.

We would set out in the early morning hours, before sunrise. I vividly remember how the sound of our footsteps created the rhythm of our morning. We were in sync, she and I, mother and daughter. No words were exchanged but we spoke in the silent space between us with our footsteps, breathing and effort. Time was suspended and for the two of us there were no expectations. We just….were.

At age 15, I ran my first 3 miles. I was the basketball team manager and during practice one rainy, dreary winter day, I set out focused and determined. I covered three miles on the dirt track at Charlotte Country Day School.

I vividly remember walking back into the gym as practice finished up. The boys noticed me…striped with dirt up the backside of my body, rivulets of water streaming from hair ends, strands of it carelessly tossed about my neck and shoulders. Dirt and grime were trapped on eyebrows, between teeth and behind my ears.

Not a single boy said a word…but their coach did.

“How far’d ya go, Molly?”

“Three miles,” I replied. He shook his head with positive disbelief.

“Amazing,” he sighed.

I felt the most beautiful I had ever felt in my whole life.

Somewhere between 13 and 30, I stopped feeling beautiful. I’m not sure why…I just did. Maybe it was a lifetime of airbrushed images on magazine covers or something I was born with…but whatever IT was I had lost it.

In 1996, I started Girls on the Run, my effort to create a safe space for girls to never lose the “it” in their lives and for women to get “it” back. Whether it is through running, friendships or community service, thousands of girls and women are now able to reclaim the authentic side of beautiful that flows after a really good run, a conversation with a good friend or through helping others.

Girls on the Run is impacting thousands and thousands of girls. Recently I received the following essay from one of our amazing 4th graders, Grace.

The Not-so-Runner Runner

Before I started Girls on the Run, I could hardly run five laps around the school’s field. I had never been a runner like some kids were. I would see kids run around the track and I would say I wish I could do that.

One day when I was at my friend’s house, she started talking about Girls on the Run. I listened eagerly.… but I hesitated to sign up because, well, maybe this just wasn’t the right time. Sometime in the third quarter of the school year, I got a letter saying that there were still more spaces left in Girls on the Run, and that I could sign up. So I did.

It turns out that Girls on the Run was fun. I saw some kids from my grade, and we got to run together, with our coaches encouraging us every step of the way.

On my first day, I ran six laps! Now, for some people that might sound like the easiest thing in the world, but for ME it wasn’t! Soon enough, I was running a mile. (Eight laps around our field is a mile.) My farthest yet has been 12 laps, which is a mile and a half. I’m so proud of myself for being able to run this far. Before Girls on the Run, never, in my wildest dreams, would I have been able to run more than a mile.

I’m kind of upset that I did not sign up earlier. I’m going to keep running and trying to go farther. My goal this year is to be able to run at least half of the Girls on the Run 5k, and walk the other half. Next year I plan to run 4K and walk one.

Girls on the Run has taught me many lessons, but the most important thing it has taught me is to have confidence in myself and to never give up.”

I am firmly convinced that running can absolutely change a person’s life. The act of running is in and of itself nothing remarkable. But what the act of running MEANS to us, is. For some of us it is all about setting goals and achieving them. For other of us, it is building and maintaining authentic friendships. For some, it is the only quiet time in the day when we can focus on ourselves, our breathing and our solitude. Many run for the physical benefits, the natural way our bodies become lean and healthy. Others, to manage the stress of a work week or the challenges of motherhood.

But for Grace, my little fourth grade friend, running means she IS good enough, strong enough, brave enough and confident enough to do anything ELSE which she sets her mind to do. The joy, these days I find in running is my knowing that Girls on the Run is affecting Grace like this and is exactly what I needed to reclaim the beautiful little fourth grader I once was and zap her into my 48 year old body!

When I started Girls on the Run, clearly, my intention was to empower young girls…and yet…I had no idea that one of those young girls was the one I had left behind back in fourth grade when I started trying to morph into what I thought our culture wanted me to be, instead of who I really was!

The women who come into contact with our program walk away with the same type of strength Grace did. And for those folks who are unable to coach at any one of our sites across North America, we've just introduced Girls on the Run SOLEMATES, a Fundraising and FUNraising running program that encourages women and men, to train for and compete in an endurance event through the friendships we develop and a united mission to help girls. (Check out our new Solemates website at www.girlsontherunsolemates.org.)

There is so much you can do to help us change the lives of girls...and in the process do so much to change your own. You will, in the words of my little friend Grace, learn many lessons, but the most important of these would be “to have confidence in myself and to never give up!”

Run on, people.

Her Beating Heart

2009-09-01T02:38:00.000-07:00

“There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart…pursue those.”

Michael Nolan

Thanks to the support and dedication of many people, Girls on the Run now reaches over 50,000 girls, annually, across North America. One of those dedicated people, an attorney who has worked with us over the years, shared a story with me about his now grown-daughter, Amanda. Several years ago when she was just four, the family was seated at the dinner table when the discussion of careers came up. Karl and Pam were sharing with their daughter. “Honey, you can be anything you want to be when you grow up—a mommy, a lawyer like your daddy, an astronaut, a banker, even President of the United States! What do you think you want to be?” Amanda pondered the question. After a few seconds of considering their query, she asked, “Do they still have queens?”

And you know what I would tell her? A resounding, “YES they do!” Maybe not in the traditional sense, but every woman, every girl has within her a queen just poised to emerge.

The key is finding her in there.

Maddie was in third grade. Her hair always stuck up, shiny-blond from too much swimming-pool chlorine and sun. Her little knees were knobby, her small ribs showed through the muscle of her small frame. Maddie was tiny. Even her voice was tiny. Her socks always fell down around her ankles and her shoes were always untied. She wore glasses that were thick like soda pop bottles and she had obvious problems with coordination.

Maddie was in Girls on the Run.

Maddie, born with congenital heart issues as an infant, was a fighter. Every day, she was there at Girls on the Run: sticking-out-hair, falling-down-socks, and the spirit of someone special. But her heart had started misfiring again. She was getting weaker, losing weight, and having problems even walking through the games, so her doctors ordered her to stop and only watch. Tears welled up in her eyes, but no matter what, she was there, to support, encourage and cheer on her friends in Girls on the Run.

Three weeks before the culminating Girls on the Run 5k run/walk in which all of the girls in her hometown were participating, her doctors scheduled another surgery. The doctors opened up the body that housed that strong-girl spirit, held her beating heart in their hands, corrected the weakness there, and ever so gently placed her life back into her body.

And three weeks after her heart had been cut open, exposed and vulnerable, Maddie, with permission from her doctors, ran in that Girls on the Run 5k with hundreds of runners. She crossed that finish line in sixty-three minutes, arm in arm with all fourteen of her Girls on the Run teammates…the teammates she had never abandoned and who now wouldn’t dream of abandoning her.

She was crying.

She had done it.

They were together again.

On that day, Maddie’s spirit soared for all of her friends to see. Thousands of men and women watched that little soldier cross the finish line. The kings and queens hiding inside peered out—permission, if just for a little while to step into the sunshine, along with Maddie and her Girls on the Run friends. Each person there was given a moment to celebrate the potential that rests within --this moment wrapped in hope.

And as I write this early morning and remember Maddie, I take time to celebrate the strength of my own body…find gratitude in its power…I consider the many ways that I can nourish, embrace and care for the gift of this body and the queen who is housed within.

What action will you take today to nourish, care for and honor your strong, powerful and healthy body? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org or comment here.

2009-08-29T16:58:00.000-07:00

Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn. ~Elizabeth Lawrence

Every year my internal clock recognizes the first signs of autumn, long before the temperature changes. Rays of sun penetrate the air at sharper angles, are more yellow, richer and thick. The air itself is no longer opaque from the summer humidity and heat, but is clear…feels fresh and crisp on my skin and in my lungs when I breathe. Leaves, not yet their brilliant yellow, orange and red, whisper secrets of their colors to come, hints of their future. Hanging loosely on tree limbs, they wait for autumn winds to tug and pull them from the comfort of mother tree to gently fall, float and land safely on the ground below.

There is something about this time of year that conjures up a deep well of melancholy for me…not quite sorrow…not quite gratitude, but a feeling that lands somewhere between the two…a yearning of things not yet revealed, but that wait to be. The autumn season brings with it an inherent need for me to reminisce, ponder and visit the places of my life that have been points of transition, change and revelation.

My son’s birthday is in the fall: September 24th to be exact. Fourteen years ago Hank was born. A violent thunderstorm raged outside our hospital room as he and I worked together to transition him from the comfort of my body to the world outside. This week he started high school. These days when I talk with Hank it is generally on his terms. My questions are often responded to with a “I dunno“ or some other hard to understand series of words. His tone of voice hints at frustration and sometimes annoyance that I asked the question in the first place.

So I often wait for him to initiate the conversation. I let him take us to the places he wants to explore…with me serving as guide, sounding board, his friend…his mom. He is taller than me and his voice much deeper than it used to be. With the musculature of his back beginning to unveil the man beneath, I feel small and almost frail in his presence. I can remember the night of his birth holding him in my arms and nursing him to sleep. The thunder in the distance, the lightening on the horizon and the comfort of steady rain outside our window, the two of us there, getting to know each other.

And now, I see his wheels turning, the silence and solitude of a young man searching…exploring…seeking answers from within. At times I long for the ability to return to the days of before…hold in my arms and tell him all is right with the world and know that saying this is enough…know that this is all my boy needs to feel comforted, safe and secure.

But the truth is, my internal clock is signaling that the time is ripe for us to transition from the relationship we have known to something new, different, sometimes scary and often times right. Hank the leaf and me the tree. His full colors are not yet present but are slowly revealing themselves in the decisions he is making and the person he is becoming…his waiting now for the winds of his future to gently tug and pull him from the tree of youth to fall and float to the solid ground of adulthood.

Birth to life…summer to autumn…leaf to ground…boy to man. Another year passes and I am present in the melancholy…resting somewhere between sorrow and gratitude. I love you Hank.

Morning People

2009-08-24T06:54:00.000-07:00

“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world.”

E.B. White

I am SO a morning person. One day last week, while driving my children to an orthodontist appointment I had conveniently (for me anyway) scheduled at 7:45 a.m., my son commented out of the blue, half-dozing, half awake. “I just don’t know why you do that.”

Hank is a rising ninth grader. He starts high school on Tuesday. I hear this particular phrase from him a lot these days. He seems to have a need right now to NOT understand me…a kind of tribal rite of passage…a universal statement that allows him to safely move toward more autonomy and a healthy dose of self-sufficiency and curious questioning.

“I just don’t know why you get up so early. Why do you do that?”

I thought for a minute. By the time I responded, Hank had fallen back asleep, this time with his head against the passenger side window. I responded anyway. “Because, it’s the one time of the day I own.”

My Mom got sober in 1970. I was in fourth grade. Not shortly after, she started running. She would launch out of the house, the screen door slamming behind her, feet to follow on the gravel pathway just outside. One hour later she would come back, perspiring, red-faced and happy. She was literally transforming before my very eyes.

My mom was tall, svelte and quite elegant. She was captain of the basketball team and Homecoming Queen. She went to Smith College and shortly after, met my father. He drove onto campus, one fall day, in a baby blue convertible and the rest was history.

Mary still is the most authentic woman I’ve ever known. In March of 1970, she hit bottom. It took a couple of tries before sobriety “stuck” but once it did, she became a tremendous advocate for women struggling to get sober. She started working at a local Alcohol Treatment facility and sponsored dozens of women in a 12-step program. She wrote poetry, read poetry and even had a number of her poems published. She competed in many local 5k’s, winning her age group. She started running longer distances and competed in a number of 10k’s, 15k’s and even one half-marathon.

In 1974, I joined her on one of her early morning runs. I was 14. She was 52. The sun was not yet up. The screen door screeched “good morning”, our feet hit the gravel and we were soon journeying through our neighborhood. I ran one block with her--about a mile. We didn’t say a word. Our feet rhythmically hit the hard cement in unison, our breath in and out—mantra like--the crisp edge to approaching autumn filling our lungs. I had never experienced anything quite like it…the quiet, the fellowship, the power.

I started running regularly with my Mom. The one-mile block grew into two blocks and then three. Eventually we were running eight, nine and ten miles together, usually first thing in the morning. And no matter how crazy my “other life” got (high school, college, my 20’s) meeting my mom for that early morning run was a welcoming sanctuary, where mother-daughter became woman-woman…where I felt connected, loved and whole in spite of the low feelings of self-worth during the remainder of my day.

There is something quite magical about the early mornings. These days it is simple…a cup of coffee, a lit candle and time to just be with myself, by myself. The sound of night crickets crosses over to early birds, traffic, school buses and my children just waking. I have learned a lot about myself in the early morning hours…time to think, ponder, wonder and be. The weariness of the day hasn’t yet soaked in and my big ideas, hopes and dreams somehow seem to feel more honest, doable and realistic. There is a gleaming optimism that shines with each morning…not yet tarnished by carpools, homework and laundry.

I love the morning, whether I’m running, writing or just being. The solitude, quiet and expectation of the day feeds my idealism, hope and belief in my life's work, my children's futures and the future of all children. I am fueled by the certainty with which I write THIS morning that if I seek the good, then the good will come.

Do you set aside time to dream, think and hope for bigger things not yet obtained? If not, why not? If yes, when? Let me know here or at molly@girlsontherun.org.

What Do You Want to See?

2009-08-04T15:48:00.000-07:00

Alright...I'm on vacation. Based on the last two blogs entries, I need one. Sometimes in my effort to connect the dots, I literally wear myself out.

Something fun I've done with my kids in the past that we are re-visiting on this vacation is the "What do I want to see today?" game.

So, here is how it works. First thing in the morning, gather the clan together and ask the question, "What do you want to see today?" The object of the game is for each person to name something they rarely see, that they want to see some time over the course of their day. The challenge, however, is that the "thing seen" must be seen a total of three times. No more, no less.

Several months ago, my daughter Helen set a pretty high bar. "I want to see three pink cars." We had no plans to attend a Mary Kay seminar in the next 24 hours so the apparent likelihood of seeing three pink cars before my daughter's bedtime was slim to none.

Well...I'll be darned if three hours later, two of the three pink cars had been spotted. The remainder of the day, as we went about our errands, we searched high and low for the final pink car...but to no avail...the car did not reveal itself.

About 8:00 just before Helen's bedtime, I realized I had run out of my asthma medication. (I was diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma in my early 20's) so off Helen and I trekked to the pharmacy. The prescription was ready for us when we arrived. As I stood at the check-out counter, Helen squeals with delight. "Mom. Look! The pink car. See! THE pink car!" Helen is pointing to a small pink toy car which is precariously balanced on the magazine rack, apparently forgotten and left there by another family.

We left the car there, but OUR mission was accomplished. Three pink cars had, indeed been seen.

On another occasion, the goal was to see three red stars. Helen was very specific this time...the stars had to have five points and the red had to be through and through. No outlines of a star were acceptable. The stars had to be solid red.

Just starting out on our errands, Helen shouts out from the backseat of the car, "Look Mom, there's the first one!" On the side of a large tractor trailer, tucked neatly into the company's logo, rested a five-pointed solid red star! I chuckle as I ponder her nonchalant approach to the game these days...as if she just KNOWS that what she is seeking will be seen. (The pink car experience must have solidified her belief in expectation.)

"Very cool, Helen. Very cool."

A couple of hours later, we are leaving one of our errand-stops. The automated doors open and Helen and I step out. A woman shouts, "Molly Barker. Stop! Molly! Do you remember me?"

The woman walked over and reminded me that she had attended a coach's training some time ago. During our conversation, Helen begins nudging me.

"Hold on a minute, Helen. Hold on." I knew she was ready to go home.

The nudging continued.

I leaned down to be eye level with her and asked, "What is it, sweetie? You are not letting up on this one."

With a huge grin on her face, Helen whispered, "Mom. Look at her arms!"

There neatly tucked away on each wrist was a red star tattoo. A solid red, five-pointed star tattoo.

Mission accomplished.

Believe me, we've been very demanding of the universe with our expectations. We've looked for neon green shoes, yellow butterflies, and purple hats. We've looked for "I love you's" which we overhear, two people high-fiving and bald men running. Seriously, when is the last time YOU hoped to see three men, who were bald, out on a run!

But I'll be darned, if every time...yes EVERY TIME we asked, we received.

The power behind the game is obvious. We see what we choose to see. The world is rich with so much wonder. When I get caught in seeing only the negative, a quick reminder to pull me out is to remember the beautiful red stars tucked away on those wrists. When I can't see anything positive in the actions of my 14 year old son, I can flip the coin and recognize his actions as those of an evolving, maturing and independent young man...a process I truly welcome.

I close with this story.

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007.

The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approximately 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

6 minutes later, a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes later, a 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The child stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother was persistent and they continued to walk. He turned his head the entire time.

45 minutes later, the musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

The violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?

So, now it is your turn. What do you choose to see today?

(For a full recap of the Washington Post article on this topic check out this link...

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html)

The Comfort of My Sister's Arms

2009-07-31T14:22:00.000-07:00

“Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister?”
Alice Walker

This week, six of our council directors met with me and Amy Way, a PhD. student at Arizona State University to learn about the new components in our re-write of the Girls on the Run curriculum. The conversation was lively, to say the least. I had several professional and personal revelations over the course of our two days together…one of which is how much the new curriculum in many ways reflects a new me.

Back when I started Girls on the Run, I had not yet found the words to articulate the power of our program. I did, however, coin a phrase which explains the experience that most women share at about the time of puberty. We call it "The Girl Box."

The Girl Box is the imaginary place that girls go around middle school where we begin to morph into what we think we should be instead of who we really are. The specific messages of the Girl Box vary but the overarching theme of these messages are rooted in the belief that girls and women are incapable (based on a number of perceived deficits that have been handed down and are deeply entrenched into our collective psyches) of determining their own destiny and therefore require those who are perceived as capable (usually those in the dominant think-group) to do that for them.

As founder of Girls on the Run, I am fortunate to have had literally hundreds of conversations with women about the Girl Box. One conclusion upon which I’ve landed and only recently been able to articulate is how complex the Girl Box really is. What is considered a Girl Box behavior by one woman is NOT considered a Girl Box behavior by another. For example, I personally would not find empowerment through participating in the pageant process yet many of my "sisters" participate in that process and genuinely feel empowered by it. For me, aging naturally is a sign of authenticity and empowerment; whereas for someone else feeling and being empowered may mean using a variety of anti-aging techniques including plastic surgery. Each of us has a perception of what is considered an “in the Girl Box behavior” and what is considered an “out of the Girl Box behavior” based on the unique set of Girl Box messages handed to us by our circumstances and life stories.

The issue with having so many variations on what the messages of the Girl Box are, makes it very challenging for our gender to collectively come together around any one issue. This variation in perception not only creates a lack of unity between us, but furthers the stereotypes that portray us as “mean girls”, “gossip girls” and as “backstabbing bitches.” We can’t agree on what being a woman has to do with being ourselves, plain and simple. If we can’t agree, we can’t mobilize a movement. We can’t express a unified voice, thus allowing the dominant think-group to remain in control which in some instances/cultures/belief systems put our "sisters" into extremely dangerous circumstances.

There is, however, one thing of which I am absolutely certain and over which there is no dispute among women: spending time with the girls in Girls on the Run is a source of empowerment. Every week I get cards, letters and emails from women sharing how Girls on the Run has touched their lives.

• “I had no idea what a people pleaser I was, until I started coaching Girls on the Run. The lesson on “standing up for myself” took my awareness up a notch and is pushing me to apply what we teach the girls, to my own life. How liberating to know that I can actually choose who I want to spend time with.”

• “It’s really hard to look an 8 year old girl in the eyes and tell her she is beautiful and worthy just the way she is, and not feel that way about myself. The truth is, my girls are teaching me where my power really comes from.”

• “In theory, I knew that reading gossip magazines was not good for a person, but I had no idea how much they were influencing the view I have of myself until we did the lesson on “Tuning into a New Message.” How funny is it that a group of 6th graders taught me that I don’t have to view those magazines, much less purchase them. Thank you SO much!”

Over the years, I’ve met many, many women. Each of us brings to this world our own stories, our own experiences, our own Girl Box. And over the years when I have taken the time to listen, I realize that what I really want is to embrace a deep level of tenderness toward all of my sisters…I yearn to obtain a welcoming understanding that what we all want really, is to feel beautiful, fully accepted and unconditionally loved just as we are and where we are in our own personal evolution.

I want to keep it personal…to open my mind to understand what drives a woman. I want to learn from her the pain and joy that brought her here. I want to provide for every woman, regardless of the barriers, power differential, institutions, belief systems and stereotypes she is battling in her own life, an opportunity to feel worthy, whole and warmed.

I want to share with her the love, power and self-worth I feel every time I see the rare, raw and wonderful in an 8 year old girl’s eyes as she stands there delicately balanced on the starting line of her own life story.

I want to welcome her to the world of Girls on the Run, where she is safely encouraged to explore, evolve and question her way to self-worth, contentment and empowerment in her way…in her own time and at her own pace.

What were the specific messages of your Girl Box and how have those shown up in your behavior? How have they changed as you have grown older? How are the messages of your Girl Box different from other women you’ve known? How have your perceptions of the Girl Box influenced your view of other women and their actions? Let me know at molly@girlsontherun.org.

Shush Girl

2009-07-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

“I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat…”

Rebecca West

Sometimes I need to just lighten up. But this one has really set me off…set me off so much that I’ve got to write about it.

3OH!3, a duo pop band from Colorado is making the Top 40 rounds with a song entitled, Don’t Trust Me. I have to admit that I’m a pop radio listener. If you pulled some songs off my I-Pod you would find everything from the Weather Girls, Jonas Brothers and a few Britney Spears hits.

But this one…this one has gotta go. “Shush girl, shut your lips. Do the Helen Keller, and talk with your hips.”

Where do I start? With the Helen Keller comment or the implications that girls should just shut up and be nothing more than sexual objects, conquests or empty, soul-less shells.

Do I start with my Girls on the Run friend Shelley? When Shelley entered fourth grade, she was embarrassed so badly by the response of her peers to a question she said in Math class, that she stopped talking.

Or do I begin with Sharkira…my fourth grade friend who was beaten and neglected so badly by her parents that she stopped speaking. Speaking where she lived only got her cigarette burns, a slap across the face or “time out” for hours, in a dark closet.

What about my smart friend Britney, sexually abused by her father through middle school. The voice of that pain remained dormant until the pattern repeated itself with her husband and beautiful daughter. The fear even then of speaking up on her daughter’s behalf was overwhelming…requiring weeks to overcome and even more weeks to gather the courage to seek help.

What about Joanie, a Girls on the Run coach. Two-thirds of the way through our program she mustered up enough strength to collect her belongings, her two children and leave an abusive husband.

Then there is Rebecca, who cried out no, so many times that her rapist permanently silenced her with a gun to the back of her throat.

What about Sarah, only now at age 35, is recovering from her experience as a victim of sex trafficking--only now able to talk about the fear, pain and brutality of her captors. Purposely addicted to drugs by her abductors, she spent her teens and early twenties, silenced by the drugs and beaten by her owners.

Or maybe I talk about Natia, raped in her small Ethiopian village at age 13. She was too young to birth a baby, torn from the inside out, reeking now of urine and feces and discarded from her community for speaking out against this heinous crime…by simply begging for medical treatment.

Yeah…maybe I do need to lighten up, but right now, right this minute, if you go on the internet, google the lyrics to this song, you will see literally hundreds of videos of little girls, teens and young women, dancing, performing and shouting out this phrase, either unaware or uncaring of its implications.

Women make up at least half of the population. We also have fathers, brothers and other men in our lives that would cry out in anger if any one of us were silenced, deafened or blinded by abuse, violence or any institutionalized form of sexism.

But we don’t see the connections, between lyrics and words like this and the continuum of circumstances that demoralize us, demean us and leave us without our voices.

I won’t watch 3OH!3 , listen to them, or talk about them ever again and invite you to do the same. Our power comes not only from our increasing awareness of how sexism is institutionalized in our music, videos and entertainment, but the building momentum, I see through my work with Girls on the Run, to consciously and intentionally turn it off.

So now, it’s done. I’m done. Story over, book closed. These lyrics are no longer.

Climbing Out of the Girl Box

2009-07-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked a very important day in my life. July 7th, 1993 was the day my life changed. Couple that anniversary with the fact that I am in the middle of updating our Girls on the Run curriculum and I'm filled with an amalgam of emotions...many that leave me both word-less and word-full at the same time. Wordless because I'm focused on completing the Girls on the Run curriculum re-write by Friday. Word-full because of the importance of July 7th in my life.

To honor this special day and also honor the curriculum work I'm currently focusing on for this week, rather than create something new and in the moment for this blog-space, I'm going to pull up something I wrote in my book, "Girls on Track: A Parent's Guide to Inspiring our Daughters to Achieve a Lifetime of Self-Esteem and Healthy Living.".

So here goes. Happy "Girls on the Run Day"!

"I was in sixth grade when the Girl Box began to wedge its way over my body and spirit. Sixth grade was a tough year.

Eleanor Jones was my best friend then. We were the two new girls at a school where most kids had started kindergarten together.

The thing that distinguished us from each other, however, was that Eleanor was getting breasts and I wasn't. We were new, and all the boys were noticing Eleanor.

That's when I started to want to be somebody else. Anybody but me. My charming personality just wasn't getting it. Neither was my intelligence, my humor, or even my athleticism. None of that was working. The boys just wanted to pop Eleanor's bra strap, chase her, and be in her company. I happened to be in their company because I was friends with Eleanor. That was the only reason. I felt like the third wheel all the time--even when I wasn't with her.

In sixth grade, it didn't seem as if the boys were interested in what I could do. They didn't want to play the same way they had just the summer before. They wanted to pop bra straps and chase Eleanor around the playground. I didn't understand what I had done wrong. I was still funny, considerate, and friendly. I was bright, witty, and athletic. But I wasn't Eleanor. I wasn't what Eleanor represented.

And so I reluctantly let them lower the Girl Box over me. It was suffocating in there.

I was a prime candidate for the Girl Box. I was the fourth of four, nine years younger than the one before me. My mom was an alcoholic and my father worked a lot. Everyone in my house seemed to want to be somewhere other than where they were. My sister Helen was my primary caregiver. She taught me to read. She took me on dates with her and tried her best to protect me from the chaos of our home.

Somewhere around fourth grade, the memories shut off--the pain went underground. The psyche does some pretty amazing protective things, especially for children when the hurt is too great.

It was not until my mom had her breakdown a year later that my memories returned. Dr. Thomas came to our house, my father came home from work, and they all talked very secretly in the guest bedroom. My mother hit what folks in the treatment world call bottom.

That was May of 1970. I'm happy to say, from that day forward, my relationship with my mother, flourished...the laughter returned to our house. We made family trips out West, spent weekends together staying up and snuggling. We made up for lost time. I absolutely loved my mom's company and would opt for it over that of my friends. My mother became my best friend.

But inside lay many lost memories, the shame that we never really talked about. And as I grew both physically and emotionally, that shame started to show up in all kinds of ways.

So as painful as it was, the Girl Box actually felt sort of right. It was the only place that affirmed what I believed to be true. The message of the Girl Box is do more, be more, give more--because we are never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough, never sexy enough...never enough. Girls and women in the darkness of that box never celebrate what we are but are constantly seeking what we are not. We give away our very souls to anyone who will love us. People pleasing becomes a way of life. Life becomes a series of performances rather than experiences. Our words are not our own. There is a set script.

Coping with the Girl Box has many ways of showing up. It may be an obsession with appearance or a fear of failure. We may fear success, and sabotage every opportunity to get it. We might defer to boys in the classroom or men in the workplace. Some of us spend our entire lives trying to please others and forget ourselves. We fix people, clean up after others, take care of disputes--we spend so much time taking care of others that we lose ourselves in the process. More extreme coping mechanisms include food, sex, drug, plastic surgery and material addictions.

In 1976, I took my first drink. I also bought my first pair of running shoes.

Oh...the power of both.

When I was under the influence of alcohol, the shame magically went away and I felt beautiful, flirtatious, witty, and fearless. I was comfortable in the stifling Girl Box--shameless and free to be something I was not. I could fake the script, play the part, be what the Girl Box wanted me to be...be what YOU wanted me to be.

But...when I ran, oh the wonder...the joy...like meditation, my mind cleared and the experience allowed me to focus on the sound of my steps, the rhythm of my breathing, and the air passing over my body. I sweated; sometimes I would grunt and groan with exertion and I didn't care that it wasn't feminine. I felt beautiful, whole and powerful. I felt real, alive and connected.

But eventually addiction won out. On July 6th, 1993. I hit bottom. I was empty, silent and deafened by the cycle of shame that now held me captive. The lid to the Girl Box was seven feet above me, when I placed a last-ditch call to my sister. "Lift me out, please somebody, anybody! I can be no longer..."

My sister had heard this from me many times and, as always, she was patient: "Molly, just sleep on it. Promise me that you will just sleep on it--see how you feel in the morning."

I hung up the phone, curled up on the couch and lay there in the despair, in the silence and the darkness of the Girl Box, and knew that nothing short of a miracle would pull me out of that wished-for sleep.

The following evening, July 7th, somehow, I dragged myself out the door and by rote hit the pavement for a run. The air was electric with a coming thunderstorm, the wind blowing the leaves of the trees upside down and causing the dirt on the street to swirl up. Rounding the last corner of a six-mile run onto East Boulevard, I was on the last stretch of road toward the apartment where I was staying. Everything was in sync, my breathing, the float of my steps on the pavement, my relaxed arms, my speed--and as I approached the intersection of Kenilworth and East Boulevard I moved to a space of total effortlessness and breathlessness, overcome with the moment.

Something was happening--something so real, so raw, so momentous, it forced me to stop dead in my tracks at that intersection. The sounds of the city floated to the background, the street disappeared, and like tunnel vision I became fixated on the way the sun filtered through the leaves on the trees. casting the most distinct shadows on the pavement at my feet. I could hear my breathing, my heartbeat in my ears; feel the sweat flowing across my temples and down my back and chest; a surge of strength , power, presence lit me up--and in that instant my life changed. Call it what you want, but the darkness of the shame I had hidden away inside was warmed by a light of such power that for that moment I just was: present, pure, and worthwhile.

I was, if only for a moment, free of the Girl Box.

I still can't believe it. Sixteen years ago, I was empty, without purpose, alcoholic, and emotionally bankrupt. But...one day, one run, one moment, a building thunderstorm, and my life's path was dramatically shifted. The calling was strong and pulled me right into its powerful tentacles."

My story is only mine and is still in the making. I am never fully out of the Girl Box. It is a process, a peeling back of the layers to reveal the gem beneath. When I am afraid, tense, tired or angry I may go back inside, but I'm trying and I am always in search of a greater level of awareness. There are literally hundreds and hundreds of stories of the women, men and girls who are drawn to this program. None more extraordinary or glamorous than another. But uniquely theirs and now universally ours. The phenomenal growth of Girls on the Run can be broken down into small moments, like snapshots along a timeline. Yet, when I consider each of those moments...those stories...together, they fit perfectly like the pieces of a puzzle or the patches on a quilt. The cobblestones of our stories emerge upon the Girls on the Run path and magically take me, our program, our coaches, volunteers, corporate sponsors and the girls we serve to our next steps, singly and together,toward a new level of awareness.

The gratitude is overwhelming. To have known such despair--paralyzed by my fear back then. And now--well, now I am not fearful anymore. I've learned that if I just take a step forward, as we teach the girls in our program to bravely do, the cobblestones will, without fail, always appear.

Funny the Way It Is

2009-07-03T03:37:00.000-07:00

"Funny the way it is, if you think about it
Somebody’s going hungry and someone else is eating out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
Somebody’s heart is broken and it becomes your favorite song"

Dave Matthews

Stories. We all have them. We have our stories, stories about our friends, our children, our partners.

I’m always struck by the stories of our girls. This year I had the opportunity to attend at least half a dozen of our New Balance Girls on the Run 5k’s around the nation. Every girl, every mother, every father, every coach, every council director has a story for their day. An empty, often unoccupied physical space is transformed for several hours into a space in time where memories are made and life’s chapters unfold. A starting line, balloons, music, finish line barriers and volunteers magically arrive a couple of hours before the stories begin.

That's where I met Maddie. She is in Girls on the Run.

She had just completed her first twelve-week session. She has a school of tiny freckles swimming across her nose and stands about four feet high—she’s tiny, even for a third grader. She has dirty-blond hair down to her waist that she always wears loose.

Maddie's mom pulled me to the side, moments before the run started to share with me that she and her husband had separated two weeks before the final New Balance Girls on the Run 5k. He moved out, for reasons Maddie doesn’t understand now—though she may one day, mothers’ can’t explain the details of that story to a third grader.

Maddie can’t put words to the separation yet, though she knows that her life is different—that her mom is sad and her dad is gone—and, while the voice of it hasn’t come to her yet, the expression in her eyes can’t hide the fear, the lack of understanding, the feeling of suspended time, the unsettling of it all.

Maddie’s mom and dad came to watch her run in her big event. They saw their little girl finish her first 5k. They saw determination in her eyes—a blessed substitute for the anxiety she had carried there lately. I saw Maddie’s mom cry and watched her father try to be stoic. But they were there for her to support that little-girl spirit, to watch this child-soul float across the three miles of asphalt.

I took their picture at the finish line—all three of them. Maddie's dad asked me to take it, Maddie sandwiched in the middle.

I wonder what expression the lens caught. Did it see the truth behind their eyes—their love for her little life and the turmoil of their own?

Maddie will remember that day—that story—forever. Mom and Dad came together for her. They put aside their own drama to watch her do something that allowed her girl-spirit to rise above the confusion—for 3.1 miles anyway—to jointly welcome her to the finish line in spite of the angst between the two of them.

That story will be memorialized in the photo that I had the privilege of taking. My hands captured that picture, framed it in the lens, held the camera steady, and directed...

“One two, three, cheese.”

Five minutes of my life and years of theirs.

"Lying in the park on a beautiful day,
sunshine in the grass, and the children play.
Siren’s passing, fire engine red,
someone’s house is burning down on a day like this?"

Dave Matthews

I am...

2009-06-25T11:31:00.000-07:00

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.”

Lao Tzu

This week I’m stumped, struggling to contribute to this blog. This has been a week of the mundane. Nothing earth-shattering has occurred, no revelations have been triggered, no drama has made its entrance. My kids are tucked comfortably into a daily summer routine and I’m finding myself in a place that is quite comfortable, content and peaceful.

The humidity of summer thickens the air…adds to the Cricket’s cacophonic celebration of dusk, the flash of lightening bugs and heat lightening play symphony with the rumbling thunder, booming in the distance. Times like these are few and far between. I find that as I grow older this kind of space doesn’t “just happen”. I’ve got to make it happen. I’ve got to intentionally slow down the day, dim the noise and honor the moment.

I’m drawn to these moments most in the summertime. The heat that has settled in throughout the day lifts as the sun sets. It is then that I am magically pulled toward my front porch… to sit, listen and be.

Last night my daughter Helen joined me. We sat together for the longest time and then we just started talking, about nothing much. Just…stuff. Somewhere over the course of an hour, our conversation moved toward the following exchange.

Helen: “If you had only one word you could use to fill in this blank what would it be.
I am _______________.”

Me: “That’s a toughie. I am so much, Helen; it will be hard to narrow it down to one word.”

Helen: “But that’s what makes it fun and hard at the same time. You have to!”

We played around with the words for a long, long time. I finally settled in on “I am accepting.” Helen landed on “I am myself.”

Where would you land? What would be your word? Please let me know by filling in in the comment section below. Let's see what each of us bring to this day

Stonehenge, Spanx and the Internet

2009-06-18T18:27:00.001-07:00

“The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thanks to our connection to Ashoka (www.ashoka.org), I was one of five social entrepreneurs who presented a “case summary” of our organization to Goldman-Sachs executives in New York City, yesterday. We eventually broke into smaller groups and jumped in to exploring various ways each of our organizations could tackle some organizational challenges.

The content of what I discussed with my teammates, Annalisa, Margaret, Sharlene and Simi, is content we’ve all discussed before. Girls on the Run continues to experience incredible growth and interest, but growing too fast without sustainable vision brings about challenges that can be avoided, if, instead, we grow intentionally and intelligently with sound strategic plans in place.

So…if I may, set the stage for yesterday’s experience. First of all, I wore a suit. My guess is, if you know me, you are already smiling. One of my teammates asked me to outline our business model as they already had a good understanding of our curriculum. I pushed back my chair, grabbed a marker and shared our business model on a flip chart.

There was a two second pause (I’m not kidding, literally two seconds) and then all three of the Goldman Sachs folks suddenly pulled out pads of paper and began immediately jotting down various ideas based on their experience about how we could enhance our org chart and continue to build an infrastructure that grows with us. I literally sat in awe of these three women. Their ability to just “see” structurally, strategically and in detail what steps would be beneficial in our evolution as a growing non-profit business was from MY point of view one of the great wonders of the world. I put this right up there with Stonehenge, the invention of the internet and Spanx.

Imagine being handed a speech to present on-stage to hundreds of people…and then right before you go on stage, the director says, “And oh, by the way, I need you to speak in Mandarin.” Those words, that language, the process to do so just aren’t readily available and so you step on stage, ill-prepared, completely shocked, totally frustrated, painfully scared and irrevocably embarrassed.

For many years, I struggled with feeling as if I had to do it all, know it all and somehow BE it all for Girls on the Run. In the early days, due to limited resources, I did have to do it all! But the truth is, if I’m really honest with you, there was an element of fear, underlying my need to be “super girl on the run” that if I didn’t have all the answers I might somehow be seen as inadequate, unintelligent or somehow just not “up to snuff.” The Girl Box was playing itself out in my business life. There was a certain standard in the traditional "corporate/business/leadership” box that made me feel as if I didn’t measure up. I often felt like I was being asked to speak Mandarin.

It’s only been in the last several years that I have come to recognize that my unique gifts are vital and important to our work. This may seem surprising coming from the founder, but it’s true. The “Girl Box” has a way of wiggling its way back into my world. Stepping out of that box isn’t a black and white, yes or no, in or out kind of proposition. It’s a process.

We all contribute an important piece to the tapestry that makes up our Girls on the Run program AND business. Heck, we all contribute an important piece to whatever business we are part of. Yesterday, I had ten minutes to share a bit about Girls on the Run to the entire group at Goldman Sachs. I was, as always, very comfortable in that element. I have this knack for just “putting it all out there” and challenging the boxes that confine us, by living outside of them. Openly sharing my story and sharing the humanness of who I am, with people who are often times during their regular workday, not provided that opportunity, was comforting for them. I could literally feel the energy of the room shift…a universal sigh of relief…as if each person was saying, “ Whew…okay…that’s cool, now let’s get down to business by getting down to our selves.”

The truth is, we all need each other. Left-brained, right-brained, strategic thinkers, big picture visionaries, storytellers, behind the scenes organizers. Girls on the Run and forward thinking businesses ask only that we each honor, embrace, celebrate and use our gifts and talents for the greater good. Follow your bliss, brothers and sisters, because this truly is where soul satisfaction awaits AND true corporate/professional success can be attained.

Isn’t that what Girls on the Run is all about anyway? Our culture’s emphasis on perceived deficits (particularly when it comes to our appearance) shows up in all sorts of ways. ”Do this and you’ll be accepted,” “Buy this and you’ll be beautiful,” “Eat this and you’ll be thinner,” “Try this and you’ll look younger,” “Do this and you’ll be more successful,” “Act this way and you’ll be a good leader” “Try this and you will finally know inner peace.” Many of these suggested “paths” leave us emotionally empty…the feeling that we somehow never measure up, each path somehow suggesting that we are broken, saddled with an overwhelming number of “things” that need fixing. Girls on the Run is providing the solution by shifting our focus from perceived areas of inadequacy to real areas of strength.

I am often overcome with gratitude, but more so today, for my gifts and unbridled enthusiasm for how I have the opportunity to utilize them in my work. I am also grateful for my amazing new friends at Goldman Sachs, my friends at Ashoka and for those with whom I work, who joyfully utilize their gifts and talents in areas where they thrive. Collectively we are all moving our organization and this world forward.

What is the primary gift that YOU bring to your work? Is it being utilized?

Look Who's Coming to Dinner

2009-06-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

"If we cannot now end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity."

John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Lately, I've been putting a lot of "thought-energy" into the issue of diversity.

The Webster's definition goes like this:

The condition of being diverse; variety; especially the inclusion of diverse people in a group or organization.

I live in Charlotte, NC...a city that, back in the 70's, was one of the first to intentionally integrate our school system. I was in sixth grade...the same year that my parents enrolled me in a private school.

My experience with diversity, at least ethnic diversity, has been, shall we say...limited.

This week I had lunch with Janine Davis. The "physical " differences between us are striking. Frankly put...I look a bit like a white athletic-peace corps-soccer mom and Janine looks like an African American chic-diva-stylin'-urban woman.

Janine is an award-winning 20-year veteran of the professional broadcasting industry and currently serves as Producer/Co Host of Charlotte's #1 Urban radio morning show "No Limit Larry and the Morning Maddhouse" heard each weekday morning on WPEG-FM otherwise known as Power 98.

I've known Janine for several years now. We've talked about getting together and finally did this week over lunch. What drew each of us to the other was our desire to create an environment where all girls can recognize and achieve their greatest human potential.

Janine started Girl Talk Foundation, in 2002 after visiting several middle and high schools, where girls talked candidly with her about their issues. But, it was Janine's 10-year old niece who pushed her to start Girl Talk Foundation, after telling her aunt she wanted to "grow up and become a dancer in a rap video." Fearing her niece would succumb to further peer pressure, Janine organized an all-girls rap session later that year to focus on the needs of teen girls...nearly 200 girls attended. Janine went on to launch Girl Talk Foundation, focused on building self-esteem in young girls. Today the program has served nearly 3500 girls throughout Charlotte-Mecklenburg and hopes to serve many more.

Her program is building momentum and Janine turned to me...not only for feedback on business questions, but for some emotional support. It can be very emotionally, physically and mentally draining, working a full-time job so one can pursue the dream of impacting social change at the individual and cultural level. I remember all too well, the early days when I was just getting Girls on the Run off the ground.

As I sat there with her, I realized that half the battle of celebrating diversity, at a personal level, is being willing to step outside my comfort zone and invite myself to "dinner". To just show up where I am the minority. I've got to then be willing to hang out for a while. I can't just drop in and hope to understand or feel anything meaningful. Nope...I've got to spend time in the space and see how it feels. Of course this is easy for me to say because I still spend a good bit of my time in the majority...at least as far as ethnicity goes.

Lately I've been considering the notion of a dinner where I host one other person who has a very different viewpoint on a topic--a topic upon which I have a very strong opinion. I'd be upfront in my invitation to my dinner-mate. I would also be very clear that I seek nothing more than conversation. A curious one-on-one exchange where we just share a meal, together, and listen at a very deep level to each other...my hope being that we find common ground in that space..that we explore the themes of our lives. I mean...haven't we all felt left out, felt happy, loved children, felt pain, been scared, laughed till we cried and been hurt so badly that we never thought we would know joy again?

I am always amazed how sharing our stories engages people in real dialogue. Our differences are somehow beautifully diminished. We can't hide behind the curtain of "popular ideals" or lose outselves in "the status quo". There we are...just two people sharing a meal and telling our stories, trying to connect the dots and doing our best to understand one another.

This is perhaps what I love most about my connection to Girls on the Run. The program magically breaks down barriers by putting girls, volunteers and community members from all walks of life together, for ten to twelve weeks. Yes, we may have opposing ideals on how certain societal issues should be addressed, but deeply rooted at the starting line, long before the issues become a problem, rests our mutual hope and dream that all girls, women and people are loved, respected and honored.

And that got me really thinking. If you could invite someone to dinner...someone who supported a viewpoint on an issue that was in opposition to yours on a particular topic, who would it be? What questions would you ask them? How would that feel? Does WHO you invite tell you something about who YOU are? Let me know what you think...