FROM COOKIE ELF TO RUNNER
by Patricia Rossi
Tis the season.
Ho, Ho, Ho.
Once again, the holiday season has arrived.
What happened?
It was summertime.
It was ninety degrees.
I vividly recall those hot, July and August mornings.
I would throw on a tank top and shorts, lace up my sneakers to the rhythmic
sound of the lawn sprinkler, and head out for a long run.
Upon my return, I would enjoy summer's bounty.
For me, summer's bounty; a very juicy, very ripe plum, each and every morning,
strategically placed in the family fruit bowl, in such a location as to insure its existence
upon my return.
It seemed like only yesterday.
And now........IT'S DECEMBER!!!!!
I have reluctantly said my good-byes to those succulent summer plums, and now,
I think sugar plums are supposed to be dancing in my head.
What exactly are sugar plums?
The dancing part, I actually get.
I envision something akin to those dancing California raisins from yester-year.
Now, if you are an avid runner and or exercise enthusiast, I bet this time of the year
is particularly challenging for you, as it is for me.
Fellow runners, let's face it, the pavement we pound is now laden with detours, all sorts
of delicious detours, tempting roadblocks: wonderful desserts, alcoholic drinks with lots of whip
cream, holiday parties and family obligations.
Perhaps, the question Virginia should ask is, "How does one stay fit and committed to a
running and exercise regimen during the holiday season?"
I am delighted to report, I actually have an answer for Virginia.
For me, the motivation and inspiration is etched in a very fond childhood memory.
Every year, just around this time, my mom would single-handedly transform our
ordinary kitchen into a very productive, well organized cookie factory.
Operation Betty Crocker
The result, the most delicious Christmas cookies in town.
As a child, I would always know when the designated baking day was drawing near,
for those two plastic containers, one filled with red sprinkles, the other with green,
would magically appear on the kitchen counter, along with a plethora of those Christmas cookie tins.
Ah, my little heart would skip a beat.
I anxiously awaited this day.
It was treasured time with my mom.
For Operation Betty Crocker usually began at 0800 hours,
which coincided with the beginning of the school day for my older sister and three older brothers.
You see, I was not yet school age, and I had my mom's undivided attention.
Now, instrumental to the success of Operation Betty Crocker was the arsenal
of supplies, utilized each year and then carefully stowed away for safekeeping until the
following year.
Every year, on that beloved day, I would follow my mom down the hallway, and she,
a petite woman, would have to stand on a chair and reach high, very high into the closet and retrieve
the necessary items.
First, our uniforms.
Oh, how I loved the uniforms, matching Christmas aprons.
Beautiful aprons, handmade by my mom.
If I close my eyes, I can still see before me the embroidered poinsettia on each pocket,
personally stitched by my very talented mom.
Second, a box overflowing with those tin cookie cut-outs.
Third, a very special book.
And,....... we would begin.
Uniform on.
I stood tall, all thirty five inches of me.
I stood proud.
I saw myself with an important role, second in command; A cookie elf personally
commissioned by the most loving person in my world, my mom.
I was on a mission.
By golly, I was determined to carefully place those red and green sprinkles in exactly
the right place, on each and every cookie, no matter the shape, no matter the size.
My reward, licking the spoon.
Yes, indeed, I had first and only dibs on that spoon, no negotiating with those older siblings.
In hindsight, my much, much greater reward, the memory of time spent with my mom.
Now, Operation Betty Crocker required special briefing, hence the book.
As the cookies baked, and the delicious smell filled our kitchen, truly an indication
of the success of my mom's undertaking for yet another year, she would take out that very
special book and begin to read it to me.
The book, ...The Gingerbread Man.
Oh, how I loved that book.
I can still vividly picture the book, page by page.
The cover, a bit tattered, the pages a bit stained, but none the less, a true Christmas classic!
The story, each and every year, came alive for me, as my mom's sweet voice read it aloud.
I remember thinking, I want to run as fast as that gingerbread man.
He's fast alright.
I was equally impressed with his agility.
That little man, in my world, was nothing less than a top class runner, a lead competitor
in the New York City marathon.
Today, as an adult, with a passion for running, I turn to the story for inspiration and motivation.
For, I have come to realize that under no uncertain terms that little man was running to live.
Running to live. That's right.
I'm sure you will recall the story.
Remember? When the gingerbread man realizes he's about to be eaten, he runs and runs.
He truly runs to live.
He's fast. Very fast. No one can catch him.
As a fellow runner, you have to admire this little man's stamina.
The gingerbread man gives it his all. He stays in the game. He has a plan. He's solution oriented.
I think we could all learn a thing or two from this little man.
And he's confident.
As he runs and runs his confidence is quite apparent as he states repeatedly,
and, I quote, "Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man."
My fellow runners and exercise enthusiasts, this holiday season, let's all follow in
the footsteps of this little man. Let's all capture his spirit and run, run to live.
Now, sadly, I must remind you, that the demise of the gingerbread man occurs when he unfortunately falls prey to the sly fox.
That darn sly fox.
Perhaps, another lesson here; Life is short, life is precious, give it your all.
This time of the year, I often wonder whatever happened to that very special book.
I suppose, it is gone forever.
That's okay, I have something much more endearing, the memory of a wonderful
Christmas tradition with a very special person, my mom.
I lost my mom, earlier this year.
As the holidays approach, the daily sadness and sorrow will certainly be magnified.
I also know that I do not have the recipe to those Christmas cookies and I never will.
Again, that's quite alright.
For, my heart tells me this; As my mom's soft voice read that story, year after year,
she was really providing me with ingredients to a much more important recipe,........Life.
Accept what life hands you, and run with it.
Stay in the game.
Give it your all.
Thanks little gingerbread man.
Most of all, thanks Mom.
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HOLIDAY TIME