It's been a week!

Life is moving really quickly, and it seemed that to move that quickly physically this weekend, I had to get up at 5:30a. I seem to have forgotten what a St. Louis summer morning felt like, but after my “sleep in until 9a” stint this morning, I had a brutally hot awakening. In saying that, I say that week one of training for the New York City Marathon is over! Hooray!

I was too busy to write every day, but the summary I’ll share includes a few pictures of the places I chose to spend my miles, and the faces of some of the important people I chose to spend some of my week with. It was a long week to say the least, but each time I opened my inbox and received donation notifications and really kind thoughts, I was touched. Thank you to all of those who donated this week. In just seven days, we raised $2,720 to find a cure for lung cancer. Many thanks to those who donated since I last wrote. You are acknowledged below.

Thursday: Sometimes the treadmill’s gotta do.

Today’s run made me realize that I miss my running partner. My running partner, Masharika Maddison, has just over a month left before she welcomes her son into the world, so we aren’t training together right now. We’re working together. We’re walking home together. We’re hanging out together. But we aren’t running together. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t offer running advice. (Thank goodness!) When I asked Coach Maddison if I abort the scheduled 800m speed repeats or go on a nice medium-distance run, she asked me what made me fast in Chicago. (It was the speed.) I’m convinced that pregnancy brain is now a myth.

And so, in an effort to stay speedy and take her advice, I hit the treadmill. Six-minute half-mile repeats x 5 weren’t as bad as I thought. My Pandora went out for one of them, and that was bad, but all in all, aside from the serious sweat and tempered appetite, I felt just as good as when I arrived.

Mash did lift my spirits by pretending she was running. We can’t wait for baby Maddison to arrive so he can join us in the super cool stroller his mom will certainly have.

Friday: Old friends are like fine wine.
Today was a rest day for running but definitely not a rest day for friends! I spent the morning and afternoon traveling to St. Louis to help out a colleague. The very added bonuses were friends and students. Friday marked the beginning of a really great weekend. When I landed in St. Louis, I was kindly greeted with none other than: DUNKIN DONUTS! I’m a complete and total sucker for their coconut coffee. Their medium is 24 oz., too, so whatever form of tired I was quickly went away.

I needed the energy. Heather Fitzsimmons, an awesome mom and incredible friend, scooped me up at the airport with her two little boys. I hadn’t met the youngest (Finnegan, 8 months) yet, but the oldest (Braeden, 3 years) was ready and waiting to tell me all about his latest like: trains and how much fun he’d been having with his favorite toys: the mixer and the excavator. He *thinks* he’s getting a real excavator when he turns four! Oh, the dreams we had when we were young.

Though I don’t think any of us articulates this, I often think that what I experienced over the course of Friday evening is a dream we all have: a group of friends who know you deeply, who you can have a darn good time with, and who – no matter how long it’s been – you can sit down with and it feels like it’s been just a day or so. Heather, her husband Patrick, Brandon Rowland, Dustin Odham, his fiancé, and I had that experience on Friday night. (Heath, Bran, Dustin and I all did Teach For America together in St. Louis back in ’04.) Brandon charmed us all by selecting the evening’s restaurant: Yemanja Brasil, located in a rather up and coming neighborhood called Benton Park.

It was warm enough to sit outside (so unlike San Francisco), and the atmosphere they set up – bright colors, lots of South American art, great music – seemed quite unlike the St. Louis I knew when I lived there. We had caiprihainas and a variety of dishes. From the “national dish” to curried vegetables to a few fish dishes, the smell of the spices permeated the air, adding to the depth of our conversation. We played the typical “catch up” game that you do with old friends, and all left with full bellies (especially because we went to Ted Drewes after) – and I’m sure, full hearts.

Dustin sent a “thank you” text message, and it made me remember what makes him so darn special: he does the “little” things. I, too, was thankful for the night and for the friends.

Saturday: Mesha Brown for Mayor!
Beep! BEEP! Beeeeeeeeeeeep! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPP! I so wanted to throw my Blackberry across the room when the alarm sounded at 3:15a. I’ll call it 3:15 because though I was in the central time zone physically, my head wasn’t there at all. It didn’t turn out too badly, though, because once I hit the streets and the park – see the shots of Forest Park – the cool morning air alleviated my fears of the summertime run in St. Louis.

It was nostalgia at it’s best. I remembered the hills and the fields and the bridges and the ponds. I knew where the water fountains were and when I should expect to see other runners. It was a wonderful welcome back, particularly because there were plenty of folks out that early. I used to run at 5a in my old neighborhood when I was teaching, and though it was “safe” and there were only two odd incidents, it was still a relatively scary experience. This morning, though, it was cool, it was safe, and gosh was it fun. My 6m pace was ahead of marathon pace!

That set the tone for the rest of the day.

By 8a, David Schapira, Arizona State Representative who is currently running for State Senate AND local school board, was in the car with fellow alumni affairs team member Elizabeth Zimmerman and I, and we were heading to the University of Missouri – St. Louis for a full, nine-hour day of campaign training. Though long, the day was well worth the trip. In addition to I think unleashing some of the thoughts going on in our St. Louis alums’ minds, LaMesha Brown, who is by far one of the most articulate and impressive nineteen year olds you’ll meet. Not only did she deliver a compelling stump speech sharing why you should vote for her for Mayor of St. Louis (in a few years), she realized that she could raise a load of money to run. We were chatting throughout the day, and she said that when she told her mom how she heard about the training, she said me. And when she said that her mom said “She doesn’t give up, does she?” I take my job as her (lifelong) teacher and mentor seriously.

It was so clear that she impressed the folks in the room. Just before Scott Baier, our fantastic ED in St. Louis, left, he reiterated that he wanted to get in touch with her. And you know what, he will…if she doesn’t beat him to it.

Sunday: Save the best for last.

It's a bad song by Vanessa Williams, but sometimes cheezy songs are spot on. As I write from the air on Sunday – catch up day! – I do so having spent much of my last day in St. Louis with the reason I keep coming back: my former students. After the brutal though beautiful run I mentioned at the start (see Botanical Garden), I trekked across Forest Park, and we headed to the Delmar Loop. As anticipated, I made them go around and say where they were going to college, what they were studying, and the one thing they were looking forward to next year.

I'm not at all surprised by the paths they want to take - nursing, teaching, politics - and am hopeful that in whatever small way, I contributed to the spirits of service they have.

With that, I'll end my post and my week. Good luck to all of the pre-K-college teachers AND students heading back to school in the next few weeks. May you all teach each other lessons you'll never forget.

BIG SHOUT OUTS TO :
Erin Morisey, Angel Gabler, Mary Vascellaro, Scott & Audrey McIntosh, Stephanie Padrez, Sally Jenkins-Stevens, Sara Pelosi, Lois Lang, Lorena Villa, Heather, Patrick, Braden & Finn Fitzsimmons, Jaisha Wray, Meghan Radkowski, Mari Becker, Amy Li, Lisa Barrett & Janine & John Grenham
for their contributions to close out the week. We’re $280 to goal!

Only the strong survive...

It's a really interesting concept - and the lyrics of the late 60s song likely made many in that era have a certain toughness to their exterior.

"I see you sittin' there all alone

Crying your eyes out

While everything's going wrong

You know there's gonna be

A whole lot of trouble in your life

Listen to me, get up off your knees

'Cause only the strong survive"

I remember with crystal clarity the viewing for my Dad. My best friend, Lori, her neighbor, Heather, and our cheerleading coach Sharon, came to offer their regards, and I refused to look at them. I'd always had a strength about me - though I was 5'6" and 75 pounds soaking wet - and for whatever reason, I had it in my mind that if they saw me cry - which they would if I looked up - they would sense weakness in me. If they saw my guard down, I would lose a little of the credibility I had. This very limited openness is actually something I carried with me for a long time, and in the months and truthfully for most of the years since my father's passing, this "closed off-ness" has been very present in my attitude.

I could and would share anything that was easy, that wouldn't let anyone into the pain, but more often than not, I denied myself the ability to deepen my friendships. In doing so, I was the one who lost strength. There is a really important lesson here, one that the responses from many who received my initial letter have brought to light. Folks who I have known since my youth- and in my present life - wrote "I didn't know your Dad died" or "I didn't know this was how it happened". I quickly realized it's because I never told them. I never shared my narrative

One of the most incredible women I know, Kira Orange Jones, wrote: "My dearest-- thank you so much for sharing this touching, deeply moving narrative with me. As always, you continue to inspire and challenge others to be their better selves."

And Lilly Fu, a Teach For America alum I think the world of, wrote: "Wow, thank you so much for sharing this incredible personal history. I’m getting a glimpse of the source of your maturity, strength and courage."

Not sharing my story left others wondering. And in sharing it now, I feel stronger. The overwhelming support and inspiration has given me more strength, more courage to continue on this journey than I could have imagined. And it's reinforced to me that I'm not doing this - the race or life - by myself. I'm doing it with each one of you. Whether you are supporting financially (we crossed the $2K mark today), sending well wishes, or making the decision to show up at the start line (woooooohooo Nikki Traino!), you are in it with me. My utmost gratitude goes out to you.

And so I close the day, feeling so grateful for the support, powerful from the day's training (thanks, JD, for taking the awesome picture of my giant muscles :-)), and ready to tackle it again.

On my morning run - a 6m as Hal suggests - I saw an example of the spirit of this message. Whether you live in San Francisco or not, you likely heard that our famed sea lions have relocated to Oregon. There are still a few left, and what I have loved about my morning runs near Pier 39 (and about these sea lions) is that those who are still there aren't taking advantage of the extra space. They're sticking together. They're making the most of their time...together.

Thanks to today's donors:

Matthew Levine, Fred Zarghami, Wee J. Fernan, Leslie Clithero, Nikki Traino, Rebekka Sullender, Josh Wilson, Seth Saavedra, Bradley Leon, Rene Caskey, Ash Vasudeva, James Sparkman, Zach Finley, Jane Henzerling, Susan Kim, Alyssa Hampton, Sheldon Maye & Joseph Kilcullen. We're at $2,055 and continuing to build momentum to make sure that those who come between now and when there is a cure, find the strength to keep on fighting.

And I'm off

I e-mailed a friend of mine, Stephen Wright, a week and a half ago with a birthday offering: a run, his pace, short distance. When he accepted the offer, he didn't realize what he was getting himself into: the FIRST run in a long series of runs to train for the New York City Marathon. Today was the day he took me up on the offer, and as with most 3.5-5 mile runs, there wasn't anything momentus about it...other than it was the FIRST run in a long series of runs to train for the New York City Marathon. We did the typical Aquatic Park-to-Chrissy Field-out-and-back loop, added a few hills and staircases, and ended with a cool down. It had been awhile both since we ran together and since I ran that course. He swears it's because I beat him in the US Half a few weeks ago. I think it's golf.

Either way, when we parted ways, I was glad to finally start a training season with another person. Just like I was glad when Eva Cassidy's version of Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" came on as I ran home. I felt that way throughout the day today as I have seen support come in. Wow - more than $1,000 raised in one day. I am truly blessed to have this network of family and friends and colleagues and send a special shout out to the following folks for their contributions thus far:

• Eric and Erika Edelson


• Lori and Tristan Wilhelm


• Emily Bobel


• Masharika Maddison


• Acasia Feinberg


• Jonathan Dobson


• Mark Palchak


• Joe James


• Adeel Iqbal


• Jennifer Kuhr


• Jessica Stewart


• Abbas Hasan


• Jennifer Shine-Figured


• Dana Gottheim


• Claudia Lewis


• Cameron Duffy


• Guadalupe Tofalo


• Giselle Schmidtz


• James Choe


• James Orr


• Denice Leong


• Cara Volpe


• Rishi Patel


• Tania Gutierrez


• Emily Schaffer

And of course, thanks to Stephen for taking the first steps toward New York City with me.

15 years ago today -

A few weeks ago, I ran the Double Dipsea, a tumultuous 13.7 mile foot race with a climb that seems to stretch to the heavens. (There actually is a part of it above the clouds…) Though I saw few actual faces during the run, those that I did had a serious grin or grimace. I often think that I’m the only one who notices these types of things, but it was evident on race day that I wasn’t the only one looking. As I rounded the corner nearing an aid station, one of the volunteers shouted “Look at her smile. Keep it up, honey, you are one of the only ones out there smiling”. I remember my own grin growing wider and feeling a sense of validation: this is hard, but boy oh boy is it fun! More than fun, running – any time, any where, difficult or easy – is of the most joy-inducing experiences in my life. Just this morning, I ran out the door, and within a few steps I had my own personal Jackson 5 concert in my ears. I wasn’t just running down the street. I was dancing. I was joyful.

I reflect often and hard and long about the concept “joy”, and very often in doing so, I am greeted with the last memory I have of my Dad. Five or so months into the terminal illness that would soon take his life, I remember coming into the house, eager to tell him all about my day. Listening like I think Dads only do for their daughters, it was obvious that he wanted desperately to say something to me. At this point in his illness, however, talking was quite difficult, nearly impossible for him. He tried anyway, and as I asked him to repeat himself over and over again, his eyes began to well with tears. In that moment, perhaps the last time on this side of eternity, our eyes met, and there was this unspoken understanding. I remember vividly. He knew that I understood what was happening, and that even if I wasn’t prepared, I would be alright. The pain and tears transformed to a smile wider than I’d ever seen him smile. Through the pain, he was strong for me. At a time when one might be hopeless and joyless, he found joy for me. This is the greatest lesson I have taken, and probably why, even in challenge, I smile.

And this is how I remember my Dad today, on the 15th anniversary of his passing. Smiling. Choosing joy over pain. Hope over defeat. And this year, I honor him in a different way – by running the New York City Marathon as a member of Team Labrecque: Uniting Against Lung Cancer. This team represents the recently expanded Uniting Against Lung Cancer, whose 2010 expansion is the result of having combined efforts with the Thomas G. Labrecque Foundation to become the single largest private non-profit source of funding for lung cancer research in the United States. Lung cancer will take the lives of more than breast cancer, colorectal cancer, and melanomas combined this year, making this a truly important effort.

My commitment to the Foundation, to surviving family members, to those who have died from lung cancer, and to my Dad is to raise $3,000 by September 30th. This is where I need your help. Whether you have known me most of my life, were there with me during this challenging time, were a classmate, have worked alongside me in the cause I spend my time on now, or if we’ve met through friends or just at a café one day, I hope that you will consider making a tax-deductible donation to support this cause.

You can do it two ways:

• By credit card: http://www.active.com/donate/tglfnymarathon10/15yearslater


• By check: Payable to “Uniting Against Lung Cancer” and sent to Leslie Garner, 956 Greenwich Street, San Francisco, Calif. 94133

Any amount speaks magnitudes for this cause.

Rewind and Fast Forward

I have a sneaking habit of starting something, getting really into it, forgetting I had it and/or was into it, then picking it back up again as if no time had passed at all. This habit typically only claims my writing life, but since writing more and more deeply is a personal goal of mine, it definitely bothers me. This blog is one example of this habit's prey.

That said, the title of the blog, the content of the blog and the way I will communicate through the blog from now on actually won't be in the same way as before. The messages I wrote, the feelings I felt, and the young people I directly impacted are all of the past. Only four days ago, I realized that.

No one will call me Miss G this fall. I won't have yet another group of wide-eyed, active, caught-up teenagers to mold, to inspire, to motivate, to teach. I gave up that joy when I decided in mid-April that I would not be returning to the classroom this fall.

I don't think I will really 'feel it' until the school year starts and my kids aren't calling me for help.

I do think and whole-heartedly believe, however, that despite the fact that I am not going to be a teacher and I will not be very directly impacting the lives of students, it is because of them that I have fostered a passion for them and for getting them - and the many other less fortunate like them - what they deserve.

For that reason, this blog will not close. Rather, it will begin to tell the stories of others who are doing just what its title tells: BUILDing the Dream. It may be their own. It may be someone else's. But a dream it will be.

The Best We Can Hope For

I read this week's Sunday edition of the New York Times today. (Yes, it is Monday.) I think - as always - I was fated to read it today.

The Best We Can Hope For

These five words jumped off the cover page of the Week in Review section. They were, of course, in a headline-sized font, but they stuck out to me today because today is a day we honor more than the best Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., hoped for. We honor the vision, the dream, the reality of his life's work.

As I began to read the article, I learned that the inspiration these five words would leave me with would certainly not come as a result of their context. In the article these five words represented President Bush's new, improved, and seemingly foolproof strategy for the war in Iraq.

Gone are the days when VICTORY and JUSTICE and FREEDOM are at the forefront of our goals. Gone are the days when bringing EQUITY to a place plagued with violence, injustice, rape and murder is the priority. Gone are the days when restoring PEACE is the only acceptable replacement for unrest.

It appears to me - from these five single-syllable words - that if we are just hoping for the best, we are forgetting the powerful statements given by Dr. King on August 28, 1963, and undermining the legacy that he has entrusted each and every one of us with. Black, white, male, female, young, old, on American soil or abroad, we all have a responsibility to reach for victory, not just to hope for the best. It appears to me that if our goal is the best we can hope for, if we are not assuming this responsibility, we are succumbing to the belief that the bank of justice is bankrupt. Affirming that would destroy the already fragile world we live in.

I labored over that thought for most of the afternoon and early evening. I even visited the memorial to Dr. King at Yerba Buena Garden in San Francisco's Mission District. I hoped the memorial, an extravagant granite waterfall representative of Dr. King's metaphorical flow of justice, would bestow some wisdom as I anticipated writing later this evening.

As I walked around and behind the waterfall, I felt a trickle of water drip down my cheek, flowing to the bottom of my face, and I watched as it fell to the ground. Gravity determined its final destination. I realized then, that our final destination, our future, the future of our world, is not in the hands of some scientific force. The VICTORY we desire to see, to feel, to touch, to experience comes by means of our force.

We - black, white, male, female, young, old, on American soil or abroad - are the catalysts for a world greater than the best we can hope for, and I firmly believe that this movement of positive change begins within.

If we are not living each and every day consciously working toward inner PEACE, we will lose the very aggressive battle against emotional bankruptcy our media-driven and -focused society assails us with. If we are not humbling ourselves to honest self-scrutiny, we will never be able to abandon the shackles of self-addition, never authentically experience FREEDOM. If we are not embodying the Golden Rule, not granting ourselves the same unconditional love and grace we so willingly give to others, we will never truly know how to be JUST. And if we do not consider ourselves EQUALS, how can we possibly hope for better than the best we can hope for? How can we impact, empower, inspire, add value to our family and friends, our colleagues, our communities, our world?

Mahatma Gandhi did not say to HOPE for the change you want to see in the world. He said "BE the change you want to see in the world." Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. lived and died for the change he yearned to witness. He was a revolutionary leader. Each of us has this same power. How we use it is up to us.

Lift Off!

Everyday, I look in the back of my classroom at Oakland Tech - back and center to be exact - and watch as a long, brown arm launches like a rocket into the air.

After doing the math in his head, sketching out the equation on his handout and meticulously typing each number into his calculator to verify the answer, Oscar's long, brown arm confidently shoots up. Before I call on Oscar, I run through a series of possible responses in my head: "The total Cost of Goods Sold is $3.27, Miss Garner." "Are you going to pass out BUILD Bucks, Miss Garner?" "Can my team present our answers first, Miss Garner?"

Each potential answer shows Oscar's progress toward our end-of-semester goal - mastery of advanced business concepts - and shows with such clarity both the development of his own personal awareness and his investment in being a 15-year-old entrepreneur.

This was not always the case.

Three weeks into the first semester, in fact, it appeared as though Oscar's future career as BUILD's newest chief executive officer was in direct alignment with NASA's Atlantis - a failed attempt. He dropped BUILD, added PE, and decided that the only launching he would be doing would be from behind the three-point arc.

As his teacher, this decision brought many questions to my mind: Did the PE teacher recruit Oscar? Does he have some incredible athletics abilities and need PE to improve his performance? Is teaching gym class Oscar's career ambition? Is there anything I can do to change his mind?

Knowing how quickly the drop/add time frame was closing, I capitalized on the only question I could control: changing his mind. After a series of phone conversations, the most convincing sales pitch I have ever created, and a visit to his second-period class, my investigation yielded the following discovery: Oscar dropped BUILD becuse he was afraid.

He was afraid of Microsoft Power Point, afraid of public speaking, afraid that his still-progressing English language abilities would not be articulate enough, afraid that he, Oscar Hernandez Lopez, would fail to launch.

I am still unsure of what changed changed Oscar's mind. Was it that he knew everyone else was afraid, too? Was it my promise of support? Was it that intrinsic voice pushing him to accept the challenge? Was it just our good fortune?

Whatever it was, I am grateful. I am grateful when I am greeted with a firm handshake and a "Good morning, Miss Garner." I am grateful when I announce that "Oscar Her-dot Lop-dot has mastered another round of objectives." I am grateful when I watch him meticulously type in each digit on his calculator and proceed to explain COGS to a struggling classmate. I am grateful when he stands up in front of his 25 classmates and articulately explains his team's marketing plan. I am grateful when I look in the back of my classroom at Oakland Tech - back and center to be exact - and watch as a long, brown arm launches like a rocket into the air. I am grateful that BUILD has the privilege of helping Oscar build his dream, whatever it may be.

He is still on the launching pad, working diligently everyday, but on May 19th, 2007, in front of hundreds of smiling, supportive faces, perhaps even with a 3-2-1 countdown, Oscar Hernandez Lopez will lift off.

The End of the Story

Since I last wrote, my BUILD students have learned many new business concepts. From the 4Ps of marketing to market research and competitive advantage, I have seen their engagement levels rise and fall and the challenge of teaching them do the same - the concepts and the children.

In the past month I have also begun to realize how important the work that I do is, especially in regard to my belief in the power and abilities of the close-to-50 students I teach. When I have rough days (and boy do I have them), and my belief falters ever so slightly, my mind wanders back to Tomieka Mack's very first ice skating experience.

Last December, Teach For America treated its corps members and some of their students to a morning and early afternoon at Forest Park's skating rink in St. Louis. In general fashion I brought as many students as I could. One, of course, was Tomieka. She was so nervous about falling. I don't think it was the injury risk that made her anxious. Rather, it was the risk of looking like a clumsy, inexperienced skater in front of the other students, particularly to high school boys. Taking her pride into consideration, we started off verrrryyyy sllloooooowwwwwwlllly.

Her left hand was gripping mine, and her right was holding tight to the rail. After a few minutes, Tomieka realized how "unfun" this was and ventured away from the side. We skated the circumference for awhile, linking on with some of my other students, until, finally, Tomieka was confident enough in her ability to remain upright that she ditched me and went off on her own. By day's end, not only was she participating in some speed skating races but she had also given her phone number to more than one of those high school boys she secretly hoped to impress. (Thankfully, she obliged me with one more handholding skate to make me feel useful.)

Recalling this day with Tomieka always gives me warm fuzzies inside because in such a short period of time, she blossomed from a cocoon to a skating butterfly! Though the classroom environment and goals are much different than that day, the feeling I have is much the same. With patience, with some hand holding, and eventually with some independence, students - all of use, really - grow, gain confidence, and fly.

That's what belief is really all about - having the passion to think big, the courage and faith to get through, and the persistence to understand that someday, your dream will take off and fly. As a story in Good To Great tells, we must believe in the end of the story.

Thanks to the folks I have in my life - past, present, and future- I believe that I will be an agent of tremendous change in the lives of others. Thanks to BUILD, students like Tomieka and Oscar and the other students I have referenced in this blog will be the recipients.

I think very much about what the lives of these students would be like without support programs like BUILD, and even more about what our world would be like without visionaries like Wendy Kopp and Suzanne McKechnie Klahr and the countless others who have commited their lives to the improvement of others.

Instantly after I have that thought, though, I give thanks that I do not have to, and I give even more that I have been invited to play a part in changing the world. Even after a long day of hard work, maybe even because of a day of hard work, I find even more faith in the end of the story, of the day the book of Revelation boasts about: the day that all is as it was planned to be, the one where everything is in place and when God's smile shines brighter than the brightest rays of the sun.

Until that time comes, I will look back to Tomieka's story,I will watch Oscar stretch and grow, and I will listen proudly as Cynthia explains to her mother "Este es mi maestra." I'll hope, too, that my wonder of their amazing abilities and infinite potential makes my smile's shine an adequate stand-in.