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This is what 60 looks like

May 13, 2025May 13, 2025thecausecoach

Today I am 60.

I’m not sure how that happened. I guess it’s just a passage of time that I’ve barely seemed to notice…until I did.

Maybe it’s the heavy losses of the last two decades. The family and friends who have long since passed. The less-than-optimal career moves that took me off course. Investments gone bad. There are regrets of course. How can anyone who has lived and taken risks not had some?

A black and white photograph of a young child with curly hair, wearing a dress with a ruffled collar and sleeves, smiling while seated. — 1968 – age 3

A young girl with short hair and a white dress, sitting and smiling at the camera in a black and white photograph. — 1968 – age 3

But now, those moments I once seemed stuck in, all seem so fleeting. College courses, bad dates, home improvements, a baby in diapers, unemployment, marathon training. Yes, everything passes. From the joyful to the time-consuming and worrisome. We move through it. And one day, we’re looking back at the once mundane – and even painful – with longing.

I look back at old pictures of me, images of I once regarded with distain. Now I think, I look much better in that dress than I remember. That short haircut did really compliment my face. I looked so young…

A vintage portrait of a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a plaid shirt and a necklace, looking thoughtfully at the camera against a peach-colored backdrop. — 1979 – 8th grade

A young woman with long hair, wearing a light-colored shirt, smiling softly at the camera against a soft, neutral background. — 1979 – 8th grade

That’s the sad side of growing older.

But there is a plus side. Life’s changes also bring a shift in perspective and priorities that begin to make life simpler, each day more rewarding, and make us more confident in our convictions, truer to ourselves.

I have traded organized religion for personal spirituality; a career for a mission; developed a more flexible definition of family. All of which transcends external influences. I have long since stopped caring what other people think of me – especially people whose opinions don’t matter. I have become less rigid and have relaxed the traditional rules my parents passed down of who and how I should be at this age.

Portrait of a woman with long brown hair, wearing a striped shirt, set against a green, blurred background. — 1990 – 25

Portrait of a woman with curly hair wearing a white dress, smiling outdoors. — 1990 – 25

I am not currently in the best shape of my life and realize I may never be again. But I am still running half marathons (#55 a week and a half ago and a plan to get to #60 before the year is out) and I haven’t closed the door on another full (maybe next year).

I am no longer in a C-level position, a peak earner, but get up every day in love with what I do, why I do it, and who I do it for. And the bills get paid. I’ve saved for retirement and have a vision for that, too. Although not too soon. My dad, who retired at 62, told me at 82, that if he knew he was going to live so long, he wouldn’t have retired as early as he did.

The more days I live, the more of the puzzle pieces I see coming together. I have witnessed entire lifetimes through the two dogs I’ve guided from housebreaking to the rainbow bridge. I saw my daughter come into grow into this world, and witness my parents as they departed it.

A woman with shoulder-length hair in a blue blazer stands next to another woman with short, curly hair in a patterned red dress, smiling in front of a La Salle University sign. — 1987. Me at 22 with Mom at 60.

Road sign indicating 'JCT ILLINOIS 60' under a blue sky. — 1987. Me at 22 with Mom at 60.

I still refer to myself as “middle-aged” which, unless anyone genuinely believes I can succeed at reaching 120, that shipped sailed a while back. If I live as long as my (adoptive) parents, I have another 25 years. My biological mother celebrated her 90^th last fall. So maybe 30 years more. Personally, I’m shooting for 111 + 2 months so I can be around for America’s Tricentennial (assuming we make it through the semi-quincentennial next year). Who knows what’s in cards for any of us next week, next month, next year…I’ve been aware of the time going by – The say, in the end, it’s the wink of an eye. (Jackson Browne).

Whether twenty-five or thirty, it doesn’t matter. I am finally at a point in life where I have stopped wishing away time, thinking things will be better when… I have stopped imagining life as it could be and have learned to just enjoy what each day brings. With all that I’ve become, I have no doubt that this will be the most fulfilling time of my life. I have been watching the younger generation at home and work, their insecurities, self-doubt, some excitement accompanied with anxieties about the unknown. At first maybe a little envious of the full life they have before them, I know I am happiest right where I am. I approach each day with the wisdom of experience, and a tremendous amount of gratitude for those experiences – all of them.

I feel I succeeded at parenting, gotten a second chance at love and marriage and family, have a fulfilling vocation that is about helping others. I still get out for a run, and have hope for the future through the addition of a new puppy to our home.

I quote my mother almost daily, and yet today, it’s my father’s words that ring most true. Today is indeed the first day of the rest of my life.

Happy Birthday to me.

Please help me support Mercy Home for Boys & Girls with my 60th Birthday Fundraiser. So far this year, I ran the F^3 Half Marathon (January 25th, #53), the United Airlines NYC (March 16th, #54) and the Chicagoland Spring Half (May 4th, #55). Next up is the Chicago Spring Half on Sunday. My goal is to reach Half Marathon #60 before the end of the year. Please help me stay motivated, and make sure the children of Mercy Home are provided the care they need. To learn more about Mercy Home and my why, please visit my fundraising page. Thank you.

A road sign displaying 'JCT ILLINOIS 60' against a clear blue sky, with the text 'SIXTY WEEKS to 60!' prominently featured in a bold font.

Sixty Weeks to 60: Short Stories

May 6, 2025May 4, 2025thecausecoach

(One Week!)

When he first met me, my uncle told my parents, “This child has lived before.” I don’t know about that, but I have lived, and I have the stories to tell. So, to make a long story short, as my mom would say…

One of my favorite lunches at the Blue Bird was “tongue”. It was kind of like corned beef and I loved it! Until I saw the chef taking it out of the refrigerator one day and realized it was actually a real cow’s tongue. Never ate it again.

Black and white photograph of a house covered in snow, surrounded by snow-laden trees. A white fence and snowdrifts are visible in the foreground. — The Blue Bird in snow.

Many, many years after my parents closed the Blue Bird, then the gift shop, and sold the property, just before my father passed and my parents were living back in Bergen County, the new owners were trying to have the zoning changed. It was in the local papers. My dad couldn’t believe they were still calling it the “Blue Bird property” after all that time.

When I was in 2^nd grade, my parents signed me up for piano lessons with Sister Stella at M.B.S. I hated it. She was so mean, slamming my little fingers down on the keys when I hit a wrong note. I wanted to quit, but my parents kept telling me to stick with it. Then my dad signed up to take lessons with Sister Stella, too. After two lessons, he came home and told me it was okay if I quit!

A young girl with long red hair and a yellow dress sits at a piano, looking directly at the camera with an expression of concentration. Sheet music is placed on the piano, and a lamp is visible in the background.

A young girl in a white tennis dress and hat, holding a tennis racket, standing in a grassy area with trees in the background.

Father Carl, the pastor at M.B.S. was a big tennis player and would befriend all the parishioners with courts. We were no exception. I remember one time he came by unannounced, and my mom was busy painting the front porch, so she sent me and Conne out to play with him. He seemed a little annoyed that we weren’t up to his caliber of play. And we thought it was funny to see him annoyed at us. “Pick up the ball!”

When I was in elementary school Sr. Elizabeth caught me doing something bad which she was going to discuss with my parents at the upcoming parent-teacher night a few days away. I prayed the rosary every night leading up to it. We had a major snowstorm and the meeting was cancelled! By the time the next one rolled around, Sister had forgotten about it and my parents eventually died (decades later) having never heard about the awful thing I did. So yeah, I believe in the power of prayer.

I was a baseball geek when I was a kid. Knew all the players, their stats, and a fair amount of Yankees trivia. In the summer of 1983, I won $100 from Z-100 radio because I knew who the home plate umpire was at Don Larson’s perfect game (which, by the way, my parents attended).

When I was a teen, my parents said they always knew I had a party when the house was cleaner when they returned (responsible teen that I was!).

A woman smiling while sitting on grass, wearing sunglasses and holding a brown paper bag, dressed in a white t-shirt and colorful shorts.

A porch area featuring a small table with various beverage bottles, including soda and alcohol containers, alongside boxes on the floor.

When I was 24, Lional Simmons, who was the freshman star of my college basketball team, now a senior, was on pace for his 3000th NCAA career point. I bought one ticket to the game, left work early and drove over 2 hours to be there. I was so happy to have been part of it even though I went alone. Sometimes we need to go alone to have meaningful experiences that we’d miss otherwise.

I went to a PBA Ball many years ago and won the basket of cheer which was a huge Craftsman toolbox with bottles of alcohol in it. My date tried to convince me to give him the toolbox. I said, “No way, you can have the booze, but the toolbox is mine.” Still have it!

Chris and I went to the safari at Great Adventure for my 29^th birthday – it was spring! You know where this is going, right? Every single animal! Bears, lions, zebras, ostriches! It was like zoo porn!

I bought a pre-lit tree at Home Depot because Chris didn’t want real trees anymore since they were “too messy.” As a compromise, I made him agree to buying the biggest one they had! It didn’t fit. He had to saw 6 inches off the bottom – yes, of a fake tree!

I love hiking. Took my daughter on a long hike along The Palisades once and I misjudged the trail, and it started getting dark and we were far from the car at Stateline lookout. So thankfully I had a charge on my cell and called the park rangers to pick us up at the Alpine boat basin and drive us up to our car. It was a bit of a long walk in what turned into complete darkness. I kept saying, “We’re okay.” Mostly trying to convince myself and not letting my daughter know that I honestly thought being eaten by a bear was a possibility. The cop was surprised to see we were in such good shape and still had food and water (Girl Scouts taught me to always have a pack of provisions!). He told us we could have lasted out there all night. No, thank you!

A child sitting on a fallen log in a woodland area covered with autumn leaves, holding a drink and looking up thoughtfully, with a backpack nearby. — That hike. Before it got dark.

A person climbing on large rocks in a wooded area, navigating through fallen branches and greenery. — That hike. Before it got dark.

My daughter once said to me, “remember when Dad died, and we had all that food in the house?” A sense of humor is your most powerful asset in finding strength. And food. Food helps.

How about when you send a text message to your kid that reads “remember when you left the water running in the upstairs bathroom and flooded the living room? Well, you’ve been vindicated.”

Worst parenting moment came when she was learning to drive. “Mom, can you show me how you do that thing where you drive with your knee?”

I have six tattoos. 3 & 4 over 1 & 2, and then 5 & 6 last year. My first one was very small. The Japanese symbol for sun. I eventually covered that with one that says “Chasing the…” with a bigger sun (my metaphor for running) on my 20^thRuniversary in 2016. I got one on the day that should have been my 25th wedding anniversary. It’s a big ass dragon that covers my whole lower back. It covers a heart with his name. He was born in the year of the Dragon, as was our only child.

A close-up view of a tattoo on a person's upper back, featuring a sun design and the phrase 'Chasing the'.

A detailed black tattoo of a dragon on the lower back, depicting intricate scales and sharp claws.

I have radiation tattoos, too. Five of them. Little dots. Last August on the 10^th anniversary of my last radiation treatment, I got a snake under my left breast that connects two of the dots. The snake is a symbol of healing and rebirth. In November on what would have been my parents 75^th wedding anniversary, I got a bluebird on my right pectoralis major. That was the first one in full color. It represents the wings that they gave me, as well as roots (since it’s landing), and is also a throwback to their Blue Bird Inn.

My childhood home was at the corner of Franklin and Circle Avenues. Down on Circle Ave was a beautiful little pond with a small wooden dock. When I was small my mom would take me there to feed the ducks. When I was old enough to ride my bike, I’d just sit on the dock enjoying the scenery, looking for fish and turtles. Circle Ave no longer circles, and that beautiful little pond is gone. Replaced by an interstate highway expansion.

A vintage photograph of a large, two-story house surrounded by trees and shrubs, with an American flag on display. A traffic sign can be seen in the foreground, indicating a road direction. — The house at the corner of Franklin & Circle.

I went through an entire day once with all my family and co-workers forgetting it was my birthday, then late in the day I went to make a transaction at my bank and the teller noticed it was my birthday, and the bank employees made a big deal out of it! Sometimes I just try to appreciate the little things and not take the rest personally.

I got pulled over once a few years ago in New Jersey for going 53 in a 25! I gave the cop the 1992 PBA card (a Jersey thing, apparently) that had been sitting in my wallet for 25 years just waiting for me to commit a traffic violation. His response? “That was the year I was born!” He let me go, but kept the PBA card, probably as a souvenir.

Not long after hitting the 50 milestone, I was in the car with my daughter and had to pull over to take my jacket off (hot flash!) and she laughed at me. I said, “you know someday when you’re in your 50s, you’ll understand. And you’ll think to yourself, ‘OMG poor mom’ and you’ll feel really, really bad. Because I’ll be dead, and you won’t have the opportunity to apologize for laughing at me.”

To be continued…

Please help me support Mercy Home for Boys & Girls with my 60th Birthday Fundraiser. I will be running the United Airlines NYC Half on March 16th. This will be Half Marathon #54. My goal is to reach Half Marathon #60 before the end of the year. Please help me stay motivated, and make sure the children of Mercy Home are provided the care they need. To learn more about Mercy Home and my why, please visit my fundraising page. Thank you.

A road sign showing 'JCT ILLINOIS 60' against a clear blue sky, with the text 'SIXTY WEEKS TO 60!' prominently displayed.

Sixty Weeks to 60: Weird New Jersey

April 29, 2025April 27, 2025thecausecoach

(2 Weeks)

“New Jersey is weird,” I remember him saying. “No place like it.”

On one of our first trips back together he also asked me how it felt being back. “Like I never left,” I replied. Unlike me, Kurt was born in New Jersey, although he’s been living in Illinois for more than 30 years now and raised his kids here. New Jersey stopped being home for him a long time ago.

New Jersey is in my blood. I arrived there when I was two, was raised there, and raised my daughter there, spending 51 of my now almost 60 years there before relocating to Illinois almost seven years ago. When I go back it doesn’t feel odd at all. It feels natural. I get right back into a Jersey groove, where I never need to use GSP (even to avoid traffic), and every sight generates a memory.

Kurt was right about one thing though. New Jersey is weird, as the publication Weird N.J. (your travel guide to New Jersey’s local legends and best kept secrets) boasts. Love it or hate it, most can agree there is no place like it. For starters, if you drop the “new” just calling it Jersey, everyone still knows what you’re talking about. Can’t do that with New Mexico or New York!

New Jersey ranks 47^th in size (land area), just ahead of Connecticut, Delaware, and Rhode Island. But it ranks 11^th in population, making it the most densely populated state. It’s not that New Jersey doesn’t have any wide-open spaces, either. I’m sure you remember the Pine Barrens episode of the Sopranos and a large swath of the state is horse country. New Jersey also has more horses per square mile than any other state – including Kentucky! As the Garden State, New Jersey has a significant amount of farmland – still.

The most populated county in the most populated state, with just shy of a million residents, is Bergen County. That’s were I grew up. And if you think New Jersey is weird…

Bergen County’s population is greater than that of the total population of six states (Delaware, South Dekota, North Dekota, Alaska, Vermont, and Wyoming). It’s no wonder that Bergen County is home to the town that has more shopping malls – and retail sales – than any other zip code: Paramus, New Jersey. What is even more remarkable about that, is they do it in spite of Blue Laws.

Bergen County’s Blue Laws which keep retailers closed on Sundays (with exceptions for gas stations, grocery stores and some others) were historically based on the Christian Sabbath but have been upheld in the name of peace by people of all religions every time it goes up for a vote. Being so densely populated with inadequate public transportation, Bergen County residents feel the wrath of shoppers more than most. And time after time, voters supported peace, with the majority not seeing it as a religious issue. Since my parents were in retail, I know first-hand how Blue Laws helped even the playing field between big retailers and small mom & pops that can’t be open 7 days a week if they want to have any kind of life with their families.

New Jersey also has no sales tax on clothing. Something I remember, sadly, when I get to the register at any clothing retailer here in Illinois.

New Jersey is a peninsula with the Hudson River and Atlantic Ocean to the east and Delaware River on its western border. It’s also like two states in one. The northern part of the state identifies with New York City, while the southern half of the state are Phillies Phans. Up north (before going vegan) I enjoyed Taylor Ham and egg sandwiches. Same thing down south, except they call it pork roll.

The shore is kind of neutral territory where everyone goes for summer. New Jersey doesn’t have beaches – it’s The Shore!

Jenkinson’s Boardwalk, Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey. August 2021.

I will admit, if arriving in New Jersey via Newark Airport, it doesn’t appear to be the most attractive state, but those refineries are why gas is cheaper there. And it’s served to you! New Jerseyans don’t pump gas. Seriously, the state doesn’t allow it. New Jersey is the only state in the union where it is illegal to pump your own gas. Something I miss tremendously during northern Illinois winters.

New Jersey has been the brunt of jokes for as long as I can remember. At college in Philadelphia, when I told people I was from New Jersey, the response was often “what exit?” When Governor Jim McGreevy resigned after admitting to an extramarital homosexual relationship in 2004, The Onion headline read: “Gay American tearfully admits he’s governor of New Jersey.”

Sure, The Sopranos, Jersey Shore and The Real Housewives of New Jersey, may not have done much to help the state’s reputation, but when I tell people I grew up in Franklin Lakes, at least RHONJ fans have a point of reference. I have also been inside the Bada Bing Club on a couple of occasions (IRL it’s a go-go bar called, Satin Dolls on Route 17 in Lodi). I can also say I was (not seriously) injured at Action Park!

On the way home from a late night out, nothing beats a New Jersey Diner! Open 24/7. Or a New Jersey pie (pizza) or an everything bagel. All the first things I look for when I’m back east. Nothing like it.

The Bendix Diner. Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey. October 2017.

Sixty Weeks to 60: Church of the Long Run

April 22, 2025April 11, 2025thecausecoach

(3 Weeks)

Growing up Catholic was, as I’ve mentioned before, pretty okay. My school was fun, a place where I built long-term relationships with people I still call friends today. Our parish provided a community where I felt protected and nourished. Youth group provided a social life before the days of house parties or when bars became open to us. I stayed connected into my late 20s.

By the mid-90s, I was married and no longer lived close enough to my old parish to be a regular for Sunday Mass. It didn’t matter because with so many of the people I knew – my parents included – having moved away, I didn’t feel the same sense of community. I was also married to someone who’s experience with the Catholic Church was vastly different than mine.

My faith itself didn’t waiver while I questioned my relationship to the institution. There were news stories of course about the atrocities perpetrated by clergy then covered up by the church hierarchy. Breaking news about the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, also hit close to home. Since college, I also began to question the Catholic Church’s stance on women’s choices for their own reproductive health and beliefs around homosexuality. Now as an adult I became more aware that the actions of people within my church community weren’t “Christ-like” at all.

During Lent of 1994, I dutifully attended a new church that was walking distance from the apartment my first husband and I shared in Hackensack. I went every Sunday. Chris promised me he’d attend Easter Sunday mass with me. On that Easter Sunday, after witnessing a politically charged, completely inappropriate homily for an Easter Sunday, I consciously made the decision to stop going to church.

Catholic guilt consumed me for a few years. It wasn’t something I ever shared with my parents. I also honestly, just felt lost for a while. My relationship with “God” wasn’t just something I could shut the door on after 30 years. But it was like I didn’t feel in being true to myself, I could be part of that anymore. Would you still belong to a club if you weren’t willing to follow the rules?

I felt guilty…until I started running. Suddenly I had something to do on Sunday mornings. It was a time of quiet reflection and meditation. I’d run past the Catholic Church feeling the thump of my heartbeat and air making the journey through my nose, lungs, and back out my mouth. I listened to the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. I felt gratitude for this temple – my God-given body – that was doing wonderous things, and I remembered being taught in Catholic School that God was everywhere, not just in Church.

So, it was in spring 1996 that I joined “The First Church of the Long Run.” As I began training for my first marathon in 1997, “Sunday ‘services” became longer. Two, maybe even, three hours. I felt I was doing something very positive for my health while becoming one with my environment. The trees, the flowers, the many little animals I’ve met on my runs.

I remember one long race that was three loops around Central Park. At the start, the spring morning was cool, and a trace of snow lingered in spots. On the first lap I noticed the daffodils coming up. By the second lap the sun was higher in the sky and the temperature was climbing. I noticed the daffodils now looked like they were about to bloom. The third lap came at the heat of the day and by then the daffodils were showing off all their bright sunshine all over the landscape.

I never felt closer to God.

Sixty Weeks to 60: Mom – the Last Part

April 15, 2025April 11, 2025thecausecoach

(4 weeks)

In the first year without my dad, I called her every single day without fail. Because she liked to take long walks, I bought her a cell phone and added her to my plan. I probably should have done a better job teaching her how to use it.

“Mom, where were you? I tried calling a few times.”

“I was out for a walk.”

“I bought you a cell phone, so you could take it with you.”

“But it’s not plugged in.”

I made sure she had lots of fun experiences with her daughter and granddaughter, planning lots of activities that first fall. She came trick or treating with us. I brought her to Philadelphia for Homecoming and a La Salle University football game (at the tail end of the school’s decade long revival of the football team that had been dormant since the start of WWII). I think that was her first time back on campus since my graduation weekend.

I took her to lunch at one of my favorite spots on her 80^th birthday, and in June that year she came to watch her granddaughter while I ran a 5k to distract her from it being my dad’s birthday, the first we couldn’t celebrate without him.

When I realized that it might be better to keep her closer, I moved her in with us. It became clear her memory was fading, although, while forgetting more recent history, she dug up memories I had never heard about before.

Left: Mom at 22. Atop my dad’s Plymouth. Elmhurst, Queens. 1949. Right: Mom at 40. With me in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. 1967.

She played hide and seek with her granddaughter. She put a ridiculous amount of money under the kid’s pillow when playing tooth fairy. She’d walk to daily mass. On the way home she’d stop at the library to read the New York Post cover to cover. Then on the final leg home, she’d stop at Brady’s at the Station on Main Street for a late lunch.

That part of our lives was short-lived. I realized we were over our head in providing her with the care she needed. Sometimes she’d wander off and I’d get a call at work. The difficult decision was made to move her to an assisted living residence. Among my regrets is that I couldn’t do more for her and keep her with us. But the dynamic between me, my mom, and my husband was complicated.

After the move, the church never called to see what happened to the elderly women who sat in a pew every morning for close to nine months. The library must not have noticed her there reading each day and didn’t seem to wonder why some books were overdue. The waitress at Brady’s missed her though. She came by the house one day looking for her saying how much she had enjoyed her company and stories and how she had often given her a ride home at the end of her lunch shift.

Left: Mom at 73. With me and my daughter. Mother’s Day. 2000. Right: Mom at 82. First Christmas in memory care assisted living. 2009.

She lasted a year in her first assisted living before she needed more care than they could provide. That was followed by close to two years in a memory care facility. Then a doctor suggested hospice. We found a lovely place where she could live out her days. Except days turned onto months.

She came up on the top of the waitlist for a bed at the Veterans Home. That’s where we spent her last birthday together. April 17, 2012. She was 85. I saw her last on Father’s Day that year. When I visited, she was alert and happy, more lucid than she’d been in months. She seemed excited saying that my dad would be stopping by to pick her up and take her home.

She was gone before dawn on Tuesday.