marathon

From travels early last month to the busy-ness when I returned, hopefully, after reading this you'll understand why it’s taken me until now to write… Settle in, it's a long one.

April 25^th was World Malaria Day. If you by chance remember, it was this time last year that I’d just started my current job and by the second week was headed to an event at the White House, with a cute suit but no make-up. Looking back on that time versus now, it truly makes me thankful (is that the right word?) for all I’ve learned in the last twelve months, even though this year was, of course, not without its own folly.

Suffice it to say, the days leading up to it were insanely busy with preparations for a week packed with activities, many of which we were co-hosting, but all of which I had to attend. We also had two guests in from Africa to participate in various events, which added another layer of logistical management to my duties.

From media outreach, interviews, jetting from this activity to that event toting a projector, information packets, banners or whatever, to meeting with Congressional staffers from the leadership of the House and Senate (and others, too) and lingering just a few extra minutes outside Obama’s office hoping just to say a quick hi – it was a full-on crazy week, and one where I could have easily forgotten where I came from, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, one panel discussion we hosted on malaria eradication is even online, should you be having a bought of insomnia and need an instant cure. Just kidding, sort of…There were some exciting, non-scientific aspects to the week – we had packed houses at all of our events, distributed awareness posters all over Capitol Hill featuring photos that you may very well recognize, launched a malaria caucus with the First Lady as the special guest, and amid all the madness, I ended up going to Quincy Jones’ birthday party one evening. Random, I know, that I would end up at a swanky D.C. mansion celebrating the "We Are the World" producer with several hundred other strangers. My goal was to find either a rock star to charm or his daughter Rashida who played Jim’s old girlfriend on The Office and get some inside scoop on the show. Instead, I found Colin Powell and that kid Corky from Life Goes On. Again, random. I introduced myself to Gen. Powell, not to Corky.

That night turned out to be a pretty late one, so I got back to Baltimore and had only a few hours sleep before getting up and heading back to D.C. The First Lady event was the next morning, and like any White House-related activity, all was perfectly orchestrated. I even mingled around afterward and met some Congressional members who had joined the caucus. Good people, none had horns -- I was shocked. That evening, though, there was an event for malaria at MTV headquarters in New York City, and the inner teenager in me just couldn’t miss it. So, off I went, back on the commuter train, and after a quick stop in Charm City (aka Baltimore) to grab my luggage, I hopped back on the Amtrak and headed north. It was Thursday afternoon, and I was teetering on the edge of exhaustion by that point, so once I settled into my seat I fell sound asleep…

Clickty clack… clicktly clack… clickity clack...

“Doors closing…departing Penn Station…next stop Hartford.” Three hours later, the recorded woman’s voice was calm and soothing as it told me, unmistakably, that I was missing my stop.

I jumped up and snatched my bag from overhead and sprinted toward the exit doors, which slid shut in my face with a thud. I think I even pounded on the glass, but I was still coming to full consciousness after my long, hard nap. My heart was racing as I struggled to balance myself in between the shifting cars as the train pulled away. If sleeping through my stop wasn’t enough, my left contact lens suddenly falls out, as if right on cue for my own series of unfortunate events.

Somehow, though, I caught it, and with that finely-honed contact-wearer reflex, poked it (dirty hands and all) right back in my eye. The clickty clack clickty clack of doom echoed in my ears, just like last year, as the train veered slowly through the tunnels leaving Manhattan… I slunk back to my seat defeated, distressed, and still slowly waking up. It was then that I realized my left eye was still hurting, so I fumbled around for my make-up mirror and discovered that I had problems well-beyond missing the MTV event. My left eye was on the verge of swelling completely shut.

I donned my sunglasses and tried to pull it together, all the while chastising myself for not packing eye drops or hand wipes or saline or anything useful. (But I did have three pairs of shoes for no apparent reason.) I pondered my life ahead of certain half-blindness.

Soon, though, the jolly train conductor waddled by, asking for tickets, but finding me – now a stow-away of sorts – with a blackening eye headed unintentionally to Connecticut. When I shared my predicament, he apologized profusely for not waking me. Apparently, conductors are responsible for making sure sleeping passengers don’t miss their stops – who knew? He plopped down and began scouring a schedule for my return options, but none of them would get me back in time for MTV. I couldn’t help but smile at his kindness, though, while wincing in pain behind my sunglasses.

The train suddenly slowed as it rounded a curve, and the conductor perked up and peered out the window. “Oh yeah, this could be it, this is it, this is what we can do – follow me, ma’am!”

He snatched my bag from overhead and rushed toward the back of the car. I followed, confused and still blurry-eyed. We were nearing a small station, and he explained that the commuter trains passing through (we were somewhere out in NY suburbs at this point) had created a minor train traffic jam. But that little lag in time was all we needed, apparently, and as we passed the small platform, I felt the train jolt to a stop. The conductor shot me a grin as he mashed a button and the door (at last) flew open. Off went my bag and me, and on went the train (minus one puffy-eyed passenger) to Connecticut. I ran (again) and caught the commuter train on the other side of the platform back into NYC, still amazed that he had stopped the entire train just for me.

By the time I reached my hotel back in NYC to drop my bags, I looked like I’d been in a fist fight, and lost. But an ice pack and some Visine from a nearby pharmacy, plus lots of concealer, went a long way to improving my appearance, if not my inner frenzy. And I figured, hey, it’s MTV – if there’s a crowd where I can get a way with wearing my sunglasses indoors at night, it’s with them.

So off I went, shades and all, to an event that was, unfortunately, the least attended of the week. Bono and all his rock star humanitarian friends were not there, and a guy dressed in a giant mosquito suit ended up being the lone attraction. It was that boring.

The next day I could see the finish line, metaphorically and literally, as my eye was almost back to normal. A luncheon at the UN was the last hurrah of the week and was quite a cool thing to be invited to, and by the UN Secretary-General himself, no less! Lots of VIPs in global health (self-appointed and not) were there and pontificated well into the afternoon about their grand (and largely unfeasible) plans for the next few years. Perhaps I’m cynical, or too practical, or perhaps I’ll blame it on the book I’ve been reading. Whatever the case, the honor was being able to walk into a place that physically and philosophically represents all nations in the world coming together to work for the common good and being there as an invited guest, not just a random visitor. It was amazing actually, and humbling, and I'd say it pretty much topped going to the White House last year :)

With that final stop, though, the malaria marathon came to an end, and after a week of entirely too much hob-knobbing, I collapsed for awhile and then set out to reconnect with the Real World, which actually has nothing to do with MTV or Congress or aging music moguls. I did what any good southerner would do -- I went to a local fair and ate pulled pork barbecue sandwiches and deep fried oreos, two days in a row. Then I made a trek down into Virginia to see a true small town girl who knows how to keep it real wherever in the world she goes -– the great Dolly Parton, of course.

As I sang along at the top of my lungs to “Nine to Five” and “Coat of Many Colors” and so many others, I felt unmistakably grounded again. Nothing like a little dose of Home to remind you where you came from... and who you really are.