OutreachPR has GREAT CLIENTS. This is something we did today:
Team Meb to Compete with Conviction in Nike+ Human Race
Raising Money for NineMillion.org is Personal Quest for Running Team
LOS ANGELES – August 28, 2008 – This month the world watched as athletes from nations around the globe united in competitive spirit in one amazing city: Beijing. On August 31, that spirit continues with the Nike+ Human Race, the world’s largest sporting event, which will feature 10K races in 25 cities around the globe.
In Los Angeles, one group of family members, friends and fans of U.S. Olympic Silver Medalist and marathoner Meb Keflezighi, will unite with professional runners, including Nike athletes Khadevis Robinson and Jon Rankin, and world class runner Jacques Sallberg, to run the race and raise money and awareness for NineMillion.org, the United Nation’s program that supports refugee children around the world with access to education and sports.
Team Meb has a unique tie to the noble causes of NineMillion.org. Their team name sake and running inspiration, Meb Keflezighi, who also remains the reigning U.S. record holder in the 10k with an astonishing 27:13:98, not only supports the cause vigorously, but he lived it, as did his brother, Hawi Keflezighi, owner of HAWI Management, which manages both Rankin and Sallberg.
Meb, Hawi, and four other siblings began their lives caught in the midst of a brutal 30-year war between their homeland of Eritrea and Ethiopia. Fearing for their lives, the family fled Eritrea as refugees, spending time in Europe before arriving in the United States.
It was in California where Meb began his meteoric rise to running fame. While overcoming language barriers to achieve superior status as a student, he also astounded his coaches with his speed. Meb went on to win an unprecedented full-ride scholarship to UCLA in track, where he was a four time NCAA champion. In 2004, he won the Silver Medal at the Olympics in Athens, despite being ranked only 39th in the field.
From Belgium where he is preparing to run the 5k at the Flanders Cup on August 30, and the 10k in the Golden League Memorial Van Damme on September 5, Meb said, “The efforts of Team Meb have exposed thousands of people to the work of NineMillion.org, and already more than 125 people have joined the team to raise money for a cause that is so important to nine million refugee children around the world. I am with them in spirit and so happy for their commitment to this cause.”
Donations can be made to NineMillion.org in support of Team Meb online by visiting http://www.ninemillionspacesdonations.org/. Visit http://www.ninemillion.org/ for a first hand look at the work being done by the program by watching the video on the home page. The video features Meb Keflezighi as spokesperson, part of his role as an active supporter of the program.
For more information, visit http://www.hawisports.com/ and click on the Events section of the website to learn more about Team Meb. -end-
TEAM MEB
About Team Meb
The official Meb Keflezighi website is located at http://www.runmeb.com/.
Meb is proudly sponsored by Nike (http://www.nike.com/) and Power Bar (www.powerbar.com)
More about NineMillion.org, a UN agency for refugee children, is at http://www.ninemillion.org/
Khadevis Robinson is a premier U.S. men’s 800m runner who finished fourth in the 2008 U.S. Olympic Trials. His website is at http://www.khadevis.com/
Professional runner Jon Rankin is a world class miler and Nike athlete. Read more about him at www.hawisports.com/jon.html
Jacques Sallberg is a worldclass steeple chaser and member of Team USA. Read about him at www.hawisports.com/jacques.html
Merhawi Keflezighi is the owner of HAWI Management, a professional sports management company based in Los Angeles. Hawi, like his brother Meb, was a refugee as a child, who grew up with a focus on education. He holds a law degree from the UCLA School of Law and is passionate about managing athletes to reach their full potential. Visit http://www.hawisports.com/ for more information.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Life is Precious
I played tennis last night with my teacher friends. The mood was a bit somber, as a local boy had been killed in a car wreck earlier in the day. I can't seem to get this out of my mind, and all I can think about is "What a precious life cut short," and "OH HOW HIS FAMILY MUST BE FEELING."
Apparently he was on his way to Athens, about 15 minutes from here, to register for community college at Trinity Valley. He just graduated from Mabank High this year.
This boy was apparently passing a car on the highway and had a head-on collision with an 18-wheeler. That highway is a pain, there are only a few places you can pass, and there are many blind spots where you just can't or shouldn't. Traffic tends to move relatively slow, there is construction going on, so if you're going to Athens you have to give yourself time. It can be a slow drive. We can't know why he passed a car or what he was thinking. I only know that I had it ingrained in me during a driver's safety course that "There is no place you have to be so important that it's worth risking your life over."
Accidents happen. Misjudgments, especially by the young, happen. But the consequences can be devastating.
The life of a handsome, vibrant 19 year old boy -- a young man with a whole life ahead of him -- was cut short yesterday, and a whole town grieves. Please say a prayer for the family of Wade Holt. Then tell your kids you love them and to BE CAREFUL.
Apparently he was on his way to Athens, about 15 minutes from here, to register for community college at Trinity Valley. He just graduated from Mabank High this year.
This boy was apparently passing a car on the highway and had a head-on collision with an 18-wheeler. That highway is a pain, there are only a few places you can pass, and there are many blind spots where you just can't or shouldn't. Traffic tends to move relatively slow, there is construction going on, so if you're going to Athens you have to give yourself time. It can be a slow drive. We can't know why he passed a car or what he was thinking. I only know that I had it ingrained in me during a driver's safety course that "There is no place you have to be so important that it's worth risking your life over."
Accidents happen. Misjudgments, especially by the young, happen. But the consequences can be devastating.
The life of a handsome, vibrant 19 year old boy -- a young man with a whole life ahead of him -- was cut short yesterday, and a whole town grieves. Please say a prayer for the family of Wade Holt. Then tell your kids you love them and to BE CAREFUL.
Monday, August 25, 2008
A "private" post for my husband of 24 years.
Happy Anniversary, Mark. On August 25, 1984, we had a lovely 5 p.m. wedding ceremony, and I got to be princess for a day. You were my prince. We had a great time. And boy were we young. This picture (scroll down) was at the start of our married life together and the start of 15 years in Colorado and nearly ten in Texas. Happy 'versary.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
A P.S.
I decided today after returning from another day in the city that one of the things I enjoy about back to school is the shopping.
Son number one and I hit the mall today, and it was good.
As the only woman in the family, I get to take charge of back to school and Christmas shopping. I'm the family expert. I like to spend money. And I'm good at it. Last week I took care of son number two, and today was time for number one.
The mall is a good experience twice a year. Since I went last weekend too, I've had my fill until the holidays.
For Nike tennis shoes, nothing beats Foot Locker. Apparently that's something everyone knows, because everyone was there. There were about ten guys in ref shirts working the floor, and doing a good job, getting shoes for people, two and three boxes at a time. We waited quite a while to get the shoes we had requested, and my son suggested we leave at one point. But I was into the vibe and in a good mood and in no hurry. It took a long time, but at the same time, it was an experience. The music was different, the people were different. Everyone had a posse just hanging out, and everyone was patient. The line to pay was incredibly long. But it was orderly, and no one made any trouble. Even me. I waited in line for 15 minutes and bought Nikes made in Vietnam for probably six dollars for 20 times that much. But they are cool, and my son is happy.
I enjoyed the Foot Locker experience. I'm into people watching and listening. This mall is an urban suburban mall. It was a microcosm of America. A melting pot. And today I stood in line at Foot Locker and melted.
P.S.S. I'm just a little down on the retail trend showcased at Hollister Co. It is too dark in those stores. I already have trouble seeing, and then they put me in the dark to buy clothes for my kids? And forget trying things on. The line was nuts. It would be a fire hazzard. I've been in three different stores and they are all the same. It's hard to see what you're buying. Fortunately it's just basic tshirts and polos. And the kids have to have it. At least it's cheap. But I hope this craze ends soon. And where's the fire marshall?
Son number one and I hit the mall today, and it was good.
As the only woman in the family, I get to take charge of back to school and Christmas shopping. I'm the family expert. I like to spend money. And I'm good at it. Last week I took care of son number two, and today was time for number one.
The mall is a good experience twice a year. Since I went last weekend too, I've had my fill until the holidays.
For Nike tennis shoes, nothing beats Foot Locker. Apparently that's something everyone knows, because everyone was there. There were about ten guys in ref shirts working the floor, and doing a good job, getting shoes for people, two and three boxes at a time. We waited quite a while to get the shoes we had requested, and my son suggested we leave at one point. But I was into the vibe and in a good mood and in no hurry. It took a long time, but at the same time, it was an experience. The music was different, the people were different. Everyone had a posse just hanging out, and everyone was patient. The line to pay was incredibly long. But it was orderly, and no one made any trouble. Even me. I waited in line for 15 minutes and bought Nikes made in Vietnam for probably six dollars for 20 times that much. But they are cool, and my son is happy.
I enjoyed the Foot Locker experience. I'm into people watching and listening. This mall is an urban suburban mall. It was a microcosm of America. A melting pot. And today I stood in line at Foot Locker and melted.
P.S.S. I'm just a little down on the retail trend showcased at Hollister Co. It is too dark in those stores. I already have trouble seeing, and then they put me in the dark to buy clothes for my kids? And forget trying things on. The line was nuts. It would be a fire hazzard. I've been in three different stores and they are all the same. It's hard to see what you're buying. Fortunately it's just basic tshirts and polos. And the kids have to have it. At least it's cheap. But I hope this craze ends soon. And where's the fire marshall?
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Back to School
At the risk of being trite, and with the challenge of not being boring, it's that time of year for reflection.
Some people reflect at the end of the year, but for me "the year" always seems to begin fresh with the start of school.
I went to graduate school until and even after my kids were born, so except for a few short years in my early 20s and a few more between MBA and kindergarten, school and "back to school" have been a part of my life forever.
Monday is the start of school. We've had a nice long summer, and as the weather breaks and the rain falls gently, I know everyone is ready for a fresh start.
Back to school means back to schedules. Because I'm self-employed and work from my home, summer is a time when, if I choose, I can wake early, go to work early, and literally have five or even six hours in before one of my kids comes in to my office, rumpled and sleepy, and says, "Good morning, Mom." then "What's for breakfast?"
Once the "What's for breakfast?" starts, family responsibilities kick in and my focus has to shift. Once school starts, and breakfast comes early, the nature of my entire day shifts. I might get in a check of email and the completion of one or two things early, but breakfast, and football practice, and last minute scrambles for homework and permission slips and the search for a pen or that favorite clean shirt begins, and work just isn't happening until "a little later."
By necessity, when school starts, my work day starts and ends later. Sometimes much later.
But there is good in all things, and part of this schedule shift means I actually will be more accessible to clients on the other side of the world. I have two great clients in Australia right now. Their tomorrow morning starts in the late afternoon Texas time. (Don't think about it too hard.) On my summer schedule, that time of day rolls around and I'm wiped out, often having been at work for eleven or twelve hours (off and on) by that time. When school starts, that will correct itself.
So despite my distaste for schedules, back to school is a good thing. In far more ways than one.
Although I love having the kids around and we've been in a good groove this summer, everyone is ready for a change.
Amazingly, my kids seem to have burned out on video games. One son's xbox broke, and this, formerly a cause for major concern and panic, has allowed him to do other things, like play the guitar six hours a day. Now, before you say, "how quaint," please know that, although we do live in Texas, country strumming on a six string is not what's coming from his room. He's a rock guitarist with an amp, and there's no folkabilly, "easy listening to write by" stuff going on. That's not to say that what he's playing isn't good or catchy or even entertaining. He likes 80s rock -- good old Lynyrd Skynyrd and Black Sabbath, as well as alternative rock, and lately, television theme songs (next time you see "King of the Hill," think of me). There are enough doors between us that I can almost tune it out, but on days when he's learning something new, it can be trying. But persistence pays off. Six hours of guitar playing a day can make a kid pretty darn good. I'm not complaining.
My other son informed me the other day that he had put his game system up a week or back. "It's in my drawer," he said. I'm not playing it. Since his isn't broken, I'm not sure how long this will last, but he's filled his time with work, baseball and ESPN on TV, running around in the golf cart, and MySpace. I would call it a shift in the right direction.
School also means curfews and bed times and alarm clocks. It means dinner at a decent hour (not 9 p.m. after convenience store snacks have run out and Mom's back from tennis or Dad's done in the garage). It's the start of a new year.
I'm ready. We've done the back to school shopping. With boys, it's easy. I go to the mall, to stores they've specified, take cell phone pictures of t-shirts, mail them in for approval, then buy them. Sizing can be difficult, but this year I hit the mark. Dylan is happy with his five new shirts and football tote. I went 2 for 3 on Tanner, and we're hoping for "less scratchiness after washing" on one shirt. Both boys will need shoes -- usually an expensive venture, so always a last minute, lest their feet grow AGAIN, shopping trip. Yep, we're just about ready for back to school.
I'm ready for my fresh start, and I thank God for another really enjoyable summer.
Back to work!
Some people reflect at the end of the year, but for me "the year" always seems to begin fresh with the start of school.
I went to graduate school until and even after my kids were born, so except for a few short years in my early 20s and a few more between MBA and kindergarten, school and "back to school" have been a part of my life forever.
Monday is the start of school. We've had a nice long summer, and as the weather breaks and the rain falls gently, I know everyone is ready for a fresh start.
Back to school means back to schedules. Because I'm self-employed and work from my home, summer is a time when, if I choose, I can wake early, go to work early, and literally have five or even six hours in before one of my kids comes in to my office, rumpled and sleepy, and says, "Good morning, Mom." then "What's for breakfast?"
Once the "What's for breakfast?" starts, family responsibilities kick in and my focus has to shift. Once school starts, and breakfast comes early, the nature of my entire day shifts. I might get in a check of email and the completion of one or two things early, but breakfast, and football practice, and last minute scrambles for homework and permission slips and the search for a pen or that favorite clean shirt begins, and work just isn't happening until "a little later."
By necessity, when school starts, my work day starts and ends later. Sometimes much later.
But there is good in all things, and part of this schedule shift means I actually will be more accessible to clients on the other side of the world. I have two great clients in Australia right now. Their tomorrow morning starts in the late afternoon Texas time. (Don't think about it too hard.) On my summer schedule, that time of day rolls around and I'm wiped out, often having been at work for eleven or twelve hours (off and on) by that time. When school starts, that will correct itself.
So despite my distaste for schedules, back to school is a good thing. In far more ways than one.
Although I love having the kids around and we've been in a good groove this summer, everyone is ready for a change.
Amazingly, my kids seem to have burned out on video games. One son's xbox broke, and this, formerly a cause for major concern and panic, has allowed him to do other things, like play the guitar six hours a day. Now, before you say, "how quaint," please know that, although we do live in Texas, country strumming on a six string is not what's coming from his room. He's a rock guitarist with an amp, and there's no folkabilly, "easy listening to write by" stuff going on. That's not to say that what he's playing isn't good or catchy or even entertaining. He likes 80s rock -- good old Lynyrd Skynyrd and Black Sabbath, as well as alternative rock, and lately, television theme songs (next time you see "King of the Hill," think of me). There are enough doors between us that I can almost tune it out, but on days when he's learning something new, it can be trying. But persistence pays off. Six hours of guitar playing a day can make a kid pretty darn good. I'm not complaining.
My other son informed me the other day that he had put his game system up a week or back. "It's in my drawer," he said. I'm not playing it. Since his isn't broken, I'm not sure how long this will last, but he's filled his time with work, baseball and ESPN on TV, running around in the golf cart, and MySpace. I would call it a shift in the right direction.
School also means curfews and bed times and alarm clocks. It means dinner at a decent hour (not 9 p.m. after convenience store snacks have run out and Mom's back from tennis or Dad's done in the garage). It's the start of a new year.
I'm ready. We've done the back to school shopping. With boys, it's easy. I go to the mall, to stores they've specified, take cell phone pictures of t-shirts, mail them in for approval, then buy them. Sizing can be difficult, but this year I hit the mark. Dylan is happy with his five new shirts and football tote. I went 2 for 3 on Tanner, and we're hoping for "less scratchiness after washing" on one shirt. Both boys will need shoes -- usually an expensive venture, so always a last minute, lest their feet grow AGAIN, shopping trip. Yep, we're just about ready for back to school.
I'm ready for my fresh start, and I thank God for another really enjoyable summer.
Back to work!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Humbled by Their Grace
If you've read my blog for any length of time you know that I get asked by friends to work for them (for "free") on a regular basis. Most of the time, I oblige, because I enjoy what I do, and the truth is I ALWAYS get something out of it.
Last week I was invited to dine with my neighbors two doors down. We attend the same church (well, they attend, I sort of "pre" tend lately), and our church recently sponsored a mission to the House of Hope, an orphanage for children of the Miskito Indians in Honduras.
There was no pretense in our dinner plans. My neighbor asked if I would write an article for the newspaper about their trip. She had been persuaded by our pastor, another friend of mine for whom I have done some advertising, to call me.
So despite the fact that my husband wrecked his car on the way home from work and was absolutely in no mood to socialize, I convinced him the wine would do him good, and we headed two doors down to dine with our neighbors. We took along my 89 year old best friend, Muriel, who I thought would enjoy the discussion.
The evening literally blew me away.
Ten people from our church went on this trip. The mission was to complete construction on a volunteer house where visitors like them could stay on future trips. The orphanage itself houses more than 30 children. Most have medical concerns born of malnutrition. Many have been to the states (to Dallas) for medical treatment, some are planning to come. The orphanage is run by a woman named Katrina who went to Honduras 20 years ago and never looked back. The work she does there is amazing.
Unlike orphanages in other countries, the children in this one are not adoptable. They are a protected class that cannot be adopted outside of their tribe, and yet most have been abandoned by their families due to their inability to care for them. It's an irony that is hard to understand, but it is simply the rule.
Our church got involved last year, after being introduced to the orphanage by Dr. John Loar, who happens to be our dentist. Dr. Loar was introduced by a dentist in Allen, Texas, who had been traveling to Honduras providing dental care for years. Last fall our pastor challenged our church to plan ahead to donate to the orphanage at Christmas. He suggested that we all match what we spend on our families with a check to the mission. On Christmas Eve, a collection was taken, and our congregation ponied up more than $38,000. Now we're not a mega church. This is a small church in a small town in Texas. Our normal Christmas eve offering is $600. The giving alone was a miracle.
Our neighbors -- a couple and their 18 year old son -- joined with 7 others, including three more teens, to make this trip. They drove to Houston, flew to Honduras, then flew from there in a small plane to an isolated area known unaffectionately as the Cocaine Coast. It's an area full of drug trade, poverty, and neglect.
For seven days this family and the other volunteers played and prayed with the children, mingled with the locals, and completed construction, not only on the volunteer house, but on a soccer field for the kids. Before and after dinner, Kristen and Rick shared with us a slide show of photos and told stories about their activities while there. They also shared stories about the beautiful children shown in each picture. It was an incredibly moving evening, with a story I look forward to sharing. To say that Mark and Muriel and I were moved goes without saying. In fact I came home wanting to go to Honduras. It's something I plan to do as early as next year.
My point in mentioning this here is mostly to light a fire under myself to write the story I agreed to write. It's also to remind everyone who reads this that there are people in the world living much more meager lives than ourselves. And yet they are people who have God in their lives, who smile beautifully, and who appreciate every tiny little thing that they have.
While my kids get $200 hockey sticks and $400 guitars, these children are thankful for a soccer ball that will hold some air. While my friends get bi-weekly pedicures and lunch at the club, women in Honduras walk five miles for a can of milk at the orphanage's milk bank to feed their weak and often dying infants.
Despite this, the children at the House of Hope are happy. The people in this country are happy. They have faith, love, and the support of those much more fortunate who make sure they have the clothing, school supplies, medical care and food they need -- not to propser, but to survive.
While we whine about gas prices to fill our big SUVs and the cost of a gallon of milk that we buy pasturized and cold at well-stocked store, others are happy for a simple blanket to call their own. I need to write this story, because it needs to be told. And once again, I'm not doing it for free. The lessons I learned and am internalizing just from hearing the story and seeing the photos at my neighbors' home was priceless. I look forward to sharing it with you.
Last week I was invited to dine with my neighbors two doors down. We attend the same church (well, they attend, I sort of "pre" tend lately), and our church recently sponsored a mission to the House of Hope, an orphanage for children of the Miskito Indians in Honduras.
There was no pretense in our dinner plans. My neighbor asked if I would write an article for the newspaper about their trip. She had been persuaded by our pastor, another friend of mine for whom I have done some advertising, to call me.
So despite the fact that my husband wrecked his car on the way home from work and was absolutely in no mood to socialize, I convinced him the wine would do him good, and we headed two doors down to dine with our neighbors. We took along my 89 year old best friend, Muriel, who I thought would enjoy the discussion.
The evening literally blew me away.
Ten people from our church went on this trip. The mission was to complete construction on a volunteer house where visitors like them could stay on future trips. The orphanage itself houses more than 30 children. Most have medical concerns born of malnutrition. Many have been to the states (to Dallas) for medical treatment, some are planning to come. The orphanage is run by a woman named Katrina who went to Honduras 20 years ago and never looked back. The work she does there is amazing.
Unlike orphanages in other countries, the children in this one are not adoptable. They are a protected class that cannot be adopted outside of their tribe, and yet most have been abandoned by their families due to their inability to care for them. It's an irony that is hard to understand, but it is simply the rule.
Our church got involved last year, after being introduced to the orphanage by Dr. John Loar, who happens to be our dentist. Dr. Loar was introduced by a dentist in Allen, Texas, who had been traveling to Honduras providing dental care for years. Last fall our pastor challenged our church to plan ahead to donate to the orphanage at Christmas. He suggested that we all match what we spend on our families with a check to the mission. On Christmas Eve, a collection was taken, and our congregation ponied up more than $38,000. Now we're not a mega church. This is a small church in a small town in Texas. Our normal Christmas eve offering is $600. The giving alone was a miracle.
Our neighbors -- a couple and their 18 year old son -- joined with 7 others, including three more teens, to make this trip. They drove to Houston, flew to Honduras, then flew from there in a small plane to an isolated area known unaffectionately as the Cocaine Coast. It's an area full of drug trade, poverty, and neglect.
For seven days this family and the other volunteers played and prayed with the children, mingled with the locals, and completed construction, not only on the volunteer house, but on a soccer field for the kids. Before and after dinner, Kristen and Rick shared with us a slide show of photos and told stories about their activities while there. They also shared stories about the beautiful children shown in each picture. It was an incredibly moving evening, with a story I look forward to sharing. To say that Mark and Muriel and I were moved goes without saying. In fact I came home wanting to go to Honduras. It's something I plan to do as early as next year.
My point in mentioning this here is mostly to light a fire under myself to write the story I agreed to write. It's also to remind everyone who reads this that there are people in the world living much more meager lives than ourselves. And yet they are people who have God in their lives, who smile beautifully, and who appreciate every tiny little thing that they have.
While my kids get $200 hockey sticks and $400 guitars, these children are thankful for a soccer ball that will hold some air. While my friends get bi-weekly pedicures and lunch at the club, women in Honduras walk five miles for a can of milk at the orphanage's milk bank to feed their weak and often dying infants.
Despite this, the children at the House of Hope are happy. The people in this country are happy. They have faith, love, and the support of those much more fortunate who make sure they have the clothing, school supplies, medical care and food they need -- not to propser, but to survive.
While we whine about gas prices to fill our big SUVs and the cost of a gallon of milk that we buy pasturized and cold at well-stocked store, others are happy for a simple blanket to call their own. I need to write this story, because it needs to be told. And once again, I'm not doing it for free. The lessons I learned and am internalizing just from hearing the story and seeing the photos at my neighbors' home was priceless. I look forward to sharing it with you.
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