Boston Health and Fitness Expo

This weekend, I worked the Lung Cancer Alliance booth at the Boston Health and Fitness Expo. It was inspiring, enlightening and exasperating, all at once.

It's a free event so there are a fair number of punters looking for swag. The crowd was... definitely an interesting cross section of America. That being said, there were actually quite a few people who were both interested in and touched by what we had to say and I think the whole endeavor was 100% worth it.

Some observations from the weekend:

It's the Lung Cancer Alliance, not the Smoking Cessation Alliance

Roughly one fifth of the people who walked up to our table said something like "I quit smoking last year" or "My dad still smokes. I wish he didn't."

For them, lung cancer equals smoking. The two are synonymous.

With those people, I tried to explain that that 60% of those diagnosed with lung cancer either never smoked or quit smoking decades ago, and that only 10% of smokers get lung cancer and that 20% of women who get lung cancer never touched a cigarette.

It got repetitive, but I didn't mind. They didn't know the facts about lung cancer, and I was able to enlighten them a little bit.

A Safe Haven

Some people would walk by the booth and inch closer, with an interested, even misty-eyed look on their faces. They had clearly been touched by lung cancer. For some, our booth became a solace, a safe and comfortable place where family members could talk about their loved ones who had passed on from or survived lung cancer.

Anyone who's ever been touched by lung cancer knows that it doesn't always elicit a warm and fuzzy response. You always run the risk of getting "the look" - the "she must have smoked so therefore she brought it upon herself" look.

90% of the time, they'll come right out and ask, "Did he/she smoke?" But when you're talking with another person about the very painful experience of losing your parent, spouse, sibling or friend, you really don't want to engage in a discussion about assigning blame. You just want sympathy, like anyone else who's lost a loved one. If you were talking about losing your dad to heart disease, you wouldn't want to immediately answer questions regarding how many steaks or doughnuts he ate, or how many cigarettes he smoked. It's the same for us. And at the Lung Cancer Alliance booth, we understood that. We've all been asked that question, so we know not to even go there, unless someone wants to. We were a safe haven.

The Very Informed

I was surprised and happy to see how informed so many people who stopped by to sign our Lung Cancer Mortality Reduction Act Petition were.

I'd start my schpeil about how lung cancer needs more money for research and several people grabbed for the pen to sign the petition right away and said things like "Damn right it does" or "You know it!" This was surprising and uplifting to see.

No Survivors

Interestingly, I didn't meet one new lung cancer survivor in the entire two day experience. Not one. The only people who came up to our booth who'd been touched by lung cancer were the friends and family members of lung cancer patients, most of whom had passed.

One Jerk

Finally, although there were a large amount of freaks and downright lunatics, no one really bothered me except for one man. He badgered me and badgered me about the statistics, questioning the smoking thing and ultimately he got personal, questioning whether I'd done an autopsy on my mother, along with other completely insensitive and inane questions. I had to ask him to leave because he upset me so much.

But in spite of that one bad apple, the event was totally worth it. We reached a lot of people who'd never heard the facts about the disease, and a good deal of others who've been affected by lung cancer but rarely feel as though they have an outlet or a place to turn to.

That felt good.

R.I.P., Farrah

Farrah Fawcett was an incredible woman. She transcended "Jiggle TV" and Charlie's Angels to become one of those iconic survivors ... and then she was hit with cancer.

She survived that until she couldn't survive it any longer - and she shared every grueling moment with us.

I loved her for that.

She used her celebrity to share her most intimate struggles and moments with us and in doing so, she became not Farrah Fawcett the sexy pin-up girl with the delectable smile and pert physique. She became Farrah from California, the cancer patient, the cancer survivor, and now, the cancer angel.

Thanks for sharing your beautiful spirit with us Farrah.

My friend Lori Hope wrote a beautiful blog post that everyone should read. Go and check it out.

Good Times!

Every Tuesday night in the summer, there's a super-fun 5K race series in Lowell called Good Times! Their logo, which also doubles as their "medals" in the form of coasters, is above.

I found out about the race series last year from my friend Mike, who I met at another 5K in Lowell, Lisa's Run for Lung Cancer.

Mike's intensely into running - so much so that even though I beat him in that first 5K when we met, in the year and a half since, he has surpassed me to a level that I will probably never reach.

I can't seem to break 25 minutes. Mike is now in the 22s, I believe. And he's older than me! Granted, he's taller than me. Much taller. And he's male. And has the typical runner's build. But still.

But one thing Mike does that I don't? He works at it. I mean he really works at it. I just show up and hope that osmosis is going to take my time down below 25 minutes. It sort of worked that way when I went from 27 minute times to 25 minute times. But I think my luck has run out. I need to do some good, hard work. And I'll do it. When I'm good and ready.

But the Good Times race series is so much fun because they have silly themes that people really get into.

Last week, at about the 1 mile mark, there were ten 12" X 12" boxes that were all empty - except one mystery box that held $100. If you were brave enough (and if there were any boxes left), you could grab a box and carry it the remaining 2.1 miles to take a chance on winning the loot.

Now, you might think it's a no brainer, that of course you'd take the money and run. But with so few boxes, only the fastest runners get there first - and those fast runners are pretty competitive people who don't want to ruin their times. For them, that choice is a struggle. That's why the race is actually called "The Temptation 5K."

By the time I got to the 1 mile mark, all of the boxes were gone, so I didn't have that struggle. But I know what my choice would have been: Screw the box! I can barely carry myself, let alone a bulky box!

The woman who won is actually a very cool woman who I've met many times and I couldn't have imagined the $100 going to a better person.

Next week is Classic T-shirt week, whatever that means to you, and they'll be giving out prizes for the best t-shirts.

After the races, everyone hangs out for cheap beer and $1 pizza and the gazillions of raffle prizes on offer.

I never really thought I was going to be the kind of person who did 5K races every Tuesday night. In my early twenties, with martini in hand, teetering on 4-inch stilettos, I would have blown smoke in your face and laughed.

But as we age, our priorities change. I really love this series, even though I'll never win. But the great thing is, they give prizes if you beat yourself, if you obtain a personal record (PR, in running terms.)

My PR for the 5K is 25:04. At some point this summer, I will do 24:59. I just might have to work at it a bit...

Age Defiance

When I was 20, I got a job working for an extremely glamorous writer in London. She was hugely successful, fabulous with a capital F and she NEVER told anyone her age.

Her D.O.B. was a carefully guarded secret, and being her assistant, I was one of the privileged few who knew the real date.

Now to make things clear, this woman did not look her age. She had incredible skin and had a sort of "indeterminate" age.

When we met, she was 36. I think she wanted people to presume she was around 28. She was a newspaper columnist, and I think it was more impressive to appear to be as perceptive and brilliant in her late twenties than it would have been to be in her mid thirties. Plus, men prefer younger women and she loved men.

To me, though, it always seemed kind of silly. Age is one of those things that, while you can try to hide it, it's easy to figure out - or at least to guestimate.

Once people start talking about their lives, anyone can do the math and say, oh, she must be about X age. To learn that someone lied about it just makes them look vain and sort of sad. Worse, to learn that someone won't talk about it, just makes you want to know it more.

I've always looked younger than I am. If I wanted to pretend I was 7 or 8 years younger, I easily could. But I think that would be a lot of work.

What if people from my past meet the people from my present? I'd be called out as a liar. Plus, I love the look I get when people realize I'm older than they thought I was. It gives me a charge. It makes me smile.

Also, I don't want to live in some weird bubble where I'm in constant denial of my own real age and the aging process. I've always been a fan of acting one's age (most of the time) and I like milestones, comings of age, the maturation process.

I am lucky to look young (for now) so I do put some effort into preserving my youthful looks, but I don't want to wake up one day thinking I've been 29 for 15 years with the harsh reality that I'm actually pushing 50.

Also, because I've known so many people with cancer and know so many others who've lost their lives to cancer, I truly think that we should all celebrate each birthday with as much gratitude as we can.

In about 3 weeks, I'm going to be 35. It sort of feels weird to see it in print, but it's the truth. God willing, I'll live to be 95. That's my goal. But if not, I want to cherish every moment, every year and enjoy myself as I age.

I remember being 15 and having a complete consciousness that "Julia of 35" was going to be different from "Julia of 15" and I wondered, "What would Julia of 35 think of Julia of 15?"

I think she was a pretty awesome 15 year-old. She was wise beyond her years, talented, smart, loving, insecure sometimes and arrogant at others, but she was coming into her own.

And I wonder what Julia of 60 will think of Julia at 35. I hope she likes her. I'm pretty sure she will.

Family Time

One definite perk of moving back home to the East Coast after 11 years in LA is that I get to feel connected with my past, my heritage, my family, etc.

This week was filled with events and coincidences that couldn't have happened if I still lived in LA.

On Thursday, my cousin needed to talk to me about some important issues in his life. He and I are one month apart. In fact, I'm the older one by about 5 weeks, although he's about 4 times my size and has been since birth. Anyway, when he needed the ear of someone who's known him a while, but isn't too wrapped up in his day-to-day life, I was there. I happened to be just a few towns over from where he was, so it was easy to get to him. We spent the night reminiscing and catching up... something we haven't done in years.

Yesterday, I went to a wedding with my mom's old friend from high school. The wedding was for the daughter of my mom's other school friend, so there were a few people from their home town of Beverly, MA.

First, I met a very nice man named Bobo. He's the widowed husband of my mom's old friend Marilyn Monroe (that's honestly her name - and she was born before Marilyn was famous, so it's just a coincidence.) In addition, there was a woman named Kathy who happened to be the widow of a man named Everett, who apparently was great friends with my dad. She said she'd been to my parents wedding in 1973. She could actually remember when the wedding was. And she asked me "Is your dad still so cute?" Hmm. Well, yes. Of course!

Later that night, I wound up at the Italian American Club in Beverly, MA, to see my mom's friend's son perform. That place is such a throwback! People were actually smoking indoors and I saw haircuts I haven't seen since 1979. I also saw my mom's first cousin Patrick, someone I haven't seen in about 10 years.

Pat was one of my mom's favorites, and he was a lot like her. Brilliant, somewhat misunderstood, a loner with a mind of diamonds.

Apparently he was top of his class in high school, but he went to Vietnam and like a lot of men in his situation, life wasn't as easy after that. If I had been a boy, would have been named Patrick and I'm sure he had something to do with that.

It was nice bumping into him and it reminded me that it feels good to be home.

Part of what I loved about living in LA was creating my own "home," my own family out of friends. I had "cousins" Mary and Marty, Tasha, Drew, Mike, Liz and Nancy. But they weren't my actual family, the one you don't choose. They were the family I chose. And being 3,000 miles away, I never randomly ran into distant (or not so distant) cousins.

Now that I'm hitting my mid-thirties, it's nice to be more "family-oriented" as they say. Hey, it might not last forever, but it's good to reconnect with everyone, remember my roots, so to speak.

But... I still miss cousin Marty and Mary and Tasha Drew, Nancy Liz and Mike and can't wait to see them mid-August! A different kind of family reunion...

Text Offenders

As some of my friends know, I have several pet peeves. One of them is bare feet at weddings. The other is bare feet on car dashboards.

The third has nothing to do with feet, and everything to do with respect. Pls don't cancel via txt. Kthxbai.

It's happened to me a few times and it always shrieks of cowardice and an utter lack of respect. It usually happens close to the time of the appointed meeting, the person knows they're in the wrong, and they either can't be bothered to call you or don't want to deal with hearing the sound of your actual disappointment - or possibly even upsetness - so they just fire off a text instead.

It's ultimate passive aggression... or passive complacency, at least.

This happened to me yesterday, and I will not disclose the name of the text offender, but after canceling me via text 5 hours before our appointed dinner date, she didn't call to make sure I got the text, even after I never responded during those 5 hours.

Ten minutes before our date, I called to say I was running 5 minutes late and would be right there. Her response? "Oh, didn't you get my text?"

Um, no. I didn't.

She wasn't coming to dinner and I'd rushed out of a meeting to make our dinner date. Not only that, this was the rescheduling of a previous dinner date that she'd canceled via text, and knowing she'd be coming to my condo, I also had spent the morning before work readying it for company.

To her defense (only a little bit) I just got a new Blackberry and it puts the texts and emails together (which is annoying and something I have to fix) but I was aware of this and knowing she's a texter, I checked my phone repeatedly before, during and after my meeting. Somehow I still missed the text. And she never called to verify I'd received it.

I will say that the said text offender is younger than me by over 10 years, so there's definitely a generational thing going on. Clearly no one ever taught her proper phone, text and appointment etiquette. I think that those kind of manners are left untaught today. Parents don't know enough about technology to instill texting values in the young, and they apparently don't teach this kind of thing in schools.

The sad thing is that she might not have meant to be offensive. In her world, maybe everyone's a text offender.

But in my world, it just annoying.

Summer Fridays

Sometimes, people ask me if I miss being a freelance journalist. Today, I can say with total confidence "NO!"

I work a 9-5 job at a great company, the kind of company that wants you to work hard while you're there and enjoy your life when you're not. Ie, it really is 9-5.

Compared to my former life as a freelance, where you NEVER had freedom and were always "on the clock" and beating a deadline, this is a kind of ecstasy that I've never quite experienced before. I love it.

When the clock strikes 5, some of my co-workers literally bolt out of the door. I still feel weird leaving as early as 5 and prefer to stay til 6 or so, but if I did want to leave then, no one would bat an eyelid.

Well, today, they announced we're getting even MORE free time.

They're instituting something called "Summer Fridays" where we can leave the office at 1pm on Fridays.

I feel as though I've died and gone to heaven. I mean, if I can't get my work done in that time, I can't leave the office, and that's totally possible... but I CAN leave if I want to. I could come in early and blast through everything and actually ENJOY myself of a random afternoon.

I could get errands done, start a weekend trip early, beat the summer traffic, get my hair done.

There's so much I could do.

Let the summer begin!