Thursday, April 13, 2017

You must look...

Look.  See.
photo credit thehipdotcom
Perhaps you saw the headline, Master's Style Green Jacket Bought for $5.00 and sold for $139,000 USD.  It's a mystery.  How did a 1950's Masters-style jacket from Augusta National Golf Club end up in a Toronto thrift shop? 

The plot thickens... the original owner's name was carefully cut from the inside lapel which adds to the intrigue.  The imagination is sparked; colours, textures, emotions, wonder  flood the brain. The authenticity of the jacket has been confirmed by the famed Georgia club yet the original owner remains anonymous.This ugly green jacket, this insignificant blip in sports history, this cotton nothing has intrigued the golf world.

One saw the beauty, others saw ugly.

The headline story reminds me of my late uncle Bernard.

Bernard was an amateur art collector with a sharp eye for art and an even sharper pencil for negotiation. While shopping with his brother at a Winnipeg thrift shop in the 1960’s he came across a small oil painting. An insignificant, dirty, old, nothing of a painting. 

He looked closer.  He moved to the sunlight and his heart skipped a beat. He smiled and he choked a muffled tear.

The letters emerged through the dirt of time...

maurice cullen

Group of Seven, Anne of Green Gables, You Are Ahead By a Century, Acadian Driftwood, Wanda Koop, Maurice Cullen... 

The quintessential Canadian eureka moment.  

Bernard and his brother pooled their resources and paid $5 for this Canadian Masterwork which, in 2005, sold for $200,000.  

The mystery remains and adds to the intrigue. How did this iconic piece of Canadian history, this Canadian beauty almost come to oblivion in a Winnipeg thrift shop?  

It was salvaged by Bernard, a person who saw the beauty where others saw dirt and insignificance.

When we run we can choose to see sunrise or  darkness.  We can choose to see beauty or dirt. We can run with negativity or passion. It's our choice.

Choose wisely my friends, and proceed with passion. If you choose to see beauty you must first look.

I choose to run with the Jos, the Meems, the Tims, the Scots, the Davids, the Melissas, the Darcies, the Stepahnies, the Junels, the Connies, the Scotts, the Carlys, the Sandies, the Natiliess  of the world... and many others who see beauty where others frown and judge. 

We choose light over darkness.

We choose positive energy over negative.

At the moment of sunrise where it's mostly dark save a sliver of light on the horizon, some see the darkness, some see the light.  

Today a grade 9 student at a Winnipeg school chose to end his life. I saw the aftermath. We failed him.  We did not look. He saw despair.  He chose darkness.

It's a good day to be alive.

We are ahead by a century.


Saturday, March 25, 2017

Were you a Nicole or a Mery?

Ted's Run for Literacy is a proud supporter of Can U. The other evening Can U's executive Director, Roger Berrington spoke passionately of the work they accomplish to promote social justice for children who may not have the opportunities others may take for granted.  Can U was one of ten NGOs shortlisted to present a three minute pitch to vie for cash prizes offered through Winnipeg Foundation.  Can U, University of Can, won "The People's Choice"along with a $5000 cash prize. The little race that could loves this little group that can!

The following is the three minute pitch delivered by Roger Berrington.

It's a good day to be alive.


CanU students, Roger Berrington (centre) 
My name is Roger Berrington. Mery and Nicole inspired me to be the founder and volunteer Executive Director of CanU. Were you a Nicole or a Mery?

Nicole was a kind and hard-working, raven-haired young woman with dreams of studying medicine and helping others. University was the norm for Nicole’s family and she excelled at her prestigious high school. In Winnipeg, 92% of the Nicoles, who have ample opportunities and resources, graduate from high school. Nicole is now realizing her potential and fulfilling her dream of becoming a doctor.

Mery was a kind and hard-working, raven-haired young girl with dreams of helping her family start a brand new life in Canada. Mery had great potential but limited resources and opportunities. The oldest of 6 children, she had lots of responsibility at home, and had to work hard to learn English and catch up in school. In our city, 47% of the Merys graduate from high school.

CanU, the University of Can, specializes in recognizing potential like this, turning obstacles into opportunities and connecting the Merys and Nicoles in mutually beneficial and transformative ways. Beginning in grade 5, CanU kids travel weekly to Nicole’s universities where they can see their own potential and share in a whole new world of possibilities.

With $10,000, CanU will build on its track record of combining social innovation with leadership development. We will launch a brand new program; a social innovation version of Dragon’s Den. With the help of mentors, CanU kids will turn our city’s obstacles into opportunities for social change and pitch their ideas to potential partners.

CanU began as a pilot program for 15 kids and now, six years later, inspires 1100 youth and university students through 70 university-student-led programs.

· Now, university labs are crowded with dreams as Medical students, like Nicole, and CanU kids discover together remedies for chronic social barriers.

· Now, the smell of confidence fills the million-dollar research kitchen as Nutrition students and CanU kids cook together and share meals and recipes for health and friendship.

· Now, the beautiful sound of justice fills the campus courtroom as Law students and CanU kids together experience fairness and equity.

· Now, Mery, who has just graduated from high school, has a dream of studying Law one day.

My name is Roger Berrington. Mery and Nicole inspired me to be the founder and volunteer Executive Director of CanU.

CanU imagine if Mery and Nicole were here today to see what they inspired?

(At this point Roger pointed to Mery and Nicole in the audience and they stood and received a thunderous applause.)

Roger Berrington, Executive Director, CanU.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Great Grain Relay Race Report

Team Malicious... Dez, Mike, David, Mimi, Sara, Shelby
Oh my, what a glorious day to be alive!

Dez was our ringer, Mimi gave it her all, David kept the spirit light, Sara added sparkle, and Shelby kept us honest. Me? I danced like no one was watching.

We were in it to win it, but sadly we missed third place by a sliver to a team called Your Pace or Mine. We ran 147.75 laps while YPOM bested us by a few lousy meters.

Team Malicious had a scrum meeting in the final minutes... how to beat YPOM?...Desperado David pulled a bag of marbles from his kit suggesting we trip them up..."YES" we yelled...but honest Shelby kept us honest and spoke of ethics and fair play and other boring stuff. We finally agreed the only option was to run like hell, to dance hard and furious, to give it our all all... 

...and we did, we ran like hell, it hurt us, it elevated us, it sucked, it elated, it deflated, it left us heaping on the track gasping for oxygen.  We gave it our best.

We danced a good dance, but we came up shy.

We lost to a team called Your Pace or Mine.   Our friend Joanne Schiewe was a founding member of YPOM and I wanted to kick her butt. To honour her by dancing hard and giving it all. Joanne was on my mind in those final laps. She cheered track side... go Mike go, dance Mike dance... and then she laughed.

She left me in a pukey, sweaty mess on the track.  Like many of you, dear Jo lives in my heart, my legs, my blood, my bones. She whispers. She encourages. She chats incessantly. She laughs as I heave in the corner.

See Mike Run like hell.
Photo credit Junel Malapad.
The 35th annual Great Grain Relay was a uge success, a grandocious affair, no one was fired, all were welcome.  Fun was in the air and the tunes were loud and poppy.  A couple of youngsters handed out 'speeding tickets' entitling runners to an instant prize. Sandwiches, chips, fruit, vegetables, and beer were plentiful. The vibe was positive and uplifting throughout the event and the groove was contagious.

The proceeds to this year's Great Grain Relay are directed towards Kidsports, So All Children Can Play, an organization whose prime purpose is to remove financial barriers that prevent kids from playing organized sports. Kidsport believe no kid should be left on the sideline and all should experience the positive effect of organized sport.

I love my community.  I believe Winnipeg is the finest city in Canada. The Great Grain Relay is just one more validation, one more reason to love our peg City.

It's a good day to be alive, all sweaty and out of breath.


Mimi wins FIRST Prize! David is there to record the event. 

Junal and Mike.. a selfless selfie.

Monday, February 20, 2017

Hypothermic Half Marathon 2017, Race Report

photo credit, coach Tim MacKay

The coffee was hot.  
The smiles were lovely. 
The good-cheer overwhelmed. 
The hugs were warm.  
And did I mention the coffee?  
It was hot. 

These are the random observations of a nine time Winnipeg Hypo runner named Mike.

There were a few nasty puddles and the black ice along along Chancellor Matheson Drive was treacherous, but overall this year's Hypo was a grand success. This is the second year of the new Hypo course and it was a huge improvement from last year.

Last year I chose not to write about the event because it was distressingly poor. After years (decades) of successfully hosting the event at gorgeous Fort Whyte Centre it was moved to St. Norbert Community Club in South Winnipeg. Last year's event did not measure up to the previous standard in terms of overall enjoyment, food, and course. Not even close.  Runners voted with their feet and the traditional three waves were reduced to two waves, barely.  It did not bode well for the Hypo. 

Despite the freakish weather, this year's event was a remarkable improvement from 2016.  Race director Chris Walton and his merry crew listened and responded to the many suggestions from the running community. There was a new sense of professionalism in the air while last year it seemed amateurish.  

Here's a how I saw it... 
  • The new course is safer, more interesting, and much more 'runner friendly'.  There's still way too much side walk where runners get bunched up, but less so than last year. There is room for improvement here.
  • The police presence was outstanding while last year it was non-existent. The police presence is reassuring to runners and volunteers and adds to the professionalism.
  •  The volunteers were plentiful, and knowledgeable of running needs.  I recognized many stellar volunteers from or running community such as Bob and Julie Gold Steinberg, Junel Malapad, Rick Lecuyer, Oliver Valencia, Aldo Furlan, Gary Sutherland and many others.  These are dedicated runners who understand.  Their collective running experience is invaluable and their presence adds to the quality of the race. 
  • The pylons clearly delineated the running lane and kept us safe from oncoming traffic.
  • The City of Winnipeg was nudged into sanding the trail through King's Park at the last moment... and this is a significant feat! 
  • The results were posted within 24 hours.... not bad, but perhaps room for improvement.
  • The post-run food was way better this year and the coffee was hot (last year it was luke warm). Vegetarians and vegans would have been disappointed, but meat eaters were in heaven (do you really need sausage AND bacon?).
  • There were pace bunnies for all levels of runners ranging from TC to 1:50.  
  • The medal is cool and unique and the swag is practical (a backpack which I will donate to an inner city school).
Perhaps the best part of the Hypo is the training. The Hypo gives us a reason to get outdoors at 6PM in minus crazy temperatures with equally crazy windchills.  Eight weeks of training outdoors in dark winter conditions makes us strong and brings us together.  We run with other like minded 'crazies'. We develop incredible friendships and camaraderie.  We cheer novice runners until they feel part of the team.  We run outdoors when many are huddled around the warm glow of the television.  We have suckled heaven where others taste cinnamon buns and coffee. We are stronger in mind, body and spirit.

We are all that we can be.

Thank you Hypo, for this we are grateful.

I expect the Hypo will be back next year as it should.  It's a wonderful, mid-winter event that adds to the quality of our lives.  Winnipeg is a finer city because of the the Hypo and the many volunteers that turn the cranks and gears of community.  We are fortunate for this event and I wish the crew continued good success.

It's a good day to be alive.


Saturday, February 11, 2017

We killed a bottle of scotch.

It's just a cup,  a plastic juice cup used in hospitals around the world. This one was stolen from St. Boniface Hospital palliative care the night before my father died. We killed a bottle of Scotch that night, a 24 ouncer of Balentine. We had been working on it for several days, but truthfully it wasn't our first bottle. We bought the first one on New Year's eve and kept the bar stocked to the end.

We killed the last bottle together on January 31, 2000 and I have the cup.

We sipped in silence and watched the sun slide below the yardarm of 1999.  I remember the fireworks and the warmth of the scotch. Mostly I remember the moment of quiet contemplation where silence spoke volumes. Love was in the air. Words were not necessary.  I think we were both overwhelmed with life, with just being. Scotch and silence became a panacea for the moment. As far as deaths go, it was perfect, fairytale-like my sister would say.

I'd arrive every day at 4:30 to the same greeting "Mike's here! Let's have a scotch." and we did, and we talked, and we sat in silence. And we apologized for past errors of judgement and laughed at the senselessness of life. We tossed around the meaning of life and finally agreed it is the pursuit of wisdom. That settled, it was time to let go, time to die.

The morning my father died I was with him, alone. He had passed and a nurse entered to fiddle with switches and knobs as I sat by his side. I spoke gibberish, telling her the light was bothering my father and if she could just turn it off he would be more comfortable. She was the mother of one of my students so I was trying to pull it together and be professional.  She approached me and dimmed the lights and then, unexpectedly she hugged me warmly and held me tightly. My gibberish turned to sobs, long guttural uncontrollable sobs.

And she held me.
And she held me.
And she held me.

I told this story to a friend this morning on a 20 km run through bush trail and side streets.  I'm not sure why, but in that moment it was the perfect story. When we run the talk turns existential as we question white light, theories of meta-physical existence and the human condition. As we run we develop incredible friendships based on trust and a willingness to let your guard down and show long shadowed vulnerabilities, flaws in character, hopes and aspirations, regrets and dreams.  We become human, we become at peace with ourselves.

Today was a sublime day to be alive. Thanks Tim.


Saturday, February 4, 2017

Running in the post-truth era

Love at the end of an era
Cause it's love at the end of an era
Wait for the night, for the light at the end of an era
Wait for the night, the light at the end of an era

In this life we keep moving

Strumbellas, End of an Era

Like many I am deeply disheartened in this era of post-truth.  The bloated angry face, the ridiculous orange combover, the hateful rhetoric, the spiteful tweets cause emotional distress. We feel visceral, physical pain. It hurts to the core to witness the dismantling of principled American values centuries in the making. America the Beautiful has become America the Wounded. We mourn the loss of decency and kindness. We are frightened for the future of our children. We are angry and we march, and we sing and we dance in defiance.

I desperately want to understand the mindset of Trump supporters some of whom are reading this very blog. I simply don't get it; how one can possibly support the hatred, the divisiveness, the mysongny perpetuated by President Trump? I want to understand, but I simply cannot.

The other day Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra Maestro, Alexander Mickelthwate introduced a sublime evening of choral music at Westminister United Church.  He spoke eloquently of his frustration with the new world order, the era of post-truth, the era of Donald Trump.  Ever the gentleman, Mickelthwate could not bring himself to say the word so instead he spelled it aloud...

I do not understand the s.h.i.t. that is happening in The United States.

He then disclosed a pang of guilt for hosting the gorgeous New Music Festival in such troubled times... a hint of frivolity in desperate times.  He then rebounded passionately, angrily, and dismissed the guilt.

I paraphrases here...

No, this is exactly what we should be doing. Singing and welcoming cultures from around the world. Celebrating cultures joyfully and welcoming differences, and demolishing walls that separate us. Sing loud...

This was met with a thunderous ovation and set a glorious tone for the evening.  A tone of love, and hope, and humanity. The choirs sang loudly, their voices rising to the frigid  night sky. We were enveloped in a cozy blanket of truth and warmth. For the moment we surrendered to the beauty of choral voice in these troubled times, this era of post truth.

We need to move our feet when we pray. We must never stop believing in the spirt of humanity overcoming hatred.  We need to walk for peace. We need to run for humanity. We need to march for truth. Together we will regain our moral compass and the likes of President Trump will, in time, fade from memory.

In this life we need to keep moving.

These are beliefs of a runner named Mike.

I believe in goodness.

I believe in truth.

I believe in kindness.

I believe love trumps hate.

I believe it's a good day to be alive.


Sunday, January 15, 2017

These Old Bones

Big wheels keep on turnin'
Proud Mary keeps on burnin'
Rollin' rollin' rollin' on the river
Rollin' rollin' rollin' on the river

Creedence Clearwater Revival, Proud Mary

"these old bones" image courtesy Google search

All things considered, these old bones have done me well. 

I can't touch my toes to save my life. I can barely lift the bar over my head let alone adding dumbbells to the mix.  I'm lousy at hockey.  I'm too short for basketball. I swim like a brick. I was a pretty good catcher in my day and sailboarding and racketball were my strengths, but I fail at just about every other sport...

...except running

I remember high school football... okay, let's forget high school football... I was an abject failure.... but high school ping pong, that's another story.  I used to cut classes to climb the ping pong hall of fame ladder. I was that good the mind of a grade nine, skinny geek, I was awesome.  

Sadly, I have come to the realization that I am in a perpetual state of recovery... recovery from knee aches, shoulder aches, toe aches, calf aches, arse aches, and aches I haven't yet discovered. The young have injuries too ... boo hoo (yes that's sarcasm with a sprig of envy)... and recover about three minutes later with maximum whining.  Curse the young ones! 

We experienced folks take more time to recover, to heal, to mend. We like our injuries to simmer on a low boil for at least two or three weeks. We come to depend on our beloved massage saviours (thank you Alerry) and equally revered physiotherapists (hi ya Stephanie) We are never fully healed, and we're okay with that cuz these old bones sustain us and they're all we have. There's always another pain just around the corner to replace the one from which we've recovered.  

It's as good as it's going to get, and we're okay with that because we have come to love our old bones with all their scars and blemishes.

Aging gracefully is a full time job.   If I were a car, my owner would be looking for a new one with less mileage, one with fewer breakdowns, and easier on gas.  If I were a toaster my owner would just pitch me and replace me with a sexier, skinnier, shinier model. 

We are among the fortunate ones for these old bones keep us rolling down the river. 

Thank you bones.  I have a few more excursions planned so please hang in there for another ten years. I haven't yet run a 100 miler, but it's on the bucket list.  And if you fail me I'll understand and I'll be thankful for the miles you've sustained me. 

I know I'm on borrowed time.  Thank you bones.

It's a good day to be alive.


Sunday, January 1, 2017

The Notion of Do

Just do it.

Nike ad.

Nike's tagline is brilliant and almost compensates for their horribly offensive ad from 2012 where they mocked people with disabilities. The notion of do appeals to me. It suggests action and satisfaction. Do is gratifying. Do holds promise and hope for the future.  To do is to flourish, to not do is to languish.

The way I see it there are three interdependent principles to the notion of do: 1) Do Something. 2) Do it well.  3) Keep doing it.

Do Something
Choose an activity and just do it. I chose running many years ago because of its pure simplicity, its graceful elegance, and the sheer joy of spirit it provides. I also chose running because it's damn hard and humbling. It is wrought with failure and tough life lessons. Running is my do. It is joyful and paradoxically, it sucks. Over time I have learned to expect the suck and embrace the suck. It becomes part of the mystique of running, the joy, the satisfaction, the disappointment, the exhilarance.

I use running as a metaphor for activity. Just do something, anything.  Do something hard, something that makes you realize you're alive. Something that takes your breath away (literally and physically). Chose a do that makes your heart pound, makes your brows drip, makes you proud. Do something hard, joyful, and challenging.

'Hard' is relevant in terms of the notion of do. For some hard is just getting off the couch and walking around the block.  These are the brave ones, the ones who inspire awe; the ones that take a terrifying leap towards do. The obese who take a calculated first step, the depressed who writhe in invisible hurt, the physically challenged who roll through life smiling,  the sick who are determined to remain healthy and relevant for their families and friends. They lace up and do. These are the true role models.

Do it well.
Don't stop at do, learn to do it well. Doing it well promotes positive wellbeing and encourages us to improve, to not be satisfied with status quo, to become all that we capable of becoming.  My friend Bill Diel Jones once said "we race the way we train" an analogy for we live life the way we live.  We can live life in mediocrity and safety or we can live a life of trepidation and excitement. Learning to do it well means we accept our failures, we pick ourselves up, cry a little, and try again, and again and again.

Joanne Schiewe, hard to say, the late Joanne Schiewe was a consummate example of do it well. She became all of her being and then she tried harder and found untold potential.  She then climbed higher and tried harder, and climbed higher yet, and worked harder, and trained harder. She battled the insurmountable with courage and fortitude. She cried. She laughed. She achieved brilliance and then, ever so sadly, she died.

Our dear friend Jo, understood do it well better than anyone.

Keep Doing it.
At age 13 my son Max broke his arm while skateboarding. It was a serious break. His arm resembled a swan's neck and he was in significant pain. He was rushed to the front of the emergency cue and several surgeons were called to discuss options. He had lost circulation in his hand and the docs were worried he may lose his hand without emergency surgery.  They explained the procedure to his terrified parents and asked if we had questions. Shell shocked with the immediacy and fear we were mute. Max broke the pregnant pause with his personal question,

"When can I skateboard again?"

Fifteen years later we can laugh and analyze his intention with a clear mind. The takeaway from this unfortunate experience is passion. Skateboarding was his do and he gave it his all. He practiced endlessly on the streets and parks of Winnipeg. He could not imagine a day without skateboarding, a day without perfecting his passion.

The third do principle is perhaps the hardest. Keep doing it.  Never stop. Never settle for mediocrity. Be all that you can become.  Become better at your do.  Work hard to perfect your do.  Witness your self-esteem flourish.

I think of our friend Natalie Pirson and Joanne Schiewe and revel in their determination to be all they can become. I think of others, the invisible ones, the silent ones, the ailing ones who take a timid step forward. Who move forward with strength and dignity. They are the brave.

They do, they do it well, and they do it forever.

If you haven't yet set a new year's resolution might I suggest you do.

It's a good day to be alive.


Sunday, December 18, 2016

I miss Jo

... where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time...

Gord Downie, Tragically Hip, Bobcaygeon (Phantom Power, 1998)

Photo credit, Chris Wattie, Globe and Mail/Reuters December 7, 2016

The memory of Jo lingers. I am at loss. I remember her blog... Run to Eat All the's how we met. We talked blogs and one conversation led to another and another...I see Jo whenever I run. I see her spirit and she laughs. I see her enormity and I am in awe.  I see her loveliness and I am gratified.

Soon we ran, her to eat all the time, me to revel in the experience of Jo. She a youngster, me an old man.  She didn't see my age.  She challenged me to run faster, to be strong, to suck it up buttercup, to be the finest I can be.  That was Jo, tough as nails and a smart ass like nobody's business. 

We laughed and cussed and told off colour jokes. That was Jo, all off colour and irreverent. She just didn't give a damn what people thought of her... she just did while I squirmed and considered consequences, and worried, and hemmed and hawed.  

I learned from Jo. She taught me to be myself and be happy with that, for that's all I have to offer, myself. Be happy.

Jo loved my blog sign off, it's a good day to be alive.  She liked that and that makes me happy, even now. 

I remember the chatter, the endless chatter, and the smile, and the cutting wit. I remember the running, miles upon miles of running through trails, cold streets, happy times.  I remember her laughter, her irreverence, her toughness.  I remember her smile. 

And the stories, I remember the stories. Oh my goodness, the stories, the endles stories! 

And she laughs. 

I miss Jo. 

It's a good day to be alive.

Photo credit Facebook

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Those Rascally Turtles. What are they up to now?

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; indeed it's the only thing that ever has.

Margaret Meade

Those rascally Turtles, what are they up to now? 

I have a friend who cycle-commutes to work everyday all year, regardless of the weather.  When asked why he does this he replies casually "I'm just trying to change the world" and then adds without a hint of sarcasm or spite "Why do you drive your car"?  

I thought it an odd response, but in reflection it speaks precisely to the Meade quote above. We all have it in ourselves to make the world a better place, to improve the quality of life, indeed to change the world. It is a series of small, thoughtful acts of kindness that make this tired old world spin smoothly. 

So I started using that line when asked why I cycle or run to work,

"I want to change the world" and then I would add "and besides, it makes me feel good".

That's what our friends the Turtles want; nothing short of changing the world and feeling good in the process.

The Turtles are a group of trail runners that meet several times weekly to run city trails and country trails. They may call themselves Turtles, but in reality they're a pretty serious group of experienced ultra-runners. They love life like no others, they exude positive energy, and they spread joy to all those who share the trails. 

A few founding Turtle members were running at Garbage Hill the other day and noticed the unsightly trash in the tall grass along the many trails.  The hill is named for the garbage below the surface, not the stuff on top!  They have organized a "Un-garbage Garbage Hill" campaign for Sunday, November 27, 2016 from 11:00 AM to 4:00 PM. The Facebook event page is here and their message is below.

Please come and support this campaign of love and kindness. You too can change the world and feel great in the process.

It's a good day to be alive.


Garbage Hill unsightly trails.

Calling all runners & lovers of Garbage Hill! 

Winnipeg's hill training capital is a disgrace. Many members of our community spend multiple hours pounding out the miles on the road & trails at the, currently very aptly named, "Garbage Hill". As you can see from the cover photo, there are some who do not seem to appreciate the importance of this special Winnipeg spot & have chosen to litter freely. We invite you to come for a run & help us clean up the hill before the winter weather sets in & we have soppy trash in the spring.

Come for an hour or the afternoon, but please come.

Please bring:

  • family, 
  • friends, 
  • garbage bags, 
  • disposable gloves
  • a winning attitude!

To any truck owners who would be willing to haul away filled bags, that would be great!
Please share, share, share!!