Ariane de Gennaro
On Thanksgiving morning, I woke up earlier than any sane college student on vacation should. Why would I do this? Obviously to participate in my family’s annual tradition: the Turkey Trot. My parents, two siblings, grandparents, visiting aunt and aunt’s new dog drove 20-odd minutes to participate in the race, along with a handful of other local Trotters with a propensity for pain.
My family’s participation in the Turkey Trot has taken several forms over the years. The tradition originated with my dad’s family when a group of neighbors gathered to jog, walk and bike around the block to infuse some flavorful exercise into an otherwise sedentary day.
Then, when my family moved out of town, the Trot became a long, circular walk on the property behind my house. Because the property technically belongs to the city and not to us, the Trot involved coaxing twenty relatives and four dogs over/under a gate bearing a “no trespassing” sign written in large red letters. Sometimes, a city official would drive by in a truck, prompting an exciting round of “hide in the bushes.”
This year, the famed Trot consisted of a 5K run on a local race route that makes cross country kids cry. I like to imagine the addition of a generous layer of snow, ice and mud on top of the steep hills was intended to remind us trotters of mashed potatoes and put us in the Thanksgiving spirit. The sheer, ice-encrusted slopes kept me on my toes — literally — and the biting, winter-morning air reminded me of my utter dependence on albuterol inhalers.
But I confess I enjoyed the Trot. The sparkling snowy views were spectacular, and I was grateful to once more be surrounded by the scenery of home. Even more, I was glad I have a — somewhat wacky — family who likes to partake in frigid adventures, even at early hours of the morning.
Most heartwarming of all, though, was my grandfather’s positive energy and perseverance. He completed the entire race in his neon orange jacket, despite the mashed potato snow, despite the fact that he just celebrated his 80th birthday. I can only hope that when I’m 80, my dedication to the Trot will be as faithful as his.