The following blog post was written by Jennifer Sammartino, Director of Communications & External Affairs.
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Last spring, at a family function, a cousin of mine started recruiting me to do a run with her. Sensing my disinterest, she sweetened the deal: “We can run in Disney World, there are 5Ks that go right through the park.”
 
Working at the Borough President’s Office, health and wellness is one of the pillars that we work on. So this wasn’t the first time, I’d felt a twinge to get fit. I’d stopped and started many times. Come July, registration began (and closed) for the Disney Princess 5K. I registered. The run would be in February. That gave me plenty of time to train.
 
Let me explain one thing – I don’t run. I’m one of those people that believe that running is for when you are in serious – read: mortal – danger. I told my cousin I’d run with her because it sounded like an excuse to go to Walt Disney World for a long weekend. 
 
I guess I never thought the day would actually come when I’d have to run. So I did my own version of preparation. I bought the clothes, I bought the sneakers. I even brought the sneakers on another trip prior to the run where I planned to train. It rained almost every day and the sneakers never saw the light of day.
 
Then I downloaded a few apps- Couch to 5K, 7 Minute Workout, stuff like that. The icons looked nice on my phone.
 
As Christmas approached, I started a mental countdown to the run. With New Year’s, I made a fleeting resolution to train. Then, just a week before the run, it occurred to me that I was going to humiliate myself in front of thousands of people, two cousins and my sister included. 
 
I packed my stuff. I kissed the husband and the kid goodbye and headed for the airport. I thought there was a very real possibility that I’d suffer a heart attack trying to run and actually die.
 
That afternoon, we went to pick up our bib numbers and race packets. I was excited. I posed for pictures with my bib and bought a tiara to wear for the race (it is the Princess Race, after all). I thought maybe there would be a storm and the run would be cancelled – that wouldn’t be my fault, so I’d still get credit for it, right?
 
No such luck. The night before, we went to bed at 10 PM and set the alarm for 3:15 AM. We had to be on a bus by 4:30 AM to be on site for 5 AM for a run that began at 6 AM.
 
This, I will tell you, was the hardest part of the run – getting up at 3:15 AM. Getting dressed while it’s dark outside and trying to psych yourself up when your body wants to be asleep was by far the biggest challenge of the day.
 
Once the run started, we got pumped. We ran hard for the first mile. It was great – my calves were seizing up, but it was great. The four of us who were running together kept pace with each other and we felt like rock stars. The run was crowded, so we had to slow down and walk quite a bit, but it was an amazing feeling to be part of something with hundreds of other people. We stopped at each mile marker and snapped a photo- this took time, but no one running this race seemed to be in it for the time – just for the fun of it.
 
As we crossed the finish line, we ran hard once more and upon being handed a medal for our accomplishments, I felt fantastic. Here I was, out of shape and out of breath – but I had done it. And I had done it in pretty decent time too.  And I had not died. I was alive! 
 
I’ve run a few times since this race last month and I intend to stick with it. Not because I feel  like I have to, but because I can and I want to, a pretty far cry for a person who thought running was only for emergencies and avoiding imminent danger.
 
Taking a nod from the health and wellness messages of the office, I don’t think it matters when or how you make a decision to change your fitness level. It’s OK to start small – get a Fitbit, be mindful of your activity or lack thereof, and make changes. In my case, I just went for it - kind of dumb, yes, but it worked for me. Whatever it takes to get you out of your comfort zone and on the road to a more healthy you, I say go for it.

The following blog post was written by Jennifer Sammartino, Director of Communications & External Affairs.
 
My daughter was born in the summer of 2013. While that seems like yesterday to me, according to the DOE, that means it’s time to think about – and apply for - UPK.
 
I’m grateful – as I know all city parents are – to have UPK as an option for my child. But it forces me to think about how old my baby is getting and that she’s not a baby anymore.
 
The application process and the concept is also a little jarring, and I don’t mean to complain. When I was a child, my mother literally brought me to the school nearest to our house, signed me up, and off I went. 
 
I love the fact that we have choice as parents. The reality for me is that we will not use our zoned school because of our personal preferences. Therefore, my husband and I are pursuing other schools for her. 
 
So after much research, we decided to apply to three UPK programs plus the program at the school she currently attends, a private Montessori school. I am incredibly happy with her current school. The great thing is that now, as a three-year-old, she attends three full days and spends two weekdays with family. This is my attempt to balance wanting to give her a solid foundation, a leg up on her education, and allow her to be my baby just a little bit longer.
 
But UPK is five days. Five days for a four-year-old. Please don’t misunderstand – this is not a complaint – this is the unwillingness of a mom of an only child to let her go off into the world. I’m the one that’s not ready yet. 
 
Not only am I not ready for my toddler to attend school five days a week, I’m not ready for her to go off to a large public school. As I await the acceptance/wait list letters that are due to come in April from the DOE, and greet the decisions I’ll need to make about where she will go come September with equal parts anxiety and excitement, I’ll squeeze my little one and beg her to stay my baby a little longer. 

​The following blog post was written by Jennifer Sammartino, Director of Communications and External Affairs for our office.

I won’t lie. Going for my very first mammogram was nerve wracking. At 39, my doctor advised that I get a baseline mammo, which made me feel older than I am. Oh well.

I didn’t want to freak my mother out, so I asked a colleague about the experience and what to expect. She said it wasn’t “that bad.” This is very subjective. I was not looking forward to it.

So, on a hot summer day, I ran out of work, went home, took a quick shower, and headed over to my appointment. To my surprise, I was called in just a moment or so before my scheduled time, so the experience was off to a good start. 

The technician was fantastic. We were about the same age and she had small kids and we chatted about our families. It took away some of the awkwardness of “take your top off.” Then I looked at the machine in horror. It was large and white and could have been some high-tech binocular from Star Wars.  

But it wasn’t so bad. The plexiglass panels were surprising gentle as the technician flattened me into screening position. I sort of felt like a car being jacked up on a lift, but her pleasant demeanor and the idle chit chat really helped me feel more at ease.

A few weeks later, I got a letter in the mail explaining that I had healthy breasts. While I had no reason to worry, it was a relief to get that letter. 
A few weeks after that, I sat in on Borough President Oddo’s breast cancer roundtable, an annual meeting he holds at Borough Hall with breast health practitioners representing all phases of diagnosis, treatment and support on Staten Island. 

The professionals around the table enthusiastically reported that mobile units are plentifully available for screenings (in many cases free to those who qualify) and hospitals and radiological facilities have appointments immediately. What’s more, the American Cancer Society’s Road to Recovery program can also facilitate getting women to their appointments if transportation is a problem – so there’s really no excuse not to get a mammography if you are of age and haven’t had one in the last year. And as I have explained, there’s no reason to fret – it doesn’t hurt, it’s not super embarrassing and the odds are, you’re just fine. And if you aren’t, it’s better to known sooner so that you can make the appropriate treatment decisions to continue on with your long, healthy life. 

On the flip side, if you want to get involved as a volunteer for any of the American Cancer Society’s local programs, please contact the Staten Island office at (718) 987-8872. And if you need support or guidance any time day or night, call (800) 227-2345.

​The following blog post was written by Jennifer Sammartino, Director of Communications and External Affairs for our office.

Fifteen years ago, I never could have imagined the position that I would be in today.

Just two years out of college, I was starting my career at the Staten Island Advance, as an editor.  On a bright Tuesday morning, I was jolted awake (I worked evenings on Tuesdays then) by my mother’s voice on the answering machine, begging me to pick up the phone.  

While most of what followed is a blur, there are pieces of that day that stick out: My mom – who worked across the street from the towers - explaining that they had evacuated; flipping on the TV just in time to see the second plane hit; taking the world’s fastest shower and racing to the newsroom, where I wouldn’t have to be alone.

I sat, for what seemed like an eternity, helplessly watching the horror unfold on a TV mounted high on a wall in the newsroom. The editors remade the front page of the paper to capture what was happening. Restless and sick to my stomach, I announced that I would head to St. Vincent’s Hospital to give blood and I’d write about what was happening there – at least I could do something. 

When I arrived at the hospital, it was controlled chaos. Would-be blood donors gathered in a conference room to fill out forms and wait. Eventually we were told that we could get a call when they needed us to come back. Those calls would never come. 

Luckily for me, I did get a different call later that day. My mom had made it over the Brooklyn Bridge on foot and she would be coming home that night. Home, she came, with ash and soot in her ears, her hair, her clothes. The sense of relief I felt was overwhelming. But I also felt guilty because I was among the lucky. My mom had come back home. 

Everything changed that day. As a nation, we would never take our sense of security for granted again. My priorities shifted. I was overcome with sadness and for months, we all walked around in a haze. 

I don’t believe that time heals all. I think time dulls the pain; I think time has a way of making some memories more vivid and others less powerful. 

In my case, time allowed me to spread my wings. I eventually left the newspaper to explore a career in public relations, hospital administration and government communications. I am now the Borough President’s Director of Communications and External Affairs. I took the position in 2014 and a few short months later, the 9/11 ceremony was on my plate. 

This event is the single most important thing I do all year long. It’s significant for so many people and it’s an opportunity to reflect, take a moment of solace and be together without really having to say a word. With this responsibility – which I gratefully accept – there comes much anxiety in getting the details right, in anticipating what our community wants and needs, finding the perfect balance of respect and creativity, and organization for a seamless memorial event. 

Each year, I hide behind the stage dictating what is to happen next and praying that all goes well and that we as a team have delivered exactly what surviving family members and friends want and deserve. It’s an honor and a privilege.  At the conclusion, my nails are bitten off, I’m still shaking and hanging on every word of every person that goes by, looking for validation like a child. 

I share this with you because I care. I care so much about each of you, every person who suffered that day and continues to suffer and feel the losses. I genuinely hope that this ceremony gives you peace. After the very first ceremony my team and I organized in 2014, I stood next to the Borough President as we watched family members gather their roses and leave them by loved ones’ facades on the memorial. This is why we do what we do, he whispered.

This is why.