Category Archives: Memorable Running Moments

Memorable running moments

A Letter to My Teammates

To my dearest Smokin’ Aces (aka, Baywatch, Bugs, Buttons, Dropbox, DTH, Mad Hatter, the Minimalist, Ray, Secret Weapon, Sexecutioner and Thumper):

As soon as I started unpacking tonight, my emotions got the best of me and my tear fest began. We’ve all expressed what a fabulous weekend it was. Despite a total deluge at the Start that lasted into the first few legs of our race, several navigational mishaps and many misadventures along the way, eventually the skies cleared and we ultimately took 2^nd overall. We shared lots of laughs, made some new friends and created many memories. But what some of you may, or may not, know about me is that I need this race. I need the Smoky Mountain Relay, like I need to breathe. Last year I needed SMR for a host of different reasons than why I needed it now, but I need it none the less.

Last year I needed this race to learn about confidence in myself and in other people. This year I needed SMR to be reminded of just how far I’ve come in doing that. I needed to see for myself that I am not the same person who ran in the Smoky Mountains a year ago. Thank you, Aces, from the bottom of my heart, to each and every one of you, for being a part of that.

Smoky Mountain Relay, Then & Now:

This year I only ran 3 legs, versus 4 last year, because we were a full team of 12. I had to wait what felt like an eternity to run my first leg, in the dark, which is a stretch that I ran last year during sunset. We can blame poor navigation, resulting in a late arrival to the starting line, for that one. This year, Leg 11, was about setting the tone for a new race in 2013. It was about leaving last year where it belongs, behind me. This was a whole new race. And I was amped!

Leg 19 hasn’t changed a lick in the past year. Except maybe it got harder, if that’s possible. It’s still steep, rocky, and run in the pitch blackness of a Smoky Mountain night. But something has changed since a year ago…Me. Last year I ran Leg 19 thinking I had something to prove. This year I ran Leg 19, because I knew I could. I believed in my own abilities. Like I kept saying all weekend, “We all have our strengths. I know mine.” Today in the car, Ken was saying how I have an ability that is unlike most people. If you put me up against any of those super-fast guys on the road, they’ll smoke me; but put me up against any of those guys on Leg 19 and that margin decreases significantly. Hills level the playing field, thus my nickname. Last year, as I climbed Leg 19, I ran into mist and fog, which was symbolic of how unclear everything was in my life. This year, as I climbed, the stars were bright and beautiful, just like the still unknown future that I know lies ahead of me. This year I did that crazy hard climb 5 minutes faster than I did it last year, I’m not even sure how that happened other than knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I am a stronger person than I was a year ago. Ironically, the song playing on my ipod as I reached the top, with legs so fatigued I had to be practically carried to the van, was Alicia Keys’ Brand New Me.

I asked everyone last night at the house, what their favorite leg was that they ran this year. However, I didn’t answer my own question. 34. Without a doubt. I’d be willing to say that leg 34 is even harder than 19, or maybe it just feels that way to me after running both. But I don’t yet know SMR any other way. Leg 34 has an elevation change very similar to that of 19’s 2400 foot incline, but it’s over the course of slightly more than a mile, rather than 5.5 miles, leading me to believe that it’s close to a 20% grade up gravel and trail and leaves and roots. After the hard part was done, my legs were trashed and my Garmin died shortly thereafter. That’s when the fun started. Last year, I questioned where I was going every step of that leg. This year, I knew exactly where I was headed. I even got to point another runner in the right direction, just before I left him in the dust. Last year, I ran the steep downhill switchbacks feeling fearful and totally out of control, which mimicked my life at that point. This year, I ran with a smile on my face, feeling free and loving the momentum. Stretches of 34 were longer than I remember, but I loved every second of it, particularly running beside a bubbling brook that I eventually got to cross. Last year, I got completely lost on Leg 34, adding over a mile to my route. This year, I trusted my directions, trusted myself and stayed the course. Last year when Ken showed up to help drag my butt out of the woods I was surprised to see him and I didn’t think I’d even make it to the end. This year, Ken and Craig were waiting right where I expected them to be to run me out of the woods. I couldn’t have been happier to see them, not because I needed help, but to share that part of the leg with my friends, and I smiled as I yelled, “Let’s go, Boys.” Ken still had to help pull me up the last hill because my legs were so wasted, but unlike last year I accepted help happily, rather than feeling totally demoralized for needing it. Friends help each other, it’s just what they do.

Next year, I’m looking forward to turning Leg 34 over to Ken and trying out some new parts of the 214 mile course. But rest assured, I’ll still be crazy enough to tackle Leg 19 again.

With all of my reflections on the Smoky Mountain Relay, this letter doesn’t begin to cover all that we had to laugh about, most of which is not even appropriate to share in this forum. It’s interesting how runners can take something completely innocent, turn it around to be totally inappropriate and find it side-splittingly hilarious. Some things just never get old. We laughed about day old sandwiches, French Press coffee, timely birthday cards, Poops McGee and running serenades. We bonded by saving each other from Lymes disease, discussing the qualities of a good boyfriend, fending off the stench of Ken’s feet and sharing visors. Just in case anyone missed that, yes, I have a thing for guys in visors. Just call it one of my many quirks.

This morning, as we headed toward home with the sun coming up over the mountains, Ken’s playlist filled the van with Paul McCartney’s Blackbird. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly, All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise…” This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and all of the Aces, past and present, are secure in my heart forever for being a part of it.

I think the theme of the weekend came when, in reference to what was happening in Boston, Alamar said it best, “Choose to love, People”. Yeah, I choose love.

Xoxo,

Hills

Smokin Aces 2013

Leg 19

It was gorgeous out today. Hard to believe that just a week ago I was running in a blizzard resulting in a foot of snow. The snow has all melted and it appears that maybe Spring has finally arrived. Well, hold that thought, we have a chance for flurries tomorrow. Seriously?!

Well, today I took advantage of the beautiful day. I went for trail run and muddied up a brand new pair of New Balance 1010s. It was awesome. Pretty much the whole time I was running I was thinking about one of my upcoming races. The Smoky Mountain Relay is less than 3 weeks away and I could not be more excited. As I ran some tough hills today, it was the thought of repeating Leg 19 in a few weeks that pushed me up those inclines.

The SMR is a 215 mile relay through the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina. It’s typically a 6 or 12 person team, last year we were 9. I got pulled on to the team by Jordan and his wife Jan, who both worked at FLEET FEET. Jordan was looking for more people to add to the team at the same time I was looking to try something totally different with running. I figured, this is something I want to try, it sounds really cool, so sure, why not? One and done, right? Wrong.

As we got closer to the race, I had a chance to meet the other St. Louis based team members. We skyped with the guys we had picked up from the race website to join our team. We totally scored picking up 2 guys from Utah, who are not only awesome people and amazing athletes, but Mark owns a house near the finish where we all stayed. And will again, even though Mark won’t be with us this time due to the impending arrival of his third child. Not all of my teammates have their priorities in order since they have not planned these things around SMR, but I guess we’ll forgive it since he lets us use his house.

Ken and Jordan started putting together a rough draft of leg assignments. The nice thing about SMR is that you don’t have to stay in any particular order, you can jump around in the line-up however it suits you. The first draft came out and I started scanning it. My first leg: 4 miles, easy. Second leg, same. What is this?! Just cause I’m a girl they are going to give me only easy legs. This is stupid. And then I saw it. The only leg labeled “Very Hard” was given to yours truly. Sweet! Well, I said I like to run uphill, so they let me have it. 5.5 miles up a 2500 foot incline on gravel about halfway through the race which puts us somewhere in the middle of the night. I was pretty stoked that my team had entrusted me with this leg of the race.

Each team starts according to ability and projected time based on 10k time trials for each team member. When I did my 10k last year to see what I was capable of, it was the first time I’ve ever broken 50 minutes. And that was just me, out on the road, getting it done. Put me in a race setting and I’m capable of even more. I’ve since had the chance to prove it. In October, I crushed that when I finished in 48:30, taking home a 2^nd place age group award at the Gumbo Flats 10k.

But anyway, we were one of the last teams to start because we were expected to be pretty fast. At the start line, there were some announcements. One of them was this-Leg 19 had been declared one of the hardest legs in any overnight relay in the country, so we were given the choice to opt out of it. My team started looking around, who has Leg 19? I said, “I do. That’s my leg. And I’m doing it. We came to do this and we’re not opting out of anything!”

And so we began the race. Jan started us off and ran a loop through the park, and then Matt continued our trek into the mountains. Some legs were on the road, some were on trails. Some were flat to easy rolling hills, some were intense uphill all the way, some were steep downhills.

I did my first leg, about 4 miles on the road. Other than a couple dogs chasing me, it was no sweat. On the way to my second leg, Craig had to drive like a maniac because of the potential for the van route to take longer than the runner getting to the exchange point. It lived up to its potential. Despite Craig’s driving, and me almost falling out of the van pantless, Mark still beat us. And he kept on running. So when we caught up to him, he said, “Can I please finish this leg? I feel really good”. I jumped back in the van, feeling totally dejected and announced, “I’m stealing Jan’s leg.” So, literally, I took the following leg from Jan. There is nothing worse than having your adrenaline all amped up and then being told to chill. That leg was a fairly easy 4 miler, except that it was dusk and by the end of that leg it was so dark I almost fell into the abyss because I couldn’t see anything.

Finally, at something like 2am, it was my turn to really get after it. Leg 19. Here we go. That leg was a beast. Aside from the fact that it was pitch black and I could see nothing farther than the 5-10 feet in front of me, thanks to my headlamp, it was very much a never ending hill, or so it seemed. I kept thinking about Jordan’s words, “It doesn’t matter how slow you go, just don’t stop.” At only one point did I get about a 10 step break from going uphill, a very brief plateau and then back up. My teammates had asked what I needed in terms of support. I said, wait for me at about 2 miles up and we’ll go from there. They waited. When I got there, Ken gave me Gatorade and some encouragement. I don’t know if it was my ego or being delirious, but I remember talking smack, saying “This is nothin. I own this mountain.” They went up a couple more miles, and waited again at a weird turn. When I saw them again, I was no longer talking smack. I was no longer talking. I was barely breathing. Then they said, “See you at the top” and they were gone. I finally got to the sign that said I only had a half mile to go. Yessss! But according to my Garmin, I still had about a mile and a half. Hmmm…that’s weird. Turns out some kids had moved the sign down the mountain in an effort to be funny. Not. Cool. I kept climbing, slowly, so slowly. At one point I wanted to see how dark it really was, so I covered my head lamp for a sec, uh, yeah, it was total blackness. I was having a mental battle with myself, “I want to walk. No I don’t. Yes I do. No I don’t”. Then the mist started and it got so foggy, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. And just as it seemed I would NEVER get there, I could hear Nate O cheering me on and he slowly came into view. Oh thank you sweet Jesus, I made it!

On April 18, a carload of us will make the roadtrip to NC. And some time during the wee hours of April 20, I will have another go at Leg 19. I am determined to do it even better and stronger than last year. Because I am better and stronger than I was last year. You may not know this about me, but I’m not typically one to back down from a challenge. Leg 19, I’m coming for you. Again.

RRG…smiling at the top. This is why Nathan A has given me the nickname “Leg 19”

The Comeback Kid and the Snoopy Balloon

I love my job. I mean, I really, really love my job. How many people can honestly tell you they love what they do for a living? For the most part, people go to work to earn a paycheck and go home. But I am in the rare position of actually, really, truly loving what I do. David, my boss and owner of all 3 FLEET FEET St. Louis stores, always says “Do what you love, love what you do.” It’s a good motto and I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to do just that.

I don’t just love my job because I get to wear running clothes to work. Although that is a nice perk because A) It’s a little like wearing pajamas all day, and B) I can leave work and immediately go for a run, which I am frequently known to do. And I don’t just love my job because I get to try out all the new shoes and other cool running accessories as they come in.

My dad always said, “Surround yourself with good people.” I can honestly say I’ve done that, some of the people I work with have become like my family. That’s just one more reason I love my job. Runners typically tend to be happy people (it’s the endorphin high) so being around other runners all the time generally makes life better. Additionally, I share in the privilege of leading the weekly social run at the store, so I get to hang out with a bunch of sweaty runners who love pizza. Is there anything better than that?!

The best part of my job, though, is the opportunity to encourage other people in a love of running. My favorite customers are the people who come into the store not really knowing why they want to start running, they just know that they do. These are the customers who want to suck up all the knowledge and all the enthusiasm I can offer. I don’t claim to know all there is to know about running, not even close, but I do know that my passion for it is contagious. It is an absolute joy to work with people who have an open mind to the feeling of freedom and the rush of adrenaline that only a ‘Runner’s high’ can provide. They are just about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, and they have no idea what’s coming.

It’s always funny to me, the people who say, “Well, I’m not really a runner, I just run a couple miles at a time and I’m really slow” or “I’ve only run 1 half-marathon , so I’m not actually a runner.” Umm, yes, you are. It doesn’t matter how far or how fast you run, if you lace up your running shoes on occasion and hit the trail or the road or the track for a 50-miler or 50 meters or anything in between, you are a runner.

It’s March. In specialty running, that means track and field season. Despite my early exposure to running, and a life-long love affair with it, I actually have very limited personal experience in the area of track and field. I ran track in Jr. High, but that was really before we got into all the technical equipment of spikes and such. I only ran one season of Cross Country my freshman year of high school and when spring came around I went out for the softball team. I remember my dad taking me to buy my first glove. I still have that glove, it has never been replaced. But anyway, back to running. My friend and co-worker, Barb, is the resident track expert at the store. As a former track coach, she has been incredibly helpful in assisting my efforts to learn the ins and outs of this particular niche of running.

The other day, as I was talking with Barb about my minimal track experience, I began to recall a story. The very first race I ever remember running was the 400m dash at Field Day in 4^th grade. If I remember correctly, there were 2 girls from each of the 7 or 8 fourth grade classes signed up for that event and our class held try-outs to see who would represent Mrs. Troster’s room. I know I remember correctly when I say that for most of that race I was in dead last. But somehow, as we came up on the halfway mark, I started to pass some of the other girls. With 100m left I was in second place. And with just a few strides to go, I passed Kim Scott for the win. Talk about a high! Winning is awesome, but there is nothing better than a win like that. It was completely unexpected. When I got home from school later that day, I had a surprise waiting for me, from my dad; a congratulatory Snoopy balloon. I don’t tend to be overly sentimental and keep a lot of stuff just for the sake of nostalgia, because I always say the thing is not the memory. I actually stole that line from Peter Walsh who hosted that show ‘Clean Sweep’ on HGTV. Lindsey quirk #4-I am obsessed with chucking any unnecessary clutter in my life. But I’m pretty sure that balloon is in a box somewhere at my mom’s house. I kept it because it’s not just a deflated Mylar balloon. I kept it because of what it represents. It represents a Never give up attitude and a come from behind win. But it doesn’t just represent winning, because winning isn’t always about being the first one to cross the finish line. It represents a spirit in me that my dad celebrated all those years ago when he gave me that snoopy balloon. It represents the fact that even when I can see that things aren’t going my way, I won’t just give up and quit. I won’t roll over and die. I will fight to the finish. I am strong enough to push through and make a comeback. That wasn’t the only time in my life that I had to make a comeback, and it certainly hasn’t been the most challenging, and I guarantee there will be more. I guess you can just call me the Comeback Kid, because the fact of the matter is that I won’t ever quit, even when it’s hard, I’ll keep on pushing forward. And that’s the spirit I hope to impart on every person that I put into a new pair of running shoes at FLEET FEET. It’s just too bad I can’t send them all out of the store with a Snoopy balloon of their own.

Friends that are like family…RRG, Jess and Liz

Lindsey squared heatin it up…leaving out the back door of FLEET FEET so we can do what we love.

The fearless leaders of the FLEET FEET Chesterfield social run…RRG and Cole.

Brand New Me

The past couple days have been FULL of good news. Ask anyone who saw me yesterday, I was bouncing off the walls at all the positive things that have been happening in my life. As usual, life is a rollercoaster, but it’s been an adrenaline pumping thrill ride this week. I was put to the test of how much I’ve grown over the past several months, and I passed, with flying colors! I saw very clearly my own personal growth. It was awesome!

So, why did I wake up this morning feeling so down? I think the emotional high of the past couple days left me a little bit drained. Additionally, even though I rose to the occasion in the battle of some of my old demons, it was still a battle. To say I was emotionally exhausted this morning would be an understatement. It was one of those days where I wanted to set my theme song on repeat, Brand New Me by Alicia Keys, to remind myself that I’m not the same person that I was a year ago. Lindsey quirk #3-Yes, I have a theme song. Actually, if I’m being honest, I have several.

Somehow, despite my depleted emotional state, my physical energy was oddly very much intact. I ran twice today. I needed to. Even though I knew I would be running 5 miles with the social run tonight at FLEET FEET, I knew that I needed to get my hills in. I went to Babler and tried, for four miles, to find some answers and to clear the fog that had settled on my brain.

As I was running, I determined that despite my obvious growth, I was somewhat pissed that it had even been tested. And then as I thought about it more, I was pissed at the person who had tested it. And even more I was pissed that I had allowed myself to be put in a position that required so much growth over so many years. I’m still sorting through some of that. (On a side note, boxing is really good for anger management. For legal reasons, it’s a much better idea to punch a bag than a person.)

I got an email from my friend Emily this morning, and it’s funny because I had actually just been thinking about her when my phone buzzed with the notification of her message. I was specifically thinking of the last time Emily and I got to run together last winter. We did about 7 miles on the lakefront on a beautiful, brisk Chicago morning when the coolest thing happened. We were running along, just south of Navy Pier and all of a sudden Emily stopped and pointed to something on the ground. The word ‘FORGIVE’ had been spray painted on the sidewalk. Emily said these were painted all over town, but she’d never actually seen one. I don’t know if she’s seen any since, but I don’t get to run in Chicago all that often anymore, so it’s the only one I’ve seen.

I love the picture I took of it. I love how the shadows crossed through the word making it kind of abstract. Because, let’s be real, the concept of forgiveness is kind of abstract.

Forgiveness is a tough one. People hurt us. People make us angry. Webster defines the word Forgive as 1: to give up resentment of or claim to requital for; and 2: to cease to feel resentment against. Resentment can be nasty. It leads to bitterness and it eats away at your heart if you allow it to. I have always said, I will not be a stereotype, I do not want to be bitter. I just won’t allow it.

However, forgiveness is a process. It takes time. Sometimes it takes a lot of time. It’s not just something where you can say, Ok, I forgive you, it’s over, and then move on and never think about it again. Sure, it’d be great if that was actually possible, but we’re human and we just don’t have the capability to do that. And here’s the worst part, sometimes you don’t even get the apology that you may be entitled to. So, what do you do with that?

Well, all I really can do is listen to my heart and just keep trying. I can be the brand new me that I know I am. I believe that I always want to forgive completely, but it takes time to work through that and I won’t say that I have forgiven before I’m ready to. Coerced forgiveness or a forced apology, isn’t real, so who does that help anyway?

Some things are relatively easy to forgive, like someone accidentally spilling beer on you (I’m really glad we can laugh about that, Marxkors!) or your children breaking the screen door (Ok, so I was pretty mad about that one, and all three kids went to their rooms until they decided to tell the truth about it. But, once they did, I got over it. And, by the way, it’s still not fixed.)

I’ve heard Britta say many times, “Nothing is unforgiveable”. It’s true some things might be a lot harder to work through than others, especially when someone really hurts our heart. It’s difficult, it’s challenging, but it’s not impossible.

The other thing about forgiving that can be really tough is when someone knows our heart is hurt and they keep poking the bruise anyway. That’s what happened to me yesterday, my bruise got poked. And today I was dealing with the after effects of that. I needed to face that. So I did. I thought about it. I was sad about it for a while. Then I ran some hills. And then, I let it go. There is freedom in forgiveness. If only it could always be that simple.

Emily and RRG, right after we found ‘FORGIVE’.

Running Through the Storm

It’s funny how day to day life happens so gradually, but one morning you wake up and come to a screeching halt as you realize how totally far away you’ve gotten from the person you thought you were and the person you hoped to become.

Not all that long ago I was in the midst of a personal crisis. I had just moved to a new state, was trying to get settled into a new house and was struggling to understand the tragic death of a dear sister in law and my unborn nephew. All the while, I was faking a marriage that had completely fallen apart. Instead of dealing with any of this in a healthy way, I escaped into my own little fantasy world. I still managed to take care of my 3 kiddos, unpack all the boxes and follow through with my commitments. I did it all under the guise of “I’m doing just fine”, when really, I wasn’t. At all. In fact, I hadn’t been fine for a really long time. Years. I tried to make everything look wonderful on the outside, to cover up the fact that inside was a big, old, ugly mess. Eventually, my fantasy world came crashing down around me, as they inevitably do, and it was time to start picking up the pieces.

I’ve always attached my identity to others…I’ve been a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend. But who am I? Who am I? I had absolutely no idea. And so began the quest to figure it out. I quickly realized that I had been so focused on taking care of everyone around me I had completely forgotten to take care of myself. That is, in a healthy way, not the self-centered way I had been living inside my own head as a means of survival. I took on the emotions of everyone else, to the point that I didn’t have a clue what I was feeling. I was getting buried alive under everyone else’s baggage. I had gone numb to my own emotions, lost the ability to feel and put up a wall. A big, thick, brick wall. On one side of the wall, I painted a picture of the always smiling mom with the perfect, happy life who had the kids sitting nicely, the house clean and dinner ready when their dad got home. But on the other side of the wall, I had allowed others to quench my spirit and break me down into a woman I didn’t even recognize. I went into self-destruction mode, crying out for someone – anyone – to just notice me.

Initially, it was easier to define what I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be a doormat. I didn’t want to be a cookie-cutter image of the people around me. I didn’t want to be an extension of anyone else. I did not want to be a victim. I couldn’t continue to ignore the fact that I have a right to set down boundaries for myself and other people need to respect them. I no longer wanted the heart of stone that couldn’t feel. And I didn’t want to stay trapped inside myself. How in the world was I going to break out? How was I going to take down the wall? Well, the only way I could, one brick at a time.

The first question I addressed pertained to how I could take care of myself through this process of, it may sound cliché, “finding myself”. Well, I love to run and it’s been on my bucket list to get to Boston for THE marathon of marathons. I had been training for another 26.2 in April of 2011 when my world began to crumble, but that got thrown by the wayside. I began to research fall races and map out my next course. Then, I started my training program to run the Quebec marathon on August 28, of that same year. Running gives me time to think, time to process everything going on around me. But it also gives me time to just “be”, when I don’t have the capacity to think anymore. My passion for running gave me an idea. I remember sitting at IHOP with my mom one morning talking about a need to get out and do something for me. We could see FLEET FEET through the window where we sat. Less than a month later I started my new job where I get to share my enthusiasm for an awesome sport with others, people from all walks of life and various levels of ability, from the beginning jogger who has decided to make a life change to the amazing ironman tri-athlete who has overcome great odds of addiction or illness, and everyone in between. Everyone has a story to tell and I love to hear them.

Writing is another of my passions. I know, go figure, right? But with a background in foster care, I never had any formal training in journalism. I enjoy writing and I believe it allows me to articulate in a way that I otherwise can’t. So when I stumbled across an opportunity to write for an online news page, I sent in a writing sample and was accepted. Voila! That was easy. It was just a matter of setting my fear and self-doubt aside long enough to put myself out there. Every Wednesday during that summer, was “Field Trip Day”. The kids and I would load up a backpack containing our essentials for the day and go off to explore our new surroundings. This not only gave us something to look forward to doing together each week, it also gave me great material to write about.

So, what have I learned through my journey to find myself? I learned that the answers I was seeking weren’t nearly as profound as I expected them to be. I’ve learned that I really hadn’t lost who I was as much as I thought. In fact, I’m still most of the things I was…a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend; but I found out that I’m so much more, too. All of my labels that attach me to others are part of who I am, but they don’t define me. I’m an individual, I’m a runner, I’m a writer. I’m passionate about the people and the things I love. One of the best things that anyone said to me during this journey to find myself is that I am valuable. I deserve validation and all the time it takes for me to process and respond to any given situation. I want to be totally authentic. I have real feelings and emotions and I’m not afraid to figure out what they are and express them anymore. I get very excited and animated when I share stories of things that make me happy. I get sad when the people I love are hurting. I get very scared when I feel vulnerable. But I allow myself to feel those emotions fully. I express them. And then I release them so they don’t weigh me down and overwhelm me. I set goals for myself, sometimes I accomplish them and sometimes I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ve failed, it just means I need to reevaluate my goals and keep on trying. I make good choices and bad choices. Hopefully, the good out-weigh the bad, but when the bad blow up in my face, I want to teach my kids and myself that I can get through it. My successes and my failures are part of what makes me who I am, but not my definition. I want to be a good example of a strong, healthy, well balanced woman for my children. I can’t expect to do it all perfectly, but I hope that I can teach my children to be self-assured, well-adjusted people who are not afraid to love whole-heartedly, laugh often, live fully, take risks and stand up for themselves and what they believe in. I hope that we can celebrate each other’s successes and I hope that when we mess up really big, we can say, “Well, that sucks, but I still love you and we can get through this.”

In loving myself, I am much better at loving others. I am a more calm, caring and patient mom (most of the time). I am a more empathetic friend and a better listener. Self-awareness has helped me to really not sweat the small stuff, because I am able to declare the things that truly bother me and let everything else slide off, instead of letting it all fester in a cauldron of stress and unevaluated emotion. There is a sense of freedom that comes with that and freedom was something that I was desperately longing for. It is highly unlikely that I will ever be completely fearless, but I am no longer willing to let my fears hold me back from doing anything.

So, what does define me? Well, it’s an ongoing, changing, evolving definition. But life is not necessarily about the definition, it’s about the journey to try and find it. The best part is, if I discover something about myself that I don’t like, I can change it. For now, I just try tolive in the moment and enjoy the things I love, with the people I love. I love to run. I love to write. I love the funny things my kids say. I love to walk on the beach and stare up at the moon on a clear night. I love coffee, probably more than I should. I love that my little brother can make me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants. I love singing at the top of my voice when I’m driving and I don’t care who sees me. I love exploring new places. I love that I sometimes talk to my best friend on the phone multiple times a day. I love the extraordinary moments that happen when I least expect them. I love surprising someone with the perfect present. I love crappy, reality TV (I know, it’s sad, but I do). I love a good glass of wine with my girlfriends. Most importantly, I love that now I can say, and really believe, that this is who I am. Take it or leave it, this is me.

As for my dream of getting to Boston for the pinnacle of my running career, Hurricane Irene had other plans for me in Canada. Despite my training and preparation, I was unable to even attempt the Quebec marathon that day because of the gale force winds that caused the race officials to cancel my event. I spent an amazing weekend in Quebec, only to find out the morning of the race that my goal would have to wait. But I learned a lot more about myself through that whole experience that completes me as a person. I was devastated that I didn’t get to run my race and I cried. I cried the whole long, miserable walk back to the hotel in the rain. Then I spent a rainy day sitting in a quaint, French coffee shop looking at the whole situation to assess what I could gain from it. However, that didn’t stop me from throwing a 2 week long pity party about lost chances. When I finally put a stop to that, I felt like I still had an itch that needed to be scratched after the frustrating demise of not just one, but two marathons. Sometimes life just takes unexpected turns and you have to figure out what direction you’re going to head from there. The direction I chose was south, to Dallas for the Whiterock Marathon. I didn’t run it with numbers in my head, putting a lot of extra pressure on myself. I ran it for the pure joy of running and to honor my dad who ran that very same race 30 years ago. I ran it 2 days after the 10th anniversary of saying good-bye to him. I ran to heal. In 40 degrees, gusty winds and pouring rain, I ran my heart out. I missed my Boston qualifying time by just minutes, but I ran my fastest marathon ever because I ran simply for the feeling of joy and freedom that running gives me. I don’t know if I will ever get to run Boston, but that doesn’t take anything away from what I’ve already accomplished. Just like everything else in life, it’s really not about the destination; it’s about how you push through all the obstacles you face and what you learn along the way.

The view of Quebec City from my hotel room…the day BEFORE the marathon.

7 Mile Trail, Recovery Run?

On this perfectly, amazing President’s Day morning, I had the privilege of showing my friend, Nicole, some of my favorite parts of Castlewood State Park. We had originally planned to meet on Saturday, but it got pushed to today. And we had originally planned to run 9ish miles…maybe more. However, since I ran 15 on Saturday and she ran 14 yesterday (she’s training for the Flying Pig in Cincinnati the same weekend I’m running Vancouver), we decided not to overdo it. We wanted to tackle some of the hills, but we took it pretty easy, nice and slow and decided on a shorter route. We did a 4 mile loop, ended up back at the parking lot and felt pretty good so we went a few more. Nothing like calling a 7 mile trail run a recovery run, but that summed it up well for both of us. The weather, the scenery and the company were all perfect. Ya can’t ask for more than that.

Funny side story-Nicole calls me LJ, so I was telling her that one of my other friends who calls me LJ put me into the calendar on her phone recently and auto-correct decided my new name is Lulujamba. Not sure where that came from, but I kinda like it. Anyway, then Nicole said that last night when she told her hubby she was running with LJ, he was like…What?! Who’s that?! She said, “Lindsey J, from Fleet Feet”. There used to be 2 Lindsey’s at the store, then for a brief period there were 3 of us, and now we’re back to 2; but it gets complicated so we are ever coming up with new names for each other. Lindsey Harris and I call each other “H” and “J”, respectively. And Lindsey Farrel is just “Farrel”. Anyway, Nicole’s hubby was glad to hear that his wife was not going off to the woods for some alone time with who he had pictured in his mind for “LJ” and that I am, in fact, not a well-built, black man. Quite the opposite, actually.

So, near the end of our run, I was telling Nicole that last night I registered for the Smoky Mountain Relay. This was a race I ran a year ago with the Smokin’ Aces, an awesome group of 8 other peeps who came along right when I needed them, people who went from being strangers to friends, literally overnight. I was at a pretty low point back then, and that group taught me so much about camaraderie, compassion and confidence, both in other people and in myself. I get emotional thinking about that weekend in the mountains and what that experience meant to me. The Aces are gearing up for the 2013 relay, and we’ve got several returning members. A few have had to bail, due to little things like pregnancies and babies and injuries and such, but the majority of the team should be back and we’ve stacked the deck with some additional players.

But I was telling Nicole, I kind of struggled with what to do this year. Ya see, this time, the Smoky Mountain Relay, falls on a weekend that I have custody of my kiddos. So, I’m going to have to give up some time with them to go do this. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s also a choice. I’ve been known to struggle with “Mom Guilt” from time to time. But something in me was pulling me to do this relay again. Most of my races involve me going out and pushing myself to do my best and then I’m done. This is different. I have to rely on my teammates, and they have to rely on me. We have to work together, but we also have an incredible amount of fun in the process. This is a race that I really, REALLY want to go do. And so, I’m going. After I told Nicole this, she said she distinctly remembers a time when she was little that her mom was struggling with some things and her mom said to her, “Sometimes, as a parent, you have to do things that are good for your soul.” And that’s exactly what the SMR is for me. It’s good for my soul. Obviously, I want to do well for my team, but there is so much more to it. Being in the Smoky Mountains with friends who cheer me on in running and in life, friends who I can have a conversation with while we’re in adjoining port-a-johns, friends who will let me curl up and nap on them in a van after I’m all sweaty and haven’t showered, friends who will make me Ramen noodles at 2am, friends who accept me just as I am and love me in spite of myself. That’s good for my soul.

On April 19, 2013, the Smokin’ Aces will reconvene in the Smokies and we will be gunning for the only team that took us down last year. Look out Maggots, the Aces are coming for you!

And now for your additional reading pleasure…or if you’re just bored at work and find my ramblings entertaining, I am including something I wrote upon returning home from North Carolina last year, following SMR 2012. Enjoy…

All I Ever Really Needed to Know About Life, I Learned from the Smoky Mountain Relay…

You are even stronger and more capable than you realize ~ True hospitality is welcoming strangers into your house, when you’re not even there ~ When given the choice, go ahead and start an hour early ~ Take the road less traveled every once in a while ~ There are people who are willing to help you, if you let them ~ Easy does not necessarily mean flat ~ Peanut Butter, Nutella and bananas on tortillas are a great combination ~ If you are going to fall out of the van, make sure you’re wearing pants ~ It’s good to be flexible with the schedule ~ Just because you catch a toad, doesn’t mean you’ve found a prince ~ Sometimes you have to blaze an unmarked trail ~ No hair makes you more aerodynamic ~ Its possible to go so fast you feel like you’re flying ~ A sleeve makes a good neck warmer ~ Maggots suck it ~ Don’t forget the Nathan wipes ~ Horses are a little creepy, especially at night ~ You can soak up so much that you get a little soggy ~ Homegrown sausage is delicious ~ You get really comfortable with strangers after 30 hours in a van ~ There are people who will go into the woods to find you and push you up the hill when you can’t do it on your own ~ Mike Hunt is really hard to find ~ Primally-epic is a word, isn’t it? ~ If you feel a little nauseous, eat some chips ~ No matter how bad things may seem, don’t forget to look around and appreciate something amazing ~ Take the map and follow the directions ~ Sometimes you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other ~ Bring an extra pair of socks…or 3 ~ Ramen noodles are not as good luke warm ~ Don’t opt out of a challenge ~ It’s good to be nice to the other teams…at least externally ~ Slap bracelets are still fun ~ Spreadsheets were made to be updated…annnnnd sometimes not ~It’s good to stop and enjoy the view along the way ~ If you’ve got enough energy left to throw a tantrum, you obviously didn’t run hard enough ~ Don’t leave the M&M’s next to the heater ~ Things don’t always go the way you plan, sometimes you have to adapt ~ Personify awesomeness ~ How fast you make the climb is not nearly as important as who is waiting for you when you get to the top!

Craig~Jan~ Jordan~Ken~Lindsey~Mark~Matt~Nate O~Nathan A…Smokin’ Aces 2012

Smokin’ Aces

Nicole and LJ…couple of Badass Divas.

LJ and Notarious A…who is mysteriously missing from the Smokin Aces group shot. Classic.

I’m Weird…

I realize this about myself and I am completely comfortable with it. I have lots of quirks. Lindsey quirk #1- I absolutely refuse to eat carrots, but that’s really beside the point.

It’s no big secret that runners are kind of a different breed. We enjoy things like running 26 miles at one time. We thrive on the excruciating pain of pushing ourselves to the point of puking. We say things like, “This Gu is delicious. It really tastes like peanut butter.” And being halfway through a 20 miler when the sun just starts to show itself on a Saturday morning, when the rest of the world is sleeping, is exhilarating to runners everywhere. But my absolute favorite? Going out to run in the rain and getting soaked to the skin.

On race day, I am thrilled when it’s raining. I watch the 10 day forecast, celebrating as the chance of precipitation rises. I’ve always said I do my best work in the rain. Every race I can think of that I’ve run in the rain, be it a light mist or a heavy downpour, it usually ends with a PR. There is just something about the way the humidity opens up my lungs and I find my mojo. I stay hydrated. But I think more than anything, the rain makes me put everything else aside and just say…I’m out here getting wet, so I might as well go for it, no holding back. Something about willingly going out fully clothed with the intention of getting drenched makes me feel a little bit like a badass. And if I’m gonna label myself as such, I need to prove it. So, I lay it on the line.

Yesterday, I spent the morning at work, watching the rain fall outside, counting the minutes until I could run the hills of Babler. I got there with exactly 50 minutes until I had to pick my kids up from school. School is about 12 minutes away. I had 38 minutes to run the 4 mile loop. No problem. I jumped out of the car into a steady fall of rain, and got after it. I finished in 33:45, with time to spare. But as I ran in the dampness, it made me think back to some of my favorite running in the rain moments…

Mile 9 of the 2008 Chicago half-marathon…The Jars of Clay song ‘Flood’ came on my ipod. At that point it felt like it had literally been raining for 40 days and 40 nights, so I had to laugh as I sloshed through puddles that left my Mizunos wet for a couple days afterward.
Running past the brewery during the 2009 GO! St. Louis Half-marathon, tipping my head up to the sky and letting the rain fall on my face. I remember smiling…right before I almost gagged on the stench of stale hops.
The Bridge the Gap half-marathon in 2011…or was it 2010…it rained the whole race. That was the first time I learned what I was really capable of in the rain. I was rewarded with a finisher’s medal placed around my neck by Jackie Joyner Kersee. She high-fived me and laughed as I announced, “It’s a PR kind of day!”
At Mile 3 of the 2011 Dallas Whiterock Marathon the skies opened up and dumped on us for 23.2 more miles. When I crossed the finish line of what was very possibly the most emotional race of my running career no one could tell I was crying. That race is still my PR. 3:47:11. If all goes well this year, that number is going dowwwwwwn. By about 7 ½ minutes.
Walking back to the hotel in Quebec City after my full marathon was cancelled in August of 2011 because of Hurricane Irene. Ok, so, maybe this one wasn’t such a favorite at the time, but I sure learned a lot from that experience. At least now I can say I appreciate the lesson from it. But I still have a bad association with the name Irene.

In May I’m going back to Canada for a rematch. This time it’s Vancouver. And, yeah, I really hope it rains.

My friend and running partner for Vancouver, Steve. Who might hate me after reading that.

My friend/partner for Vancouver, Steve, who might hate me after reading that last part.

A Love of Running is Born…

I don’t remember exactly the way it happened, but when I was about 9, I started running with my dad. I remember lacing up my high-tops…yes, really. And I distinctly remember running this one hill that wasn’t far from our house, on South First St. in Kirksville, MO. That hill was a beast. And we did repeats. But for some reason, probably because it gave me the opportunity to hang out with my dad, I didn’t mind the pain of hill repeats. Still to this very day, if I’m ever feeling discouraged about anything, I go run the hardest hills I can find, and it makes me feel better. There is something about conquering a tough hill that truly makes me feel strong, like I can get through anything. I give my dad all the credit. Every time I run a hill, I can hear his voice saying, “Just keep your eyes up and it doesn’t matter how slow you go, just continue putting one foot in front of the other.” He was teaching me about running, but at the same time, he was teaching me valuable lessons about life.

Dad and I started doing 5ks not long after that. I usually walked away with an age group medal and sometimes a trophy for being the youngest runner. My friend Angela who started running with us was always annoyed by the fact that she was just a couple months older than me. It makes me happy that Ang is still running too, and a couple years ago, she ran her first marathon.

I loved running with my dad. We didn’t talk, but he was just there, right next to me, the whole time. He always let me set the pace, which was likely pretty inconsistent in those first few races. He taught me when to start turning up the heat at the end so that I left it all on the course in a sprint to the finish. And even though he could have pulled ahead of me, he never did. He always stayed one step behind me, and pushed me to the finish.

By the time I got to high school, I’d kind of had enough of running for a while. I ran one season of Cross Country my freshman year and then I said, “Dad, I think I’m sick of this. I need a break.” He said, “Ok, take a break.” So, I did. I tried other things. I played catcher and outfielder for my high school softball team. I went to college and took up rowing. By 2001, things had come full circle, and I was back to running again.

In June of that year, I had just returned from a trip to Juarez, Mexico, where I had gone with a church group to build houses for a week. I had quit my job as a preschool teacher just before I left on that trip. I was living in Chicago at the time and the day after I got back I went for a 6 mile run along the lakefront. On that run, somewhere near Shedd Aquarium, I started thinking, I need something to focus my energy on while I spend this summer looking for a new job. Hmm, what about a marathon? Yeah, I could do that. As soon as I got home, I started researching the Chicago Marathon. That was back in the days when you could wait to register until a few months before the race. Now, if you don’t sign up the day registration opens, you’re not guaranteed an entry. I called my dad, told him what I was thinking, and he said, “Yep, I’ll walk you through it”. And so an adventure began…

Every Friday morning, I would do my long run. I slowly, gradually increased my mileage a little at a time. And every Friday morning, after I completed my run, I picked up the phone and called my dad to say, “I did it.” Occasionally, during those phone calls, my dad would have someone in his office, and I could hear him say, “It’s my daughter. She’s training for the marathon and she just ran 18 miles.” His voice was dripping with pride and my heart would swell.

One Tuesday morning, in September, I was out for just a short training run on a beautiful, blue sky day. I got back to my car, only to hear complete chaos on the radio. I couldn’t figure out what had happened during those 3 short miles, but I knew it was something big. Then, they cut to the President speaking, and I slowly started to understand that while I had been out running, not just one, but two planes had flown into the World Trade Center in NYC. Like the rest of the world, I was in complete shock. And like almost everyone else I know, I spent the rest of that day in front of the TV with a tear-stained face watching the rest of the day’s events unfold. Every year on September 11, I think back to where I was on the Chicago lakefront, when the world as we all knew it changed once again.

As October 7, 2001 approached, my nerves started kicking into high gear. My parents had to be in Connecticut the night of October 6 for my brother’s EMU football game against UCONN. I was really scared that they wouldn’t make it back to Chicago in time to see me somewhere on the course. My dad insisted that they would figure something out. So after my brother’s game ended, they spent the night at the hotel closest to the Hartford airport and jumped on the first plane into Midway Sunday morning. As they were landing in Chicago, I was just beginning my first attempt at 26.2 miles. I had no idea if they had made it back yet or where I might see them, if at all. I just knew that I needed my dad.

The course has changed somewhat over the past 11 years, but that year the middle of the course was in the heart of downtown Chicago on State Street. At about Mile 12, I was completely miserable. I hadn’t really seen anyone I knew along the course and I was feeling somewhat abandoned. I wasn’t even halfway through, I could tell I had a bloody toe, and I really didn’t want to keep going. I was staring at my feet in some junky old Addidas that I really should have replaced prior to that event, and I started to pray. God, this sucks. I don’t know if I can do this. Please let me see someone I know. And soon…

At precisely that instant, I lifted my head up and looked past a sea of runners and spectators several people deep. My eyes went straight to one face…my dad’s. It was like something out of a movie. The sun was shining right down onto him lighting him up in the midst of all those hundreds of thousands of people. I literally cut straight across the course and probably knocked a few people over in the process. I stood before my parents, jumping up and down, saying, “I’m right here!” They couldn’t believe I’d found them. They gave me a quick high five and I was off again. I started to cry at the emotion of seeing them right when I needed it, which made me start hyper-ventilating. If you’ve ever run a marathon, or any distance for that matter, you know how imperative breathing is. I calmed myself down, got my breathing back under control and continued on my way. My folks went to other spots to try to find me, but that was the only time I got to see them on the course that day. And, sadly, that is the only time I’ve seen my dad during any of my 7 marathons. Less than 2 months later, a very sudden heart attack took him from us in the middle of the night. But that marathon, and that summer of weekly long run calls to my dad, was a gift that I will cherish forever. My dad got me back to my love of running. I think he knew that I was going to need running in my life to get me through the hard times. He gave me the passion, the knowledge, the tools, the drive, the determination and the confidence. He was my coach, my cheerleader, my running partner.

I had the privilege of running one very last 5k with my dad during that summer of 2001. In August, we signed up for the Bison Stampede in New Buffalo, MI. It was our first, and only, race together in over a decade. It was a pretty uneventful race, and I didn’t do all that well, but it was a good way to work some of the kinks out before the big one. As we toed the start line, I knew I had gained some speed on him over the years, so I said, “Dad, I need to run my race, so I’m probably not going to stick with you today”. He said, “Yep, I know. Do what you need to do.” He knew I was finally ready to run on my own. And he knew it was time to let me.

A love of running was born. Thanks Dad...

A love of running is born. Thanks Dad…

Rambling Runner Girl

Adventures of a scatterbrained runner…