This blog was supposed to be about my very first trail marathon.  I was supposed to be writing it this morning in the back of Dan’s jeep on our way home from Indiana.  But sometimes, what is “supposed” to happen, doesn’t.

On Friday morning, I was all packed up when I left home to head to work.  I was working a short shift then I was going to meet Shane and Dan so we could drive over to Bloomington, IN where Wes, Shalini and her husband Brad would be waiting for us.  We had been looking forward to this for weeks. Shane and I had signed waivers for Shalini and Wes to get out packets since we would get in later. Friday morning we had a group text going about foam rollers and Garmins and mostly how excited we were.  The last two texts on that thread were:

RRG:  I’m so excited to spend the weekend with you geeks!  🙂

Vega: What she said!  This is going to be EPIC!!!

It was supposed to be epic.  And the weekend was still epic.  Just not the way it was supposed to be.

Shortly before I left work, I noticed that I had missed calls from both Shane and Wes.  I thought, “Hmm, That’s weird”.  I also had texts from both of them.  Shane’s simply said “Call me”.  Wes’s was more explanatory.  It said, “Trail Marathon was cancelled cause of inclement weather! 🙁 ”

No, no, no, no, no…they’re kidding.  They’re just messing with me.  Shane pulls this kind of stuff on me all the time and I always fall for it.  Not this time.  So, I checked my email and sure enough, there was a message from the director of the Tecumseh marathon declaring that the race was, in fact, cancelled.  My heart dropped.  I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

As soon as I left work, I called Vega.  He answered the phone and I said, “That is the most subdued I have ever heard you answer the phone.”  We talked about what we were going to do now that we were all packed and had cleared our schedules for the weekend.  Wes was actually on his way to Shalini’s house to carpool when he got the call from her to say the race was off.  All 4 of us, plus Dan who was going along as our chauffeur/videographer/Sherpa, reacted somewhat differently.  Shalini was pissed and verbalized it!  Shane was pissed too, but needed to not talk about it for a while, resorting to humor.  Vega said he was sad, but in true Vega style he managed to stay pretty even keel.  It will not surprise anyone to know that after my initial denial, I cried.  As I announced to Will and Rosie that my race was not going to happen, I’m sure they could see the tears filling my eyes.  The tears stayed put until later when I was alone in my car, but they came.  With a vengeance.

We briefly considered jumping in cars and doing a road trip somewhere and finding our own trail to run.  I proposed the idea and Vega was the first to respond “IN”.  However, that plan quickly unraveled.  Shane decided to stay and work on Saturday so as not to use up his last vacation day for the year.  The rest of us decided to have a pity party.

Shalini, Wes and I met at Castlewood for a consolation run.  We met in the usual spot and did a similar route to our run last weekend.  I didn’t wear a Garmin so I don’t even know exactly how far we went, somewhere in the 7-8 range.  It was beautiful and snowy and the company was top notch.  However, we all commented that it wasn’t the same without Shane there.  After our run, we split to go clean up, with a plan to reconvene at Brick House for drinks and dinner.  Once we gathered we changed our mind on dinner and headed to Fin for sushi.  The group grew when Nick, Kristen, Katrina and Kayla joined us.  From there we headed to Circle 7 Ranch and the group grew again.  Our “Pity Party” turned out to be a pretty good time.  And that’s really all I can say about that.  What happens at the pity party, stays at the pity party.  Although, I will say there are lots of pouting pictures of us with the race elevation map.

Saturday I was somewhat useless. I stayed in my pj’s all day and I didn’t get much accomplished.  This morning, Shalini arranged a group run at Castlewood to get in the miles she needs to prepare for her first Ultra in January.  (For the non-runners, Ultra = anything greater than a marathon, usually 50k, 50 miles or 100 mile) She and Shane are running the Frozen Gnome in Wisconsin.  I wish I could join them, but it’s just not in the cards.

While my friends are off running through the frozen woods, I am sitting in the warmth of my kitchen with my coffee watching the snow softly fall on my back deck.  I had planned to run with them this morning, I even put on my running clothes, ate breakfast and drove to meet Shane at the location where we were leaving his car at the end of the trail with refueling supplies.  He hopped in the car with me and I said, “I’m not feeling it today.  I’m not staying to run”.  He gave me a little grief at first, but in the end everyone let me do what I needed to.

I have to be at work shortly and I wasn’t up to feeling rushed.  I want a good long run when I’m feeling up to it.  Today was not the day.  I’m hoping tomorrow will bring some good miles.  But today, I’m still processing the events of the weekend.

Life is going to hand us disappointments.  Some big, some small, some that initially seem bigger than they really are.  In the grand scheme of life a cancelled race weekend with my friends isn’t as catastrophic as a variety of other things that could happen.

There will be other races and other road trips.  But it feels good to know that my friends will be there when I need them.  And they’ll let me do my thing when it’s what is best for me.

Old Lindsey would have gone out running today even if she wasn’t feeling it.  I used to do what I thought everyone else needed me to do.  I used to kill myself to make everyone happy.  But I finally realized that was literally killing me.  Parts of me were no longer functioning because I was so worried about everyone else.  But this morning, I knew what I needed.  And this is what it looks like when I take care of Rambling Runner Girl.

Next weekend, the 4 of us who were supposed to run a marathon on Saturday, are all registered for the Pere Marquette Endurance Trail Race.  It’s only 7.5 miles, but it’s an intense course.  I ran it last year and I’m hoping for improvement this year.  Although, it’s tough to compare from year to year because the weather can be so different.  Which just reminds me that it’s not really about beating anyone, including myself.  I’m going to take my next race and do the best I can with it.  And I hope that I can approach every day of life the exact same way.  That’s going to look a little different each day.  Today it’s about finding my peace.  Usually running helps me do that, and tomorrow I will run.  But today finding my peace is about processing the grief that comes with having something taken away.  It’s not as devastating as what it could be.  But the fact is my expectations were smashed.  I’m going to get through it and I’ll be fine.  Mostly because I know that tomorrow is another day, next week is another race, and my friends will be there when I call.

I don’t think I can say it any better than my friend Derrick did on Friday.  I posted a status on Facebook that simply said, “Sulking…” with Wes, Shalini, Shane, Dan and Brad.  Derrick commented, “You don’t need a medal to say you ran 26.2 miles on a trail, go do it anyway…and if you do need that medal-make your own metal up. Find a rock, put a ribbon around it and say this is my marathon rock- NOW GO DO IT!”

Words to live by.  I’m done sulking.  Pity party over.  Now it’s time to get on with it.

It’s Thanksgiving.  I am curled up on my couch under a blanket with my laptop as my Starbucks sits nearby on the appropriately named coffee table.  By all standard definitions of this day, it does not seem to fit the traditional descriptions.  There is nothing cooking in my kitchen.  I don’t have any ingredients to make the usual Turkey day fare, not even a pumpkin pie.  My house is quiet except for a rerun of an old Friends episode on the TV for background noise.  My kids are having Thanksgiving with their dad this year.  My mom is in Florida, my sister in Georgia, my brother and his family in California, while I am “home” in the Lou.  I’m not watching football or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  I’d like to think that if someone was here we might go outside and throw a football around at some point, but I’m not even sure where the boys left the football.

All that said, to me, it still feels like Thanksgiving, in some weird way.

I got up early this morning and put on my running clothes. I pinned a bib to my red FLEET FEET singlet and joined 4,000 others at the Chesterfield amphitheater in the bitter cold to run the annual Turkey Trot.  Kristen found me as I wandered in a daze toward the Start.  The timing truck was stationed at the Finish line and I planned to leave my coat in the truck so that I would have it right when I got done.  As Kristen and I jogged from Start to Finish, I waved to several friends along the way.  I stashed my coat and we walked back toward the start with FLEET FEET Race Timing Manager, Jake.  Jake’s wife Lauren just had their second child 2 days ago, so they have much to be thankful for today.  Jake was especially thankful at the “timely” arrival of his son (see what I did there?)  which allowed him to still be available for today’s event which is one of the biggest races on his yearly docket.  Well done, Baby Goldsborough.

A few minutes later, Kristen and I ran into Marxkors who was stripping down to her race gear.  She was clearly feeling more ready for the 3.1 miles of pain than I was.  The hacky cough thing that came on a couple days ago in combination with the 20 degree temperature didn’t have me thinking that today would go so well.  But I was there and I was going to do it anyway because I’m a runner and that’s what we do.

Kristen and I made our way to the front of the crowd at the start line where Ron grabbed me for a big Thanksgiving hug.  Then we pushed our way into the herd, somewhere between the guys in the front wearing tiny split shorts and all the people wearing turkeys on their heads, just before the race got underway.  I’m pretty sure Kristen’s only goal was beating the guy in the banana suit.

The gun went off, the race started and we ran.  The great part about a 5k is it’s only 3.1 miles.  The sucky part about a 5k is because it’s only 3.1 miles, you run a lot faster than endurance pace.  My body doesn’t like to run fast.  Especially when it’s really cold out.  And I’m sick.  And I potentially may have stayed out too late with friends last night.  But, it was worth it.

Sheila and Kelly passed me early in the race. Nick poked me in the side as he ran by with a big smile. I waved to Andy on his way back of the out and back.  I yelled to Marxkors as she passed too.  Just under 24 minutes later, I crossed the finish line after seeing several familiar faces along the course.  Kristen had finished just a few steps behind me with a PR.  That’s good, I’m glad one of us had a decent race.  My time was over a minute slower than the last time I ran that course two years ago.  Oh well, it was a good start to the day, and actually it got even better.

As we headed for the post race refreshments, I saw Flavia and Nick.  As we stood talking, Kaitlyn walked up and asked me to tie her shoe since she couldn’t feel her fingers.  Tony and his son Elliot showed up in their Elvis costumes and Elliot immediately began disrobing.  Faith and her daughter Kylee came by with hugs.  I saw another Kristen and said a quick hello.  We all split off and I went to get my coat from the timing truck.  Jake was busy scrolling results on a laptop inside the truck but I whispered Happy Thanksgiving to him anyway.  I talked to fellow Fleet Feet-ers Chris and Tim for a few minutes.  Tim’s wife Lisa was the overall winner for the women, with Maxkors taking second.  That’s a good day.  I grabbed a banana and a water and went to check the results monitors.  They were scrolling alphabetically at H.  Being a “J”, I knew I didn’t have to wait long.  I was the 60-something female finisher, number 18 of women 30-39.  Pretty respectable considering the circumstances.

As I was about to head out, I saw one of the other Maxkors siblings…Alicia.  She was with one of my social running Steve’s.  We talked for a few, did hugs and said happy Thanksgiving.  As I walked away I saw Kelly; Sheila joined us after she gave up on waiting for her name on the results.  Then, Lisa and Marxkors.  How cool did I feel standing there with the top two women?  I have some very fast friends.

Then I walked back to the car.  After I got the heat going, I pulled out my phone and started fielding texts from so many friends.  My mom had tried to call, I called her back but left a message.  I sent a text to my baby girl and asked her to give hugs to her brothers for me.

I drove over to Starbucks to get my well earned coffee.  Funny that I ran into Alicia and Steve as soon as I walked in.  I laughed as I said that I was just going to follow them around all day.  Alicia joked that if I wanted to come over for Thanksgiving I should just say so.  I responded saying if I was going to be alone, the Marxkors would likely have been the first people I would have called to invite myself over.  And I know I really could have done that.  Not just with the Marxkors, but with several others.

And that’s when it really hit me.  Even in being “alone” today, I’m not really alone.  I started the day off with so many hugs from friends in the running community that I am so fond of.  And the texts I’ve received remind me that even if I choose to be alone for part of the day, I am not forgotten, I am loved and I am blessed.

So while outwardly, today may look like any other day, it still feels like Thanksgiving in my heart, just like every other day.  I am so thankful for my awesome kiddos who are celebrating with their other family just down the road.  I am thankful that they are healthy and happy.  I am thankful for knowing that I can count on my family, even when they are far away.  I am thankful for my friends, near and far, who love me in spite of myself.  And I am thankful that 12 years ago on a random Wednesday night I called my parent’s home phone just to say hi.  Typically my dad would pass the phone off to my mom, but that night he didn’t.  He stayed on the phone with me for several minutes talking about nothing of consequence and the last conversation I ever had with my dad ended like this…

Dad: Bye now.

RRG: Bye Dad.

Dad: Love you.

RRG: Love you too…

Then we hung up.  Those were the last words I ever heard him say.  We should all be so blessed.

Where ever you are today, make sure your loved ones, family, and friends that are like family, know that you give thanks for each one of them.  I am thankful for each one of you.  Happy Thanksgiving.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of my hoodie and running tights and get ready to go to dinner with a couple of my kickass friends who refuse to let me have Thanksgiving dinner alone.

It is well known fact amongst my friends that I am, what we like to call, “navigationally challenged.”  You can tell me how to get somewhere, and I will inevitably go the wrong way.  You could paint a straight line on the ground, tell me to follow it, and I would likely still get lost.  We all have our strengths, following directions is not one of mine.

It’s not an inability to read a map so much as it is execution error.  I am easily distracted. And the google map thing on my phone, really confuses the heck out of me, especially when the arrow is moving in the opposite direction of my travel.  How does that work!?

Each time I set out to a new destination, I think, “Ok, this is it, this is it!  This time I will get there with no mistakes.”  But alas, I always wind up wondering, “Wait…is this where I’m supposed to be…?”  I typically manage to get where I’m headed eventually, but not without earning an interesting story or two in the process.

Last weekend, I found myself wandering around the Arizona dessert, which was mostly intentional.  I was out in Phoenix with friends to volunteer for the Arizona Ironman in Tempe.  Our mission was to acquire a special wristband that would allow us to be at the front of the line to register for the same event next November.  I was convinced the whole idea was crazy.  An Ironman? That seems like an awful lot, doesn’t it?  2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and then a full marathon.  I mean, I love running 26.2, but after all that other stuff?  I’m not so sure about that.

We flew from Lambert airport on Friday evening.  Farrell was seated right next to me, and Adrianne was just across the aisle.  The boys, Mark and Ron, were somewhere at the back of the plane. Farrell and Frenchy (Mark) have both completed a full Ironman, the rest of us can only boast the half distance.  I am the least experienced of the group, having completed 70.3 only once, with 3 total Tri’s to my repertoire.  Nicole was supposed to claim that title but sadly things didn’t work out for her to join us.  Chances are, I wouldn’t have agreed to this ridiculousness, if it hadn’t been for Nicole’s persuasion.  But it wasn’t until about a week before we were set to leave that I found out she was no longer joining us.  Total bummer.  We had also lost Brian and Martin along the way.  And then there were 5…

We arrived in Phoenix, Friday night.  The girls all stayed at Farrell’s uncle’s house and the boys were at a condo just a few minutes away.  After dropping off our stuff, we all went out for a quick beer to celebrate our arrival.  We didn’t stay out too late since we had an early volunteer meeting the next morning at the Tempe Center for the Arts.

We got to our meeting right on time Saturday morning.  We met our volunteer coordinator, Emily, and wouldn’t you know it, Emily was a collegiate rower like myself.  She actually knew my coaches Bebe and Joanna from Michigan State.  Small world. After receiving our instructions, we wandered through the expo.  Several athletes were in the water for the practice swim and the transition area was filling up with bikes.  We teased Ron that he should earn commission selling goggles since all three of us girls bought a pair at the Aqua Sphere booth, he did score a free pair for his efforts.  Mark bought a new Rudy Project helmet in a fantastic shade of neon green.  We ate free samples of Ciobani yogurt, and smoothies made by Vitamix.  We all made various purchases at the Ironman Official Merchandise tent, where my friend Jayne came over to say hi.  I’ve known Jayne my entire life since our dads were colleagues in the early days.  Jayne’s boyfriend Jimi is an experienced triathlete, who was competing in his 4^th full Ironman this year.  He was hoping to finish in 9.5 hours.  He is incredibly impressive, to say the very least.

As we made our way over by the main drag in Tempe to find some lunch as supplement to our free snacks, I looked to the right and saw my friend Judy walking down the street.  Judy and I met on the shuttle from the Dallas Whiterock Marathon expo a couple years ago.  She had just completed the Lake Placid Ironman and was convinced I would be picking up triathlons too.  I laughed at her.  No way!  We ended up finding each other again at the Pre-race Pasta dinner that night and were fast friends.  Although this was the first time we’ve seen each other since we met in Dallas, we’ve stayed in touch and have plans to swap travels for races in St. Louis and her native Boston.

While I talked to Judy, Ron waited for me, and the others went ahead to find somewhere to eat.   They landed at Loco Patron.  Sheila and Kelly Farrell joined us (same last name at Linds, but not related).  They also came out from Stl and were singed up to volunteer to get Kelly registered for next year.  I know both of them as customers at the store, and Sheila is a badass in my age group in the West County running community.  We ordered margaritas and our server replaced our basket of tortilla chips several times before we finally ate.

Loco Patron was at the base of Hayden Butte, so after lunch we decided to go for a walk to burn off some calories.  We hiked to the top, enjoyed the view and walked back down for some ice cream at Sparky’s.  (Shane might kill me for saying this, but I of course thought it was hilarious to find this place since his last name is Sparkman and he has recently earned this nickname from me.  I even brought him a Sparky’s bumper sticker.)

We all parted ways for the rest of the afternoon with plans to reconvene for dinner in Scottsdale.  Everyone was already rather impressed with my ability to eat, as well as, my planning the next meal while still partaking in one.  It’s a Jacobs’ skill.  We know how to eat.  I really like food.  #1 best thing about racing? Carb loading.

After naps and showers, we went for sushi and drinks in Scottsdale.  Not surprising that it’s the hip hot spot of Phoenix.  But again, we didn’t stay out too late since some of our crew was planning to be at the start of the main event the next morning.  I, on the other hand, planned to sleep in and then take advantage of my mountainous surroundings.

I woke up Sunday morning to a text from Frenchy who had met a new friend at the course.  Somehow he found my friend, Elaine, my mom’s downstairs neighbor in Michigan, and they had determined their mutual connection in me.  Funny side note: Ron ultimately declared that traveling with me is like traveling with Kevin Bacon because I know everyone.  6 degrees of separation from Rambling Runner Girl.

It was Sunday morning, I had nowhere to be until Sunday night for our volunteer shift, and there was a mountain almost directly in the backyard of Farrell’s uncle Joe’s house.  I knew where I was headed.  Since I hadn’t planned very well, Joe hooked me up with a water belt and some Gu.  I had some Bonk Breaker bars that I grabbed a well.  I laced up my shoes, strapped on my Garmin and set off to enjoy the day.

Before leaving, Joe showed me an aerial view of the surrounding area on his ipad so I wasn’t going blindly into an unknown region.  Basically, I would find the trailhead about a block away, wind my way around to near the peak, cross the ridge to the next peak, head into the valley, go through a tunnel under the freeway and find myself at Dreamy Draw State Park where I could follow the trails up to Piestewa Peak.  Oh sure, I got this.  No problem.

Joe mentioned it was easy to get lost on some of these trails.  Ummm, yeah, he wasn’t kidding.  I made it to the top of the first peak without too much trouble, other than my labored breathing.  But somehow in crossing the ridge, I ended up on the backside of the mountain and got stuck when I found myself in someone’s backyard.  So, I back tracked, went back up to the ridge and got myself back on the right trail.  So far, the running was minimal, hiking was the majority and there was even a little rock climbing involved.  I made it to the next peak and followed the trail winding down into the valley.

I continued along the trail in the direction that I thought would get me to the tunnel.  I saw someone out for a walk, upon learning I was from the Midwest she welcomed me to the area.  About a half mile later I thought I saw her dog cross the trail up ahead of me.  Oh, wait, that’s not a dog.  That’s a coyote.  (Cue the tumbleweed)  Eventually, I found myself in another neighborhood.  I turned around, wove my way back through the valley and ultimately found the tunnel.  At this point I had probably added an extra 2 miles or so.  I’d been gone an hour and a half, but had only traversed about 5 miles.  It was slow going up through the mountain trails, I’d stopped to take pictures and enjoy the view.  I wasn’t completely sure when everyone was planning to meet back at the house or what the schedule was so I called Farrell.  They were still in Tempe and wanted to take a nap when they got back so I knew I had some time.  I was more than happy to continue with my adventure.  And so I did.

I located a water fountain, got myself a refill and wound my way up toward Piestewa Peak. I stopped occasionally to take in the view or send a text to my trail running crew who was out doing a long run on the Chubb trail back home. A few times I had to stop because I would see something that would remind me of my dad and was brought to tears.  Sunday was November 17.  November 17, 2001 was the last time I saw my dad alive.  The last time I hugged him.  It’s been a long time.  I miss him.

November is a tough month.  Ask anyone who is missing a loved one this time of year and they’ll tell you the approach of the holidays is hard.  But when significant dates fall at this time of year, it can make it even more challenging.

That run/hike was exactly what I needed the other day.  I traversed a total of 14.5 miles in about 4 hours. At times I wasn’t sure I would actually make it to the destination I was seeking.  I thought for sure I was going to run out of time and have to turn back early.  I kept getting lost, even though I convinced myself I was going the right way.  I had to go backwards sometimes, before I could assess where I was and get back on track.  I had moments of highs, and moments of painful lows.  Sometimes I had a hard time catching my breath.  At times, I just had to sit down right where I was, but then I picked myself up and kept on going.  I even had surprise encounters and found things I might not have if I’d stayed true to my course.

On Monday morning, I used my wristband that I earned the night before at Run Aid Station #5 cheering on people who were nearing the end of their Ironman journey. I got in line at 5:45am, with about 2,700 other athletes, to register for Ironman Arizona that will take place in Tempe on November 16, 2014.  Along with my friends, I was among the first 100 people to sign up.  And this is one time I can honestly tell you, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going. Sure I know where I ultimately want to end up, but how in the world am I going to get there? The year ahead is going to be a challenging one.  I will mess up.  I will have good days and bad days.  I will smile with pride at the beauty of what I’ve accomplished and I will cry in frustration and pain.  I will encounter pleasant surprises and I will have set backs.  I will probably miss a workout now and then.  I’m going to have to lean on my friends to help me get through this.  And I will definitely get lost a time or two along the way.

There is something to be said for the element of surprise, isn’t there?  Something to be said for the journey itself.  Sure, we know what we think the destination is, we can even see it right in front of us sometimes.  Initially we have to step out in faith that we’ll get there.  That doesn’t mean getting there is easy, or that it will go according to plan.  Think about everything we’d miss if we knew exactly where we were going all the time and nothing ever went wrong.  Isn’t it so much better when we find something unexpected that forces us to stop and enjoy the view?  And when we struggle through the hard times, it makes it that much more satisfying when we finally reach the summit.

I am in for a huge reward when I arrive in Tempe next November for race day. But it isn’t necessarily about reaching the end of the road that is the pinnacle.  It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.  And all of the unexpected, and perhaps misplaced, steps that I will  take along the way.

“All this time I was finding myself and I didn’t know I was lost” -Avicii

Two weeks ago, on the day I said Goodbye to the Pathfinder, I was remembering the events of that very same day three years ago.  October 29, 2010.

I had only been living in St. Louis for about a month.  We didn’t even have a house here yet.  My kids were off school for the day and we had stopped at the dollar store in the valley to buy some items for the Christmas in a Shoebox program.  It was a Friday, so I’m not really sure why they didn’t have school that day.  Parent/Teacher conferences maybe.  After our little shopping excursion, we were on our way to Lifetime for me to get a workout in.  I remember talking to my mom on the phone as I drove south on Clarkson Road.  I pulled into the Lifetime parking lot as my mom said, “I’m getting another call. I’m gonna let you go, so I can answer it…”

I wish I could tell you that I never had to find out what that phone call was about.  But unfortunately, about an hour later I got the news.  My 30 year old sister in law had suddenly left this life and we would never have the chance to meet my unborn nephew this side of Heaven.  The first words to escape my mouth were “Oh my brother…” as my legs went numb and then I sank to the floor of the Lifetime lobby.

That evening I was on a plane out to LAX.  It felt like the whole world had slowed to a stop.  It was like I wanted to run, but I couldn’t feel my legs.  I finally arrived in Sherman Oaks, California and as soon as I got to my brother, without any hesitation, I climbed right in the bed with him.  My 2 year old niece was sleeping nearby, unaware of how drastically her life had just changed.

The last picture of Sunshyne that my brother texted to me just days before she left us

The next week went about as you would expect.  We told stories about the Sunshyne that we all knew and loved.  We laughed, we cried, we tried to figure out what to do next.  We planned how we would celebrate Sunshyne’s life.  We ate meals prepared by loving friends who wanted to do something to care for us.  We went from one meal to the next simply because it seemed to pass the time.

We had an amazing service to celebrate the woman who was loved by many.  She was sweet.  She was funny.  She was beautiful.  She had a huge faith with a personality and a voice to match.  She had an amazing smile.  I remember sending my brother a text about a month earlier that he needed to listen to the song Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars because it sounded exactly like what he would say to Shyne.  It was the song we used in the video of her photo montage.

The day after her service I was on a plane back to St. Louis to see my babies after a week of being in SoCal.  I was supposed to be on a plane to JFK in New York that day to run the New York City Marathon that I had been training for.  But after a week away from my kiddos, I knew where I wanted, and needed to be.  Aside from the fact that my body, while trained for a marathon, was somewhat wrecked from the week of grieving with my brother and all of Sunshyne’s friends and family.

Shyne had just run her first half marathon earlier in the year and was signed up to run the Malibu Half Marathon a couple weeks later.  I loved how running had bonded us.  She would text me to ask for running advice.  Her texts would always start out, “Hey sis…”

Shyne after the Fontana Days Half Marathon

Since Sunshyne was registered for the Malibu half, I offered to come back out to LA the following week to run it in her honor.  By the time I spoke up, it was too late, and her bib had already been given away.  But I told my brother, since I had just run Chicago a few weeks prior in extreme heat and I was trained for New York, I was going to sign up on my own, to run the Malibu full marathon, for Sunshyne.  I believe his response to that was, “Awesome.”

I made the trip back to LA a week after I had left.  It was good to be reunited with my family and be able to love on little Brookie.  We spent Saturday visiting with friends and getting ready for me to run a marathon the following morning.

The Malibu marathon isn’t a very big race.  There were only about a couple hundred people gathered in a parking lot about 13 miles inland off the coast of California getting ready to run.  The first half was somewhat desolate.  There was minimal crowd support, no real scenery to speak of and little to no shade available to block the rising SoCal sun.  The “aid stations” consisted of a couple of card tables with some jugs of water and some coconut water that I couldn’t even gag down.  Trust me, I tried.  It didn’t go well.

So, by the time I got to the Pacific Coast Highway to head south from the point the half marathon had started, I was ecstatic to see that amazing costal view and my little fan club consisting of my mom, brother and niece.  Most importantly, they had the Gatorade and bananas I had bought at the store which seemed worth its weight in gold to get my trashed body back on track after a very rough first half to the marathon.

That was without question, the hardest race I have ever run.  It wasn’t my slowest, not even my second slowest.  But it was the hardest race ever.  It was hot.  And hilly.  And my body had already been through the wringer.  I walked more than I ever have in any other race.  I was dragging myself through parts of it.

I ran a 30k trail race this past Sunday, which was only my 2^nd trail race to date.  It was in my favorite park, Castlewood.  I had a ton of friends there running, volunteering, supporting.  I started with Shalini and Erin, after breaking off from Chad, Tracy and Tim in the start corral, and waving to Nick and Jenny from afar.  Most of the crew was running the 20k instead, but I, like Chad and Tracy, had decided to go for the big one.  It was 3 loops through the park, up the enormous staircase 3 times, through the creek 3 times and up Cardiac Hill 3 times.  I knew it was going to be hard, really hard.  I woke up Sunday morning and I have never felt my legs shaking so much before a race.

My text conversation with Shane the night before had gone like this:

RRG: My fan club keeps growing.  Imma need it.

SS: Piece of cake for you Lindsey.  Come on.

RRG: Only cause I have a good coach/tour guide.  Don’t want to let you down…

SS: Not worried here lady.

RRG: Good, well, that makes one of us.

I was scared.  No, scratch that.  I was terrified.  But here’s the thing, sometimes the best way to get through the hard times is to appreciate our surroundings and the ones who are with us in the process. We count our blessings, if you will.  The race went way better than I planned.  The weather was perfect.  I ran most of it with friends, Shalini, Erin, Chad, so it was basically like every other weekend of doing what we do.  I saw more friends each trip past aid station 1 where I took a cup from Emily’s hand and Gerry shook a cowbell in my face.  I saw Shane at various points on the course since he was the official course marshal on mountain bike.  I saw Steve as I looped past the start/finish area because he had been assigned the duty of post-race refreshments.  He was threatened with his life if he didn’t save me some BBQ.  He definitely came through.  As usual.

Our group of friends that had come to spectate/take pictures/cheer us on bounced around all over the course.  Tony, Kris, Dan, Wes, Hibbard, Steve.  It was like playing hide-n-seek in our favorite park.  I never knew where someone was going to pop up.

By the last loop, I caught up to Chad again.  He commented on how great I was doing.  And that’s when I took off to finish that last loop with a vengeance.  I had been hoping to finish somewhere around 3:15-3:20.  I smashed that, finishing in 3:07.  I was the 8^th female overall.  And 4^th in my age group of women 30-39.  But what made that race, was the atmosphere.  It was being in a beautiful place that feels like home, with the people who have become my Missouri family.  I even said to Shalini that I wanted to pack up our little posse and put them in my pocket to take them with me to all my races.

Some of our crew at Castlewood on Sunday

So, back to the Malibu marathon 2010.

The second half of that race was a totally different experience from the first half.  The first half was miserable.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it.  And then, my family showed up.  They drove along the PCH, stopping every mile to wait for me.  They would give me Gatorade, or energy gels, or bananas.  They would cheer me, walk with me, drive by and honk and yell and hang out the window.

The PCH, is hilly and challenging, but you can’t beat the view of the Pacific coast.  At one point, I was running along and I saw my mom, brother and Brookie standing by the side of the road on a cliff overlooking the ocean holding a sign that said, “Lindsey Jo Running for Sunshyne” with a big smiling sun in the middle.  I grabbed my phone and snapped a quick pic.  Then I kept on running.  At another point, my brother put Brooke in her stroller and the 4 of us were walking along watching a school of dolphins down below in the water.

I could not have made it through that race without my family being there along the way.  And then, I was a mile from the finish.  I was in the home stretch.  And just as the finish shoot came into view, a song shuffled onto my ipod.  It was one of Sunshyne’s favorite songs that I remember her singing in my kitchen back in Chicago over the Christmas vacation when she was just pregnant with Brooke.  As I came down that final 100 yards, I had tears streaming down my face.  I remember someone on the side yelling, “It’s ok, you’re almost there”.  They had no idea that the tears weren’t about how physically challenging that race had been but it was about the emotional battle that I was fighting and that it was my family who carried me through.

It wasn’t until after the race when we were back at Evan and Julie’s that I finally took a look at the picture I had snapped mid-race.  My jaw literally dropped when I saw it.  I said, “Adam, Oh wow, you’ve got to see this!”  I showed him the picture of Mom, Adam and Brooke, standing on a bluff overlooking the ocean with the sign.  And the three rays of “Sunshyne” shining down on each of them.  They weren’t the only ones getting me through that race that day.

Tomorrow is the 3 year anniversary of running the Malibu marathon in honor of my sweet sister in law.  I think its appropriate timing that this falls in November, a month filled with being thankful.

I am thankful for the opportunity to know Sunshyne and the reminder that her life is to me about not taking anything for granted and living every day to the fullest.

I am thankful for my health, my legs that carry me through this big ol’ beautiful world of ours, and the gift I have been given to write about my journey.

I am thankful that my brother has remarried an amazing woman who loves him and Brooke like I can only hope to experience someday.   Simy came into our lives with perfect timing and we have an unmatchable sisters-in-law bond.

I am thankful for my family who celebrates with me in the good times and carries me through the hard times.  All of those who were chosen for me and given to me, as well as those who have stepped into that role over the past few years to help me feel more at “home” here in St. Louis.  I am more thankful for all of you than you will ever know.

Happy November.

The most recent Brookie/Auntie Linds selfie. Its a tradition. One that makes me thankful.

It’s been a crazy (insert here: very challenging) week.  Right after my marathon weekend of working, parties and running a half marathon with Elvis and the bananas, my Pathfinder died a tragic death.  On Monday evening, I was driving from Shane’s over to meet Katrina for sushi in the Central West End and the Pathfinder started shaking.  I was convinced it was the transmission and I hoped that I wouldn’t end up stranded on the side of the road somewhere.  I made it to meet Katrina and then eventually we got back to her apartment, where I stayed for the night so I wouldn’t have to drive out 64/40 to West County in the dark.

On Tuesday morning, I was headed for the dealership for a fortuitously scheduled appointment to get my heat fixed.  On the way there, not only did the shaking get worse, I had full on smoke coming from the hood.  Oh dear Lord, please just get me to the dealership.  I was so happy to turn off of Manchester onto the Nissan property, I almost cried.  But it wasn’t until an hour later, when the news came about my SUV that the tears were unleashed.  The word was that it would cost more to fix the failed radiator, transmission, breaks and rotors than the actual value of the vehicle.  The upside of that, it made it a really easy decision what had to be done.

After leaving my mom a voicemail, I started tearfully trying to figure out what to do next.  I called Shane.  It’s nice to have someone in the business of selling cars when you find yourself in a somewhat desperate position such as I was.  He was on the other line, so I tended to other things until he called me back. Not only did I need to buy a new car, I was currently stranded with an inoperable vehicle.  I enlisted the help of my neighbor, Stephanie.  She agreed to pick the kids up from school and tend to them, so at least I didn’t have to stress about that timing.  I got in touch with Dan (since there is more than one Dan in this post, we’ll call him Dan #1) who was willing to be my chauffeur.  I called Britta and asked her to be my “brain” because I was such an emotional train wreck, I couldn’t think straight (Why is it that hormones have really bad timing?)  We talked through everything that I needed to do and I felt better after a conversation with my sounding board.

I’m 38 years old and this was the first time I’ve ever been through the process of buying a car by myself.  I was terrified.

After what felt like an eternity, Shane called.  He said “Get over here to me so we can handle this.  Leave the Nissan there, we’ll figure that out later”.

Dan #1 showed up in the Nissan lounge to see me having a tearful phone conversation with my mom, and then he transported me around town gathering what I needed and ultimately delivering me to Shane in Creve Coeur.  I spent the afternoon at Plaza Mercedes and drove away with my 2012 Hyundai Santa Fe, which has been named Isaac after my Great-Grandfather.    I found the registration from the previous owner in the glove box and as it turns out he is from the same very, very small town in Illinois that my dad grew up in.  My aunt actually graduated from High School with his mom.  It’s kismet.

The old Pathfinder on the right, the new one on the left…

Strangely, it was really hard to say good-bye to that heap of junk that was my Pathfinder.  Partly because it was fun to drive and had lots of great road trip memories like out to the Smoky Mountains and up to Racine.  But also, it really lived up to its name.  In some ways, it did actually help me find my path.  It definitely taught me a lot about finding my strength as I had to fight to keep it over the past few years.

On Sunday morning, after the kids went back to their dad’s, I drove my new Santa Fe over to Castlewood where I was supposed to meet Shalini and Shane for a run.  They had gotten there about an hour earlier and by the time I arrived the parking lots were packed.  I kept an eye open for them while I changed into my Cascadia’s.  I saw Shalini and Rosie across the road about to head up Lone Wolf hill.  Surely they were going to wait for me, right? Nope.  But hold on a second, where was Shane?  About a minute later, I saw Shane cutting across the grass before he looped around and came up the road.  Apparently, Shalini had run into Rosie and taken off a little early.  We learned this when we ran into them on the bluff overlooking the Meremac River.  After a few minutes of chit-chat, primarily about the trail marathon we are signed up for in December, Rosie and I determined we would see each other in a couple hours at the store for work, and then we all parted ways.

This is why we all love to run at Castlewood. Can you blame us?!

Shane led us down the long, wooden staircase and then we headed out along the flats by the river.  Somehow, while we ran, I began telling Shane my story.  My whole story.  We bonded.  I told him about some of the traumatic things that have happened to me in life and how that contributed to landing me in a relationship where I ultimately felt totally unhappy and completely trapped in an unhealthy marriage.

Occasionally we had to stop running just so I could finish telling part of the story.  Eventually, I realized that somewhere along the way, we had crossed from the part of Castlewood that is incredibly familiar to me, to a part that I had never even seen before.  I kept talking, telling my story.  He didn’t judge, didn’t ask questions, he just kept leading the way.

Then suddenly he stopped.  And he searched my face waiting for me to realize where we were.  I looked at what was in front of us.  A tunnel leading under the train tracks. A big smile spread across my face.  I had only heard of this place, never actually found it, and Shane knew that. Wes had told me that one time he watched Shane ride through this tunnel on his mountain bike. Which had to be incredibly tricky since I had to hunch way over just to walk through it.  Anyway, Shane led me through the tunnel, trying to scare me with talk of spiders in my hair.  Silly Shane, he still hasn’t figured out that I’m not scared of stuff like that.  When we got to the other side, he said, “Come on, I want to show you something”.  So we started up a fairly steep ascent through the woods over some pretty rocky terrain.  It was only maybe 50 yards at most and then we were at the top.  There was a clearing and we were standing on an overlook just above the train tracks.  It was unbelievably cool.

I went back on Monday to take this picture. And to make sure I could find it on my own.

We only stayed for a second and then we headed down the hill, through the tunnel and back through the washed out area over to the river.  After we came back through the tunnel, I realized I had been to that spot once before but I never quite made it to the tunnel and then I turned around, thinking I was going the wrong way.  I had been so close to finding that place on my own, and yet I just missed it without someone to show me the way.

Sometimes it just takes someone with a little different perspective to take something so familiar and help you see it differently.

Likewise, Sunday night, I got to see the pictures my friend Dan #2 took of me and kids on Saturday at Forest Park.  All of the pictures are amazing, he captured each of the kids totally in their element.  And then I came upon the one he took of me.  I immediately started crying.  I looked so happy.  And I don’t know that I have ever seen myself look that beautiful.  I was shocked.  I see myself in the mirror every day but is that really how other people see me?  Again, sometimes it takes someone else to show you how something that you look at every day isn’t always exactly how you see it.  (Here’s the link to the pictures Dan #2 took:  http://www.littlerubberball.com/gallery/index.php/LJ-Shoot-2013?page=1 )

I got that old Nissan Pathfinder literally the day before I found the courage to speak up and say that I couldn’t stay in my marriage anymore as it was.  Besides my children, who will always be with me, that car was really the only big thing that I had tying me to that part of my life, the old me.  And it stayed with me while I found my strength, my voice, my path.  But there is a season for everything in life.   Now is the season to let go of the past.  It’s the season to take a step forward, not back.  I’m no longer in a season of running away from things, but now I’m running toward my life and all the good things that brings.  I’ve entered a season to start looking at things differently and blaze new paths, even if it takes someone else to help point the way.  There was a season that I wondered if I would ever again be truly happy, but now I know that season has only just begun.

This weekend is the New York City Marathon.  A few years ago, I was signed up to cross this magical experience off my bucket list.  I had my plane ticket and hotel reservation, and my training had been flawless.  I was pumped.  I couldn’t believe I had actually gotten in to the New York marathon!

Sadly, a week before I was set to run from Staten Island through the boroughs of New York and cross the finish line in Central Park, I got a phone call.  Tragically my sister in law, my brother’s 30 year old pregnant wife, had collapsed due to a blood clot gone pulmonary and my brother was suddenly left to raise a little girl on his own.  I was on the next flight from St. Louis to LAX.  I couldn’t get to my brother fast enough.

Exactly one week later, on the day I was supposed to fly to NYC, I was flying back to St. Louis to see my babies.  I couldn’t wait to hug them!  I called the airline and the hotel, and I went through the necessary means to defer my registration for the ING New York City Marathon to 2011.  Again, unfortunately, my registration renewal expired during the same week that my marriage fell completely apart, and so it fell by the wayside, forgotten, until it was too late.  Thus, the experience of running into Manhattan to receive a medal remains to be checked off my list.

I did turn around and fly back to Southern California the following week for the Malibu Marathon, that I ran in honor of my sweet sister in law (that full story coming soon).  But this weekend, while my friends are boarding the ferry to the start, and as I receive texts that they have crossed the 5k, 10k, 15k and so on to the finish, there is a part of me that will be running vicariously through them.

I know this race means something different to each of them.  And I also know how they have poured their heart and soul into training for it.  The blood, sweat and tears culminate into that one shining event.  The Marathon.

The following is a piece that I recently wrote for the Fleet Feet newsletter as I prepared for the Chicago marathon.  Many of you may have read it.  But for those of you racing this weekend, read it again.  And know that I will be running along side you, if only in spirit.  Bob, Jodi and Wes…this one’s for you!

For Love of the Marathon

Fall.  This is arguably the most wonderful time of the year.  Apple picking.  Pumpkin patches.  Weekends full of football.  But for a runner there are even more reasons to rejoice.  Cooler temps.  Lower humidity.  Easier breathing.  Trail running at its finest.  And perhaps the biggest and best, the pinnacle of what we have all been working so hard for all summer long.  Race day.

People often wonder how we can get up well before the sun and push our bodies to the extreme distances that we do, before most of humanity has even considered stirring from their cozy slumber.  As runners, we find the rewards in the sunrise, the bragging rights of completing a 20 miler in sometimes brutal conditions, the sweaty satisfaction of a grueling speed work session, and occasionally allowing ourselves to go ahead and eat the entire pint of ice cream.  Because, let’s face it, we’ve earned it.

But with the entrance of Autumn, the real reward of all that training comes down to everything that we’ve been striving toward.  There is an understanding among all the athletes at a race expo.  Whether you will be starting at the back of the pack, leading the way or somewhere in the middle, we are all runners.  We have all logged the long miles to get to where we are in this moment.  We all have a different race plan, but we all share the same goal…to get to the finish line.  We are not racing each other so much as we are out there to compete with the person who we face in the mirror each morning.

We stalk the weather report and agonize about the possibility of changing our planned running attire.  We debate about how many Gu’s to bring with us. We study the course until we know the location of every hill.

Eventually, on race morning, we gather in our assigned corrals and toe the line with a feeling of “Ok, this is it.  Here we go…”  Then we take a deep breath and move forward with the rest of the pack knowing that this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for.  Don’t start too fast, don’t start too slow.  And then, the melodious sound of Garmins beeping as you cross the start and get things underway.

We scan the sea of spectators, searching desperately for the familiar faces of people who have come to cheer us on.  We laugh at funny signs along the way.  We read the inspirational messages printed or hand written on the shirts of the runners around us.  We try to take it all in, but sometimes it feels overwhelming.  So we settle in, and just run, because that’s what we came to do.  Perfect strangers clap and call our names like we’re long lost friends.

It’s amazing that all during the same race we can feel like we don’t ever want to run again and just moments later we feel like we could run forever.  We go between feelings of “I love this!” and “Why in the world am I doing this?!” in a matter of seconds.  We have to push through the words “I can’t”.  We realize that we can, and we will, and sometimes we start to hyperventilate at the idea of reaching the finish.  We approach the “wall”, but then we tell it to get the hell out of the way and we run right through it.

There is something about the moment that you see the finish up ahead of you and you pull from every fiber of your being to get you there as fast as you can, but you have already spent every ounce of energy, you’ve laid it all on the line and you’ve got nothing left.  So you dig deep inside and keep going, knowing that a part of yourself is forever left on that course.

There is absolutely nothing in the world like the feeling of crossing the finish line of a marathon.   So much emotion wrapped up in that one moment.  It’s elation.  It’s exhaustion.  It’s disbelief that it’s really over.  It’s closure, you’ve done all you can do. The reality is that sometimes its disappointment.  But it’s important that we have no regrets in the race that we ran.  It’s about reflecting on everything we overcame to be standing there at that moment when someone puts a medal around your neck and says, “Congratulations!  You did it.”

Some days everything comes together and we walk away with a PR.  Other days, we have to overcome the devastation that things just didn’t go as planned.  Sometimes we swear it’s the last time we will attempt this crazy idea of running 26.2 ever again.  But after all is said and done, we ultimately come back to it, because of the feeling of being there, surrounded by all those other sweaty bodies, plodding along, breathing heavily, fighting to prove that we can persevere.  Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, it’s all any of us can really do.

We all have a different journey that brings us to the finish line on race day.  We all have different obstacles.  But we’re all in it together.  And the beautiful joy of the marathon is that we are reminded of all that the human spirit is truly capable of.

It’s Fall.  You’ve put in all the hard work and now it’s time to trust your training.  You can’t do anything about the weather.  You never know what’s going to pop up on race day that will try to stand in your way, but you’ve trained your body to keep going and you’ve trained your mind to believe that you CAN!

Your moment is now.  Get out there and run your race!

On Saturday afternoon I made a last minute decision to run a half marathon on Sunday.  Despite not having any intention of running this race, I ended up with a PR.  Not a PR that has anything to do with setting records, but this was hands down the most fun I have ever had in any race ever.  This time PR stood for Personal Reminder.

Here’s how it all went down…

On Saturday, I was working at the store when Dan Moll stopped by and mentioned that he had a bib for the Rock N Roll St. Louis half marathon on Sunday that was up for grabs.  He asked if I knew anyone who might be interested. I thought about it for a second, “Ummm, yeah. Me.”  I thought I had already secured a bib for Farrell.  Random side note: she will still be “Farrell” to RRG even though her last name is now Heaberlin.  Anyway, I wanted to run with her and Nicole, who were running for “fun”.

And so I decided to bail on my friends that had volunteered to work the Fleet Feet water station with me Sunday morning, and instead join my friends.  I also had a group of friends that were planning to run as Elvis and a bunch of bananas.  After work Saturday, I put on my Britney Spears costume and headed to Wes’s for a Halloween party where Gerry, Annie, Serena and our host were proudly decked out in their banana suits, courtesy of Jamba Juice and our Ambassador of Rock friend Tracy.  Dan produced my bib and I carb loaded with a burger and some Schlafly Pumpkin Ale.

5 am came awfully early after a late night of watching the World Series game and hanging out with friends.  I stood in my bedroom staring at the pile of running clothes on the floor trying to figure out how to get them on my body.  I brushed my teeth, threw on a visor and searched the fridge for something to eat on the way.  I landed on an “everything” bagel that I forced myself to eat on the drive downtown.  Upon arrival, I pinned on Dan’s bib and dumped the entire contents of my purse on the passenger seat of my car in a desperate search for the Salted Caramel Gu that I knew was in there somewhere.  This was the least prepared I have ever been for any race I have ever run…ever.  And my brain was on such low function that even after parking the car and running about a mile to the Peabody where the group was gathering, I still had trouble understanding what anyone was saying to me.  I asked Steve to put my d-tag on my shoe, but ultimately I think he was having just as much trouble as I was.  I stared at Serena in her banana suit as she tried to explain something to me and I just wasn’t tracking.  At that point, Wes teased me, “You don’t look so good right now, Jacobs.”  I don’t think I have ever been that tired going into a race.  3 straight days of working all day, going out afterward and little sleep.  How in the world was I going to get through 13 miles?

Eventually, we lined up in the corrals.  I turned to Tony, who was dressed in his standard Elvis attire, and asked what kind of pace he was planning to run.  He said, “Fun Pace”.  Yeppers, that worked for me.  Within the first half mile or so, all of us were pretty spread out already.  Nikki and Shalini were running the full.  Annie’s competitive juices had kicked in, even in a banana suit.  Gerry is just crazy fast without even trying. I put on my ipod and picked up the pace to what felt “comfortable”.  If there was such a thing given the circumstances and my low energy level.

The first 3-4 miles or so were just to get my blood flowing and wake me up.  Surprisingly, I was actually managing a fairly decent pace too.  Not likely to be my fastest, but not my slowest either.  Somewhere in there I ran past Glenn and his brother, who had dropped a hat.  I still wasn’t awake enough to pick it up for him as I almost stepped on it.

It was at about mile 5.5 that the fun really started.  I could see the Fleet Feet water station up on the hill and I knew I was about to see a lot of familiar faces.

I turned the corner heading into the station.  Andy was at the first table.  I had a flashback to a couple years ago where the roles were reversed and Andy ran past in his orange Kinvaras, grabbing a cup of Gatorade from my extended hand.  Granted, he was running considerably faster than I could even dream but whatever.  He has been known to slow down to my pace on occasion to show me a trail or two.

The next table was Adam’s wife Sarah, followed by Adam.  We did a chest bump and he said, “Hey, I wondered where my water station buddy was!”  We had so much fun laughing last year in that very same spot, it was then that I officially decided Adam was my “work husband”.  Unfortunately, our relationship is on the rocks since he has been positioned at the new Des Peres store.

Then I saw my recruits, Katie and Steve.  Steve had threatened to throw Gatorade on me when he saw me since I was a jerk for convincing them to volunteer and then going off to run instead.  I braced myself, and with a big smile on his face he held the cup in a threatening manner.  We laughed and I drank instead of getting a Gatorade shower.

I continued through the water station seeing Haley, Diana, Katrina, Faith, her daughter Baylee, Katie, Tim, Jaime, Kaitlyn and Rosie…I’m probably forgetting someone, but it was so cool to have all my friends cheering me on like that.  So many of them were shocked to see me on the course which was a fun surprise.  So I gave a quick explanation of making the decision about 15 hours earlier. Rosie and Kaitlyn had both commented on having “race envy” which is extremely common amongst runners.   As I meandered through the water station, it occurred to me that I had taken a cup from almost every one of my friends.  90% of my hydrating happened at mile 6, I maybe hit one more station for the rest of the race to avoid a stop at the Port-a-Potty.

Shortly after that, I saw Mark.  Mark is a friend of Farrell’s who will be traveling with a group of us to Arizona in a few weeks to volunteer for the Ironman, which will secure each of us a spot to register for Ironman Arizona 2014.  I came up next to Mark and we ran together for about a mile.  We talked about our upcoming travels, training, life and various things.  After a while, I decided to pick up the pace for a bit.  So I took off.  For maybe about 100 yards.

And then I saw Liz standing on the side of the road cheering.  So I jumped over to see her and stopped to chat for a bit.  She said, “Obviously you’re not running for time.” I said “Nope, just running for fun today.  I’m having a blast.  It’s easier to throw competition out the window when you’re running under someone else’s name.  Today I am a 55 year old man!”  We talked a little longer. Brian waved as he went by and then I went on my way.

At this point there were about 4 miles to go.  I got into a zone for a little while as we ran through some beautiful neighborhoods.   I hit every “official high five station” that I saw.  So many people in costumes out enjoying a beautiful fall day in the Lou.  There is nothing cuter than the smiles of little kids waiting for a high five when their mission is accomplished.

When we got to the split for the half and the full marathon, I could see Brian up ahead of me about to break left, so I picked it up to catch him, called his name and gave him a fist bump for encouragement before heading up the hill into the final stretch.  At the top of the hill, I heard my name, so I popped my earphones out for a minute to chat with Kris, Roberto, Steve, Eugene and little Rhyen in my old BOB stroller.  They had, of course, seen most of the crew go past.  I once again declared how much fun I was having, had no idea what my time was and finally decided to finish off the last half mile.  I thought maybe I still had a shot at finishing this in under 2 hours, but doubtful.  Although, I really didn’t care.  It wasn’t about that at all.

So when I saw one of my social runners, Barbara, up ahead of me about to finish her very first half marathon, I had no problem slowing up a little bit and coasting into the finish with her.  So great to be a part of her accomplishment and I’m sure she is addicted now.

At the finish we got our medals and ran into several other friends, Tracy, Jodi and JT.  Then a recent customer of mine, Susie, grabbed me to say hi and introduce me to her girlfriend who loves reading about the adventures of RRG.  I have to admit, I felt a little famous for a second.  As friends came and went, I kept an eye open for any of the bananas since I figured they would be the easiest to spot.  Eventually, I saw a large afro flopping among the heads of people coming through the finish.  Tony.  As Elvis.

While we stood waiting for a few others, my body had begun to cool down and I was getting the shakes. Quite by accident stole some guy’s mylar wrap right out of his hand.  Or as Tony says, I mugged him.  But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right?  When we had Serena Banana we headed toward the Jamba Juice tent, where we ultimately found most of the others in our motley crew.  Oddly, I never did see Farrell and Nicole, who were the primary reason I had decided to run in the first place.

We stood in the sun chatting, refueling and enjoying the day.  Somewhere over the course of those 13 miles, I had really come to life and started enjoying the day.  We asked about each other’s times, and honestly, I still couldn’t tell you what my official time was.  I don’t even think I want to know, because it’s completely irrelevant.  According to my Garmin which is set to auto-pause, my actual running time was just under 2 hours.  My guess is that my “chip time” is somewhere in the 2:05-2:10 range, but the experience was time-less.

My PR for the day was the “Personal Reminder” that sometimes it’s ok to set my competitive nature aside.  Once in a while, I need to remember to stop taking running so seriously.  Stop taking everything so seriously.  Stop taking myself so seriously.

And I mean, really, how can you take anything seriously when you are running with Elvis and a bunch of bananas?!

Enjoying the post party!

I’ve been in a funk for about a week.  Considering that I ran the Chicago Marathon a little over a week ago, this is not at all surprising.  Yet again, I have a case of the post race blues.  The only surprising part is that this funk has lasted longer than usual.  Which is why I have been Silent Runner Girl.  Now I’m ready to ramble.

Last weekend was an unforgettable experience.  I got to spend the weekend in my favorite city with my best friend in the whole word and run a marathon.  Trifecta!

Friday night, before I left town, Shane and I went to dinner and bowling in the loop to keep me from pacing at home in anticipation of such an epic event.  Saturday morning, I was up before my alarm (which I assure you never ever happens!) and stopped to pick up Cole and his girlfriend Susannah before heading up 55 North to the Windy City.

We went straight to McCormick Place where the Chicago Marathon expo is held every October.  Cole and Susannah went on in while I waited at the entrance for Britta.  I wanted to experience every moment of her first marathon with her.  While I waited, I felt my eyes welling up with tears.  I was waiting for my best friend, who I hadn’t seen in a year and a half.  While many things about my life have changed in that time, she has remained constant.  She knows me better than anyone and has wholeheartedly accepted me as I am.  Flaws and all.

Just as the tears were about to spill, I was distracted.  Suddenly a different someone was standing in front of me in disbelief. If you’ve been following my posts from the beginning, you may remember my friend Douang who was a customer that I fit for shoes back in the spring.  She had lost a child and was about to run her first half marathon.  Running was the thing that gave her a reason to get out of bed in the morning during that period of horrific grief that swept over her life.  And I was shocked to see her standing in front of me in Chicago, telling me that she was about to run her first marathon, in place of her husband who couldn’t use his bib.  What’s even more unreal is that she spotted me in all that chaos.  If that isn’t good race mojo, I just don’t know what is.

Then, the crowd parted.  And there was Britta walking towards us.  Finally!  We made our way into the Expo where we gathered our bibs and race shirts and other goodies.  After the expo, we took a little break at our room at the Palmer House Hilton.  Yeah, we stayed in style.

Eventually, we pulled ourselves together and went to dinner.  Most people carb load before an event like a marathon.  But B and I have a favorite place in Chicago (actually we have a few favorites) so we went to Wildfire for steak and ribs.  Hey, we had potatoes too.

Dinner at Wildfire

After dinner we leisurely wandered back to the hotel by way of State Street.  We were both just enjoying being in our city.  We came across a big Captain Morgan’s sign that simply read, “Go Forth and Conquer”.  That’s exactly what we had come to do.

When we got back to the hotel, we laid out race clothes, gathered necessary items, organized our gear, and talked logistics.  All lot of those logistics went out the window, as is usually the case since race morning arrives and you ultimately don’t really care about anything other than making sure you get to the start line on time.

Hind sight being what it is we probably should have left earlier than we did to get to the corrals, but we made it.  We didn’t quite accomplish everything we wanted to that morning, but we had a planned meeting place and took our “selfie” by Buckingham Fountain (the important things)  seconds before I jumped ship and ran off to Corral C.  Britta had insisted that we each had to run our own race.  She thought if we ran together we would spend the whole time talking and not doing what we came to do.  She had a point, so I stuck with Corral C, while Britta started about 30 minutes later in Corral E.

Our Pre-Marathon selfie

My plan was just to run hard and enjoy the day.  I intentionally held back at the start, trying to reign in the adrenaline coursing through me.  Almost immediately I spotted Brian and Katie up ahead of me.  I caught up to them to say a quick good luck and then we each went on about our own races.

I ran near my old office that over-looked Michigan Ave.  I ran past the only spot I have ever seen my dad during any of my marathons.  I ran by Lincoln Park Zoo, so many memories there.  I ran past the hospital where 2 of my kids were born.  I ran past Surf St. where I lived in my favorite apartment before I got married.  I ran past Britta’s old building that I used to walk to from my apartment on Surf.  I ran down Addison, but turned left on Broadway before we got to Wrigley Field.  I ran past Wrightwood and Deming, streets that would lead to tiny Lill Ave where there is a little yellow house that I brought both of my boys home from the hospital to.  I blew a kiss in that direction.  And I ran on.

I looked for various friends at the locations they mentioned they would be.  The only one I saw during the race was Jennifer.  On Wells, somewhere near Chicago Ave, I saw her standing on the sidewalk holding her little girl Kalene.  I gave her a quick hug and threw my arm warmers at her.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to do what Jenn and I used to do together in our earlier single days which was sit in coffee shops discussing our favorite books.  Jenn is the one who got me started on Pat Conroy.  I ran on.

We headed back through the downtown area and then went west.  The middle of the marathon is always a bit of a blur to me.  Part of that is being “in the zone” but in Chicago it’s the more unfamiliar neighborhoods.  In the distance, recognizable buildings stand tall, reminding me of where I am.  And the running continues…

Then on to the south side, through China town and then a turn just before Comisky (they can change the name to US Cellular Field, and try to give it a cool nickname like “The Cell”, but it will still always be Comisky to most Chicagoans) Eventually the course goes north, up Michigan Avenue, with the skyline beaconing all the runners back to Grant Park.  Somehow the designers of the course found the only hill in Chicago and stuck it in right at 26.1.  Right before we coast those last couple hundred meters into the finish.

And then, marathon #9 was done.  Not a PR, but just a couple minutes off.  My second fastest, run on a beautiful day in a beautiful city.  I got my mylar wrap, my medal, my snacks, and my free beer while I chatted with my friend Stephanie who finished at the same time. Then I laid on the grass and waited for Britta in our designated spot.  I waited longer than I had expected so I figured out something had gone wrong.  Turns out she was right on pace until she stepped in a pothole at about Mile 14, which twisted her ankle and tweaked her knee.  She ended up having to walk a fair amount of the back half.  But she still had a great first marathon time.

Initially upon seeing me, she said how much it sucked and she was never doing that again.  It only took a couple hours when we were back in the hotel before she had reconsidered.  She can’t let that be her one and only marathon experience, always knowing that she could do better.  I KNEW IT!

After we cleaned up, rested a bit and repacked our stuff, we ventured back out into the streets of the city we love so much.  We hit Garrett’s for some popcorn, for the kids, of course.  And then some Chicago style pizza.  Then, sadly, it was time for B to head to the airport.  I drove her to Midway, we hugged goodbye.  And then, it was over.  Our marathon weekend that we had planned and looked forward to for months was now behind us.

And that was the Chicago Marathon 2013.

It’s funny how we build things up in our minds.  The marathon, just like life, is really a series of small things that make up something bigger.  We move from one thing to the next, thinking that the big thing we are working toward is going to be the pinnacle.  But eventually we realize that even after those moments that we have been building up to have passed, life still just keeps on going, one more step at a time.  Feeling joy and pain all at the same time.

The past week and a half since Chicago, my life has seemed somewhat messy.  My schedule was chaotic, I had a sick kid, I missed out on some things I wanted to do, I started going down a road leading to a major pity party.  On Saturday night after I got the kids to bed, I pulled up a movie from my DVR to help end the funk.  Prince of Tides.  Good old Pat Conroy, a favorite, all thanks to Jenn.  It’s been several years since she gave me a copy of that book for my birthday one year, but it’s still a fave.  The thing I love about it is that I can see myself in each of the characters.  Each of their messy lives somehow relates to mine.  Because that’s life, it’s messy.

Yesterday my friend Jodi found out that her divorce was final.  We were talking about the huge variety of emotions that comes with that news.  I reassured her that it’s ok to bounce around all over the place from scared to liberated, from sad to angry to terrified.  Individual moments that make up something bigger.  The important part is to feel it all.  Her response was, “Yeah I guess that’s the only way to live, feel it all”.

At some point over the past week, I was texting a friend and I was trying to say “I’m a tough one” but my phone interjected some other suggested words.  It wanted me to say “I am a…complete beautiful prize”.  Even in my mess, even when I don’t parent perfectly, even when I’m in a funk, even when I miss a PR by just a couple minutes, my life is still a series of small things, some good, some not so good, but I’m going to feel it all.  Ultimately, yeah, it is the series of small things that make up my messy life, and it is my ability to “Go forth and Conquer” that makes me a complete beautiful prize.

Today was a beautiful day.  I’m not just referring to the fact that it was a perfect, 75 degree day in the Midwest in October.  Mostly I am referring to the beautiful souls that I got to spend part of my day with.

One of my favorite memories from my youth, was my dad picking me up from softball practice and we would listen to Paul Harvey tell “the rest of the story” as we drove home.  If you read my post last week about Pedal the Cause, you’re now going to get “the rest of the story”.

On Sunday morning, I was up bright and early…well, that’s not entirely true.  It was so early that it wasn’t bright at all, in fact, it was still dark.  I dropped the kids at their dad’s and watched the sunrise over St. Louis as I drove down 40.  I knew I had probably over-estimated how much time I needed, but since I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, how parking would be and what the packet pick-up situation was, I didn’t want to feel stressed.  I was also hoping to catch Teri before she pedaled off for 50 miles, which left an hour before my 25 mile ride.

As I neared downtown, I noticed a car in front of me with a bike on the back, so I figured they knew where they were going.  I made the right call following them, since they led me to a stellar parking spot about a block from the PTC Village (and it was free!)  As I was heading over to pick up my packet, I got a text from Wes, so I offered to grab his stuff as well.  Once I had our gear, I went to find Teri, who was right where her email said she would be, near the corral, with distinctive blue star balloons guiding the way.

I figured with all of the chaos of the weekend Teri probably hadn’t found time to read my last post, but I should know by now to never under-estimate this woman.  The first thing she said when she saw me was how much she appreciated it.  And that she wanted to go with me to Inga’s chemo appointment.  Goosebumps.

After I chatted with a couple other friends and Teri set off on her ride, I headed back over to my car to get myself assembled and meet Wes.  We put stickers on bikes and helmets, pinned on bib numbers and gathered whatever we needed and then set off back toward the village.  Once we got over there, we found snacks, a port-o-potty, coffee (yay!) and our friend Roberto, who has the annoying habit of being such a fantastic cyclist that he can ride around through a crowd while holding hot coffee.  After commenting on this, I promptly bumped into someone with my bike, and all I was doing was standing there.  I apologized and then told Wes that I should probably just walk around wearing a big sign that says, “I’m sorry.”

Eventually we found our way into the start corral, had someone take our picture and tried to stay warm in the sun.  It was a chilly morning, one that runners kill for on race day, but cyclists not so much.  However, Pedal the Cause isn’t a race so much as a ride to benefit cancer research.  Or maybe it was just the non-cyclist in me that wanted to believe it wasn’t a race.  Wes teased me about how nervous I was.  True, I was completely out of my element.

Finally we were off.  We headed west out of the downtown area, past Forest Park (where I very nearly jumped off my bike and went for a run) and through Clayton.  It was at about that point that I told Wes it was time to pick up the pace.  I thought he was right behind me.  I thought wrong.

The ride itself was mostly uneventful, other than just being a beautiful ride.  Despite Grey’s assessment that it was a flat course, there were a considerable amount of hills.  Perhaps in comparison to Wildwood it was a flat course, but it didn’t feel flat.  I could have done without the moment that the cop directing traffic through the intersection at Forest Park Parkway and 170 decided to have me stop and let the cars turn left in front of me, where I had to break hard and unclip quickly and very nearly crashed and burned.  As I eventually went on through the intersection, he yelled an apology because he hadn’t seen me.  Well, at least he wasn’t “trying” to get me killed.  Yikes.

The best part of the ride was, without a doubt, hearing other riders on the course yell “Yay, Team Teri!” when they saw my Powered by Hope jersey.  It’s a pretty incredible feeling to be a part of a team named for a really incredible woman.

As I headed back up Chestnut to the finish, the sun was shining on the arch and there was a big US flag held between two Fire Truck ladders flying over the shoot.  It was picturesque and for a moment I considered dismounting my bike to capture the moment with my phone.  But instead I let the cheers of the crowd pull me to the finish where I received a medal for my efforts of the day. That hardly seemed necessary.  I rode a bike.  The people I rode for are all fighting cancer.  They are the ones who deserve the medal.

I waited for Wes at the finish and we hung out a little bit before I had to head back to the valley to spend the day at work and he had to catch a flight to DC.  We both agreed what a great event it was and that we are planning to rope all of our friends into doing it with us next year.

Flash forward to today.

After an early staff meeting and a brief Mat Science class (Thanks Courtney!) I made my way over to St. Luke’s to join Inga at her chemo appointment.  I sat in the waiting room until Inga was ready for me to join her.  We went into the Infusion room, found a spot and I proceeded to tell Inga stories about all kinds of stuff from training and racing to our small world connection of both knowing Steve.  Occasionally I worried that I was too loud.  I know, imagine that. Me?  Loud?  And I definitely wondered if I was too hyper.  I’m always hyper.  But before I knew it, an hour had passed, and I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Teri’s voice tease that I never call or respond to texts.  Unfortunately, my service wasn’t great in the hospital.  But fortunately, Teri is resourceful enough that she found us anyway.  I wasn’t positive she would make it, but as usual, she didn’t let me down.

Teri has a way of lighting up a room.  Even a chemo infusion room.  I introduced my friends.  We talked about kids and families.  We talked about training and racing.  Teri told us about an amazing woman she had met who has continued to compete in triathlons after becoming an amputee.

They talked about various types of drugs and other cancer related topics that I don’t fully understand.  But I sat and listened.  And I was amazed at their strength.  Totally different women, fighting totally different battles.  Teri’s strength is very in your face (in a good way).  I mean, the woman does Ironman triathlons.  That’s in your face strong.  And Inga is the picture of quiet strength.  She smiles as she tells the nurse that she needs a later appointment time next week so she can put her kids on the bus.  And she remains positive after 70 chemo treatments.  And she never stops believing.  Despite their differences, these women draw their strength from the same source.  They are both Powered by Hope.

One of the things I rattled on and on about today with Inga is my excitement over the Chicago Marathon that I will be running this weekend.  I can hardly contain myself.  My anticipation and adrenaline are higher than ever.  I’m so ready to go do this.  The weather forecast looks great.  My best friend will be on the course with me.  And I’m healthy.  I’m healthy…

As Teri told the story about her triathlete friend, Karen Aydelott, I couldn’t help but think that when I start to hurt on Sunday, when I feel like I don’t feel like running anymore because the pain is too great, I will think of these amazing women and the strength and courage it takes to overcome the pain they face on a daily basis.

As we were about to leave today, another patient sat down in the chair next to us.  Her name was Brenda and she seemed terrified.  Inga tried to put her at ease saying, “This is a good place.  They’re going to take good care of you here”.  I’m so glad to know that my sweet friend is in good hands.  But knowing how strong her faith is, I should have already known that.

I made it back to my car today before I started crying.  They weren’t tears of fear or sadness or doubt, but tears of feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and unbelievably blessed at the opportunity to have these women in my life.  And to bring them together today and get a glimpse of what it truly looks like to be Powered by Hope.  And if that doesn’t carry me through 26.2 miles on Sunday, I just don’t know what will.

And now you know the rest of the story.  Rambling Runner Girl…Good day.

Teri and RRG at Pedal the Cause 2013

On Sunday morning, I will mount my bike and take to the streets of St. Louis.  A few months ago, I got an email from my friend Teri, who I’ve mentioned before.  Teri was recruiting members for her team for Pedal the Cause.  This is an event to raise money for cancer, all proceeds will stay right here in St. Louis and benefit the Siteman Cancer Center and St. Louis Children’s Hospital.

If you had told me a few years ago that I would A) own a road bike, B) be participating in triathlons and C) be getting ready to sign up for a full Ironman with the encouragement of my awesome friend Teri; I would have told you that you were out of your MIND!

Teri has been integral in my attempt to become a triathlete.  Lindsey Farrell may have been the one who initially put the idea in my head and has talked me through most of it.  But Teri is my inspiration.

I’ve mentioned before that Teri is an Ironman.  I’ve also mentioned that a very short time after competing in Ironman Louisville, in an effort to qualify for the National Championships in Kona, and falling just barely short of that goal, Teri was diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer.  And yet she continued to train through chemo and was invited to Kona as one of the special guest athletes.

Teri inspires me to do more than I ever thought possible.  She is fighting this disease by not letting it take over her life.  It’s part of who she is, but it doesn’t have a hold on her.  She is living, and competing, and growing, and using her situation to raise awareness and lift others up.

When we go through rough spots in life, it would be so easy to either lay down and give up, or become bitter that we’ve been dealt a bad hand.  But if Teri can be Powered by Hope in her situation, then I sure as anything can be too!  I won’t give up.  I won’t be bitter.  Instead, I will fight the good fight.  I will keep the faith. And I will forge ahead to all that is before me.

I recently reconnected with a good friend from Jr. High who happens to live right here in the St. Louis area, as well.  Inga is, without a doubt, one of the nicest people you could ever meet anywhere!  We used to have slumber parties and we played basketball together as kids.  I will never forget being in awe of Inga’s passion on the basketball court and how she fought with aggression. Inga has been battling inflammatory breast cancer for several years.  It literally came on overnight, but she never wavered in her willingness to fight it. That same passion still shines bright through Inga.

This is a girl who tells me that I’m amazing and that I inspire her.  But I can’t begin to see how I could be half as amazing or inspiring as Inga.  She goes from one activity to another with her 5 kids, and then back to chemo, always smiling, always being sweet Inga, always keeping the faith.  She speaks about it openly among our group of girlfriends that tries to get together regularly for lunch.  I know she won’t let it get the best of her.

I think it’s very true that you never know how strong you are until you come face to face with something that requires you to prove what you are really capable of. Teri and Inga both have a never give up attitude that inspires me to be better than I ever believed I could be and to push through the “I’m tired” and the “It’s hard” and the “I don’t want to”.  “The words “I can’t” are not even an option.  If Teri can do what she does while her body is fighting for life, then I can at least continue to try to be better and stronger.

I still don’t consider myself much of a cyclist, but if there was ever a good reason to put the runner girl in me aside and just ride, this is it!  This weekend, I will proudly wear my yellow and black Team Teri jersey that reads Powered by Hope.  I am honored that I have been asked to ride with Teri on Sunday.  And equally as honored that I have been invited to be with Inga at her treatment next week.  My presence at both of these events isn’t going to change the world, but I know it’s going to change me.  And if I can, in some small way, give hope and help continue the fight, then you better believe that I’ll do it!

Everyone knows someone who has been affected by cancer.  If you would like to donate to Pedal the Cause, you can donate to Teri’s team or through me as a rider at:

http://stlouis.pedalthecause.org/donate.jsp

Every dollar is appreciated!

RRG and Teri Griege-Ironwoman