It’s been a whirlwind week since I last posted.  Last Thursday, I had to knock out my last long run before the Chicago Marathon.  Why run 20 miles on a Thursday, you ask.  Well, because I needed to get it done before a crazy busy weekend full of fun activities.

So, Thursday afternoon, I finished up at work around 2pm, did some long run prep and headed out into the hottest part of the entire week to conquer 20 miles.  I ran from the back door of the store and headed out through the flats of Chesterfield, just to keep things simple.  I ran to the Spirit of St. Louis Airport, and back to the store, with a couple of detours, to make it moderately interesting.  I knocked out 11 miles with ease, swung by the store again to use the potty and a quick water bottle refill.  Back out on the levee for 3 more, then back into the store for some sports beans.  And back out into Chesterfield valley with a final stretch up Baxter to meet Nick who was running from home to meet me for a couple miles before social run started.  As I suspected he was on what we affectionately refer to as “Nick time”, ie-he was late.  I kept running, getting farther and farther from the store.  Typically not a big deal, but I had to be back to lead social run.  After reaching the top of a hill and still no sign of Nick, I gave up and turned around.  A few minutes later, I checked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of him in a full sprint trying to catch me.  I waited.  He caught me.  Then he had to catch his breath.  I was out of fluids.  We were about 2 miles from the store and I needed to be there.  Soon.  So we started back down the hill to the valley, we were cruising.  That last mile was faster than my race pace and considerably faster than the pace I’d been holding for the first 18.  We hit the back door of Fleet Feet at exactly 20.5 miles.  Nothing like hearing your Garmin announce 20 miles and have to keep running really, really fast.  I was tired.  Even my ipod was tired, since it started shorting out.

But, no time to cool down.  The social runners were starting to gather.  At 6:30, I sent the runners off toward the levee, while Steve and I brought up the rear.  I only managed a very slow 1.25 out, and then the return trip.  I topped off at 23 miles.  Then, put on some dry clothes and went for pizza with the crew.

The social run crew. This is how we celebrate a good run!

I was planning to sleep well Thursday night.  Then I was going to get up and leisurely get ready to meet Farrell and the rest of the bridesmaids at the spa to get ready for her wedding weekend.  Unfortunately, the discomfort I had woken up with on Thursday, turned to excruciating pain on my whole left side by Friday morning.  I knew an early trip to the doctor was in order.  Come to find out, I ran that whole 23 miles while my body was trying to fight off a kidney infection.  My body gave a valiant effort, but ultimately, the infection won.  I got some antibiotics and sucked it up to get through the Friday festivities of BBQ, rehearsal and Cubs/Cards game.

Celebrating Linds and Ryan, and all the adventure ahead of them! (I’m still going to call her Farrell, even if its not her last name anymore!)

I got back to the hotel around midnight and crashed!  By Saturday morning, I was a new woman, and I was ready to party!  Which is exactly what I did.  I spent Saturday celebrating Lindsey and Ryan’s wedding.  I couldn’t be happier for them, I was honored to stand with them on their day and I can’t wait to see what adventures await them in their life together.

#Bestbridesmaidsever

On Sunday, I spent a beautiful afternoon at the winery with friends celebrating my birthday.  The celebration continued at the biker bar in Defiance.  My memory got a little fuzzy at that point, so I don’t know what time it was exactly when I was sleeping comfortably in my bed.  I slept for a long, long time.  With the exception of a trip to the kitchen for water somewhere in the middle of the night, I pretty much stayed in bed until about 10am on Monday.  I allowed myself the excuse not to run that I was still recovering from a23 mile run + kidney infection. I made it to work on time Monday afternoon in good spirits.  And Monday night I was at it again since Katrina bought me a birthday drink at midnight to celebrate that I am officially 29…again.

I was planning to run Tuesday morning, but I had some unforeseen things come up and by the time I finished up with some stuff at the kids’ school, it was time for my birthday massage.  The therapist informed me afterward that my glutes were a mess.  Yeah, like I hadn’t noticed.  Then I was off to lunch with Steve before my mom got to town and we picked up the kids for my G-rated birthday party.

Overall, it was a good weekend.  And a great birthday.  Last night I got an email from Teri with a great quote, “Let the rest of your days be the best of your days”.  Which is exactly how I intend to live, from here on out.

I finally got out for a run this morning after dropping the kids at school.  I got my Garmin set, hit play on my ipod and was ready to go.  After that massage yesterday, my muscles were loose and I felt like I was flying.  Except for just one thing.  Remember that short in my ipod?  Almost as soon as I started running, I realized that I could only hear the instrumental music, no lyrics.  I got occasional backup singers.  But the lead singer was nowhere to be found.  Well, shoot.  What do I do with that?  I guess I need some new earbuds.  I decided to keep it playing and see what happened.

I quickly realized, it was a little like karaoke.  I knew all the words to the songs.  Or most of them anyway.  And the ones I didn’t know, I made them up.  (My apologies to anyone on the path along 109 who happened to catch an earful of my out-of-breath attempt at singing)  At one point, I even heard a song that Cole and I sang at Charlie’s one night when a bunch of Fleet Feet-ers went out to visit Eric at one of his last rounds as karaoke DJ.  Man I miss those nights!

It occurred to me, each day is sort of like singing karaoke.  We’ve got people in the background that can help enhance each day, singing backup if you will.  And we get to fill in the words however they go.  Even with a general guide to follow, we can still mess up.  And then we can laugh at ourselves, take a deep breath and get back on track.  Sometimes we sound really good, other times not so much.

Most importantly, we get to choose the type of music that sets the tone of each day.  I was stuck in something that sounded like a dirge for a really long time, then my life resembled something more like angry chick music (Alanis Morissette, anyone?) But now I prefer upbeat songs that tell a good story.

Coincidentally, the last song playing when I got to the end of my run, was the song that Silas asked me to sing to him last night when I put him to bed.  It’s a song we have sung to each other often over the past couple years, and it’s somewhat reflective of my birthday wish to make the rest of my days the best of my days.

…when we struggle and it all goes wrong, only you can make it right, so I say…I’m learning to be the light.

I hope the song my soul sings each day always reflects happiness, positivity and joy.  I have a lot to celebrate going into this next year of my life.  I just completed a year of tremendous progress and I am continuing to grow on a daily basis.  I’m proud of the person I’ve become and who I continue to evolve into.  I’ve accomplished a lot and I know that I can conquer anything in my path.  I’m only getting better with age because I’m learning to be the light.

Here’s to the year ahead!

Mile 22 of 23 on Thursday. One of the reasons I love to run.

When I woke up yesterday morning I had every intention of going to boxing, but instead I went for a 5 mile run because honestly, I had a lot to process from the weekend.

I ran the Roots N Blues half marathon on Saturday.  Some races go well.  Some races not so much.  And there are those days where you crash and burn and the whole event seemingly goes down in a fiery ball of flames and devastation.  Which in turn leaves you feeling like a wasted pile of ash and debris.  Saturday was one of those days.  The Blues part was certainly appropriate.

The race itself wasn’t too bad actually, but here’s how the weekend went.  Friday after work I grabbed my kiddos from school and made the 90 minute trip West on 70 to CoMo (Columbia, MO for non-Missouri natives).  We got to my friend Phebe’s house just in time for dinner.  Phebe and I have known each other since we went to camp together as kids, and as fate would have it, we reconnected a few years ago, right around the time I moved to MO.  Coincidentally, she got married the very same day that my marriage officially bit the dust.  Kind of like my race day this weekend.

Phebe was supposed to run this weekend too, but she had some difficulties training in the heat of the summer, so she decided to postpone her half-marathon debut.  Back in June, while my Ragnar team was piled in the van on the return trip from Chicago, Wes’s son John, who goes to Mizzou, mentioned the Roots N Blues half marathon and several of us put it on the calendar.  So, although Phebe was unable to be at the start line with me on Saturday morning, I had several others there.  Wes, Shane and Kristen also ran the half, while Mark and John both opted for the 10k.  At 6:30ish, I met up with my crew to get my bib and timing chip from Shane who had picked up my packet for me the day before.  We were hanging near the start, doing race prep, and another familiar face showed up.  Amy, a fellow Fleet Feet-er and student at Mizzou, was ready to rock her first half marathon.  She talked me through the course a bit, since she knew it better than I did.  It sounded like it might be tougher than I was planning on.  But, I figured I would just go with it. I was hoping for a PR, but not really sure what to expect due to some recent knee pain.

The before…RRG, Wes, Mark, Shane & Kristen

The race got underway and I separated from my compadres as soon as we crossed the start line.  We’re all there to support each other, but we all have to run our own race.  It was a pretty course.  Great scenery.  But hilly and challenging.  Ultimately not my best race, but still not bad.  The good news is my knee felt fine, probably thanks to the vast amount of time I spent on the foam roller the previous day.

The route was beautiful.  The first mile or so was hilly as we left the downtown area and ran through the Mizzou campus.  Eventually we came to the MKT trail which is where the bulk of the course landed us.  It’s not as difficult to run on as true trail, but it’s not quite as fast as a pavement either.  The views were spectacular.  We ran along a path that lead us into this tree covered trail.  At one point we came upon a misty field, the sky was blue and the moon was still hovering.  Gorgeous.  We ran across several wooden bridges over the creek bed, which bounced slightly, making it feel like running on a trampoline.  It was hard to take in the view from both directions, but I tried.  Again, gorgeous.  We ran around a little lake with the sun reflecting its radiance.  In the middle of the race, the moments of beauty were frequent.

At about mile 8, some guy started pushing into me and I couldn’t figure out why he was crowding me off the path.  Until I looked over and saw Shane.  I couldn’t have been happier to see him.  I wasn’t feeling particularly stellar.  He asked, “How are you feeling, Runner Girl?”  I responded, “Eh, ok, not great.”  He said, “Well, you look great, so let’s start with that.”  I smiled.  We were only together for a minute or so and he started to pull away.  I let him.  He gave me the encouragement I needed, but, like I said, we all have to run our own race.

Then I started to get mad that he was pulling away, so I told myself, “Linds, if you don’t want to get left behind, go catch up!”  I tried to stay with him.  I would start to gain on him, then back off a little, and then I’d get close again.  I never did catch him.  But I tried to keep him in my sights the whole time.  I was mostly successful.  The last couple miles were some pretty tough hills.  Even the girl who loves hills was cursing the steep grade at that point.  With a half mile to go I noticed John standing on the sidewalk waiting for Wes.  I couldn’t talk but I got John’s attention and we fist bumped, or something that vaguely resembled a fist bump anyway.  Ultimately, I finished about a minute and a half behind Shane.  He was waiting at the finish for me.  I wasn’t exactly sure of my official time.  I knew it wasn’t the PR I had hoped for.  I had held back somewhat due to that sketchy knee pain I experienced on my Thursday run at Babler.  I had been worried about pushing too hard and blowing things for Chicago in a few weeks.  But I was still hopeful that my chip time would put me just under an hour and 50 minutes.  It did.  Just barely.  1:49:53. 14th female ages 30-39.  I’ll take that.

As I put my medal around my neck, grabbed a bottle of water and tried to catch my breath, I ran into my friend Ali, who I met when she came into FLEET FEET one day a couple years ago, all the way from Quincy.  Ali and I bonded instantly, since we not only have the Quincy connection, we were both going through a divorce at the same time and we both lost our dad’s way too early in life.  Ali introduced me to her running partner, who is also her new husband, and then she said something about how much she appreciated my last blog post about Friday the 13^th.  I said, “Thanks.  Oh, and, this is Shane.  Wes should be through the finish any minute.”  The timing of her statement was pretty funny since she got to meet one of the stars of my last post.

Mark, who had been done for a while joined us.  And a minute or so later, Kristen crossed the finish.  And a few minutes later Wes and John completed our group.  We hung out, took pictures, teased Wes for being sweaty enough that no one wanted to be near him, and got our free drinks and BBQ sandwiches.  Eventually, the group started to peel off for naps and showers and such.

The After…with Karen and John added to the group.

I hopped into my Pathfinder, thinking I had a pretty good idea of how to get back to Phebe’s.  I was hoping the kids hadn’t given her too much trouble while I had been gone all morning.  I started on my way, but somewhere I made a wrong turn.  I finally realized I was way off course.  And I was trying to figure out how to get back.

I was cruising along, not speeding, but driving a back road with a speed limit of about 45 miles.  I was trying to figure out where I was going.  I was messing with the radio.  I wasn’t paying close enough attention.  And then I looked up to see a car stopping in front of me.  I stepped on the breaks as hard as I could, but I braced because I knew what was coming.  I was breaking too late.  And then it happened.  I crashed into the back of the black Mitsubishi in front of me.

I took a deep breath.  Made sure I wasn’t hurt. Put the car in park. Took a quick look around at my mess of a car. Turned off the engine.  Unbuckled my seatbelt.  And opened the door.  Everything was in slow motion.

As I stepped out onto the pavement, I could see the other driver unbuckling her seatbelt.  I looked over and saw a few witnesses walking toward us.  Even though I couldn’t hear their voices, I could tell they were asking if we were ok.  I nodded. The other driver got out of her car, visibly shaken.  I felt absolutely horrendous.   She was a teenager, and was clearly very scared.  I knew her fear, I felt it too.  I asked if she was ok.  She nodded.  I said, “Are you sure?”  She nodded and said, “I think so”.  I suggested that we move the cars off the main road since they both seemed drivable.  We turned right onto the side street and got out of the cars again.  I asked her if she wanted to call the police or if she wanted me to.  She said she wanted to call her mom, so I called 911. Then I called Phebe, so she would know why I was taking so long to get back.  I was glad to know my kids were in good hands.  Then I called Wes.  It went right to voicemail.  I knew he was probably sleeping.  I’m sure the voicemail he got from me later made little to no sense at all.  I remember thinking I was rambling (not surprising, I’m kind of known for that).  Then I called Shane.  I was so glad he answered.  I was in complete shock, but could feel my tears burning my eyes and I could hear my voice shaking when I told him what was happening.  He asked if I wanted him to come to where I was.  “Yeah, I need moral support”.  I felt my throat tighten when I heard him say to Mark, “I’ll be back, I’m going to help Lindsey.”

I started looking for my Driver’s License and insurance info.  I didn’t have my current card, so I called Allstate as I unpinned my bib that I still hadn’t removed.  The officer walked up and I handed him my phone to verify that I was up to date with my insurance.  Then he handed me a form to fill out.  I located a pen and started to write.  My hand was shaking.  Shane walked up about 5 seconds later.  I couldn’t look at him, because I knew if I did the tears would start.  I held it together while the cop talked to me.  And when he brought me and the other driver together to exchange info.  He didn’t give me a ticket.  I still felt horrible.  I knew I deserved one. I knew it was 100% my fault.  That is the worst feeling in the world, knowing that something that was totally avoidable was your own fault.  The cop suggested we take pictures of each other’s vehicles just in case.  Shane took pictures for me.

The cop left.  The girl and her mom left.  I immediately collapsed into a sobbing mess in Shane’s arms.  The word’s My fault, My fault, My fault, kept playing in my head.  It was undeniable.  Even though my prideful human nature has crept in and tried to rationalize things like, she stopped suddenly and for no reason at an intersection where we didn’t have a stop sign and she may have had a break light out.  The fact of the matter is I was distracted and I caused this accident.  I will own the fact that I did this, even though it really, really, really sucks.  It’s not the first time I’ve messed up.  And it very likely won’t be the last.

Shane let me cry.  He said all the right things.  At least no one was hurt.  At least my kids weren’t with me.  At least both cars are still drivable.  At least the sun is shining.  It could be so much worse.

All true.

But he still let me cry.

I finally made my way back to Phebe’s house.  She said all the same things as she made me coffee and peeled oranges for the kids.  I cried some more.  Wes found my message when he woke up and called me back.  He said all the same things too.

I was exhausted.  Between the adrenaline of a race, the euphoria of finishing the race, a subsequent adrenaline spike from the accident and then the array of emotions that followed, I had been all over the place and my energy level was paying the price.

I spent the rest of the weekend trying to recover from all of it.  Periodically throughout the next 36 hours, I would randomly start crying. I slept hard Saturday night. I worked Sunday after church and spent Sunday evening on the couch. And then came my run yesterday morning.  I was thinking about the events of the weekend.  I was thinking about my friend Caleigh.  Friday morning she was so excited to spend the weekend celebrating her 30^th birthday but then she unexpectedly got some devastating news.  How weird that we find ourselves struggling and celebrating at the same time.  The bad doesn’t see that we’re busy enjoying the good and just decide to turn around and come back another time.  Sometimes we have to deal with the good and the bad, all at the same time.

I got 2.5 miles out yesterday and it was considerably hotter than I thought it would be.  When I turned around I was instantly met with the relief of a cool breeze which simultaneously caused the resistance of the wind, which made things more challenging but also more comfortable.  So, something that was making me work harder and causing me to struggle, was actually good for me at the same time.

Sometimes bad things happen.  Like bad news or car accidents.  But just like Shane told me, “It’s over, don’t dwell on it.  All you can do now is learn from it.”  So I will take the bad situation, and I’ll own it.  I will try to remember that when I get off course, instead of getting distracted, I’ll stop, get my bearings and try to get back on the right track.  Sometimes things happen that make us work harder, and even though they make us struggle, they ultimately make us better, stronger, refocused.

Here’s the other thing I was thinking about during that run.  In a few weeks, I’m going to take to the streets of Chicago to run the same marathon that I’ve run 4 times already.  Ever since Vancouver in May, I’ve been so excited to get there and lay it on the line in an effort to earn the sub 4 hour time I know I deserve on that course.  I missed it last year because I was injured, the year before that because it was obscenely hot, the time before that I was injured AND it was hot.  I have been as close as 4 hours and 2 seconds.  Yep, that’s right, 3 seconds away from my goal time.  A lot could happen in the next three weeks, but I’ve decided to run the race I won’t regret.

My best friend in the entire world will be standing next to me at the start line in Chicago on October 13, to embark on her first attempt at 26.2.  This is a girl who has stood by me through many years of “My fault, my fault, my fault”, and no matter what happened, never once did she ever consider leaving my side.  I still remember the phone call on the day of Phebe’s wedding, as my marriage crumbled, when Britta said to me, “I’m with you in this. I’m not going anywhere.”  So the only race I know for sure that I won’t regret in Chicago, is to stay with her, step for step, if she wants me to.  Her race, is my race.  Sometimes it takes bad things happening to point us in the right direction again. To refocus us on what matters.  A sub 4 in Chicago?  That can wait.  When I toe the line next to B for the Bank of America 2013 Chicago Marathon, my words to her will be, “I’m with you in this.  I’m not going anywhere.”

No regrets.

What does Friday the 13^th make you think of?  Playing Ghost in the Graveyard? Or probably a slasher movie where the lead character is some creepy guy who goes around wearing a hockey mask, right?  Yeah, me too.  Usually.

But this year, Friday the 13^th made me more introspective.  I had so many reminders that day about how precious life is.  And not because I was being chased by a guy in a hockey mask.  At least, I don’t think I was.

Anyway, here’s the deal.  On Friday after I left work, the weather was amazing.  I had already declared that I was going to Forest Park to run until my heart was content.  I needed to get in a long run since my attempt at 19 miles last Monday failed miserably.  I was dehydrated, slept too late and it was like 90 degrees when I started.  I finally gave up after 10.5 miles knowing that to continue for 8.5 more would just be stupid and irresponsible considering the conditions.

As I cruised along, going east on 40, with the windows down, I was listening to one of my new favorite songs.  Sara Bareilles’ voice filled my car with the words…  You said, remember that life is not meant to be wasted. We can always be chasing the sun. So fill up your lungs and just RUN. But always be chasing the sun!

Yep, that’s exactly what I was planning to do.

I parked my Pathfinder by Grand Basin, knowing that I had a little more than 2 hours to run before my friend Shane showed up to join me.  I figured I could get in about 15 miles.  More than anything, I was going to be racing the sun because it’s getting dark so much earlier now and running alone in Forest Park in the dark didn’t seem like the best idea.  I filled my water bottle, grabbed my Gu, located the satellites on the my Garmin 310, hit play on my purple ipod and set off toward the park perimeter.

I looked up at Art Hill, heavily spotted with people on blankets, enjoying the day.  The park was packed with people running, on bikes, on rollerblades, playing with their dogs.  As I ran, despite the fact that I was listening to the likes of Fort Minor and Kanye, various lyrics from my pre-run song kept coming to mind.

All we can do is try and live like we’re still alive…

My thoughts drifted to a customer I had helped at work earlier in the day.  She wanted to start running again.  She’s training to complete a half-marathon on Valentine’s Day with several friends.  With tears in her eyes, Shannon showed me the scars on her foot, her knee, her arm.  Then she showed me the picture of her car after the accident last November.  It’s hard to believe she’s still alive. Running this half is going to be a celebration of her comeback, but she deemed she couldn’t be ready by November of this year, so she pushed it back to Valentine’s Day.  As we talked, that seemed even more appropriate because she not only has visible physical scars, she has scars on her heart too from everything life has thrown at her in the past few years.  We all have scars.  But all of our scars look different.  And our scars help us tell our stories.  It doesn’t matter when Shannon runs her race, the point is she isn’t wasting the fact that she has been given a second chance.  But sadly, not everyone gets a second chance like that.

I couldn’t help but think about someone very close to me who is dealing with a pain that is all too familiar.  Wes lost his mom in July.  While most of America was shooting off fireworks and celebrating with family, Wes was sharing time with family in a totally different way as he said goodbye to the woman who raised him and loved him all of his life.  The most important person in his world was suddenly gone and he is now left to deal with the after effects of trying to fill that void in his heart.  The initial impact of grief is so different from the months down the road when you are still grieving, but the rest of the world seems to have just moved on.  I know this all too well.  It’s been almost 12 years since I last saw my dad, and I still pick up the phone to call him on occasion.  Then the flood of sadness washes over me all over again.  And I wish I could take that sadness away from my friend.

But something I adore about Wes is that just like my dad showed me, his mom taught him how to live each day as if it’s something special.  It’s impossible to replace people like that.  All we can do is continue living in a way that is a tribute to them.

There’s a history through her, sent to us as a gift from the future, and to show us the proof, more than that it’s to dare us to move, and to open our eyes and to learn from the sky…

After two loops around the park, I headed back to my car to check on Shane’s location.  As the moon was rising high in the sky, it was past twilight and the stars were coming out, I was glad to learn he was on his way and would meet me at 8pm. I still had time for a couple more miles, or so I thought.  I refilled my water bottle, grabbed my headlamp and some Sports Beans before setting off again.  But I didn’t get very far before I ran smack into him.  I was more than happy to see him early since it was officially dark.  But I had 7.5 miles to go to finish off my 20 miles and I wasn’t sure he was willing to go that far.  Shane agreed to go for one more loop around the park, but he had a stipulation. If he ran the full 7+ with me, I had to go for margaritas afterward.  He didn’t have to twist my arm too hard to get me to agree to that.  I know Shane well enough that I was already planning on it before he brought it up.

At mile 17.5 I announced that I didn’t feel like running anymore.  But Shane didn’t let me quit.  Not that I really would have, but I guarantee I wouldn’t have done as well without him there and I certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much.  We kept on, my little light illuminating the path, my breathing heavy and the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.

And the gift of my heartbeat, sounds like a symphony…

We got back to my car with less than half a mile to go, so we finished by running along the Basin.  We ran to the bridge, turned around, feet crunching the gravel below and finally my Garmin beeped announcing 20 miles as I stopped right in front of an unbeatable view.  Moon reflecting off the water, fountains reaching for the stars above, the Art Museum lit up like a crown on top of the hill.

With our mission accomplished, Shane and I headed to the Central West End for some tacos and margaritas at Gringo’s.  We ate.  He sucked down margaritas at the same rate I sucked down water.  He checked out some girl walking by and I offered to play wingman.  I laughed at him for being a germ-o-phobe  and he teased me about drinking my margarita too slow.  We later determined that my drinks were being made with considerably more tequila than his were.  Apparently, the bartender thought he was doing Shane a favor.  Eventually, Shane made sure I was safely back to my car and we parted ways. It was a perfect end to a perfect day.

The next morning on my way to work, I got a text from Shane that read: How are you running girl?  I feel alive, from the run and recovery beverages last night.

Exactly.  Shane described how that long run made me feel too.  Thinking about the gift I am given in each day that I wake up and get to lace up my shoes for a run.  And spend time with my friends.  And hug my kids.  And help other people appreciate the gift of their own heartbeat.

20 miles is hard.  But it reminds me that I’m alive.  Heart pounding, legs and lungs burning.  Taking in my surroundings like the wildflowers, the sunset, Grand Basin.  Enjoying the company of someone who has the ability to make me laugh even when it hurts so much I don’t think I can go another step.  Celebrating an accomplishment.  All of it.  This is what living looks like.  Sometimes its messy.  Sometimes it hurts.  Sometimes the pain is almost unbearable.  But those are the times when your friends show up and drag your butt through it.

You said, Remember that life is not meant to be wasted…

Each day is precious.  Go live like you mean it.  I dare you.

My running peeps…Wes, Shalini, RRG, Gerry, Shane and Kris.

Here’s the link to the song, if you wanna have a listen:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFFberbflbU

It happened just the other day.  You know, that moment when you hear a date and you are automatically transported back to right where you were when something significant happened.  I was scheduling an appointment and the woman’s voice said, “How about Wednesday, September 11^th?”  I heard myself gasp when she said the date.  And immediately I did the math. It’s been…12 years.  How is that possible?

As soon as she said it, I thought back to where I was on that beautiful fall day we all remember like it was yesterday.

In June of 2001, I had just returned from a trip to Mexico where I spent a week building a house in Juarez.  Little known fact about LJ: I know how to do drywall and stucco.  And I would rather put up drywall than do stucco any day of the week!  I had the summer of 2001 off because I had just left my job as a preschool teacher and I was working on a job with the AOA (American Osteopathic Association) in downtown Chicago, which I started in early October.  A day or so after I got back from Mexico, I went for a long run on the lakefront.  Or, well, it seemed long to me at the time since it was maybe the farthest I had ever run at one time.  6 miles.  While I was running that day, I started thinking about what I was going to do over the summer months to stay motivated since I knew I had at least a couple months off from work.  What about running a marathon?  Hmmm, yeah, I could do that.

When I got home that day, I looked into registration for the 2001 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon on Oct 7, 2001.  It was still open.  (Last year, it sold out in a record 5 days.  And this year there was a huge debacle when Active.com crashed during the first day of registration) Anyway, I called my dad and told him my thoughts and he agreed to coach me through my new endeavor.

Each day of the week, I would get up with my hubby (I was still a newlywed at the time, had been married just over a year) and I would drop him at work downtown at Clark and Kinzie.  Then I would go park in my spot at North Pier and run by the lake.  Sometimes I ran north, sometimes I ran south, sometimes I ran out onto Navy Pier.  On really hot days I would finish my run at Ohio Street Beach and jump in Lake Michigan for a quick cool down.  Most days were just short or average distances.  But Friday was my long run day.  I would always follow up my run with a call to my dad so we could talk through how it went.

On September 11, 2001, I was feeling more tired than usual probably because I had just run my first ever half-marathon on Sunday, September 9^th as prep for my upcoming marathon.  So when I got over to the bridge and started my run, I had already decided I was only going a few easy miles just to stretch my legs.  I ran south that day towards the museum campus.  When I got down near the Field Museum I turned around and the Chicago skyline was staring back at me in all its glory.  There was this perfect blue sky, the sun was shining and making Lake Michigan glisten.  The likes of the Aon Building, the Prudential Building, the Smurfitt-Stone Container Building were proudly standing guard over my beloved Windy City.

I headed back north on the lake.  I glanced up at Buckingham fountain in Grant Park. You know, the one they show at the beginning of the show Married With Children.  A classic sight in Chicago that holds so many memories for me.

And now that I know the rest of the story, it was just about at the exact moment that I was taking in that magnificent sight, that our world was being forever changed as the first plane struck one of the towers of the World Trade Center and the horror of that infamous day began.

With the chaos still unbeknownst to me, I continued my peaceful jog back over the Chicago River to the location of my Jeep. I slowed to a walk while I caught my breath.  I pulled the key from my shorts pocket and as I started the engine I heard the familiar voices of morning show DJ’s Eric and Kathy, but they weren’t their usual silly selves.  Something was happening.  Something bad.  What was going on?!

They cut to the President, but they were still talking over him or they didn’t turn the connection on in time or something, so I missed GW’s first statement where he announced that the planes had crashed into the WTC.  I began to drive down the parking ramp, around and around and around from up on the 11^th floor, as I listened intently to President’s words, some that would ultimately become so familiar.

As I exited the parking garage, the sun was blinding.  I kept waiting to hear something that would tell me exactly what was happening.  Eventually, I started to piece things together.  But planes?  Why would they crash them into the buildings?  My confusion was like that of everyone else in the world who felt the terror of that morning.

Once I had some indication of what was happening, I felt an urgency to get out of the downtown area.  I pulled out my little flip phone and desperately began trying to call Mike.  We were still sharing a cell phone at that point, and since I had it in my hand, I just kept calling his office phone over and over and over.  I left voice mails.  And tried again.  Eventually I tried calling my dad and my mom.  I’m not sure at what point I got through to my mom, but I think it was right away.  I don’t exactly remember arriving back at the loft on Western Ave.  But the next thing I distinctly remember is standing in the middle of my living room that was surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and sat above all the surrounding buildings, so  it felt like I was up in that beautiful blue sky.  As I stood there, remote in one hand and phone in the other, I was glued to the TV like the rest of humanity and I watched those iconic buildings fall to the ground.

Recalling that moment still makes me cry.

I finally got ahold of Mike, who had been in the firm library watching the events unfold, and I said, “I’m coming to get you.  Right now.”  By the time I arrived back at his office to retrieve him, they had decided to close the building and send everyone home.  Downtown Chicago was about to turn into a ghost town.   I’ll never forget driving down 94 that morning, feeling like I was having an out of body experience.  I pulled up at a stop light and I looked to my left.  The driver of that car looked back at me and I know the blank expression on his face mirrored my own.

As the events of the day transpired, I couldn’t get over the fact that I had just been to New York for the very first time only 6 weeks before.  In July we had a spent a weekend there and since I was training for the Chicago marathon, I did a long run of 12 miles through Central Park.  We had gone out to the Statue of Liberty.  We had walked all over Manhattan, enjoying the sights, the culture and everything that NYC has to offer.  I remembered standing on the deck of the Circle Line out on the Hudson, staring at the skyscrapers of the financial district.  The captain of the cruise who was narrating the tour, spoke of a church that would only be visible for a few seconds when we would pass the twin towers and it would peak between the two buildings.  I had my camera poised and ready.  And the photograph I took, which now resides in a frame in my living room, is absolutely stunning.

Every year on September 11^th, I’ve tried to return to the Chicago lakefront to run right where I was on 9/11.  For the 9 years I still lived in Chicago, I think I only missed one.  And now that I live in St. Louis, I can’t get back to that particular spot.  But I still make a point to go out for a run at that time of the morning when the terrorist attack on America began in NYC, with the tragic events continuing to unfold in Washington DC and Pennsylvania.  I run as a tribute to all the people who ran to get away from the destruction, the courageous firemen who ran into the devastation and the passengers who fought back against evil.  I run to pay my respects to the families, like the Beamers, the Glicks, the Burnetts, the Binghams and the many others who were so intimately related to the tragedy of that day.  I run to remember how precious freedom is and to honor those who fight for it.  I run because I am so grateful that I can, and because I am thankful to be given the opportunity here on this Earth to enjoy my surroundings with the people I love.  I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can do.  So, this week, on Wednesday, September 11, once again, I will run to remember.

Please feel free to comment with your memories or ways that you feel moved to honor the victims of September 11^th.

Sometimes we have to march into uncharted territory.  Regardless of whether we just happen into it, or it’s a choice to go in there, we sometimes get lost when we navigate the unfamiliar. Then we have to backtrack to figure out where we went wrong.  We encounter obstacles.  We learn to adjust to the path in front of us. It’s all part of figuring out where we’re going.  And who we are.

Yesterday was Labor Day.  I had a whole day of no kids and no work, so what did I do?  I had an offer to run the Chubb trail with Shane, Wes and Shalini, but they were going at 6am.  6AM?!  On a holiday?!  Ha.  I don’t think so.  So, while I was at the movies with Steve on Sunday night, we decided we would venture off to the Chubb Trail on our own at a more reasonable hour.  Neither of us had ever run there so we decided to go exploring together.

Here’s the thing about me and Steve.  We’ve only known each other for about a year and a half, but we found each other at just the right time. About 2 ½ years ago, before I had ever laid eyes on Steve, I was on the brink of making one of the biggest decisions of my life to march into potentially treacherous and severely uncharted territory.  Steve was just a few miles away doing the same thing, but in a completely different way.  Both of us had been living our lives the way we thought we were supposed to on the outside, but we had both finally come to the conclusion that it was time to be true to ourselves. We didn’t just walk into unknown territory, we RAN.  We both knew that people would react however they would react and there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it. Some people would agree with us, some wouldn’t.  Some would respect us, some wouldn’t. Some would accept us as we are, some wouldn’t. But we had to set that aside and live the life we each knew would be best, regardless of anyone else’s opinion.  Fortunately, we both have the full support of our families. I ultimately made the decision to file for divorce and leave behind the life I had come to know, the life of the outwardly appearing “Fairy tale”, because in reality, I wasn’t as happy as the princesses you read about.  Steve, on the other hand, decided it was time to declare to the world, or at the very least his family, initially anyway, that he wasn’t interested in finding Cinderella.  I’ve alluded to it before, by referring to Steve as the Will to my Grace, but the fact is one of my best friends is gay.  (This is where Steve and I look at each other and say, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that” and laugh hysterically)

Yesterday morning I got a text from Steve at about 7:30 to say he was on his way to pick me up and before I dragged myself from the comfort of my bed to get ready, I perused the facebook status updates of my friends.  There was one that stuck in my mind.  One of my brother’s best friends, Brandon, posted this:  A lot of my best friends married outside of their race.  I love that our parents taught us that it’s ok to love everyone, and anyone.  Gay, black, white, whatever.  Love the one you’re with!!  Then Brandon went on to tag my brother and a bunch of other guys I have always thought of as my “little brothers” who I’ve known since they were about 7.

Now, obviously I’m not going to marry Steve (even though we joke about it often).  And not just because he constantly reminds me that I’m gross.  But that’s all beside the point.  I’m glad his parents taught him to love without judgment, because Lord knows how much I needed to be accepted when Steve stumbled into my social run that Spring evening.

The point is about being accepting of our differences.  Going through a divorce taught me more about grace than anything I have ever experienced in my life.  The people I appreciated most as I went through the process were the ones who accepted me and loved me through it, without judging me or interjecting their own opinions about what they thought was best for my life.  In reality, I lost some friends.  I had to endure hateful and hurtful words from some people. I felt judged and occasionally I felt like the person I am wasn’t enough.  It was hard and scary and sad.  The truth is, no one ever really knows what’s going on inside someone else.  But I had some really great people come along while I was lost in that uncharted territory.  People like Steve.

We all have our own struggles, our own opinions, our own weirdness, our own issues, our own baggage…should I continue?  I think you get the idea.  We all have to march into the uncharted territory that is called Life.  And for better or worse, Life doesn’t come with a manual, or a map.

As Steve and I began our quest into Chubb yesterday, we were both dragging a little.  He pulled a map out of the box by the trail sign and I exclaimed loudly, “We are not taking a map.  That’s ridiculous.”  One of the nearby hikers mentioned that it was a pretty easy trail.  We quickly realized she meant easy to follow, not easy to run.  It was steep, rocky, rooted, technical and challenging.  And despite the theory that it was “easy to follow”, we still managed to hit a dead end and found ourselves lost about a mile in.  So we backtracked. We hit another dead end.  Backtracked again and finally found the path we were supposed to be on.  I joked about the two us getting off the beaten path…shocking, right?

We got a few miles in and came to point where we could go a couple different directions, but Steve’s back was hurting, we were getting low on water and we were at a good point to turn around.  So we headed back.  We ran into some friends out for a hike with their new puppy.  We saw lots of families.  One little boy stared at me with a wide eyed grin as we passed.  I’m hoping he was thinking that he wanted to grow up and run trails like that.  We both rolled an ankle at least once and I hollered out loud when a rock jabbed the side of my foot right where I have developed a nasty blister.  We got to another point where we thought we had taken a wrong turn, backtracked only to figure out that we were in fact on the right track so we continued our course.  The run back was considerably faster than the run out and we ended at just about 5 miles for the day.

When we finished our run, we hung out in the pavilion for a bit before we headed back to my house to spend the day at the pool.  While we sat there, I tried desperately to remember what I had done last year for Labor Day.  I was racking my brain but unable to remember.

Eventually, we hopped back in Steve’s car, stopped for some SoBe’s and made our way to the Lake Chesterfield pool for one last day in the sun.  Nick stopped by to swim with us for a while.  And later the three of us ended up back at my house grilling and drinking on the porch.  (Side note: The last time the 3 of us were together, JUST the three of us, was the infamous night of Nick’s birthday when Steve shared his brilliant idea of signing up for the Vancouver marathon for his own birthday, and I said, “Great, I’ll go with you!”)

Anyway, after dinner, Nick eventually decided to run home and Steve and I watched a few old episodes of Arrested Development.  We’ve already decided we’re going as Tobias and Lindsay for Halloween this year.  Hilarious?  Yes, I think so.  Around 9 something, Steve left for home.  About 30 seconds after he left, I burst into tears as I finally remembered Labor Day last year.  Not all of it, but I remembered spending about an hour curled up in Katrina’s arms sobbing uncontrollably.

You see, my kids started school today.  The day after Labor Day.  Just like they did last year.  And the year before that.  And so on.  Last year, it occurred to me on Labor Day morning, that it was the first time that I wasn’t going to be the one to pack the lunches on the first day of school.  Or help the kids pick out their clothes.  Or help Ally with her hair.  Or tuck them in on Monday night and say a special prayer for each of their teachers.

Today, just like last year, I met my kids up at the school to take a picture and walk them to their classrooms.  This will likely be our new tradition and thus our new “normal”, which still just feels weird to me.  After I got back to my car, I proceeded to have myself a good long cry.  Partly because Silas, my baby, started Kindergarten.  Partly because life doesn’t look the way I thought it would.  I have given up the fairy tale.  And partly because I am completely hormonal.  Whatever.  The fact remains that I am continuing to enter the unknown territory of this thing called Divorce.  I am still learning what it means to be a single parent and what that looks like.  Two of the boys’ previous teachers found me having my “moment” and I can’t even tell you how much I appreciated their hugs.  At least I know that my kids are in great hands.

I can’t imagine what yesterday would have been like if I hadn’t spent the day with Steve.  Being with him, exploring, laughing, just chilling, took my mind off of the anxiety that could have overwhelmed me all day and instead we just had a really great day.  And that made me think about something, life will always hold the challenges of unknown territory, but as we learn to navigate the obstacles, and dead ends, backtracking and resetting, and everything in between, it’s so much better to have someone with us when we do.

I’m still encountering new territory, new challenges, on pretty much a daily basis.  But I’m so thankful for the people who remind me that I don’t have to do it by myself.  I’m not the only one trying to figure things out.  And I don’t have to figure it out alone.

So, yeah, I don’t get to do all the things that some moms do.  I only make about half the lunches. I only do half the drop offs and pick ups.  But I’m still a full time mom, because I don’t ever stop loving my babies.  And I hope if there is one thing that they learn from me, just like Brandon said, it’s that it’s ok to love everyone, and anyone.  I hope they look at me, and see that I choose love, because I am loved in return.  And for that, there is no map needed.

Steve and I on our Labor Day Chubb Expedition

You may have seen the article 13 Reasons Every Runner is a Jerk written by Guy Speed Editors.

http://guyspeed.com/runners-are-jerks/

Whether you are a runner or not, it’s mildly amusing to think that someone could be so bitter about something as harmless as running.  He even concludes his opening remarks stating that runners won’t be offended by this because we’re too busy running to read it.  This is, obviously, untrue.  The lack of time to read it part, that is.  As far as being offended?  Well, it’s so ridiculous, it’s basically impossible to take any of it seriously.  In fact, I’m not writing my rebuttal to be defensive, I am merely writing it because my friend and fellow running jerk, Steve DeFriese, suggested that it would be comical to respond to such nonsense.  And so, without further adieu…

13 Reasons Every Runner is a Jerk by Guy Speed Editors

Running has countless benefits — it’s good for your health, your heart, your stress levels and might even increase your lifespan. Too bad almost every runner is a massive jerk.

An estimated 7 million people participate in some form of running for exercise each year, which means, we’re surrounded by at least 7 million aholes who make the sport seem so damn obnoxious. That’s probably because it is obnoxious.

Here are thirteen reasons most runners are jerks. Don’t worry, they won’t be offended, they are out running and won’t have time to read this article.

RRG:  Ok, First of all, EVERY runner is a jerk?  Do you KNOW every runner?  Doubtful.  So it is really impossible to conclude this. Secondly, you go on to say “almost every runner” and “most runners”.  So which is it?  All of us?  Most of us? Some of us?  I think it’s fair to say that, yes, some runners are jerks.  Just like some Serial killers are jerks, some grocery store clerks are jerks, some professional golfers are jerks.  Jerks come in all packages, and some hide behind the keyboard of a laptop and post nonsensical drivel declaring entire groups of people to be this or that and creating stereotypes.  Sillyness.

We live in a society where we are constantly fighting to break down the hate and hostility against various groups of people (different ethnicities, homosexuals, etc).  Have we really resorted to this?  C’mon.  Let’s get real.  Try to be a little more accepting of people’s differences and stop generalizing, would you?  Typically fear is what leads to hate.  Are you afraid of runners or are you just afraid to run?

1. They run through and around traffic and really don’t care about the rules of the road.

RRG: Occasionally this is true.  Although I don’t recommend it.  As a social run leader, I always make an announcement at the beginning of each run to practice safety when crossing a main thoroughfare.  I suggest headlamps if it’s dark and reflectivity is a requirement.  We know that cars are bigger than we are, but let us not forget that “Pedestrians have the right of way”.  

2.  They brag about losing toenails and bloody nipples are acceptable.

RRG:   Losing a toenail is sort of like a rite of passage for marathoners.  Although, if you’re wearing the correct shoe in the correct size, the likelihood of losing a toenail should be considerably less.  And Bloody nipples are never acceptable.  Period.  That’s why we recommend synthetic clothing and products like Run Guard (anti-chafe) and Nipguards.  

3.  Running on crowded sidewalks is common as long as you don’t get in the way with your “walking”.

RRG:   Running on crowded sidewalks isn’t particularly fun, but I suppose it beats the alternative of running “through and around traffic”.  People walk all different paces on the sidewalk, why should our running be any different?  

4.  Runners love to sticker brag how far they’ve run…ironically stuck to the back of their cars.

RRG:  Yes, we do this.  And some of us take it a step farther.  I have 26.2 tattooed on my right ankle and I have countless jerk friends who have other running related ink.  Would you rather read a bumper sticker about my honor student?  Or perhaps you would rather see my family depicted on my back window, including my 17 cats.  Whatever, it’s my car.  I can put anything on it that I want.  That might be an indication of my ego, but it doesn’t make me a jerk.  

5.  The entire sport is based on being selfish and alone.

RRG:  How do you figure?  Sometimes people run for solitude, myself included.But lots of people run with social clubs or training teams.  Many people have a “running buddy” or a training partner.  Races are all about camaraderie.  Some races are team events or relays.  So to say that the entire sport is based on “being selfish and alone”, is completely inaccurate.  Running is based on pushing ourselves to be stronger, better people.  The endorphin high we get from running makes us happier, too.  Perhaps you need a few more endorphins in your life.

6.  When a race is over, every runner gets a medal.  Medals.  For everyone.  Grown people with medals.

RRG:  Maybe if you had a medal or two of your own, you wouldn’t be so bitter.

7.  Not every runner can pull off running shorts, but EVERY runner tries.

RRG:  Actually, not EVERY runner tries to pull off running shorts.  Some people are very self-conscious about running shorts, so they prefer running skirts or tights.  I personally love Nike capris, but when its 95 degrees out, with 90% humidity, I prefer not to melt, so I wear shorts.  Besides, at least the people who can’t pull them off are out there making an effort to do something about their lifestyle.  Stop being so judgmental about their apparel choices.  If you want to do that, go hang out at Walmart.

8. The sport is so boring they need gimmicks to make it entertaining.

RRG:  I can honestly say I have never participated in a gimmick run.  I haven’t done a color run or a glow run or a zombie run, not even a mud run.  I have only participated in running races, and more recently triathlons, and I do it because to me, it’s fun.  So honestly, I can’t really speak to this.  But I will say that if people need something gimmicky to make exercising more fun, then bring on the gimmicks.  We live in America where obesity is out of control, so let’s give people every reason to get out an exercise.  And if you think running is boring, well, you are entitled to that opinion.  I choose to believe otherwise.  And that doesn’t make me a jerk.

9.  Don’t plan on runners doing anything on a weekend, they’ve got a race (or need to train for one)

RRG:  It’s true we make our plans around our races and our long training runs.  But how does that affect you?  Even so, have you ever been to a post race party?  Runners know how to have a good time.  We train hard, we race hard, and then we play hard.  End of story.  

10.  Runners think other people care about their times.  Even other people interested in running don’t care about their times.

RRG:  If you aren’t interested in hearing about our times, just say so.  We do tend to get over excited about the numbers, but nobody said you had to listen to us.  

11.  They invite people to watch them run.

RRG:  You are completely contradicting yourself here.  In #5 you said the sport is based on being selfish and alone.  If we really wanted to be alone, would we invite you to come out and celebrate with us?  Perhaps we are trying to include you and welcome you into our club. Ever think about that?

12.  Races shut down major streets for hours, but it’s cool, no one else was going anywhere today.

RRG:  Umm, yeah, ya got me on this one.  It’s true, our races can be an inconvenience to travelers.  But isn’t it better to have to take a detour because of a race, than to have a highway shut down for months of construction?  Or due to a 56 car pile-up resulting in a bunch of casualties?  Just sayin…

13.  “Did I mention I went for a run today?  How many times?  Here’s one more for mention…”

RRG:  It’s true.  We like to talk about running.  Heck, some of us like it so much we start a blog so we can talk about it all the time.  And weirdly, people actually read it because they might find it interesting or entertaining.  Go figure.  But again, just because we’re talking, doesn’t mean you have to listen.  

A Final Note from Rambling Runner Girl:  I very highly doubt that any of my comments will change your mind and make you consider befriending me or any of my jerk friends.  Look, you don’t have to agree with me and you certainly don’t have to like me.  I’m not going to change my opinion about running, just like you probably won’t either. However, should you wish to check out a social run and do something good for your health, your heart, your stress level and your lifespan (your words, not mine), my jerk friends and I would be more than happy to have you come run with us.  We are a very accepting bunch.

I am a runner, that’s not going to change.  If that makes me a jerk, then yeah, I am a proud, card-carrying member of the Jerk Club.  And I really think it would behoove you to come join us, Guy Speed, because we’re in the market for a new club President.

A whole year has come and gone since I officially became a triathlete.  How is that possible?  Sometimes it dragged, and sometimes it felt like time was flying by.  Time is weird.  But time does some pretty incredible things.  It heals.  It allows us to mark our own progress.  It is consistent but it knows how to adapt to change.  And time never stops pressing on.  We could all learn a few things from Time.

On Saturday, I joined several friends at the course of the Lake St. Louis Tri.  Some did the long course, some did the short.  Some were out for hardward, some were in the shoes I was in a year ago, just hoping to survive to tell the story.  Some were the same friends who I saw in Racine.

I didn’t accomplish my goal of a Sub 3, but I did give LSL all I had in the moment and I walked away with an almost 7 minute PR.  I improved my times in all 3 disciplines and both transitions.  So, I’m pretty happy with that.  I also set a goal to finish in the top 10 of my age group, and I was #9 (Yes, there were more than 9, 14 actually thank you very much.)  Not everything went according to plan, but that’s pretty much par for the course.  After all is said and done, I had a great time on Saturday, I’m proud of my race and I’m proud of how far I’ve come in the past year.  That just allows me to set my sights even higher for the year ahead.

Here are a few of the lessons I took away from LSL Tri 2013…

1. I am still a really, really, really slow swimmer.  But at least now I’m proud of the fact that I give the illusion of knowing what I’m doing out there.  And I think I still finished the swim in the bottom 5 of my wave, but that’s better than bottom 2!
2. Goal for 2014: Learn how to swim a straight line.
3. Don’t get lost in the transition area.
4. Consider courses with less hills and more shade.
5. I might be a closet cyclist masquerading as a runner.
6. Ryan and Farrell chose the location of their home wisely…5 minute walk to the start line.  Nice job Guys! J
7. I have some really Badass friends.  Not just the ones who owned the course like Katherine who took 2^nd female overall of the long course and Brian Schoenholtz who took 3^rd male overall of the short course.  And Katie Schoenholtz and Erin Wilke who took 3^rd in their age groups and Mark French who won his age group.  But all my friends who were out there sweating with me.  And especially the peeps who came out for no other reason than to support us.  I got to have friends, my kiddos and ALL my moms at the finish line (My mom-Mama J, Steve’s mom-Dee and Lindsey’s mom-Wendy)  How awesome is that?!
8. The LSL Rescue team rocks.  Traffic on the course this year was a beast, the cops directing traffic were much appreciated.  As were the folks in the water, like Ryan Heaberlin and Rick Tharwachter.  We wouldn’t be able to participate in events like this without the invaluable group of people who volunteer to take care of us.  Can’t thank you all enough!
9. Residents who put out their sprinklers are much appreciated, especially nice for those of us who might pee ourselves.  Don’t judge me.
10. Some people are just naturally gifted at various events.  I am not one of them.  But I’m willing to work my butt off to tri! (See what I did there?)
11. Sometimes it’s hard not to hate the people who are naturally gifted.  But at least I have the capability to be out there.  And for that, I am thankful.
12. Some days you walk away with a PR and some days you don’t. But at the end of the day, no matter how big or small, a PR is a PR.  So be happy when it’s a PR kind of day.
13. Remember the Run Guard.  Chafing sucks.  Especially boob chafing.  Just sayin…
14. There is always room for improvement.
15. Triathlons are hard.
16. I’ve said it before, but it warrants repeating…STOP DOUBTING MYSELF.
17. I love having perfect strangers cheer me on.  But the thing I love to hear the most is, “Keep smiling Girl!  You’re making it look FUN.”  And THAT, is the true trademark of Rambling Runner Girl.

So, who wants to sign up to do LSL with me next year?

Lindsey squared 2013…we recreated the picture from last year. Looks pretty much the same, huh?

It’s been exactly one year since my very first triathlon.  Which was a complete disaster.  But I finished it. Tomorrow morning is the Lake St. Louis Triathlon.  And once again, I am signed up for the long course.

Ever since conquering Racine 70.3, I have been looking forward to LSL more than words can describe.  This course is the true test of how far I’ve come in the past year.  Last year it was about survival.  But that pretty much sums up 2012 in general. This year is about proving to myself that I’m the most improved competitor in the field.  And I am quite positive I will be.  Or I was quite positive.  Until I came down with this stupid summer cold bug on Monday and it’s been kicking my butt all week.

Seriously, since my run at Castlewood to start off the week, I have done absolutely nothing.  It is so hard to “be smart and listen to my body” when I really want to be well prepared to go out there on Saturday and kick ass.  Instead, I’ve been sitting around all week, sleeping as much as I can and eating everything in sight.  Well, I guess there is something to be said for carb loading.  And this is like the ultimate taper.  Starve a fever, feed a cold, right?  Well, that’s what I’ve been doing.  The first day of my sore throat I had no appetite what so ever.  And then it came back with a vengeance.  Bagels, mac & cheese, waffles, cereal, ice cream, you name it.  I can’t stop eating!

Anyway, while I’ve been sitting around not working out, I’ve had plenty of time to look at my results from last year.  My overall time was just under 3 hours and 14 minutes.  I was second to last in my wave on the swim portion.  I moved up a few spots on the bike.  And I ended up finishing just barely ahead of the bottom third.  My transition times were ridiculous.  You might think I laid down to take a nap between the swim and the bike.

Ever since Racine, my goal has been sub 3.  I mentioned that to Ally yesterday and she asked, “Does 2 hours, 59 minutes and 59 seconds count?”  Yep, sure does!

And quite honestly, I think this is very feasible.  Or I did…until the sick thing came and whooped my butt.  Ugh.  So frustrating.  And swimming with a stuffy head, no fun.  Especially when it feels like I’m swallowing razorblades.  So, bring on the ibuprofen and Sudafed.

I have obsessed over the numbers.  I’d like to think I can take about 7-8 minutes off my swim time.  Which might sound ridiculous, but if you saw me swim last year, well, that was REALLY ridiculous.  I averaged 17 mph on the bike at LSL last year, and I was a little faster than that in Racine, which was twice as far, so I know I can knock a couple minutes off that time.  The run?  Well, I ran about the same pace at both, so that might not change a whole lot.  But I’m pretty sure I can cut down some time in the transitions.  Can I cut 14 minutes from what I did last year?  That’s a lot but honestly, yeah, I believe that I can.

This tri, like I said, is a true test of my progress.  And even if things don’t go as planned, I already know that I’ve come a long way since last year.  I learned how to swim.  I bought a real bike.  Heck I finished 70.3 in Racine.  With waves like the OCEAN!  So, I really don’t have to finish LSL in any particular time, or finish it at all for that matter, to know how far I’ve come.

But it sure would be nice to be able to go out there and see what I’m truly capable of.  Hopefully, my sinuses will clear up, my throat will be fine, my energy restored and I can get after it!  But here’s the thing…when has there ever been a time that some unexpected something hasn’t come up to try to hold me back?  There’s always something…a sprained ankle, a hurricane, a bum knee, a heat wave in Canada for crying out loud!!!  And that’s life.  Unexpected things pop up all the time.  I can let it slow me, stop me, break me.  Or I can look at it and say, No way, I’m doing this!  So, cold-schmold, I’m not letting this silly thing hold me back.

Lake St. Louis might have kicked my butt last year, but it sure as hell won’t happen again.  It occurred to me today, that I did LSL last year with my married name.  A couple days later I got the notice that the divorce was final and I was free and clear to go back to using Jacobs.  So, #315 is ready to take on this tri tomorrow.  LJ is out for redemption!

It’s go time.

Lindsey squared at the LSL Tri 2012

She’s a good girl, loves her mama, loves Jesus, and America too.  She’s a good girl, crazy ‘bout Elvis, loves horses, and her boyfriend too…

As John Mayer’s voice filled my ears with the lyrics of Free Fallin’, I thought, Yep, that’s all me.  Well, except for that last part.  Oh, and the thing about Elvis, I’ve really always preferred the Beatles. But anyway…

It was Friday afternoon and I was sprawled on a blanket next to the lagoon in Forest Park by Steinberg Rink, waiting for Diana and Andrea to show up so we could run.  I was laying there, legs outstretched, arms behind my head, staring up at the clouds overhead.  It was a rare moment of peace in my schedule and frankly, I was enjoying it to my heart’s content.  There were a couple guys finishing nearby and every once in a while they would pass through my line of vision. I watched them fist bump and do the bro hug.  I could see their lips moving but I had no idea what they were saying to each other.  It was a rare, perfect August evening, in the Lou.  Slightly overcast, light breeze, low humidity, cool enough that I actually contemplated throwing my sweatshirt on over my running clothes as I waited, while several groups of cross country kids ran past and an occasional cyclist zipped by.

Forest Park on Friday

Eventually I stood up to find the girls waiting near my car wondering where I was.  And then, the weekend was off and running.  Literally.  It was an insanely packed weekend.  Diana and I had a Girls Night planned for about a month because it was the only date we could mutually land on and I planned to stay with Diana Friday night.  It has become tradition that our Girls Nights always start with a loop around Forest Park.  Saturday I worked all day, then jumped in the car with some of my co-workers to head downtown for the pre-season Rams/Packers game to celebrate Katrina’s birthday.  I was there proudly displaying my Bears shirt.  The beer guy deduced that I must be a Rams fan by default because there was no way I could even consider cheering for the Packers.  I concurred.  A few of us went out after the game and I stayed at Kat’s apartment.

I got up Sunday morning and went back to the store.  August in specialty running is the busiest time there is.  The height of marathon training, the start of Cross Country season and back to school, all converge for mild insanity.  It’s exciting, and crazy, and fun!  But somewhat exhausting too.  After work Sunday, I was off to Lake St. Louis for a housewarming BBQ for Farrell and Ryan.  And so went Round 3 of the weekend.  I ended up staying in their guest room and not dragging myself out of bed until about 10:30am on Monday.  (Benefit of having no kids and working the closing shift on Mondays! It’s my sleep in day, and I needed it.)

I made my way home, tended to a few things and then headed over to Castlewood to get in as many miles as I had time for before a shower and work.

I headed out the trail along the river…overwhelmed by thoughts of appointments I needed to schedule.  I ran past the stairs and continued along the river bank…thinking about a phone call I needed to make to one of the kids’ teachers.  We haven’t even started school yet and it’s already weighing on me.  I headed back to the stairs and up…there was a nice breeze, but I was sucking wind pretty good in the heat of the day and I contemplated how difficult it is to train for a marathon with work and 3 kids.  I made it to the top of the stairs and ran along the ridge overlooking the Meramec River. Eventually, I headed down the switchbacks and I started thinking about something…

Remember being a kid and coming crashing in the house on a Friday afternoon after school?  You’d toss your backpack down, grab a quick snack from the kitchen and were out the back door, on your bike and gone before the screen door could slam behind you.  Remember that feeling of freedom?  No worries, no cares, at least not until Sunday evening when it was finally time to open the backpack that hadn’t moved from where it had been so haphazardly forgotten on Friday.  Those were the days it seemed like you’d never grow up and have to face…responsibility.

Being an adult can be so over-rated.  Bills.  Work.  Repair people. Appointments.  Trying to make the best possible decision for your kids’ future when you don’t even have a clue what the best decision is for yourself sometimes.  It seems like once we grow up, we still long for that feeling of being “home”.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have those moments of being a kid again, crashing through the back door?   And that’s when it hit me…being at Castlewood, running through the woods, jumping over rocks and roots, splashing through the creek without a second of hesitation, that satisfying crunch of gravel beneath my feet…that’s my way of returning to my youth.   That’s where I feel “home”.

I’ve always said, I’m good on the uphills, but I suck at the downhills.  Why is that?  Because, the bigger we are, the harder we fall, right? And making a mistake can have much more extreme consequences now.

I’ve gotten really proficient over the past couple years at running up hill, facing the challenges of life knowing I can conquer whatever comes my way, climbing the mountains in front of me.  But running downhill is scary.  Sometimes it feels reckless and out of control.  Sometimes it seems like free falling. So, I find myself approaching the downhills with more trepidation, I’m more timid.  I try to be more sure footed and control my every move.  I’m afraid of making a misstep and falling. I run downhills, much like I have approached certain aspects of my life.  So, as I ran down those hills on Monday afternoon, I decided to let go and not worry quite so much about falling.  It was hard to really let go, but to some extent I did.

I want to run, and live life, with a little more reckless abandon.  I don’t want to stress over every little step or worry about what ‘might’ happen. Obviously I need to give major decisions the consideration that they require, especially when they involve my kids, but let’s just say, hypothetically, that I mess up.  Because inevitably, I will.  Ok, then what?  I fall down.  And then?  I pick up myself up, brush myself off, get my wits about me again and get back on the path.

My dad always said, “When you come to a fork in the road…take it.”  You’ve gotta make a decision to go one way or the other, if you don’t you just end up standing in the woods.

Eventually I found myself standing at the base of Cardiac Hill.  For anyone who doesn’t know Castlewood, this is about as tough a hill as you’ll find in the greater St. Louis area.  I’d guess it’s about a quarter of a mile of steep rocky rooted mess.  I contemplated briefly what to do because I wasn’t feeling like I had my usual stuff on Monday.  Probably due to an insane weekend, but now in hind sight, it also most likely had something to do with the bug that I’ve come down with that has me suffering through a killer sore throat.  I finished off the last of the Gatorade in my bottle, took one more second to catch my breath, and set off up the hill.

It didn’t matter how slow I climbed the hill, I still managed to make it to the top.  I always do.  That’s the thing I believe about myself.  But on Monday, I didn’t climb that hill for anything other than what was waiting when I got to the top…the run back down through the switchbacks with that mentality of being a kid after school on a Friday afternoon.

I’m a parent now, so while I continue my search for those moments of laying on the grass, staring up at the clouds and those moments of feeling “home”, I also have to create the environment for my kids to have those moments as well.  But in the meantime, I’m determined to run down the hills of life with a little more spirit, a little less fear, and occasionally total reckless abandon.

Is there really any question why I love to run here?

Dear friends with cars:

I know you don’t like to wait for cyclists.  Believe me, I get it.  I’m not particularly fond of it either, especially when I’m running late to get somewhere.  Which is pretty much all the time with me.  But humor me, for a minute, if you will.

This morning I went out for a ride.  I only went about 16 miles because I didn’t have a whole lot of time before my doctor appointment that I ultimately missed because I had the time wrong. Duh.  But something occurred to me while I was out on the bike earlier when some guy in a red pickup truck pulling a trailer nearly scared the crap out of me as he sped past in very close proximity.  I’m not really sure what he was trying to prove, since it was pretty obvious that he and his means of transportation were way bigger and faster than me and mine.  If he was trying to prove that he’s a jackass, he succeeded.  Anyway, I think we all know I’m a pretty fearless chick, there’s not a lot that truly scares me.  However, this caused enough fear in me that I began shouting at the driver of said pick up.  It is entirely possible there were obscenities involved.

As I rode on I started thinking, if that guy was a friend of mine, he wouldn’t have been as likely to do that.  No, I’m not planning to use his license plate number to track him down and make friends (nor for any other reason, for that matter).  Actually, I have a favor to ask of all my driving friends.

My confidence on the bike has grown leaps and bounds over the past couple months, but I still consider myself a novice and I’m still figuring out the rules of sharing the road.  I typically try to ride with company, so I can learn from my more experienced cyclist friends, but that’s not always an option.    The runner girl in me is used to sidewalks and jogging paths, or being able to jump out of the way without the risk of too much damage, so trust me, I don’t love riding in your driving lane, but I also don’t love riding over all the gravel and potentially hazardous junk on the shoulder of the road.  If I had my way, I would ride strictly on bike paths or country roads where the only traffic is an occasional tractor, but I have to get to those venues somehow.  I’d rather not be scared or killed in my attempt to get there.

So, here’s my favor, you ready? Next time you are out and about in your car, and you happen upon a cyclist, pretend for a moment that it’s me, your friend.  I’d like to think that most, if not all of you care enough about me that you are concerned with my well-being.  I’d like to think that you wouldn’t want to cause me any harm, such as paralysis or death or at the very least the humiliation of soiling myself in public (although a few of you would probably enjoy that last one).  There is a reason we wear helmets, and it’s not about the fashion statement, I assure you.  It’s to protect ourselves, and I’m hoping you all like me enough that you would be willing to protect me too.  So, please, use the brakes, slow down, take the extra 30 seconds to let traffic clear before you give me plenty of room as you carefully go around me, and I promise we’ll both have a better day because of it.  Think about it, wouldn’t it mess up your day a whole lot more to have to make that call to my mom and my kids?  That’s what I thought.

So next time you see “me” on the road, instead of thinking that I’m some egocentric cyclist who is out there being a jerk with the sole intention of messing up your commute, please remember that I’m really just out there doing the best I can.

Thanks, Friends.  Now get out and enjoy this beautiful day!

XOXO…

Rambling Runner Girl

Note: If I have ever offended or harmed you in any way and you would in fact like to run over me, please disregard this message.

Rambling Cyclist Girl?