They Call Her Jackie

"Excuse me, do you happen to have a pencil?  I forgot one and I would love to do this crossword."  She asked while leaning over the seat between us.

"I have a pen, will that work?"  I reach into my purse and hand it to her.

"Thank you very much," she said, "although I am not certain I trust my answers to be written in pen."  Her smile magnifying the laugh lines on her face.  Her white hair flowed naturally around her face.

She turns to her puzzle while I push my purse back into my carry on bag.  I sit back in my seat and relax.  My friends are in seats close by, but not close enough to hold a conversation.  We had run the California International Marathon the previous day and were on a 90 minute return flight to Seattle before catching our short flight home to Bellingham.  My body is tired and I am grateful this difficult marathon year is now behind me.

My sudoku puzzle book stares at me.  I pick it up and do a few puzzles before closing it again.

"I never could get the hang of those things." she says to me.  She waves her crossword puzzle in the air, "Give me one of these any day."

Turning to her I smile and say, "My grandmother did a crossword puzzle every day.  She always told me it kept her mind sharp."

"Well I don't know if my mind is so sharp, but I always did them to help pass the time.  I was a private investigator."

She had my full attention.  "Really?  I have always wanted to be a private investigator!"

"Why don't you?" she inquires, her eyes quizzical.

"The requirements of my state aren't too conducive to a mother.   Well, not this mother anyway.  The only place that offers an internship is 90 minutes from my home.  I can't afford 3 hours travel time each day.  My family is too important."

"You have your priorities in order."

"My kids are home for only a short time, it won't be long before they are on their own and I'll have plenty of free time."

She waves a wrinkled hand in front of her as if shoo-ing something away, "I am no Bible Thumper but I do not think it is an accident I am sitting next to you today."

I smile at her.  "Neither do I.  I wonder what God is trying to tell me?"

We spend the flight talking of her career, how she got started, cases she's worked on and for whom she has worked.    I tell her how I work my investigative skills into my job and the backgrounds of people I have discovered.  We laugh wildly at the craziest of our stories.  My friend Karen, sitting a row behind me, is jealous over the laughter she hears.

She reaches out to shake my hand, "My name is Lynn Hall*, but my friends call me Jackie.  Lynn Hall is my investigator name."  A devilish grin sneaks across her face.

"My name is Cheri Fiorucci.  My friends call me Cheri."  We laugh at the lack of creativity.

"I'm on my way to visit my son for a couple months.  While I'm there my old boss wants me to come back to work.  Can you believe that?  I told him I'm retired, but he doesn't listen."

"You should go back to work," I encourage,  "Do it and go out and have some fun on the job for me."

"I never did have to work.  My husband was a rancher and took very good care of me.  He was the light of my life," she pauses. "His heart was real bad.  He died in 2010."

I offer her my condolences. 

She continues, "It's been a difficult couple of years.  My son died shortly after Walt.  And you know what?"  Emotion cracks her voice. "It took me 3 months before I could wake up and not cry in my bed."   Her pain softly rolls down her cheek.  Tears fill my eyes.

"No Momma should ever have to bury her son," I whisper; my voice has been swallowed by empathy.

Offering silent words in prayer for her, I now know God has placed me next to her for a reason.

Quietly I sit and listen to her.  She offers no explanation of her son's death, nor do I ask.  Her pain still raw, as I imagine it will always be.  My mind wanders to my two boys as she tells me of her journey through grief.  My words feel so inadequate;  I ask God to make them the comfort she needs.

Jackie looks me in the eye.  "A good friend checked in on me every day.  I never would have made it through had it not been for her." 

I think of my friends; the ones I know if grief that strong would happen to strike me, you would find them curled up next to me crying their own tears.  There can be found great blessings amidst such deep pain.

The Captain is landing the plane, Jackie and I are still talking.  The plane taxis down the runway; Seattle is outside my window.

"Jackie, it has been an immeasurable pleasure to meet you today.  Have a wonderful time staying with your son and his family.  And go catch some bad guys for me will you?"

Her smile returns, "The pleasure was all mine.  Go chase that dream.  You've got a knack for it."  While rolling her carry-on behind her, she walks away.

My friends are standing near me; friends who would curl up next to me and cry.  "Who was that?" they ask.

"Her name is Lynn Hall, but her friends call her Jackie, " I pause and smile, "She told me to call her Jackie."




*In respect to her profession names have been changed.

Carol King's Story

Carol stood at the starting line of the St. Jude’s Memphis Marathon alone; this no different than how she lived most her life.  It took years before being alone no longer felt lonely.   Her nerves somersaulted inside her.  Self-doubt crept in; perching itself on her shoulder whispering it’s all too familiar haunts.  She shook it off.  Not today.   Today was her day.

The horn blew and the sea of people ebbed forward.  Carol began running her first marathon.  The nerves she felt moments before lost their potency in the familiar and rhythmic steps of her running.  Comfort surrounded her as she found her pace.

Becoming a runner was something Carol never thought she would do.  Running was for athletic people – fit people – not women in their 40s, with weight to lose and had spent a life far away from sports.  The image of her beloved grandmother comes to mind as she recalls a private moment between them.  Carol, the youngest of three children, was a young child when she learned the truth about her birth.  Life was not easy and a third child to feed was not ideal.  Carol’s mother was not happy about the third pregnancy and tried to conceal it.   Carol felt the harshness in the reality of her grandmother’s words and vowed to never be a burden to anyone, never to ask for anything including the playing of sports in school.  An innocent conversation between a grandmother and granddaughter solidified walls Carol spent decades living behind.  Bricks of “don’t ask for anything”, “take care of yourself”, and “be self-sufficient at all costs” were mortared into the walls around her heart with a thick layer of doubt and low self-esteem.

“Walking In Memphis” plays on Carol’s iPod and pushes the memory from her mind.     She is running the streets, not walking them.  She loves the irony.  The route is peppered with bands all feeding her energy as she passes by.   Mile 10 a woman runs next to her, struggling to finish the half marathon.  Carol encourages her, telling her “You got this.  You can do it.”

These are not empty words of encouragement.  This is truth spoken from lessons learned after hard earned victories.   One of Carol’s first victories came at the end of a training run.  Brand new to running, she had just run 20 minutes without walking for the first time in her life.   The realization of what she just accomplished overwhelmed her, Carol is amazed at what she just learned she is capable of.  In the middle of the park’s path she breaks down and cries; each tear stripping away deep seeded self doubt.  

The woman listens to Carol’s encouragement and forges forward.  Two miles later they part ways as the half marathon route turns and the full marathon runners continue forward.  Here the runners greatly thin out.    With less people around, Carol realizes how few people run 26.2 miles.    Something happens within her.  Instead of feeling out of place with this realization, it strengthens her determination.  A lonely road did not scare her, it empowered her.

Miles were clicking by and an old injury began to flare up.  Exhaustion coupled with pain can weaken the strongest of resolve.  Carol does not want to quit.  She looks up at the apartment building she passes.  Above the street on a private balcony a young girl waves at her.  The girl’s smile gives Carol motivation.  There would be no giving up.  Carol pushes herself forward to show that little girl on the balcony and to prove to the little girl sitting across from her grandmother so many years ago, that there is no limit to the greatness within each of us. 

A sign reads ‘Mile 20’.  Carol is now running the final miles of the marathon.  These are the toughest miles and her injury adds to the difficulty.    Seeing Carol’s pain, a stranger runs alongside her and offers her some Advil.  In desperation she accepts.    This injury would not be what stops her.  She had come too far, she had too much to prove.

Standing in their kitchen, full of excitement after walking in a local race with a friend, Carol told her husband of her plans to run the half marathon the following year.  A terrifying goal for someone who had never run before, yet she could not deny the spark of desire she felt.  He looked at her and sneered, “Yeah.  Right.”  The spark had now became a flame.

To run the marathon had been her decision, her goal and it gave her tremendous purpose.  He tried to feed her self-doubt. Years of haircuts and hair colors, diets and exercise plans all failed to make him love her more than each of his passing girlfriends.  He knew how to make her feel worthless.  Yet, she continued to train.   Running was giving something back to her.    It was chipping away at the walls she hid behind.

Mile 21, 22…the bricks kept coming down.  Her whole life she believed in the fallacy of the smile she wore.  The marathon stripped her of that smile and showed her it was ok to struggle.  The marathon was showing her the struggle is what makes you stronger; it lays a foundation of greater strength than the bricks of self-doubt she’d always known.

Mile 23, 24…Carol reflected on the changes running has given her.  She remembers those first months of running.  Afraid of anyone seeing her, Carol’s running took place well into the night.  If anyone saw her, she felt surely they would laugh at her.  After all she wasn’t a real runner; she was an overweight housewife completely dead on the inside.  Real runners are fast and svelte and athletic and happy.  Carol is no longer the woman hiding in the cover of night.   She runs in the daylight through the park she loves.  Bags of clothes - now several sizes too big - were donated to charity and at 40 years old her training has made her an athlete.  She no longer needs the anti-depressants that sustained her.  Carol knows, even now at mile 24 with a body tired and wanting to quit, she is happier than she has ever been.  Running has given Carol herself.

Completing Mile 25 brings comfort knowing she is now in the final mile of the marathon.    Her determination to finish pushes away her pain.  Carol puts one foot in front of the other.  Each footstep taking her farther away from the woman she once was.  She runs from 20 years of infidelity and pain, 20 years of not being good enough.   She runs from the divorce he told her of.  She runs from the sad and scared child sitting across from her grandmother.

The final 385 yards lay ahead of her. Carol runs toward the finish line.  Each step drawing her closer to the woman she has become; a woman who proved to herself she owns a strength she hadn't dreamt capable.  Carol became a woman who came out from behind the walls confining her and began living in the world of possibility.  She had given herself a goal and she was achieving it.  In doing so, Carol has given herself one of life's greatest gifts, the gift of confidence.

The end is in sight.  Her friend Debby is waiting.  Carol runs across the finish line and collapses into the arms of her friend. Carol weeps.  She cries because the person she once was is gone forever.  She cries for the new woman born out on the marathon course that day.  Carol cries for her birth into a new life.  A life she was meant to live. 

The Winthrop Marathon

Kathy and I roll into town close to noon.  The town is small; built around a four way stop created when the state highway takes a turn east.  It is a western town where cowboys are not a marketing ploy but rather a way of life.  Working ranches pepper the landscape.  Cowboy hats and boots differentiate the town folk from the visitors.

After an afternoon of driving the marathon course, checking into the hotel and shopping all three blocks of the western store fronts we settle into a large, carbo-loading dinner at The Barn located at the edge of town.  As part of our $65 registration fee, we are fed a large meal in which no one walked away hungry.  Kathy and I met Trevor (a pastor) and his wife Angie (a nurse) who came from Missouri.  Angie's hope is to qualify for Boston with this race.

By 8 p.m. armed with our race numbers, we began to say our farewells and head to our hotels.  My friend Trevin, who was running his first half marathon, received the bib number 666.  We wondered if this was an omen.

Before retiring for the night, Kathy and I talk of the course, check the hourly weather forecast for the 100th time and layout our race day clothes.  Pre-race jitters have taken over us both and we know we are headed for an anxious night's worth of sleep.  Yet we do what we're suppose to ~ turn out the light and pretend to sleep.

At 5 a.m. I am peeking out the hotel window and praying the clouds have held over.  I am greeted by a brilliant blue sky.  Knowing my body does not do well with running in heat, I am immediately anxious.  An hour later Kathy and I are driving to The Barn where we board buses taking the full marathon runners to the starting line.

Riding up the mountainside, Kathy and I talk with Cat and Janet, two fellow Marathon Maniacs hoping also for a sub-4 marathon.  We talk of everything and nothing to pass the time and calm race day jitters.

Once at the start, Kathy and I break off from the others to do some light running to warm up our muscles.  Coach would be so proud.  We follow the trail up the hill and I notice my breathing seems to be labored.  This confuses me and I wonder if it is due to the starting line being at 3100' elevation.  I push it out of my mind.

We stand atop a forest road's steel bridge.  Melted glacier water rushes below us bringing a sound of serenity to those of us standing there.  Brief instructions are given and someone yells the command, "GO!".  After months of preparation, the race has finally begun.


A downhill start quickens our pace.  Kathy checks her watch to ensure we stay on our desired pace and stick to our plan.  Mile two approaches and I tell Kathy I feel I'm breathing too hard.  She assures me we are right on pace.

The forest road winds along the crystal clear Chewuch River.  I am unsure if I have ever run in a place more beautiful.  The large trees give us shade, yet the sun sparkles on the river.  Split rail fencing border private property, old salt-box farm houses stand amidst bright green fields.  The land gives the impression neighbors still have conversations with each other while leaning against their fences and sipping their coffee.

An hour after the start, we have lost 800' of elevation and I begin to feel my legs turning to jello.  My breathing is still labored and I know oxygen is not getting to the muscles I need them to.  Mile 9 comes and I can no longer hold onto the pace we are doing.  I tell Kathy to go ahead.  She stays on my shoulder.  Knowing how important this time goal is to her, I tell her I can not go on and I stop to walk.  Kathy pulls ahead.  After a handful of walking steps, I continue to run knowing now I will not hold her back from her goal.   It kills me to not be beside my friend, but I could not live with the fact I had held her back.

Mile 10 comes and my legs are playing havoc on my mental game.  The day is warm and the shade is less.  My average pace is slowing, yet I hang onto the goal time of making 3 more miles to where the half marathoners will start.  Getting a high five from Trevin will give me a boost that I need.

The water stop gives me a break and I work on collecting my mental stamina.  My watch confirms my goal is not going to happen, but a PR is still in the works.  Hitting the half way point I see there are no runners and I have missed the half marathon start by three minutes.  A part of me is crushed.

Trees no longer line the road to give us shade.  A bright sun hangs in the sky robbing me of my energy.  Mile 16 greets me with a hill and ushers in the next 10 miles of rolling hills.  My watch confirms what I did not want to see; a personal best is not going to happen.  Emotion floods over me ~ an odd mixture of sadness, determination and anger.

My hopes and goals sizzled away on the hot pavement of the East Chewuch Road.  Stretching on the side of the road is a young man to be in his late 20s to early 30s.  I ask him if he's alright and if he needs some salt.  He declines my offer and tells me the heat is killing him.  He takes off at the fast pace I could tell he was capable of.

A water stop lays ahead and I see the young man walking.  It doesn't take long and I catch up to him.  "Come on, we walk the up hill and run the downhill."  He says, "ok" and falls in line right behind me as we run the downhill.  We both grab cups of water at the aid station and continue down the course.  He no longer follows my lead.

The course turns onto a road in town leading us to a 3 3/4  mile out and back section.  I wonder if I will see Kathy and then hope I don't as I know if I do it meant she didn't meet her goal.  In less than a mile I see her coming towards me.  We meet in the middle of the road and give each other a hug.  She leaves me and heads toward downtown and her finish line.


Not much longer I come to the turn around, high five the volunteer and head toward the finish.  A 25 mph head wind greets me.  First the sun, now the final two miles will battle the wind.  I am spent.  My mental fortitude crumbled.  It is in these final two miles where my struggle wins.  I think about the other races I have this year and wonder if I have the strength to do them.


In what seemed like an eternity I finally see the finisher's shoot.  Trevin is cheering me in, while Perry is snapping pictures.  Kathy stands next to James, the race director, waiting for me to cross the finish line.  James gives me a double high five, Kathy gives me a hug.  It is finally over.  The clock reads 56 minutes later than my goal time.  I am heartbroken.


Neither Kathy or I thought the race would have turned out the way it did.  In talking with runners at the finish line, not one had a good race.  Not one.  The sun became the clear winner.


A few days removed from the race, there is still some sadness (which I talk about here). The future holds more races and more opportunities.  Although this race is by far the most difficult for me to get over, I am blessed to be surrounded by my family and friends who refuse to let me give up. 

Sometimes in life you need to rely more on the belief loved ones have in you than you do in yourself; that belief gives way to hope and in turn births determination.  Then you wake up one day and find yourself standing at the starting line of another marathon saying, "Yes I can."

Hopes and Heat

To say I struggled in writing this is simplifying the post. As I type this opening line I am still unsure if I'll publish it.  Yet, this is a blog about running, struggles and honesty regardless of how brutal they are.

In signing up for The Wintrhop Marathon I knew it was to be my race.  The course is beautiful (preventing boredom) with a large net elevation loss boasting huge PRs to those running it in previous years.  A small race with big extras ~ I was fed the night before and after the race which also included free beer ~ all at no extra cost outside of my $65 registration fee.  

Coming back from injury, my training started out cautiously.  Once I saw the healing had taken place I ramped up in preparation for a very strong race.  My speed got faster and I had some of the strongest long distance runs I've seen.Two months before the marathon I set a 30 second 5k PR. 

Months leading up to the marathon I monitored my eating and increased my rest.  Everything I could do to prepare for this race, I did.  Lasered in on my goal I knew it was mine to take.  Never in my life had I felt more ready, more determined or more focused on this goal.  I was ready.

Peeking out the hotel window at 5 a.m. there was not a cloud in the sky.  It was going to be hot.  I do not do well running in heat.  AT ALL.  I sharpen my mental game.

Before the race, Kathy and I did our normal pre-race routine which included light running to warm up our muslces.  Here I felt a struggle to breathe and was taken aback by  this. Allergies?  Elevation?  I am confused.

The race proceeded and although the day got warmer I held right on pace until mile 9.  Mile 9.  I backed off my pace in hopes to have a strong finish despite losing my goal time.  By mile 16 my watch told me a new PR wasn't in the works.  And that is where anger collided with disappointment and sadness.

The raw emotions I feel are many, yet one stands out overwhelmingly, and that is sadness.  Don't be mistaken, this is not feeling sorry for myself and it is not self-pity.  I am standing neck deep in the heartbreak of a goal hoped for and pryed out of my grasp by the heat of the sun.

Just as in the race I put one foot in front of the other and I will continue to do so with my training.  There are other races this year and more training to do.  My motivation is gone and I am mentally exhausted.   Not one to ever curl up into a ball and give up, however I do feel as if I am sitting on a curb emotionally and physically spent.  My crossed arms perched on my knees cradling my head which rests on them. I am sitting on the curb and have no desire to get up from it.

And that's ok.

One day the spark of motivation will come and it will be the extended hand I need to pull me up off the curb and start my training again.   Until then I'll lace up my shoes, run, and heal.

Best Family Photo

Pictures are powerful.  Countless times I have flipped through my children's albums to find when I've closed the book I have a smile as wide as Texas plastered on my face.  I can easily list the pictures that bring tears to my eyes as well as the ones that make my heart swell with pride.

However, The World Through My Shoes is a blog about running (well, mostly) and today I came across one of the best running photos I could possibly own.  Every single time I see it, I find that silly grin on my face, a tear in my eye and a throat coming dangerously close to swelling shut.  You can feel the joy in the picture.

While pictures are worth a thousand words, I do feel I need to give you the story behind this particular picture.  Lucky for you, it shouldn't take a thousand words.  Or it may.  We'll just have to wait and see what my word count says.


Though the picture is from last year, the story starts a couple years prior.  In 2010, after running by myself for 6 years I decided to join a running group.  Our local USA Fit  Bellingham chapter included an Advanced Training Program (ATP) designed to take your marathon running to the next level and increase your speed regardless of where you were currently at.  As nervous as I was - and despite how inadequate I felt - I signed up and quickly realized it was one of the best athletic decisions I could make as an adult. 

I found myself surrounded with authentic people living busy lives and all with focused determination to improve. Encouragement is plentiful and slacking is not tolerated. Logging miles together I had found a kinship with these runners, I had found a family.

June 2011 several of us decided to run the Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon.  A majority of us running the half marathon, while some running the full.  This course is not an easy course with it's urban setting and rolling hills, yet we were all there to give it our best shot and leave it all out on the course.


Personally it was a strong race for me with my time being 2 minutes 8 seconds off of my half marathon personal best.  Karen had hurt herself out on the course and despite the pain, we waited for Kathy to complete the 26.2 mile course; both Karen and Kathy being fellow ATP members.  Kathy crossed the finish line and we all made plans to meet in downtown Seattle after showers and changing of clothes.


I'm getting to the good part.  I promise.


With so many of us gathering together for a celebration dinner, a barrage of text messages went back and forth while we all tried to pin point where each of us were in downtown.  While we were parking our car, Kathy calls my phone.


"Where you at?"  Kathy quizzes me.


"We are parking the car and then heading into Nordstrom to pick something up.  Where are you?"


"Karen and I will meet you there."

"What's going on?  I can see your smile through the phone..."

Kathy promptly hung up on me. What. The. Heck.


I am now standing outside of the happiest place on earth - Nordstrom's shoe department - when Kathy and Karen come around the corner.  Before I complete the sentence, "What is going on?" Kathy smiles and blurts out "I qualified for Boston".


Instant tears were in the eyes of Kathy, Karen and myself.  Security guards with guns drawn sprint their way over to verify what the screaming could mean.  (That may be stretching the truth just a tad).  While still hugging and crying and squealing, my husband says, "Let's get a picture." 




And the best family photo in the world's history was taken.








Myself, Kathy & Karen.

You can feel the joy in this picture can't you?