Running Steps of 2015

As soon as my watch hit 9.77 miles, I stop my run and give myself a high five.  It's possible - just ask the 2 sheriffs sitting in their parked cars watching this anomaly happen.  Normally I would not stop a run this short of a gloriously round number like 10 (I may have OCD tendencies) yet I do today.  9.77 miles pushed me to 1,420 miles for the year.

1,420 healing and life giving miles.  This number I celebrate.  Today's run - the last one in 2015 - was a reflective one.  Each one of those miles taught me about myself.

Today the sun shines bright in the cold December sky.  The northerly wind puts the air at a brisk 28°; all reminiscent of the start of the year.  Those were some incredibly difficult miles.  Losing both my parents within a year of each other and both at Christmas brought a darkness and a sadness I have never known.  January and February's running steps held many, many tears, brokenness, peace and comfort.  

Running steps didn't happen much in those first months.  Some days it was a good day by getting out of bed.  Some days it was a really good day by getting out of bed and getting pants on.  The rest of the world appreciated that too.

March came ushering in spring.  Sunnier days with birds singing and warmer temps made running steps easier.  My running friends always making it a point to push me forward.  We got a summer marathon on the calendar and with it came a training plan.  On the days when I felt I had no energy to tie my shoes, I did.  After all, my friends were waiting.  

Those running steps brought me strength.
 
The trees around me clear and I am passing a farmer's field.  Mount Baker stands regal in it's beauty.  Psalm 46 comes to mind, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.  Therefore I will not fear, though the earth should change and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea."  I wonder what it would take to make something as strong and sturdy as Mount Baker slip into the heart of the sea. 

I think about God as my strength.  I think about who He surrounded me with during this difficult year.  Many people come to mind, and I am overwhelmed when I think of each of them.  One of those strengths He gave me is a fabulous woman who is the most outgoing introvert you will ever meet.  And she gets me.  Oh, does she get me.  

As a fellow  introvert she wasn't afraid when I would retreat away from the world.  She let me be in the scary lonely places in my heart, but would always be there with a nudge when she thought it best for me to come back out into the world.

"Let's meet for dinner after church." 
"It's time to plan a date night, what night works best?"  
"How 'bout we eat some Russian perogies Saturday night?"

She prayed with me in the ICU when my dad was given a 10% chance to live.  She prayed for me more times than I will ever know.  She also makes me laugh until I snort.  Countless times while I ran I thanked God for putting her in my life.

Those running steps taught me gratitude.

The summer marathon came.  So did the hot summer sun.  I do not run well in the heat.  This marathon crumbled beneath me and I let it.  At times I was dizzy on the course, and I knew full well what that meant, but knowing the fight both my parents showed in their last days I would not quit.  With 2 friends at my side, we walked and ran and talked about many things.  The emotional highs and lows of the previous months had taken it's toll on me physically.  Everyone (but me) could recognize that; I finally accepted it.

Those running steps taught me the importance of health.

A runner passes me on a quiet country road.  Where did he come from?  He startled me and I karate chopped him.  Or maybe I screamed and said, "You scared me!"

The months of 2015 began peeling away.  Focusing on my emotional and physical health, I gave myself permission to "just run".  I signed up for a fall marathon and the entire goal was to enjoy every single step.  My BRSs (Best Running Sisters) signed up with me and each week's long run we worked on falling in love with running again.  No speed work, no tempo runs, no "have-to-do-this".  We simply ran.

It worked.  This marathon we laughed and took our time.  If we felt like walking we did, if we wanted to run, we did.  We enjoyed every single step.  We ran by multi-million dollar homes in Seattle and made up stories about the people who owned them.  

The finisher medals double as beer bottle openers (score!) and the race director made sure there was plenty of hot soup waiting as it was a cold 32° when we finished. 


Those running steps taught me that to love running is a choice.


I'm closing in on the 9.77 miles.  Once again Mount Baker comes into view and this time faint oranges and yellows kiss the snow.  The sun will set soon on this last day of 2015. 


1,420 miles and I close out my running year.    There have been higher mileage years, faster mileage years but none near as important.   I'm hard pressed to recount a running year that has meant more to me than this one.  

This running year showed me that my running friends are not people I'm just sharing Saturday morning runs with; they are family.  They uphold me, cry with me, laugh with  me, and push me out the door to run.  They make me a better me.

I look forward to sharing many miles with them in 2016.

Happiest of New Years my friends.

Nookachamps Half Marathon

"The wind will be a head wind the entire race." Terry told us. 

It was mile 3 when Karen, Diana and I realized he wasn't kidding.  The winds were sustained at 25 mph, gusting up to 50.  More than once, if we were caught mid-stride, the wind almost knocked us over.

"This is almost as bad as CIM," Karen recalled. 

"Just not as wet," I interject.  And as if on cue, the rain starts; feeling like little razors against any exposed skin.

We pass the 10k turn off and I silently wonder if it wouldn't be smarter to make the turn and call it good at 10k versus a half marathon.  We continue on.

Diana had run a 100 mile race just 11 days prior and Karen and I passed the time by asking her questions.  We both can not wrap our minds around running a distance of 100 miles and Diana is extremely humble in her accomplishment.

We decide if we ever accomplished a 100 mile race, we would find it difficult not to mention this at every presented chance.

"Yes, can I have a nonfat latte please?  Because I just ran a hundred-miler."

"I'm going to swing by the store on the way home to pick up milk because I just ran a hundred-miler."

"Hello?  Yes, hi. I need to bring my car in for an oil change because I just ran a hundred-miler."

Ok, maybe Karen and I aren't as humble as Diana.

The road we are following turns into the blink-and-you'll-miss-it town of Clear Lake. The rain has let up but not enough to bring on spectators.  There are no town folk walking the streets and cheering us on today.   

We leave the main street and find ourselves face to face with a decent sized hill.  And a head wind.  Sigh.  Karen has grown quiet and after running together for 4 years, I know she is trying to tap into that inner strength.  A mole hill can look like a mountain on any given race day.  To hear me above the wind I have to yell, "Shorten the stride, pump your arms!"  She nods.  We slow our pace knowing we are not racing this half marathon and our pace is irrelevant.

Diana power walks up the hill and keeps pace with us.  This makes Karen and I laugh as we realize we definitely are not running a race pace.

At the top of the hill we welcome a slight downhill leading us to the edge of Mud Lake. The next couple of miles we enjoy the flattest part of the course.   Farm lands of pastures, horses and cows pepper the route.  

We have reached the out and back section and begin scanning the faces for people we know.   Our friend Steve is braving the elements with his daughter's cross country team and manning an aid station.  We give him a high five.  The rain has started again and stings our skin.

The rolling hills hit us in the last 3 miles of the course.  An eagle screeches and we find it soaring above Barney Lake.  A sight so beautiful it takes our breath away.  Or maybe it was the 40 mph gust of wind that took our breath away.  Yet there it was soaring on the wind that fought against us; spectacular.

The last mile is upon us and we try and pick up the pace so we can finish.  We are exhausted from the windy fight and Diana tells us her legs are tired.

   

...You know, cuz I just ran a hundred-miler.

Finally we are rounding the last corner turning into the parking lot of the Skagit Valley College.  The last hill awaits spitting us out onto the oval track and into the finisher's chute. 

Each of us is surprised to see the clock read 2:01:35 as we were certain the pace we had been keeping against the wind would have brought us in around 2:10.  A volunteer hands us our medals and we head straight to the gym to try and warm up.  Diana leaves for home.

Hot chili awaits and although we've never eaten chili after a race before, we decide it is exactly what we need to try and warm up.  It works.   We begin feeling our fingers again.

We make our way back to the car and decide it's time to go.  Karen confesses miles 10,11 and 12 were very difficult for her.  She told me she gave herself a pep talk and asked my Mom to help her finish.  Tears brim my eyes.  

I carried my mom with me every step of this race; each step celebrating the life and legacy she left us.  She taught us how to persevere and today -despite the elements thrown at us- we persevered.

Thanks Mom.

 

The Chicago Marathon

Security is tight.  We are entering our specified entry point on Jackson Street in order to make our way to our assigned corral.  Security personnel are checking bib numbers making sure we are where we are suppose to be.  This is causing a bottle neck, but no one seems to mind.  We feel safer.

The Chicago Marathon is the first World Major Marathon on American soil since the terrorism at the Boston Marathon in April.  Runners everywhere are wearing items in support of Boston - shirts, hats, bracelets.  Pride entwines itself with my pre-race anxiety.

There are 6 World Major Marathons (Berlin, Boston, London, Tokyo, New York, Chicago) and this is my first.  There are 40,000 runners making their way around the start village and never once do I feel like I'm being herded.  It is evident this race is a well-oiled machine.  With the world watching, there are no hiccups.

Stephanie, Pat, Kellan, Kathy, Karen and I are standing in our corral.  Security closes the corral 10 minutes before the start of the race and we are safely tucked inside.  There is music, there is excitement, there is plenty of nervous energy.  Everyone is smiling.  The announcer begins to introduce the elite athletes lining the start.  We can't see them, but it is awe inspiring knowing they are there to race for their countries.

A woman begins to sing the American National Anthem.  Hats are removed and placed over hearts.  There is a sense of pride that one can feel permeating the air.  Her mic cuts out several times.  In unison, 40,000 runners sing the song for her.  Voices raised loudly and proudly singing the words which proclaim the love of our country.  As we sing the final line "...and the home of the brave" we think not only of our military but also of those brave spectators that lined the streets of Boston that day in April.  A single military fighter jet flies over.  I watch men and women wipe tears from their eyes.

The start line the day before the marathon.

At 7:30 the race begins.  It will take 12 minutes for our corral to reach the start line.  It will be well after 8 before the last corral starts.   I pass under the arch of the start and take my first steps of my first World Major Marathon.  I am running the streets of Chicago.

Pat and Stephanie fall into their pace and are gone.  Stephanie would set out and smash her goal of 3:45 and finish with a 3:42:43.  After running a 3:39 a few weeks prior, Pat would later finish with another sub-4.  Kellan takes off and despite little training due to a hectic college schedule and work, finishes with an impressive 4:22:05.

We enter a tunnel almost immediately and laugh at the men lined against the wall using the wall as a relieving station.  Before the race, the porta-potty lines had been long and never moved and one has to do what one has to do I suppose.  We are out of the tunnel and now running downtown Chicago.

There are people lining every side of the course cheering for us.   I have never seen so many people at the start of a marathon solely to cheer us on.  We are weaving through

the streets.  All around me are sights I have seen from my previous 3 days in Chicago.   My first time visiting this city and I am mesmerized by it's beauty.  Things I've only seen in pictures are now in my sights in front of me.  

Kathy, Karen and I try and talk, the crowds are screaming so loudly for us it makes it impossible to hear each other.  It doesn't matter, we are lost in the wonder of it all.  We've run countless miles together and we understand our silence just as much as we understand our thoughts.  Mile 5 comes and I make my first - of what would be later 4 - pit stops.  They continue on.

Around Mile 6 I look to my right and see the lake in the distance.  I try and tell those around me to look but my words are drowned in the excitement of the crowd.  I notice a man up ahead looking up toward a second floor of a building.  He waves.  Upon reaching the building I notice it is a rest home.  It's residents sitting in wheel chairs gazing out the window down on the runners.  I smile and wave.  I thank God for my ability to run.

We reach a turn around point and head back toward the city.  It is mile 8 and the crowds have not thinned out.  People are still screaming for us, their energy propelling us forward.  I see a man dressed in a Sponge Bob Square Pants costume blowing a horn.  I laugh as I know if my youngest son had been there, that would have been him.

The course brings us through a variety of neighborhoods.  Each one proud of their heritage.  Runners from all over the world are running next to me.  Some in shirts proudly declaring their nationality, others carrying flags.  A man standing along the course, in USA attire, screams in excitement for the runner next to me, "GO MEXICO!!!"  The man gives him a smile and a thumbs up.  I love the unconditional acceptance and wish that kind of exuberance was seen every day.

To my right I see a large group of girls, dressed the same, holding encouraging signs all with different slogans, but on the same paper.  I read "This is not your practice life".  And it hits an emotional nerve.  I had hoped this would be my race, but events and situations would prevent me from racing.  Rather than be upset, I took my Mom's mantra of 'It is what it is' and I decide to make the best of every situation.  Although my anemia would keep me from racing this race, it could not keep me from enjoying every single step.  And I was.

I am at the half way mark and knowing the elite athletes are already finished, I wonder who won the race.  Someone comes up next to me and yells in my ear, "Hey Maniac!"  I am in my Marathon Maniac shirt and as I turn I expect to see a fellow Maniac next to me.  I am right.  He tries to talk to me and I to him, but the crowd noise is so loud we can not understand what the other is saying.  He bids me well, and gently pushes me forward.

Aid stations are roughly a mile apart, making it easy to push yourself forward.  "Just get to the next aid station, just get to the next aid station" helped each mile click by.  I would walk the distance of the water tables which was perfect for bringing my heart rate down and keeping my anemia in check.  I was feeling strong.

Compete strangers would bring me bits of inspiration from home.  A song my husband loved while we were dating blared from speakers as I ran through a neighborhood.  Soldiers lined another section handing out high fives remind me of my oldest and his love of everything military.  I spot a woman holding a sign; she has used a four letter word in her effort to tell cancer what she thinks of it.  I think of my mom, and understand that woman's sentiment exactly.

It is somewhere around mile 23 when I hear someone scream my name.  I am completely confused.  I remember I have written my name on my bib, and conclude they are cheering me on.  Then, I hear it again but coming from behind me.  I turn to find Kathy and Karen running to catch up to me.  How did I get ahead of them?  One of the many mysteries of the marathon.  Karen's legs are angry with her and won't let her do what she wants to do.

We try to run together; yet with my mom firmly planted in my mind, I push ahead.  The miles click off and I realize I am in my final miles of the Chicago Marathon.  The crowds are still thick along the course cheering us on.  It is as if the people of Chicago came out in pure defiance against the bombings in Boston.  Nothing was going to stop this town from supporting us.  The thought brings me tears.

The final turn lies ahead.  It is a hill and it is difficult to run against after 26 miles of running.  I push forward knowing how difficult chemo treatments have been for my mom yet you'd never know as she has never once complained.  I am in the chute and the finish line lies ahead.  My mom is in her final battle against the cancer that holds her.  The irony is not lost on me.  I cross the finish line at 4:29:37 with my head held high and my hands raised in victory just as mom has taught us in the way she lives her life.  This is not my practice life.

A volunteer drapes a medal around my neck.  Tears sting my eyes.  I give high fives to every volunteer lining the chute.  I celebrate the finish,  I celebrate every bit of inspiration that got me there, I celebrate the life God gave me that is worth living.  No matter what I am faced with, life is still worth celebrating even while standing at the finish line.  My mom taught me that.

The Greatest Run

The bed was warm and I lay wide awake.  Four of my running friends were on the opposite coast set to run the Boston Marathon.  Anxiety and excitement rolled around my nerves making sleep scarce.

I glance over and watch the clock flip to 4:00 a.m.  Should I just get up and go for a run?  Knowing I was headed to the track after work to run with others from our group, I decide the smart thing to do is rest my hamstring.  My next marathon is 3 weeks away, and although I am not racing it, there was no need to push my recovery back into injury.

Local cable did not carry coverage of the Boston Marathon; I had to be content with pulling it up online and watching it on the computer.  My social media newsfeed began filling with pictures of the Athlete's Village and bus rides to Hopkinton.

The race begins, my family and I watch all while preparing for a normal Monday.  My heart longs to be there.  There is no jealousy, simply twinges of longing knowing your friends are there experiencing one of the world's greatest marathons and you are home missing the party.  With a sigh, I shut the computer down and head to work.

Once at work, I go about my day while keeping one eye on the Athlete Tracker.  I have plugged my friends' names into the online tracker and I watch their 5k splits.  Karen, Pat and I trade emails throughout the morning rejoicing with each new split that appears.  3,000 miles away and we are watching Arlane, Melissa, Kathy and Amy nail their goal times.

The 3 of us become concerned when Kathy's splits stop at the 20k mark.  For well over an hour we are left wondering why she seems to have stopped racing.  Injury?  Faulty timing chip?   We knew it had to be something big to pull her off the course.  To travel that far, to run that race and not finish would be heartbreaking.

Little did we know how prophetic our fears would be.

At the 35k mark a split floods in and we are relieved to realize she is still running.  It must be a faulty chip.

Amy finishes, soon after Arlane crosses and a moments later Melissa does too.  We are ecstatic.  We watch and wait for Kathy unsure of anything as her chip is not working correctly.  Did she already cross the 40k mark?  How close is she to the finish?

Then it happened.  Panic set in at the realization our friends were right there.  After racing, Arlane and Melissa would have made their way back to the finisher's chute to watch Kathy come in.  Wasn't the explosion near their meeting point?  I felt ill.

Karen called me immediately.  We both cried openly as we tried to make sense of the senseless.  I called Stephanie, who was there on the sidelines solely to cheer on our friends. I couldn't get through.  Text messages went out to all of them, even though we knew they weren't running with their phones.

After 30 agonizing minutes Stephanie was able to call me.  Arlane and Kathy are unaccounted for; she was with Melissa and Amy.  The phone went dead.  Emails, phone calls and text messages fly rapidly between Karen, Pat and myself.  Social media was flooded with little information, just many questions.  I cry when reading "All from Bellingham are accounted for except Kathy and Arlane."

An hour later a number I do not recognize registers on my cell phone.  I answer before the first ring finishes.  Stephanie has made it back to the hotel and they are now with Arlane.  They have heard from Kathy.  Relief floods every fiber of my being and I collapse into my chair.

Arlane comes to the phone, she speaks, I cry at the sound of her voice.  We talk and I am hard pressed to register anything she says, I am just so happy to hear her voice.    We hang up and as I post an update to our group I receive a private message.  It is from Kathy.  Strangers have taken her in to their home.  She was safe.

I cry again.

******

Spring skies open to a downpour.  Rain bounces off the ground.  I am heading to the track to meet my friends.  After the bombings in Boston and all the emotion of the day we knew, now more than ever, we still needed to come together.  We needed to run.

The rain has all but stopped as I pull into the school's parking lot.  Karen is waiting in her car.  We jump out of our cars and hug each other.  We cry again.  Today wasn't suppose to be like this, today was suppose to be a celebration of our friends running the greatest run of their lives.   Pat pulls in and we share in more hugs.  The sun begins to break from the clouds bringing a glisten to our tears.

We walk toward the track.  Stepping onto the black rubber of the quarter mile oval we feel at home.  But home is empty.  Part of our family is not there.  We begin to run with our hearts 3,000 miles away.   Our emotion spills into the run; anger quickens our pace, heartbreak propels us forward.

As numb as we feel, we are filled with gratitude.  We will see our friends again.  We will lace up our shoes and run together again.

And I suppose that alone makes for the greatest run of our lives.

Cows, Roosters and a Run

Karen’s headlights illuminate the ground as she turns down our road.  I tiptoe out of the house with my shoes in hand.  Slipping them on my feet, I then walk to her car as she gathers her things.  The sun is not quite up hiding the grey of the sky.  No rain; yet.

After our “Good morning!” to each other, we start our watches and head out of the driveway.  We wind our way through the neighborhood and Karen takes in the everyday surroundings of my daily runs.  The waft of fresh farm fertilizer hits our nostrils with it’s pungent smell.

“Oh my gosh, is that a cow mooing?” She asks.

“Yes it is.  There’s quite a few of those around here."

“I do not think I’ve ever heard a cow moo on my run before.”  Fifteen seconds into our run and there is already laughter.

The road we take is a straight route leading us to Corrinna who is waiting for us at the 2 mile mark.  There are more Good Mornings and the talk of ripeness of the farm.  With Karen at our side, the route Corrinna and I often run becomes new again; the countryside is an unexplored frontier for our city dwelling friend.

Turning from a half mile jaunt of a busy state route, we run down one of my favorite country roads.  Farms, homesteads and intermittent estates line both sides of the road.  We share the road with an occasional car and always seem to be greeted by a wave from the unknown driver.  Life is friendlier outside the city.

The first of 4 large hills looms up ahead.  As we crest the hill our attention is grasped by an eagle swooping out of the towering evergreen tree rooted humbly on the side of the road.   We see it’s bright white tail feathers peeking in flight as it effortlessly glides into the branches of a  massive tree on the other side of the road.   A short moment later, the unmistaken brown of a baby eagle rises from a tree and flies toward the parent, waiting with commanding nobility on the tree branch.

Hills lie ahead and we tackle each one.  Earlier in the week, I had warned Karen in an email the route contained a few small hills.  My ever present sarcasm lost in translation as today she turns to ask me, "Define small".  I fear the 750 feet of total elevation gain today may have just cost me a friend, or at the very least have my name now associated with torture.

Rolling farmland gives us beautiful vistas in which we can lose the pain of climbing yet another hill.  Horses and donkeys wander to the fence’s edge and stare as we run by the field they call home.  I think I saw a twinkle of jealousy in their eyes.  Then again, maybe they thought we were nuts for running those hills on purpose.

We turn around and head for home.  We keep the pace easy as the hills have worked us hard.  I am grateful the last couple miles are relatively flat and we can talk without huffing and puffing.  Rain is beginning to spit from the grey sky; we are finishing our run just in time.  Karen and I turn into the neighborhood and Corrinna continues straight down the road to head for home.

Just under 14 miles and it was not an easy run, yet the countryside invited us in and it was a run shared with friends ~ and an occasional rooster, cow and eagle.  Ah, life in the country.

Blessings Aware

The chill in the air held no rain or snow.  My parked car would keep me warm while I waited.  Still battling my hamstring, I have just begun to ease back into running since completing the California International Marathon a few weeks prior.  My friends were out doing a 4 mile loop and I would join them on the second 4 mile loop; my longest distance since returning.

The clock on my dashboard tells me I have about 10 minutes to wait.  Looking around I see downtown bustling with the Christmas holiday.  On the street corner a towering evergreen twinkled from top to bottom with sparkling white lights.  Street vendors, bundled against the weather, were setting up their stands in preparation of the Farmer's Market opening soon.  People everywhere were smiling.

Making their way down the street were two men which I guess to be 30 years apart. The clothes they wore told me they called the streets their home.  The homeless shelter was a mile away and I sensed they had just left there.   They share conversation as they walk toward the woods.

"Whadya find?" the younger one asks.

The older gentlemen is bending down in a parking space two over from mine picking something up off the concrete ground.

"Two pennies!" he exclaims, placing them in his pocket.

"SWEET!" the younger states with excitement; excitement I do not think I've ever seen over two cents.

My eyes look down to my $200 running watch, I zip up my $125 running jacket and I feel a twinge of shame.  I sit in my warm car wearing hundreds of dollars of gear I use only when I run and those two men were excited over two cents.  The contrast is stark.

Stephanie pulls her car up next to mine and we wait for our friends to come.  Right on time, they make their way up the road and we head toward the trail for a 4 mile run.  The Christmas excitement is felt and like a big Italian family gathering, we all talk and listen to each other at the same time.  I am beyond thrilled to be running with my friends again.

The trail takes us from downtown to the ocean.  Below the trail is an area the homeless frequent.  I don't see the two men.  A tree alongside the trail has been decorated with a collage of ornaments all left by a random person wanting to leave a bit of the Christmas spirit behind.

We run and discuss Christmas plans, Christmas gifts and the tasks still left to be done.  Everyone was busy, yet we took the time to come together.  The people running alongside me are one of my greatest gifts.  The run comes to an end and each returns to their car.  We toss aside gloves and grab wallets.  The coffee house awaits us.  In one last pre-Christmas run we give each other the gift of our time.  We will sit and laugh and tell stories.

The bell on the door jingles as we push the door open.  Our favorite barista is behind the counter; she smiles and waves. 

My blessings are many, this I am made very aware.

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.

First Call Marathon

"...and that is the course of the race.  We'll start in 5 minutes," is all we heard as we made it to the start area of the marathon.

With so many friendly faces milling about we had no problem asking someone the route of the course.  Those around us assured us it truly is an out and back, twice.  Knowing none of us would win the thing, we rested in the fact we knew we could just follow the crowd.

Our fingers were frozen and we tried to melt the cubes of ice we had for toes.  The temperature read 28*; I was grateful for the hand warmers in my gloves.  As the race director counted down and yelled "GO", about 50 of us began running.  My Garmin still hasn't located, thankfully Karen's has.

We made our way out of the Blythe Park and onto a paved trail.  The trees protected us from the slight wind that blew.  We ran over a footbridge crossing over the river we'd be running along.  The water lazily flowed underneath us.  My Garmin finally locates and I start my watch a mile into the marathon.

Melissa pulled ahead and we knew she was ready to race this marathon.  Fresh off the New-York-Marathon-That-Wasn't, she listened to our encouragement to join us and shake the experience.  She was strong and ready to have a great race.

Kathy, Karen, Kellan and I (hmmm, I just realized mine is the only name that doesn't start with a "K") fall into an easy pace.  We are running this as our last long training run before California International Marathon in a couple weeks.  Our conversation is easy and the pace light.

 

 

The Sammamish River Trail weaves alongside the river for miles.  Despite at times running along side the freeway, one could not see the road and rarely heard it.  The beauty of fall exploded on the trees.  The coming of winter had not yet robbed the trees of it's leaves, or the green from the grass; providing often breathtaking views.  Several times we stopped our conversation to say, "Look."  

Recognizing the gait of a runner up ahead, I point out to Kathy and Karen that Bob Dolphin is up ahead.  A remarkable man, who at the age of 80 celebrated running his 500th marathon.  I had heard rumors that he hadn't been running since his milestone in March and I was delighted to see him up ahead.  When passing him, I tell Bob how wonderful it is to see him out there.  He is such an incredible inspiration, I felt tears well up in my eyes as he smiled his big smile. 

We reached the turn around and began our way back to complete the first loop.  The fog kept the sun hidden and the temperature chilly.  We were grateful for our coats.  After running 8 miles at an easy pace, we pick up the pace to our marathon pace and plan on holding it for the next 12 miles.

My hamstring does well until 4 miles into our marathon paced miles.  It spasms intensely at one of the small rolling hills, I feel my leg give way and I stop myself from dropping.  I confess to Kathy and Karen I need to make a decision - do I drop out at the half marathon or continue on at a slower pace.  They counsel, I listen.  My stubbornness wins.  We begin the second loop.  They are gracious and slow down to an easy pace once again.

This is the battle of the marathon.  One little deviation from plan and the race becomes mental.  The mental part of the game is the hardest part of the game.   Your training helps you push forward, putting your emotions aside.  We press on.  I decide I will see how my hamstring is at 18 miles and if it is too inflamed, I will turn around.

Mile 17 I hear a familiar voice.  My friend Tom cruises up behind us telling us he's been trying to catch up to us since starting the second loop.  I share two miles with Tom, before I listen to my hamstring and slow to a walk.  Karen and Kathy pull forward with Tom. 

A 19 mile training run, instead of the 22 I planned, is the best I will get.  Instead of run/walking the last 4 miles of the marathon, I will run/walk the last 7.  Destroying my hamstring on a training run, even though it was a marathon, would not be the smartest decision I could make.  California is three weeks away.

With Tom, Karen and Kathy a short distance ahead, I see Kathy has stopped and waited for me.  We run / walk the rest of the distance together.  My hamstring is ok with this, which gives me hope.  It gets harder and harder to stop and start, our muscles tightening each time.  We just want to be done.

Leaving the trail, we turn once again into Blythe Park.  We cross the finish line, thank the volunteer who hands us our medal.  The hot chicken noodle soup we talked about for the last 4 miles awaited us.  Soup has never tasted so good.

Melissa has run a very strong race; Kathy, Karen, Kellan and I all satisfied with our training runs.  We eat, we share, we shiver.  Deciding some Starbucks is in order, we head back to the car and the heated seats.  My 15th marathon is in the books and I look ahead to my next.  But now, I am enjoying the company of my friends and enjoying the accomplishment of the day.  And the wonderfully delicious latte in my hand. 

The Gift of Friendship

Three years ago I joined a running group in hopes to improve my marathon running.  I stood in a group of 15 runners not knowing a single one.  It was scary and it was intimidating; yet I really wanted to improve.

Now, three years later I look back on that day and marvel at how a single thing - running - has brought me into a fold of incredible friendships.  One of those friends suffered a loss today.  It is through tear brimmed eyes that I type this; my heart breaks for my friend.

In the past three years, I have shared thousands of miles with this group of people.  While we are out there pushing ourselves in the miles we run, we share. 

We share in our struggles, we share in our celebrations. 
We share in our triumphs, we share in our heartbreaks.
We share our goals, we share our encouragement.
And sometimes we share in our tears.

Tomorrow is Saturday and like most Saturday mornings over the last three years we will meet to run together.  We will run and share in my friend's sadness.  Will it erase the pain?  No.  But as we run together and share the miles we will hopefully lighten her burden.

We will lace up our shoes and heal.  Together.

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."

A Bird Sings

The lop-sided moon hangs just above the cherry tree in the morning sky.  Night clouds are scattering revealing a hint of promising blue skies.  The thermometer reads 41°.  I tuck my hands into my long sleeves.

Heaviness in my legs remind me I am in the greatest part of my marathon training.  40 mile weeks tend to do that to me.  Despite it all, the running feels good.  My pace is easy as I make my way through the sleeping neighborhood.

My heart is weighted for friends I know are broken and hurting.  I ask God some specific things and thank Him for being bigger than it all.  The birds sing joy and I listen; their song getting louder as I approach the densely tree lined roadway.  A motorist drives by and waves.

A farm hand is singing a Spanish melody.  I quickly conclude the song is well loved as his voice loudly spills from the slightly ajar windows of the milking parlor.  The smile on my face can not be hidden as I question if he realizes his audience is greater than the bovine standing before him in the barn.  I wonder what the song is about.

Freshly cut hay rests in neatly lined rows in the field.  With no threat of rain in the sky, the farmer seems content to let it lie just a day longer.  Patches of hay stand uncut as a reminder a wet spring leaves sections too muddy to mow.

Nearing the end of my run, I spot a finch perched on a barbwire fence.  The bird eyes me carefully but does not move though I am just inches from her.  She chirps at me as if to say "Good morning" before taking flight. I watch the freedom in her flying.

The moon has faded and the sun is rising as I finish my run.  The day lays in front of me with unopened promises.  My heart still heavy for my hurting friends, but starting my day in nature has given me renewed breath on a new day; a day in which the birds are heard singing.

 

The Soldier

It's Memorial Day and the sun feels good on my face.  The top is down on my car and I am taking the back roads to home; enjoying my mid-morning drive through quiet city streets.

My friends and I met at the town's college track for an intense speed workout early in the morning.  After some warm up miles, we hit the track for 4 miles of 60 second sprints followed by 60 seconds of slow.  Hitting my correct pace grew more difficult with each sprint, which intesified the feeling of happiness after nailing each one.  As we ran our cool down miles our conversations centered on who was going to do what the remainder of the holiday.  We had no problem keeping the pace easy.

The light was red and I sit in my car enjoying not only the sun's rays, but also the tremendous feeling of accomplishment that comes from such a hard workout.  In a few short hours our yard would be filled with friends and family, the smell of burgers on the barbeque and a campfire in the fire pit.  The burger and beer I'd have was definitely earned this morning.

Once the light changes to green, I turn making my way past the cemetary nestled in the hillside.   Something catches my eye.  I slow my car down and watch.  Standing at attention, a lone soldier stood saluting a tombstone.  His dress blues are a stark contrast to the grey of the tombstones and the green of the grass.  The white of his hair peeked from underneath the brim of his hat.

Who was this aged soldier and to whom was he saluting?  A fellow combat warrior in which they had shared battles?  A father showing his son respect or his daughter honor?  Or was this a son saluting his fallen father in which time had aged him but not the memory? 

I will never know, but what I was watching from afar changed me.  A brief moment ago, my day was about friends, family, and barbeques; now I felt a twinge of shame.  The day was set aside to honor the protectors and fighters of freedom and I had forgotten.  I had made the day about me and not the memory of the those who sacrificed their very lives.

Tears well up in my eyes as I witness this most sacred moment of a soldier and a tombstome.  Gratitude fills my heart; I pray for those serving, those who have served and those who died while serving.  For it is now reminded me, it is me who they serve. 

The sun is shining, the top is down on my car and I can now feel the freedom in the air; a freedom that was never free and in which I have always known.

Thank you soldier.

The Rain

My tires cause the puddle to spray up and over the side of my car.  Several times through the night the rain fell with such intensity the sound of it hitting the skylight woke me.  Now the rain fell in a heavy mist; the mist so thick it concealed the stoplight ahead as if it were enshrouded with an early September fog.
 
The roads were quiet.  I was greeted by only a handful of cars as I made my way into town.  Turning down the parkway, I look for my friends as they were running more miles than I would and I knew this road was to be a  part of their route.  A short time later, I see the glow of their reflective rain jackets as my headlights illuminated them.  I honk and wave as I drive by.
 
Winter’s rains had swollen the creek close to overflowing.  The rushing current gave evidence to the amount of rain which had fallen.  Two deer stand huddled at the side of the creek, blending in perfectly with the naked trees and shrubs around them.  Their stance tells me they seem chilled from the rain.

I park my car up the hill and wait for my friends on a corner of downtown.  In a short time, I see them and recognize each one by their gait.  I can tell who is in the group before I can see their faces.  Brad, Pat, Arlane, Melissa and Kathy make it up the hill and meet me where I stand.  I catch their rhythm and we disappear on to the Interurban Trail.  Already running for an hour, they are wet and miserable.  I feel guilty for having dry shoes.
 
We wind our way to the edge of the ocean.  A large light shines in the distance out on the ocean, its source hidden in the misty rain.  Everyone assumes it is a boat, but no one can tell for certain.  The grey of the wet mist erases the line on the horizon separating ocean from sky; the two blend perfectly.  The ocean swallows the rain and slowly lulls the ducks on it’s waves.
 
 No one sees the puddle until its too late, the coldness taking us by surprise and we all leap, scream and splash.  I no longer have guilt or dry shoes.  I am now wholeheartedly part of the group, my initiation complete.
 
The canopy of trees does little to keep us dry.  The mist collects heavily on the tree’s branches and falls in big drops as we run underneath.  Each of our hats drip rain from the brim.  We pass time talking of Melissa’s incredibly warm trip to Texas the week before.   Each of us longing for summer and looking forward to spring arriving shortly.
 
Kathy and I turn and head back toward the city while the others forge ahead to ensure they get their mileage.  Coming off an injury, it is the first time in weeks Kathy and I run together.  We seemingly pick up right where we left off so many weeks ago.   We talk, we laugh, we make our way down the trail. 
 
The only others out in these weather conditions are fellow runners.  Each one is greeted with enthusiasm, as if we all belong to secret society of hard core endurance, or of crazy – one can’t be too sure.  Although we are soaked to the bone, the only thing we look forward to is a hot shower.

We maneuver our way through the alleyways as careful as we can to avoid the rivers of rains running through them.   It is futile and we splash through the moving water.  Our watches chirp the end of another mile and we walk the remainder few feet to the car.  Finally, it is over.
 
These are the training runs to remember.   The building of endurance comes not only in the miles but also in the conditions.  You teach your body to run further, and your mind to endure.  The sun brings heat, the clouds bring rain and we run through it all.  We may not like it, but we always appreciate it.  There are more miles to run, and we are blessed to be able to run them.  Even in the rain.