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.

Pea Soup & Fog

The road is dark, it is cold.  The sun will be rising soon, but for now I am running in the quiet of night.  I am lost in the anonymity of the darkness and I am enjoying it.  No phones, no voices, no questions, no hammers, no saws.  Just me and the road.  My only responsibility lays in my next running step.

Life has been crazier than our normal.  Not only are our boys active in sports and school functions which keep us on our toes, we decided to update our home and we are doing it ourselves.  The last two months have been filled with new floors, new moulding, new trim and now the kitchen.  I am tired and look forward to the finished project.

Right now there is none of that, there is only me and the road.  I am grateful my hamstring is doing well and I am able to run again.  Thank you Jesus.  My mind wanders to the running year ahead and I contemplate on what to do. 

Last year was a very difficult year for me and one I have yet to shake.  My motivation still lacks and I am left wondering what my plan should be for this year.  My running friends  know exactly what their plans are, I do not.  This uncertainty has left me feeling as if I am swimming in pea soup and the fog just rolled in.  I have always had a plan, always.  Yet here I am and I can't get motivation enough to create one.

The Chicago Marathon opened this past week and I was one of the 30,000 fortunate ones to grab a spot before they closed the registration 3 hours later.  For the first time in a long, long time I felt a glimmer of a spark; something I had not felt since the Bellingham Bay Marathon.  It is the spark of hope.  Will I finally see my goal of a sub-4 hour marathon?  I can hope. 

 

Standing in church, we are clapping and singing along with the band.  I hear a voice say, "Congratulations on Chicago!".  I turn to see our pastor, and friend, standing there.  He had heard I had secured an entry and before making his way to the stage, he stopped to encourage me.  I tell him thank you.  He then tells me Chicago holds his second fastest marathon time and talks of how great the course is.  We talk for a minute or two and I listen to his advice.  I can't help but think this spontaneous conversation is God's way of saying, "Plan and work hard."  Hope is extremely powerful.

      

My hands curl inside my gloves.  The briskness of the air colder as the sun starts to say hello.  The black of night is beginning to give way and I see blues and greens emerging behind Mount Baker.  The mountain range now outlined in the horizon.  I stare in silence at it's beauty, my breathing the only sound I hear. 

I still don't have a plan, but I have a direction as Chicago stands in the future.  I am ready to climb out of this pea soup and stand on the shores of hope.


 

How Much Can You Bench Press?

How much can YOU bench press?  (Does the question beg of a tone in which you can hear the antagonizing sneer?  Good.)

I don't belong to a gym or have a personal trainer.  I run.  What I do have is a 15 year old son with a weight set.  This is great for him as it keeps him interested in exercise and away from video games, well at least make it so he isn't always playing video games.

Earlier this year I sprained my ankle and started going crazy without my daily run.  Craziness makes one go insane.  It's true.  I googled it.  In my insanity I asked my 15 year old son to show me some exercises to do on the weight set.  He relished the moment of son-teaching-mom and showed me some exercises to do. 

They weren't my favorite, but I did them.  They didn't take much time and it made me feel like I was at least doing something which was far better than doing nothing.  It wasn't but a couple weeks (and to my complete surprise) I began to see definition.  One could actually see my arms had muscles and weren't just appendages hanging from my shoulders.

I am still trying to find out where my abs are hidden.

Running is my exercise of choice and after slaying the Ankle Dictator I resumed my 30 to 40 mile weeks. Every once in awhile I walk by the weight set and still pump out some of the lifts he showed me.  Today I realized how glad I am my son taught me what he did.

Having nothing particular to do on my lunch today, I filled my car up with gas and took a few minutes out of my day to stop by the house and surprise the boys.   I walked through the garage (past the weight set) and through the back door.  My oldest was sitting on the sofa watching something extremely educational on tv (I'm certain).

"What are you doing here?"

"Just stopping by to get a hug from you, can I have one?"

He smiled (!) and stood up from the couch.  All 6'1" of him bent down to give me one of his big bear hugs.  When the kids were little I did not think anything could trump a hug in which you feel tiny little fingers wrapped around your neck.  Now I know big boy hugs are just as special.

He breaks away and smiles before sitting back down.

"Where is your brother?"

"At the neighbor's."

Once out the sliding glass door, I call for my youngest.

"Mom?!?!?"

"Yep, it's me!  Can I get a hug?"

"MOM!!!!"  The lilt in his voice betrayed his excitement.  Leaving his friends behind he came running through the back yard.  I stood in the lawn waiting for him.

Without warning, my 5'1", 95 lb, ten year old linebacker of a son leapt up in the air and into my arms.  I caught him while standing my ground.  He wrapped his legs around my waist and gave me a body hug.

"What are you doing here Mom?"

"Stopping by to get a hug from you and your brother."

He lets go, smiles a big smile and says, "Ok, I'm going to go play now."  And off he went.

Driving back to work, I thanked God for my health and the strength I had to catch my leaping son.  I thanked Him for big boy hugs and the blessing of being a mother.

So I ask you, how much can you bench press?  You don't need a gym membership or even a weight bench.  Pick up a 2 pound sack of potatoes for $3 on your next trip to the grocery store and lift the bag ten times with each arm.  Arm curl a 32 ounce water bottle (that's 2 lbs!).  The possibilities are endless when using simple, every day items.

People often ask me why I run; more often they tell me I'm crazy.  Truth be told, there are lots of reasons why I run.  However, there is just one answer on the top of my list, and it is this - I feel better about life more now than I ever did before I got up and moved my overweight tush off the couch.  Being healthy and active brings a certain color to the world, a color you didn't know was missing.  Once you see The Color, you want everyone to see it.  That's when they start to call you crazy.  But it's ok.  You can see The Color and you know one day they will too if you lead by example.  Especially your children.

Get up and move.  I don't care if you walk, ride bike, swim, or chase squirrels in the back yard.  Doing one small thing a day is a stepping stone to seeing The Color.  And I promise you, you will see it.

Afterall, if life throws you a 5'1", 95 lb 10 year old little boy, don't you want to be able to catch him?

Believe in yourself.

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. 

Scattering Smile Seeds

Her wisdom showed in her aged blue eyes.  Laugh lines erased the smoothness of youth from her face.

"When my husband told me he was coming here, I told him I just had to come along so I could visit with you.  I hope that's ok."  Her face lit up with a smile. 

I glanced down at the stack of papers needing my attention, waved her in and said, "Of course!" 

She sat down in the chair across from my desk while her husband disappeared into the office of a designer to discuss the new home they were building.

A few weeks previous they stopped by the office to start the preliminary workings on their new home.  Our conversation kept light; musings about the weather, children and the such.  Not much stood out from the conversation except one thing - her parting comment to me.  Hugs are free and she asked for one; when I obliged she thanked me for my smile as it made her day.

A smile made her day?  A simple gesture made that much of a difference?

Does she know about my daily struggles, my concerns or the focus of my daily prayers?  No.  Does she know about the worries I carry as a wife and mother or the stresses of my full time job?  No.  What she did know is I smiled at her.  In a world where people walk with their faces down staring into their smart phones, I looked at her and smiled.

And it made all the difference. 

The thought blew a cobweb off a memory created in high school.  The entire school met in the chapel for a more-than-standard assembly.  Time has erased the purpose of the meeting, but engraved in my memory was a real life story told by a teacher.  Standing in front of the school, the teacher relayed to us the enthusiasm a student had one day when running into her classroom after the dismissal bell.  With excitement, the student told her someone had smiled at them that day.  One person smiled and the single and simple gesture had given them something they never receive.  I was dumbstruck and my mind raced to think who could this possibly be?  Who walked these halls daily and not ever see a smile from anyone?  To this day, 25 years later, I still don't know the answer to the question and it haunts me. 

A smile makes a difference.  A smile is easy to do and is powerful beyond measure.  One may never know the impact this small act can make on the life of another. 

How about tonight when you come home from work, you put a big smile on your face when you greet those you live with?  Or smile at the checker and say 'thank you' as she hands you your receipt?  Or turn and smile at the person standing in line behind you?

When we smile we give much more than a curved line on our face; often, a smile is returned.  It is when the person smiles back, you know they can not smile and carry worry in the same expression.  Those are the seconds when you take their burden from them and give them a brief moment of rest.  And you realize it feels good.

Before leaving my office today, she hugs me and says, "Thank you for scattering smile seeds."

Scatter seeds my friends.
     

Handwritten

The envelope was beautiful and it was addressed to me.  I glance at the return address and it does not register with me.  Leaving the mailbox, I walk back towards the house while balancing my bag, purse and the day's mail.  To complicate things I grab the two bags of groceries out of my car and then precariously open the back door.

I set everything down on the counters and gladly take the hugs my sons give me.  The focus now is turned to the putting away of groceries, the making of dinner and homework.  The beautiful envelope lay on the corner of the counter, seemingly forgotten amongst all the whirling activity around it.

Not until after the dinner dishes are cleaned and tomorrow's lunches are packed, do I get a quiet moment to open the envelope.  I break the seal and find a card just as beautiful as the envelope it came in.  This is stationery.  What is this about?

I open the card to find every square inch covered in handwritten words.  It is a card written to me; thanking me.  Tracy is a wife and a mother of two active boys.  As the boys grow, motherly duties happily took over and her personal time was put on hold.   

Until the day she became inspired.

Tracy is now taking back her fitness and working hard toward the goals she has set for herself this year, which include participating in a very tough obstacle course race as well as run her first marathon.  Her handwritten note thanked me for writing my blog and giving her the inspiration to try.  This is where the tears clouded my vision and it becomes difficult to continue reading.

The last few weeks I have read Tracy's note several times as I am still in wonder over such incredibly kind words.  When I laced up my $10 sneakers in 2003 and ran around the block for the first time since high school, I never dreamed that I would be an inspiration to anybody.  My vision of myself has always been simply a wife and mom who runs just to feel good about herself.  And then one day you get a handwritten note telling you that is enough to inspire someone else.

My wish for all of you to take away from this post is this - be who you are and live with passion in your life.  Others are watching and maybe one day someone will tell you your actions have inspired them.  And through teary eyes, you thank God as you realize it is they, who have in turn, inspired you.

Falling Snow

The slider door closes behind me.  All is quiet.  Snowflakes fall softly from the heavens.  The ground is white now in color and makes the darkness less deep.  I press the start on my Garmin and begin my run.

The world seems asleep and silent; my breathing the only sound I hear.  Far off in the distance I see a car traveling down the road but I do not hear it.  The morning is incredibly peaceful.  A neighbor cautiously drives by and their headlights reveal what I could already feel; snow was lazily falling.

My footprints leave the only evidence of my trail.  The displaced snow on the country road I am running tell me a few of my neighbors have left for work.  The snow laden clouds part for a whisper showing me the bright quarter moon they conceal. 

Snow rests atop a mailbox perched on a weathered cedar fence post.  The fence had come down over time with a few sections still remaining.  Nails rusted past their usefulness leave cedar beams hanging precariously along the field’s edge.  The snow clings to it trying to cover the age of the fence with the newness of white.

A rabbit hopping through a field catches my eye.  He stops and watches me.   He blends in perfectly to his surroundings.  My footfalls startle a duck sleeping in the rain filled ditch and he takes to flight.  He in turn has startled me.  Within seconds I have lost sight of him in the pre-dawn morning.

At the turn around point I reverse my steps to head back for home.  Not wanting the run to end I decide to add another mile despite knowing the rest of my morning will be pressed for time.  The snow falls heavier now.  Looking down I see my footprints made at the start of my run.  I follow them feeling as if I am running in the faintest of echos.

I run to the back yard, finishing my run while pressing the stop button on my Garmin.  Drinking my water, I stand silently outdoors.  The world seemingly pauses with me, and for a brief moment the only thing being done is the watching of falling snow. 

Lake Samish Half Marathon

We got the last parking space nearest the lodge where runners were to check in and collect their numbered bibs and timing chips.  The temperature stood at 45* creating perfect weather for running, but chilly for standing and waiting.

Entering into the park lodge it became an instant family reunion.  Friends not seen for awhile greeted us with hugs and in an instant several conversations had started at once.  As more runners registered, our circle grew.  Time came to shed our coats and Pat, Kathy and I made our way back to the truck to trade our coats and sweats for fuel belts and running gloves.  My husband Dennis and my son Dane were getting their bikes ready for a ride around the lake.  I wished them well and made my way back to the lodge.

 Collin, a friend of my oldest son, was near the entrance, nervously waiting for the start of his first half marathon.  Talking with him and his mom we talked of his training and his plans for the race.  At 14 his goal was to finish in 1 hour 30 minutes, an aggressive time for a hilly course.  I wished him well and told him I’d see him at the finish.

 Entering the lodge it wasn’t long before Pat had us heading out the door for a warm up.  There is something very comforting in doing on race day what you always do before a run.  We talk and stretch and discuss the paces for the day.  Between injuries, comebacks and previous week’s marathons, Kathy, Cari and I were hoping to simply have a good run.

 The race director corrals everyone to the starting line, gives direction and then blows the horn.  We were off and running.  It didn’t take long to get into a rhythm, and at times our pace was too fast.   The route consisted of two 6.6 mile loops around Lake Samish.  Lakeside residents could be found on their decks shouting encouragement as we ran by.  One clever household created their own aid station with water and beer and a large sign offering “hydrate or ride”.  They won for creativity.

 The three of us kept a strong and steady pace and managed the rolling hills with ease.  We wondered if it would feel so easy on the second loop.  The lake was calm and grey reminding us the calendar read January.  We admired the beautiful homes and summer cabins that peppered the lake’s edge.

 Successfully completing the first loop, 59 minutes later we were beginning the second loop around the lake.    We knew where the hills were and what to expect and found ourselves so lost in conversation, they again went by easily.   Despite running a marathon 7 days previous, and much to my amazement, I was feeling strong.   The exhaustion I feared would come, didn’t.  

 We were on the backside of the lake and cresting the final hill, making our total elevation gain 1,714 feet.  Nearing the final mile marker, we picked up the pace making it our fastest mile of the day.  Running through the finisher’s chute my husband and my friends are cheering and waiting for high fives, hugs and fist bumps. 

 The finisher clock read 2:01:19, almost 14 minutes faster than I thought I’d do.  Although a far cry from my personal best it was enough to place me 8^th in my age bracket.  Pat ran a new personal best with 1:40:58 giving him a 5^th place finish in his age group.  In the lodge, I bumped into Collin, who with a big smile, told me he did a 1:24 beating his goal by 6 minutes and placing him 2^nd in his age group.  At only 14 years old, he is one to watch as I think he has the capability to make it big on the world stage.  You heard it here first.

A few hours removed from the race, I sit here quietly typing out my thoughts on paper.  In all honesty, I admit my own body surprised me with its strength today.  Running a marathon with 7300 ft of elevation gain only 7 days prior to this race, I did not think I would feel so strong in this one.  I was wrong.  A runner’s biggest critic is the voice inside the runner’s own head.  There will be ugly miles ahead, there will be difficult miles ahead and for those miles I will bottle up this feeling of hope.   And when those miles come, as we all know they do, I will crack open the bottle and breathe it in.  This day, I will remember.

Last Chance Marathon

Large, white clouds obscure Mount Baker yet help create a spectacular sunrise with the morning sun's rays of red exploding behind them.  A beautiful start to the last day of the year.  A couple hundred of us milled around the start line trying to keep warm.  It wasn't long before the countdown began, someone yelled "Go!" and we were running.

Last Chance Marathon would be my fifth of the year and a perfect way to end the year.  Knowing this trail was not an easy one and not conducive to a personal best, I was using this race as a celebration of my 2011 year of running; every step would be enjoyed.  

Once we got onto the trail the crowd seemed to space out pretty quickly.  It wasn't long before a woman, after seeing my jacket, approached me telling me she too was a Marathon Maniac.  For the next mile or two we talked of races we've done while the trail's crushed rock crunched under our feet.  Entering Arroyo Park the trail became a single track and she took off in front of me.  I concentrated on my foot falls on this technical part of the trail.

Mile 4 a man commented on my jacket and how he was working toward becoming a Maniac.  I slowed my pace to talk with him.  John is a soldier, stationed 3 hours south in Fort Lewis.  This was his second lifetime marathon.  We shared a mile before he told me to move on as he had to slow it down.

My husband had positioned himself to be at mile 5 and as this was on out and back course which we would do twice, I'd see him 4 times.  I was feeling good and in need of nothing so he simply cheered me on; as well as on my return.  Reversing the route I made my way back to the park in which we started.  Half marathoners were finished and full marathoners went back out for the second and final loop.

As expected the runners thinned out tremendously, giving me plenty of alone time to celebrate my final marathon of the year.  Slivers of light were beginning to break through the winter's forest.  Entering into Arroyo Park the sound of the creek greeted me.  The descent was rapid and soon the trail snaked it's way alongside the creek.  The rains had swollen its waters and rushed over rock and fallen trees.  The trail, peppered with roots and rocks, kept my attention.  Small wooden bridges latticed their way over the creek and washouts.  Winter's leafless maples dressed only with thick green moss lined the muddy trail.  The switchbacks took me from the creek to the top of the valley.  A steep ascent, I walked out of the park onto the trail. 

At the trail head I heard people cheering for me as I emerged.  I smile when I realize it is my friends Arlane and Amy, who after running the back trails and stumbled upon the marathon route kept an eye out for me as they knew I was there.  I stop and give them big hugs.  A complete surprise and one that gave me a boost.  After we talk a bit, they cheer me on my way and turn away to finish their run.

I am now heading toward Dennis and feel blessed to have such great friends and a husband up ahead standing in the cold waiting to see if I need anything.  My hands are cold and he rushes to get me my gloves.  After an orange slice, a hug, and kiss I'm on my way toward the final turn around point.  Reaching it I give those at the aid station high fives and head back for the final 6.2 miles of the run.

The trail is muddy and squishes under foot.  I maneuver my way around to the driest sections.  I see no one ahead of me and no one behind me.  I stop for a brief moment.  Not a sound was heard.  Standing in the woods, I listen to nature.  I feel peace and thank God for such beautiful scenery.  I run on celebrating the beauty around me. 

A man with a speedy shuffle is coming toward me.  I ask him if his name is Mel.  With a mischievous smile he tells me it is.  Shaking his hand I introduce myself and tell him it is wonderful to see him out here running marathons again.  In the spring, at the age of 77 he had fallen out of a tree and took 6 months to recover.  A man who routinely ran 20 marathons a year spent no time feeling sorry for himself, recovered quickly and came back to running marathons the previous month.  His smile warmed the chill out of the day.

At mile 21 my husband filled my water bottle and sent me on my way as he went off to an appointment.  Despite being tired from the rigors of this trail race, I felt good.  The trail occasionally afforded spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean. It was easy to be lost in thought with such beautiful vistas.  Madrona trees hung precariously over large rock face as if a small wind would cause them to tumble down the mountainside. 



 I enter in Arroyo Park for the last and final time.  With a little over two miles to go there is a bounce in my step and I'm celebrating my final 2 miles of 2011.  Takao Suzuki, although running the race himself, pauses to snap my picture. Making my way up and out of the ravine I notice someone at the top of the hill.  It takes a moment for me to realize it is my coach Pat.  Once he saw me, his encouragement started bringing a big smile to my face.  At the top of the hill he gives me a big hug.  I am overwhelmed.  Knowing he had a full day of commitments he made time to find me along the course just to encourage me on the last of the biggest hills I'd face on the course.  With a final pat on the back he sent me for my final ascent reminding me once at the top it would be downhill all the way to the finish.  A mantra I'd repeat several times over the final miles.

Mile 25 came and I celebrated each step.  The feelings of being incredibly blessed welled up inside and were bubbling at the surface.  I rounded the corner taking an off-shoot of the trail into the park.  Nearing the finishline I do not see the clock ticking off the time, I see only one thing.  My coach had driven to the finish to cheer me home and celebrate the finish with me. 

This final run of the year was not about running my fastest time, it was simply about the run.  Driving home, the emotions of the day flooded over me.  How incredibly blessed I am to have a spouse who braves hours of cold to support me and friends who search me out solely to encourage me.  Their acts of selflessness touch me deeply.  My heart is full.  I can't think of a better way to close the year.

A Man Named Bob

The road lay long in front of me.  His bright yellow singlet stood in stark contrast to the mundane grey of the road.  With his shoulders slightly bent, his gait spoke of the years he has lived.  I had to catch up to him and hear his story.

My pace quickened from a walk to a jog.  Despite perfect running weather, a gorgeous marathon course and friends all around, it was not a good race day for me.  My mind was willing and yet my body didn’t respond.  Looking at my watch, realization sunk in and I let race day hopes flutter away.  Alone on the course I was left to my private hell, trying hard to pull myself out of the funk I was in.  I reminded myself it is the distance I love and to enjoy every moment of it.

Once I had caught up to him, I began to walk matching my pace to his.  I turned to him and spoke.

“Excuse me sir, are you Bob?”

His smile spread across his face, and stated, “Why yes I am”.

“It is a real pleasure to meet you.” Shaking his hand I told him my name and that I too was a member of the Marathon Maniacs.  Exchanging pleasantries, we talked of the race and how beautiful the course is.  Bob was walking the entire distance and hoped to finish before the cut off time of 8 hours. 

“I’m not sure that will happen.” He said with a grin.

When asked questions about his longevity running marathons, he quickly turned the conversation from himself and with a sparkle in his eye he told me of all that his wife Lenora does.   Bob spoke of her with the love and admiration.  He made me want to meet her.

Bob continued to speak informing me of the marathons he would be doing next as well as all the work he, and Lenora, contributes to directing the Yakima River Canyon Marathon.   My eyes lit up when he told me that I was sharing in his 492nd marathon.  At 82 years old, it was clear he lived his life not only by it's breadth but also it's depth.  He told me of the plans to celebrate his 500th race at his marathon in Yakima on March 31st next year.  The joy was uncontainable in his smile.

“You are such an inspiration Bob”.  With an unmistaken humbleness in his voice, he softly said, “Thank you”.  We said our farewells and I moved on ahead.  

Not many times in life do we stop to notice the extraordinary in the ordinary.  Walking down the street Bob is an unassuming man, most would never know of all he has done or continues to do.  Yet I, because of a less than great race day, was blessed to meet him and inspiration comes when least expected.  My pace quickened, my attitude adjusted.  I was again falling in love with the distance, and it was due to a man named Bob.

Juxtaposition

I lay in bed listening to the rain hit the skylight hoping it would pass in time for our run.  Tip-toeing out the door I got into my car and drove into town.  The streets were quiet this Saturday morning, the world must still be sleeping.  Pulling in to the parking lot at the waterfront, I see my running friends milling about preparing themselves for the 22 miles we were gearing up to do.  The misty rain had all but stopped.

After a few encouraging words from Coach Pat, we began our journey amidst the beeping of everyone hitting the start button on their watches.  We are a large group today, everyone anxious about the run that lay ahead of us.

The grey skies brought perfect running conditions, keeping it cool and far from the 85 degree heat we experienced the weekend before.  A handful of miles into our run we found ourselves on the trail connecting downtown to the ocean; a trail usually bustling with people was quiet this morning.  It was a dreary Saturday and people we nestled in their homes, sipping their early morning coffee. 

Running Taylor dock, with the Pacific Ocean beneath our feet, I glance over looking for the seals we sometimes see somersaulting  in the tide.  I see no seal, just a few sea gulls rocking gently on the waves.  I breathe in deeply the salt air.

Karen waits for us offering us water or electrolytes if we need them, we tell her we’re good and make our way onto the next trail.  Sherry and I weave our way down the path talking about this crazy thing called life.  My week had been more than hectic and I was enjoying the mileage we were doing together.   There are times in life when a hot shower or bubble bath can not come close to the cleansing that a good, hard-earned sweat can bring.  In the quiet of the woods, on the trail with friends, I felt what I had been needing.  And it felt great.

Up ahead we could see our friends waiting with water, electrolytes and carbs.  Their laughter sprinkled joy on the trail.  I handed them my water bottle and told them I’d be back after we reached the turn around point.   Without fail, there was Kathy with my water bottle in hand filled to the brim with fresh water.  Snapping it into my belt I headed down the trail back toward town for the final 10 miles. 

Running through my favorite part of the trail, I was lost in the scenery around me.  The trail cuts along the mountain side high above the ocean affording incredible vistas.   Alone on the trail, I fell into a rhythm listening to my foot fall on the path.  Trees formed a perfect canopy as I run under them.  They had dropped their orange, yellow and red leaves bowing to the season of fall and whispering ‘goodbye’ to summer.  The leaves crunched under foot. 

Leaving the trail I made my way back to the water and ran the dock.  Sun had peaked out from the grey clouds and glistened off the ocean.  Sipping their coffees and hot chocolates, Pat, Karen, Kathy and Amy were once again waiting for us to give us what we needed.  A brief stop, handing them my packet of Gu, I was off again and telling them the coffee made me jealous.

Here I began to tire.  This portion of the trail takes the traveler away from the edge of the ocean and up into downtown.  The uphill intensified the struggle but I persisted, determined to run all 22 miles.  With the appearance of the sun, although brief, people had donned their fall clothing and came out of their warm homes to walk the trail.  Runners would pass in the opposite direction, always giving big smiles and a friendly hello.

As I came back into town, I found Kathy waiting for me near the alleyway behind the farmer’s market.  With two and a half miles to go, she joined me for the final push.   It was what I needed.  Knowing she had a race to do later in the day, I asked if she was sure she wanted to run more miles.  Without hesitation she said yes and I was grateful.   Kathy pulled me out of my own head and helped me keep my attention on our conversation.   I would have walked had it not been for her.

Nearing the 22 mile mark, I could see some of my running friends gathered around the water cooler all relishing in the accomplishment of the morning.  My watch chirped for the 22^nd time that day and I gratefully hit the stop button.  The run was done.   My watch and I logged 22 successful miles.    High fives and pats on the back were handed out while we all talked of how the run went for each of us.

Heading back to my car, from the corner of my eye I could see a woman running to me with her arms open as to hug me.  Within a split second, I recognized her as a classmate from high school whom I had not seen in 15 years.  Deb reached me and we squealed in delight amidst our hug.  She didn’t care I was drenched in sweat and salt, only that after so many years had passed we had finally run into each other. 

The drive home I reflected on the juxtapositions my morning had.  There was summer mixed with fall, rain amidst the sun, strength and weakness intertwined in the run, but the consistency came among the friendship; new as well as ones from my past.  And in that, I find, I am incredibly blessed.

Strangers, Friends and Angels

The weatherman predicted the weekend to be the hottest of the year.  Murphy's Law laughed and said "But of course it is" as this is the weekend in which my friends were to run a marathon.

Karen, Kathy and I, with a truck loaded with ice, water and Gatorade, headed out of town.  Armed with a GPS and course maps we made our way to our first stop on the marathon route; approximately mile 8.  Spirits were high, jokes were plenty and smiles were seen on all.  As soon as our friends had run by, we were back in the truck heading off to our next point.

Mile 12 was also mile 14 as the course was an out-and-back route.  Parking the truck on the side of the country road, Kathy found a good radio station and cranked up the stereo.  Here is where we first noticed runners were getting hot.  We shouted encouragement and clapped loudly.  One by one our three friends ran by and each time we had ice cold water ready as well as sponges for them to wring out over their heads.

Karen made signs for us to hold to give greater encouragement.  One of our favorites, "Way to go complete stranger!" had been a great motivation to us while running the Eugene marathon in the spring and proved to be just as motivational on this day.  Runners smiled and laughed and said, "Thank you" when running by the sign.  As we had now seen many of these runners three times they were no longer strangers, we recognized them coming down the road and also knew where our friends should be in relation to them.   We got several of their names and did our best to seer them into our memory.  Inevitably, as our running family got bigger and bigger, we couldn't remember them all and eventually they earned names like "Cool Shoe Guy" and "50 Stater Guy".

Once our friends had gone by, at paces strong enough to qualify for Boston, we jumped in the truck and navigated our way to the 18 mile mark.  The sun was hot; the farmer's fields dusty.  Parked in a raspberry field, we swung the truck doors open letting the music fill the country roads. 

The runners were hot, the suffering etched on faces.  We offered bottles of ice cold water to any who ran by.  Many runners, upon recognizing us, had dubbed us "The Stranger Ladies" because of our sign, proving that even in pain a sense of humor can prevail.

The eyes told their stories.  The heat pounding on them as they ran on shadeless country roads had taken its toll.  The I-Can't-Do-This Dragon had leeched itself on many of their backs.   Staring straight into their eyes, we shouted "You got this, it's yours".  Heat is nothing to make light of and we paid close attention as each ran by.  All three of us could feel their suffering.

As each of our three friends ran by, their pain became our pain and we did our best to hide our concern.  We gave them ice for their necks and sponges for their heads.  They no longer got the option of "if" they wanted something cold to drink but "which" cold drink they preferred.  Our hearts felt their anguish and exchanging glances between us uttered what our words would not.  The heat was concerning.

Winding our way through the back roads, we came to mile 21 and this is the first time where we felt completely unprepared.  Volunteers directed runners to our truck who were searching for ice.  Would we have enough?  Kathy ran alongside some handing them chunks of ice.  Tears could be seen in others as we offered them water from our ice chest.  And without hesitation runners were offering - and taking - the water bottles from other runners; showing us that the pain of a marathon brings people together in a way that can not be described, only felt.  With unselfish consideration, each runner shared the gift of water with all those around them; all complete strangers just a few hours earlier.

At this mile marker Karen's phone rang.  One of our friends had to make the heartbreaking and extremely difficult decision to drop out of the race.  The heat had stolen every bit of energy he had.  Our hearts broke.   Knowing he was off the course, we got back into the truck to make our way to mile marker 25 to bring our other two friends support.

Here we could see the relief written on many faces.  Armed with the knowledge that the race was only 1.2 miles longer, the faintest smiles could be seen.  Strangers driving by stopped and brought us more water to hand out.  It wasn't long before we could see our friend coming down the road.  With a sponge and water in hand, I ran to meet her.  She asked how our other friend was doing.  The knot in my stomach made me sick, but I had to lie to her and tell her he was doing just fine.  Knowing the truth would have been painful making the last mile that much more difficult.  I'd apologize to her in 1.2 miles.

The finishline was filled with people, runners completely spent as well as family and friends sharing in the joy of it all.  There were tears of joy in some and tears of sadness in others.  We found our one friend sitting on the curb in quiet reflection thinking on the hard decision he'd made to pull himself off the course.  Words not needed, we all felt his pain.

Stopping us were runners who searched us out to thank us for what we did out there.   These strangers thanked us repeatedly, calling us life-savers and angels.  Everywhere we turned, another runner thanked us.  It was here where I became aware of just how many people we touched that day.  We had not set out to do this, it simply happened.  One small gesture had left an impact they would not forget.  What none of them realized, was it was them who gave back to us.  Their smiles paid us back in ways they could never imagine and gratitude could be seen in their eyes.

Long after the day was over, my mind wandered to all that happened out there on that race course, each emotion flooding back.  Sometime after the race, Karen emailed me a piece of a conversation relayed to her that had taken place out there during that 26.2 mile journey; a conversation that brought tears to my eyes.  Shortly after the 18 mile mark, a fellow runner turned to our friend and stated how wonderful it was for him to have friends who would come out and support him like that on the course.  He turned to her and said, "Not friends.  FAMILY."

The marathon.  It gives you the most incredible window inside of yourself and it takes complete strangers and turns them into angels and family.  What a gift.

Contagious

As of late, everywhere I look I see inspiration.  And I need it.  Just as my motivation wanes, God places these little sparks of inspiration to get me moving.

Yesterday morning my run had not gone particularly well, it wasn't bad mind you, it was just a struggle.  A few hours later, as I was driving to work, I saw a woman large in stature running down the road I was travelling.  This was not a long and flat road, rather it was extremely hilly.  Determination was etched on her face as she successfully tackled each hill.  I wondered what her story was.  What motivated her to change her lifestyle?  What brought her to the point to lace up a pair of running shoes?  How much weight had she lost already?

Clearly, the run was not easy.  But it didn't stop her.  At some point in her life she realized the pain of regret hurts more than the physical pain of a tough run.  Her strength inspired me and she has no idea.  She was simply running.

Standing in line at Starbucks today, indulging in my standard double tall non-fat latte, a woman with 3 active girls placed her order after me.  Obviously a regular to the baristas at the counter as they greeted her by name.  I was stepping to the side when she exclaimed, "It's been 18 days since my last cigarette!", her smile exploding on her face.  Turning to face her I said, "Congratulations!".

"Thanks!  I feel really good about it!  Really, really good."

"That's a big accomplishment, you should feel good about it."

She then explained to me, a complete stranger, about her struggle and how she has managed to quit the addiction on her own.  I look at the children, acting as children do, around her.  She easily could have used their high energy as an excuse to give herself a break and light up a cigarette.  But she didn't.  She had reached a point that said 'I want better'.

Walking back to my car, I thought of her smile.  There was so much joy in that smile, a joy that can not be called up on demand.  It is a joy that only comes from pride found through personal strength.  Not until she wanted better and started the tough journey of quitting her addiction could she find a strength she didn't know she had.  No one could quit for her; she had to do it.  And with each passing day she got stronger and learned that what she is capable of is greater than what she had known.  She rediscovered herself.

And that, my friends, is contagious.

Sky, Stars and Motivation

At times we all need a little motivation, and I for one, have been lacking in it lately.  It is times like this that I am reminded that I am the one who holds me back.  I set my own limits, hit my own ceilings.

Yet I reflect on this great big world and I realize something.  In daylight I look up and see the sky above me, nothing more.  If I wait until darkness falls, I look up and I see endless stars that go on forever. It's the same space above me but my persepctive changed.

I need to stop seeing the sky and start living in the endless possibilities of reaching for the stars above.

The following reminders will help me: 

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by SMALL men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it.
Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion.
Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare.
Impossible is potential.
Impossible is temporary.
Impossible is nothing."

Out On The Trail Inspiration Was Found

We were working on our second lap around the lake and enjoying the flatness of the trail.  Up the gravel path we could see him running along in solitude.  Catching up on the week's happenings, Karen and I were about to intrude on his quiet with our conversation.

Life has a way of getting crazy, and there in the earthen sanctuary of the woods, we felt  ourselves recharging in the midst of our 7 mile run.  Karen and I were running our coach-prescribed marathon pace for two of the miles and began to quickly gain on the man ahead.  Approaching him, we found ourselves keeping the same pace.  I asked him if he was part of Bellingham Fit, the group Karen & I were in.  He said he was and conversation flowed easily between us.

Time had taken out it's crayon and colored his hair grey; his attitude had colored his smile big.  He asked us which pace group we were in and after telling him about our group, he insisted we were too fast for him.  Pointing out he was running with us and running well, we assured him our group has no set pace but rather just a desire to get faster.

He unfolded his story, giving us a glimpse into the man he was while we were running next to the man he had become.  Last year he joined Bellingham Fit for the first time and loved the 6 month training program he participated in.  The man told us at the start of last year's season he could barely walk around the lake once.  At the end of walking one 2.6 mile loop he would have to go home and nap.  And there he was now, running with us and running it well.

At the top of the hill we found ourselves parting ways;  Karen and I off to finish our marathon pace miles, and he slowed to catch his breath.  We were both touched by his story and found incredible inspiration in it.

One of the greatest joys of running is meeting other runners and hearing their stories.  Nothing inspires me more than to hear people, like this man, go from out of breath and out of shape to strong and healthy.  His determination to change his life did just that, and managed to inspire me along the way. 

The Trail

The morning was wet.  The sky was colored an endless shade of gray due to the misty rain it was releasing.  My spirits were not dampened as I looked forward to running a trail in the foothills with my friends.  Besides, my feeling was it would stop soon.

We carpooled to the trail head.  Looking at the map, we plotted the trails we would run and then we began.  The rain had stopped and the chill in the air was perfectly fall.  Our talk and laughter rose into the branches of the massive evergreen trees which were so tall the view of the sky was completely hidden.  Rocks and fallen branches were navigated with jumps and bounces.  

As the elevation rose, the silence of the woods was broken only by our breathing.  Switchbacks were tackled with determination.  My understanding of "challenging trail" was being broadened.  The top afforded no breath-taking vista, rather, a view of the woods that God created; spectacular in its own right.  The downhill produced a needed break before battling the uphill again.  It was mesmerizing and I found myself immersed in my surroundings.


Running on wet leaves, over rocks and roots through the narrow trail, I was being given a gift.  The trial was giving more to me than I imagined.  Amidst the trees, I was gifted the motivation I haven't had since my last marathon a month ago.  Perfectly wrapped in a pine scented box, I was handed the reminder of my love of running.  The run was a tough one and it broke right through the mediocre and pierced through to the joy.



We piled back into the car and headed back to the lives waiting for us off the trail.  I smile.  Welcome back Motivation, oh how I've missed you. 

Me? Speed?

Speed. I don’t have it. I want it. Somewhere in the midst of my distance running I lost my desire for going faster. Training for a marathon changes the perspective of a runner. Well, it did for me anyway. No longer did I think about how fast I was running my normal 4 mile loop, but where I was in relation to my long run that week. Everything became justifiable to the long run.

“Oh, I have to take it easy today because this is my first run after my long run this weekend.”


“I can’t push it too hard today because I have my 18 miler in a couple days and I need to go the distance”.

“I think I need to figure out what my “easy pace” is…nope, don’t have a clue what that is, so I’ll just take it nice and slow so I can run good this weekend”.


Somewhere along the line I realized I stopped believing in my ability to have both. I excused myself right smack into the middle of slug-dom. And each marathon I ran left a big slimey trail of self disrespect. If you would have happened to be behind me that day, September 13, 2009, you would have found a marathon course peppered with my words of “I can’t do this”, “This weather has sucked the life right out of me”, “oh well, another lack-luster marathon” spewing from my mind.


The negative self-talk and blatant disrespect for myself and the training I had put in had to stop but what was it going to take?

Two weeks after that horrible marathon where I ended up walking more than I had ever wanted to, I found myself standing on the start line of another race. My sister had signed up for her very first half marathon and to support her through this tremendous decision, I too had signed up for the race. I expected a sense of dread after my horrible marathon just two weeks previous. What I didn’t expect was my excitement to be toeing a starting line again. At the prospect of having to run 13.1 miles instead of 26.2 miles gave me an incredible let’s-just-have-fun-with-this attitude. For the first time in a year and a half I was excited to run a race.


The excitement showed up in my pace. I had run the fastest I’d run in a long, long time. When I crossed the finish line in under 2 hours I was ecstatic. Though my final time of 1:59:58 was nowhere near my personal best of 1:52:43, it was the strongest race I’d run in almost 2 years. And the difference was my attitude.


The winter had proven to be a mild one allowing me to run through the darkest and coldest months. My weekend runs were 10 to 12 miles long consistently. In the spring I signed up to run a local 15k. As this distance was shorter than the long runs I was currently turning out, I felt a great sense of ease going into this race. Imagine my complete surprise when I crossed the finish line as 3rd in my age group! What??? ME??!?!?


An amazing thing happened after that, the negative self talk began to quiet. The results of some hard strong running I’d done was beginning to show. For the first time in my adult life I realized I wasn’t just a runner. No, I was becoming more than that. With my simple, yellow, cheesy “third in age group” ribbon, (which hangs proudly on my wall by the way), I felt like – could it be?- an athlete.


So here I sit a few weeks later and one of the newest members of a local running group. We are an eclectic bunch of people from all backgrounds of life. No matter what happens during the day, when we get together we are all runners in running shoes striving for one thing – to get faster. Some of us have the speed required to qualify for the Boston Marathon and other have the speed to break a sub-4 hour marathon. The current speed we each come to training runs with really doesn’t matter. We all recognize and respect the blood, sweat and tears we each are pouring into our training and that transcends pace.


Week one of training is behind us. Tomorrow we will leave our jobs to come together at the track of the college in town. We will laugh, we will run, we will train. And together we will become faster.