My favorite piece of advice to give a bride before her wedding day is this: The experience is surreal, so every once in a while just stop whatever you’re doing and take a mental snapshot of the moment. There are few times in your life that you get to be surrounded by everyone you love, so do what you can to freeze those moments and tuck them inside your heart pocket.

I really should be sleeping right now since I have to be up in about 6 hours for my race tomorrow. But everyone knows it’s impossible to sleep the night before a big event.  Tomorrow is my 2^nd ever 70.3.

This morning was chaos. After rounding up two of my three from various friends’ houses, we did a quick swing by Dunkin’ Donuts so I could bribe my kids into pretending they were enjoying themselves and then we made our way over to Swim Bike Run to meet up with several members of my crew.

From there, we had a 6 vehicle caravan out to Alton, IL, about an hour away where we are competing in the inaugural race of Border Wars: East vs West, tomorrow morning.

It’s been a gorgeous Indian summer here for the past week. Until 2 days ago.  Storms blew in and the temps have plummeted.  This morning the wind was fierce!  We were bundled in hoodies as we made our way into the building where packet pick up was being held.

This being the first year of the event, it’s been more than a little chaotic, so we’ve all flown way past freak out mode and right on into hyper-spaztic freak out mode. There were only 2 gals working the packets, so we waited in line for 20-30 minutes until we all had our packets and our race swag.  But I could see people I knew no matter which direction I turned.  It was like a party.  I’m sure anyone who didn’t know me was probably wondering who in the world brought all these kids to the event.  Fortunately, Jen had brought her 4 year old, too, which made me feel a little less obvious.

After we had our gear, we headed into the room that had been designated for the athlete meeting. It was set up with about 20 chairs.  We took up all of them.  The meeting didn’t start until 11, so we had some time to kill.  I was in and out of the packet pick up line…out to the car to get the ipad to entertain my kiddos, taking Silas to the bathroom, saying hi to everyone along the way.

By the time the meeting finally started, the room was packed as full of people as we could make it. Some standing, some on the floor, most of the chairs occupied at least 2 people.  I was flanked with Jen’s and had another one in front of me.  Allison was on the floor directly behind me.  Everywhere I looked I saw a familiar face. Silas was on my lap, Ally was leaning against a trashcan and Ethan was the most efficient one in the room, sitting under a table.  I’m sure the Fire Marshall would have approved of the situation.  The meeting was a whirlwind of information.  My kids were troopers.  They played silently, thanks to technology.  At one point Silas whispered in an excited voice, “Mom, I have a loose tooth!”  His first.  I was surrounded by people that make me smile.

As we left the meeting room, we all talked details. Ken called me “Miss Popularity” since he seemed to think that if anyone had a question they’d say, “Let’s ask Lindsey, she’ll know the answer.”  Now, let’s be clear, I don’t actually know anything, but being fortunate enough to work where I do, I know EVERYONE, so I know where to go to find the answer.

Then we headed down the road to T1 (Transition Area 1 for the rookies) to drop off our bikes. The wind was howling!  We set our bikes on our assigned spots on the transition racks according to our ages, hoping they might still be upright when we get back in the morning.

We fought our way back to the cars discussing what to wear, how to stay warm on that transition from the swim to the bike and the fact that when we get into the water tomorrow morning, it’s going to feel about 30 degrees warmer than the air. This is like nothing else I have ever experienced.  It’s going to be an adventure.

When we were finished at the race sight, some had to bolt to get back for other commitments. Those of us who had a free afternoon decided to head to Alton for some lunch.  We’re saving Fast Eddie’s for tomorrow after the race.  So today, I just picked somewhere that seemed reasonable and attempted to lead everyone there.  You would think by now my friends would know better than to let me make any decisions that require navigation, but I lead, they followed.  We arrived at my decided location to find it was closed.  So, we stood in the street surrounding Vega’s car until we agreed on our next destination.

We found our restaurant, sat at our table and finally the whole crew was assembled. We ate and laughed and talked about the race.  And as I looked around, I realized I was doing one of those mental snapshot moments.  I had my kids there and some of my best friends in the world.  And I thought, This.  This is what makes me keep doing these crazy things.  Things like getting up at 4 am to go swimming when its 40 degrees out and then jump on a bike and follow it up with a run.  Because I get to have my adventures with some of the most amazing, wonderful people I know.  I love these people.  Partly because they are just as crazy as me.

My kids have been dropped at their dad’s, my gear is packed, my alarm is set. All that’s left to do now is sleep.  I received a text earlier from Ally with a picture of a smiling Silas showing a gap in the bottom front of his smile.  The tooth is gone.  I wasn’t able to be there when he lost it, and I don’t get to be the Tooth Fairy tonight.  But that mental snapshot of him on my lap, in that room full of athletes prepping for a crazy experience, when he whispered to me, I will keep that tucked in my heart pocket.

Tomorrow, I’ll drag my crabby butt out of bed while it’s still dark. And I’ll make my coffee and drive over to meet Kris and Jen so we can caravan out to Alton.  And I will dread getting into the water, and even more so, I will dread getting OUT of the water.  And I will ultimately get to the run, my favorite part, and I will be tired, but I will keep going.  And then, before I know it, it will all be over.

I don’t know what snapshots tomorrow will hold, but I’ll be looking for them and ready with my “camera”.

To my crew, I love you guys. Crazy as it is, I can’t wait to do this with you tomorrow.

Preface: I wrote this post a few weeks ago, but it’s a tough story to tell, so I’ve had it hiding away in my lap top for a while.  I wrote this just after the news that a friend’s brother had taken his life, the next day it was Robin Williams, and the next day the events of Ferguson.  Our world is a mess.  This week several other friends lost someone to the battle of depression and I know it’s time to tell this part of the story. So, without further adieu…

Can I just take a second to state the obvious? Life is hard.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I count my blessings multiple times a day. But we live in a broken world and sometimes life just seems overwhelmingly difficult.  I’m not even talking about how difficult the past couple weeks have been for me personally with doing a refi on the house, finally getting my AC fixed after 6 weeks in the Midwest summer, a biopsy (it was negative…YAY!) and having to miss my baby’s birthday party.  I’m talking about the fact that sometimes we deal with the turmoil of senseless tragedies, and people acting out in violence simply because they feel entitled, and then there is the tragic devastation that sometimes people reach a place of hopelessness that leads them to believe they just cannot go on in this world.

Life is hard. For all of us.  Everywhere.  No one is exempt.  That is reality.  But sometimes it becomes more than that.  Sometimes that hardness seems overwhelming, oppressive, suffocating.

Think about it, no matter what the situation, almost everyone has some kind of escape, don’t they? Alcohol, drugs, shopping, relationships, food, our kids, travel, endorphins?  Yes, endorphins.  Just take your pick. We use all kinds of things to numb the pain of the real world and all the heart aches that come with it.  Sometimes we use all of these things.  But eventually, the buzz wears off, the relationship gets rocky, the race is over, the hunger returns.  And what are we left with?  A feeling of emptiness.  So we get high again.  Or move on to someone who we have a better connection with.  Or sign up for another race.  Or rack up more credit card debt. Or grab a fork. But no matter what our chosen method of “self-medicating” might be, it will never cure anything if we don’t acknowledge what the real issue is hiding behind those go to obsessions.

And for some, it goes beyond that. That’s where the oppressive and suffocating kick in. I’ve heard a lot of opinions about Depression recently, so I wanted to throw in my 2 cents.  Depression is real.  Anxiety is real.  PTSD is real.  But until we have stood in another person’s shoes, we have absolutely no idea what they are thinking or feeling.  And until one has felt so trapped and stared complete hopelessness in the face, they cannot possibly know what that is like.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago, I had no idea of the journey before me. As I have dared to tell my story, so many have come forward to share their stories with me.  Here is a little more of my story…

You might be wondering how I could possibly know what that hopelessness looks like? People have told me all my life that my smile can light up a room.  But sometimes it’s the people with the biggest smiles, or the ones who make you laugh the loudest, who are hiding the most pain.  Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, I know it all.  I have been to the brink of that hopeless despair, I have looked it in the eye and somehow I backed away from the edge.  But I have been to that place where I felt so trapped that I couldn’t possibly imagine how I would go on and I can tell you that when you get to that place it feels impossible to string these 2 simple words together: “Help…me.”  And I have felt so stuck that it seems there is no other way out.  I have felt suffocated.

Not everyone is called off the ledge like I was. Why was I called back?  I don’t entirely know for sure.  But I do know that I won’t let it be for naught.  I have been called to a higher purpose and I hope that I am able to rise to the occasion.

Today when I was at work, I was encouraging a woman to come and run with one of our social groups. She kept insisting she wasn’t good enough.  Bah!  We love to have all levels at our events, it’s totally ok.  Later, as I went off to swim by myself, rather than join a group swim that was meeting just a couple hours later, it occurred to me, I was doing the same thing.  Any time we don’t feel up to par, we try to go it alone.  And isn’t it the times that we feel like we don’t measure up that we need people more than ever?  So why is it so hard to say, I’m struggling, I feel like I’m not enough.  But if I ask for help, I feel like I’m asking too much.  And so, I’ll just stay over here and try to suffer through this on my own.

Right now I’m reading a book titled Wild by Cheryl Strayed. It is the story of a woman in her mid 20’s who had never even been hiking before the day she arrived in the Mojave Desert to backpack the Pacific Crest Trail alone.  Simply to prove to herself that she could.  Last week as I was reading, this part struck me and I’d like to share it with you…

“I stopped in my tracks when that thought came into my mind, that hiking the PCT was the hardest thing I’d ever done.  Immediately, I amended the thought.  Watching my mother die and having to live without her, that was the hardest thing I’d ever done.  Leaving Paul and destroying our marriage and life as I knew it for the simple and inexplicable reason that I felt I had to—that had been hard as well.  But hiking the PCT was hard in a different way.  In a way that made the other hardest things the tiniest bit less hard.”

Yep. That is exactly why I do what I do.  Saying Good-bye to my dad and living without him is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  Making the choice to leave my marriage and take on all the challenges that came with that, that was equally as hard.  Telling the story of the abuse I faced as a young girl, the hardest part of that was actually dragging it out of the dark after 25 years. But doing the hardest thing I could think of, an Ironman, makes all the daily ins and outs of general life, and the traumas of my own, seem a tiny bit less hard.

Come November, when I embark upon a course of the hardest race I’ve ever done, I will seek the finish line to hear my name, followed by the words, “You are an Ironman.” I will be seeking the acknowledgement for all of the hard things.  The race will come and go, and whatever will happen will happen.  But the thing about that day is I won’t be out there alone.  I have friends that will be on the course with me, friends that will be volunteering, friends who are going to AZ specifically to cheer us on.  If there is one thing I have learned on this journey of life it’s that I don’t have to do it alone.  None of us do.

This week I received an unsolicited text from my friend Kristen that read: “Just wanted to tell you that you are so damn strong and beautiful. That hits me every time I see you…I know life can be a struggle but you always seem to come out with a smile on your face.  Nice work.  Nice work indeed.”

Kristen sees my smiles. She has also seen my tears.  And this is a reminder that when I am smiling, or crying, or in the times I can’t seem to find the tears that need to escape, it’s ok to say “I can’t do it alone today.  Help me.”  There is so much courage in vulnerability.  When I am weak, then I am strong.

When life feels hard and overwhelming, as it inevitably will, remember that “falling down is part of life, getting back up is living”. There will likely be those who will try to kick you when  you’re down, but there is always someone with an outstretched hand to help you back up.  And the most courageous thing you can say in that moment is “Help me.”  Even if you don’t say it with words, just accept it.  And eventually you will see the strength in that.  And you will go forth and offer that hope to others.

Epilogue: This week I finished the book that I referenced in this post. And I was reminded that with every story’s end, a new story begins.  This part of my story couldn’t end until I’d told it.  It’s time for me to go forward and tell another story.

Near the end of the book Cheryl writes: “…I’d spend hours imagining how it would feel to be back in the world where food and music, wine and coffee could be had.  Of course, heroine could be had there too, I thought.  But the thing was, I didn’t want it.  Maybe I never really had.  I’d finally come to understand what it had been: a yearning for a way out, when actually what I had wanted to find was a way in.”

Instead of an escape, instead of a way out, it’s time to tell the story of finding a way IN.

“Every time I fall there’ll be those who will call me a mistake, but that’s ok…’Cause I hear a voice and he calls me redeemed, when others say I’ll never be enough” ~Mercy Me

The storms of life come in all varieties, don’t they?

The other night my neighborhood got hit with an actual storm.  Heavy rain, massive lightning and a possible tornado.  I was oblivious.  I had seen the radar before bed and it looked like the worst part was supposed to go north of me, so I didn’t give it a second thought.  I never even heard the sirens.

But in the morning, I found the grill cover totally blown off (fortunately it didn’t blow away, just off) and several neighbors lost a partial tree.  My house appeared relatively unscathed, with the exception of a new water stain in the ceiling of the boys’ bedroom.  Ugh.  Roof damage?  Add that to the list of “Stuff to deal with”.  It’s always something.  But Allstate is living up to thier motto.  As I picked up the phone to call my agent the other day, the phone rang.  It was Allstate.  Whoa, talk about being “in good hands”.  Granted they were calling about something totally unrelated, but still, how weird is that?

Other times, we have more figurative “storms” and we don’t escape the stress of the experience.  Like last week when I went out to my car to head to work and found it with a dead battery.  Not just once, but TWO days in a row.  Ok, obviously it was time to take my car in.  I was so thankful for helpful, understanding neighbors, co-workers and friends who offered assistance through that.  On Friday morning, I sat in my car at the Hyundai dealership in tears because the woman had said to me, “Well, can you just leave it here?”

“For how long?” I asked.

“Ummm, we can probably get to it on Tuesday.”

Are you freaking kidding me?!  No, I can’t leave my car til Tuesday.  I have places to be that I can’t run to since it’s 100 degrees out and I need to show up non-sweaty and melted.  Additionally, how am I supposed to pick my kids up from school?  I do have a new bike, but I’m pretty sure the 4 of us won’t all fit.  UGH.

“Don’t you have any family to pick you up?” she asked.

The only family I have here are my kids and given their ages, they don’t have cars of their own.  Thanks for the reminder that I am doing this totally on my own, Miss Hyundai.

So, off I went to Auto Zone for a new battery.  And it was as simple as that.  I was back in business.  The tears had really been unnecessary.  I was making the situation worse than it actually was.

And still other times, there are the storms that come in waves.  Sometimes they seem not so bad, I’ve escaped the worst part, the eye has passed.  And then, I’m faced with another round.

I don’t want to harp on this, but let me just say again, being a single parent is hard.  I always had a tremendous amount of respect for parents who do it alone, but now that I’m living it, it’s a whole new ballgame.  Dealing with the roof, and the car battery, and all the other storms…alone.  Then you throw in the emotional turmoil of the innocent bystanders who show up in the aftermath.

Yesterday morning, my kids were getting ready for school.  I was in the kitchen making lunches when Silas came in wearing just his underwear having a total meltdown.  He wanted the belt that Ethan was wearing.  Finally I got the whole story.  There is a rule at school regarding uniforms, if a child has belt loops, he needs a belt.  (A couple years ago, I went as far as cutting all the belt loops off of the boys’ shorts in order to avoid this.  Yeah, I know, I’m a terrible parent for teaching my kids to rebel against the rules.  Don’t judge me, it was about survival.  And I just may do it again.)  So, Silas was freaking out because if he didn’t wear a belt he would get an “Oopsie” note and have to go to Mr. Keller’s office.

Ultimately, for most, not a huge deal right? You just find the belt.  Well, what do you say to your kid at 7:45 in the morning when his belt is across town at his dad’s house?  This was a reminder that my kids have to deal with the effects of a storm they had no control over.  They have two houses.  Stuff gets left at one house or the other.  It gets lost. And we do the best we can to remember everything or make due with what we’ve got.  But sometimes we just need a little grace because the reality is nobody wins in this arrangement.

Eventually, Ethan offered the belt to his brother.  And I drove the kids to school feeling a little more sad than other days.

After drop off I didn’t have lots of time, but I knew I needed a clear my head run.  I went over to Al Foster trail, waved to Marxkors as I drove past her graceful stride in the Fleet Feet singlet that mirrored the one I was wearing, and laced up my shoes.

When I started running the fog was thick.  I couldn’t even see the Meremac from the trail.  The lush greenery surrounding me made the trail seem dark even though the sun had been up for a couple hours already.  I started running.  Heart pounding, lungs burning and the satisfying sound of gravel and leaves crunching beneath my feet.  Immediately I began to feel better.  I only had time to go a couple miles out so when my Garmin beeped at 2 miles, I turned around and headed back.  As I was within about a mile of the parking lot, I realized that the fog had started to burn off, the sun was coming through and there was the river.  On my return, I never did see those two huge spiders on their gigantic webs that were impossible to miss on the way out.  (Yikes, I did a hair check, just in case)  And as I rounded the trail away from the river and back to my car, the sky was blue and the sun was high.

How in the world did the sky change that quickly?  In a half an hour the scenery looked completely different.  And my mood was lighter.

We really don’t have control over any of the storms in life.  I guess that’s what makes them storms.  I know I’m dealing with a storm that will come and go for the rest of my time on this earth.  But, as I ran yesterday, I was reminded that no matter what small storms come in the aftermath as a result of the devastation from the storm that lead to my new life, the sun will shine again.  Sometimes I have to wait for the rain to stop and the fog to burn off, and sometimes I may feel like the wind is whipping me to pieces, but I’ll wait it out, cry it out and hold on for dear life until the sun comes out again.  Because if there is one thing I know, somehow it always does.

In our ever changing world there are at least two things that continuously remain the same. 1) Despite our best efforts to slow it down, time continues to march on. And 2) Nothing ever goes the way we think it’s “supposed to”.

Today my kids started school. No matter how much I want them to stay as they are, they keep getting older. I have a 1st grader, a 3rd grader and a 6th grader. Yep, middle school. We are blazing forth into unknown territory, yet again.

This is a weird time of year. It’s exciting and scary at the same time. It brings the thrill, and anxiety, of the unknown. We look at our kids, our babies, we wonder about all that lies ahead for them and at the same time we are forced to acknowledge how far they have come.

In recent years, the first day of school has become a tough one for me. Due to the custody arrangement, my kids are always with their dad the night before school starts and for the dawning of a new academic year. Things I once took for granted as a mom’s “job”, like writing little notes to put in first day of school lunches and fighting the battle of lining everyone up on the front porch for a picture, are no longer a part of my reality. We have developed our own traditions, our “new normal”, which now includes me driving over to school on the morning of the first day to meet my kids out front for a picture.

This morning I was up before my alarm, threw on my Lake St. Louis Triathlon t-shirt that I earned over the weekend, and headed up to school. As soon as I started backing out of the garage, I heard a loud CRUNCH! As soon as I did it, I knew what it was. Last night, the little boy who lives next door had come over to borrow Ethan’s Ripstick. In the process he found a toad hopping into my garage, so he captured it and put it in a little cage that Ethan uses for all the critters he finds. I told Caden he was welcome to play with it, but to make sure and let the toad go before he went inside for the night. Later, he returned the Ripstick and informed me he had left the cage by the garage. I didn’t realize he meant right behind my car. Nor did I remember to look for it as I rushed out to greet my kiddos for a first day of school hug at 7:45 this morning.

After I assessed the minor explosion, I quickly ran inside and grabbed a plastic bag, then began picking up the shards of broken plastic that littered my driveway. I crouched near my tire and listened for the dreaded hiss of air escaping, but I seemed to be in the clear. I discarded the bag of trash, jumped in the car and was on my way. When I arrived at school, I parked and quickly walked to the drop off area where familiar teachers were all smiles welcoming new and returning students. As I reached Mrs. Hackman I asked, “You haven’t seen my kids yet, have you?” She hugged me and responded, “Yes, they’re already inside.”

What? I already miss the opportunity to see them before school on the first day, and now I’ve missed seeing them all together before they go inside? That’s not how it’s supposed to be!

But at that moment, I just kept rolling with the punches. I went and found them in their classrooms and took a picture of each one. Ethan was mortified that I showed up and tried to pretend he didn’t know me. But I managed to get a picture anyway. Silas was all smiles, gave me a big hug and then had me fix his shoelaces because he didn’t like how they were tied. Ally was upstairs, huddled with her girlfriends, organizing their lockers. She looked relieved to see me, as if she thought I had forgotten or overslept.

And then, as quickly as all that, I headed out the door and on my way into another very warm August day. That was that. It wasn’t what it was supposed to be, but I survived it.

Similarly, this past weekend was the Lake St. Louis Tri. It was literally about 95 degrees on Saturday during the peak of my race. That is definitely not what race day is supposed to be. I call “No fair!” Can I get a “do-over?”

As I drove over to LSL on Friday night, to spend the night at Farrell’s, since she and Ryan conveniently purchased a house just a block from the transition area, I was feeling reminiscent of how far I’ve come over the past couple years as well. I drove past Provence Road and I remembered parking there with Nick 2 years ago, the morning of my very first Triathlon. He teased me for not knowing how to check my bike tires, then he did it for me. After that race, I returned to the car and opened a card from Faith congratulating me on my race and a magnet that read ‘TRI’ which I promptly slapped on the back of my car. I drove past Cognac street, the big hill at the end of the bike course that leads back up to the transition. I thought about my pre-race course preview ride with Steve 2 years ago. As we headed up that hill, my chain started making a funny noise and I said, “Oh crap, I think my chain just fell off!” Steve immediately stopped to help me as I pedaled right on by saying “Oh, nope, I’m ok.” He called me a jerk as he started back up that hill from a dead standstill. I thought about that race day 2 years ago, how nervous I was. Having never done a triathlon, I was entering a totally foreign arena. I was completely unprepared for the swim. I was riding and antiquated Trek. And I had no idea how much that 10k would hurt more than any marathon I had ever run. But I took a leap of faith, with a lot of encouragement from Farrell, and I went out on that course. That was the hardest race I had ever done. But the sense of accomplishment when I finished was overwhelming.

As I stood on the beach at 7am Saturday morning with Katie and Brian and Kris and several others, we were already agonizing over the fact that we were sweating before we had even entered the water. We knew this was gonna be a hot one. Not what race day is supposed to be. But I decided to just treat it as a training day. Again, I didn’t feel prepared for the swim, but I knew I was in way better shape than 2 years ago. And I stood there, I thought again about how far I’ve come in the past 2 years. I’ve learned how to do things I never could have imagined. I’ve struggled and scraped by some times, other times I’ve been astounded by my own strength and abilities.

Finally, it was time for the pink wave to enter the water. I waded in and stayed to the side with the slower swimmers. I took it easy from the start and just tried to find a rhythm. At the first buoy I saw that I was still with the majority of the pack. By the halfway point, I was amazed at how comfortable I was and thrilled that I had actually figured out how to sight the buoys in the distance. Sometimes things just click. Finally I rounded the last buoy and headed back to the beach. As I reached the sand and looked down at my watch, I smiled to see that I had just gotten a PR on the swim. Progress!

The bike went fine. Since I knew Kris was just up ahead of me I had a rabbit to chase. I caught her around mile 19, but I knew she was right behind me. I said hi to her as I tried to go the wrong way out of the transition from the bike to the run. I was redirected, got back on course and headed out for the final leg. Wes and Kristen cheered. At the top of the hill, the Swim Bike Run crew was on one side cheering for me and the Westside Multi Sport crew was on the other side cheering for me. I felt like I had my own fan club. And to think, 2 years prior, I only knew about 4 people along the course.

The run was tough. It was hot and I had a hard time getting my heart rate under control. I slowed to walk up a hill and took some deep breaths. I realized I had forgotten my handheld water bottle in transition so I had to wait til I got to the first water station. I was thrilled to arrive there where I guzzled a cup of water, poured one over my head, and guzzled another cup. I ran through every sprinkler I saw. I drank whenever I could. I cheered for friends along the way.
And then finally I was coming back up the hill into the finish area. It was done. Finally and suddenly, at the same time. Once again, I had survived.

Luis greeted me with a sweaty hug at the finish and handed me a bottle of water. I said Hi to Adam and Sarah as I made my way over to Wes and Kristen. It was just a couple minutes later that Kris came into the finish. I cheered in my boss, Debby. And eventually, I began to gather up my gear and head back to Farrell’s. I stopped at the top of the hill to talk to Ronette and Kerstin for a minute. Ronette grabbed me a chocolate milk to help me recover. And Kerstin said the best thing that anyone could have said to me after that race. She said, “Ya know what I loved about seeing you out there today, Lindsey? Every time I saw you, you had a smile on your face.”

And that’s how I really know that I’ve learned how to roll with the punches. Because even when things are tough and they aren’t going the way they’re supposed to, you better believe that I’m gonna go out there and smile because no matter what the circumstances, I know without a doubt that I am doing the absolute best I can and I’m gonna come through ok in the end.

As I drove away from school this morning, which also marked the 2 year anniversary of my freedom, a song came on the radio and the chorus has been ringing in my head today. The song is called Through All of It and the lyrics were very apropos for all of the thoughts swirling through my head about how life sometimes takes us in a different direction than we think it’s supposed to. And so I will leave them with you now…

There are days I’ve taken more than I can give
And there are choices that I made
That I wouldn’t make again
I’ve had my share of laughter
Of tears and troubled times
This is has been the story of my life

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life’s been a journey
I’ve seen joy, I’ve seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it

You were there when it all came down on me
And I was blinded by my fear
And I struggled to believe
But in those unclear moments
You were the one keeping me strong
This is how my story’s always gone

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life’s been a journey
I’ve seen joy, I’ve seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it
Through all of it

And this is who You are
More constant than the stars up in the sky
All these years of our lives
I look back and I see You
Right now I still do
And I’m always going to

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life’s been a journey
I’ve seen joy
I’ve seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it

Ok, I’ve been quiet about this long enough.  It’s time for me to speak.

No matter where on the planet you are reading this, you may have heard about an event that occurred last week in our small corner of the world here in St. Louis.

Last Tuesday, my friend Randy was out for a bike ride in Sunset Hills, Missouri, when he had an encounter with a driver.  I met Randy on my very first day at the new FLEET FEET inside of Swim Bike Run.  He was doing some electrical work right in my little corner of the store.  I remember thinking he was a good dude.  At that time, I had no idea that he is one of the best cyclists in the state.

By Randy’s account, he was cruising along when a man in a red convertible began shouting at him, “Get off my …. roads!” and eventually swerved his car into Randy, knocking him off his bike.  The driver then proceeded to drive away.  After being pursued by another driver who had witnessed the incident, the driver turned around and went back to my fallen friend, Randy.

The police were called to the scene and an accident report was filed, but nothing further was done.  Nothing.  The driver just walked away, or drove as the case may be.  Randy was left shaken, bruised, bleeding and with a broken bike.  Later, Randy returned to the police department with his attorney to seek some justice, seeing as he did sustain injuries and damage to his bike, but no information on the driver who needed to make restitution.  It was at this time that Randy learned the identity of the individual who had hit him.  The man in the red convertible was none other than the Mayor of Sunset Hills, so you can understand his possessiveness of his own roads.  However, you cannot excuse his demeanor and you might expect he would be slightly more familiar with the laws that are in place to protect cyclists on the roads.

Since the incident, the Mayor has denied that he intentionally swerved into Randy, saying that Randy grabbed onto the side of his car while yelling expletives at him.  Side note, could you blame Randy for dropping an F bomb or two?  I mean think about it…Randy’s trying to maintain balance on tires about an inch wide, on a road with no shoulder, and rather than the driver giving him “plenty of room” as is required by law, he is close enough for the Mayor to claim he grabbed onto his car.  Think on that for a sec.  And we wipe out all the time when there aren’t vehicles involved.  I’ve had so many friends crash this year it’s scary.  But I digress.

Eyewitnesses who were on the scene have come forward and corroborated every detail of Randy’s account.  And the 911 calls have been released.

As soon as I learned of Randy’s incident, I went to the Mayor’s facebook page and posted a comment to the most recent photo of the Mayor.  It has since been deleted but it went something like this…What happened to my friend Randy on Old Gravois Road today is a travesty!  When the leaders of our community are modeling complete intolerance as acceptable behavior, I fear where our society is headed.

Randy commented back to me on that post and was appreciative of my support.  By the next morning, our comments were gone.  But the comments from others continued and ultimately lead to the removal of the mayor’s Facebook account since it was becoming a breeding ground for hostility, from both sides.

Now there is an investigation that the Sunset Hills police have turned over to the county in an effort to maintain integrity.  While, in my personal opinion, the facts seem to be in Randy’s favor, there is a whole lot of “He said/He said” going on at the moment.

But, this is what I know.  This kind of stuff happens all the time!  I hear stories of friends who have been verbally attacked and even had things thrown at them (ie-cans of soda, a cup full of pennies, etc) while riding.  I’ve seen videos of cyclists riding single file on the white line while cars trail behind them laying on the horn for no other reason than to just be a jerk.  My friend Kerstin had a guy attempt to smack her butt one time as he cruised by in the passenger seat of a pickup.  Clearly he had no idea how dangerous that idea was.  This is assault!  Plain and simple.

Personally, I get “buzzed” by cars all the time.  And while the driver may not realize they are driving that close to me, the wind and the noise caused by the vehicle are enough to make me jumpy and throw me off balance.

I worry about going out on the road by myself, which makes getting my cycling miles for Ironman Arizona a challenge.  I try to go on group rides, or ride with friends, since I am still trying to learn road etiquette, but that isn’t always an option.  And sitting inside on a bike trainer got old after the winter we had, I want to be outside.  But there is a total lack of mutual respect between cyclists and drivers which makes riding alone scary.  I realize that not all cyclists respect the rules of the road and that ticks off the drivers.  But here’s a point I want the drivers to just be aware of…the other day I was out riding with my friend Karen and there were a few times we were riding side by side that we just couldn’t hear the approaching car so we didn’t switch to single file.  It wasn’t that we were being intentionally inconsiderate; we were just enjoying our ride.  We made a mistake, oops.  People do that. Regardless of why cyclists are using the road, or how they’re using it, let’s remember that no one has the right to use their vehicle as a weapon.  Ever!

My apologies if, on one of my cycling escapades, I have ridden too far into the lane, or I haven’t used my right arm to signal long enough (my balance isn’t great that way), or if I made you 30 seconds later to get where you were going.  Please forgive me.  But allow me to offer a truce.  I am a cyclist.  I am also a driver.  But we’re all people.  So what I propose is very simply, mutual respect and understanding.  Tolerance.  Acceptance.  And above all, Forgiveness.

On Saturday, Randy and several other folks I know rallied at a peaceful demonstration on bike safety in Sunset Hills.  I wanted to be there, but I knew Randy would understand that I needed to take advantage of my opportunity to train and get a lot of miles in.  I was there in spirit.  The theme was I AM HUMAN.  We are all people.  Like I said, I am a cyclist.  And a driver.  I’m also a mom.  And a daughter.  And a sister.  And a friend.  And an aunt.  And a cousin.  And the list continues.

All of this reminds me of a post that I wrote about a year ago when I got buzzed by a truck pulling a trailer on 109.  That experience left a lasting impression with me, so I feel the need to share that post again.  So, if you will indulge me, here it is once again…

A LETTER TO MY FRIENDS WITH CARS

Dear friends with cars:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XOXO…

Rambling Runner Girl

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

Last weekend, I had a new experience.  Everybody knows I love me some 26.2, but a few weeks ago I had an opportunity pop up to run a 50k.  For those of you not familiar with the metric system, that converts to be about 31 miles.

Rosie and I decided to drive over to the Kansas/Missouri line on Friday night so that we could embark on this journey together.  Rosie is one of my longest distance Ultra running friends with a 100 miler under her belt.  Yes, you read that right, she ran for 100 miles.  At one time.  On purpose.  Simply put, she’s amazing.

So, on Friday, after I got finished at FLEET FEET Town and Country, I drove over to FLEET FEET Chesterfield, to pick up Rosie and our friend, Chera, who was going to carpool over with us.

It’s been several months now that I’ve been at the new store so it took us all of the 3 hours of drive time for Rosie and I to catch up on the goings on in each of our lives.  We watched the sun set on Interstate 70 as we carb-loaded (aka, ate junk food) and shared stories.

We arrived at the Fairfield Inn Lee’s Summit at a decent hour and were all tucked in by a few minutes after 10.

At 4:50am when I heard the shower going, I said to Rosie in a sleepy and baffled voice, “She really did get up before 5. Huh.  I’m going back to sleep for an hour”.  Much to our chagrin, the race didn’t start until 8am.  Normally, I would be thrilled at a later race time, but with the temperature expected to hit a high near 97 with 50% humidity, we feared how far into the hottest part of the day we’d be running.

Eventually I was the final one to rouse and get the morning underway.   With coffee in hand (mine) we headed over to the Wyandotte County Park for the Psycho Wyco 50k.  We made up a parking spot on the edge of the grass and headed over to packet pick up for our bibs, saying hello to several friends on the way.

This was very possibly the first race I’ve ever done that I’ve had absolutely no nerves.  I wasn’t worried at all.  Because it wasn’t a race.  It was a long run.  All in the name of fun.  And just finishing would be a PR. As my mom tells me, I have a weird idea of fun.

I didn’t really promote this race, because I wasn’t quite sure what would happen.  I didn’t feel entirely prepared for it and given my injury history of this year, I was certain I had to listen to my body.  If that meant I had to bail early, I was willing to do it.  Needless to say, I’ve come a long way in the past year when it comes to my willingness to be smart with the long term goal in mind.

The first lap went according to plan.  I ran a decent pace, reasonable for the distance.  I finished the first 10+ mile loop in exactly 2 hours (and 30some seconds).  The first 2 loops were relatively good, dare I even say fun.  I ran. I walked some of the tough hills.  I stopped at aid stations.  I enjoyed the scenery.  I chatted with other runners.  I smiled for the photographers.  I prepared myself for how tough the back half of the 2nd loop would be, as there were 3 insane hills back to back to back in the last mile and a half.  They hurt on the first go round, they would hurt even more just past the halfway mark.  They proved themselves as I remembered, but I managed to get through.

The second loop was almost a half hour slower.  But that was the point where I took inventory.  My back felt fine.  My legs felt good.  Sure I was hot and tired, but since when has that ever been a good reason to quit?  I went through the main aid station and grabbed my drop bag to ditch a dead Garmin and restock some nutritionals.  I had a quick chat with Andy, who had already finished his 10 mile race with a 2^nd place overall finish.  Rosie and Danny were still somewhere behind me, so Andy asked me to make sure and get a picture of the three 50k conquerors. Then I was off for the 3^rd and final loop.  It seemed simple enough, in theory, since I had already had completed 2 and only had one more to go.  But my legs were tired.  My body was trashed.  And the worst of the mind games were yet to come.

At just a half mile into that last lap, I felt the temperature spike.  There were times during the race that I was in the midst of a crowd and times that I enjoyed the peace of running through the woods alone.  But during those early miles in the final loop, I felt the weight of my solitude like a ton of bricks.  It was hot.  I could tell my core temperature was too high.  Each step felt like a hundred miles.  I knew I needed to get my temperature down, but in order for that to happen, I had to get to the aid station.  I kept repeating Teri’s words over and over in my head, “One mile at a time.”  And then I exchanged the word “mile” for “step”.  I was literally just doing whatever I could to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  After what felt like a hundred years, I could finally hear the voices at the edge of the woods.  As soon as they saw me someone asked, “What do you need?”

“Shade,” I responded and went into the respite of the tent.  My hands went to my knees and another runner asked, “Are you ok, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, just hot.”

“What can I get you?” asked a volunteer.

“Ice!”

He handed me a cup of ice, which I promptly put on the back of my neck.  Followed by another cup that I poured into the front of my sports bra.  Ahhhh…instant relief.

I ate some chips, more watermelon, downed some water.  As I prepared to go, I took another pickle.

Eventually, I set out again, on to the next aid station.  I decided not to think any farther ahead than that.  Just get from one station to the next.  I followed a couple into the woods and I kept running by zoning out on her socks.  They were black knee socks and I’m pretty sure they had bees on them.  As long as her feet were going, so were mine.  At some point they pulled away.  And then they were back.  And then they were gone again.  I began to long for that aid station that was just before we crossed the dam to loop back to the finish.  I thought I would never get there.  I wondered how this stretch had gotten so much longer than it was in the first two loops. Finally, I reached the road and headed down the 50 yards to where there was music playing, and more watermelon waiting, and a guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt because he is heat-training for Badwater.  THAT is insane.  I lingered there for a while, partly because the next part of the course was headed directly into the sun.  But mostly because I was at the threshold of greater than 26.2 and because I knew the next 2 miles were going to feel dreadfully long.

But then I went. I ran. I walked.  I ran. I walked.  A song came on my ipod and as I started listening to the lyrics, I began to cry.  I don’t even remember what it was.  I just remember thinking how grateful I was to be able to be doing what I was doing and how happy I would be in a while when I got to the finish.  I looked around to make sure I really was alone because I felt like a big dope out there, crying in the middle of the woods as I struggled just to move forward on a course I had voluntarily chosen.  I felt the fatigue of my legs.  I questioned my own sanity.  Then I saw signs, which meant the next station was near.

And as I crossed the open field to the pavilion where aid awaited me, I saw the couple, already there, where I was greeted with an ice cold towel around my shoulders.  More orange slices.  More watermelon.  More chips.  Ibuprofen chased with 7up.

I loaded my sports bra with ice again.  And then on to the next station.

By the time I got to the last aid station, I was now friends with the volunteers I had seen multiple times throughout the race.  The one who I had designated “Nick’s twin” greeted me with “Hey, there she is! What do you need?”  I responded with, “Nothing.  I feel pretty good.  I just wanna get this thing done.”  I didn’t hang around long.  I was glad I only had a couple miles to go.  I had already run more in a race than I ever had before.  It was the farthest I had ever run on trails.  And I’m pretty sure it was the hottest race day I had ever encountered.  Which is saying something, since I’ve had some hot ones (ie-record heat in Vancouver last May and 2 of the 3 most recent, brutally hot Chicago Marathons)

I headed into those last few hills knowing that I was in the home stretch, but that it wasn’t going to be easy.  The third time up those monsters was very much a mental challenge of its own.  I had come upon the couple I had followed for most of that 3^rd loop.  Again, I stared at her socks to pull to put myself into a trance in an effort to trick myself up the hill.  And then there was a photographer in front of us.  Really?  Here?!  Taking pictures as we try to muster the energy just to keep putting one foot in front of the other to put this hill behind us?  That seemed mean at the moment.

But as we crested the last of the hills, I found enough strength to run (or as Teri would say “slog”, as in slow-jog, because I’m pretty sure what felt like a sprint probably looked more like a death march).  I took off ahead of them for that last half mile or so.  And I finally came down a hill where I could hear the DJ playing something resembling dance music.  Despite my broken, exhausted body, I felt like dancing!  My smile was huge as I crossed that finish line laughing.  Yes, after 30 grueling miles in heat that was worse than Death Valley on that particular day, I was laughing.  Because sometimes, even though you’ve been to hell and back, the tears and the joy all run together when you realize that you’ve made it!  And all you can do is laugh.

Random things I learned from my first 50k:

1. Jellybeans, White Cheddar Cheeze-its and Rice Crispy Treats are probably not sufficient for pre-race carb loading.
2. There is a jungle in Kansas…who knew?!
3. You know it’s going to be a good day when you hear Dire Straits, Prince, Salt-n-Peppa and Duran Duran on the way to the race course.
4. Best quote I heard at the race…”The shittiest races make the best race reports because you can swear more.”
5. At mile 5 you jump over the downed tree. At mile 15, you step over the downed tree. At mile 25, you climb over the downed tree and just try not to fall.
6. It is possible for a girl who does not like watermelon to eat more than her own weight of the stuff on the right occasion.
7. Nothing ever goes the way you think it’s going to.
8. No Ultra runner has ever met a stranger. They are friendly to everyone.
9. Those blisters you felt forming on lap 2 didn’t go away. The only reason you can’t feel them on lap 3 is because your feet have gone numb.
10. You cannot say “Thank you” too much to the people who are willing to help you along the way.
11. It is possible to go to “the dark place” on a bright sunny day.
12. On the first loop, you avoid the horse poop. By the third time around, you just don’t care anymore.
13. Ice in a sports bra feels amazing.
14. Some men still flirt like Jr. High boys. It’s still not at all attractive.
15. Just changing your clothes can make you feel like a new person.
16. QT pizza and neon green Funkyberry Freezies are a perfect race reward.
17. No matter how far you’ve pushed yourself, there is always someone willing to go farther. And no matter how bad it may seem in the moment, as long as you keep putting one foot in front of the other, you will get through it eventually.
18. You’ve always got to focus on running your own race.
19. Whatever you do, just keep going.
20. The things that bring the greatest joy are usually the same things that bring the greatest pain. But you’ve got to feel them both fully to truly appreciate the whole experience.

A really special thing happened at work last week.  On Tuesday, I was busying myself with tasks at the store, when I heard a voice on the other side of the wall.  I smiled and immediately walked around the corner.  “I knew I recognized that voice!” I said, as Teri and I quickly crossed the floor towards each other and met in a hug.

“I was just about to see if you were here,” she said.

I helped Teri with shoes, called in a pair from one of the other stores and somewhere in the midst of our exchange, I exclaimed, “Hey, where’s my book!?”

“I just dropped some off!  That’s why I’m here,” she responded.  “But, hang on.  Let me get you one out of the car.”

This is my thank you letter to my friend…

Teri,

On Tuesday you made my day when you gave me a copy of your book Powered By Hope.  On Wednesday, I started reading it.  On Thursday, I finished it.  I would have finished it quicker, but ya know, I have three young children and they keep asking to eat.  There is also the small matter of work and I’m probably not supposed to read for leisure while I’m on the clock.  I’m not positive but I’m guessing they frown on that.  At any rate, I wanted to write you a note of thanks.

Thank you.  Not just for the book, but for telling your story.  Thank you for refusing to give up and for continuing to shine your light.  Thank you for taking me, for taking everyone who reads this book, on the journey with you.

It is no surprise that I was drawn to you when I met you a couple years ago.  Anyone who has ever met you, however brief an encounter, can’t help but want to remain in the room with you.  In your inscription you mentioned the time we spoke in the lobby at church.  I remember that night so clearly.  After crying my eyes out through the entire service because of the struggles in my own life (my “cancer” as you would say), I didn’t want to stop talking to you.  But when I finally left the building, I was smiling and I distinctly remember thinking, it’s going to be ok.  Regardless of how this goes, it’s going to be ok in the end.  You always have that effect on me, on everyone. You are the personification of hope.

As I read your story, I found the parallels of our endurance addiction rather humorous.  When I read about your first marathon in 2002, I almost picked up the phone to text you.  I thought of how I took to those very same streets in Chicago just the year before for my first marathon, and finished in just over 4 ½ hours…only minutes behind your initial marathon time.   And the disastrous story of your first triathlon sounds more than just a little familiar.  I swam all of twice before I hopped in the waters of Lake St. Louis a couple years ago.  The big difference being you had already mastered that skill, I was just scared and I hadn’t learned to ask for help.  Then I jumped on an antiquated Trek, (my shifters were on the down tube, seriously.)  On a non-athletic note, just like you, I was at one time a self-declared non-hugger/non-crier.  But again that was all based on fear.  Fear of exposing my own vulnerability.  Fear of letting anyone see who I really am.

While I learned the details of your story, I cried at least a thousand tears.  Because the people you speak of, your family and friends, are not just characters in a story, they are real people with real emotions.  When I read of Kati’s reaction to the news, I cried for the girl I had helped with shoes last summer.  When I read about your mom Laverne crying as she sat between you and JoAnn at chemo, I thought of the sweet, vivacious, white haired lady that came into my store just a few weeks ago.  I loved her immediately.  Helping Teri’s mom is like helping a celebrity.

I remembered last summer, sitting on the floor of FLEET FEET as Kati tried on shoes.  I mentioned that some friends were trying to convince me to go with them to volunteer at Ironman Arizona so that we could register for 2014.  I scoffed at the idea. How in the world could a working, single mom find time to train for an Ironman? But I remember you saying, “Just think about it.”  And I knew at that instant it was a done deal.  Show me where to sign on the dotted line, because it is impossible to say the words “I can’t” to Teri Griege.  If Teri can do it, well then you better believe I can give it a try.

I loved what Mimi said in her Caringbridge entry…”you must be scared before you can be courageous.”  When I ran into you at church, and when I began the journey of triathlon, I was still in the stages of admitting my fears and trying to find my courage.  You say throughout the book, there are no coincidences.  I don’t think it was a coincidence that I met you in FLEET FEET.  It’s not a coincident that our second meeting was at church.  And it’s not a coincidence that I saw you shortly after crossing the finish line of my very first triathlon.

I also don’t believe that it’s a coincidence that I have joined on as a part of your army, nor that you are a part of mine.  I won’t compare my struggles to yours, it’s not even a contest.  My struggles don’t make me question my own mortality.  But they did, for many years, make me deny who I am, which as you are well aware can also be quite devastating.  But from that time I met you at church, I have felt that you are cheering me on every step of the way to becoming who I truly am.

Triathlons have taught me so much about myself.  I’ve learned that the things in life that scare me, won’t drown me, unless I let them.  I’ve learned that I hold the power to excel at things I’ve never even tried, if I set my inadequacies and fears aside and apply myself with dedication, perseverance and passion.  And I’ve learned that there are things in life that bring me joy and those are the things I’m going to focus on in the journey to find my courage.

A couple weeks ago, I was out for a long run and I hurt my back.  I was terrified that it was so bad it might take me out of the game this year, take away my chance at Ironman Arizona.  I lay in bed that night, crying and praying, “God, please don’t take this away from me.”  The thing I was once scared to try, I am now afraid to lose.

Teri, you are literally, the reason I agreed to give Ironman Arizona a go.  I don’t ever want to take for granted the gift I have been given.  I don’t ever want to stop stepping outside of my comfort zone.  And like you, I want to inspire others to do the same.  Now that I’ve found my courage, I can honestly say, I can’t wait to hear those infamous words when I cross the finish line in Tempe on November 16.

Thank you, Teri, for your story.  For your never quit attitude.  For your joy.  For your inspiration.  For your encouragement.  And especially, thank you for helping me find my courage.  For that, I am forever grateful to you my friend.

Much love and gratitude,

Lindsey (aka-Rambling Runner Girl)

*Note: To preorder your copy of Teri’s book Powered By Hope: The Teri Griege Story written by Teri Griege with Amy Marxkors, visit:  https://secure.mybookorders.com/Orderpage/1382

*Another note:  I recently registered for Pedal the Cause to ride with Teri’s Team, Powered by Hope.  Please join me in the fight against cancer at: http://stlouis.pedalthecause.org/riders_profile.jsp?MemberID=30211