We all have a history.  We all have those certain places where from the moment we arrive we are hit with a wave of nostalgia that washes over us and drenches us in memories of the past.

Having moved around a fair amount as a kid, I actually have several of those places.  While I didn’t grow up in New Buffalo, MI, I did spend at least a week of every summer of my life here.  So, it’s sort of the thread that runs through all the various parts of my life.  It has always been a safe haven, an escape from reality, a breath of fresh air.

This week we had a few days in the middle of the week when I didn’t have to work and the kids didn’t have camp or any other activities, so we decided that this week our “Wednesday Adventure Day” would be a multiple day adventure to visit Grandma.  As soon as we hit Exit 1 from 94 and headed into town, the boys started yelling, “I can see the water!”  “Hey, look the train tracks!” and “I remember that place!”  Of course they remember, they’ve been here literally hundreds of times.  But this is the first trip back since last summer so it comes flooding over us with shouts of excitement.

Yesterday was rainy, so we didn’t get to do all the things we had so enthusiastically chattered about in the car on the way up 55.  We did manage to sneak in a quick walk on the beach between rain showers and a burger at Redamak’s (If you’ve ever been there, I know you are jealous right now).  I also kicked off the trip down memory lane by looking through some old family photo albums.  I was in search of a newspaper article from 4^th grade to clear up a conversation I had recently been having with Stephanie and Inga at one of our monthly lunch dates.  But instead I came across some pictures from our 6^th grade production of Dear Abby (It may have been 5th grade, which year did we do Tom Sawyer?).  And there in our family album sat a picture of my very own handsome beau, Brian at age 11, as Thomas Jefferson.  Funny that he’s been sitting in that album for almost 30 years.

Fortunately, today we awoke to a shining sun.  So, Grandma took the kids over to the beach and I set out on a run down memory lane.  I was planning on 21ish miles, but as we all know, nothing ever really goes according to plan.  I ran the same route that I always run when I’m here.  Over the bridge, past the beach and out the lake road.  The big differentiator is always where I turn around.  Rarely is it ever before Gintara’s Resort where I spent so many summers of my youth.  It’s really the perfect picture of what you’d consider memory lane, tree lined with cross streets like Breezy Lane, Shady Lane and Apple Ave.

It’s funny how the past and the present can come crashing together in a place like that.  All the new construction which has taken the place of some of the older homes that once stood on that lake mixed in with familiar landmarks like Camp Sokol and ladies in the rocking chairs on the porch at the Lakeside Inn.

I ran along just fine all the way to the end of Lakeshore Road, where it ends at Red Arrow Highway.  The out and back would put me at 15 miles, so I’d still have to do a loop through town.  I turned around and started back towards where I had been.  I saw the little Dutch woman on her bike again and she smiled.  I also ran past the cutie-patootie with the backwards baseball hat again and he waved.  (Hey, I might be in a relationship but I’m not blind.  And we all know I love a visor or a backwards baseball hat.  Don’t judge me.)  Shortly after that, my lower back started bothering me.  What is this?!  My legs feel good.  I’m not the least bit tired. Why is my back hurting?

As athletes we have conditioned ourselves to press on through the pain.  We overlook the ache of fatigued muscles and we occasionally ignore the twinges of pain in our (Achilles, calf, knee, Fill in the blank).  We take more than the recommended dosage of Ibuprofen in order to get through a particularly difficult workout.  But stop before we’ve completed what we have set out to do?  Not a chance.   So, of course, I continued running.

That is, until I hit mile 12 where the tweak in my back grew increasingly worse.  It was time for me to take an energy gel, so I slowed to walk and pulled one from the pocket of my shorts.  I contemplated what to do.  I deemed that 21 miles were probably out of the question today, but I wondered if I should call my mom and have her and the kids come pick me up.  I decided to walk for a mile or so and see if that helped.  And so I walked, back past Apple Ave and many other familiar sights.  The thing you need to understand here is, I don’t walk.  I don’t like walking.  And I felt otherwise fantastic so walking was especially painful at this venture.  It’s a pride thing.  It feels incomplete.  Beyond that, I can’t really explain it.

At Mile 13, I picked it up again.  My back still hurt.  It wasn’t as bad, but it was still there and quite prevalent.  I decided I could make it back to Mom’s, which would put me just over 15 on the day and I’d probably have to call it there.

Once I got back, I took some ibuprofen to help with the inflammation that I’m sure was causing my back troubles.  I still had so much energy that it was a disappointing end to my run.  I debated what to do?  Do I think I could have pushed myself those last 6 miles?  Absolutely.  Do I think that would have been the best move?  Not likely.  Think long term goal here…

But cutting my run short today doesn’t mean that’s the anti-climactic end to the story, it means there is more of the story to be written.

Our bodies, and our hearts, are designed to feel pain.  And while it is sometimes ok to test our limits with some types of pain, we have to consider what happens when we ignore pain for too long.  Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.  Even when we mask it, it’s still there. But not dealing with it has the potential to cause long term damage, sometimes irreparable damage.  Pain is a sucky, albeit necessary, part of life.  And we have to be able to discern when to persevere through the pain and when to listen, hearing its instructions to change directions.

Here’s what I know.  I ignored a lot of pain for a lot of years.  I masked it however I could.  But it didn’t go away.  Once I finally acknowledged it and altered the route I was on, I put an end to the ailments it caused for so long because I allowed it to heal adequately.  And ultimately I have been rewarded for that.  More than I ever could have imagined.

My past and my present combine to make me who I am.  And this is exactly where I want to be.

I’m tired.  I’m so tired.

Last week after working all 3 days of the holiday weekend, I had just a couple hours of quiet time before being launched into a 23 day stint of having my kids Every. Single. Day.

Their dad is litigating a trial in Florida this month so he really isn’t able to come back at all.  And so here we are in the midst of that. And I am exhausted.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love having them full time.  But as any parent knows, kids are a lot of work.  And as any single parent will tell you, there is something to be said for shared custody.  It’s called…getting a break.  My break will come in July when the kids go on vacation with their dad for a week, but until then, pure exhaustion.

The first week of summer vacation went by with a flourish.  We did trips to the pool, a visit to the library, and our “adventure day” at the zoo.  We’ve done play dates here and play dates there.  On Friday while I worked, the kids spent the whole day at 6 Flags with friends.  And even with all that activity, the “I’m Bored” Board that we created has been getting lots of use.

But training doesn’t exactly stop because of the custody arrangement and a lack of school.  My workouts have been fewer and farther between, but I’ve been making them count.

On Saturday, I had a sitter come bright and early so I could help coach the Fleet Feet trail group.  I ran a 6 mile loop with my “Grizzly Bears” and then, since I was there and had some time, I continued on for several more miles.  Today while the kids were at camp I rode 50 miles on the bike, followed by a 3 mile run, in the heat of the day.  So, I guess I can’t blame my fatigue entirely on my children.

On Saturday, while I was running, I felt great.  I felt amazing.  I felt like I could run forever.  As Brian so aptly pointed out to me, there is something to be said for rest.  True.  With the exception of a 1.5 mile run around the lake with Ethan the day before, this was my first form of exercise since my run Monday evening between dinner with Brian and the kids coming back to me.  My legs were fresh and I was so ready to tear up the trails.

After a nice, easy paced 6 mile loop with my group, I went on to complete the long course.  One of the girls from Rosie’s group joined me for a couple miles.  I distinctly remember talking about how trail running is how I forget about the numbers and get back to my love of running.  Sometimes you just have to leave the Garmin at home and run, but not necessarily when you need to get in specific mileage.  About that time, Andy hooked up with us from a different part of the trail.  We ran to the stairs and when they headed up to the bluff, I headed out into the flats to cover some additional ground.  Andy warned me that it would be muddy, he was right.  I only went about a mile in and decided it wasn’t worth fighting the clay that was causing me to slide around uncontrollably.  So I turned back and at about 9.5 miles my Garmin beeped. “Low Battery”.  What?!  It was charged to 100%.  Eh, no worries, I should still be able to finish off this run before it dies.  Or so I thought. ..

I got back to the stairs and started the climb.  I was not terribly disappointed that a large group of Boy Scouts was coming down the stairs, forcing me to slow down as I ascended the narrow stairway.  About halfway up, I picked up the pace to the top.  I took in the view for a second as I caught my breath and then continued on along the ridge.  I kept checking my Garmin, it hadn’t beeped again so I thought surely the battery wasn’t too low.  I stopped at one of the overlooks and took a quick picture.  As soon as I started running again, I glanced at my Garmin and found the screen blank.  Mocking me.  “Really, Lindsey?  How is that no Garmin thing working out for you now?”

And the calculations began.  Last I had checked I was at 10.25ish.  And from where I was on the bluff, I had just about a mile back to the parking lot.  I got back to the car, left the extra weight of the watch there, and took a Gu and an extra swing of water.  I was estimating that I was at just over 11 miles at that point.  I needed to do 16.  But I felt ok about going a little further.  So I decided to go back to the 6 mile loop I had done earlier with the Grizzlies.  I wasn’t as familiar with that part of the park and Andy had asked us to take down the pink ribbons he’d used to mark the trail, but I was pretty sure I could figure it out.  A couple times I was a little unsure that I was on the right path, but then I’d see a landmark that would remind me, Oh right, this is where we were when I was telling Sheila the story of being rescued off a mountain in South Africa.  (Yes, that has actually happened.  It’s a story for another time.)

Eventually I made my way down the hill, across the road and headed for the creek.  I wasn’t super stoked about the creek crossing the first time since it was still so early in my run, but the second time through, with only a mile to go and the heat rising, the cold creek water felt amazing.  I wound around by the creek on Grotpeter Trail for that last mile and finally slowed to a walk in the parking lot.  It was weird to look at my wrist and just see flesh where the Garmin would normally be.  No stop button to hit.  I estimated a total mileage somewhere around 17.5.  It was one of those rare days that I felt so good I wanted to keep going.  But since my sitter needed me to be home so she could go to a wedding, I was out of time.

Not all workouts come that easy though.  Today I did a 50 mile ride.  My longest solo ride ever.  My second longest ride ever.  Second only to the 56 miles I rode during the Racine half Ironman last July.  Something about being in a race setting makes it easier to go the distance.  The crowd, the adrenaline, the support crew at the aid stations.  And all the other athletes doing the race with you.  But today, I was on my own.

I set out on my bike in Rockwood Reservation and within the first mile I was already making excuses to cut my ride short.  It went something like this…I don’t really need to go 50 miles today do I?  45 should be plenty.  40 would be good.  30 is still ok, I’ll stop there.  I could just do 25, or 20, get in a quick run and then have a nice relaxing afternoon at the pool.  Wait…WHAT?!  Lindsey, c’mon!  Get with it.  You’re in this for the long haul today.  Who knows when you’ll have another whole day to do this.

I was strong for a while, and then the mind games would start again.  Then I saw a mama deer and her baby.  I was constantly being pelted by the butterflies that seemed to be raining up from the pavement.  I almost crashed when a squirrel darted out in front of my tire.  I chuckled at the muskrats hustling across the road.  I could have done without the dead armadillo sighting.

By that last mile, my back hurt.  My feet hurt. (I desperately need new cycling shoes)  My face was salty and gritty.  I was slimy from sweat mixed with sunscreen.   My shoulders were covered with bug guts.  Gross.

I changed my shoes, exchanged my helmet for a visor, ditched my gloves and locked my bike to the car.  And then I took off for a run.  First mile, sub 9 minute pace, I was so happy to be in running shoes.  Second mile, I was going up a slight grade so I was a little slower.  Third mile, the shade was gone.  I needed water.  I wanted this to be over.  I actually ran past my car with a half mile to go.  The desire to quit and just jump in the car was over-powering.  But I kept going.  One foot in front of the other.  Why?  Because my heart is stronger than my body.  And my mind.

Why do I do this?  Why do I torment myself with training for something as grueling as an Ironman?  Because life is hard.  Because even though I know that my legs are capable of carrying me anywhere I want to go, my mind is the thing that shows up with the doubts of “can you REALLY do this?”  And that’s when my heart has to prove that it’s the strongest part of me.

I say it all the time, what I lack in speed and ability, I make up for it with heart and determination.  I train for marathons, for triathlons, for an Ironman because it reminds me that no matter what I can keep going.

I will get through these 23 days with my kids.  And then it will be over.  And then I’ll wake up and they’ll be in college.  Sometimes the hard parts seem like they will last forever, but they won’t.  And deep down I know this, even when my brain tries to make me doubt it.

So, that’s why I train.  To remind myself that my legs are strong, but my heart is stronger.

Life is hard.  Being a parent is hard.  Nobody ever promised that either one would be easy.  However, sometimes you get smacked in the face with just how hard the combination of these things can be.

This year I am embarking on two of the hardest things that I never thought I would do.  Training for an Ironman and learning to be a single mom.  Yep, I said “learning”.  Even though it’s been almost two years since I got the official decree pronouncing me “single”, I still feel like I’m going through a learning process.  But I guess that just comes with being a parent in general since babies aren’t born with a guide book on all the decisions you will have to make for them, and which decisions will be right.  Being a parent is hard enough when you have a loving, supportive spouse there blazing the trail beside you.  But no matter how many supportive people you have in your life, when you’re a single parent, some things you just have to get through on your own.

A couple weeks ago, I met Vega for pancakes one morning and we had the conversation we’ve had so many times before.  We talked about our kids and the struggles some of them are facing.  We both agreed that the first year after a divorce with small kids is all about survival.  You keep putting one foot in front of the other and do whatever you have to do in order to get through each day, including occasionally allowing the kids to eat cereal for dinner.  Or popcorn.  Or pudding.  Not because you don’t have food in the pantry or because you aren’t capable of cooking, but more so because you are too exhausted to even make a decision about what to feed them.  And so, cereal it is.  Of course, if I’m being honest, those nights don’t just apply to the first year.  Nor do they apply only to single parents.  Sometimes we just have to survive parenthood any way we can.

That particular day though, when I sat down in the booth across from Wes, he tossed a couple 20’s across the table to me to pay me back for something I had picked up for him at the expo a while back.  I don’t typically like taking anyone’s money, in fact, I love giving presents, but I almost jumped with glee at the sight of those bills.  You see, April was not kind to me.  In fairness, I shouldn’t blame April, but rather the FICA guys who took all my money on April 15.  I got hit harder this year than expected and I had to pull from several accounts to make things work.  Not only did I owe for last year, my quarterly estimates for this year were even higher.   My safety net is now gone and at the time Wes gave me those 20’s, I was down to my last $35 dollars until payday on the 30^th.  Needless to say, things were tight.  But the good news is I made it.  All on my own.

In the midst of the financial stress came the proposal to have one of my kiddos repeat his current grade.  You can mark that near the top of the list of decisions that no parent ever wants to be faced with.  My Ethan.  My sweet, smart, unique, wonderful Ethan.  Did I fail him as a mom pushing him into school too soon?  Will this break his beautiful spirit?  The worst part was not knowing how he would react.  And causing my children pain is the last thing I ever want to do.

Even when we know without a shadow of a doubt that something is the right decision, it can be so paralyzingly difficult to follow through with it.  The past few weeks, I’ve spoken with various friends who have done the same.  I sought counsel from my best friend in the world; Britta is an educator, has her Master’s in Counseling and has known Ethan since birth.  Her insight was priceless.  But even with all of the signs pointing to “Yes, Do this” it was still agonizingly emotional.

Monday was Ethan’s 9^th birthday.  He was over the moon about his new bearded dragon, who he has named Spike.  And I let him play hooky from school on Monday to spend the day playing with me and Grandma.  Tuesday he requested a Cookie-Cake to share with his friends in his class.  So, after I dropped the kids at school, I drove back up Manchester to Dierberg’s to accommodate his request.  Then, back over to school.  At the door of Mrs. Hackman’s 3^rd grade classroom, I handed off the giant cookie with the green letters “Happy 9^th Birthday Ethan” scripted across it.  As she closed the door, she caught my eye and said quietly, “Pray for us later today” and I responded, “Of course.  I need it too”.  Side note-you’re allowed to say things like that in a small, private school.

And so I left the school with tears in my eyes, the little dude who was so excited about his new pet and his oversized cookie was about to have a conversation that could go well or really bad.  It’s just not fair that kids have to learn so early that with the joy in life, there also comes pain and struggles and obstacles that sometimes feel mountainous.  It’s not fair that they have to learn life isn’t fair.

I called my brother.  I sometimes forget that I am 7 years his senior because the wisdom that oozes out of that kid is profound.  As always, his insight made me cry and feel better at the same time.  He kept saying “Good job, Mom.  What you’re doing is so great for this dude.”  How is it possible that I can be a great mom but feel so wrecked on the inside at the same time?

I needed to relieve some of my anxiety so I did the only thing I know to do at times like that.  I threw on my shoes and hit the trail.  I drove over to the Al Foster trail head, which has been the chosen start point on so many tough days lately.

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect for a run.  The temp was only high 50’s and there was a light mist in the air.  I ran along the wide part of the path between the Meremac River and the mini train tracks.  About 2 miles in, I arrived at Sherman Beach where I made a sharp left turn.  The trail narrows there and heads into the woods.  Everything is so lush now from all of the rain we’ve had.  The greenery was thicker.  There was a tree down across the trail.  The puddles were more frequent and harder to avoid.  The branches were overgrown so I had to duck and dodge branches, even using my hands to push them out of the way.  There were points where I couldn’t even really see beyond what was right in front of me.  As I got to the other end of Sherman Beach and entered Castlewood, it was even more muddy and hard to see.  And once I got to the underpass to the other side of the train tracks, I decided it was time to turn around and go back.  Back through the muddy puddles and the overgrown brush.  Back over the tree crossing the trail.  Back to the Sherman Beach parking lot.  Sharp right turn and back onto the wide path.  The rain would pick up and then stop.  The sun even tried to make and appearance at one point when I was at a clearing and I looked around for a rainbow, but no luck.  I looked up to see a guy running about 50 yards ahead of me.  And then I realized I hadn’t seen anyone else out there since a couple of walkers with their dogs in the first mile.  I ran behind him, gradually decreasing the distance between us until we neared the parking lot where he continued on and I slowed to a walk.  As I approached the car, I could see the reflection of my tear-stained, sweat-stained, dirt-stained face.  But I didn’t look anxious anymore.  I was ready to face whatever would come from that day.

As we prepare to enter the summer months, I am facing a schedule that will make training for an Ironman even more difficult.  I will have my kids for the better part of June, which is great, but with school ending and the kids at home most of the time, I’m not sure how I’ll manage those century rides I need to be doing.  Maybe I’ll have to hook the bike back up to the trainer.

But here’s what I’ve figured out recently.  Life is so full of stuff to stress about, why am I going to stress about something that is supposed to be fun?  I’ll bike and swim whenever I can.  And I’ll run as much as I can because of the joy it brings me.  I’ve said it before, my training doesn’t look like anyone else’s because neither does my life.  The only thing my life has in common with anyone else’s is that it’s messy.  My training doesn’t look perfect, but neither does my life.  I’m still just getting by the best I can.  But ya know what, I’m doing it.  And I’m not giving up.  And that right there is the best Ironman training there is.

My run at Al Foster the other day was so symbolic of life.  Sometimes the path is wide and clear, sometimes it’s messy, muddy and unclear.  We can’t see beyond what is right in front of us.  With all the obstacles in our way, we second guess and wonder if we should give up and turn around.  But we go it alone and press on, because what else are you gonna do?  Eventually, the path opens up and the way is clear again.  And just because you can’t see the rainbow, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I’m so proud to report that Ethan is very excited about “staying in 3^rd grade”.  He gets to continue on with his amazing teacher and join several of his friends who have already turned 9.  I could not be more proud of my little man. My kiddo is being the strong one carrying his mom through this transition and he’s teaching me a few things in the process.  He’s already reminded me that life is short, so let’s focus less on some prepackaged version of being perfect and focus more on appreciating the little things and just being joyful in a crazy, uncertain, messy, beautiful life.

The funny thing about significant moments in history is that the memory of where you were when they happened never fades. Not ever. I remember last year on Marathon Monday, I arrived at work and there was a buzz in the air because the Boston Marathon, the pinnacle of a runner’s career, was underway. My friend Katherine had an amazing race that day and came away with a huge PR. I was still waiting to hear from several others.

And then it happened. A customer walked into the store and said, “Did you hear about the explosion in Boston?” Wait…what?! She had gotten a text from her daughter that there was some kind of explosion near the finish line. She seemed to think it was related to a gas line. And then she got another text. Another explosion. I was in denial. I desperately wanted to believe that this was an accident. A freak thing. Not someone targeting the running community, the people who I consider my extended family.

Katie was in the office and she pulled up the information on the computer. We couldn’t believe what was happening. We sent frantic messages to the people we knew who were somewhere on the course.

It took several hours before everyone I knew was accounted for. In the meantime, I cried. I cried a lot. I wondered why. Why would anyone attack runners?!

It’s Marathon Monday yet again and as I type this I am wearing a “Boston stands as one” t-shirt and listening to Katie Couric talk to the victims from last year. I’m getting all the updates I can about today’s race. Currently, Shalane Flannigan is leading the elite women a full minute ahead of the course record. Ryan Hall and Meb Keflezighi are hanging at the front of the men’s pack.

Over the years running has taught me so much about myself, my own resilience and my ability to stand up in the face of my fears. Running has taught me how to keep going even when it hurts and it feels impossible. Given the events in Boston last year, and what’s happening there today, I know that I am not alone in my lessons from running.

Last night, Farrell called me while I was driving home from a weekend in Chicago with my kiddos. We stayed with my friend Leslie, who a few short years ago thought I was insane for running marathons. This weekend she will run the Christie Clinic half marathon as a training run for an Ultramarathon she will complete in Switzerland this summer. And now, thanks to that phone call from Farrell, I will be able to join Leslie, Lindsey and many others I know at Christie Clinic this weekend, including my friend Ray, who has been training for his BQ. Linds called me last night so that she could get me signed up before registration closed.

On Saturday, I will be toeing the line of a course that is somewhat symbolic. I am not fully trained to run a half marathon yet, so it won’t be fast. And it might not be pretty. But it will represent my resilience, my capability to come back from the worst of myself and to look deep inside to find the best of myself.

3 years ago, my friends Emily and Stephanie went to Christie Clinic and qualified for Boston. I was supposed to be there with them that day. My training had been flawless. But three weeks before the race, my life crashed and burned. When I received the text from my girlfriends with their smiling faces saying that they qualified, I was under a blanket on my couch wondering how I could even go on with life. Literally. I was in the depths of despair. I was at a point of complete devastation and distress. I was contemplating never eating again so I could just waste away and be done with it.  It sounds morbid, it is.

But weirdly, it was that very same day, that night actually, that something changed. As I sat pushing my dinner around on my plate, I hit a turning point. I found my inner strength and I was ready to push on and persevere in my struggles. But I knew my life had to change to be worth living.

Since that day, Stephanie went to Boston and ran in 2012, when it was so bloody hot. In 2013, Emily and Stephanie were both there. Emily had made it through the finish before the bombs went off. Stephanie was stopped just short of the finish line, where her girls were waiting for her. They were right between the two explosions. I am happy to report they are all fine, but I cannot fathom how agonizing that had to be for them until they were all reunited a few hours later at the hotel.

Emily is out there running again today. Like so many others, she went back. They are looking evil right in the face and saying, “You don’t scare me. And you can’t stop me.”

There is so much strength emanating from the city of Boston today, it can be felt all across the world. This makes me proud to be a part of the running community; a community of people who lifts each other up. We encourage and help each other. We push each other to be better.

In the past few years, I’ve faced a lot of challenges. Through that, I’ve run a lot of races. And I’ve had several races that have concluded with a finish just minutes shy of my Boston qualifying time. I’m close. I’m so close. It makes me a little sad that I am not out there today taking to the streets of Boston. However, considering that I’m coming back from an injury, I am reminded that everything happens for a reason.

But here’s what I know: I won’t stop striving. I won’t stop running. I won’t stop living. And I won’t ever stop dreaming big dreams. My day is coming and I know that when I get there, it will be glorious.

To everyone running Boston today: Thank you for being the personification of strength and courage. Thank you for putting your heart and soul on the line and showing the world what passion looks like. Thank you for representing the best of humanity. #bostonstrong

The other day when I left work, I was desperately in need of a run.  After a crazy weekend of working the GO! St. Louis Marathon Expo, Trivia Night at the kids school that went until 11pm, the Home Depot kids workshop, Ethan’s baseball game and driving all over God’s green earth, I was ready for some solitude.  Throw into that the fact that my anxiety was at an all time high in anticipation of a pending meeting on Monday.  To say that I needed the calming effects of endorphins would be an understatement.

Sometimes when I “need” a run like that, there are certain places I go.  When I’m angry or frustrated, I need hills.  Those are the times I run Babler.  Sometimes I just need to run fast and furious with no one around.  Those are the times I go to the “secret place”.  But on Sunday, I was in search of peace.  There is one place that has been like my second home since I moved to St. Louis a few years ago.  It’s my safe place.  Ironically, back in the days where my physical home didn’t feel safe, I would go lose myself in the woods and I felt like the scariness of the world would just melt away.  In light of the anxiety I was facing on Sunday, I needed Castlewood.

What is it about running that makes me feel like I can solve all the world’s problems?  Endorphins? Maybe.  Perspective?  Absolutely.

I’ve had a lot of conversations about perspective lately.  The first of which was on my short, spontaneous run with Kristen a few weeks ago.  I said, “Ugh.  I feel fat and out of shape.”  Her response was something like, “I know you aren’t where you want to be, but most people would kill to be in the shape you’re in.”  She was right.  I knew it.

Last week I joined Steve for a bike ride through the extreme hills of West County.  In reference to the 112 miles I will face in November at the Ironman, he yelled, “Hey, 10 Miles.  Only 102 more to go!”  I said, “You have 10 miles?  I only have 9.”  He responded, “Eh, 9, 10, whatever.”  True, when you’re talking about 112 miles, what’s another mile more or less?

So, on Sunday, Barb and I closed up shop at FLEET FEET Town & Country and in the parking lot we parted ways bidding each other a good run.  As I drove down Manchester, I changed from my work shoes into my trail shoes.  And on Reis Road, I did a quick change of my shirt at a stop sign.  I threw my visor back on my head and strapped my Garmin on my wrist.  By the time I pulled into the third parking lot on the right in Castlewood, I was pretty much ready to roll.  I set my ipod, locked up the car and I was off.

I had a route mapped out in my head that would give me about 8 miles.  But as I have often said, things don’t always go the way we plan.  I started running out the road, under the railroad tracks and made a sharp left onto the trail to run the River Scene.  After about half a mile, I started hitting water where the river had breached its banks.  Now, I’m all for getting muddy, and I’ve run through the creek at Castlewood so many times I’ve lost count, but this was totally impassable.  I started climbing on downed trees and crossed one like a balance beam before I decided this was going to be more trouble that it was worth.  I was there to run, not lead an expedition.  So I went back across the tree, jumped to dry ground and proceeded back the way I had just come from.

I got out to the road and headed out to the river along the railroad tracks.  I was aimed for the stairs.  I was planning to stay along the river if it was reasonable and head out into more of the flats, or run up the stairs if it was too flooded.  About halfway to the stairs I was met with a total flood.  Drat.  I had to turn back…again.  So I ran back along the railroad tracks, across the field, along the river as long as I could and then back up the road to the parking lot where my car sat.  I had only gone 3 miles.  This run was not over yet.

I pushed myself up Lone Wolf hill.  I’m used to starting out on that hill when my legs are fresh, not fatigued from a full weekend of activities plus a 3 mile warm up.  My steps were short and slow, my lungs wanted to explode, but in true RRG fashion I reminded myself, I don’t walk.  The reward at the top of the bluff always makes it worth it.  I ran along the ridge to the top of the stairs.  I paused my Garmin, walked out to the overlook and took in the scene.

The Missouri landscape is beginning to turn green again from the vast amount of rain that has been dumped on us already this month.  You know what they say, “April showers…”  More like April showers accompanied by multiple trips to the bomb shelter in the basement while the tornado sirens scream at us several times a day.  But I digress.

From the overlook I could see the swollen river, bursting over its banks into the woods that I cherish so much.  It was obvious from that vantage point that the route I had been considering all day was, in reality, not an option.

What’s the saying about the forest and the trees?  You can’t see the forest through the trees?  Something like that.  The point is I had to do that literally, in order to get it figuratively.

Sometimes we map out in our heads what things are “supposed” to look like and when they don’t go exactly that way we freak out.

True, my training for Ironman Arizona has so far not been what I pictured.  I thought I’d be running a marathon at the end of this month, but since I accomplished my longest pain-free run of the year yesterday totaling 8 miles, we all know that a marathon is not in the cards for me this spring.  Yeah, that sucks.  But there are other, more important things that require my attention right now.

Like that meeting on Monday.  I stressed about it.  I cried about it.  As parents we always want to do right by our kids.  We hold their bright, amazing, wonderful little futures in the palm of our hands.  What if I make the wrong choice?  Will I screw him up even more than I already have?  What IS the right choice?  We agonize over the decisions we have to make for our babies so that we can set them up to succeed.  But what if we fail them?  Well, what if they fail?  Will we love them any less?  Of course not.  So if I fail one of my own, will they love me any less?  Uh, maybe.  In the short term anyway.  I haven’t hit the teenage years yet, but I’m sure there will be days my kids definitely will not love me when we get there.

I left that meeting with a line from a movie ringing in my head, one that I’ve quoted before.  At the end of Bye Bye Love, Vic says, something to point out that all we can really do is just love our kids the best we can.  “That’s all, just love ‘em.”

Nothing about the path of parenthood has looked anything like the picture I had mapped out in my head.  And this is just one of many times that I will question what is the right thing to do.  The reality is I will fail my kids on occasion.  But in those moments where the path gets blocked and I have to turn back or go a different direction, I hope that just like on Sunday, I am ultimately led to a place where I can reap the benefits of seeing the bigger picture.  And hopefully, I will allow myself to pause for a minute to see the forest, not just the trees.

Sometimes you walk away from a run thinking, “Nailed it.” Yeah, today wasn’t one of those.  In fact, I haven’t had one of those in longer than I really care to talk about.

Sometimes we succeed at our goals, sometimes we fail.  Sometimes we feel like the overwhelming effort we are putting in is all for naught.  But sometimes we see a glimmer of hope that all that hard work had a purpose.

There are days we suffer to get through, speed workouts where we feel like we are spinning our wheels, mile upon mile where we feel like we are running through sludge.  Why do we even bother?  But then race day comes when there is nothing quite like the feeling of crossing the finish line and basking in the glory of knowing that you nailed it.  All because we were willing to keep going through the hard part.

Today, I had one of those days.  I didn’t nail a workout.  Or a race.  I didn’t even run at all.  But the bling I received today came in the form of a letter from my daughter.

This morning I was struggling to remind myself that no matter what anyone else thinks about me, I am a good parent.  I love my kids.  And I may not remember everything all the time, but I take care of them the best I can and I know they don’t ever question how much I love them.  I am human.  I know I will fail them sometimes.  In those moments, I need for the people in my life to not try to fix me, not expect perfection, but occasionally stand back and let me fail.  And then love me anyway.

Tonight, Ally reassured me of just that.

My kids have been with their dad for the past 11 days for Spring Break.  Man that was a long time.  Especially after coming off an extended vacation with him in February too.  I picked them up from school today and I was greeted with big smiles, even bigger hugs and lots of I love you’s.   In the car, I mentioned to Ally that I had a card for her.  And she said she had something for me too.

When we got home I gave her the card.  And I gave one to the boys as well.  I got dinner started and the kids were working on homework.  At one point I think I had half the neighborhood in my house.  And then I was standing in the laundry room when Ally came in and said, “Here Mom”.  She handed me a piece of paper before she turned an walked out.  I unfolded a type written note and began to read.  I stood there, leaning against the washing machine reading a letter from my 11 year old.  Seriously, she’s only 11.  How did she get so smart?! The tears filled my eyes, but by the time I read the last line they flowed freely down my face.

I couldn’t ask for anything more in life than what Ally said to me in that letter.  In reading what she wrote from her heart, I know I must be doing something right.  I know that the struggles are worth it.  I know the pain has a purpose.

Here is Ally’s letter…

Dear Mom,

I missed you this past week.  I hope you had fun in Chicago.  I hope you took lots of pictures.  Thank you for all you do for me and supporting.  Thank you for your wonderful meals and cleaning and providing for us.  You’re the best mom in the whole entire world.  Thank you for working for us.  You are so funny!  I love when we bond and laugh and watch movies while eating ice cream.  Those are some of my favorite moments!  I’m excited for the potatoes tonight.  It’s been forever since you have made them!  I can’t wait to go to Chicago and Michigan in a few months.  I love you so much.  I had a great time in Guatemala but I still missed you.  I’m super excited for school to be out in May!  No more homework!  Yippee!  I’m so proud to be called your daughter.  And every day I get with you is special.  I know you’re always with me in my heart even if I’m not with you.  You may only get fifty percent of the time but that time we do get is special and means a lot.  Over the years we keep building a stronger relationship.  And it keeps getting stronger.  Even though you got divorced I found the good that came out of it that I know you better and have a better relationship.  Love, Ally

Hands down that letter is the best reward I have ever received.  More valuable than any runner’s high, any finish line and any medal from any race ever.  Today, I received confirmation that there was purpose in the pain.  And that makes me feel like I nailed it.

From my baby girl…

I’ve been quiet for a couple weeks.  I guess you could say I was letting the dust settle on my last post.  I haven’t really been able to figure out what someone says after opening up their heart in such a way.  But I would be remiss if I didn’t at least acknowledge my gratitude for the outpouring of love and encouragement I received in response to RRG: Unveiled.  The Facebook comments alone were enough to bring me to tears many times.  But additionally, the texts, hugs and personal messages from those of you sharing your own stories with me were truly overwhelming.

A little over a year ago when I started Rambling Runner Girl, I never could have imagined sharing the depths of my soul like that, but those of you who have been loyal supporters, have made it come easy.  And while the words seem small and inadequate, from the bottom of my heart, I say Thank you.

Last week while I was at work, I had an epiphany. And that was…I have an addiction.  Now, I know what you’re all thinking, which is “Um, duh, you’re addicted to running” but hear me out on this.

I guess after a post like Unveiled, it’s not terribly surprising that I’ve had several conversations about things like attitude and the troubles that come with this life.  At one point I even typed these words in a text, “There will always be problems.  The key is having joy in spite of them.”

That’s so true, isn’t it?  Most of the time, life is about getting it all done, going to work, making the rounds, paying the bills, checking off the list.  There are days where the refrigerator breaks down or the service engine light comes on in the car or we spend an hour on hold with Anthem to find out that they are changing our health insurance plan because of Obamacare.  Sometimes the little things can make it feel like the weight of the world is on our shoulders and we aren’t sure how we’re going to get out from under it.  But we fight through it all, and eventually we step outside on that first spring-like day after suffering through the Polar Vortex, then we close our eyes and smile as we lift our face to the sun just to feel it’s warmth.

So, at work the other day I was talking to Mike Barro.  We were discussing the fact that triathlons really are not a poor man’s sport.  There is always something more to buy, especially with cycling.  A new bike.  Specialized parts.  Cycling shoes.  A helmet.  An aero helmet.  Apparel.  Accessories.  The list is endless.  And even once we acquire the necessities at the very least, there is maintenance. And repairs.  And race entry fees, should we choose to be competitive.

I am the exception to that rule.  While triathletes seem to hemorrhage money sometimes, I am not capable of doing that on a single mom budget.  That’s why finally, this week, I am considering replacing the helmet that I’ve been using since college.  Do the math, yes, it’s been a long time.  That is also why I’ve considered that I may be going to Arizona in November with a road bike instead of a tri bike.  It’s not ideal, but I’ve suffered worse inadequacies before.  (Is there anyone out there who wants to buy me a bike?  Anyone? Anyone? No?) I don’t exactly fit the mold here.  But when have I ever fit any kind of mold?  I don’t.

So as Mike and I were talking, I was explaining that while the timing of getting into triathlons was somewhat off financially, it was so right in terms of so many other things.  Triathlons came along at a time that I had many uncertainties in my life.  I was about to be a single parent.  I was going to be a single home owner.  I had just gone back to work after several years of being a stay at home mom.  I was stepping out of my comfort zone on many levels.  So why wouldn’t I step out of my running comfort zone too?  Tackling challenges makes me happy.  Facing fears makes me happy.  Crossing a finish line makes me happy.  Proving something to myself makes me happy. And just knowing I had the courage to try, makes me happy.

While I was running on Saturday, my longest run this year, a whole 6 miles, a song came on my ipod.  The words were…”It’s like the sun is shining when the rain is pouring down, it’s like my soul is flying though my feet are on the ground.”  And yeah, when I’m running, it’s like that.  If I’m having a bad day, running helps me escape that for a little while and reminds me that it will be ok.  If I’m having a good day, running just makes it that much better.

My addiction isn’t about triathlons.  It’s not even about running.  My addiction may in some part be about the endorphins that surge through me after a solid workout.  And I do love a good “runner’s high”. But mostly, I’m addicted to joy.  Simple as that.

My friend Diana said to me last week that she thinks for a lot of people, it’s easier to be sad, or grumpy, or angry, than it is to be happy.  And while I have my bad days where I am in a funk, I know that is definitely not the case for me.  I find it so much easier to just be happy.  Even in the face of adversity, I will choose to grin and bear it, both literally and figuratively.  My addiction is joy.

In the words of Buddy the Elf, “I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite”.

Disclaimer: This is a completely different type of post and is not for the faint of heart.  This is also not for children.  It is the first post I have not allowed my daughter to read, due to the fact that it contains some fairly graphic details.  But this is a story that needs to be told, to help me heal and to help others who may have experienced the same.

“And this we know, that God works all things for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.”  Romans 8:28

This is without a doubt the hardest thing I have ever written.  But something that makes me who I am is my ability to be transparent with my struggles.  I am real. I am genuine.  I am much less than perfect.  But I will go the places that others won’t dare and I will say the things that some would keep inside their heads out of fear.  It doesn’t mean I am fearless about wearing my heart on my sleeve, it just means that I accept myself completely and I make no apologies for who I am.

Before anyone in the audience reads this edition of RRG, first you must take the following pledge.  Please raise your right hand and read the following out loud:

I, (insert own name here), do solemnly swear that after reading this story, I will not feel sorry for the narrator in any way.  And I promise to never, ever, ever treat her like a victim.  The End.

Ok, so, I’ve mentioned before that there is a lot to my story that most people don’t know.  This part of my story begins when I was 13.  I was in 8^th grade.  My best friend was Kirsten.  We liked to wear matching clothes on a regular basis. We thought we were the girls from the Sweet Valley High books.  We fought over blue eyeliner pencils, but we made up immediately and we would laugh until our sides hurt.  We did things like going up on the roof of her parent’s house with an entire bottle of hairspray to see if we could make Kirsten look like Helen Hunt in the movie Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.  We could typically be found singing along to Tiffany and Debby Gibson and Milli Vanilli from a pink boom box.  These were the days that I still liked to pretend that my hairbrush was a microphone.  (Ok, since we’re being real here, I may on occasion still do that)

Those were the days when to say I had a boyfriend, meant that we were “going together”.  Where were we going, you might ask.  Good question.  Probably anywhere our parents would take us.  Like to the High School football games on Friday night, an occasional school dance or a trip to the movie theater, that we would follow up with a walk to Pizza Hut after seeing something like Goonies.  “Going together” meant holding hands and sneaking into the corner of the coat room at Leo’s Roller Rink to kiss.  If memory serves, my first real kiss happened there.  Although I can’t exactly remember who it was with.  Clearly it was very memorable.  Although, I do remember I was fond of kissing.  I still am.  I guess some things never change.

I have great memories of that time in my life. My light shined so bright. And then there was an abrupt shift.  At the end of my 8^th grade year came the news that my family was moving back to Michigan.  I was terribly sad at the thought of leaving my closest friends…Kirsten, Carrie, Maria, Jill and Jacquie, along with several others.  I was devastated.  But, as the middle child, always the peacemaker, I bucked it up and accepted the new adventure that I was headed into.   I started my first day of High School in East Lansing when my dad dropped me off after staying at my Grandparent’s house the night before. I knew a handful of people from my early childhood days of living there, but no one had gotten the memo that I was “the new girl” since it was 3 middle schools converging to form the class of 1993.  So I pushed my way through the crowded hallways of East Lansing High School, in my blue and white polka dot dress without really talking to very many folks that first day.  I was back to being a little fish in very big and scary pond.  And when the day was done, I walked home to a brand new house.  Kind of a lot for a 13 year old to process, right?  Actually, you have no idea.  There was so much more to it than that.  So much more that no one really knew until about 20-some years later.

Now, don’t get me wrong, High School got better.  It didn’t take long for me to find a group of friends. Jill, Beth, Nikki, Troy, Luke and Noah are solidly at the heart of my best HS memories.  I got to be on the field of the Pontiac Silver Dome as a cheerleader for the State Championship football team in 1991. And in the spring, I loved catching for Nikki on the softball team, even though our team was terrible.  I sang in choir and I had a part in the chorus of the production Hood my sophomore year.   I volunteered in Mrs. Swanson’s 5^th grade class at Glencarin, my old elementary school.  A girl after her dad’s own heart, I was a sports medicine trainer for the men’s soccer and wrestling teams.  I was all over the place, always involved, always doing something.  Always with the infamous Lindsey smile on my face.

But little did anyone know that behind the smile, there was hurt and confusion and frustration and anger and guilt and shame, like no 13 should ever have to endure.  Like no person of any age should ever have to endure.

I went off to college.  I did my first semester at a small school in southern Michigan, only to find that I really belonged back home in EL with my Spartans.  I started at MSU in the spring of 1994.  A couple years in I joined the women’s crew club.  I even stayed an extra year at State to use up my one year of eligibility as a varsity athlete thanks to Title IX.

I graduated from Michigan State with a Bachelor’s degree in Family Community Services.  Basically, I can work for social workers.  I did various types of volunteer work throughout college, working with at risk and low income kids.  I went on to complete an internship in foster care and adoption.  My cases included children of alcoholics and Schizophrenics.  I saw the worst of the worst of what can happen to people.  And it broke my heart.  Every. Single. Time.

In one of my Child Ecology classes, I read the book There Are No Children Here.  It’s about 2 brothers that grew up in Cabrini Green, the projects of Chicago, in the 1970’s.  This was about the point I decided I wanted to work with inner city kids in Chicago.  So upon graduating, Nikki helped me load the pick-up truck and cruise on over to my new apartment in Chicago to set up shop.  In June of 1998, I changed my address and I started a new job as a crisis counselor for a youth outreach program.  I looked somewhat out of place, my blond ponytail bobbing, as I walked past a crack house one day to discuss the possible placement of one of my kids with his grandma, whose home, standing next to said crack house, had a front door that was barely attached to the hinges.  But my job was just to get through the initial crisis.  I mostly got called to the police station when a kid had run away from home and I had to figure out a short term plan of where we would put that kid for the night.  And then, I rarely saw them again.

That job didn’t last as long as I had planned.  Not out of fear.  I needed a change mostly because I needed to work with people who I could have a rapport with, not just one and done.  I’m just not wired that way.  I am created to be in relationships with people, relationships that can grow and thrive.

And here’s what is so crazy, I was trained to work with folks that had been through the wringer.  I was prepared to help people who had been abused in the worst ways.  It was painful to see.  I have a huge heart for people and it killed me that anyone would have to go through things like that.  And yet, it never even occurred to me, that I was one of them.  I wanted to fix people, because it was easier than taking a look inside and fixing myself.  Abuse isn’t always outwardly violent.  Sometimes it is forced harshly by a stranger, sometimes a loved one.  Sometimes it is subtle and so gradual that it is hardly perceptible.  And sometimes the victim almost appears willing on the outside because it is done at the hands of someone they trust, someone they are afraid to say “no” to.

In the few months leading up to my departure from my glorious Jr. High days, a slow transition occurred.  I went from being the genuinely spunky, free-spirited girl that everyone knew, to being a broken, shattered soul that hid behind a mask of the spunky girl.  I learned how to suppress the horrible thing that had happened to me and pretend that I was still the bubbly, ever smiling Lindsey.

It wasn’t until an afternoon in spring of 2011 that the events that had caused that transition finally came fully back to the surface.  I remember sitting on the counter of my old kitchen, Mike and I were talking while he made himself a sandwich or something.  We were still in the throes of trying to decide if we could repair our mess of a marriage.  I don’t remember how we got to this part in the conversation, but I remember saying very casually, “Well, you know, it probably has to do with what happened when I was 13.”  He stopped what he was doing and looked straight at me, expressionless.  “You know what happened when I was 13, right?”  He very slowly responded, “No”, with the “o” trailing on for what felt like forever and finally disappearing into an abyss.  That was the first time it occurred to me that the shameful, awful thing that happened so many years ago, that made me feel ugly and disgusting, wasn’t written all over me like I had come to believe.  While I thought people could look at me and see how yucky I was, this was the first time I realized that it wasn’t true.  No one could see it.  I had hid it that well.  Even the few people I thought I had tested the water with, in alluding to what may have hypothetically happened, had no recollection of me ever saying anything.  I had watered it down and changed the details enough, that this reality was brand new information.  It was at the heart of the onion that’s layers I had just begun to peel back.

I’m pretty sure it was later that same day that I made the drive over to my counselor’s office.  And I began to reveal this secret to her.  Slowly, this skeleton that had been hiding behind piles of other junk in my closet began to creep out.  It was time to really talk about what happened in the summer of 1988.

I was 13.  He was 18.  We were friends.  But we liked each other more.  I thought I was pretty special getting so much attention from someone older.  He would drive over to my house and hang out with me.  He would come with my family out to our cottage at Spring Lake.  I was only allowed to ride in his truck sometimes; I had to get special permission.  My mom was constantly concerned about his age.  “Oh, mom…” I would whine, “Don’t worry so much.”

I don’t remember exactly how we went from being friends to the point that I was his “secret girlfriend”, but somewhere along the way, it happened.  We knew that no one could know because of our age difference.  We would write each other notes and pass them secretly.  We would hold hands when no one was looking.  And then the kissing started.  We were very careful to not get caught.  We were the epitome of a “bad secret”.

During the summer months, it would get hot in my bedroom.  So I would often sleep in the basement on the couch where it was cooler.  If there was a breeze, I would leave the sliding glass door open and just close the screen so I could fall asleep to the sound of the crickets.

One night my secret boyfriend came in the back door so we could watch TV together.  There was kissing.  And I could feel his hands through my oversized Garfield night shirt.

There were other nights he came back and we did the same.  And then one night something changed.  He told me he wanted to “teach” me some things.  I didn’t have a clue what he meant, but I had come to trust him, so I didn’t argue.  I was sitting next to him on the couch with my knees pulled up tight against my chest. I can still hear his voice, as he placed my little girl fingers around his male anatomy and said, “You hold it like a baseball bat.”  I remember repeating over and over the words ‘I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this’.  But sadly, I was only saying them to myself.  Those words never came out of my mouth.

I wish I could say that was where it ended.  But I can’t.  Honestly, the rest of what happened that night, and other nights after that, is pretty much a blur.  But there are snapshots permanently etched in my brain and I remember consciously thinking in those moments, ‘I don’t even understand what’s happening’.   My 13 year old mind couldn’t grasp it, so it went into shut down mode.  Frankly, the rest of the details are somewhat irrelevant to this story.  Already the damage had been done.  My innocence was gone and this was the beginning of my journey down a path to a state of complete powerlessness.  My light had gone dim.

I believed that I had no say in what anyone did to me.  My body had no beginning and no end, no boundaries.  I existed for the rest of the world to do with as they saw fit.  I believed that I was ugly and unlovable.  I wasn’t good enough and I never would be.  And yet, I put on my smile, and went about my life.  And then, a few weeks later, I moved away.  I was able to start all over so I shoved that part of myself into the deepest, darkest part of my soul.  But it permeated my being.  Through most of high school, I adamantly spoke out against sex, to the point that I got teased for being a prude.  Which was ironic since it was a complete contrast to the dirty whore that I believed myself to be.

I wish I could go back and tell that little girl that it wasn’t her fault.  That even though she trusted him and let him in the back door and was too paralyzed with fear to speak up for herself, she didn’t do anything wrong.  And while now I know that to be true, that I didn’t do anything wrong, the demons still sometimes rear their ugly heads and I have to remind myself all over again.

There is a reason I have the word “Beloved” tattooed on my left forearm.  It is there to remind me that all those things I believed about myself were lies.  What happened is not who I am, and it no longer defines me.  The truth is I am broken.  But I am beautiful.  I am loveable and I am loved.  And who I am is enough.

So, that’s part of the story behind Rambling Runner Girl.  Why do I run?  I think at times running has been an escape, a way to run away from everything, and everyone, including myself.  Running was a way to prove to people, “I’m so strong.  You can’t hurt me.”  And maybe that worked outwardly, but inside I still hurt.  Over the last few years, as I have started to face myself, my history.  I stopped running away from the past.  I started running to heal.  I’m running to reclaim the light that has always been inside of me.  And now, that light burns brighter than ever.

“There’s a little flame inside us all, some shine bright, some shine small.  The rains will come and the water’s rise, but don’t you ever lose your light…” –Addison Road

I got to go running on Saturday.  After my first treatment with Dr. Brian on Friday, I had orders to go run.  I woke up on Saturday morning to a gorgeous blue sky and perfect running weather.  I strapped on my Garmin, threw on my visor and set off out the door for 2 glorious miles!

Dr. Brian had said, “No more than 2 miles and definitely not PR pace.”  Such a tease, but at least it was something.  I was ecstatic.  A little nervous about how it would go, but so excited and hopeful.

I ran my usual route from my front door, around the lake and out to the entrance of the neighborhood.  I got all the way to Schnuck’s before I hit the mile mark and had to turn around.  Usually at that point of the course I cross the overpass and run west along the Wildwood path.  Usually that is where my run is just getting started.

At the same time I was out for my run, several of my friends were getting ready to run a race over at Castlewood.  I had handed my bib off to my friend Jen since I knew it was out for me.  I’d rather have someone run in my place and enjoy the experience than have the bib go to waste.  You might remember last February I had to bail on a race I really wanted to run.  Strangely, this was the exact same race, a year later. Last year there had been permit issues so they had changed the date of the race to a day that didn’t work for me.  I took the refund for my race entry fee and I pouted like it was going out of style.  Remember that?

This year was totally different scenario.  Being injured for the last month meant there was no way this was a good idea.  This race has eluded me yet again.  And yet, somehow, this year, I was totally and completely at peace with it.  Maybe it’s that I know that it could be detrimental to my health.  Maybe it’s that I have a long term goal that has priority in my race calendar.  Or maybe, it’s that I’m just in a completely different place than I was a year ago.

The other night while I was at work, I had some down time and I was doing research.  By that I mean I was flipping through the new Triathlete magazine.  I found an article about Nicole Gross, marathon coach and Ironwoman.  Nicole had been situated near the finish line of the Boston Marathon last year waiting for her mom to cross when the first bomb went off.  Along with her husband and sister, she sustained some major injuries.  She has been working hard over the past year in physical therapy to undo the damage that was done.  But what struck me was this quote, “I have been forced to have a new perspective on life, but also have a sense of grounding where there is more to life than identifying myself as an athlete.  I am learning to enjoy things a lot more and not having to put that added pressure on myself.”  As it should be.

So, on my run back home on Saturday, I just appreciated being outside, under that blue sky, the sun shining, my fingers and ears cool from the slight nip that was hanging in the air.  I didn’t get to compete on Saturday.  And I have another race that I have to give up again in a couple weeks.  A race that I was even more excited about.  But there will be other races.  And as a Cubs fan, I’m already very familiar with the words, “Maybe next year…”  I used to live in a way that screamed, “I have to do it all right NOW!”  But now my life is so full, that I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  Everything else that comes along is just gravy.

As I neared my house, my two miles almost up, I felt great.  I felt like I could run forever.  Which likely had something to do with the fact that I was running a significantly slower pace than usual.  But I followed doctor’s orders and cut it off before I hit 2 miles.  As I stepped back onto my driveway, my Garmin read 1.99.  Every runner knows that you always run up and down your street 15 times if you have to in order to end on a whole number.  But I didn’t feel the need to do that this time.  My run was over and that was ok.

I smiled the whole day because of that run.  I told everyone I saw that I got to run.  I couldn’t have asked for a better “first run” back.

Today I went back in to see Dr. Brian for another treatment.  Funny that I could hear Steve in the waiting room when I came out.  And when I texted Diana to tell her I had crossed paths with Steve, she informed me that she crossed paths with him on the other side of his visit.

Why do we do this?  Why do we push our bodies so hard that we all end up in the doctor’s office together?  I can’t speak for all my friends, but I can tell you the reason that I do.  Because I can.  And for that, I am grateful.  Running helps me find perspective, it keeps me grounded.  Sure it has something to do with competition and camaraderie and constant improvement.  But more than anything, running reminds me to enjoy life.

It’s funny to look back at the year behind me and see someone who placed so much emphasis on the races and the added mileage, that’s what I needed to call myself a “runner”.  I used to think that for me a run wasn’t a “real” run unless I went at least 3 or 4 miles.  I have doctor’s orders to go run another 2 miles tomorrow and again on Wednesday.  And I couldn’t be happier.  Because I love to run, and that is what makes me a runner.

The sun was shining a little brighter in St. Louis today.  Both literally and figuratively.  We did actually hit a high in the mid-60’s this afternoon which was a welcome break from the subzero temperatures we have become accustomed to this year.

However, it wasn’t just the weather that brightened my mood.  This morning when I arrived at Brian’s…Uh, I mean Dr. Laiderman’s office I was greeted by his office manager Debby and a hand written thank you note posted on the wall that I recognized the signature on to be that of my friend Diana. I filled out the electronic form and when I got to the question about who had referred me, I basically did an eeny-meany-miney-mo to land on Andrea’s name since it could have been any number of people.  And there’s the fact that I know him personally.

Dr. L knew the gist of my situation since shortly after my near collapse on the floor of West County Lanes on Saturday I sent him a message saying something like…Ouch, I hurt, how soon can you get me in?  But when we got started he said, “Ok, pretend I don’t know anything about you and tell me what’s going on”.

I went through the story of being out for a run with Brian…my Brian.  I can see how this might get confusing so for the sake of clarity “my Brian” will henceforth be referred to as Koz.  So, I told Dr. L about our run on Al Foster a few weeks ago, attempting to let my hamstring heal, reinjuring it bowling and so on.

Dr. L was convinced that there was more to it.  He had me do some squats and stretches.  He checked my range of motion and resistance levels on both legs.  He definitely found the tender spots.  I had tenderness in my legs, my back, my gluts, my hips, my calves and my feet.  (Really?  I have a messed up left hamstring, what’s with the tenderness in my right foot?!) He was even concerned with the weird blood blister I had developed a few months ago that I had just attributed to the stitching on my Cascadia’s and the sizeable bunion on my right foot.  Anyway, we traced it back to last summer.  Apparently my body was trying to tell me something then, I just chose not to listen to it until now. Remember all the hip trouble I was having leading up to Racine?  Well, it’s all connected.  And it’s basically causing me to run all twisted up and hunched over.  I’m crooked.  He still wanted to determine why my hip was fatigued, but we figured that would come.  It came sooner than we thought, but I’ll get to that a little later.

Today’s visit ended without time to begin treatment, so I’m going back on Friday.  The bad news is: I’m giving up my bib for the Quivering Quads trail half marathon next month.  As much as I hate missing my races, I’m willing to do this knowing that we’re focused on the big goal: Getting me healthy enough to kick it into high gear for Arizona training.  But the good news is: Dr. L seems to think that after a couple rounds of treatment, I should be able to get back to running.  Nothing crazy just yet, but when he said the words “…possibly a short run next week…” I almost cried out of sheer happiness.  (I may have actually done so when I was alone in my car with the sound of Dr. L’s words still ringing in my ears)

I’ve been feeling a little like I might never be able to run again.  And while Koz told me that notion was completely irrational, it has still been hiding out in the back of my mind.  Talk about a tough pill to swallow.  Fortunately, I don’t have to.

On my way out, I stopped by Debby’s desk to set up my next appointment on Friday morning.  And then I practically skipped out of the building into the warmth of 57 degrees.  I didn’t actually skip, that would be silly seeing as I still can’t run…or even bowl for that matter.  But I was walking on air.  And the sun breaking up the overcast skies was symbolic to say the least.  It’s been chilly and gray here for weeks and now the sun is finally starting to shine.

I celebrated by going over to the pool for a 2500 meter swim.  I came out of the pool to a text from Steve, who is also a patient of Dr. L.  Steve signed up today for the Rev 3 full triathlon at Cedar Point this summer (To anyone not “in the know”, Rev 3 is a brand like Ironman that puts on various races of that same distance).  Anyway, our text conversation went like this:

Steve:  What did our buddy Brian have to say?

RRG: Good prognosis.  It’s coming in form of an RRG update later.  QQ is out, but I’m ok with that. Focus is on the long term goal.

RRG again: And btw, Congrats on signing up for Cedar Point.  Woohoo!  Oh, wait, I mean…always gotta beat me to it, don’t ya?  Jerk.

RRG again (What?!  We all know I talk a lot.  Would you expect my texting habits to be any different?): And especially funny to remember…Hey Steve, do LSL (Lake St. Louis) with me.  No, I don’t think so…well, ok.

Steve: This is really all your fault.  I was also reminiscing with Nick how when I first met you, you were asking what I was wanting out of the social run.  I replied with thinking of maybe a fall half marathon.

RRG: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I went about the rest of the day, but I kept mulling over that weird pain in my right foot.  And then suddenly it occurred to me.  Sometimes I am such a dope, why hadn’t I mentioned that to Dr. L when he asked about my injury history?!  Duh.  And so I sent him this message…

“Oh my goodness!  I don’t know why I didn’t think to tell you this today! I figured out what trauma started everything!

In September of 2012 I was moving out of my old house and on the last load of stuff I took to the car I fell down the stairs and landed on the floor of the garage.  I completely twisted my right foot, I thought it was broken.  It was swollen and purple and green.  But did I go to the hospital? No.  Did I even see a doctor about it?  Nope.  Why?  Because I had the Chicago marathon 3 weeks later.  I ran one time in those 3 weeks (the ultimate taper) just to make sure that I could still run at all.  Then I ran a marathon.  Then I took a short break from running.  Then I started Half-Ironman training for Racine during which my right hip got out of whack, etc, etc…”

So, now that we know what started all of this, we can get on with the business of fixing it.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel.  RRG will be back to running and good as new…eventually.