Category Archives: Lessons from Running

Random lessons

The Comeback Kid and the Snoopy Balloon

I love my job. I mean, I really, really love my job. How many people can honestly tell you they love what they do for a living? For the most part, people go to work to earn a paycheck and go home. But I am in the rare position of actually, really, truly loving what I do. David, my boss and owner of all 3 FLEET FEET St. Louis stores, always says “Do what you love, love what you do.” It’s a good motto and I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to do just that.

I don’t just love my job because I get to wear running clothes to work. Although that is a nice perk because A) It’s a little like wearing pajamas all day, and B) I can leave work and immediately go for a run, which I am frequently known to do. And I don’t just love my job because I get to try out all the new shoes and other cool running accessories as they come in.

My dad always said, “Surround yourself with good people.” I can honestly say I’ve done that, some of the people I work with have become like my family. That’s just one more reason I love my job. Runners typically tend to be happy people (it’s the endorphin high) so being around other runners all the time generally makes life better. Additionally, I share in the privilege of leading the weekly social run at the store, so I get to hang out with a bunch of sweaty runners who love pizza. Is there anything better than that?!

The best part of my job, though, is the opportunity to encourage other people in a love of running. My favorite customers are the people who come into the store not really knowing why they want to start running, they just know that they do. These are the customers who want to suck up all the knowledge and all the enthusiasm I can offer. I don’t claim to know all there is to know about running, not even close, but I do know that my passion for it is contagious. It is an absolute joy to work with people who have an open mind to the feeling of freedom and the rush of adrenaline that only a ‘Runner’s high’ can provide. They are just about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, and they have no idea what’s coming.

It’s always funny to me, the people who say, “Well, I’m not really a runner, I just run a couple miles at a time and I’m really slow” or “I’ve only run 1 half-marathon , so I’m not actually a runner.” Umm, yes, you are. It doesn’t matter how far or how fast you run, if you lace up your running shoes on occasion and hit the trail or the road or the track for a 50-miler or 50 meters or anything in between, you are a runner.

It’s March. In specialty running, that means track and field season. Despite my early exposure to running, and a life-long love affair with it, I actually have very limited personal experience in the area of track and field. I ran track in Jr. High, but that was really before we got into all the technical equipment of spikes and such. I only ran one season of Cross Country my freshman year of high school and when spring came around I went out for the softball team. I remember my dad taking me to buy my first glove. I still have that glove, it has never been replaced. But anyway, back to running. My friend and co-worker, Barb, is the resident track expert at the store. As a former track coach, she has been incredibly helpful in assisting my efforts to learn the ins and outs of this particular niche of running.

The other day, as I was talking with Barb about my minimal track experience, I began to recall a story. The very first race I ever remember running was the 400m dash at Field Day in 4^th grade. If I remember correctly, there were 2 girls from each of the 7 or 8 fourth grade classes signed up for that event and our class held try-outs to see who would represent Mrs. Troster’s room. I know I remember correctly when I say that for most of that race I was in dead last. But somehow, as we came up on the halfway mark, I started to pass some of the other girls. With 100m left I was in second place. And with just a few strides to go, I passed Kim Scott for the win. Talk about a high! Winning is awesome, but there is nothing better than a win like that. It was completely unexpected. When I got home from school later that day, I had a surprise waiting for me, from my dad; a congratulatory Snoopy balloon. I don’t tend to be overly sentimental and keep a lot of stuff just for the sake of nostalgia, because I always say the thing is not the memory. I actually stole that line from Peter Walsh who hosted that show ‘Clean Sweep’ on HGTV. Lindsey quirk #4-I am obsessed with chucking any unnecessary clutter in my life. But I’m pretty sure that balloon is in a box somewhere at my mom’s house. I kept it because it’s not just a deflated Mylar balloon. I kept it because of what it represents. It represents a Never give up attitude and a come from behind win. But it doesn’t just represent winning, because winning isn’t always about being the first one to cross the finish line. It represents a spirit in me that my dad celebrated all those years ago when he gave me that snoopy balloon. It represents the fact that even when I can see that things aren’t going my way, I won’t just give up and quit. I won’t roll over and die. I will fight to the finish. I am strong enough to push through and make a comeback. That wasn’t the only time in my life that I had to make a comeback, and it certainly hasn’t been the most challenging, and I guarantee there will be more. I guess you can just call me the Comeback Kid, because the fact of the matter is that I won’t ever quit, even when it’s hard, I’ll keep on pushing forward. And that’s the spirit I hope to impart on every person that I put into a new pair of running shoes at FLEET FEET. It’s just too bad I can’t send them all out of the store with a Snoopy balloon of their own.

Friends that are like family…RRG, Jess and Liz

Lindsey squared heatin it up…leaving out the back door of FLEET FEET so we can do what we love.

The fearless leaders of the FLEET FEET Chesterfield social run…RRG and Cole.

Brand New Me

The past couple days have been FULL of good news. Ask anyone who saw me yesterday, I was bouncing off the walls at all the positive things that have been happening in my life. As usual, life is a rollercoaster, but it’s been an adrenaline pumping thrill ride this week. I was put to the test of how much I’ve grown over the past several months, and I passed, with flying colors! I saw very clearly my own personal growth. It was awesome!

So, why did I wake up this morning feeling so down? I think the emotional high of the past couple days left me a little bit drained. Additionally, even though I rose to the occasion in the battle of some of my old demons, it was still a battle. To say I was emotionally exhausted this morning would be an understatement. It was one of those days where I wanted to set my theme song on repeat, Brand New Me by Alicia Keys, to remind myself that I’m not the same person that I was a year ago. Lindsey quirk #3-Yes, I have a theme song. Actually, if I’m being honest, I have several.

Somehow, despite my depleted emotional state, my physical energy was oddly very much intact. I ran twice today. I needed to. Even though I knew I would be running 5 miles with the social run tonight at FLEET FEET, I knew that I needed to get my hills in. I went to Babler and tried, for four miles, to find some answers and to clear the fog that had settled on my brain.

As I was running, I determined that despite my obvious growth, I was somewhat pissed that it had even been tested. And then as I thought about it more, I was pissed at the person who had tested it. And even more I was pissed that I had allowed myself to be put in a position that required so much growth over so many years. I’m still sorting through some of that. (On a side note, boxing is really good for anger management. For legal reasons, it’s a much better idea to punch a bag than a person.)

I got an email from my friend Emily this morning, and it’s funny because I had actually just been thinking about her when my phone buzzed with the notification of her message. I was specifically thinking of the last time Emily and I got to run together last winter. We did about 7 miles on the lakefront on a beautiful, brisk Chicago morning when the coolest thing happened. We were running along, just south of Navy Pier and all of a sudden Emily stopped and pointed to something on the ground. The word ‘FORGIVE’ had been spray painted on the sidewalk. Emily said these were painted all over town, but she’d never actually seen one. I don’t know if she’s seen any since, but I don’t get to run in Chicago all that often anymore, so it’s the only one I’ve seen.

I love the picture I took of it. I love how the shadows crossed through the word making it kind of abstract. Because, let’s be real, the concept of forgiveness is kind of abstract.

Forgiveness is a tough one. People hurt us. People make us angry. Webster defines the word Forgive as 1: to give up resentment of or claim to requital for; and 2: to cease to feel resentment against. Resentment can be nasty. It leads to bitterness and it eats away at your heart if you allow it to. I have always said, I will not be a stereotype, I do not want to be bitter. I just won’t allow it.

However, forgiveness is a process. It takes time. Sometimes it takes a lot of time. It’s not just something where you can say, Ok, I forgive you, it’s over, and then move on and never think about it again. Sure, it’d be great if that was actually possible, but we’re human and we just don’t have the capability to do that. And here’s the worst part, sometimes you don’t even get the apology that you may be entitled to. So, what do you do with that?

Well, all I really can do is listen to my heart and just keep trying. I can be the brand new me that I know I am. I believe that I always want to forgive completely, but it takes time to work through that and I won’t say that I have forgiven before I’m ready to. Coerced forgiveness or a forced apology, isn’t real, so who does that help anyway?

Some things are relatively easy to forgive, like someone accidentally spilling beer on you (I’m really glad we can laugh about that, Marxkors!) or your children breaking the screen door (Ok, so I was pretty mad about that one, and all three kids went to their rooms until they decided to tell the truth about it. But, once they did, I got over it. And, by the way, it’s still not fixed.)

I’ve heard Britta say many times, “Nothing is unforgiveable”. It’s true some things might be a lot harder to work through than others, especially when someone really hurts our heart. It’s difficult, it’s challenging, but it’s not impossible.

The other thing about forgiving that can be really tough is when someone knows our heart is hurt and they keep poking the bruise anyway. That’s what happened to me yesterday, my bruise got poked. And today I was dealing with the after effects of that. I needed to face that. So I did. I thought about it. I was sad about it for a while. Then I ran some hills. And then, I let it go. There is freedom in forgiveness. If only it could always be that simple.

Emily and RRG, right after we found ‘FORGIVE’.

Running Through the Storm

It’s funny how day to day life happens so gradually, but one morning you wake up and come to a screeching halt as you realize how totally far away you’ve gotten from the person you thought you were and the person you hoped to become.

Not all that long ago I was in the midst of a personal crisis. I had just moved to a new state, was trying to get settled into a new house and was struggling to understand the tragic death of a dear sister in law and my unborn nephew. All the while, I was faking a marriage that had completely fallen apart. Instead of dealing with any of this in a healthy way, I escaped into my own little fantasy world. I still managed to take care of my 3 kiddos, unpack all the boxes and follow through with my commitments. I did it all under the guise of “I’m doing just fine”, when really, I wasn’t. At all. In fact, I hadn’t been fine for a really long time. Years. I tried to make everything look wonderful on the outside, to cover up the fact that inside was a big, old, ugly mess. Eventually, my fantasy world came crashing down around me, as they inevitably do, and it was time to start picking up the pieces.

I’ve always attached my identity to others…I’ve been a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend. But who am I? Who am I? I had absolutely no idea. And so began the quest to figure it out. I quickly realized that I had been so focused on taking care of everyone around me I had completely forgotten to take care of myself. That is, in a healthy way, not the self-centered way I had been living inside my own head as a means of survival. I took on the emotions of everyone else, to the point that I didn’t have a clue what I was feeling. I was getting buried alive under everyone else’s baggage. I had gone numb to my own emotions, lost the ability to feel and put up a wall. A big, thick, brick wall. On one side of the wall, I painted a picture of the always smiling mom with the perfect, happy life who had the kids sitting nicely, the house clean and dinner ready when their dad got home. But on the other side of the wall, I had allowed others to quench my spirit and break me down into a woman I didn’t even recognize. I went into self-destruction mode, crying out for someone – anyone – to just notice me.

Initially, it was easier to define what I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be a doormat. I didn’t want to be a cookie-cutter image of the people around me. I didn’t want to be an extension of anyone else. I did not want to be a victim. I couldn’t continue to ignore the fact that I have a right to set down boundaries for myself and other people need to respect them. I no longer wanted the heart of stone that couldn’t feel. And I didn’t want to stay trapped inside myself. How in the world was I going to break out? How was I going to take down the wall? Well, the only way I could, one brick at a time.

The first question I addressed pertained to how I could take care of myself through this process of, it may sound cliché, “finding myself”. Well, I love to run and it’s been on my bucket list to get to Boston for THE marathon of marathons. I had been training for another 26.2 in April of 2011 when my world began to crumble, but that got thrown by the wayside. I began to research fall races and map out my next course. Then, I started my training program to run the Quebec marathon on August 28, of that same year. Running gives me time to think, time to process everything going on around me. But it also gives me time to just “be”, when I don’t have the capacity to think anymore. My passion for running gave me an idea. I remember sitting at IHOP with my mom one morning talking about a need to get out and do something for me. We could see FLEET FEET through the window where we sat. Less than a month later I started my new job where I get to share my enthusiasm for an awesome sport with others, people from all walks of life and various levels of ability, from the beginning jogger who has decided to make a life change to the amazing ironman tri-athlete who has overcome great odds of addiction or illness, and everyone in between. Everyone has a story to tell and I love to hear them.

Writing is another of my passions. I know, go figure, right? But with a background in foster care, I never had any formal training in journalism. I enjoy writing and I believe it allows me to articulate in a way that I otherwise can’t. So when I stumbled across an opportunity to write for an online news page, I sent in a writing sample and was accepted. Voila! That was easy. It was just a matter of setting my fear and self-doubt aside long enough to put myself out there. Every Wednesday during that summer, was “Field Trip Day”. The kids and I would load up a backpack containing our essentials for the day and go off to explore our new surroundings. This not only gave us something to look forward to doing together each week, it also gave me great material to write about.

So, what have I learned through my journey to find myself? I learned that the answers I was seeking weren’t nearly as profound as I expected them to be. I’ve learned that I really hadn’t lost who I was as much as I thought. In fact, I’m still most of the things I was…a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend; but I found out that I’m so much more, too. All of my labels that attach me to others are part of who I am, but they don’t define me. I’m an individual, I’m a runner, I’m a writer. I’m passionate about the people and the things I love. One of the best things that anyone said to me during this journey to find myself is that I am valuable. I deserve validation and all the time it takes for me to process and respond to any given situation. I want to be totally authentic. I have real feelings and emotions and I’m not afraid to figure out what they are and express them anymore. I get very excited and animated when I share stories of things that make me happy. I get sad when the people I love are hurting. I get very scared when I feel vulnerable. But I allow myself to feel those emotions fully. I express them. And then I release them so they don’t weigh me down and overwhelm me. I set goals for myself, sometimes I accomplish them and sometimes I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ve failed, it just means I need to reevaluate my goals and keep on trying. I make good choices and bad choices. Hopefully, the good out-weigh the bad, but when the bad blow up in my face, I want to teach my kids and myself that I can get through it. My successes and my failures are part of what makes me who I am, but not my definition. I want to be a good example of a strong, healthy, well balanced woman for my children. I can’t expect to do it all perfectly, but I hope that I can teach my children to be self-assured, well-adjusted people who are not afraid to love whole-heartedly, laugh often, live fully, take risks and stand up for themselves and what they believe in. I hope that we can celebrate each other’s successes and I hope that when we mess up really big, we can say, “Well, that sucks, but I still love you and we can get through this.”

In loving myself, I am much better at loving others. I am a more calm, caring and patient mom (most of the time). I am a more empathetic friend and a better listener. Self-awareness has helped me to really not sweat the small stuff, because I am able to declare the things that truly bother me and let everything else slide off, instead of letting it all fester in a cauldron of stress and unevaluated emotion. There is a sense of freedom that comes with that and freedom was something that I was desperately longing for. It is highly unlikely that I will ever be completely fearless, but I am no longer willing to let my fears hold me back from doing anything.

So, what does define me? Well, it’s an ongoing, changing, evolving definition. But life is not necessarily about the definition, it’s about the journey to try and find it. The best part is, if I discover something about myself that I don’t like, I can change it. For now, I just try tolive in the moment and enjoy the things I love, with the people I love. I love to run. I love to write. I love the funny things my kids say. I love to walk on the beach and stare up at the moon on a clear night. I love coffee, probably more than I should. I love that my little brother can make me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants. I love singing at the top of my voice when I’m driving and I don’t care who sees me. I love exploring new places. I love that I sometimes talk to my best friend on the phone multiple times a day. I love the extraordinary moments that happen when I least expect them. I love surprising someone with the perfect present. I love crappy, reality TV (I know, it’s sad, but I do). I love a good glass of wine with my girlfriends. Most importantly, I love that now I can say, and really believe, that this is who I am. Take it or leave it, this is me.

As for my dream of getting to Boston for the pinnacle of my running career, Hurricane Irene had other plans for me in Canada. Despite my training and preparation, I was unable to even attempt the Quebec marathon that day because of the gale force winds that caused the race officials to cancel my event. I spent an amazing weekend in Quebec, only to find out the morning of the race that my goal would have to wait. But I learned a lot more about myself through that whole experience that completes me as a person. I was devastated that I didn’t get to run my race and I cried. I cried the whole long, miserable walk back to the hotel in the rain. Then I spent a rainy day sitting in a quaint, French coffee shop looking at the whole situation to assess what I could gain from it. However, that didn’t stop me from throwing a 2 week long pity party about lost chances. When I finally put a stop to that, I felt like I still had an itch that needed to be scratched after the frustrating demise of not just one, but two marathons. Sometimes life just takes unexpected turns and you have to figure out what direction you’re going to head from there. The direction I chose was south, to Dallas for the Whiterock Marathon. I didn’t run it with numbers in my head, putting a lot of extra pressure on myself. I ran it for the pure joy of running and to honor my dad who ran that very same race 30 years ago. I ran it 2 days after the 10th anniversary of saying good-bye to him. I ran to heal. In 40 degrees, gusty winds and pouring rain, I ran my heart out. I missed my Boston qualifying time by just minutes, but I ran my fastest marathon ever because I ran simply for the feeling of joy and freedom that running gives me. I don’t know if I will ever get to run Boston, but that doesn’t take anything away from what I’ve already accomplished. Just like everything else in life, it’s really not about the destination; it’s about how you push through all the obstacles you face and what you learn along the way.

The view of Quebec City from my hotel room…the day BEFORE the marathon.

Looking For a Silver Lining

Everything happens for a reason. I have always, and still do, believe that. But that doesn’t mean I always have to like it.

This weekend, I was in a funk. As I finished my run this morning, a whole bunch of my friends were all gathered in my favorite park to run a 15k trail race that I was registered for but unable to compete in. Ya see, the group holding this race, had to move the date from Saturday to Sunday, but I work on Sundays, and with the start time not being until 10am, there was just no way to swing it.

At first, I was in denial about the situation. Then, I fought desperately to try and work out the details…if I run it fast enough, and then don’t stop at the finish line but go straight to my car and drive exactly 7-10 mph over the speed limit, I might get to work only a few minutes late. And I will have to irritate my co-workers by being stinky Lindsey all day. Hmmm…but…if all does not go well, which is entirely possible given the 5 inches of snow we just got, chances are I’ll be more like an hour late to work. And still no shower. Back to denial. And then on to pouting. And then, finally, sucking it up and accepting the bitter truth of the anti-climactic end to this particular race. Done. Sigh…

That sounds oddly like the stages of grieving, doesn’t it?

Ok, so obviously, in the grand scheme of things, not being able to run this race was not my biggest loss in life. But the reality is I was looking forward to it, so I’m disappointed that it didn’t work out. Sometimes these things happen, and it’s ok to be disappointed, and to be a little pissed, and to pout if I need to. Like I said, it’s not the end of the world. And it’s really a matter of perspective. But the fact remains, I wanted to do something and I didn’t get to and that sucks a little because now I’m left with this feeling of an itch that needs to be scratched. I Want To RACE. I was getting all amped up to go throw down on this snowy trail, so what am I supposed to do with all the energy and adrenaline that’s been building up for weeks?

Now what? Well, I text Nicole and Farrell to go for a 15 mile training run. That’s what.

I met the girls early this morning at Forest Park, one of the few places that was plowed, so we could log some long miles. Our topics of conversation ranged everything from how as runners we are kinda gross and sometimes have no concept of what is socially acceptable; to why that woman was running with a very large, albeit fashionable, scarf which had to have been very sweaty and itchy; to analysis of the Gym Class Heroes song The Fighter being a great running song. But the really fun part was talking about Farrell’s wedding, cause Nicole and I are both in it. Oh, yeeeah… can we say bachelorette party roadtrip??? Actually, I love that Farrell is getting married to Ryan. My first memory of Ryan is that he calls Linds his angel, which I find completely adorable. And he proposed to her on HIS birthday. Seriously?! Who does that?! He’s definitely a keeper. And Farrell is a friend that has stood by me at some pretty crazy times in life. She was one of the first people to see me the day I filed for divorce and she will be quick to tell you I was freaking out. I have learned a lot about love through both having Farrell as my friend, and through watching her relationship with Ryan. This is a couple who gives me hope. I definitely wouldn’t say I’m thinking of getting married again anytime soon, or even at all. I’m not really ready to think about any of that just yet. I don’t know what’s in my future. Right now, I’m pretty happy just being Lindsey. But Ryan and Farrell make me believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s possible, that love like that really exists.

So, what’s the silver lining of a race I had to bail on today? Well, I didn’t incur any kind of injury on those icy trails that might have dashed my hopes of Vancouver. And I got to hang out with two of the coolest, most badass chicks I know. And I was reminded once again to hang on to hope. Oh, and I made it to work on time, so I get to keep my job. That’s a plus.

Anyway, now the big question is…who’s up for running the St. Patty’s Day race with me?

The awesome group of running peeps I was supposed to race with today.

7 Mile Trail, Recovery Run?

On this perfectly, amazing President’s Day morning, I had the privilege of showing my friend, Nicole, some of my favorite parts of Castlewood State Park. We had originally planned to meet on Saturday, but it got pushed to today. And we had originally planned to run 9ish miles…maybe more. However, since I ran 15 on Saturday and she ran 14 yesterday (she’s training for the Flying Pig in Cincinnati the same weekend I’m running Vancouver), we decided not to overdo it. We wanted to tackle some of the hills, but we took it pretty easy, nice and slow and decided on a shorter route. We did a 4 mile loop, ended up back at the parking lot and felt pretty good so we went a few more. Nothing like calling a 7 mile trail run a recovery run, but that summed it up well for both of us. The weather, the scenery and the company were all perfect. Ya can’t ask for more than that.

Funny side story-Nicole calls me LJ, so I was telling her that one of my other friends who calls me LJ put me into the calendar on her phone recently and auto-correct decided my new name is Lulujamba. Not sure where that came from, but I kinda like it. Anyway, then Nicole said that last night when she told her hubby she was running with LJ, he was like…What?! Who’s that?! She said, “Lindsey J, from Fleet Feet”. There used to be 2 Lindsey’s at the store, then for a brief period there were 3 of us, and now we’re back to 2; but it gets complicated so we are ever coming up with new names for each other. Lindsey Harris and I call each other “H” and “J”, respectively. And Lindsey Farrel is just “Farrel”. Anyway, Nicole’s hubby was glad to hear that his wife was not going off to the woods for some alone time with who he had pictured in his mind for “LJ” and that I am, in fact, not a well-built, black man. Quite the opposite, actually.

So, near the end of our run, I was telling Nicole that last night I registered for the Smoky Mountain Relay. This was a race I ran a year ago with the Smokin’ Aces, an awesome group of 8 other peeps who came along right when I needed them, people who went from being strangers to friends, literally overnight. I was at a pretty low point back then, and that group taught me so much about camaraderie, compassion and confidence, both in other people and in myself. I get emotional thinking about that weekend in the mountains and what that experience meant to me. The Aces are gearing up for the 2013 relay, and we’ve got several returning members. A few have had to bail, due to little things like pregnancies and babies and injuries and such, but the majority of the team should be back and we’ve stacked the deck with some additional players.

But I was telling Nicole, I kind of struggled with what to do this year. Ya see, this time, the Smoky Mountain Relay, falls on a weekend that I have custody of my kiddos. So, I’m going to have to give up some time with them to go do this. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s also a choice. I’ve been known to struggle with “Mom Guilt” from time to time. But something in me was pulling me to do this relay again. Most of my races involve me going out and pushing myself to do my best and then I’m done. This is different. I have to rely on my teammates, and they have to rely on me. We have to work together, but we also have an incredible amount of fun in the process. This is a race that I really, REALLY want to go do. And so, I’m going. After I told Nicole this, she said she distinctly remembers a time when she was little that her mom was struggling with some things and her mom said to her, “Sometimes, as a parent, you have to do things that are good for your soul.” And that’s exactly what the SMR is for me. It’s good for my soul. Obviously, I want to do well for my team, but there is so much more to it. Being in the Smoky Mountains with friends who cheer me on in running and in life, friends who I can have a conversation with while we’re in adjoining port-a-johns, friends who will let me curl up and nap on them in a van after I’m all sweaty and haven’t showered, friends who will make me Ramen noodles at 2am, friends who accept me just as I am and love me in spite of myself. That’s good for my soul.

On April 19, 2013, the Smokin’ Aces will reconvene in the Smokies and we will be gunning for the only team that took us down last year. Look out Maggots, the Aces are coming for you!

And now for your additional reading pleasure…or if you’re just bored at work and find my ramblings entertaining, I am including something I wrote upon returning home from North Carolina last year, following SMR 2012. Enjoy…

All I Ever Really Needed to Know About Life, I Learned from the Smoky Mountain Relay…

You are even stronger and more capable than you realize ~ True hospitality is welcoming strangers into your house, when you’re not even there ~ When given the choice, go ahead and start an hour early ~ Take the road less traveled every once in a while ~ There are people who are willing to help you, if you let them ~ Easy does not necessarily mean flat ~ Peanut Butter, Nutella and bananas on tortillas are a great combination ~ If you are going to fall out of the van, make sure you’re wearing pants ~ It’s good to be flexible with the schedule ~ Just because you catch a toad, doesn’t mean you’ve found a prince ~ Sometimes you have to blaze an unmarked trail ~ No hair makes you more aerodynamic ~ Its possible to go so fast you feel like you’re flying ~ A sleeve makes a good neck warmer ~ Maggots suck it ~ Don’t forget the Nathan wipes ~ Horses are a little creepy, especially at night ~ You can soak up so much that you get a little soggy ~ Homegrown sausage is delicious ~ You get really comfortable with strangers after 30 hours in a van ~ There are people who will go into the woods to find you and push you up the hill when you can’t do it on your own ~ Mike Hunt is really hard to find ~ Primally-epic is a word, isn’t it? ~ If you feel a little nauseous, eat some chips ~ No matter how bad things may seem, don’t forget to look around and appreciate something amazing ~ Take the map and follow the directions ~ Sometimes you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other ~ Bring an extra pair of socks…or 3 ~ Ramen noodles are not as good luke warm ~ Don’t opt out of a challenge ~ It’s good to be nice to the other teams…at least externally ~ Slap bracelets are still fun ~ Spreadsheets were made to be updated…annnnnd sometimes not ~It’s good to stop and enjoy the view along the way ~ If you’ve got enough energy left to throw a tantrum, you obviously didn’t run hard enough ~ Don’t leave the M&M’s next to the heater ~ Things don’t always go the way you plan, sometimes you have to adapt ~ Personify awesomeness ~ How fast you make the climb is not nearly as important as who is waiting for you when you get to the top!

Craig~Jan~ Jordan~Ken~Lindsey~Mark~Matt~Nate O~Nathan A…Smokin’ Aces 2012

Smokin’ Aces

Nicole and LJ…couple of Badass Divas.

LJ and Notarious A…who is mysteriously missing from the Smokin Aces group shot. Classic.

Yeah, I Run Like a Girl…

In honor of Ally’s birthday yesterday, I’m gonna have a proud mom moment and brag on my girl for a sec.

Last week, Ally jumped in the car super excited after school one day. “Hey Mom, we ran a mile in PE today and guess what?”

I paused in anticipation…

“I was the fastest girl in the 4^th and the 5^th grade. I even beat 2 boys! “

That’s my girl.

There’s something about winning, and competition, that lights a fire in us. We get to prove how strong we are. And I don’t know what it is, but you can ask any girl anywhere, and I’m pretty sure she’ll tell you that no matter how old we get, there is something really awesome about beating a boy. It’s an innate thing we’re born with. Men are built to be faster than we are, it’s scientific fact. But since we have been labeled the “weaker sex”, it feels pretty darn good to prove that sometimes, we are stronger than you guys. That’s why I love the running shirt that I bought at some race Expo somewhere, that reads…Yeah, I run like a girl, try to keep up.

I’ve been hurt by a fair amount of boys in my life. Including, but not limited to, that jerk football player in high school, who shall remain nameless, that made fun of me for not being as pretty as Ellen Halverson. Whether intentional or not, some hurts are more significant than others. I’ve had some pretty extreme hurts that are WAY more significant that what Mr. Football said to me as I stood there in my cheerleading outfit feeling deflated that fall afternoon in 1992. But, he had no way of knowing that what he said to me grew a seed of doubt that had already been planted in my mind at a young age – a belief that I was unlovable, unworthy, forgettable. So, anyway, maybe that need to prove how strong I am, especially in the face of the opposite sex, is a self-preservation thing. But the reality is, no matter how hard I try to prove myself as some fearless, badass chick, that’s all just exterior. Inside, I’m just a girl with a bruised heart, who tries to pick up the pieces and keep on going. But, really, that pretty much just makes me like everybody else, doesn’t it?

Ok, so I’m not as pretty as Ellen, I’ll be the first to admit the girl has always been gorgeous. But I’m me. And I’ll create beautiful in my own way. I’ve got a big heart, with a huge capacity to love, despite all the trauma my heart has been through…that’s beautiful. (I think the fact that I’m surrounded by so many Ahhhhh-mazing friends and family is proof of that.) I have a lot of faults; like, I bite my nails and I’m a terrible driver. But I have a lot of good qualities too, like I accept responsibility for my mistakes and I possess a determination to always improve. I’m never going to be perfect, but I’m also never going to stop challenging myself to do better. I’m a fighter…that’s beautiful. I talk too loud and I can admittedly be inappropriate sometimes but I’m honest and I’m genuine. And I won’t pretend to be something I’m not…that’s beautiful. Most importantly, I love to smile and I love to make other people smile. There is nothing better than seeing the reflection of my own smile on the faces of my children. I think there is a quote about a smiling girl being a beautiful girl, or something like that. So, there ya go. I’ll speak truth through the madness and I’ll smile through my tears, and even though I may have puffy eyes and mascara stains on my face, I’m going to teach my daughter that she is loveable, worthy and unforgettable. I’m going to teach her that just being who she is, is enough. I’m going to teach her what true beauty looks like. Beauty isn’t about being the skinniest or having perfect hair, it’s about knowing who I am, and being happy in that. Running makes me confident; confidence is beautiful. Beauty isn’t about how other people see you, but rather, how you see yourself. Beauty is about finding strength from within to combat the forces against us. Beauty is about learning from our pain and celebrating our victories…especially if those victories include beating a boy. 😉

Ally and I at the Sunshyne Run and Worship in LA, Oct 2012

Why I Run

Yesterday I got an email from my absolute best friend in the entire world. We used to talk on the phone religiously every day. Then we became moms. Then, we both became moms of 3 in different time zones. Now, we have been relegated to the hopes of catching a weekly call and commenting on each other’s facebook posts as our primary means of communication. I’ve known Britta since college. She very randomly came into my life through an ad that, much to my chagrin, my mom placed in the MSU newspaper, the State News. I was looking for a roommate to replace a couple girls that backed out last minute and I was not happy about the situation. However, I’m a firm believer in “Everything happens for a reason” and now I can’t imagine my life without Britta in it (Thanks Mom!). I have known B for half of my life and we have been through just about everything together. We have celebrated marriages and births. She has made me laugh to the point of tears countless times. We have cried together through many of life’s heartaches, like death and divorce and health struggles, you name it. Once, I was rescued off a mountain in South Africa with her husband, Dave (there was even a helicopter involved) and she pretty much just laughed at us. Britta has stood by me like no other individual I know, so it’s almost ridiculous that we have never, not once, ever competed in any kind of athletic event together.

So, yesterday, I got an email from her, that was also addressed to a few other mom friends. The basis of the email was that she has noticed that the “Moms of 3 club” has found running marathons a popular past time and she is now contemplating this pursuit for herself. Before she takes the big plunge (which is funny because she is a swimmer by nature), she wanted some answers. Her big question was…Why do you run? My mind started racing, words jumping out, flying around in my head, but I needed to process that question before I formulated a response. Why do I run? I get asked that question all the time. I mean, I work at a running store, so I really get asked that question ALL the time. But usually, I give a generic answer like, “I just love it.” I do love to run, it makes me happy. But why? So, I thought about it.

Here is the list of reasons I came up with to answer the question “why do I run?”…

Serenity. Solitude. Alone time! As a working mom of 3, I am around people pretty much all the time. So, when I go run, I get to be alooooone. I can think about the things that are weighing me down or I can put on my ipod and veg out. It’s delightful.
Stress relief. Sanity. See above. But additionally, if I’m having a bad day or I’m feeling especially overwhelmed about something, I go run and just a few steps in, I instantaneously feel better. It’s almost impossible to hold on to negative feelings when you exercise. There is nothing that makes me a happier person than working up a good sweat. And my kids like me a whole lot better when I’ve had a healthy dose of endorphins, too.
Strength. I can’t think of anything that makes me feel stronger or more powerful than running. It makes me feel like I can take on anything. I love to challenge myself to go farther or faster. Pushing myself and rising to the occasion of a challenge, makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. And it makes me feel energized! It builds confidence in me and in my character.
So I can eat whatever I want. I like food. Scratch that. I LOVE food. I love all food. I am a Chicagoan pizza snob. I am an ice cream connoisseur. I like Italian and Sushi and Mexican and a big, juicy burger with fries, lots of fries! Besides, carrots, there really isn’t much I won’t eat. Yeah, I know, we’ve already established that I’m weird. Anyway, I run and workout, so that I can treat myself. I don’t believe in depriving myself but rather “everything in moderation”. I try not to over-do it, but every now and then I have an epic fail and I over indulge. So, I’ll go run an extra mile…or 12.
Camaraderie. (You thought they were all going to start with “S”, didn’t you?) Typically I like to run to be alone. But running bonds people. Just like any other aspect in life, commonality brings people together. I have found some pretty fantastic friends through running. And being a part of the Smokin’ Aces relay team for SMR 2012 was one of the best experiences of my life. We encourage each other, we cheer each other on, we help each other by pushing one another to be better. We don’t always need words, sometimes we just need to know that someone is right there with us, keeping pace, and pulling us to the finish.
Nature. I love running in all different types of weather and all different venues. But I never get tired of a beautiful sunrise, seeing dolphins swimming in the ocean, hearing the birds, the sun shining down on me, leaving tracks in the snow, the crunch of leaves under my feet, seeing deer in the woods. We live in a big, amazing world. Why wouldn’t I want to get out and enjoy it?
Heart health. I have a family history of heart disease. My dad’s heart attack at only 59 years old, still allowed him to outlive his own father by 15 years. I never had the pleasure of knowing my grandpa Wayne because he died after just 44 years on this earth, also of a sudden heart attack. Running is so good for the cardio-vascular. I’m happy to report that I am in the top 5% of the heart healthiest people in the US (then again, that might not be saying much). I’m also proud to say that I had a test done not long ago to find out my “Body Age”. My result said that I have the body of a 24 year old. Not bad for 37 years old and 3 rounds of childbirth!

So, there you have it. I love to run for a variety of reasons. On any given day, the reasons might differ. And on some days, I don’t love to run. I just do it, cause I know I’ll feel better after I do.

I don’t know if Britta is going to decide to run a marathon or not. I have no doubt in my mind that she is capable. I believe she would be outstanding if only her knees hold out. She comes from a family of many knee replacements. But this is what I do know…if she decides to go for it, I will be there for her in whatever capacity she asks. If she wants me to go away and not be the annoying, veteran, know it all marathoner, I will do that. She has listened to endless stories about my races and running in general. There is a good chance this blog has saved our friendship by giving me another outlet for said stories. But if she wants me to run the whole thing by her side, I will. Or if she wants me cheer her on along the way and be at the finish line waiting, I will. Either way, I would only be returning the favor.

Love you B.

My BFF (Britta) and I with her younger 2 bambinos, Elin and Noah. That equals 1/3 of our combined children.

My Secret Girl Crush

This morning I got up way earlier than I wanted to in order to meet a friend for a run. At 6am when my phone started beeping, buzzing and flashing the words “Get up and run your ass off!” I wanted to throw it out the window. By the way, yes, that’s really what I named my alarm. Amy Marxkors is someone I can randomly run into 3 times in a week, but when we try to plan something, forget it. It inevitably takes a month for us to actually work out our schedules. Since we finally managed to arrange something, and since she’s pretty stinking cool, I managed to peel myself from the comfort of my nice warm bed.

This girl is amazing. She can run a marathon in just over 3 hours. That’s more than a full minute per mile faster than I can. I’m hoping some of her speed rubs off on me. Here’s my confession-If I wasn’t myself, and I could pick one person in the world that I would choose to be, it would be Marxkors. Lindsey quirk #2- I frequently refer to my girlfriends by their last names. It started back when I was a rower at Michigan State. Regardless of the fact that most of my teammates are married now, they will always be known to me as Worden, Bingham, Swartz, Cotter, Korth, Jewett and Shafer. But I digress. Marxkors is a complete goofball, a little bit of a diva and a total badass, all at the same time. She is a hockey player, turned elite runner, and a world famous author to boot. And she will likely be mortified that I’ve said all of this about her. Hypothetically speaking, if I was to have a secret girl crush…yeah, you guessed it…Marxkors. Hypothetically, of course.

Our running topics of conversation today ran the gamut (pun totally intended) of my weird twitching eye/muscle spasm thing that’s been ongoing for several days, to her pus oozing knee injury inflicted by black ice on New Year’s Day, to why you can’t base your idea of someone’s attractiveness off of Facebook pictures because let’s be real-photos do sometimes lie. Ultimately, though, the most meaningful topic of the day was healing. Marxkors had a really cool analogy about recovering from a hurting heart that, not surprisingly, related to running. We’re runners. Somehow we find a way to bring everything back to running. But this was seriously really cool, and I have continued to mull it over in my mind all day. We were talking about relationships, and healing, and where I’m at with all of that after a failed marriage. And she said something to the effect of a broken relationship being a wound that takes a toll on your body, your heart. In the same way, a marathon takes a major toll. A marathon requires recovery time as well. Here’s this thing that you have poured your heart and soul and all of your energy into. You put in a lot of time to train for it. Whether it went well or not, you made an attempt. When it’s over, you can’t just jump in and start training for another one the very next day. You have to give yourself some time. And just because you’re in the recovery period, doesn’t mean you’re not doing anything. Recovery is part of the process to get ready for the next event. You rest. You let your muscles repair themselves. You heal. You slowly get back to running, you just don’t run at the same level of intensity right out of the gate. Eventually you start training again, but you start with 4 miles, not 20. It’s a long slow process, but eventually, you’re ready to try it again.

I have cried at the finish line of every marathon I’ve run. Sometimes that just means getting a little choked up, other times it’s an all out bawl fest, complete with the ugly cry. I might cry because it went better than expected, or because I’m just glad that it’s over with, or there might be some specific, symbolic gesture involved with a particular race. But after completing something of that magnitude that I have thrown my whole self into, I am physically and emotionally spent, and I need to release it. And then, I need to heal and learn what I can from it.

About a year ago, Marxkors helped me with an essay that I wrote for a submission to a contest, so I feel it’s only appropriate to include the last line from that piece. It reads… Just like everything else in life, it’s really not about the destination; it’s about how you push through all the obstacles you face and what you learn along the way.

It’s true. How we face the obstacles we face is what makes us who we are. Whether the obstacle is running a marathon on a sprained ankle, attacking a fear of being vulnerable with the mentality of “wearing your heart on your sleeve”, conquering a fear of swimming to compete in a Half-Ironman, or starting to live life differently at 37 years old; the question is…what am I going to do with it? Am I going to let my fears and my failures define me, destroy me or strengthen me? It’s a choice that only I can make for myself. My experiences make me who I am, I can’t deny that. However, Friedrich Nietzsche knew what he was talking about when he said, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” So, I choose strength. But I’m so grateful for all the people who have been there, standing on the sidelines, cheering me on.

Marxkors, RRG, Nicole and Seth at the Gumbo Flats 5K. All 4 of us took home an age group award…What Up?!

A Love of Running is Born…

I don’t remember exactly the way it happened, but when I was about 9, I started running with my dad. I remember lacing up my high-tops…yes, really. And I distinctly remember running this one hill that wasn’t far from our house, on South First St. in Kirksville, MO. That hill was a beast. And we did repeats. But for some reason, probably because it gave me the opportunity to hang out with my dad, I didn’t mind the pain of hill repeats. Still to this very day, if I’m ever feeling discouraged about anything, I go run the hardest hills I can find, and it makes me feel better. There is something about conquering a tough hill that truly makes me feel strong, like I can get through anything. I give my dad all the credit. Every time I run a hill, I can hear his voice saying, “Just keep your eyes up and it doesn’t matter how slow you go, just continue putting one foot in front of the other.” He was teaching me about running, but at the same time, he was teaching me valuable lessons about life.

Dad and I started doing 5ks not long after that. I usually walked away with an age group medal and sometimes a trophy for being the youngest runner. My friend Angela who started running with us was always annoyed by the fact that she was just a couple months older than me. It makes me happy that Ang is still running too, and a couple years ago, she ran her first marathon.

I loved running with my dad. We didn’t talk, but he was just there, right next to me, the whole time. He always let me set the pace, which was likely pretty inconsistent in those first few races. He taught me when to start turning up the heat at the end so that I left it all on the course in a sprint to the finish. And even though he could have pulled ahead of me, he never did. He always stayed one step behind me, and pushed me to the finish.

By the time I got to high school, I’d kind of had enough of running for a while. I ran one season of Cross Country my freshman year and then I said, “Dad, I think I’m sick of this. I need a break.” He said, “Ok, take a break.” So, I did. I tried other things. I played catcher and outfielder for my high school softball team. I went to college and took up rowing. By 2001, things had come full circle, and I was back to running again.

In June of that year, I had just returned from a trip to Juarez, Mexico, where I had gone with a church group to build houses for a week. I had quit my job as a preschool teacher just before I left on that trip. I was living in Chicago at the time and the day after I got back I went for a 6 mile run along the lakefront. On that run, somewhere near Shedd Aquarium, I started thinking, I need something to focus my energy on while I spend this summer looking for a new job. Hmm, what about a marathon? Yeah, I could do that. As soon as I got home, I started researching the Chicago Marathon. That was back in the days when you could wait to register until a few months before the race. Now, if you don’t sign up the day registration opens, you’re not guaranteed an entry. I called my dad, told him what I was thinking, and he said, “Yep, I’ll walk you through it”. And so an adventure began…

Every Friday morning, I would do my long run. I slowly, gradually increased my mileage a little at a time. And every Friday morning, after I completed my run, I picked up the phone and called my dad to say, “I did it.” Occasionally, during those phone calls, my dad would have someone in his office, and I could hear him say, “It’s my daughter. She’s training for the marathon and she just ran 18 miles.” His voice was dripping with pride and my heart would swell.

One Tuesday morning, in September, I was out for just a short training run on a beautiful, blue sky day. I got back to my car, only to hear complete chaos on the radio. I couldn’t figure out what had happened during those 3 short miles, but I knew it was something big. Then, they cut to the President speaking, and I slowly started to understand that while I had been out running, not just one, but two planes had flown into the World Trade Center in NYC. Like the rest of the world, I was in complete shock. And like almost everyone else I know, I spent the rest of that day in front of the TV with a tear-stained face watching the rest of the day’s events unfold. Every year on September 11, I think back to where I was on the Chicago lakefront, when the world as we all knew it changed once again.

As October 7, 2001 approached, my nerves started kicking into high gear. My parents had to be in Connecticut the night of October 6 for my brother’s EMU football game against UCONN. I was really scared that they wouldn’t make it back to Chicago in time to see me somewhere on the course. My dad insisted that they would figure something out. So after my brother’s game ended, they spent the night at the hotel closest to the Hartford airport and jumped on the first plane into Midway Sunday morning. As they were landing in Chicago, I was just beginning my first attempt at 26.2 miles. I had no idea if they had made it back yet or where I might see them, if at all. I just knew that I needed my dad.

The course has changed somewhat over the past 11 years, but that year the middle of the course was in the heart of downtown Chicago on State Street. At about Mile 12, I was completely miserable. I hadn’t really seen anyone I knew along the course and I was feeling somewhat abandoned. I wasn’t even halfway through, I could tell I had a bloody toe, and I really didn’t want to keep going. I was staring at my feet in some junky old Addidas that I really should have replaced prior to that event, and I started to pray. God, this sucks. I don’t know if I can do this. Please let me see someone I know. And soon…

At precisely that instant, I lifted my head up and looked past a sea of runners and spectators several people deep. My eyes went straight to one face…my dad’s. It was like something out of a movie. The sun was shining right down onto him lighting him up in the midst of all those hundreds of thousands of people. I literally cut straight across the course and probably knocked a few people over in the process. I stood before my parents, jumping up and down, saying, “I’m right here!” They couldn’t believe I’d found them. They gave me a quick high five and I was off again. I started to cry at the emotion of seeing them right when I needed it, which made me start hyper-ventilating. If you’ve ever run a marathon, or any distance for that matter, you know how imperative breathing is. I calmed myself down, got my breathing back under control and continued on my way. My folks went to other spots to try to find me, but that was the only time I got to see them on the course that day. And, sadly, that is the only time I’ve seen my dad during any of my 7 marathons. Less than 2 months later, a very sudden heart attack took him from us in the middle of the night. But that marathon, and that summer of weekly long run calls to my dad, was a gift that I will cherish forever. My dad got me back to my love of running. I think he knew that I was going to need running in my life to get me through the hard times. He gave me the passion, the knowledge, the tools, the drive, the determination and the confidence. He was my coach, my cheerleader, my running partner.

I had the privilege of running one very last 5k with my dad during that summer of 2001. In August, we signed up for the Bison Stampede in New Buffalo, MI. It was our first, and only, race together in over a decade. It was a pretty uneventful race, and I didn’t do all that well, but it was a good way to work some of the kinks out before the big one. As we toed the start line, I knew I had gained some speed on him over the years, so I said, “Dad, I need to run my race, so I’m probably not going to stick with you today”. He said, “Yep, I know. Do what you need to do.” He knew I was finally ready to run on my own. And he knew it was time to let me.

A love of running was born. Thanks Dad...

A love of running is born. Thanks Dad…

Rambling Runner Girl

Adventures of a scatterbrained runner…