She’s a good girl, loves her mama, loves Jesus, and America too.  She’s a good girl, crazy ‘bout Elvis, loves horses, and her boyfriend too…

As John Mayer’s voice filled my ears with the lyrics of Free Fallin’, I thought, Yep, that’s all me.  Well, except for that last part.  Oh, and the thing about Elvis, I’ve really always preferred the Beatles. But anyway…

It was Friday afternoon and I was sprawled on a blanket next to the lagoon in Forest Park by Steinberg Rink, waiting for Diana and Andrea to show up so we could run.  I was laying there, legs outstretched, arms behind my head, staring up at the clouds overhead.  It was a rare moment of peace in my schedule and frankly, I was enjoying it to my heart’s content.  There were a couple guys finishing nearby and every once in a while they would pass through my line of vision. I watched them fist bump and do the bro hug.  I could see their lips moving but I had no idea what they were saying to each other.  It was a rare, perfect August evening, in the Lou.  Slightly overcast, light breeze, low humidity, cool enough that I actually contemplated throwing my sweatshirt on over my running clothes as I waited, while several groups of cross country kids ran past and an occasional cyclist zipped by.

Forest Park on Friday

Eventually I stood up to find the girls waiting near my car wondering where I was.  And then, the weekend was off and running.  Literally.  It was an insanely packed weekend.  Diana and I had a Girls Night planned for about a month because it was the only date we could mutually land on and I planned to stay with Diana Friday night.  It has become tradition that our Girls Nights always start with a loop around Forest Park.  Saturday I worked all day, then jumped in the car with some of my co-workers to head downtown for the pre-season Rams/Packers game to celebrate Katrina’s birthday.  I was there proudly displaying my Bears shirt.  The beer guy deduced that I must be a Rams fan by default because there was no way I could even consider cheering for the Packers.  I concurred.  A few of us went out after the game and I stayed at Kat’s apartment.

I got up Sunday morning and went back to the store.  August in specialty running is the busiest time there is.  The height of marathon training, the start of Cross Country season and back to school, all converge for mild insanity.  It’s exciting, and crazy, and fun!  But somewhat exhausting too.  After work Sunday, I was off to Lake St. Louis for a housewarming BBQ for Farrell and Ryan.  And so went Round 3 of the weekend.  I ended up staying in their guest room and not dragging myself out of bed until about 10:30am on Monday.  (Benefit of having no kids and working the closing shift on Mondays! It’s my sleep in day, and I needed it.)

I made my way home, tended to a few things and then headed over to Castlewood to get in as many miles as I had time for before a shower and work.

I headed out the trail along the river…overwhelmed by thoughts of appointments I needed to schedule.  I ran past the stairs and continued along the river bank…thinking about a phone call I needed to make to one of the kids’ teachers.  We haven’t even started school yet and it’s already weighing on me.  I headed back to the stairs and up…there was a nice breeze, but I was sucking wind pretty good in the heat of the day and I contemplated how difficult it is to train for a marathon with work and 3 kids.  I made it to the top of the stairs and ran along the ridge overlooking the Meramec River. Eventually, I headed down the switchbacks and I started thinking about something…

Remember being a kid and coming crashing in the house on a Friday afternoon after school?  You’d toss your backpack down, grab a quick snack from the kitchen and were out the back door, on your bike and gone before the screen door could slam behind you.  Remember that feeling of freedom?  No worries, no cares, at least not until Sunday evening when it was finally time to open the backpack that hadn’t moved from where it had been so haphazardly forgotten on Friday.  Those were the days it seemed like you’d never grow up and have to face…responsibility.

Being an adult can be so over-rated.  Bills.  Work.  Repair people. Appointments.  Trying to make the best possible decision for your kids’ future when you don’t even have a clue what the best decision is for yourself sometimes.  It seems like once we grow up, we still long for that feeling of being “home”.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have those moments of being a kid again, crashing through the back door?   And that’s when it hit me…being at Castlewood, running through the woods, jumping over rocks and roots, splashing through the creek without a second of hesitation, that satisfying crunch of gravel beneath my feet…that’s my way of returning to my youth.   That’s where I feel “home”.

I’ve always said, I’m good on the uphills, but I suck at the downhills.  Why is that?  Because, the bigger we are, the harder we fall, right? And making a mistake can have much more extreme consequences now.

I’ve gotten really proficient over the past couple years at running up hill, facing the challenges of life knowing I can conquer whatever comes my way, climbing the mountains in front of me.  But running downhill is scary.  Sometimes it feels reckless and out of control.  Sometimes it seems like free falling. So, I find myself approaching the downhills with more trepidation, I’m more timid.  I try to be more sure footed and control my every move.  I’m afraid of making a misstep and falling. I run downhills, much like I have approached certain aspects of my life.  So, as I ran down those hills on Monday afternoon, I decided to let go and not worry quite so much about falling.  It was hard to really let go, but to some extent I did.

I want to run, and live life, with a little more reckless abandon.  I don’t want to stress over every little step or worry about what ‘might’ happen. Obviously I need to give major decisions the consideration that they require, especially when they involve my kids, but let’s just say, hypothetically, that I mess up.  Because inevitably, I will.  Ok, then what?  I fall down.  And then?  I pick up myself up, brush myself off, get my wits about me again and get back on the path.

My dad always said, “When you come to a fork in the road…take it.”  You’ve gotta make a decision to go one way or the other, if you don’t you just end up standing in the woods.

Eventually I found myself standing at the base of Cardiac Hill.  For anyone who doesn’t know Castlewood, this is about as tough a hill as you’ll find in the greater St. Louis area.  I’d guess it’s about a quarter of a mile of steep rocky rooted mess.  I contemplated briefly what to do because I wasn’t feeling like I had my usual stuff on Monday.  Probably due to an insane weekend, but now in hind sight, it also most likely had something to do with the bug that I’ve come down with that has me suffering through a killer sore throat.  I finished off the last of the Gatorade in my bottle, took one more second to catch my breath, and set off up the hill.

It didn’t matter how slow I climbed the hill, I still managed to make it to the top.  I always do.  That’s the thing I believe about myself.  But on Monday, I didn’t climb that hill for anything other than what was waiting when I got to the top…the run back down through the switchbacks with that mentality of being a kid after school on a Friday afternoon.

I’m a parent now, so while I continue my search for those moments of laying on the grass, staring up at the clouds and those moments of feeling “home”, I also have to create the environment for my kids to have those moments as well.  But in the meantime, I’m determined to run down the hills of life with a little more spirit, a little less fear, and occasionally total reckless abandon.

Is there really any question why I love to run here?