September 2015

Day Two of #BRFweek, a weeklong tribute to Best Running Friends: forces that push us farther than we thought we could go. As we celebrate all week long on our Facebook page, celebrate your BRF with our special deal in the Mother Runner Store: buy any $25 lifestyle tee, get one for $10 (one for you, one for your BRF). Use code BRF10 at checkout.

To checkout all the happenings of #BRFweek, head here.  But before you do, read this tribute to Shamus, the son and BRF of Shaun Evans who we hosted on our podcast before their Power to Push cross country adventure.

My best running friend (BRF) is different than most.

In fact, my BRF doesn’t even run, at least in the conventional sense.

My BRF is only 9 years old and was born with cerebral palsy, limiting his primary means of mobility to a wheelchair.

However, he has the heart and soul of a runner, he has the ability to inspire and motivate, he loves having great conversations and sharing stories on the road, and he loves the wind in his face. All qualities you’d look for in a BRF.

My BRF is my son, Shamus, and while he doesn’t run on his own, I have the honor to be his legs as I push him in his running chair.

This summer I had the opportunity to run more miles with my BRF than many people will run in a lifetime. From July 4 through September 1, we averaged 54 miles of running per day as we made our way from Seattle, WA to Bronx, NY.

To most people that adventure might sound like a nightmare, but to Shamus it was literally a dream come true. He dreamt it up when he was just 7 and through his persistence—another great BRF quality—he convinced our family that we should run across America and donate running chairs to other kids like him so that they too could feel the joy of running.

After two years of diligent training, planning and fundraising, the journey began with Shamus using his walker to lead the family out of the water and on to the beach at Golden Gardens Park in Seattle. His infectious was smile as I transferred him into his running chair, and we were off for our first of 60 consecutive days of running over 50 miles.

Not once did I question “What did I get myself into?” or “Why am I doing this?” How could I? I had my inspiration right in front of me all summer long: my BRF, pulling me along more than I was pushing him.

One of Shamus’ favorite quotes is “The only disability in life is a bad attitude.” I am not sure where he first heard it, but he lives it to the fullest. Shamus has significant limitations in his physical mobility. His legs are very tight and spastic, his trunk muscles are weak. He requires assistance to get dressed, use the bathroom, get in and out of bed, etc.

Yet he does everything with a beaming smile and positive outlook. Most importantly, his ability to dream big, quietly inspire and motivate, and literally lead the way, are stronger than anyone else I know.

Of course, we encountered our minor setbacks on the road: a propane leak in the RV, getting lost while running, forgetting my cell phone and not being able to contact the pit crew (my wife Nichole and our younger son Simon), a sprained ankle, dead end roads, huge mountains, campgrounds that had lost our reservation, triple digit temperatures and running out of water.  In fact, ALL of those things happened to us on day 6 of our transcontinental run. We could’ve given up, but Shamus’ eternal optimism had our entire family smiling as we went to bed that night.

Shamus’ contagious positivity continued as we ran toward the rising sun daily. As my toenails fell off and my feet ached, Shamus gladly volunteered his brother to massage my toes. When my legs and feet said they were done for the day, I had Shamus right in front of me to lean on, to bear some of the weight and to keep us moving forward.

Day after day after day, we ran. Up and down the Rocky mountains, through Yellowstone National Park, small town America and occasional metropolitan areas, and past hundreds of acres of, as my tour guide Shamus put it, “Corn on your left and soybeans on your right”.

From time to time we listened to Shamus’ “play mix” on our portable speaker, but more often than not he kept me entertained and distracted by telling me stories, reciting lines from the books he read while we ran, reliving dreams he had the night before, and talking about reaching the Atlantic together.

That dream fruition on September 1 when Shamus again led the family as he used his walker to splash into the shores of the Atlantic. Shamus had not only inspired me to run over 3200 miles in 60 days, but he had been an inspiration across the nation.

We donated 27 running chairs to families on our mission to gift mobility from coast to coast, thereby promoting inclusion and active lives for kids with limitations. Through Shamus’ mission I have realized that there really is no greater gift than doing something for someone else. We also now completely understand the phrase “teamwork makes the dream work”.

In the process of our incredible feat, Shamus and I made memories for ourselves, our family, and for others that are sure to last a lifetime.

I look forward to what the road ahead has to offer my BRF and me.

Day Two of #BRFweek, a weeklong tribute to Best Running Friends: forces that push us farther than we thought we could go. As we celebrate all week long on our Facebook page, celebrate your BRF with our special deal in the Mother Runner Store: buy any $25 lifestyle tee, get one for $10 (one for you, one for your BRF). Use code BRF10 at checkout.

To checkout all the happenings of #BRFweek, head here.  Now let’s toast to Ruthie and all the friends, both running and not, that have marked her life.

As I have aged, I am a believer to the saying of “I’d rather have 4 quarters than 100 pennies” when it comes to my friends. I have an inner circle of friends that are close to me. I call them my know­-me friends. They know everything about me: my secrets, my accomplishments, my achievements, my huge failures. They know me, and they still love me.

Mariellen was a know-­me friend. We met when I was 17 at my first job at McDonald’s. Mariellen was 19, and my boss. We immediately hit it off. During our time there, we were inseparable. As friends do, she held my hand and dried my tears through the heartbreak of my first love. She guided me when my relationship radar was off, and I was making bad boy choices. We went dancing. We went drinking. We may or may not have gone skinny dipping.

The years flew by, but our friendship remained constant. We were each other’s bridesmaids. I suffered through a bubble-gum-colored, taffeta­-laden bridesmaid’s dress in her wedding. Her dress wasn’t nearly as bad in my wedding. (And yes, of course I am going to say that.) We celebrated the births of our children. We dried each other’s tears when we lost parents. We lived 500 miles apart, so we didn’t talk daily, but like great friends, we could easily pick up where we had previously stopped.

I started running to celebrate my 40th birthday in June 2008. To everyone’s shock, I loved it. I was never an athlete; running seemed stupid to my younger me. I ran half marathons and 10Ks on a regular basis, and soon I added marathons and ultras to the list.

Mariellen saw the success I was having with running, and started running 5Ks. She would contact me periodically to ask for some tips. I would offer encouragement. We promised each other we would do a 5K together some day. We were both Steelers fans, so the Steelers 5K topped the list. Sadly, we would never see that finish line together.

On August 11, 2011, Mariellen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I knew she would fight. She would beat this. As she battled, my marriage fell apart. Mariellen and I were each drowning in our own sea of sadness. She didn’t have the strength or energy to reach out to me. I sent her texts with no reply, left voice mails with no return call. Mariellen had been with me through many miles and mistakes, so when I didn’t hear from her, I knew things were serious.

Sadly, I was so depressed with my own situation that I had no idea the severity of Mariellen’s fight. I should have tried harder to reach out to her, but I was barely holding it together myself.

Almost exactly three years later, Mariellen’s husband called to tell me that she had lost her battle. I quickly made arrangements to travel home to western Pennsylvania for her funeral.

In the midst of my shock and grief, I ran. I ran to clear my head. I ran to try to stop the tears. I ran to honor my know-­me friend.

In March of 2015, I was notified I had been chosen in the lottery of the Marine Corps Marathon. I was thrilled, ecstatic. I had done MCM last year, and know it is an emotional, amazing race.

I was honored to do it again. And, truth be told, scared to do it again.

My training partner from the previous year had been injured and was not training for a marathon this fall. The idea of all those long runs on my own terrified me.

Enter Amy. I had met Amy through her husband, with whom I had organized a local 5K for a fallen state trooper. She was a newbie. She had just started running, loved it, and in six months completed her first 5K, 10K and had registered for her first half marathon. She was looking for someone to run long miles with her during training. She asked me if I might be interested in joining her.

Amy and I ran a few runs together, but I quickly learned that Amy was like Julie from The Love Boat: a social director. Soon, Courtney and Sarah, both casual acquaintances, joined us on Saturday mornings. Eventually, Jenny, a co­worker of Amy’s, became part of our group as well because Amy convinced her to register for her first half marathon. We became a party of five, and we celebrated on Saturdays at 6 a.m. for our long runs.

The five of us have varying personalities. Amy is our moral compass. On many a run I have shared a personal story with her to get her perspective and opinion. If Amy said I was doing right, then I was doing right. Jenny is quiet. Sarah is not. In Jenny’s first run with Sarah, Sarah lifted up her shirt and flashed Jenny her running bra. (In Sarah’s defense, good running bras are hard to find. We must share our wisdom when we find one.)

As we ran together more, our conversations became more personal. The idea of TMI got thrown out the window the day that Sarah asked us if we shaved to prevent chafing. We immediately where she meant. When Amy said she had hardwood floors, I got confused and wondered how the topic jumped to her kitchen floors. Amy kindly explained this euphemism. Sarah informed us that she needed a landing strip. This did not need to be explained to me.

I, however, did wonder why I was suddenly running alone. The others had stopped to let Amy gather herself, who came to a dead standstill in the middle of the road because she was laughing so hard.

We ran on the morning of Amy’s wedding anniversary. She was perplexed about what to wear that night on her date night with her husband. Sarah quickly pointed out that she needed to wear a mini skirt to show off her gorgeous legs. Then Sarah offered to let her borrow one of hers. Sarah, not wanting anyone to feel left out, proceeded to name off all of our great body parts.

We aren’t just fixated on TMI and our great butts. (Sarah has the best one, btw.) Like all know-­me friends, we look out for each other. Amy, knowing that I was having financial difficulty (single mom and a teacher: need I say more?), bought me a foam roller as a way to say ‘thank you’ for my support of her running.

However, it was when I was having heart issues that I realized what this group meant to me. I had missed a run because my heart was acting up: shortness of breath, tightness and palpitations.

On our next running date, it was only Sarah and me, due to our schedules. I needed 16. Sarah needed 10. Sarah voiced hers and Amy’s concerns about me running. I listened—and continued to run. We completed our 10 together. Sarah got in her car to go home, or so I thought. What I didn’t realize is that she and Amy had already decided that she would follow me around town to make sure I was okay in the remainder of my run. She showed up at various points in my run. I ordered her to go home, and she ignored me. I finished 16, and was grateful for my secret escort.

When the first anniversary of Mariellen’s passing fell on a Saturday, I couldn’t think of a better group of women with whom to be than my know­me BAMRs. I texted them the night before, requesting that we wear pink, telling I would explain later.

Promptly at 6:00 a.m., we all showed up, every single one of us in pink. Sarah even flashed Jenny her running bra. I explained the meaning of the day for me. I was forbidden to cry—Sarah doesn’t do well with tears—so instead we laughed. We laughed to celebrate friendship. We laughed to celebrate the bond women can have. We laughed to celebrate women who fight. We laughed to celebrate women who lost their fight. We laughed because that is what Mariellen would have wanted.

And then we ran.

 

 

Welcome to #BRFweek, a weeklong tribute to Best Running Friends: forces that push us farther than we thought we could go. As we celebrate all week long on our Facebook page, celebrate your BRF with our special deal in the Mother Runner Store: buy any $25 lifestyle tee, get one for $10 (one for you, one for your BRF). Use code BRF10 at checkout.

To checkout all the happenings of #BRFweek, head here.  Now let’s toast to Natalie with this tribute written by her BRF Karen.

Luckily, Natalie inititally approached me after church in the dredges of winter in January, 201. It never would have happened the other way around. Natalie was far too pretty for me to initiate a conversation. Natalie was a million bucks and I was 50 cent. She was Nordstrom and I was Nordstrom Rack.

Could we run together? She was experiencing a slump running solo. You want to run with ME? I figured my conditions would turn her away: we’d have to run early in the morning (her reply: no problem), and she’d have to drive to my house because of my work schedule (again, no problem).

And so we ran. In all conditions, just like our local post people. No matter what weirdness in my work schedule I throw at her, she shows up. Most weekday runs involve a trek for Natalie out to my house in the boondocks, where I always have coffee ready to brew, should Mother Nature nix our plans. (We are in Wisconsin, after all, but we rarely trade endorphins for caffeine.)

Our weekly long run invariably involves an eight-mile loop that carries us along two rivers with a beautiful trail finish that has never, ever become old. Typically, a group of runners gather on those sacred long run days and conversation flows like the rivers we cross. Natalie and I are each other’s Sherpas: she brings the hydration, I bring the food.

Of course we have nicknames for each other: some days, we’re Shalane and Kara and some days, we’re Salty and Sweet. On the run, we can finish each other’s sentences. To purely compare race times, I would appear speedier, but that is misleading. We are side by side on a daily basis, only running ahead of each other if one of us gets fired up about something, and subconsciously takes the lead.

The real truth is that our race times have collectively dropped together. To paraphrase a biblical reference, ‘iron sharpens iron, as one friend sharpens another’.

We start most races together, but then let each other run our own race, buoyed by a whole training cycle of shared runs. Most ideas for a running adventures start out with, “ya’ know, I had this idea for a run…” and before you know it, we are off to Minnesota, Arkansas, or Tuscany. We ran London Marathon in 2013, just one week after the Boston bombings. The race started with a minute of 35,000+ runners in reverent silence and ended just as quietly at a finish line, absent of pomp and circumstance, fist-pumping or high fives. Dazed finishers walked quickly and quietly from the finish chute to anywhere else in London but there. I am so grateful we shared that day.

And as we logged thousands of miles together, I realized the adage you can’t judge a book by its cover is true—especially if the book is woman with blonde highlights and a million-watt smile.

Natalie is a recovering alcoholic. Naively, I would have used the word “recovered” after several years in sobriety, but she would argue that that alcoholism a daily journey not deserving the finality the suffix “-ed” implies. Her rock bottom wasn’t as low as some, but she doesn’t use that as an excuse to walk away from staring down the disease.

Her ‘pay it forward’ now is to educate others and counsel those going through it, all while maintaining her own sobriety. Many nights each week are spent helping others – especially women and moms —struggling with alcoholism. She brings the message of recovery to women in jail, and her cell phone rings at all hours with calls from people in dire straights.

Though not explicitly mentioned on every run, the patience and wisdom learned as part of her recovery often helps us hash out a solution to problems in a few miles. Natalie’s experience clearly has shaped her insight into the struggles we all have, lending a very keen compassion for those who have stumbled and need a second chance.

Because of Natalie, I have learned to pause before judgment, care first before criticizing, and to never, ever give up on someone.

I have never met a person more generous with time for others. And lucky for me, she still has time for me—and our miles—at an ungodly hour of the morning. Through thousands of miles run together (including 12 collective marathons), tears from injury and joy, and even shared menstrual cycles, I have learned a lot from the woman I “thought” I knew long ago.

A few years ago, I joked that I ran with Barbie. I’d say now I run with Wonder Woman.

 

We usually don’t barge into your mailbox on a Sunday morning, but we couldn’t resist this morning; we want you to get psyched up for our first Best Running Friend Week—or #BRFweek, in social media speak—which starts tomorrow and runs through Saturday, the 26th.

Running friendships, we’ve experienced again and again, are unlike any other friendships going. There’s something both intangible and surprisingly intimate about running with a friend by your side; the collective rhythm of your feet create a space where deep connection naturally flourishes.

Sometimes silence reigns, sometimes you chat about the tortellini you’re making for dinner, sometimes the conversations are profound. “Running is conducive to frank, sometimes soul-baring conversations in the same way road trips are,” says the wise book Run Like a Mother, “When you keep your eyes on the road, you can speak from your heart.”

It doesn’t matter if they’re speedy or not-so-much, inspired or not-so-much, regular or not-so-much; miles with a BRF leave an impression on your soul.

How are we going to celebrate these very special BRFs this very special week?
So glad you asked.

 

CELEBRATE ON FACEBOOK

 

In addition to a daily dose of You Might Be a BRF if…. photos starring a group of real life BRFs based in the Twin Cities, we will have daily giveaways, including products from our partners at Smith Optics, Tough Girl Tutus, Ultimate Direction, and TriggerPoint Therapy. Naturally, the giveaways are in pairs: one for you, one for your BRF. Entries and rules will be shared with each giveaway.

 

Speaking of Facebook, we’d love it if you spread the #BRFweek word by downloading this image, customizing it with your BRF specifics and changing your profile picture for the week.

 

CELEBRATE IN THE MOTHER RUNNER STORE

We know two is better than one, especially when it comes to BRFs–and T-shirts. During #BRFweek, when you buy one regularly priced, short-sleeve lifestyle tee from the Mother Runner Store, you’ll get a second one for only $10. (Can you say one for you, one for your BRF?) You don’t need to pick the same style, but feel free to be matchy-matchy if you want!

Use code BRF10 at checkout. Code expires Sept. 26 at 11:59 p.m. PDT.

 

CELEBRATE ON THE AMR PODCAST

Sarah and her BRF Molly are hosting two Aussie BRFs (best running mates?) for this Saturday’s podcast, and we’d love to add include a variety of tributes BRFs. If you’d like to give a shout-out to your BRF, create a voice memo on your smartphone, then email it to us at runmother@gmail.com.

 

CELEBRATE ON SOCIAL MEDIA (AND WIN SAUCONY PRIZES)

We’re going to be sharing pics that you shared with us (so much sharing!) on our Facebook page and Instagram account all week long, and otherwise getting as many social media miles as we can during #BRFweek.

We need your help—and yes, we’re going to dangle a (#findyourstrong) carrot. We’ve got two Saucony gift cards (say it with us: one for you, one for your BRF) that will fetch one item of your choice from sweet Saucony: kicks (running or retro), a new fall jacket, or our favorite bullet capris.

Use the #BRFweek hashtag on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook in order to win the Saucony giftcards; we’ll announce a random winner on Sunday, September 27.

CELEBRATE ON ANOTHERMOTHERRUNNER.COM

We are going to run five (fun, touching) tributes to BRFs over the next five days. (Spoiler alert: one BRF is a dog, and another is a son who just traveled over 3,100 miles across the country, pushed by his #fatherrunner dad we recently featured on an AMR podcast.)

Oh, we should probably address the question: What if I don’t have a BRF?

Although our image of BRFs is two or more women running together, we actually define BRF pretty loosely. A BRF can be a dog; a friend across the country who keeps you accountable for the miles; a kid who eats Cheerios as he prompts you to “Go faster, Mama!”; somebody whose spirit you honor when you run; Sara Bareilles, Beyonce, or the Back Street Boys (hey, whatever gets you moving!); or even your shadow.

All the contests and fun stuff are open to any interpretations of BRF, so don’t limit yourself even if you’re a solo runner.

See you—and your BRF—tomorrow!
xo–Dimity + Sarah