The Road to My First 50k Was Paved with Saviors

My First Savior – “Rockstar” Training Partners

It would be a disservice if I didn’t preface this all by giving a huge shout out to my training partners in crime who committed to this crazy 50k endeavor from the very beginning. When you look down the barrel at a training plan like the one I threw on the table, you know you’re going to be spending a lot of quality time together. That means you’re either going to love each other or hate each other by the end. More specifically, I already struggle with feeling like I’m “a bit much” or that it’s better for others to experience me in small doses, so I’d be lying if I said I didn’t experience some concern about what the effect of spending large amounts of time with me would have on my 50k training compatriots and our relationships. At the end of it all, they still seem willing to spend time with me, so this is no small success for me.

We all boarded what Tracy fondly calls the “crazy train” together at the end of December and beginning of January. Despite a bout with pneumonia (Tracy) and training through some illnesses (Michelle & me) that left us wheezing into inhalers along the run (Tracy & Michelle) and running with vertigo (me) in the middle of it all, we somehow found ourselves in the taper phase after our final long training run which we completed by running the Wicked Marathon in Wamego, KS at the end of March. While it was indeed a milder winter than usual, we still had plenty of runs through blizzards and freezing cold temperatures.  I specifically remember slogging up Hayward Avenue in snow above the ankles behind Steve on an early morning before work. Personally, I had a few breaks from the cold weather running with my trips to Florida which were welcome reprieves and only felt mild guilt at my friends cold weather training run posts during these times. I think we managed to rise above more than a few mental training challenges afforded by cold weather training. It seemed when one of us was flagging another would rise to the occasion and take the “I’m doing it anyway” approach, offer a plan, and somehow get us all out the door.

So. Hats off to my 50k training compadres. My teammates. Truly, it would have been a colossal challenge without you.

Our Adventure Begins

It brought me great joy to pay my first visit to the American Gothic House in Eldon, Iowa with my well-trained friends on our journey south to Missouri. Steve humored me a few times by posing in the classic Grant Wood American Gothic pose.  Michelle did a handstand on the front porch.

Tracy did a stirring impression of the woman wearing a colonial apron in Grant Wood’s American Gothic alongside Michelle sporting a mean scowl, bib overalls and a pitchfork. Steve purchased an American Gothic House disc golf disc and took it on its maiden voyage by playing a few rounds of golf at the disc golf course next to the site… in the rain. There is no reasonable explanation for the giddy happiness this “detour” brought me. It just did. My traveling companions can attest to this truth.

Our stop in Hannibal was at Logue’s Restaurant, an eating establishment touting family style cuisine, for a late lunch. It’s location? Huckleberry Heights Drive. That was the closer. Sealed the deal. As Tracy likes to say, “I’m your huckleberry…” I agonized over the menu as sometimes will happen to someone as indecisive as me. When there are too many delicious options, I sometimes resort to investigating the food holiday calendar to narrow down the playing field. It turns out it’s National BLT month. So BLT it was. Always a safe option. Bacon never disappoints. And beets. Their advertisement touted their dessert menu. Pecan pie would have been ideal (it was National Pecan Day!), but they were out so their cheesecake was a satisfying alternative.

Once checked into our hotel in Fenton and Tracy had given us all lessons on how to use our new vests and deflatable water bottles (that was quite a sight, I’m sure… all of us parading around the room in our new One Direction vests), Steve found a disc golf course at St. Louis’s Wilmington Park. I wasn’t up to the challenge so while the others played, I managed to catch a few winks with my feet up in the car. At sunset, I did meander around the park a little to take pictures and enjoy the warmth of Missouri spring air. So amazing and strange to see a family grilling out in the park, to hear the sounds of singing frogs, quacking ducks and buzzing mosquitos, and to be able to walk around in shirt sleeves. What was this new strange world we were visiting? The disparity was welcome, but disconcerting.

We put our faith in Steve, our travel guide extraordinaire, and went with his suggestion to eat our pre-race meal at Athoninos Taverna on The Hill in St. Louis. The caprese salad, toasted ravioli, and goat cheese & anchovy pizza was a delicious precursor to the following day’s fare of oatmeal, Snickers bars, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, GU gels, potatoes, gummy bears, grapes and potato chips. The walk through The Hill district back to the car on a spring night hinting at summer wasn’t all bad, either. Our last supper was followed by a quick grocery run to Schnuck’s to make sure we had rounded out our nutrition options for the next day.

Sleep came quick and was sound. I must have been tired, because pre-race, this never happens. I can only hope my sleep being sound didn’t result in sound that kept my roommates awake. If it did, they were polite and didn’t complain.  Which leads us to…

Race Day

Race morning. Alarm sounds. Flurry of race morning activity. Water bottles filled. Michelle agrees to slather Tracy in Body Glide. I decided to apply Body Glide later. A fateful decision I would regret later. “It’s 6:30,” says Michelle. “What?  Already?” says Lani. “According to my watch it’s 6:25,” says Steve. I think Tracy’s in the bathroom. If she says anything, I didn’t hear it. Five minutes later we’re in an elevator headed to the ground floor.

Check out complete. Car loaded. We’re on our way. It’s starting to look “bluffy”. Maybe “Ozarky” is a better descriptor? Limestone walls on each side of the road giving us a preliminary glimpse at what our days running terrain will have to offer. It’s just like I remember it. But somehow I think it is not matching up in my fellow training partners brains the way I had described it to them. Too late now.

We arrive in time to park and walk to pick up packets. I feel like timing might be tight so I pack all my stuff to the packet pick up table. Instead of a t-shirt, we get a trucker hat with the race logo. It. Is. Awesome. It’s already one of my favorite parts of the event. Race director tells us gear drop off is up the hill from the start line. Steve and I start walking. Turns out it’s easily a five minute walk. I guess he wants us to get our sea legs under us.

We all meet up behind the start line with not a minute to spare. Seriously. I think we had 30 seconds to take a start line selfie. Or less. The race director shouts, “Go!” We all go. Straight up a paved hill to the trail entrance. Why not? The trail starts out pretty technical (a lot of rocks and roots and twists and turns and ups and downs) and is primarily single track. Everyone settles in single file. I have been seduced by the collective swell of adrenaline and pre-race energy into a pace I cannot sustain.  Michelle and I bound up rocks and pass other runners. We are mountain goats. We have springs in our feet. 

Soon we settle into my favorite part of any race. That lovely enjoyable place at the beginning of any event which is not the start, but still early enough on that people still happily chatter to friends and to strangers who are friends because of running commonalities. Spirits are high. Eyes are bright. Smiles are frequent. We bound downhill over piles or rocks knowing it’s never going to feel quite like this for the rest of the day. I run a little quicker here enjoying the company of my training partners knowing it’s the only time of the day that I will run with them as our training has revealed they can sustain a pace faster than mine. It is not long before they all are ahead of me and then out of sight. People start to naturally split off into different pace levels and spread out - everyone content to run their own race. In this stretch it’s also becoming apparent heat is going to be a factor. My shirt is soaked through, my water bottles empty and it’s not even 8:00 a.m.

My Second Savior – Aid Station #1 and Potatoes

Aid Station #1 appears quicker than I expected. I am pleased to see Steve, Michelle and Tracy. I’m not too far behind yet. Tracy points out the potatoes. This also pleases me. I had been lamenting to my teammates earlier about not packing my own potatoes – a nutrition option I hadn’t tried yet, but felt would help me with more sustainable energy. All this underscored by my ultrarunning friend, Adam, having advised that today potatoes would be my friend. Problem solved. I cram a handful of potatoes in my mouth one by one.

It is immediately clear the support of this race will be topnotch. “Can I fill your water bottle? What would you like to drink? Water? Tailwind? Coke?” The table is a colorful assortment of bowls brimming with gummy bears, potato chips, trail mix, Peeps (hey, it’s Easter weekend!), Rice Krispie bars, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, cooked potatoes, Gu gels, etc. Aid stations and the people manning them will quickly become one of my favorite parts of this race.

I head out into the flats along the Meramac River, once again alongside my teammates… actually, I leave the aid station a little ahead of them knowing they will quickly catch up. We reached the first mud crossing together and commiserate about the best way to get across. There really is no good way. We slide/ski down to the boggy part where the water is still running and slog through to the opposite bank. Getting up the muddy embankment is just as tricky. I end up with muddy hands trying to break my fall and then crawl up the incline. Seems like a good time to add war paint to the mix. I put muddy black marks under my eyes and make warrior stripes on my shoulders. I am a warrior. Then as we run through a narrow single track path through the woods and along the river, I stress about the plants brushing my legs and about whether or not I’m going to come down with a case of poison ivy (visions of my dance with this devil and the discomfort it brought last summer still dancing in my head).

My comrades start to pull away from me again, one by one. I stop to take pictures of the morning sun shimmering through the dogwoods before continuing. Not long after, I encounter the first runner headed back to the start line on the out and back trail. He is moving quickly and effortlessly  “Keep it up,” he encourages as he moves by, a gesture I hadn’t ever really experienced before from a front runner in a race.  This was not an anomaly.  I experienced the same good will from the next six front runners that came my way. It became apparent this was not a happy coincidence, but something that must be common in the trail running community. I like it.

My Third Savior – The Voice

Along the way, there are a few creek crossings that included rock hopping, a metal drainage pipe, and a board crossing from bank to bank. There were a couple of logs to climb over (one more significant than the other), but the trail itself was very well marked with pink ties in the trees to mark which way to go when it was questionable. As we started to climb the hill towards the turnaround point which also would be Aid Station #2, I found myself navigating a narrow trail covered in dry dead leaves. I was also passing those returning on the out and back course with more frequency. It was at this point I took my first spill. My toe connected with a rock or root hidden by leaves, my ankle turned and I lurched forward breaking my fall with my hands. Several concerned witnesses asked if I was ok. I wasn’t sure. The ankle throbbed as I limped forward testing. Frustrated, I realized I still had 25 miles to go and started to have visions of my months of training slip down the drain. Doubt about finishing suddenly is amplified.

It was the male voice behind me that saved me from the voices in my head. “Are you ok?  You’re walking fine. Try to run. I think you’re going to be ok. You’re moving all right. It might swell up tomorrow, but for today, I think you’re ok.” Later I kicked myself for not turning around to get a look at my rescuer. “Like my Dad used to tell me, ‘you’re fine… walk it off, it’ll be ok’,” I quipped back over my shoulder. He laughed. “That’s right,” he agreed, “You’re going to be fine.” I kept running forward to Aid Station #2. I never saw or heard from him again. If I did, I wouldn't have known it.

My Fourth Savior – The Angel at Aid Station #2

Other than my aching ankles, I was still feeling pretty good at the turn around point. It was starting to get hot. I hydrated. I ate some chips and drank some Coke. Someone filled my water bottle. I complained I was starting to chafe under my arms. My failure to remember to apply Body Glide at the bag drop off becoming a glaring misstep in the pre-race preparations. An angel found some diaper rash cream and slathered it under my arms and then walked me back to the trail and yelled encouragement to me as I headed back out. I would later learn (thanks to the beautiful connectivity power of social media) that this angel's name was Shari. This would lead me to my second fall of the day. As I moved from the paved road onto the trail, my toe connected with a root and I again went sprawling. After a few choice words directed at the sky, I brushed myself off and kept moving. This time there were no witnesses. I had done a little damage to my other ankle this time, but nothing like the first go around.

My Fifth Savior – The Wind

At the bottom of the hill there was a beautiful, aromatic patch of brilliant purple Wild Sweet Williams begging to be photographed. I went to grab my phone to take a picture and realized it was gone. Retracing my steps in my head, I realized when I’d done my second impressive slow motion trip and fall, my phone must have ejected from the pocket I’d stored it in. Going back to try and find it was out of the question if I wanted to finish. I’d just have to look for it when I came back on the second loop. I ambled off down the long, flat stretch of road that eventually turned and led up and over the railroad tracks and along the river back to the first aid station. What was striking to me at this juncture of the race was the variance in age of the partipants. I had passed or been passed by trail runners who were much younger and who were much older. It was in this stretch I passed a gentleman I would later learn's name was Norman.  He started running when he was 50. I passed a woman who was in her 70s. Someone told me her exact age, but I can't remember. Maybe 75? I don’t remember much else about this stretch other than things were starting warm up significantly. And that wind was saving us from the abuse of the sun and heat. There was much thankfulness in my heart for the wind. So much thankfulness.

My Sixth Savior – The Man Who Found Wonder Woman’s Phone

I was pretty pleased to see Tracy as I approached the aid station on the return loop. She looked strong. Knowing my teammates were ahead of me made me happy as “finishing” started to seem more and more achievable for them. But I also mentally started bracing myself for the possibility they could potentially finish and leave with belt buckles and I might not. I thought through how I would rally from a DNF. As I previously mentioned, the head games present some formidable opponents out there on the trail in the heat of the day. I also was very aware that keeping ahead on my hydration and nutrition was imperative. The aid station was a welcome sight. Because. Potatoes!

As I slowed and approached the food table, I heard a voice behind me yell, “Hey guys, look what I found. I found Wonder Woman’s phone.” At this very moment I’m pretty sure a light beamed down from heaven (or was that the sun?) and angels sang (or was that Tracy?) when I turned around and saw a runner running up to the aid station table with my phone. What a complete load off my mind for the rest of the day. I almost kissed him. Again, the aid station attendants were my heroes… filling my water bottle, checking to make sure I was ok, words of encouragement, smiles and laughs and banter… and then I was off again.

It was here I came face to face again with a challenging part of the course I affectionately dubbed “Billy Goat Lane”.  It is an uphill climb… piles and piles upon piles of limestone rocks.  There was no question, I would be walking it. I started to worry I might not make the four hour cut off for the 25k finish. It was near the top of this stretch I met the 50k front runner coming back out for his second loop. Again, he moved quickly and effortlessly. This time over the rocks. Was HE part billy goat? I would later learn, he finished in 3 hours and 58 minutes. He MIGHT be party billy goat. We’ll call him Billy for short.

Also in this stretch, I started to hit a real low. I was meeting people coming out for their second loop. The temperatures were climbing. I was sucking through my water pretty fast. My body felt stiff, like I had sticks in my legs. Moving was hard. Time moved slowly. The trail seemed to go on forever. I hurt. Everywhere. I worried about falling. I did fall. I watched terror cross a woman’s face as I tripped on a rock (for my third and final time) and start to fall straight forward down the hill toward her as she was coming back up. By some miracle, I stayed upright. We were all spared a bloody mess as it was a very rocky stretch and my hands wouldn’t have been able stop me from connecting with the ground with my face first. My nose was in the lead.

My Seventh Savior – A Good-Hearted Citizen

I finally reached the end of the trail. Running out onto the asphalt, I could hear the 25k finishers being cheered at the finish line and smell the hamburgers being grilled. Surprised, I realized that grilled hamburgers held no appeal. The asphalt sloped sharply down the hill and my quads burned as I started the descent. A man came up next to me and started to run alongside me down the hill. I initially thought he was a good-hearted citizen who was there supporting his daughter and just wanted to encourage me. He was, I guess, but I would later realize he was also just another amazing masterpiece of the well-oiled machine that was this race. Pure brilliance to have support runners to help people down the hill and around the corner to the last sadistic turn of this first loop.

Sadistic, you ask? Just before the finish line, the course redirects up the steepest hill I’ve ever climbed.  “Just go up to the top of this hill and it loops back down to the finish line,” he instructed as he dropped me off at the bottom. I would soon learn his instructions were vague. Lacking detail. Lacking a LOT of important details. I’m certain it was by design he left out these details - I'm just not sure if the motive was good or bad. I walked only a few steps up the sharp incline and my heart was in my throat. It was the hill that never ended. I later learned that some people run this hill. These are not my people. Just when you think you’ve reached the top, you realize you’re not even halfway there. When you do reach the top, it loops around and you do an angled descent down. It’s just far enough you frantically start looking for pink ribbons because you think you might be on the wrong trail. And after this one last little mind game, the trail then angles straight back down the hill for one final zinger. The course takes you through the finish line (where others are finishing and you WANT to be finishing) and takes you right back out on the course for the second loop.

My Eighth Savior – Well Timed Advice, A Friend and Marco Polo

I met up with Tracy again here at the turn around aid station. She seemed good. I was still low. Very, very low. I was eating everything salted I could find. I was sucking down Tailwind and water and Coke. They filled my water bottle. I wondered if I should pack a second one for this stretch, but decided against it. The man who found my phone and his running partner were getting fueled up. I had made the cut off time by a half hour and was now verbally stressing about whether or not I would be able to finish loop two by the nine hour cut off. “Just walk the hills and run as much of the flats as you can,” his running partner advised as they ambled back out on the course. “You’re doing great,” she called over her shoulder. I willed myself to believe it. Tracy and I started out together before she realized she hadn’t picked up her GU gels and headed back to get them. I knew she would catch me soon enough and that I was racing against myself and the clock to finish, so I kept going.

Sure enough. Not too far into the trail, she caught me. The front runners for the 50k passed by with ease. Suprisingly, I found it inspiring and not discouraging. Tracy moved ahead of me as the trail started to descend. We played Marco Polo for a stretch. That was strangely comforting. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. Thanks, Tracy. Going down “Billy Goat Lane”, I watched a female front runner for the 50k run (Run!...not climb… not walk, but run!) up the hill towards me. I expressed my admiration. “You’re doing great,” she replied over her shoulder. I fought the urge to stop and watch her continue up the hill. It was amazing. On this stretch to Aid Station #1, I emptied my water bottle pretty quick and rued the fact I had decided against carrying two. My water bottle was empty and my mouth was dry.  It wasn’t much further, I knew, but far enough.

My Ninth Savior – Good Humor, Chips and Gummy Bears

True to form, when I finally did find myself at Aid Station #1, they did their magic. Water bottle was filled. I loaded up on potatoes and salt and water and grabbed a watermelon salt flavored GU gel for my pocket. “You guys didn’t tell me how much this was gonna hurt,” I threw out flippantly at the guy filling my water bottle. He looked up, smiled and simply replied, “Oh. YOU knew.” I smiled back.  He was right. I grabbed a handful of gummy bears and potato chips mixed. It was delicious. I grabbed another handful and moved back out on the course alternately eating my mix one chip then one gummy bear then one chip then one gummy bear at a time. This, specifically, was the flat track I knew I needed to run, but did not want to run. At least it was in the shade. Coming into the downward slope the led down to the flats, I met a mountain biker climbing up the incline. I complimented him on his efforts as he reached the top. Later as I made my way through the woods, a loud crashing startled me on my right side as he moved around me on his bike. “A little warning would have been nice,” I suggested.  I was curt about it. Other than my body hurting, it was probably the only negative interaction of the day.

My Tenth Savior – Knowing my Friends Would Finish, Grapes and a Second Wind

Shortly after, I met my friend, Michelle, coming across the creek bed. She looked strong. “You got this!” she yelled at me as we passed and high fived on the trail. It made me happy knowing how close she was to the finish. I continued down the river front single track and then up over the railroad tracks and onto the flat track that led to the hill ascent to Aid Station #2.  I willed myself to run.  It hurt. A lot. My whole body was stiff. Nothing felt easy or fluid. Up ahead I saw Steve. I would later find out he as battling leg cramps at this stage of his race. Even though I was hurting as we passed each other, again, I again felt a rush of happiness realizing my teammates were on the final stretch back and would likely finish. This long flat from the railroad crossing to the turn up the hill seemed like it would never end on this loop.  Everytime I thought the upturn was just around the next bend, I would see a runner coming towards me from what seemed like forever a way. My body didn’t want to run, but my mind kept telling it to. Sometimes my mind won. Sometimes my body won. Most of the time, my mind won.

Finally. The upturn. The upturn meant I could walk. So much relief. As I got close to Aid Station #2, Tracy was running towards me on the train. “You’re almost there,” she encouraged, “Make sure you talk to those ladies.  They are AWESOME!” Another happiness surge. Tracy was on her way back and looking strong. All of my teammates were going to finish.

At Aid Station #2, I was met with cheers and clapping. I was exhausted. I gulped down water. They filled my water bottle and stashed an extra water bottle in my pack. I ate some peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and grabbed another watermelon salt GU gel for my pocket. I asked if I could make it back before the cut off time if I just walked. After doing a little math, they affirmed. One of them offered up a giant cluster of grapes. I felt like a sweaty Cleopatra. After examing my underarm chafing (there goes the Cleopatra vision...), asking me how I felt, making sure I didn’t need anything else, Shari told me I looked strong, congratulated me on my first 50k and sent me back out on the trail. I ate the grapes slowly… one at a time… savoring… as I navigated my way back down the hill. So delicious.

 I’m not exactly sure what miracle happened at Aid Station #2. I supposed it was a combination of things - the fact I was on my final stretch home combined with the fact I now knew I would finish even if I walked the rest of the way. It was possibly the energy pick-me-up buzz from the delicious grapes combined with the happy, good energy and encouragement of the women manning Aid Station #2. It was likely also the relief from cloud cover and the afternoon breeze. Something in my body released there around mile 24 and I started wanting to run again. I found my body could do it with more ease. The solitude of the woods was peaceful. The birds were singing. The air was perfumed with the smell of Dogwood and Wild Sweet Williams. The frogs were singing. There was an occasional buzz from a mosquito. I saw a small black snack. A turtle lumbered across the trail front of me. A butterfly flitted across over my shoulder. And as I moved down to the edge of the river, teenagers were screaming their jet skis up and down the river with happy yelling to each other as they paused at each end to turn around.

Astonished

By my return to Aid Station #1, I had been running non-stop and my spirits were high.  I had 3.6 miles to go and I would finish before the nine hour cutoff with no problem. That belt buckle was as good as mine. I even found myself looking forward to my climb up “Billy Goat Lane” one last time.  At the top, I felt good enough to run as I started the descent. Even with the switchbacks and rocks and roots, I started to run more quickly and confidently on the trail. There was a back and forth rhythm to it I was starting to master. I passed some hikers who complimented me on my strong finish. “You are moving really well,” said one young woman. She seemed astonished. I was astonished. It felt good. It was fun. I felt like if I needed to run another 9 miles, I could. The last hill was still waiting for me, but I knew it was there. I knew what to expect. And I knew there was a finish line waiting for me at the bottom.

As I approached the bottom of the hill, I heard my fellow 50kers (all three of them and a few race volunteers... the important ones) cheering. The hill was steep and I had visions of tripping and rolling my way to the finish line. I was determined not to trip for the spectators. My cheerleaders. My teammates. My finish didn’t need to be spectacular. The clock read 8:31 as I approached. There were just a few feet between me and the finish line and I was pleased I could run across it. I ran straight into the race directors open arms and was handed my belt buckle. I’m pretty sure my grin was 50 kilometers wide. “You are an ultrarunner,” confirmed Tracy. I did it. We did it. And it doesn’t get anymore spectacular than that.

Now. To go take account of and lick our wounds. And find belts for our belt buckles. We earned them.

Epilogue

The cherry on top was a stop in Hannibal, MO on our way home for a celebratory meal on an outdoor patio with live music overlooking the Mississippi River.  I’m not sure who ordered a beautiful, feels-like-summer, music filled night on the Mighty Mississippi for the grand finale, but I’ll take it. That. And an ice cream cone. Nighty-night.

Written about Mark Twain in Gay Zenola MacLaren's memoir:

He opened the door for me himself.  As we said good-bye, he put his fingers lightly under my chin and lifted my head up so that my eyes met his.

"Little girl," he said earnestly, "keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions.  Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great."

My Biggest Supporter

When you're inwardly freaking out about running a 50k in five days and your husband unexpectedly stops as he's going out the door and tells you you're going to have a good race. He's always, always been my biggest supporter. Always. Just like everyone, we've had our moments over the past 21 years, but it always comes back to him. Always. When God picked him for me, He did good.

I Have...

My recent look at reality in the mirror has me reflecting. Life has been beautiful and wonderful and for the most part a series of bucket list items that were never on my list to begin with. Following my feather has afforded me some magic…

I have slid down the sand dunes at Ocean Beach.

I have created and given birth to two beautiful souls God has breathed life into.

I have written a book before I turned 16.

I have gotten sea urchin spines in my feet while swimming in the Aegean Sea.

I have skinny dipped in Spirit Lake.

I have been proposed to by a Greek ferryman on a ferry boat in the middle of the Ionian Sea.

I have eaten green pizza on Haight & Ashbury Street.

I have slow danced poolside to a jazz saxophone solo under the light of the moon, to the sound of the ocean waves in Mexico.

I have seen a falling star while kayaking at night at Ada Hayden – floating on a sea of stars reflected in the water.

I have gazed at the wonder that is the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. Twice.

I have drank hot chocolate at the Equinox, slowly rotating at the top of the Hyatt Regency at the end of Embarcadero Street - glittery night views of the city and the Golden Gate Bridge.

I have watched the sun set perched on a rock jutting out from the cliff at Cape Sounion next to the Temple of Poseiden.

I have been serenaded with “Heart and Soul” from my front row seat at the Lincoln Theatre by a cast member down on one knee during the performance of Forever Plaid.

I have eaten gelato on a bus in Florence on our way back from a grocery store.

I have eaten octopus at a café in Piazza San Marco.

I have danced the night away with a homeless man on Beale Street.

I have seen a stingray float up from the ocean floor while paddleboarding at Point of Rocks.

I have eaten Cheerios by candlelight.

I have snuck out of school with a fellow senior and gone for motorcycle ride on a beautiful spring afternoon.

I have ran sprints at the Olympic stadium in Olympia, Greece.

I have slept outside under the stars in the middle of Iowa.

I have written poetry at night at the back of a Key West ferry boat under a beach towel with a girl biking around the USA.

I have visited all the Cyclone statues around Ames by bike - in one night. It took five hours.

I have been run away with on a horse named Dolly. And survived to tell about it.

I have spent nine hours in a hammock on a summer afternoon/evening reading a good book and drinking wine.

I have read Acts at the top of Mars Hill.

I have ran steps at the ISU Alumni Center after midnight in the rain – who says nothing good happens after midnight?

I have had a yarn hair wrap weaved into my hair by a young Lebanese man on the Spanish Steps.

I have met an unexpected friend who tucked a pink hibiscus flower the size of my head behind my ear in a quiet courtyard just off of Sun and Sea Drive.

I have stargazed from the flatbead of a truck driving gravel roads in the summertime.

I have swam in the Pacific Ocean with the love of my life at dusk.

I have been moved to tears experiencing a war I never knew as I watched a man remember at the Vietnam Memorial.

I have seen a summer night come alive to the tune of a thousand fireflies.

I have had my portrait drawn at night sitting next to the fountain in Piazza Navonna.

I have listened to the haunting hoot of an owl floating on summer evening air on the banks of the mighty Mississippi.

I have enjoyed a night around a campfire with local Hawaiians singing, playing ukeleles and dancing the hula at Bellows Air Force Base.

I have eaten bing cherries fresh off a tree for breakfast in Leavenworth, WA.

I have thrown coins over my shoulder at the Trevi Fountain.

I have ridden a camel at the Iowa State Fair.

I have been proposed to by a drunk, one-eyed cowboy in the Smokehouse Saloon at the top of the BigHorn Mountains at the ripe old age of 14.... his generous offer of taking me off with his pack mules into the mountains.

I've taken a walk in the rain.

I have been gondoliered under the Bridge of Sighs at dusk to the sounds of a squeeze box.

I have jumped off the rock at Waimea Bay.

I have ran through the Mark Twain National Forest in the middle of the night with a friend and watched the morning dawn at the tops of the trees.

I have woken up to sunshine and the sounds of a thousand birds happy that it's a spring morning just outside a farmhouse bedroom window.

I have gotten my own personal sunset tour of Key West from Captain Rob on the front of a boat drinking rosé straight out of the bottle.

I have drank water from a water hydrant.

I have line danced a traditional Greek dance to bouzouki's at a tavern underneath the Parthenon in Athens, Greece.

I have seen Mumford and Sons perform live in Waverly, Iowa.

I have been chuffed by a dolphin.

I have watched someone I love breath their last breath.

I have harvested Marquette grapes on a vineyard in Iowa.

I've ran 339 miles with new and old friends across Iowa three times.

I have ran sprints at the Olympic stadium in Athens, Greece.

I have had a picnic on the shore of the Mississippi in the fall.

I have watched the sun rise and the fisherman get ready for a day of fishing in a Greek village.

I have gone for a summer swim in a cow tank.

I have eaten raw oysters on the patio at Pikes Place Market.

I have written poetry in a tree.

I have drank local wine out of a pitcher seaside in Brindisi, Italy.

I have taken a nap in the town square in Siena.

And that isn't the half of it... I can't wait to live the rest of my life. God willing. ❤