Ha ha

I think one of my most notable personality traits is that I like to laugh, a lot. I laugh when I am scared, tired, angry, hurt, stressed, anxious, happy and any other time in between. Some people might think that is annoying, I think it's a good way to look at life. And it's also healthy. Long live the good joke.

We all want to change the world

I just finished watching Part 1 of a Bob Dylan documentary, "No Direction Home." I will not pretend that I know anything about Bob Dylan or am even a big fan of the man they call "the best song writer of all time." Yet, I was utterly fascinated about the first part of his life. He was the 20-year-old who wrote simple ballads that changed people's lives.

Part 1 was dedicated to Dylan's beginning, his adventure from a small Minnesotan town to the big stage with the big recording deal. Dylan discussed his musical influences and how he wrote what he was feeling at that time. Nothing more, nothing less.

At first I couldn't understand what it was about him that captivated me. As I drove home from my friend's house, I flipped through the radio. In the few minutes it took to get back to my apartment, I stopped on an advice radio show, a class rock station, a pop station and a country station. Then different scents, the lilacs in their prim sprouting and the smoke from a nearby backyard fire, caught my attention and drifted it else where. Then a glance to the star-speckled sky brought on a whole other set of emotions and feelings.

Then it hit me. Bob Dylan knew music was his life, and that is all he ever knew. Me, I can't tell you what I want to do tomorrow, let alone what will be the meaning of my life. But Dylan did what made him happy, even though the odds where against him at times.

Each day, I am learning to do only the things that make me happy. I will never leave the legacy Bob Dylan did, but I hope to one say I lived for my passion the way he did.

A year later

This post has been marinating my head for weeks, but I needed the right set of emotions and enough time to give it justice. I guess Saturday mornings are my prime blogging time. This post will probably be all over the place because I am writing what my heart and mind say. I am working through these issues as I write them, so be warned.

The other day I realized that it’s my friend’s birthday tomorrow. He will be 22. Usually, I would make a mental note to wish him happy birthday, but this little reminder stopped me. His 21st birthday happened to fall on my last night in Brookings, my going away party. The next day, I said goodbye to Scott with the intentions to try the long-distance thing and drove to Pierre. A day later I was west bound to a new life.

The last few weeks have been filled with similar “oh, how life has changed” moments, and each one stings like a punch in the mouth. But what bothers me the most is that I am not sure why it’s so painful.

I don’t have any regrets about moving back to Brookings. I honestly love my job and actually feel good at it, feelings I didn’t have at the Journal. I enjoy my coworkers and am proud to be involved in such a significant moment in SDSU’s history.

I’ve come to realize that reporting isn’t for me, and I highly doubt that I’ll ever go back. I am having this mini-career crisis (I will post more about that when I feel comfortable to talk about it) and have started to look at the next step in my life and thereafter. Although I see writing intertwined in my future, I don’t see reporting.

I’ve written a few stories for work, and it painfully reminds that me I am not cut out to be a reporter. I am not happy doing it anymore, and the thought of covering the big story for the big paper is no longer a turn on.

At times, living in Brookings really isn’t easy, especially for a 23-year-old professional. I am not a student, but I also don’t feel like a member of the community. I just fall through the cracks and can’t seem to my footing. Still, there is something about this community that is calming.

In Idaho, I had troubles finding a route to work. There were plenty of options, but each one depressed me about going to work. I would drive by worn down buildings or get stuck in after-school traffic. I hated the different stoplights, and the over pass. I hated the houses and I hated the other drivers. I thought that if I could find the right route, going to work wouldn’t be so bad. I never did find that route.

In Brookings, I have a straight shot from my apartment to work. In the mornings, it takes about seven minutes with the two stop lights and two four-way stops. Lately, I have started riding my bike and it takes the same amount of time. This route includes some nice houses, lots of trees and the Campanile. I don’t get depressed about going to work.

What I am trying to say in this commuting example is that I don’t think I miss Idaho. Don’t get me wrong, I miss parts of Idaho. I miss my friends there so very much. There isn’t a weekend that goes by that I don’t long to have a game night with them or have a beer at Hooligans. Sometimes, when I had too many to drink, I get emotional about my Idaho friends like a girl would over an ex-boyfriend she is still in love with. I often daydream about them coming to Brookings and what would I show them and what we would do. They are the number one reason this move has been hard.

I also really miss being in the mountains. I had made plans to learn how to rock climb this summer, and I miss being able to go for a hike any day that I want. I still find stuff to do around here, but I do miss having that outdoor playground. And the mountain scenery, that is one thing that could calm me on my way to work.

But when I think about little things about my life in Idaho, like driving down Arthur or grocery shopping, I really don’t miss it. When you put my Idaho life and my Brookings life side by side, Brookings wins. I like my job better. I like my apartment better. I can run into my brother at any give moment and it doesn’t cost $400 to see my parents. I run more. I read more. I sleep better. I write more. I socialize more. I pray more.

So, then why can’t I get past these feelings that I am a failure? I’ve blogged before that in college I valued success with how far I could move away, and that theory is so deep that’s been really hard for me to change my way of thinking.

When I left for Idaho last year, I was so excited. I was finally doing something I’ve always wanted to do, leave South Dakota. I never thought about what life would be like once I actually got there. I didn’t bother to think that it might not be the place for me. I just expected Idaho to change everything. I put Idaho on this pedestal, never doubting if it should be there.

What I still have to remind people, and myself, is that I didn’t leave Idaho because I hated it. I left because I was given an opportunity to pursue another dream. If I never had lunch with Sherry or she didn’t make the offer, I would still be in Idaho working at the Journal. I would be enjoying time with my friends and living a pretty good life.

But God had a different plan. I know I am supposed to be here, even if I don’t understand why. I was meant to go to Idaho and work at the Journal, and then I was meant to move back and work here. And next year, I will follow another road intended for me.

Maybe these feelings are coming from the fact that I am staying still while everyone else is moving around me. One of my friends is moving to Montana and another to Iowa. Two of my close friends have possible job opportunities in North Dakota and many are talking about moving, weddings and babies. I’ve had so many life changing decisions the last year, and now that everyone else is getting the chance to change their life, I am a bit jealous. I just need to sit this round out and realize that I have a job most people would be glad to take.

When it comes down to it, I need to learn how to be happy in the now. I miss my friends in Idaho but I love being with my friends and family here and I love my job. I just need to stop being a baby and realize I have been dealt some pretty good cards in life.

No matter what I have just posted here, life is actually really good. Who knows, maybe in a year I will look back on this moment and long for these days. Knowing me, probably.

Coach

My career as a journalist was short lived, my stint in sports was even shorter, but some stories and subjects will always be with me. A few people struck me in a way that I can’t forget, even if they do, and I will forever feel privileged to tell a piece of their story.

I knew there was something unique about John Stieglemeier the first time I interviewed him. Although I can’t remember the story assignment, I remember meeting him for the first time. As a meek freshman journalism major, I called Stig and asked for a interview. He agreed and I arrived at his office promptly. My nerves got the best of me and my stomach tumbled as I waited for him in his dark office. This was a big deal, I mean, he was the head football coach.

As ten minutes passed, he still hadn’t arrived. I tried to imagine what he would be like. Stereotypically, I figured he would be a gruff man with a short temper and an arrogant tone.

I glanced at the clock, 20 minutes passed our scheduled meeting time. I would have
waited another 20 minutes and another 20 minutes based on how important this interview was, but something more important was happening 50 miles away in Sioux Falls: my then-boyfriend was going back to Iraq after a two-week leave.

Hurriedly, I wrote a note explaining that I had to leave and left my phone number to set up another appointment. I was barely out of the parking lot when Stig called me. He apologized profusely, saying he was meeting with another coach. I explained my situation, also apologizing, hoping he would grant me another chance to ask my questions.

“Go. That’s where you need to be,” he reassured me.

At that moment, I realized that Stig wasn’t your typical football coach. Four years later, after heart-wrenching losses and unexpected wins, Stig hasn’t convinced me otherwise.

Before my senior year, I was a sporadic Jackrabbit football fan. I enjoyed the occasional game for social reason mostly, and when I was introduced to tailgating glory, I rarely missed a game. Still, I couldn’t tell you the quarterback’s name.

Then, during my senior year, I wrote a few pre-season stories and met up with Stig again. He had a gleam in his eyes as he talked to me about playing as a family. For the same stories, his players told me they believed, better yet, they knew they were going to take the conference and beat rival North Dakota State.

Fat chance, I thought. There was no way in hell that would happen. It was, after all, SDSU’s third year in Division I and the Jacks finished fourth in the five-team conference the previous season. I guess it’s good to dream big, but that just makes the fall to reality that much harder, I thought.

After a roaring 0-3 start to the season, I chuckled to myself as I thought about Stig and his bright-eyed, bushy-tailed players who believed the conference championship wasn’t only in reach, but winnable. Again, no way in hell.

Then something remarkable happened that changed the entire season. The Jacks were 1-3 when they made the trek to Louisiana to face 16th-ranked McKneese. With five minutes remaining, McKneese had a solid 17-6 lead over SDSU. Still, Stig reminded his team he believed it could win. After a 46-yard Parker Douglas field goal and a 40-yard-touchdown pass to JaRon Harris that put the game 17-15, quarterback Andy Kardos told his coach he knew he could get the two-point conversion. Since Stig practices what he preaches, he believed him and gave the qb the chance. Kardos didn’t disappoint as the game tied. Another Douglas field goal and the win belonged to the Jacks.

Stories the next few days talked about belief and never backing down and, as a sucker for feel-good stories, I was more intrigued with Jackrabbit football than ever. After another win, the Jacks found themselves in a similar position against Cal Poly, the conference champs the season before. But belief struck again and the players started chanting “McKneese” as the Jacks fought from a deficit in the fourth quarter for a 29-28 win.

But it didn’t stop there. The next week, Hobo Day, fans started drifting out of Coughlin-Alumni Stadium as UC Davis grabbed a 21-7 lead before halftime. The Jacks pushed back, ending the third quarter 17-10, but it wasn’t enough for fans to continue enduring the cold and prolong the usual Hobo Day festivities. My friends left, but I stayed knowing, believing, it was about to get good, despite the score. As we watched, Brian Kimmes said to me: “That team believes they can win. They know this game is still theirs.”

Of course they won 22-21, and I was addicted to their belief. To have players who constantly believe they can win when numbers say otherwise is the product of fantastic coaching. With each comeback win, I became more fond of the Jacks and Stig. If he could convince these rowdy college football players they are capable of winning even though most believe they couldn’t, well, he had my support.

In those weeks, I read anything I could about the Jacks. The Argus had just hired a delightfully talented sports writer to cover the Jacks and I devoured anything that mentioned the team. When I first saw an article, I would skim it just to read Stig’s quotes, then going back to read the entire article. I was empowered by his optimism and faith, hoping they would predict the next Saturday’s game.

But the Jack’s belief trick didn’t uphold with every opponent. SDSU did make it to the conference championship game as did NDSU, and the state rivals squared off for each school’s first shot at a Division-I conference championship in the Fargodome, nonetheless. This time, once the Jacks got behind there was no returning and SDSU allowed the Bison to take the Dakota Marker and the conference championship.

The next day, I was a bit shocked at Stig’s remarks from the game. Instead of saying what everyone else was saying – a well fought match against tough opponents – he ripped his team saying they shouldn’t be happy at all of how the game ender. This surprised me because Stig was never one to come down on his players but he publicly shamed them after the season's biggest loss. I didn’t get that.

This past season, the Jacks had another rough start followed by a series of comeback wins. And this time, they did win the conference champion and the Dakota Marker, beat NDSU 29-24. Naturally, I read the next day’s story and Stig was proud, but not prideful. He was as graceful as a winner could be, crediting God and hardwork as key components. I wouldn’t have expected anything different from him.

This week, Stig was invited to speak at my office’s monthly meeting. He talked about approaching every situation as a team and always working as team. He talked about the belief he instills in his players, the same belief I imagine that ignited those comeback wins. He talked about giving a champion effort and always putting family first.

In his talk, he tried to relate his coaching techniques to the challenges we face at our office. He said that you have to ignore the skeptics and you must believe with every ounce you have that you can accomplish your goal.

He told us that average is not good enough, and that you can always do better. Right then, I remember his remarks after the NDSU game two years before and how hard he was on the team. Then it clicked. If he would have just said, “You know, that was good effort, guys,” the team wouldn’t have been thirsty for revenge, the Dakota Marker or the conference title.

Instead, they didn’t settle for average and kept believing they could beat NDSU and win the conference title, even when they were 0-4 on the season. They never stopped believing, and now the Dakota Marker and the Great West Conference Championship awards proudly sit in the SDSU trophy case.

After Stig’s speech, I went over to him and reintroduced myself as a former Collegian reporter. He remembered my face but not my name. I told him how much I’ve always enjoyed his message and thanked him for coming that day. He said it’s part of his job, but I’ve talked to enough football coaches to know that there aren’t very many John Stiegelmeiers in the world.

One of my coworkers, a former football player, later told me that Stig requires each player to participate in at least two community activities in order to letter. To me, that’s more impressive than even a national championship.

It’s a blessing and an honor to say that my favorite team is coached by a man who knows the game and knows there are more important things in life than the game and can combine those values and the field to produce a remarkable team.

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For the record, I believed the Jacks could beat the undefeated NDSU this past fall too. My coworkers mocked me when I said SDSU will win. I told them that to be a true Jackrabbit fan you must believe, and when you believe, they will win. It was sure nice to walk into work that evening and proclaim the score.

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Another note about our monthly meeting, I was chosen as May’s Act of Excellence awardee, meaning I was recognized for all of my hard work and dedication the last month. It’s a pretty neat thing, and I get a day off which I will be using when I visit Idaho this summer :)

A cry for help

I am currently at home on my lunch break and am browsing national news Web sites to see today’s headlines when I noticed something blogworthy.

The top story around the world is the 7.9 earthquake that struck China today, susceptibly killing thousands. Several counties are nearly destroyed in Sichuan Province and the death toll is expected to keep climbing as more bodies are found underneath rubble.

Another lead story on MSNBC is beginning of U.S. relief in Mynamar the site of a deadly cyclone. A week ago Saturday, another deadly storm ripped through the Asia Pacific, victimizing 2 million people. Currently, 100,000 people are reported dead or missing after the storm.

Below that story is a headline of another deadly storm. Tornadoes ripped through the plains and the south taking the lives of 23 people and leaving more communities in shambles.

Judging by these stories and the sound of roaring wind outside my apartment, Mother Nature is pissed about something.

I am a full believer that global warming is a serious issue facing our world and that something needs to be done NOW to stop it, but today’s headlines alone prove really what were up against in the fight against global warming.

I am not a scientist and can’t explain what role global warming played in recent storms, but the fact that so many deadly storms have it our planet so close together suggests that it is a factor. I just don’t have any other explanation for it.

Two years ago, we saw one of the most vibrant cities in America, New Orleans, become the poster child for disastor relief. That city was ripped apart at the seems and life still isn’t the same, and it may never be. Last summer, I watched thousands of acres burn down to the ground because of forest fires in the northwest. And each year, more and more tornadoes seem to leave an imprint than they did the summer before.

These major storms might not be affecting us here in South Dakota, but they affect our planent and they should be a scary wake up call that something is wrong. We might be on the oppositeside of the world and think it won’t happen here. But there is no telling when some system is going to rip through a region, killing several South Dakotans and wiping away our communities.

We can’t keep living like this. We can’t keep watching people die from weather. When storms become this bad, we can’t control them, but we can prevent them.

These storms are another lesson for me that I need to continually do my part to ensure my children and grandchildren have a healthy place to live.

To my mother

Happy Mother's Day, momma.

You are my friend, my inspiration, my head cheerleader, my counselor, my backbone. Thank you for everything you have done for me in the last year and always being there whenever I needed you, day or night. Thank you for understanding and supporting my choices and decisions this past year. I know I can always count on you for strength when I need it. I have learned so much from you and I hope to one day be half the mother you are. You are a wonderful woman, human being and mother and I am glad to be your daughter.

Love you.

Happy Birthday Jason!

To my little brother,

I hope you had a wonderful 20th birthday! You'll always be 5 years old in my eyes.

Love,
Your sister

Dynamite & Dreams

A few months ago, I met a guy from New York in Idaho who asked me about the oddity that is Mt. Rushmore. I told him what I knew and continued on about the other mountain sculpture, Crazy Horse. He was taken back by these South Dakota monuments and I didn’t have any other response for him other than, “Yeah, it’s weird.”

I’ve been to Mt. Rushmore a few times, but not Crazy Horse. All I knew about the monument up till yesterday is that it was a half-finished sculpture of the great Indian hero, Crazy Horse. I am embarrassed about how little I know about this fascinating piece of rock as a native South Dakota.

Yesterday, Viga and Monique Ziolkowski came to our office after speaking at the annual Women & Giving event. The sisters are daughters of Korczak Ziolkowski, the founder and creator Crazy Horse. Their mother, Ruth, is currently the head of the Crazy Horse Foundation. They told their story of their family’s dedication to the dream of their father. This is one of the best stories I have ever heard, and it really made me think of my life’s purpose.

Korczak came from Boston in 1948 to carve the memorial in the South Dakota Badlands. He was in his 40s and left his entire life behind to chase this crazy dream that no one thought was possible.

As a prominent sculptor, Korczak was contacted by Lakota Chief Henry Standing Bear to create a memorial that would honor the pay tribute to the North American Indians. He lived in a tent, eventually building a log home, and spent day after day on that mountain working on the sculpture.

Most people thought he was insane. They didn’t think he could finish it and he was just wasting his life. There was no way he was ever going to give up or let the criticisms stomp his dream. Korczak believed in the Indians and was deeply troubled by how they have suffered. Not only did he want to give them an eternal memorial, he made plans for a hospital and a university. He wanted to give back what was taken from them.

Korczak believed in dreaming big, but knew he wouldn’t see his dream become a reality. Yet he never gave up. In fact, the passion he had for that memorial became the passion of his wife and his children. Today, Ruth and seven of her ten children have dedicated their life to Crazy Horse. They also know that the memorial probably won’t be finished in their lifetime, but everyday they are still on that mountain, just like their father.

Ruth works seven days a week. She goes to work every morning at 5 a.m. and works until 12 a.m. She spends her day working toward the next step. Every night, she writes thank yous to every single Crazy Horse Foundation donor.

Although the memorial has made much progress in 60 years and they are now holding classes at the American Indian University, there is still a lot of work to be done. There are still naysayers who believe the project will never be complete, but that doesn’t stop the Ziolkowskis. They don’t believe in giving up because they were raised not to give up. They are chasing a big dream, but they know it will make a credible difference. That alone is worth continuing.

After Viga and Monique’s presentation, I began to think about what I am doing to leave an imprint in this world, not very much. Their story made me hungry to help people more than ever and to live a life worthwhile.

Last May, I left my friends, family and the life I know behind to chase a dream. I found a new dream in Idaho and decided to chase it back to Brookings. It wasn’t easy or cheap, and sometimes I can feel people are judging me for those decisions, but this is my dream.

I went into journalism because I thought I was doing the Lord’s work through my story telling. I left newspapers for a lot of reasons, but one of them was because I didn’t think I was making a difference anymore.

Now, I am working for an organization that’s sole purpose is to offer quality education. Although not directly, I help raise money for scholarships, programs and buildings. Each day, it is our duty to help create the best possible South Dakota State University we can.

Viga and Monique mentioned the campaign my organization is about to enter and the money we setting to raise. They said that we might not see the end result of the changes we are trying to make in our lifetime, but the work we do will make a difference for generations to come.

I really do feel like the work I do makes a difference, and although it may not be very significant, I am proud of that.

The Ziolkowski’s story really inspired me that you should never give up on dreams and that you should always dream big. I am some big dreams for my future and I plan to never give up on them. A life without dreams is pointless and meaningless.

I think we all could be reminded of the Ziolkowskis and their inability to even consider giving up as a possibility. Not matter what or how big your dream is, never let anyone tell you that it is impossible. As Korczak used to say, “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

I am currently sitting in Cottonwood doing some long overdue writing. It’s currently pouring outside as I sit in the dim lit coffee house on Main Street. As I contemplate what I want to write next, iTunes is playing my favorite raining day song, “Songs about Rain.”

I love this song when it’s raining, snowing or sunny. Every time I hear it, it takes me back to my sophomore year when I played it over and over as I dealt with my first heartbreak. Yet, it doesn’t really make me think of the guy. It makes me think of the person I have become since that time.

Right as the song goes into the chorus, the rain outside picks up as if to match the beat. Gary Allen’s soothing voice always brings a smile to face and makes me wish time would just stop for a minute. The piano and guitar notes mix so sweetly together and I decided to listen to it one more time. One more time just to sit and stare at the splashes on the dark gray cement. One more time to enjoy the song at the best possible time – when it’s raining.

I might be a runner afterall

The soreness in my stomach muscles taunted me while my mouth, full of snotty cobwebs, reminded me that maybe I wasn’t actually ready for this. I kept my eyes on the pink tank top ahead of me, while visioning the stretches and turns still to come. The beats coming out of the earphones connected to my iPod kept my pace. I was still surprised I was doing this.

In sixth grade, Mr. Halling made an announcement about cross country sign up for seventh grade. Not really sure what cross country was, I signed up thinking this would be the greatest thing I ever did. When I told my mom about my plans to tryout for the team, she looked at me like I had told her I was running away from home. I didn’t care; I was going to run cross country.

The day that I walked into that dark junior high gym was start of a passionate relationship between a sport and a girl who had no business being in it. I ran cross country until my senior year of high school, despite the fact that I got slower each year. I made the varsity team my sophomore year, but busted my butt my senior year just to earn the number seven spot to run at ESD and state. But love is blind and I was in love.

Every summer day, I ran the streets of Pierre, dreaming about the upcoming fall season. My teammates would see me out running and make a small comment about my hard work, but they would usually out run me during the season. One year, I recorded the second most miles that summer. The only person who ran more than me was Brad Lowery, who is one of the top runners to come out of Pierre. He went on to be a star runner for South Dakota State University and is currently training for the Olympics.

Running was drug. When practice started for the season, I could occasionally run later in the day. If I didn’t run, I would have a panic attack. Running fed my eating disorder and it was my friend when I thought no one else was.

I cried at the state meet my senior year, knowing it was my last race, but I knew I would never stop running. I continued on to college and found a running partner in my hall. Our routine fell apart after the first semester when we both became busy with class and other activities. I still tried to find time to run, but it wasn’t an everyday thing.

Through the next three years, my runs were sporadic, used mostly when I wanted to shed a few pounds.

My love for running was suppressed, but it wasn’t deleted. It was my medicine when school became too much, when The Collegian nearly destroyed me, when I was healing a broken heart or when I just needed something stable in my life. It was my punching bag when life dealt me some pretty tough cards. From choosing SDSU to accepting the job in Idaho, running was my counselor during big decisions.

Once I left South Dakota for Idaho, running never felt right. I did enjoy runs on the ISU cross country course and at City Creek, but runs were forced. It didn’t help that the long and unexpected hours of my job made it a bit hard to run on a consistent basis.

I missed running, though. In Idaho, I became the cross country expert in the area, giving the sport more attention than it’s ever received. I eagerly signed up for assignments during the Pocatello Marathon, while my fellow sports writers moaned at the thought of actually attending the painfully-long event. Most races, I teared up at the stories of these incredible people. I wanted to love running like they did. And I really wanted running to love me back.

Then I moved back to Brookings, and I made a commitment to running. I was going to give it my all, and I was going to fall in love with it again. I decided to take our relationship to a new level and race again. I really wanted to run a marathon, but that was a commitment running and I weren’t ready for. So I settled on a 5K instead.

I signed up for the race without much concern. I knew the course well, since it was on campus. I have been running that route for four and half years and can literally point out places with significant meaning. There is the stretch on 22nd avenue that I would sprint in hopes that a particular guy might be leaving his apartment at the same time. The little pass by Coughlin-Alumni Stadium that I would run during fall football camp. The spot by Animal Science that I broke down when I thought I was going to fail macro-economics. The spot where I flew kites with my then-boyfriend, thinking I could spend the rest of my life with him. Yeah, this route and I know each other well.

Since I had no real plans of winning, I shouldn’t have been nervous. But I was. I hadn’t raced since high school, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to do it anymore. I watched what I ate that day and said a little prayer, just like I used to when I wore the kelly green uniform.

My stomach was in knots when I arrived at the start line; I wasn’t sure why. I had nothing to prove or to lose, I just wanted to run. The race started with an unexpectedly casual “go” and we were off. To my surprise, not many people were in front of me. The woman in the purple tank top jetted past me less than 200 yards from the start, and then the older woman in the pink tank top made her move. I kept behind the pink tank top for a bit, and managed to move past her around the mile mark, but she made a play for me and was able to keep an edge on me the rest of the way.

Trying not to let my mental game win, which it does so many times, I focused on the purple and pink. I kept my arms low and just plowed through every turn and straightaway, trying to make sure no one else crept past me. A woman with an Obama ’08 shirt made her way past me with 400 meters left, but I really wasn’t bothered. I was already exceeding my expectations.

As I made the last turn by Brown Hall, I smiled at the volunteer and pushed hard to the flags. Then flashbacks of finish lines in Huron, Mitchell, Rapid City, Aberdeen and Brookings flooded my mind. I pictured my former teammates and their families yelling my name and high school girls in red, orange, black and blue uniforms as I pounded my legs into the finish line. It was almost like I went back in time five years.

I ran the 5K in 26-something minutes and I finished fourth in a pretty well-attended race. My time was so-so and I could have probably ran a bit harder to secure third, but I am incredibly proud of myself. I never thought I would do that well or feel the way I did when finished.

Today, I watched a bit of the Brookings Marathon just before mile maker 11. I watched young, old, men, women run past our corner, dripping wet from the rain. I studied their faces, and they were happy. They were tired, drenched and probably in pain, but they were happy. Many people think they are crazy, but I know they are in love. They are in love with something bigger than them and you can’t help but smile at that.

Monday, I am going to begin training for a marathon in Sioux City. I am going to run 26 miles that I am sure will be painful and exhausting and people will think I am crazy, but I don’t care. Love is blind, and I am in love.