Friendship: A relationship between friends. A state of mutual trust and support.
Friendship, a tapestry of shared moments and unwavering connection, is a testament to the profound human need for companionship. There are intricate layers of being a friend, exploring the essence of caring for another’s well-being, displaying loyalty even in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending the hand of friendship when mistakes are made.
To be a friend is to be a guardian of the heart, committed to the well-being of another. The act of caring transcends superficial interactions, delving deep into the emotions, hopes, and fears of a friend. It involves offering support, encouragement, and empathy, often without expectation of reciprocation. A true friend stands as a steadfast presence, ready to lend a shoulder in times of sorrow and to share in moments of joy.
Loyalty is the unwavering thread that holds friendships together, even as life’s winds buffet and shift. True loyalty requires the courage to stand by a friend’s side, regardless of the challenges that arise. When others retreat, a loyal friend remains, a symbol of constancy in an ever-changing world. This loyalty is born from a deep sense of mutual understanding and respect, fortifying the bond between friends.
The true essence of friendship shines when mistakes are made, and judgment is cast. Being a friend in such moments is an act of compassion and understanding that transcends the errors of the past. True friends recognize the imperfections within each other and offer a supportive hand, not to condone the mistakes, but to guide the friend toward growth and redemption. Being there for a friend during their lowest moments demonstrates a level of empathy that is rare and invaluable.
Friendship, like any relationship, faces its share of storms. When judgment rains down or others turn away, a steadfast friend remains, offering shelter and understanding. The bond between friends is strong enough to weather these storms, as caring and loyalty form an unbreakable foundation. Mistakes become opportunities for growth, and the journey toward reconciliation strengthens the friendship’s fabric.
Being a friend is a role of profound importance, requiring a heart brimming with compassion, loyalty, and understanding. Through caring for another’s well-being, showing loyalty in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending a hand of friendship even in the wake of mistakes, we truly embody the essence of friendship. As we navigate life’s intricate paths, let us remember that being a friend is not only about sharing laughter and joy but also about standing resolute during the most challenging moments, reminding each other of the resilience of the human spirit and the power of genuine connection.
Xoxo D
Farwell, Dear Fancy our time has passed. In the realm of trust, where friendships should thrive, a painful truth emerged, and forced my heart to divide.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” I whisper with regret. However, your deceitful ways I cannot forget.
We built a bond, or so it seemed. But, it was all a facade, maybe just a dream.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” I utter with disdain. I will untangle myself from your web of pain. No longer will I be a pawn in your game. Breaking free from your grip, reclaiming my name.
I mourn the loss of what we had. But I refuse to let your deceit drive me mad. In the ashes, oh the ashes of shattered trust, I’ll continue to rise above, in strength. You are just too dam much.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” my voice echoes clear. I am moving forward, leaving you in the rear. No longer bound by your deceitful art, I’ll find healing and peace, and will stay close to those who love and care for me with all of their heart.
In the tapestry of life, some bonds must sever. Lessons learned will stay with me forever. Bye bye, Fancy, I bid you adieu. Bye bye Fancy, best of luck to you.
Some days I rely heavily on coffee and my ability to ignore reality.
“Who Are You?”
I never expected my meeting with Pastor Steve Keeler to turn into a deep introspection on my identity, but that’s exactly what happened. As we discussed my struggle to come to terms with Lorick’s death, Pastor Keeler posed a simple question that stopped me in my tracks: “Who are you?”
It was a question that I had never fully considered before. I had always defined myself by my roles and responsibilities – as a daughter, a friend, a mother. But who was I beyond those labels? As I sat with Pastor Keeler, I began to realize that there was much more to me than just the roles I played.
I am a complex amalgamation of my experiences, my beliefs, and my values. I had a desire to learn about the world around me. My experiences have taught me resilience and the importance of perseverance in the face of adversity.
But beyond these external factors, there is also the matter of my personality. I am introspective and analytical, always seeking to understand the deeper meaning behind things. I am empathetic and caring, often putting the needs of others before my own. And I am fiercely independent, refusing to be defined by societal expectations or cultural norms.
Reflecting on these aspects of myself has given me a newfound sense of clarity and purpose. I am not just the sum of my roles and responsibilities – I am a multifaceted, dynamic person with unique gifts and strengths.
When someone asks me the question “Who Are You?”, my first instinct is to tell them my name and a little bit about my family. I am Deni, the third child out of four belonging to Joseph and Barbara. But there is so much more to me than just my name and my family background.
I am a survivor. From my first few weeks I was born, I faced adversity. As an infant, I struggled to overcome health complications that left me weak and vulnerable. But I persevered, and I grew up to be a strong and resilient young woman.
That resilience was tested when I was the victim of a violent assault by a stranger. It was a traumatic experience that left me shaken and afraid, but I refused to let it define me. I sought out counseling and support, and slowly but surely, I began to heal.
Over the years, I have faced countless other challenges and obstacles. Each time, I emerged stronger and more determined than before.
“Who am I?”, I have no hesitation in saying that I am a determined, headstrong, and disciplined individual. These traits have been with me for as long as I can remember, and they have played a significant role in shaping my identity.
When I set a goal for myself, I don’t stop until I achieve it. I am not afraid of hard work, and I am willing to put in the effort required to succeed. This determination has allowed me to accomplish many things in life, from running marathons to excelling in other personal achievements.
My discipline is another key part of my identity. I am not the type of person to procrastinate or make excuses. When I commit to something, I follow through. This has helped me stay on track with my goals and maintain a sense of balance in my life.
As a servant leader, I am dedicated to helping others achieve their goals. I believe that true leadership is about empowering others and creating a positive impact on the world. I have learned the importance of listening, empathy, and collaboration.
I am also a problem solver. When faced with a challenge, I don’t give up or get discouraged. Instead, I approach the problem with a solution-oriented mindset. I consider different perspectives and brainstorm creative ideas until I find a solution that works. This approach has helped me overcome many obstacles in life, both big and small.
“Who am I?”
I love music. There’s something about the way that a great song can transport you to a different place and time. It’s one of my passions in life, along with photography, art, and being creative.
Another thing that I love is animals, specifically my dogs. I find them endlessly fascinating and have always been drawn to their unique personalities and quirks. But if there’s one thing that truly calls to my soul, it’s water. Whether it’s the ocean or a river, I feel most at peace when I’m near the water.
Of course, I’m not perfect. I can be a mess at times, and I know that I can be complicated to some people. But I’ve learned to accept that about myself and embrace my quirks and flaws. I’m someone who is uncomfortable in a general crowd, but I thrive when I’m around a group of like-minded people.
One of the things that I value most in life is spontaneity. I love the thrill of taking risks and trying new things. But at the same time, I’m someone who believes in the power of love and family. My three sons, Max, Jackson, and Ben, are the center of my world, and I know that I was born to be their mother.
I’m also an independent person who is capable of most things. I believe that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for every new day. But at the same time, I’m scared of the unknown and what a new day can bring.
In conclusion, when someone asks me “Who am I?”, the answer is complex and multifaceted. I’m a lover of music, art, and creativity. I’m drawn to animals and feel most at home near water. I embrace my quirks and flaws and thrive around a group of like-minded individuals. I value spontaneity and the power of love and family. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for each new day, even as I face the unknown with trepidation.
“If the hill has its own name, then it’s probably a pretty tough hill.” – Marty Stern
Heartbreak Hill has been both a challenge and a triumph for me. I have cleared the infamous incline five times. For those who have followed my journey from the start, you may recall my first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon in 2011. With a finish time of 3 hours and 37 minutes, I qualified for the 2013 Boston Marathon. At the time, I had no idea that I had the potential to achieve such a remarkable feat. But I persevered and proved to myself that I was capable of reaching new heights.
I prepared for my chance to run in the Boston Marathon. I approached my training program with determination to enhance my running performance. I made sure to mix up my workouts, from cross-training to specific track exercises aimed at boosting my speed. I knew that I was going to the biggest stage of them all, and I took it very seriously. This was the Boston Marathon after all, and I was determined to give it my all.
The Boston marathon is world-renowned and first commenced in 1897, making it the oldest annual marathon in the world. As a result of its history, along with its reputation as one of the most challenging, it is on many runners’ bucket lists, making it the most sought-after race in the world. Boston is unique in that it’s a qualified race. In other words, to register for the race, you must have already run a marathon at a particular (relatively fast) pace.
The 2013 Boston Marathon would be my third time running a marathon. I was ready and felt stronger than my previous 2 marathons I had run.
At this point in my life, I was still married to my first husband, and we had once lived on Martha’s Vineyard, MA. We had moved to Beaufort, SC. We drove from South Carolina to Martha’s Vineyard with our three young sons and stayed at my father’s home on the island for a few days before the marathon. I planned on leaving for Boston the day before the marathon, which always takes place on the third Monday of April, Patriots Day. My husband and sons would drive up on Monday morning and take their place along the route with the rest of the amazing spectators. There is truly nothing better than seeing your children cheering for you as you run along the route.
Unfortunately, just a month before the Boston Marathon, a close friend of mine and my husband’s passed away. We knew him from our Martha’s Vineyard days. As we lived in SC, our friends decided to hold the memorial service for Stu while we were on MV. I told my husband that it would be okay for him and the boys to stay on the island and not come up to Boston to watch me run. So, they stayed behind, and I was left to face the marathon on my own.
I’m never really on my own, I’m fortunate to have a supportive community of running friends from all over. During the Boston Marathon, I stayed with my friend Meredith from New Jersey. We met at the Marine Corps Marathon in DC through a mutual friend and have stayed in touch since then. To make things easier for the Boston Marathon, we decided to share a hotel room at the Copley Square Hotel, which was conveniently located just a block or two from the finish line. The hotel was also in close proximity to the Back Bay area of Boston, which was the place to be the night before the race.
On April 14th, the night before the marathon, I had dinner with other mother runners and reconnected with a good friend from the Vineyard who was living in Boston. We stayed out a bit longer than we should have, considering we were running a marathon the next morning, but the excitement of Marathon Monday was infectious. Despite our late night, Meredith and I said goodnight to our fellow runners and headed back to the Copley Square Hotel for a good night’s sleep.
April 15, 2013, it was time to shine! Meredith and I made a plan to get our coffee fix from the Boylston St. Dunkin Donuts shop, which was close to our hotel and the finish line. She and I were decked out in our 2013 Boston Marathon signature blue and yellow with unicorn runner jackets. Meredith wore a bedazzled headband, and I wore a red headband that simply said “Mother Runner.” We clutched our D&D coffee, walked over to the finish line, and said to it, “We will see you later!”
In 2013, 26,839 runners lined up in Hopkinton to journey 26.2 miles to Boston. That is a lot of people.
Meredith and I joined hundreds of other runners at Boston Common and watched as an endless line of school buses arrived to transport us to the Athletes Village in Hopkinton, the starting point of the marathon.
For those who haven’t run a marathon and are curious about what happens in the Athletes’ Village while waiting to start the 26.2-mile course, I’ll tell you – you spend a lot of time in line for the port-o-potties. The lines are long, and once you finally get your chance, you end up back in line again. It’s an unbelievable urge to pee every 5 minutes!
To organize the large number of runners, most major marathons have start waves. The first wave is reserved for elite runners who finish long before the rest of the pack. Meredith and I were in the second wave out of four. Each wave has 8 corrals, and your assigned corral is based on your qualifying time. I was in Wave 2, Corral 6, while Meredith was in Wave 2, Corral 8. After sharing a final hug, we headed to our respective corrals and awaited the starting gun. And then…on your mark….GO!
For the first half of the marathon, I prefer not to listen to music. I want to soak in everything: the cheers of the spectators, the sounds of street music, and the chatter of the people around me. Running with a herd of people is different from running solo. It can be tricky to navigate the crowded course, with the risk of tripping, getting pushed, or elbowed. The water stations are every 2 miles, and I always make a point to stop and hydrate. It’s a tricky maneuver, though. I don’t really stop to drink the water; instead, I do a run, grab, and go, trying not to slip on the smushed cups scattered on the wet ground.
I had trained extensively and felt confident on race day. The notorious Newton Hills, which include Heartbreak Hill at mile 20, posed a challenge, but I was able to power through them while maintaining my pace. As I ran past Fenway Park, the cheers from the crowd gave me an extra burst of energy, and I sprinted towards the finish line. Finally, after 26.2 grueling miles, I completed the 2013 Boston Marathon in 3 hours and 27 minutes, a personal best by 5 minutes. The feeling of accomplishment was indescribable – I had achieved my goal of finishing one of the world’s most prestigious marathons at the age of 41, as a mother of three. It was an incredible runner’s high that I will never forget.
Here’s something non-marathon runners may not know: when you finish running 26.2 miles, the race is not quite over yet. You still have to walk what feels like another 5 miles to get through the finishers’ line. After receiving your medal, a bag with water and food (which you’re usually not hungry for), you have to search for the UPS truck that has your participant bag with the items you’ll need when you’re finished (like your phone, wallet, and hotel key). Once you’ve retrieved your bag, you have to navigate your way to find a cab or some other form of transportation to get back to where you need to go. All of this can be quite the ordeal.
As for me, I made it through the long line and collected my belongings, only to realize that I had to walk back towards the finish line and all the way to my hotel. It was a long, slow trek, but I was grateful to have completed the race and to have the satisfaction of knowing that I had pushed myself to my limits and accomplished something truly remarkable.
My friend Chantel from Martha’s Vineyard was a spectator on Bolyston St. She was a runner too but did not qualify to run Boston that year. She traveled up to Boston to support and cheer me and another good friend on. We had spoken the day before and agreed to meet up once I was done, but I was done. I did not have much energy left, and I missed my boys. It was time for me to say goodbye to Boston and head back to MV. I called Chantel as I was walking back to the Copley, telling her I had a change of plans and was going to head to South Station and catch a bus to Woods Hole (Woods Hole is where one would take the ferry back to the island). She completely understood, and we both said, “see you back on the island.”
Chantel then decided to change her location. She was still waiting for her other friend and thought she would have a better chance of seeing her if she moved closer to Fenway Park. Due to this fortuitous decision, Chantel unknowingly put herself out of harm’s way. At that time, it was roughly 2:30 p.m., and little did anyone know that in just 20 minutes, everything was about to change.
Once I left Copley Square, I was on the hunt for a cab ride to South Station. I walked towards the Westin Hotel, which was a block off of Boylston St. and close to the finish line. I stood for a few minutes trying to wave down a cab, and then finally one stopped for me. The cab was more like a station wagon, and the driver asked me if there were others joining me. I told him no and that I really wanted to get to South Station. He was reluctant because it was just me, but he said, “Okay.” I don’t remember his name. He had a Jamaican accent. I got into his cab, shut the door, and we drove away for 2 seconds. Then it happened. The first explosion. I felt the car move. I looked to the sky, an instant response because of what happened on 9/11. The radio in the cab stopped working, my cell phone stopped working. Then, the second explosion. That seemed worse than the first. I think it was my mind understanding that whatever this was, it wasn’t good, and we were uncertain of what was going to happen next. I started to panic. We couldn’t go anywhere because instantly the streets were blocked. Blocked with people running around cars and cars not moving. I kept thinking, “What do I do?! Should I get out and run away like everyone else? Fuck! I just ran 26.2 miles, now I have to run in jeans with luggage to who knows where?!” My cab driver started shouting, “A bomb! A bomb! We are being bombed!” This did not help to calm me.
I immediately tried to call my family and friends, but the cell phone towers were overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get through. I felt stranded in a city that was under attack. I tried to stay calm and collected, but my mind was racing with fear and confusion.
Finally, after several attempts, I was able to get my dad on the phone. I gave him a quick brief and asked him to put the news on and let me know if anything was being reported. Just as he turned the TV on, our connection was dropped. I kept one hand on my luggage ready to bolt out of the cab if I needed to.
My phone rang, and it was my dad. He said, “Deni! Get out of Boston as fast as you can. Bombs went off at the finish line, people are dead, injured, they are calling this a terrorist attack. Please get to safety.”
I finally arrived at South Station, but the journey was far from smooth. I had been in the cab for over an hour, when it should have only taken 10 minutes. Walking through South Station was surreal, and announcements on the loudspeakers were urging people to report any suspicious bags. Everyone around me seemed to be in a state of shock, many of whom had also been at the marathon. None of us knew what had happened, and the atmosphere felt like something out of the Twilight Zone.
I safely made it to Woods Hole and on the ferry back to my family and friends by 9 p.m. that evening. It certainly was a long day full of many emotions. It’s been 10 years since the attack, and I have returned to the Boston Marathon several times. In 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2019, I crossed the finish line once again.
This Mother Runner is not done yet. I’ll be back to Boston and plan on crossing that finish line for the 6th time.
As the years have gone by, the memories of Martin Richard, Krystle Marie Campbell, and Lü Lingzi still remain fresh in my mind. Their lives were tragically cut short. It’s also important to remember the hundreds of others who were injured and impacted by the events of that day. The Boston Marathon bombing was a senseless act of violence, and my heart goes out to all those affected by it.
Told you so! Sincerely, Your Gut.
March 22, 1994.
Spring has sprung. The sun was bright. The air was warm. I was 22. My life was ridiculously easy and I was doing a fabulous job inventing hardships. Time to take a hike.
South Mountain Reservation, 2000 plus acres located in northern NJ. Hemlock Falls, an area of the reservation that many people frequented, including myself. It was calling my name that day, so I went, alone. It was 2pm, seemingly calm, nothing out of the ordinary. I sat basking in the sun reading a book. Suddenly, I felt a cold wind and noticed the trees swaying ominously. The wind was sending me a message, an alert. I did not have a good feeling. I noticed a man standing in the distance, looking my way. It was time for me to go.
I followed the stone steps that lead me down the edge of the falls. I passed a girl and her dog, we exchanged smiles. I wanted to say something to her, to warn her of potential danger, but I didn’t because she had a dog with her. Silly reason to not warn a person of danger when you think about it. I continued along the path that would take me towards an intersection of pathways ultimately leading me to my car. As I started to turn right along the path I saw the man that I noticed earlier from the rocks above the falls. His presence, his aura was evil. To avoid him I didn’t make the right turn to my car, I continued straight, not realizing I was putting myself in grave danger, deeper into the reservation and away from any help. Now he is coming to me, the man is running to me, he is chasing after me. I start to run. I am totally scared.
He catches me. He looks at me, his eyes were black and cold. I could feel his evil aura blanket the air surrounding him and now swallowing me. Why me? Please don’t hurt me is all I could think. He starts to beat me with a large stick, a heavy branch. My blood is rushing out of my head, down my face and into my hands. My heart was pounding with fear, my tears were mixed with blood as I begged this man not to kill me. My crys for mercy fell on deaf ears. He did not care about me or my tears. He was going to kill me, his mind was made up.
He dragged me by my shirt and hair into the thick woods. He continued to beat me with his branch, he forced me to the ground. He stomped on my body, beating me on my back and head. I could feel the warm blood coming out of my body. It felt like an eternity, when was it going to end? Then a brief pause. Was it over? I was able to move my head enough to look up to see what was happening. The man held a rock over his head, his eyes piercing at me, this was it, this was the moment my life was going to end. 22 years old, I was about to die in the woods in South Mountain Reservation.
At that moment a vision came into my head. It was me, my body. I was decaying, animals had been feasting on me. I had finally been found and my poor body was now part of a crime scene that was blocked off by yellow police tape. I couldn’t bare this vision of mine. This is not my legacy. NO!!!! No, I will not die today, This is not my time.
Suddenly this unexplainable strength came over me, I sprung to my feet, I started to run. I was pushing away branches and I was desperately searching for the walking path I was violently dragged off of. I found it, I was not going to stop no matter how weak I was getting. I was close to the intersection of pathways where my nightmare started. I paused to look behind me. He was coming for me but, I was a good bit ahead of him. Then he just stopped coming towards me. He looked up towards the sky. I couldn’t help but watch him, I wondered if he would retreat back into the woods. He began swinging his arms as if he was swatting angry bees away. He was yelling up towards the sky too, even covering his head. Was something attacking him? Who cares!! Go! Keep running, get to safety was what I had to do and what I did.
I made it to South Orange Avenue, a busy road most days. Can you imagine seeing a person running out of the woods along the side of the road in the middle of the day completely covered in blood. Would you stop to help or save this person? Ask yourself honestly if you would. I was this person and I still don’t know what I would do. Fortunately for me a man driving along South Orange Ave did stop. He drove me to the South Orange Police Station which followed with EMS rushing me to University Hospital in Newark, NJ. I was rushed to the OR, my head sustained 3 large lacerations. 15 staples were used to close the largest of the lacerations. I could feel each staple enter my head, it was if I was being beat all over again. The 2 lacerations in the back of my head had to wait for sutures because my neck and back had been injured. I had to have a CT scan first which meant my head had to be strapped down on a flat board. The pain was horrible, I screamed out and cried as I went through the tube. My vertibrae was fractured, my hand and fingers broken.
I was going to live. I am alive.
I did die that afternoon of March 22, 1994. I would never be the same. The innocent, silly little girl with zero real problems was forever gone.
I am now a warrior. I am a survivor.
Be the reason someone smiles today. Or the reason they drink, whatever works.
A few days went by and I struggled to find a worthy past experience that would highlight what this journey of mine is all about. My journey, my path to seek my lost self worth a reminder of my value. I am looking back not at the ‘bad’ or negative situations that have impacted my decisions, but the decisions I made that have had a positive impact which molded my character to who I am and why I am me. The wonderful, unique, special me. So, in my quest for self worth and recognizing my value through past experiences, I realized I had a big one standing right in front of me, basically slapping me in the face.
RUNNING!!!!
I started ‘running’, well, probably more jogging (there is a difference) back in my early 20’s. I sucked at it. I actually did not like it at all. I only did it as a means to try and keep weight off. My distance threshold was no more than 3 miles, if that. I wasn’t very healthy in my early 20’s, so any type of exercise was difficult. I could break out into another blog story on life in my 20’s, but not today, I’ll save it for another theme.
After my first son Max was born my health and wellness became a priority. I started working at a gym which lent way to becoming a fitness instructor and personal trainer. I enjoyed the feeling that exercise gave me. We lived on an Island, Martha’s Vineyard. We also lived very close to a bike path. The bike path curved along the coast line and offered lovely views of the beach, Vineyard Sound and the main land. Any chance I could put my baby in my stoller and run, I would. But, I never went past 3 miles. I am not sure why in my head that was all I could do, but, that distance lived there for a long, long time.
My family was growing and it was time for a change, we wanted to move away from the cold winters common in New England. So, we moved from Martha’s Vineyard to Beaufort, SC. Beaufort is on the coast and offered plenty of beauty while running through out the area. My wellness career was growing and my fitness level was increasing, I wanted to push and challenge myself. I was working at the Beaufort YMCA, I started instructing a bootcamp style class with a fellow instructor, Jenny, whose husband was a Marine, and at the time deployed. We became fast friends who shared a passion for fitness. We joined forces and taught the bootcamp class together. One of the componets of our class was, running. Running became a natural progression for me. But, I still kept the distance to my safe 3 miles.
Jenny’s husband came home from his deployment in the Afghanistan. Ty, Jenny’s husband also had a passion for fitness, we decided to include him with leading our bootcamp class. Honestly it was perfect because he was the only one of us who actually went through bootcamp, it gave our class street credit.
While I was at the Y, I got a message from a client who needed to cancel her session with me that morning. Lemons, lemonade, I saw an opportunity to go for a quick run. I happened to be talking with Jenny and Ty when the message came in. I mentioned my plan to head out for a run. They were heading out for a run too and asked me to join them. “Sure, how far and where are you going?” I said. Ty replied, “Five miles today.” I paused and thought to myself, no way am I telling them I only run 3 miles. No way, it would be too embarrassing and super whimpy of me, so I just said, “ok, I’ll go with you.”
I ran 5 miles with Jenny and Ty that morning. I had actually run faster than the both of them. My running mental road block was officially over. I seriously never looked back. 5 miles became 7 miles, 10 miles, up to my half marathon debut. I ran strong, fast, I loved it. I felt powerful, confident, strong. I would get the runners high I had only heard about. I had run about 5 half marathons, some competivtive 10ks, I would place in my age group or in the overall catagory bringing home the big medal or trophy, sometimes money. Even with my increased confidence as a runner, running 26.2 miles, the distance of a marathon was not a consiseration of mine. Enter Gunny James.
Staff Sergeant Gunny James, aka, Adam James. Adam was a friend of Ty’s and also a Marine. Ty had encouraged Gunny James, (We all called him that) to come to our a Saturday bootcamp class. Gunny James was hooked. We could always count on his participation along with encouraging others in class to push themselves. After several months Gunny James got word his unit would deploy to Afghanistan and his tour would last about a year. We all kept in touch with him, I can’t remember if it was via text or messenger, but we kept in touch.
February 2011, I got a message from Gunny James. His message to me was to inform me he was going to register for the Marine Corps Marathon held in October in Washington, DC. His unit would be back in the states at the begining of September. Registration for the MCM opens in mid-February. I was reading his message and then I got to the part about me. He asked me to run the marathon with him. I don’t remember my first response, but I am sure I was hesitant. Gunny James had me figured out, clearly he observed me over the months of our bootcamp class, he knew I had a competitve drive, so he threw a challenge at me, I can not turn down a challenge. “Training won’t be hard for you” He said, “It’s not like you would be training in the desert on a base where you would have to run countless laps just to make your weekly distance, or have to take cover from possible incoming fire like I will have to do. You would just be running in the Lowcountry with plenty to look at, water stops, ect. What’s your problem? Afraid?”
Well, fuck. I guess I am signing up to run the 2011 Marine Corps Marathon.
Training for a marathon is no joke. There are a couple of running plans to properly train for a marathon runners follow. The 18 week, 16 week, or 12 week plan. The plan one would choose depends on your pre-marathon fitness level, running level. I’m going with the 16 week plan. What that means, I am starting my training program 16 weeks prior to the date of the marathon, which also means I am begining my training at the begining of July. July is usually warm and hot most places, however, living in Beaufort SC July is synonymous with very hot, humid, opressive summers that linger well into fall with little relief of cooler temps. I guess I am going to train for this dang marathon in hell. What in the world am I doing? Gunny James tricked me! Either way, I made my commitment to Gunny James, and most importantly, myself. I can do this. I have it in me. Let’s go for a run.
Gunny James came back from Afghanistan in September. We were just past the halfway point in our training and I was thrilled to have someone else to run with. Our long runs were over 15 miles, and according to the training plan we needed to hit three 20 mile distance runs before the big day. We did it, it was tough, hot, and rewarding. I discovered a new appreciation for my body and my legs. My body was power. I had power, strength, skill. No one could come close to taking that away from me. I was doing this long distance running thing, it was mine, and I owned it.
Gunny James made a pact with me. He told me he would run with me the entire race. He also told me he did not want to hold me back, he said if I felt good, I needed to just go. Our finish time goal was 3:40-3:45. The morning of the marathon was very cold and we stood around for what seemed like hours before we could even start running. I started to miss the hot as hell training conditions. We watched Marines parachute down to the start, we listened to the National Anthem, and waited for the canon to boom.
We were off.
I remember Gunny James telling me to back off my pace a bit, I was going to fast he said and he did not want me to hit “The Wall” to early. I felt good, but I understood I needed to trust his advice. I never ran 26.2 miles, he did. The route was awesome in so many ways. Every water station, aid station along the route was maned by our USMC. Gunny James was also wearing a USMC shirt and just hearing people cheering for him was exhilarating. Those spectators cheering gave me an adrenaline rush, I felt as if I was running on air. We made it to mile 16, close to the National Mall. Gunny James started to slow down. He turned to me and said, “You need to push forward. I am holding you back at this point. You only have 10 miles left, go for it. I’ll meet you at the finish.” I believed him, I knew I could do it. It was only 10 more miles. Let’s not fool ourselves, 10 miles is still a long way from done.
23 miles in, my legs were screaming at me, enough! I looked at my watch and I couldn’t believe how well I was pacing. If I kept it up I could finish 15 minutes faster than I had even thought possible. Mind over matter at this point. The mental battle was on, no way am I going to walk, or stop. The conversation in my head was heavy, maybe even silly. It’s just less than a 5k left, push yourself, go, do it, the Marines are watching you, don’t let them down. Oh and hey, Deni, don’t let yourself down, you trained for this, you are prepared.
The final stretch, War Memorial Access Rd. This is up hill. I passed people barely able to walk, I think I saw a women crawling her way to the finish. Legs don’t fail me now, I am so close to done. Just one more small push.
DONE! 26.2 miles done. I finished my first marathon in 3 hours 37 minutes. I had no idea what I was made of, what I could do and how powerful, strong, resilient of a human I am. I did it and I did it all on my own. I compare finishing this marathon to birthing my children. The immense joy it gave me I honestly don’t think words could explain. I became born again.
The 2011 was only the begining. I just qualified for the 2013 Boston Marathon.
Let’s Roll!
“You are you. Now, isn’t that pleasant?”
― Dr. Seuss
Since I pressed the restart on my self worth journey, I think I need to go back to some early days. I decieded to travel back to the positive events rather than the negative events of my life, perhaps that will remind me of my value not what caused me to self doubt. I am digging even deeper and revisiting those events that celebrate how incredible I am. I am incredible, I can say it. As a young child I knew who I was, I knew what I wanted, and I knew I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me I couldn’t. I understood myself long before I let anyone infiltrate my brain with their negative words, I knew my worth.
Third grade. Verona, NJ. The Verona Eagles Football Program. I wanted to become a cheerleader. I will become a cheerleader.
The Verona Eagles was run by the town’s recreation department. Football was a big deal in Verona, or at least that is how I remember it. As any recreation program would have, the Eagles program’s teams were broken into age groups. They catagorized them by A-team (oldest group, pre highschool) all the way down to the D-team (youngest group, elementary). We had just moved to Verona from a neighboring town. The recreation department sent flyers and mailers out via the schools or the mail. I brought home the flyer giving notice of upcoming cheerleading tryouts. The cheer squad for each of age group football teams only had spots for 12 girls. Over 50 girls for each team squad came to tryout, it was very competitive. Game on.
My nextdoor neighbor who was the same age and in the same grade as me, was also going to tryout. We were both excited. As I remember it, tryouts lasted for 3 days. You had 2 days to learn the 3-4 choreographed cheers that the volunteer cheer mom judge committee expected us to perform. We knew we wouldn’t know which cheer we would be called on to perform that final day, so knowing each cheer like the back of your hand was must. The third day was the official tryouts. I also remember being put into small groups to learn the different cheers. I don’t know if we picked our groups or if the volunteer moms incharge placed us in those small groups. I am almost certain it was up to the volunteer mom judge group to create the small practice groups. An important detail to remember, I am the new kid in town…. As we practiced in our little groups, the volunteer moms would walk around with clip boards and take notes on all the girls. The Verona Eagles recreation cheer squad was not messing around. You had better be fan-fucking-tastic, or hope you’re related to one of the volunteer moms.
Verona had four elementary schools and one catholic school. Girls from anyone of those schools could tryout. I recall my small practice group. Not to be mean, but I knew none of them stood a chance of making it. I am sure 2 out of the 4 in my group were forced to tryout because their mom most likely pressed them, and I am sure for various reasons. I remember being super frustrated because these girls kept messing up, and they were messing me up. But, my little 3rd grade self somehow tuned those limpy, quite uncoordinated girls out. I turned my voice up and knew I needed to be heard and seen by those ‘judges’, the volunteer moms. We were told on day one what we would be judged on. It was appearance, speaking loud and clear, coordination, and basic gymnastic ability, if you had a advanced gymnastic ability and could deliver on request said ability, you would most likely make the team. I was determined to do the splits, perfect cartwheels, round offs to back bend, and the show stealer, the round off bounce into a perfect split. I can still do the splits. lol
My next door neighbor was not in my practice group, however when we got home, we practiced together until our parents called us in. No way in hell was I not making this cheer squad. I definately had major squad goals. Where did this come from in me? My mom wasn’t a cheerleader, my dad never played football, my older brother and sister didn’t either. I was driven, determined. It felt important to me. I knew I was good at it too. Day 2, I was moved out of my sad little never going to be a Verona Eagle Cheerleader group to a new group of solid potentials. This was a good sign. Those volunteer mom judges knew I was good too. I felt confident about it. This team needed me. That afternoon after day 2 my backyard was torn up from my many cartwheels, round offs and splits.
It’s Day 3, tryouts. Let’s roll.
The volunteer moms were not walking around with their clip boards anymore. Now they are all seated at a long table looking stone faced. We were called into the gym in groups of 4. How they grouped us that day was a bit of a surprise, we were not in the same group we practiced with on day 2. Ahh, I see what these moms are doing, they want to make sure we can adapt to different girls, making sure we can sync up with new girls that we had not practiced with during day 1 and day 2. No problem here. Well, honestly I am sure my heart was pounding and I was nervous as all get out, but they were not going to see me sweat. Our lead judge starts to give us final instructions, “Ok girls, I will call out the start of the cheer like your team capitan would do, so please follow my lead.” Immediately after the mom judge gives us her command, I see her wink at the girl at the bookend of my group. Wait what?! Dammit, it’s her mom. Oh great, I’m in a group with one of the volunteer mom judge’s daughter.
Stay calm, speak loud and clear, land your roundoff to split, SMILE.
The tryout took all of 8 minutes, maybe less. Now it’s time to wait. OMG the wait was so long. I remember this being the hardest part about the entire 3 days. I knew I was good. I knew I was better than the volunteer mom judge’s daughter. If I did not make it, then this Verona Eagles cheer squad is rigged fo sho.
I made it. I MADE IT!!! I was the 12th girl picked. That detail still gets under my skin some, only because I knew I was better than a few of the girls who were selected ahead of me on the list. I understood my abilities, my value and worth that day. I was so confident, I worked hard and deserved my spot on the team. Self worth, self love, self confidence, knowing my value, not giving up. It’s amazing at such a young age, I understood. So what ever happend to Deni, the spunky little Verona Eagles Cheerleader who is on this journey to get herself back?
We’ve got spirit, yes we do!
We’ve got spirit, how about you?
We’ve got strength, yes we do!
We’ve got strength, how about you?
We’re the champions, we’re on top!
If I could believe in Santa Claus for like 8 years, I can believe in myself for like 5 minutes “The seeds we sow.” I never truly understood the depth of that phrase until recently. As I navigate the twists and turns of life and a new-ish job, I find myself reuniting with people from…
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Love yourself, you are enough. Yup. I am on a new journey, or maybe an old one. I have always been a survivor, someone who could perservere through life challenges that were not designed for the weak. This new journey of mine starts with finding my true self again. I actually like myself, not in a conceded way but in an acceptance way. I can laugh at myself, I am fine with self exploration along with recognizing my flaws and owning my mistakes. Plus, I am so much fun and I am delightfully unique in everyway. Let’s roll.
Step one in my self revival, this self doubt shit, that needs to go. Shake it off.
Self worth. What is my self worth? What am I worth? It’s time to explore that. What is self worth? The internal sense of being good enough and worthy of love and belonging from others. This is not to be confused with my self esteem. I have fed my self esteem over the years with my external achievements, for example, running the Boston Marathon 5 times, having successful athletic events, being physically fit and other professional successes. I received positive attention for those accomplishments which fed my self esteem, but self worth, that lies below the surface, under my skin. In order to move forward I have to peel the skin back and face the uncomfortable head on.
About 10 years ago I was going through my first divorce. Yes, first. I am that awesome I married and divorced twice. I started seeing a therapist about 10 years ago. He pulled no punches and forced me to be direct with myself. We all have our baggage, it’s part of life, how we take care of our bags is different for all of us. My bags had been through a world tour. They had their fair share of dents, tears, broken zippers, ect. But, my bags, they are durable, and they have room to fit more life into them. My therapist was going to help me come to terms with the stuff in my bags along with getting rid of useless crap I had been lugging around with me. It was my first real attempt at identifying my self worth. He would tell me, “You are not bad. You have had bad things happened to you.” I am not bad. I have had bad things happen to me.
How much better would life be if a liar’s pants really did catch fire? I felt like a big fat liar. I could not accept my therapists words. I AM NOT BAD. I HAVE HAD BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO ME.
I went to my therapist once a week for the next 3 years. I wonder if he still has his notes on me? What do those therapist really write down? I have seen a far side sketch of a patient and therapist, the therapist has his notebook out and it simply says, ‘Just plain nuts’. LOL. I knew I wasn’t nuts, but I also knew I struggled with my self worth. Those bags man, they could be heavy at times. While I struggled with my self worth, I was hitting it out of the park with my self esteem. Seems conflicting but it isn’t. I was a single mother raising 3 young boys, working full time and running marathons and other distances like a rockstar. I would run 10 miles at 5:30am then teach an hour bootcamp class, immediately after class I would take my 3 boys to all of their sporting stuff. Wash, rinse and repeat. Everyone take notice. I got this. Fulfilling my self esteem by collecting accolades and attention, no sweat. Loving myself and feeling worthy of love, hardest fucking task out there.
It’s not an easy thing. My journey to self worth has been long. I don’t think it ever stops either. I practice self love everyday. Some days it seems next to impossible, but I power through. I am not bad. I am good.
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