Best. Day. Ever!

Don't be late. Just don't be late. This is all I could think all morning as I made my way to my sister's office for an event with distance running super-star Meb Keflezighi.

My thoughtful sister, supportive coworkers, direct flights on JetBlue and a place to stay in NYC made it possible to take a 30-hour trip to the city for a small-ish, private event with Meb. I parlayed the opportunity to see my favorite friend from college and spend a night in Brooklyn (the Winooski of New York City ;-) before heading to lower Manhattan for Meb's talk.

Tina, naturally, was not even in town for the event that she gained me access to, but a fabulous member of her team, Celia, was willing to host me for the day at their office. I got there way early, just to make sure this event would not be added to the catalog of stories of failed attempts at meeting Meb.

I briefly lost all sense of normal social codes as we walked into the auditorium where Meb would be speaking. He was standing right at the door as we entered, among a gaggle of fans wanting to take photos and say hi. Despite having made an extraordinary effort to get there for the express purpose of this event, I was still somewhat flabbergasted to see him standing there. "That's him! That's Meb!" I squealed to Celia, who enthusiastically nudged me forward to introduce myself.

(What follows is what I remember to the best of my ability, though my recollections are swirling in a haze of euphoria and may not be reliable.)

"Calm down, are you lost?"

It's possible that I elbowed aside the nice people who were patient and normal while waiting to say a polite hello to Meb. It's also possible that I did so without thinking through what I would actually say after planting myself right in front of him and disrupting all conversation. In an attempt to explain that I felt a personal connection to him without going into the various episodes of my Meb-fascination, I blurted out loudly, and non-sensically:

"MEB! I'M FROM SAN DIEGO!!"

Meb: "Sorry, what did you say your name is?"
Me: "I'M PATTI! I'M FROM SAN DIEGO!" (Again, awkwardly loud.)
Meb: "Oh, that's great. And now you live in New York?"
Me:  "NO! I LIVE IN VERMONT! I CAME HERE FOR THE DAY TO SEE YOU!!"
Meb: "Oh wow. Really? In that case, let me give you a hug."

Meb goes in for a hug!

That's right, he hugged me. And Celia, bless her, snapped photos of it, which is good because I would not have believed my memory of it having happened. After we posed for a photo for Celia, Meb says to me, "Wait, my brother will get a picture, too." And Meb's brother-manager is right there also taking our picture, and I start imagining, 'That's right - because now we're all going to be, like, totally BFFs.'  (Or... perhaps they took my picture to save among their security files of fans to watch out for.  Either way....)

I managed to pull myself together enough to say some earnest words about how much I appreciate him for being a great ambassador for our sport, and that San Diego is proud of him. I failed to mention seeing him win the Olympic trials in Houston in 2012, and I intentionally failed to mention trying to meet him at a parade over Christmas. And then I extricated myself from the small crowd I had just interrupted and tried not to make eye contact with any of them as I found Celia and we went excitedly to our seats. (Did I mention we were sitting front row, center? Right. Because Celia was fully willing to aid and abet my  full-crazy fangirl enthusiasm, we had saved our seats an hour before the event began.)

Meb and an interviewer sat on a low stage just a few feet from us, and he was seated so that when he looked up he was looking right as us. I felt so giddy I was light-headed. I could not stop smiling and staring at him, hanging on every word. I may have drooled on myself, and Celia was polite enough to not mention it.

He spoke for an hour, on topics ranging from Monday's Boston Marathon (he came in 8th, having puked five times in the final miles, but made everyone love him all over again when he raised the hand of an unsuspecting fellow runner as they crossed the finish line) to escaping war-torn Eritrea as a child with his family (and eventually settling in San Diego where a prescient PE teacher told him to drop soccer and be a runner), to his amazing never-say-quit experience at the London Olympics. And, he says he's going for it again in Houston this January at the 2016 Olympic Trials, partly so his youngest daughter can have the experience of seeing her dad run in the Olympics, and partly because it would be pretty amazing to be a 41-year-old Olympic marathoner.

Throughout the hour, Meb was funny, inspiring, self-deprecating, practical. The experience of allowing yourself to admire a hero only to be disappointed when chinks appear in the armor is so ubiquitous that we are jaded against the possibility that someone might defy that expectation.

Meb Keflezighi is the real deal: a genuine role model in running and in life.

Book signing. Could I be a bigger dork at this moment? Not likely.

After the talk, we stood in line to have books signed, grinning and exclaiming, "Wasn't that great?! Isn't he great?!"  Tina's co-worker graciously gave me her extra copy of his book, Meb for Mortals so that I could have it signed. His brother chatted with me about San Diego and their family, and when it was my turn to get my book signed, Meb remembered me from an hour earlier. (I managed not to yell every word at him this time.) He signed my book, "Go San Diego!" and I told him my mom will be at his book talk in La Jolla next week.

"If a woman asks you if you remember meeting her daughter in New York, just say yes. That's probably my mom," I told him. "Oh, have her come up and say hi!" he says. "We'll be signing books, make sure she comes by to say hi!"

Seriously, the NICEST guy ever.

Success!!