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!!

Meeeeb!!!

There are very few celebrities who evoke in me any level of an "I can't believe I'm meeting you!" reaction. Meb Keflezighi is an exception.

2012 Olympic Marathon Trials in Houston: that was the weekend that Meb came in first, and Beth ran her first half-marathon after having a baby, and I impulsively signed up for the Antarctica marathon.

A year later, my mom randomly meets Meb in a park in San Diego, has no idea who he is, and somewhat questions that he's telling the truth about being a so-called world-class runner. I buy her his memoir, she learns that, in fact, he is a world-class runner and beloved San Diegan and that they actually have some friends in common. A year after that he won Boston, and in between he was unmissable in running magazines and the San Diego sports pages. 'Oh I saw Meb in the paper again,' my mom would say, like they're old friends.

On my visits to San Diego I'd make an effort to run where I know he likes to run, just on the chance that I, too, could literally run into Meb. And then last Christmas, a perfect opportunity! He was grand marshal of a parade, and all we had to do was be at the end of the parade route when his float came by, and wave the elaborately decorated 'Meb' posters I had made, and then find a way into the staging area, and then act like I was totally supposed to be there, and then very casually pull out my favorite pair of running shoes from my bag and hand him a Sharpie. You know, nonchalance.

All was going well. I even Tweeted him that morning and he FAVORITED MY TWEET. Meb Keflezighi favorited my Tweet! Amazing.... My mom, sister and I got to end of the parade route downtown really early. So early, that there was time to go shopping. Furry vest-like accessories were tried on. Until finally I said, 'I think the parade should be coming through soon.' Too soon, in fact. The first floats had already finished 15 minutes earlier. As this realization bloomed in its full horror, my sister tried very hard to make the expression on her face one of sympathy when in fact she was very much dying of laughter.

I ran down the block in the direction that the floats were headed, thinking, 'He'll still be here! He'll still be here! He's hanging out, signing autographs, right?' And then I saw the empty, bright orange float with the sign that said "Grand Marshal Meb Keflezighi" parked sadly on the curb and guarded by a guy in a Raiders t-shirt. I mean, a RAIDERS shirt. Like the whole situation wasn't upsetting enough. "Oh yeah, the guy that was on the float? He left a few minutes ago. Real nice guy, stood around talking to us for awhile. Who is he anyway?"

I mean, honestly.

So, no Meb meeting that day either. I was really bummed. My mom and sister were appropriately sympathetic, but also laughed at me a lot. I mean, a LOT.

Every time I see him in a running magazine, or in a social media feed, I think, "Meb! You are my hero! And we're both from San Diego! Remember when you met my mom and she had no idea who you were but you were TOTALLY nice to her anyway?!"


So today, just as Meb took off from the start line at the Boston Marathon, my sister texted me a photo of a poster announcing him as the guest speaker at her office later this week. I thought despondently, "Yep, another member of my family gets to meet Meb. Naturally..." Until she suggested I come down to NYC for the day, and I looked at my calendar and realized... I actually CAN go to NYC for the day!!

And now I just need to stay focused. No late arrivals, no forgetting ID at building security, just get.there.on.time. and bask in the reflected glory of the nicest world-class runner I've ever met.

Mom, Meet Meb

You have got to hear this story:

My mom is lovely and chatty but knows very little about running, except that I run and that marathons are hard. A few days ago she was in large park in San Diego, where she lives, and noticed a man "doing some kind of running spurts."

"Sprints, mom?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever - he was obviously training for something, you know. He was athletic. So I asked him, what you are working on here? And he says he's training for the New York marathon. And I say, Oh, you know, my daughter runs marathons..." And knowing her, she probably went on about this for entirely too long.  And at some point she says (understatement of the year), "you seem a lot faster than my daughter!"

At which points he says he's won the NYC marathon in the past. And my mom says, "Wow, what's your name?" and he tells her his name is Meb, and says maybe your daughter would enjoy reading my new book? (Of course, in my mom's telling, his name is Memb and she couldn't find him when she searched Google for his book.)

"Mom! That's Meb Keflezighi! I saw him once too, when he won the US Olympic Marathon trials, and was surrounded by people trying to get his autograph and take his picture."

"Oh! Well, I should have gotten his autograph. You know, he did look very fast. He obviously knew what he was doing."


You CANNOT make this stuff up!

San Diego: Unseasonably Awesome

Tell people you're from San Diego and their response is, "Wow, isn't the weather perfect there all the time?" When compared to most places, the answer is pretty much: yes. The winter, such as it is, usually has temps in the 60s, so I have a hard time hearing San Diegans (ahem, mom) insist that "it does get cold at night" (egads, 40 degrees!!) when in Vermont right now the temperature is 10 degrees and falling.

That said, Christmas week in San Diego this year was exceptional: 75 degrees every day, cerulean skies, Chamber of Commerce weather. On my last night there, the forecaster said, literally, "we don't see a change in this weather pattern till at least January 12th or 13th."  So there's that. I ran almost every day, taking advantage of beach views and a chance to wear t-shirts. A few highlights:

North Harbor Drive to Pt. Loma:
The quirky geography of San Diego is such that the airport is adjacent to downtown and both are right on the harbor. Even when you know this, you can still get caught by surprise seeing a a very large, very close plane enter your peripheral vision while jogging across Laurel Street heading to the harbor. Tuesday morning I returned a rental car at the airport and ran to my mom's house on Pt. Loma. Most of that run is along the northern part of San Diego Bay -- yachts, glassy water, palm trees, gorgeous skies... exactly the cliche you resent San Diego for. (Stay, classy.)

Torrey Pines:
Go north from La Jolla and there is a state preserve on the coast. While $15 is an extreme day use fee (I forgot California was broke...) I still love this state park: sandy trails run from the top of the cliffs, down through sandstone canyons to the beach and back up through the trees. From every direction there are commanding views of the coast and the wide open ocean. With zero humidity, the scent of sagebrush is pungent and just smells like California. (In the best way.)

Pt. Loma to Sunset Cliffs:
There are a million reasons to love Pt. Loma, but here's one drawback: it's extremely hilly. Pretty much a mountain peninsula with a bay on the south side and the ocean on the north. My mom lives near the crest of Pt. Loma, so every run from her house has a lot of steep inclines. This run went up to the top of Pt. Loma, then sharply downhill to the ocean, then straight back uphill to the top, with a descent back home. But coming down into Sunset Cliffs from the trails near Nazarene College is pretty spectacular.

Later that day, I walked another 4 miles at the San Diego Zoo with my mom and sister. Tip for zoo-goers: the koalas are crazy active after sunset!!




 
Morley Field Trails:
I have always associated Balboa Park with museums and the zoo, but huge areas of it are grassy open space and steep canyons. Meb Keflezghi writes about the Morley Field running trails (upper right on this map) from his days as a high school cross-country star.  Sadly, I didn't bump into Meb, but I did get to see parts of the park that I didn't realize existed. (Florida Canyon, who knew?)






Shelter Island to Liberty Station:

This awesome photo is from the USS Constellation reunion web site and shows how Shelter Island sits in San Diego Bay, hugging Pt. Loma. (I added the star where mom's house is.) Home to picnic-ers, joggers, fisherman, boaters and hotels, Shelter Island is a sweet run. On the far right in this photo, there is a neighborhood of pinkish-colored buildings near the water; that's Liberty Station. Formerly Navy housing and offices, now home to Trader Joe's, condos and restaurants. And also pretty parks and great walking trails on water.

Two Things I learned from Deena Kastor

Olympic medalist and multiple-recorder holder Deena Kastor.

As if Vermont City Marathon weren't already one of my favorite weekends of the year, this year's race weekend went over the top due in thanks to a plum gig I scored: escort-chauffeur-gopher-personal-umbrella-handler to the one and only Deena Kastor. THE Deena Kastor.

(Let the internets fill you in, if you aren't squealing/swooning.)

This was a very easy job because she is a very easy person: low maintenance, self-possessed, energetic and radiating happiness. She shared her gift bag of hand-made chocolates with me, refused to let me do much for her (except for one exciting moment when I reunited her with her misplaced phone - thrilling!), and was generally a joy to be around.

I got to see her in action greeting runners, signing autographs, giving talks, answering questions, and also chatting up people incognito. Here are two observations I'll remember from my day with Deena:

1. She believes in something called histo-chemistry
In everyday parlance, this is the power of positive thinking. In Deena's world, this is conveyed in a story with lots of expressive energy, rapid-fire exposition and total conviction that the physical act of smiling triggers a response in your body that truly transforms misery into joy, and turns around your physical performance on a run. This is especially useful, Deena says, when you're struggling, flailing, not performing - force yourself to smile, even if you don't believe it, and it will make you feel better. I've never felt more convinced by the advice to fake it till you make it.

2. She is genuinely intellectually curious
Lord, but I do love to be around smart people, and Deena is smart. She is authentically interested in learning, expanding her horizons, exposing herself to new places and people and ideas. Many times during the few hours I spent with her, I heard her say a variation of, 'I've got to remember to look that up,' 'I want to Google that,' 'I want to learn more about that.' It's a good way to live, being curious about the world around you.

I wrote after meeting Meb that he's the real deal, and in many ways, Deena Kastor is his twin: her age puts her among the Masters, her accomplishments put her among the best American distance runners ever, and personal integrity is a relief and inspiration to people who've admired her running talent.

Learn more about Deena Kastor here.