Running is a solitary sport. It really is because no matter what happens, your brain is telling your body what to do. At the same time, running is a community sport. We choose to run together, whether it's to train or to race or just to pass the time because we spend hours running.
Honestly, the solitude of running is what drew me. I spend hours being "on" for my students and my family. When I was young, this gave me energy, but now it drains me, so I cherish my time alone. This does not mean that I don't like running with others; I really, really do. My fellow runners push me to limits I don't even think I'm capable of reaching (I'm thinking of you, Marta), and they force me to make an effort to be kind and sociable, even when I don't want to be either of those things. Also, when I can't possibly be kind or sociable, my runner friends are STILL running with me, despite the swearing and/or the silence (I'm thinking of you, Jenn and Renee). I appreciate that.
Anyway, we all have our quirks and weirdness, and we learn to run with that. Some people evolve as leaders in their weird running tribes, and that is what I want to write about today. On Saturday the running community lost one of our greatest leaders, Steve Pierce, who died on the trails. If you are reading this blog, chances are pretty good that you know Steve. Maybe he took your picture for a race; maybe he joked with you on a trail run.
I met Steve through his wife, Jenn Pierce, whom I consider to be a good friend. She and I ran with the Towpath Turtles, and during that time, Steve would take pictures (for free) at the races we entered. After Jenn and I spent time seeing each other off and on the trails once in a while, she suggested to me that I needed to switch to trails and run with her group. If you know me, you know that this wasn't an easy switch for me. I started running with Crooked River Trail Runners, and that is where I connected with Steve. I have a few memories I would like to share.
I wrote about the Ragnar Trail Relays in West Virginia here. In the spot where I refer to real trail runners I would like to emulate, I was describing Steve. When I panicked (in a lightning storm) he was calm. When I threw a literal tantrum due to lack of coffee, he gently reminded me that we weren't in real trail running circumstances, and real trail runners wouldn't throw tantrums. He didn't say these words; he lived them, and I took notice. I decided I wanted to be a better trail runner; I wanted to be more like Steve.
When I joined the Crooked River Trail Runners, I was nervous. I have a big ego, and I don't like to compete for attention. I also don't like to be in last place. Steve understood this, and he always welcomed me. We often had beers and/or food after the run, and Steve included everyone. This was particularly important to me when I ran the Christmas Lights Run with CRTR for the first time. There was a post to meet at a certain bar after the run, but I was nervous about being left out, so I posted, "What if certain runners (not me) are afraid of sitting there alone?" Steve responded right away: "Hypothetical nervous runners should remember that their friend Steve is there, and he would never allow someone to be all alone."
Steve took many, many race pictures, all for free. If you were lucky enough to get him to take a picture on your phone, you got a freebie: a Steve Selfie:
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| Imagine looking for your group pic in your phone and finding this! |
I took lots of pictures for social media on my runs, and Steve was present for many of them. The problem is that I am a lousy photographer, and somehow I often cut out Steve in our pictures, and if he was in my pictures, I didn't tag him. I honestly don't know why, but it became a joke. For example, one night we were in a local bar after a run, and I didn't tag him, and he told me he felt like chopped liver. I responded that it was probably because he was so grumpy in the picture:
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| Steve is on the far left staring into his beer. Seriously. Be happy. |
Another time I took a picture after a run, and he wasn't in it, so he complained. I decided to take a picture of just the two of us, and he wasn't happy with that either, so he did this:
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| Who is that guy? Why is he avoiding me? |
I want to share one last story: I had recently "friended" someone who had views that were drastically different from mine. I had looked at his/her social media posts and I was worried that we would not be able to get along. Steve set me straight in two minutes. He asked me, "You friended him/her, so he/she can see your posts, too, right?" Well, yes. "Ok, well do you think he/she is equally worried about getting along with you?" Ummmmm. . .yes. Thank you.
I could talk forever about Steve, but I want to just emphasize that he was kind, gentle, funny, and incredibly cool. Everyone, I mean EVERYONE in the running community loved him. How could we not?
Steve leaves behind a family: his wife Jenn, his daughter Maddie, and his son Riley. If the spirit moves you, can you donate to help them during this time of crisis?
Click here to donate to the gofundme account for the Pierce family.
I hate to take this back to me, but I have to (because the thing about me is that everything is about me). My father died of a heart transplant (Jenn and Steve were with me at the Ragnar Relay when he had the transplant and I was frantic). I knew that he was going to die pretty soon, regardless of whether the transplant worked or not. You may or may not have read
the posts I wrote around my father's death that addressed my difficulty to openly grieve. Please know, if you see me, that I am not unfeeling (something of which I've been accused). I have a difficult time dealing with my emotions, but like everyone, once I wear myself out, it will hit me.
Steve should have had more time. It's so unfair. Peeps, if you have ANY uncertainty about your heart at all, get some tests. I did. You mean something huge to many people; make sure you stay around as long as you can.
As for Steve, the only thing I can think is that he has progressed to the ultimate trail. I only hope that I am a good enough runner and person to run on the trail he has saved for me.
Jenn, I love you. Steve, I loved you.
Peeps, tell the people you cherish that you love them.
Peeps, I love you, and I appreciate you.
Run Happy.
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Had you told me a year ago that I would be running ten miles in twenty degree weather in order to experience catharsis, had you told me that I would have willingly awakened early on a Sunday morning in order to do this, had you told me that the tears I shed were of joy, not sorrow. . . Well, I would have sarcastically laughed, poured another drink, and asked you if a bear would be chasing me when I did this. I wouldn't have believed you because I didn't believe in myself. Running can help. Running changed my life for the better. Run with me; run away from your troubles, and you may find one day that you are not running away from a problem, but running to a solution. 
