theSmudge.com

Another year has come to a close, somehow. It went so fast, and suddenly here we are at another winter Olympics. Either I’m old or the world is spinning faster. (No comments from the peanut gallery.) Anyway, because this was a pretty great year for my running world, here’s a bulleted list of those milestones. Because, you know, the world needs another “this is what I ran last year” blog post.

1. Ran a total of 1,401.91 miles. This beat my previous best year (1,244.2 miles in 2011) by 157.71 miles. Yes, I track to the nearest hundredth. Yes, I am a nerd. Yes, I’m pretty happy about that running total, especially since the last couple months were well below average.

   

2. Beat my fastest marathon time not just once but TWICE this year. I’m still not sure how I pulled off a 3:47 on a hilly course, but that’s OK.

   

3. Beat my fastest half-marathon time — also not once but twice this year. I didn’t expect to run a 1:45; I guess you could say this was a surprising PR (personal record) year. I also unofficially PR’d the 10k during the first half of this race.

   

4. Beat my 5k time, and squeezed under 23 minutes with less than half a second to spare. I actually think I could run faster if my leg was cooperating, but I’m not about to complain at this point.

   

5. Ran my first ultra. I didn’t blog about this, which I regret, but here is my running buddy Kristen’s race report. She and I started running together a year ago, and she’s had a big positive impact on my running life. We wound up running the whole Way Too Cool 50k (31.2 miles) together, finishing in 6:25, which was 20 minutes faster than I expected.

   

6. Ran my first trail marathon, where friends including Deanne greeted me at the finish. They also had Kona Brewing Co. beer at the finish, so it was pretty much the best day ever. (Bonus: views of the Golden Gate Bridge.)

   

7. Logged my highest month of running (169.7 in August 2013) and my highest week of running (48.49 miles, also in August 2013).

   

8. Ran more marathons than in any other year (six). I also doubled my marathon country count (to a grand total of, um, two), and reached my 10th state in which I’ve run a marathon.

   

So, yeah, it was a good year in running. It ended on a deflating note, though, because my right IT band has been unhappy since mid-October. I was able to run through it while trying to rehab it, but the pesky thing gradually got worse. Because 2013’s race results gave me so much excitement and determination, I’m currently desperately hoping my leg gets back on track soon. I have 2014 goals to reach!

On December 8, I ran the California International Marathon, my 16th marathon-or-longer. It was not the stellar race my friends had hoped it would be, but it was instead a farewell/victory lap to my best year of running. It reminded me once again that running is about so much more than times and distances: running is about overcoming obstacles and making friends long the way. And so, rather than give a detailed breakdown of every mile time (they ranged from 7:51 to 16:30) that led to my 4:20 finish, I’m going to make this an ode to friends.

A bit of context: After a pretty fantastic year of setting new personal records in distance and speed, my body needed a break. Since mid-October, I’ve had a cranky IT band in my right leg that stiffens up, aches, and forces me to stop and stretch. I’ve also had two months of unhappy lungs and sinuses for the second year in a row. My training was severely limited and I had to accept it.

Lodi Running Club friends: I made the 1.5-hour drive to Sacramento on a Saturday. I was frazzled and in pre-race stress-out mode, but as soon as I walked in the convention center doors, I ran into half a dozen runners from my old group. I hugged Cindy, Leslie & Co., who cheered me up instantly. An hour later, I ran into Janine, my running mentor who first convinced me I could run a marathon. We hugged and recalled the day exactly five years (to the very day) earlier when she was standing at the finish line of my first marathon.

Twitter friends: I missed a tweetup, but Twitter friends still appeared.

Becca: I left the expo and went to hang out with Becca, one of the two friends who went to Ireland with me in September. She was about to leave on yet another adventure, so the timing was perfect. It was good to catch up with her, and nice to get reassurance that I’m not the only one whose head sometimes plays mind games with her.

Kristen and Karin: I then met up with Kristen at our hotel. She’s been my running buddy for almost a year now, and we’ve had many trail adventures together, including my first 50k. She had to drop down to the relay at CIM, but it is always so nice to have her company. We met up with Karin at Olive Garden for dinner, which was a nice bonus.

Kristin: Race morning found me scraping ice off my car at 4:30 in the morning in 27-degree weather. After last year’s CIM monsoon, I did “no rain, no wind” dances for months (if “dancing” means “thinking”), but I neglected to request “non-Arctic temperatures.” Oops. I hopped onto a bus where Kristin was saving me a seat. We rode the Very Long 26 Miles to the start line and hung out on the bus until the race started. It was so nice to have her company for that wait.

Soon the race started, Kristin and I hugged, and I was on my way, wearing a long-sleeved shirt for my first marathon ever. And capris. And mitten-gloves. And an ear warmer that I thought I would throw away at some point but did not — so I’m horribly mis-matched in all of my equally horrible race photos.

Random runners: In mile two, a guy came up next to me and commented on my Marathon Maniacs shirt. He was wearing a kilt, introduced himself as Bobby, and we chatted about Maniacs. About half a mile later he took off, but that mile wound up being a 7:51 — and I was talking comfortably during it. Oops?

I got to mile 3, looked at my watch, and saw 24:00. Ummm, yeah, I was running WAY TOO FAST. At the 5.9-mile mark, my average pace was 8:11 (including walking through two water stops because the ground was a sheet of ice). Friends tracking online began to think I was going to qualify for Boston, though I knew that was never going to happen due to my lack of training. However, I was actually following my very loose plan: run at any pace that felt good, for as long as I could until my IT band or my lungs went on strike. That’s what I did, and I have no regrets, because now I know what it’s like to be running with 3:30 marathoners. It was inspiring and motivating.

Hometown connection: Around mile 12 I heard, “Layla? Layla Bohm?” It was Heidi from my hometown, who had been friends with my sister when they were in grade school. She recognized me from behind in the middle of a marathon. She also spotted me in the finish area last year at CIM, which was the first time we had seen each other in more than 20 years. How?!

Bay Area friends: Both my leg and my lungs started getting unhappy around mile 8, and I reached the halfway point in 1:51 (8:42 pace). Shortly before that, I rounded a curve and suddenly saw Cate, Mike, their little girl Ellie and Alyssa. That was a nice surprise! Apparently Aron and Naomi were also there, but I had already passed the group.

Michaela: Just after mile 13, my IT band was very unhappy and forcing me to stop and stretch it. And then, at mile 15.5, Michaela appeared. She was screaming her head off, holding a sign, and got so excited when she saw me. I blurted out something like, “Oh my god, I’m dying and you are the best sight ever.” I felt bad for hugging her because I was sweaty, but oh, it was such a wonderful relief to see her. I told her my leg was not happy and that I’d been walking. “I was tracking you online. 8:11 pace for the first six miles?! What the f**k were you doing?!” Michaela said. That was the best, funniest thing she could have said. It was hilarious.

I trudged along, having to stretch in every mile. I saw a corgi, which made me smile. I saw an entire mile of funny poop-related signs. I saw two blind runners who inspired me. I ran through the intersection of Watt and Fair Oaks avenues, marveling at the fact that Sacramento’s busiest intersection was entirely closed for runners.

The last relay exchange point boosted my spirits, because I was hoping to see Kristen. I searched the crowds, thought I’d missed her, then saw her waving and cheering. I ran over to her, leaned against the barricade and said, “This sucks!” Everyone around her burst out laughing, which actually helped me gain some perspective.

And then, going over the one bridge on the course, I stopped yet again to stretch my aching leg, and suddenly the opposite muscle cramped — double-whammy of pain. I found myself crying there at mile 19. The 4:00 pace group surged past me, and I just did not have the heart to go with them. I really wanted to just quit the marathon, but deep down I knew I would regret it. So I willed myself to run, because when have I EVER walked down the other side of a bridge?

Marathon Maniacs: And then I reached mile 21 or 22 and saw two yellow Marathon Maniacs shirts in the distance. I felt new energy and told myself to just catch up to them. They were Chris and Erin, a husband and wife. Erin has qualified for Boston but on this day she was also struggling with her right IT band. Their buddy, Larry, was also a Maniac. I asked if I could hang with them, and they said yes. They were run/walking, doing what Erin could manage.

I’d been doing mental math for a while (to occupy my brain) and knew I had about a 4:05 finish in me. I also knew it would be a mental fight and a battle with my leg. Or I could stay with these Maniacs and stop thinking about the clock. And that’s what I did. We walked. We jogged. We stopped when Erin needed a bathroom break (that was the 16-minute mile, and it involved stretching and eating oranges while we waited). We stopped again so she could kiss her baby in mile 26. We stood out, because Erin was wearing a brightly colored shirt and skirt, tights that have muscle outlines on them and pink paint in her blonde hair. It was great. And I finally stopped thinking about my leg.

We reached the finish line, where the men and women split off for some unknown reason that really annoys spectators and runners alike, so we couldn’t get a group finishing picture. But I did finish with Erin. We both smiled as we crossed the finish line, and I know for certain that I wouldn’t have smiled if I had kept pushing myself for that 4:05 finish. The clock hadn’t mattered; fellow runners were better.

I crossed the finish line, profusely thanked the person who wrapped a heat sheet around me, and promptly lost my Maniac buddies before we could get a picture. I turned on my cell phone and texted one person before my brain shut down, as it normally does between the time I stop running and the time I get some food. My teeth were chattering and I was shivering, and the text replies were the only thing keeping my brain functioning. Then my fingers got so cold that I couldn’t really text, and I was in a sea of people, wondering how and where I could get my warm clothes. I was so incredibly overwhelmed. It didn’t help that I hadn’t even opened the water bottle they gave me at the finish line.

Steve: Then one of my old running buddies, Steve, appeared in front of me. He’d just run a 4:17, two weeks after finishing a 50-miler. We hugged and he took me to get our bags. He pointed to my bag line, went to get his, and told me to wait for him in the sun. My jacket didn’t make me any warmer, but having some direction helped me get my mental bearings. Steve came back, and then I left the poor guy, because he was waiting for other friends while I was walking to my car. He helped so much, though.

I got to the hotel, showered, and continued shivering. I’m not usually thrilled to drive after a marathon, but this time I was so happy to turn on the car heater. I got on the road, made a phone call, and proceeded to analyze/deconstruct the marathon for the next 1.5+ hours. Anyone who listens to me after a marathon, especially if I’ve only eaten some potato chips, deserves a gold star.

In which I stand on a podium for the first time ever, but have lingering doubts.

One-sentence recap: I set a new personal best time of 1:45:20, placed in my age group, and saw two friends finish their first half-marathons.

In October, I obliterated my half-marathon record that had stood for 18 months. I took four minutes off my best time, and I generally had a ball, finishing with a great feeling of euphoria: “Oh my gosh, I ran a 1:46 half-marathon!!” I still remember that feeling.

The funny thing is, I remember that feeling a lot more than this race that I ran a month later — where I actually ran a faster time. I reached that 1:45 mark I never, ever imagined back when I ran a 2:14 half-marathon. But even now, three weeks after the race, it’s still a blur.

What does stand out in my mind is one word: friends. The friend, Lia, who gave me coffee and stored my dry clothes for me during the race, and even cheered and took a picture when I finished. The friends I used to run with before I moved, who saw me at the start and greeted me with hugs. And my friends, Marc and Melinda, who ran their first half-marathons.

I’ve known Marc for a long time. We worked together, we’ve each helped the other one move, and we’ve stayed in touch through those moves. Marc always said I was crazy for running, and he would usually add, “and I am plenty crazy.” Marc didn’t like running or have any interest in it. But then one day, Marc messaged or emailed or texted or somehow communicated to me that he’d been walking. He was not just walking 10 minutes at lunch; no, he was walking five miles a day. And he wanted to turn that walking into running. I’m pretty sure I replied with a lot of exclamation points.

Marc and his wife, Melinda, had joined Weight Watchers and both lost a bunch of weight. Melinda had quit smoking. They asked if I would come speak to their group about running. I was very honored, and quite excited — I like public speaking, and I like talking about running. So I went and jabbered about running, about how you don’t have to be a natural and how you can defy the odds. I talked about how it’s perfectly fine to walk, and that you just have to start. I took a couple race medals with me, which turned out to be a good thing: I wouldn’t learn until the St. Joseph’s half-marathon that the medals were what got Melinda to start running more — she wanted a medal, too.

I had told Marc that if he ran a half-marathon, I would do my best to be there. My schedule was up in the air until a week before this race, but it ultimately worked out. November 3 found me driving a little over an hour at a dark hour in the morning to Stockton. Yep, I was going to voluntarily run through one of the country’s biggest crime capitals. (Spoiler: I survived.)

I got there with time to spare and discovered that @runcalifornia was there with free coffee. We chatted for a while, and then Marc and Melinda arrived. We hugged, and I think I was just as excited as they were nervous. Along the way, I found myself chatting with the sheriff, the race director, a couple wine makers, and some other people — yep, that’s the norm when a former journalist visits her old stomping grounds.

Anyway, we all lined up at the race start, wished each other luck, and then we took off. I had no idea what to expect, because my IT Band (which connects the hip and knee) had been cranky so my mileage had been a lot less than I’d planned. The crowd thinned out quickly, as there were only 335 half-marathon finishers, and I found myself running in wind on a course with no spectators. There were, however, a few out-and-backs so I saw fellow runners — I saw Marc twice but somehow missed Melinda. There were some unpaved sections, and at one point we had to run down a gravel embankment, which is really fun when you’re running sub-8:00 pace.

Miles 1-6: 7:56, 7:49, 7:55, 8:00, 8:10, 8:12

I reached mile 6.2 in 49 minutes — so that means I had a 10k PR (personal record). That’s not generally a good thing to do when you still have seven miles to run. Oops. That started taking its toll in mile 10, when my lungs were struggling and I was feeling some twinges in my IT band. Shiloh, who I had just finally met in person before the race, caught up to me around mile 10 and we ran together for a while. But she had clearly trained better and run smarter, and she soon took off. Mentally, I was done. I found myself walking. I tried to pull it together when a woman passed me, but I just didn’t have any fight left in me. It’s too bad, because that woman finished only four seconds ahead of me, and the next one was only 18 seconds ahead.

Miles 7-13: 8:16, 8:04, 8:14, 8:18, 8:23, 8:09, 7:47

We had a side wind most of the way, and we had very few spectators. The course was forgettable, and music only went so far in keeping my spirits up when I was not quite at 100 percent physically. However, there was one spectator who did help. I was wearing my crazy colorful shorts, and she started cheering wildly, “I love your shorts, girl!” I smiled and mouthed “thank you” (no breath to talk), and it gave me a little boost. If only that boost could have carried me on for a couple more miles.

I was just really done when I crossed the finish line. My watch said 13.0 miles instead of 13.1, so I didn’t know if I’d set a PR or not. The race officials say the course is 13.1 miles, someone said they also showed 13.0, another showed 13.1, and yet another friend showed 13.08 miles on his watch. Who knows, but since I’ve been robbed of PR’s due to long courses, I suppose I’ll take it.

Official stats:

• Time: 1:44:20 (8:02 pace)
• 3rd of 53 women in my age group (top 5.7%)
• 9th woman of 190 (top 4.7%)
• 45th out of 335 finishers (top 13.4%)

Marc crossed the finish line in an impressive 1:50, and I hugged him and then said, “You can never again give me a hard time for running — sorry, you’re one of us now.” He agreed (he may have been delirious, but that’s too bad). Then Melinda finished and I got to do the “you’re a half-marathoner!” cheer all over again. It was all very exciting, especially since those two are now on the marathon track. Honestly, it is just so rewarding to see people reach running milestones, and I got to see two of them that day.

After calming down and getting into some warm clothes, we got our free breakfast burritos from the race — which turned out to be pretty awful. So I had more coffee instead. Marc and Melinda headed home, I talked to Lia a bit more, and then I decided to wait for the awards in case they were deep enough to reach me. Places hadn’t been announced, but I knew there hadn’t been that many women ahead of me. But I was still really stunned when they reached my age group and called, “Third place, Layla Bohm.” I went and collected my medal from Tony the race director, and stepped onto the third block of the podium. I have never in my life stood on a podium, and I must admit that it was a pretty cool feeling.

And that’s a wrap. Well, not quite: While I was still hanging around the finish area, a woman congratulated me. I looked at her, thought she was familiar, and soon figured out that she was the spectator who had complimented me on my shorts. I thanked her profusely for cheering, and told her she really helped lift my spirits. We runners only see spectators for a millisecond, and we rarely get a chance to thank most of them. There, in a city known for its crime and for being the first large city to declare bankruptcy, I was able to thank one of the spectators who stood out on a Stockton street on a Sunday morning, cheering for people running through her city. Stockton, sometimes you’re OK.

Two-letter summary: PR

One-sentence summary: While I was optimistic about beating my personal record, I was NOT expecting to take four minutes off my time.

It’s been a month since this race, and I still haven’t even written about September’s amazing vacation (I’ve started writing, though…). Better late than never?

Background: I signed up for this race after September’s marathon PR (personal record) in Ireland. I hadn’t originally planned to race a half-marathon until November, but I was itching to see what I could do. I was running fast, so why not race in October instead? My half-marathon PR of 1:49:59 was more than two years old, so it was time to challenge myself. Plus, the Urban Cow Half gave out a cowbell medal, so why not have some fun?

I had a trail half-marathon fun-run on the calendar a week before this race. What I had not planned, however, was to go into race mode about two miles into that trail run. I took off, flew down the hills, nearly fell, survived the uphills, and missed third place in my age group by 26 seconds. However, I braked on the downhills because I had this weird mental worry about falling, so that really hurt my quads. They were abnormally sore for days afterward, and I barely worked out the whole week before Urban Cow. Oops.

The day before the race, I meant to go to the gym or run a few mellow “shakeout” miles. By dinner time, that hadn’t happened. Oops. I went to make boring pasta for dinner and realized I had no sauce. So I put on running shoes, ran 1.2 miles to the store, bought sauce, then ran home clutching that jar for dear life. Small hands plus sweat could have resulted in disaster, but instead I ran 8:24 average pace. Oops, that wasn’t “mellow” pace to run 12 hours before a race. Additionally, the greater NorCal/Nevada area had been subjected to huge forest fires so the air quality wasn’t the best. Another oops.

Race day: Early on a Sunday morning, I awoke with a killer of a sore throat. Uh oh: That slight tickle in my throat the previous night may not have just been a pre-race jitter? Too late now! Parking was easy, packet pickup was fast, port-a-potties were plentiful. The race has two waves that start five minutes apart, so it wasn’t crowded when I lined up in the corrals. A teen choir sang the National Anthem and then the race began. I started my music, a playlist I’d titled “1:48″ and which was exactly 1 hour, 48 minutes long. That was my goal, though anything faster than 1:49:59 would make me happy. This meant I needed to run an average pace of 8:15. Until very recently, such an idea boggled my mind.

Miles 1-6: 8:05, 8:05, 8:08, 8:10, 8:02, 7:47

The 10k (6.1 miles) point on my watch showed just over 50 minutes; I was at 50:32 when I passed the official course 10k marker. That’s only 40 seconds slower than my 10k PR, so that was kind of fun. However, I had the same thing happen a couple years ago in a half-marathon, and then I hit a wall in that race and started walking. So I was NOT assuming anything at this point.

Miles 7-9: 8:01, 7:53, 7:56

At mile 8, it got hard. I was feeling tired and my legs didn’t think they could keep running this pace. But that’s where experience paid off: I have known for a while that the eighth mile is always hard for me, whether it’s a marathon or a training run. I just have to suck it up and keep going, because that mile will eventually end. So that’s what I did, and it wound up being my third fastest mile of the race.

Miles 10-13.1: 8:02, 8:03, 7:59, 7:44, last 0.27 miles at 7:35 pace.

The race wound through downtown Sacramento, through old town, went along a levee for a little while, then took us back around to the starting point, which was in a big park. They had good mile markers and great aid stations, but then I saw a sign saying we had half a mile left. My watch said we had a lot more than that, but it was also measuring long so I thought maybe it was going to even out. So I started pushing. I knew I had the PR in the bag, but I never ease up at the end of a race: I want to know I raced as hard as I could.

Nearly half a mile later, we went under an arch that said we had half a mile left. WELL THEN. This was annoying, but I willed myself to keep going. I was looking at my watch and doing fuzzy math, and thought, “Oh wow, I might be able to reach 1:45:xx!” I ran with everything I had left.

I came up two seconds short of 1:45:xx, which made me groan out loud in frustration when I saw the official results. Plus, my watch showed an average of 7:59 per mile because I ran a longer distance (this happens due to weaving around people and not taking turns tight enough). The official pace is 8:06 per mile. But I really wasn’t too upset, because I had just taken a significant amount of time off my PR and had certainly beaten my 1:48 expectation.

I wandered around the finish area getting free food that included a whole loaf of bread (that was random) and getting my picture taken with someone in a cow costume (bad photo). I texted my old running mentor along with a couple other people: “I just PR’ed by four minutes! Oh my gosh!” Then I made what seemed like the world’s longest 80-minute drive home, going straight to Five Guys for a burger and fries and devouring them before taking a shower. Hey, don’t judge.

Stats:

• 22nd of 326 in my age/gender division (top 6.7%)
• 93rd of 2,051 females (top 4.5% — what?!)
• 393rd of all 3,258 finishers (top 12%)

Official splits:

• 5 miles: 40:54, 8:11 average pace
• Halfway: 53:11, 8:08 average pace
• 10 miles: 1:21:11, 8:08 average pace
• Finish: 1:46:01, 8:06 average pace

I ran the second half in 53:10, which is a few seconds faster than the first half. That’s exactly how I hope to run a race, rather than starting out too fast and fading to a walk in the second half.

Conclusion: Exactly one year before this race, I ran my slowest-ever road marathon in St. George. Yep, it was slower than the hilly Big Sur Marathon that had strong headwinds the year I ran it. Yep, it was slower than the humid, hot Kona Marathon that I unknowingly ran with a virus. Yep, St. George is often called one of the fastest races in the country. Apparently I beat all those odds. Eleven months after my St. George debacle, I ran a marathon in Ireland exactly 1 hour and 37 seconds faster. Twelve months later, I ran my best half-marathon. It can be hard to accept defeat, as it was on that miserable day in St. George, but I now know that the key is to only let it define that moment. One defeat does not have to define your life. St. George may have defeated me that day, but I am still running. And I still love it.

Yesterday I ran a marathon in Ireland. My official finish time was 3:47:22, more than nine minutes faster than my previous best time. That feat was completely unexpected.

I drove about five hours today, and my friends and I weren’t jabbering the whole way, so I spent a while trying to figure out what happened in yesterday’s magical marathon. I was not being pessimistic when I originally thought I would finish in 4:15. And then, when I found out that the women’s course record is a rather slow 3:22, I wasn’t being pessimistic when I lowered my expectations to 4:30. I did get into a very bad place mentally (apologies to my travel mates and the people I sent messages to) the day before the race. I hadn’t run in three days, I’d done a ton of walking, hiking and a bike ride. Even on race morning, I didn’t want to run. In my weird pre-race angst, someone had told me, “You’re running a f’ing marathon in f’ing Ireland!” and that popped into my head as I walked to the starting line. I also thought of my grandmother, whose lungs are giving out and will die in about two years. I can run and she cannot. So I ran because, hey, I was in f’ing Ireland.

I ran through wind and rain and sun. I kept passing people as I kept running up hills. I passed the 4:15 pacer and the 4:00 pacer. I reached the halfway point in 1:53 and knew I would likely crash and burn, but I kept running up another hill. When my watch beeped at mile 15 and I saw an 8:25 mile, I actually said out loud, “Holy shit!” I didn’t know what was happening, but I kept running and kept breathing calmly.

I reached a low point at mile 20, but I knew it would pass so I kept running and made myself smile at people and look at the spectacular greenery. I never walked until mile 22, when I was halfway up the two-mile hill that everyone dreads and talks about in this race. But then I found myself running again while still going up that f’ing hill in f’ing Ireland. I walked the last part of the hill, then took off down the backside of that hill. I had three miles left, down a long road that threatened to derail my exhausted quad muscles, but I pushed through the pain. I had spent the entire race passing people, and I kept doing so in the last three miles — all men, actually. One said “nice legs,” and I realized my bad legs, which had worn special shoes and gotten me excused from PE in childhood, were in fact doing nice things.

I ran the last two miles faster than my goal half-marathon pace. I ran the last 0.34 miles at 10k pace. And I had a huge grin on my face as I reached the finish line. I stood there for a minute with my hands up to my face, in true shock at what had just happened. In the finish area, I was stopped by several of those men I had passed in the later miles. They weren’t flirting, but simply wanted to congratulate me and said they had tried their best to keep up with me. I was merely a runner on equal ground — a runner whose legs and lungs and heart and mind did not give up.

As I walked slowly and gingerly to my car, I looked around at the brilliant greenery and the quaint town and the waterfront. I was in f’ing Ireland and I had just taken nine minutes off my best f’ing marathon time. There, as I walked, I started to cry. They were tears of happiness. Of surprise. Of joy. And they were tears of hope for future dreams not yet realized.