When They Call Each Other

There’s a part of parenting no one really prepares you for. It’s not the college drop-off, or the goodbye, or even the quiet house. It’s the not knowing.

TJ is knee deep into his second semester in college, and staying in touch is inconsistent at best. I’ve tried to keep my expectations low—a quick “I’m alive” text, maybe a phone call here and there. I don’t want to be the mom who hovers or nags, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still want to know everything. His highs and lows. Who his friends are. What’s stressing him out. If he’s eating well. If he’s sleeping at all.

I’ve had to get creative. I check his Strava to see when he runs and try to understand all the comments. I watch for the occasional Instagram reel he sends. Little glimpses into a life I’m no longer part of in the same way. And that’s been the hardest part—not being in the rhythm of his everyday life.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect.

What has brought me the most joy in this season isn’t when TJ calls me. It’s when he calls his brother.

Sometimes it happens when I’m in the car with Grant driving home from school. The phone rings, and it’s TJ. And I get to listen—not as the main character in the conversation, but as a quiet observer. A fly on the wall. Over time, I’ve learned to stay there, to not jump in or redirect, but to just listen.

Most of the time, it’s nonsense. Banter. Jokes. Running talk. Social media memes, things that a 55 year old just does not understand. But its the kind of back-and-forth that only brothers understand. And every once in a while, there’s something more. TJ asking Grant how his race went. Checking in on his year at a new school. Offering a quick piece of advice. And Grant, in his own way, receiving it—asking questions, letting his guard down just enough.

It’s subtle. Easy to miss if I'm not paying attention. But I see it. And it stops me every time.

Because calling your mom is expected. Calling your brother is a choice.

There’s something unfiltered about it. Something real. They aren’t performing or protecting. They’re just themselves. And in that space, I get to see who they are becoming—not just as individuals, but as brothers.

For a long time, I thought my role was to stay closely connected to them forever—to be the one they came to for everything. But I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe parenting success isn’t measured by how often they call me. Maybe it’s that they call each other.

I’m still figuring out what it looks like to be the mom of a college student. I’m still learning when to reach out and when to hold back, still adjusting to the space. But in the middle of all that, I get these glimpses—small, ordinary phone calls between brothers—and they remind me that even though things are changing, the most important things are holding steady.

Brothers aren’t just family; they’re a lifelong support system. And somehow, in the letting go, I get to watch that take shape.

Wet Shoes

A pile of wet, stinky, sometimes still snow covered shoes and boots is a staple of any home in the snow belt. It is the result of putting on boots to go shovel, shoes to go and run errands, and something else to run to the mailbox. For some inexplicable reason, each of these tasks seems to require a different set of footwear which then accumulates by the front door.  

Last week we anticipated the biggest snowstorm in two decades. By some atmospheric miracle, the storm almost completely missed us and dumped over a foot of snow in Charlotte and inches as far south as Myrtle Beach.  However, we still got enough to cover the roads, shutdown everything, and add to our collective Cabin Fever.  

Harking back to our New York days, we bundled up to take Lucie for a walk and assess the two inches we received for snowman making and sledding opportunities. Snow is pretty for a few minutes and then it's just a frigid nuisance. Nonetheless, we stayed out in it for an hour, swept and shoveled some out of the driveway, and played with the neighbors kids until everyone got cold.  

Grant? Grant hardly poked his head out the door and was not interested in making fun in the snow. He did go out to learn how to drive in it, but a Subaru sticks to the road in all kinds of conditions. TJ got a dusting at college and wished he had more. Snow is more fun when you are young there are many peers looking for something to do.  Lisa made a snowman and got plugged with a couple of snowballs for her effort. Me? I recalled days back when snow was a part of everyday life.   

Back when the snow I shoveled from the driveway was three feet deep in the yard and made for great snow forts. When you drove in snow squalls and it looked like flying in hyperspace. When snow was not a once a year "treat". When a pile of wet shoes was a constant reminder of winter.  

Walk for Peace

The Walk for Peace is a long-distance pilgrimage by Buddhist monks from the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, TX, to Washington, D.C., promoting peace, compassion, and nonviolence. Monks carry signs and engage with the public through quiet presence and peaceful interaction rather than political messaging. 

It passed through Raleigh over the horrible winter weather weekend. 

The walk began in Fort Worth, Texas, following a route through the southeastern United States, passing through states including Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. 

The path then went north through the Carolinas, on it's way to Virginia before concluding in Washington, D.C. - over 2,300 miles in all. The monks maintain a meditative walking pace and pause in various communities along the way to engage with local residents and share their message.  

Somehow, this walk has become "a thing" to draw in tens of thousands of people who would normally - probably - just dismiss it as an attention seeking gag.  People have been tracking the monks for over a week and everyone seemed to know that they were passing through Raleigh and wouldn't it be cool to see them?

But why? They are just a bunch of men in robes dedicated to their faith and their mission. People do extraordinary act to bring awareness to some thing all the time - yet they do not attract the public's attention like the monks do.

Maybe it's their mindfulness, or spirituality, or dedication what we all wish we could find in ourselves and therefore look up to in the acts of others.    

I think it is because we all need someone, or something, that rises above all of the awful, hateful rhetoric that is dividing the nation. We need a symbol of peace and the brotherhood of man that is so desperately lacking from any of our elected leaders. Some people are just tired of being so fucking angry all the time that they have stopped engaging with family and friends who have been incited to be angry all the time. Something to bring us back to an emotional and spiritual center. 

And so I found myself driving out towards Jordan Lake on Highway 64 to see if I could see them. At first I thought I missed them because I could not find them on their map tracker. Then I saw a car on the side of the road and a few people with signs. I didn't miss them. For the next 6 miles I drove to find a good spot to watch them. For the next 6 miles the sides of the road filled with parked cars. A dozen people? No, thousands. Thousands of people. All of these people looking for a little peace.

We saw the flashing blue lights of the police escort about a quarter mile away as they approached. And then a weird thing happened. 

The crowd went quiet. Church quiet. Then the sound of feet on the pavement. Then it was over. For a just moment it seemed like the world went on mute and slow motion at the same time before returning to normal.

Just like that they walked on. The monks in silence as a low murmur grew among us who they has passed. Just like that it was over and a majority of us returned to our cars and drove off.  

I can't tell you that I feel any of those things, more centered, or mindful, or spiritual. But I wouldn't discount it either. I am glad I was out there to witness them and I was happy to go out there and see so, so many others like me.   

 

 

 

10 Years Later

2015

2025

Still. The. Best. Dog. Ever.

She has been with us for ten years and is the spoiled member of the family. 

Table scraps? Yes.

Belly rubs? Yep.

Sleeps in the bedroom?  Uh-huh.

Sporting a couple extra pounds? Oh yeah.

Lucie is the community dog. She watches out the window from her perch on the second floor. She is the dog other dogs get along with. Lucie is the big dog that little kids feel comfortable around. Our neighbor walks her for company on her daily stroll.

And still she is our dog - Lisa's dog. Every morning she is at the side of the bed to say "good morning" and wait for ear rubs and back scratches. She follows Lisa when she leaves the room or comes into the kitchen when she knows I am making food. She is the one thing to look forward to when everything else is going sideways.

When she is gentle and sweet source of love and affection...

...and a grand (older) lady.  

Twenty Years of Us

Twenty years. It sounds like such a big number, and yet, it doesn't feel that long at all. Today marks two decades since we stood on that pier in Key West, surrounded by family, wind, sunlight, and promised to love each other for life. Two decades of laughter, grace, and growth. Two decades of choosing each other-- even when it was hard, even when life didn't go as planned-- and trusting that God would meet us in the middle. 

I still remember the morning of our wedding day like it was yesterday. We started the day with a run. Before the day swept us up, we met early, laced up our shoes, and explored Key West, logging the miles together. It was so us. I don't remember how far we went, but I remember how right it felt-- like we were literally running into our future together. 

Later that day, standing on the pier, I got lost in your eyes during our vows. We still laugh about that moment today. We were so full of promise, wide-eyed and hopeful, believing that love could carry us through anything. And somehow, by the grace of God, it has. 

Now, twenty years later, that promise has been realized. We are what I hoped for, what I dreamed of... and more. When I look at you now, I still get lost in your eyes, but I also see all that we've created-- a life built on faith, laughter, forgiveness, and love that keeps deepening and fueling us forward. We did it. We are doing it. Living. Loving. Together. 

And as I think of our children, I hope they see it too. I hope they see what love looks like-- not perfect, but persistent. I hope they see two people who work at it (and have fun doing so), who give grace, and support each other through it all. I hope they know how deeply we love each other, and how much we love them. Because this life, this marriage, this family is one of the greatest gifts God has given us and in turn, one of the greatest gifts we've given to Samantha, TJ, and Grant. This is what love is. 

I know we promised to go back to Key West every ten years to celebrate. We made it on our 10th, but this year, life had other plans. Still, we will find our way back. And when we do, we'll lace up our shoes again, trace those familar streets, and thank God for twenty years-- for all the answered prayers I didnt even know to pray, and for the way we have put one foot in front of the other, one mile, one moment at a time. 

 

Happy Anniversary! Here's to us and to all of the life we have yet to live side-by-side. 

Hands in the Air: Rich Brown Wins Volunteer of the Year

Picture this: a packed banquet hall, the Fuquay-Varina Chamber of Commerce ready to hand out its big awards, and me sitting at a back-corner table with a secret I’d been carrying for a month.

That secret? Rich was about to be named the 2025 Fred Eargle Volunteer of the Year. My one job was to get him to the event without spilling the beans. Simple, right? Except this is the same man who once surprised me with UNC–Duke basketball tickets, so I felt like I had to come up with an equally epic reveal. Spoiler alert: I failed. After weeks of trying to convince him to come with me to this event in the middle of his work day, I finally confessed, “I’m tasked with getting you to the event.” Not exactly the dramatic reveal I’d envisioned.

If you know Rich, this recognition won’t surprise you. He has always been the kind of person who steps up, gets things done, and makes sure every detail is in order. For the past two years—and now heading into his third—Rich has served as the Parade Director for the Fuquay-Varina Christmas Parade. Originally, he was recruited because of his loud drill-sergeant voice and his no-nonsense approach—people knew he could wrangle parade groups into place without hesitation. But what started as a need for someone to “keep order” quickly turned into something much more.

Rich has poured his energy into the operations side of the parade and beyond: working logistics, coordinating with town leaders, and finding smart ways to leverage resources. He thrives on making sure things run smoothly, and he’s really good at it. He’s the person you want in charge when it matters most.

Fast-forward to the event. They seated us at the back-corner table—you know, the kind usually reserved for people who snuck in without paying (oh wait, I guess that was us). The moment Rich's name was called, he launched out of his chair with both hands in the air, cheering all the way to the stage like he’d just been called down on The Price is Right. All he was missing was someone shouting, “Come on down!” Honestly, I half-expected him to start high-fiving strangers and tossing out parade candy on his way to the podium. 

Always the comedian, always making sure nobody forgets that moment.

The Chamber recognized not only his leadership with the parade but also his all-around dedication and service to the community. This award shines a spotlight on the countless hours he has given, the relationships he’s built, and the deep love he has for Fuquay-Varina.

I couldn’t be prouder of my husband with this award. Rich has invested so much into this town, and it means the world to see him honored as a leader who makes a difference. Congratulations, Rich—you truly deserve it (and thanks for always making every event a little more fun).

Back to the Starting Line

Pole Green Park felt familiar. Just a year ago, TJ ran that same grassy path as a high school senior. Back then, he was one of the oldest on the line, full of confidence and experience. Fast forward to this weekend: same stretches of grass and turns I've walked as a spectator before, but this weekend, everything felt different. 

This time, TJ wore his college jersey. He lined up as a freshman, one of the youngest in the field. And while the course may have been steady and predictable, what wasn't was the shift in perspective. He is no longer the big fish in the high school pond. Now he is stepping into the deeper waters of college athletics. And as his mom, I felt every ounce of that weight and possibility with him. 

And what a stage it was. TJ raced against teams from all three divisions, including powerhouse programs like UVA. Last fall, I watched Gary Martin win the ACC championship on TV, and the fan-girl in me would have loved to see him in person. Maybe it was just as well that he wasn’t racing, because all my focus stayed on TJ, right where it belonged. Still, to picture my son standing on the same line as athletes of that caliber was surreal. Equal parts intimidating and inspiring. And yes, my chest was tight watching him. 

And he did it. He held his own. TJ finished in 20:42.1, placing 97th overall, 28th among Division III runners, 10th among Division III freshmen, and 1st for CNU freshmen. More importantly, he was CNU’s 7th man, just behind upperclassmen Kevin Farnsworth and Tom Foti. As a team, the Captains finished seventh overall and were the top Division III program in the race. And just like that, its offical. TJ competed in his first collegiate meet. He is on the record as an NCAA athlete. How cool is that? 

Now, here's something I didn't realize until I became a cross country mom: that 7th runner can really matter. Only the top five officially score, but the 6th and 7th can change everything. If your 7th runner finishes ahead of another team’s 5th, you raise their score and strengthen your own team. That’s a big deal, especially for a freshman still finding his place.

That is what this weekend was about. Not winning. Not even setting personal records. It was about showing up, finding his rythm, and learning how to compete at this level. He belongs here. He matters on this team. His contribution-- even as the 7th runner-- helps the team succeed. He is a part of the engine that brings in wins, maybe even championships. 

For TJ, it was both a return and a beginning. A familiar park, a familiar course, but the start of an entirely new chapter for this NCAA college athlete. 

...And I cannot wait to see what comes next-- for him, for his teammates, for this season that has just begun. 

 

He Ate the Whole Thing

Let it be known that on August 29, 2025, Grant Brown ate this double cheeseburger with bacon.  

I mean, he didn't even hesitate or slow down. It was both awesome and horrifying to watch at the same time.

His Cross Country coach said, "his body is like a furnace with all of the running he is doing, so feed him protein." 

I mean, sure, but dang.  

(Not pictured, cucumbers and couscous).  

"First Day of School! First Day of School!"

Grant started high school today—and he’s not following in his brother TJ’s footsteps at Willow Spring. He’s forging his own path at Cardinal Gibbons. Sending him to a Catholic private school 35 minutes away was a hard choice, and I had my doubts along the way. But today, seeing him dive in and embrace this new chapter, I can clearly see it was the right decision.

Grant needs to be challenged academically. He’s smart—sometimes smarter than his own teachers. Last year, he flew through two grade levels of math and scored in the 98th percentile on his EOG tests. When he isn’t challenged, he acts up—just ask his social studies teacher, Mr. Oates. While Willow Spring would have been comfortable, we knew Grant would thrive surrounded by peers who cared as much about learning as he does and by teachers who would push him to excel. A place where college is expected, not optional—and where the world beyond North Carolina feels within reach.

This new chapter is also a shift for me. The drive to Cardinal Gibbons is long, and it requires a new level of commitment in my daily schedule. No more lingering mornings. I’m up early, part of the carpool rush, and off to work—staying until Grant’s school day is done, post-practice. Change is hard, but I’m trying to embrace it.

Grant jumped in without hesitation. He started a full week before most of his neighborhood friends and joined the cross-country team. He’d already been training with the team for a month, so he had a head start on building relationships. His first meet—the Pace Yourself Early Bird Challenge—was impressive. For his first high school race, he placed 3rd among all 9th graders in a field of 300 runners, 45th overall, and 5th on his team. Way to set the tone, Grant! I couldn’t be prouder.

Grant is stepping into a new chapter, and today was just the beginning. I hope he takes full advantage of the challenges, friendships, and opportunities ahead. This new routine—long drives, early mornings, and carpool chaos—is a small price to pay to watch him grow. I’m excited to see him carve his own path, make his own choices, and fully embrace the privilege of this experience. 

High school is just beginning, and I can’t wait to see how he makes it his own.

He's Off to College

I’ve been going over this day in my mind for months. College drop-off—the milestone you know is coming but can’t fully prepare for until you’re standing in it. For us, it all came down to one single day. Just one.

It also happened to fall during my busiest week of the year for work—Meredith’s Orientation. In fact, Meredith’s own move-in day was the very next day. That meant our trip to Christopher Newport had to be a quick down-and-back. No lingering, no extra days to get him settled, no slow soaking in of the campus. Just one day to move him in, hug him goodbye, and turn back home.

The three-and-a-half-hour drive was sprinkled with meaningful conversations—all the things left to cover. Can I still track you on Life360? How will we communicate? What’s my expectation for how often we’ll talk? How will we handle money and covering costs of incidentals? The kind of last-minute “rules of engagement” every mom wants in place before her kid flies.

Of course, it wasn’t all conversation. TJ was tired—he’d stayed up late the night before saying goodbye to Allyssa—so he slept through a good portion of the ride. When I wasnt talking with Rich, I was alone with my thoughts, turning over the weight of the day. The tension sat with me. I wanted to leave him fully settled, but I knew there would be things left undone. Still to buy. Still to organize. And I had to remind myself—it’s not my job. It’s not my space. It’s his. To truly feel at home, you have to live into it. And that takes time.

Still, that truth didn’t stop me from wishing for just a little more time to help him with all of this. 

Finally, we made it to campus and pulled right up to his hall. The very first person we ran into? The college president himself. He and his wife were making the rounds, and before we’d even carried in a box, he stopped to greet us, shook TJ’s hand, and remarked on how well I was holding it together (guess I fooled him). If you need reassurance that your kid is in good hands, that moment was it.

The actual move-in was surprisingly smooth. Task-focused. No drama. No “too many cooks in the kitchen,” since TJ’s roommate wasn’t arriving until the next day. Part of me wished they could’ve set up the room together, but I know they’ll rearrange things soon enough. For now, we got everything in place—and in one trip, no less. Everything from the car to the residence hall in a single go. Unheard of! It helped that TJ lives on the first floor, that the weather wasn’t brutal, and that Dad was there for all of the logistics.

While TJ and I unpacked, Dad and Grant wandered campus and met up with an ROTC friend. I kept my head down, organizing and folding, maybe because it was easier to focus on the tasks than the emotions.

By the time we wrapped up, the question was—what next? I assumed the plan was lunch together, but TJ casually mentioned he was meeting the cross-country team for a run at 3:00, with a meeting at 5:00. Cue the mama heartache. Lunch suddenly seemed in jeopardy. But here’s where TJ stepped up—he read the disappointment on my face and said, “Let’s do lunch. I don’t need to run.” Thank you, TJ. You’ll never know how much that small choice meant.

We ended up at a family favorite, Chick-fil-A, which was also right next to Target. Shopping came next, though it was over far too quickly. TJ was laser-focused—straight to the items on his list, no wandering the aisles. Probably for the best, since in my “mama-is-gonna-miss-you” state, I would have said yes to anything he wanted.

And then came the hardest part of the day: goodbye.

It wasn’t even my hug with TJ that broke me—it was watching him say goodbye to Grant. Those two have been each other’s “go-to” for so long. Over dinner. Over video games. Over TikTok laughs. Their bond is woven into the daily rhythm of our home, and suddenly that rhythm has changed. It will take time for both of them to adjust to their new normal. For all of us to adjust.

When the car pulled away, I felt the weight of both pride and loss. I left part of my heart at Christopher Newport today. We raise them to let them go—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

I knew this day was coming, and now it’s here. I am so proud of him, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a quiet ache, too. Because an era has ended. The everyday laughter, the inside jokes, the late-night brother banter—that rhythm won’t be the same.

On the way home, I finally let myself cry. Ten minutes, maybe. My tears didn’t mean I wanted to turn back—they were a quiet acknowledgment of all the years that brought us here, and all the changes ahead. This is what learning to let go feels like: trusting that he’s ready, even when my heart wants to hold on.

TJ is starting a new chapter, one where he’ll make his own decisions, face challenges on his own, and build the life he’s meant to live. And as he learns to fly, I’m learning that letting go doesn’t mean stepping away—it means giving him space to grow while still being here to cheer, to guide, and to celebrate each milestone from the sidelines.

It’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be. But it is beautiful. And though a part of my heart will always be on that campus with him, I know that letting him go is the greatest gift I can give him—and it's the next lesson I get to learn as his mom.

The Summer with Our Deer Friends

Yep, this one is on Lisa and I.  TJ accuses us of being old and doing "old people" stuff.  

We started putting out food and water for the deer that wander into our back yard. What started out as a "let's see if the come by" has turned into, "they're here again."  

I started by putting the food on the edge of the tree line. Now I put it in the yard, about 25 feet from the back door.  Now, the doe walks into the middle of the lawn and if she finds no food there, she waits, staring into the house until I come out.  She will step off a few paces so I can go to the bin, get the deer corn, and pour it out for her.  Then she will come back and eat.  

We started putting out apples too.  A bag of red Delicious apples costs about $2.  When the deer show up, I go outside and roll one - sometimes two - out to her/them.  I sit on the back patio while she munches.   

Lisa puts fresh water (sometimes with a little sugar) in the bird bath because the deer drink from it.   

We are both content to sit in the sunroom and watch. We have named the first doe, "Goldie Fawn,' and if your old enough to know the play on words, you know.  Goldie Fawn has recently brought a friend with her.  A deer yet to be named, but suggestions are welcome and encouraged. 

Lucie is incredibly indifferent to the deer and they are wary, but indifferent, to her.  Several times Lucie has been outside while the deer are there and she just sits or lays down to watch them.  She has even walked out onto the lawn, just feet from them and everyone shares the space.   

A few times at night I turn on the flood lights and find one or two bedded down inside the wood line.  I guess we are the equivalent of a deer "safe space."  

And now we find ourselves looking out into the backyard seeing if they are visiting.   

My goal is to hand feed them by the end of summer. TJ is opposed to us making them reliant on our feeding them.  I understand his concern and try to put out only enough food for a small feeding and not enough for them to gorge themselves.  Now I only set out food when they show up making us a semi-reliable source of food.

If this is what old people do to pass the time, well, okay, we are getting good practice.

 

 

The Bionic (Old) Man

The Bionic Man, or the Six Million Dollar Man, was a 1970s TV show where the hero had a horrible accident and was rebuilt with better hearing, eyesight, strength, etc.  All for the low, low price of Six Million Dollars. Man. What a deal. Steve Austin was hooked up with all sorts of monitors and gadgets to track his vital signs. He was the singular marvel of modern science. These days, scientifically enhanced humans are common place.

I just got myself a Garmin Watch and I feel like a device with all sorts of read outs for heart rate, VO2 max, endurance, rest, sleep, steps taken, floor climbed, workouts completed, etc.

I never thought I would like this much information about my running, but Lisa convinced me to get one as a treat after receiving a bonus at work. Keep in mind that I have been running since High School, then Basic Training, then the police academy, and finally as a lifestyle over thirty years ago. In all those decades I never once cared about my heart rate, or what "zone" I was running in. For ten years I kept everything on Run Keeper to compare runs and keep a log of all my activities – 1600+ events in the past decade.

I never thought I would need this much information about myself, but now I have it. I find myself looking at how long and how well I slept. I find myself wondering how having this information has/will change my lifestyle.  

I am connected. Connected to my body. Connected to my performance. Connected to the 21st century.  Perhaps I will become a healthier person and a better and faster runner in 2025. 

Well, better and more informed; faster might be out of reach.

She Legos Too

There in the COSTCO aisle

Was the familiar logo that makes me smile

Then she picked it up and put it in the cart

Clearly, she is a woman after my own heart

End of the Storm

Our adventure at Willow Spring High School has come to an end. TJ - our favorite oldest son - graduated the other night.  A four year, three sport athlete he graduated with honors along with his friends, Jack, Allyssa, and Owen. 

TJ's class represents the first year group that started at Willow Spring as freshmen, an interesting factoid from our ever growing community.  

The Raleigh Convention Center was full and the ceremony was rather straight forward and dry, but we rejoiced in his event. 

For some, this graduation marks the end of formal education and school. For TJ, it is the end of a chapter in his education as he prepares for Christopher Newport University in the fall.  As a matter of pride, he selected CNU so that he could run NCAA Cross Country and Track. No matter what path the graduating class is on, some families gave their all with flowers, outfits, and signs. It was a small spectacle for sure.

When the fall gets here Grant will be in a new High School. Our experience will be very different at Cardinal Gibbons. 

For now, school's out, the summer is here, and for a short while our world is about this young man.

 

We Quayed

The 21st Annual Run the Quay.  What can we say about this race? We love it and hate it at the same time.  

The first time we signed up for this race was when we had lived in town a year or so. Quite frankly, I cannot remember if it was 2010 or 2011.  I remember thinking that North Carolina was nice and flat and the course should be easy. Plus, it was early in the morning so the weather should be fine.  

I immediately regretted both thoughts.

I ran down a hill knowing full well that what goes down must come back up. Then I ran up hill. Then I ran down hill. Then I ran up hill again. Then I ran down hill only to run a long half mile back up hill to the finish line.  Who the fuck designed this course?!  

Plus I felt like a hot sponge because what moron plans a race on the most humid days of the spring when the air is still and the humidity sits on you like, well, a hot, wet, sponge?!  

That is Run the Quay, a lesson in humility if you think you are a good runner.

Run the Quay (RTQ) is also one of the most fun community events in town. The running community is a very friendly and welcoming one. Most people are not "fast" or "competitive". In fact, only a very select few are out there to step on the podium. The rest are only competing against their previous time, or just trying to get out there and run. All shapes, sizes, ages, and abilities are welcome in the running community. The people at the back of the pack get just as much love from spectators and fellow runners as the speedsters who finish first.  

I love that about running. 

In Fuquay-Varina's case, lots of spectators and families line the course. There are kids races for the little ones. It is a very friendly atmosphere.  At the Quay, you will see the mayor out running. You will see friends you have not run into in a while. You will see your dentist, your kid's teachers, and all sorts of people you know from around town. 

Of course, for the last six years or so, I have been a part of the Run the Quay Committee. I now know the person who thought up this wicked course. I have been friends with the race director for over ten years.  I helped spearhead and execute the international version of RTQ in 2017, when I and several others ran the race in Kuwait, Jordan, and Qatar during my deployment. So yes, I am now part of the problem.  

A few years ago we added a 10k race to the 5k race day and made so that you could run one race or the other or both for a 15k challenge.  I did it one year. Just one.  The 10k being first left me drained and sluggish for the 5k.  More power to those that do it. As I am fond of saying lately, "you do you."  

This year TJ ran just for the fun of it. He did the 15k challenge but didn't try to compete. Instead he opted to run with his track buddies from school. I was able to get the Emcee to wish him a happy 18th birthday as he ran past the 4 mile mark and then crossed the finish line. 

In past years, Grant was able to place in the Top Three for a few years until this year when he aged into a new age group. Suddenly, there were older teenagers who were much faster than him. Grant never gives quarter easily and he powered through the finish. At least it gives him something to strive for in the years ahead.  If I know Grant, he will be back on that podium soon.  

Another great thing about RTQ, we have a sponsored after party at a local brewery. They even make a light and refreshing ale that goes down easy at 10:30 in the morning.  As a general rule of thumb, any race that has FREE beer at the finish line is a race worth running!  

Unofficially, this was our 13th, 14th, or 15th Quay.  No PRs. No podium awards. Just lots of friends and good times.   
 

Signing Day

Today was a fun day for TJ. He is going to be a NCAA Athlete at Christopher Newport University and he signed his commitment paperwork in a ceremony at the High School. 

Yes, these signing ceremonies are a little hokey - a version of college athletes being drafted to professional teams or some exceptional High School athletes being accepted to play football or basketball at prestigious college programs. Yet, it is a neat memory for him as he closes out one chapter of is life and opens another. 

We had banners and balloons and signs as TJ and his fellow classmates were introduced one by one with a nice bio from the coach. TJ's teammates attended and cheered him on.    

With all of the changes in our lives - specifically, Grant is not going to be a student at Willow Spring, I made sure to grab some pictures of the trophy case to which TJ contributed to significantly.  

TJ leaves High School holding the school record for the 5k and PRs with a sub 2:00 for the 800m and 4:43 mile. He is a Conference Champion and NC Academic Athlete several times over.  

It was a nice ending to his High School career.