Hey Soul Sista

     Memorial Day weekend.  Pools open, BBQ's fill the air with their seductive aroma, liquor distributors everywhere make a year's worth of income in two days, it's fantastic.  There's a reason why we call it Memorial Day though.  So often it's forgotten the price paid by so many children, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, somebody who was loved by someone.  I am not pro-war (I'm not sure I actually know anyone who truly is FOR war), but I will forever support and thank those who willingly put themselves on the line so that I can worry about stupid things like whether or not my daughter is spending too much time on her cell phone.  I come from a long line of military personnel and I'm quite proud of this fact.  Both grandfathers fought in WWII, one was an infantryman, the other a fighter pilot (one of the first to fly jets).  My father worked in surveillance and retired a Major, and my brother and sister-in-law are both still active military, both commissioned officers and damn good at what they do.  By the grace of God, I have not lost a family member in the line of duty, and I'm not sure I would know what to do if I had.  Needless to say, it's rather ingrained in myself and the members of my family what a sense of duty means and what sacrifice could really mean.
      A week ago today the weather was quite different.  Overcast, kind of rainy at times, muggy but chilly, just crap weather.  Despite the gloom the clouds cast, the spirit of the day was excited, proud, optimistic, and grateful.  19 May 2013 Fredericksburg, VA, I ran my first half marathon.  That's right folks, I pushed this tush 13.1 miles and up the longest and most aggravating hill known to mankind.  The Marine Corps Historic Half was an experience not to ever be forgotten.
     I, being a novice runner, had invoked the help of my crazy older sister earlier this year.  She's kind of, how do you say... awesome?  She's run 8 marathons so far and I don't know if she's ever even counted the half's.  I ran (sorry, bad pun) into lots of my own obstacles on my way to this distance-severe anemia, severe allergies that triggered asthma (damn northeast), and just generally being out of shape.  She guided me along, helping me figure out nutrition and ways to increase my mileage, and how to not push myself too far (something else common in my family-we're Clydesdales, we'll go until someone tells us to stop).  So, after the events in Boston, and me being paranoid and feeling guilty for possibly risking my family's safety just to see me fall over the finish line, I asked my sister to come with me (because you know, risking her safety was OK-she could out run the danger, I was sure of it).  Also, my daughter had lacrosse games all weekend.
     Down to VA we trekked, and had quite a pleasant car ride (we rarely get a chance to really talk).  She guided me through the expo where I had to pick up my race packet with my bib, etc.  I was like a little kid that was thrown into Disney for the first time-wide-eyed and overwhelmed, felt like a sugar high without the obligatory Pixi Stix and Jolt cola.  She was giddy-GIDDY.  I'm not sure I've ever seen her giddy before.  We checked out the vendors, spent some money, and decided to go get dinner.  I was nervous, but not horribly nervous.  Which was odd.  I get nervous at the thought of making a phone call, now here I was, new to distance running and running with THOUSANDS of other people.  Why wasn't I curling up in the corner?  I think it was her energy.  She was so excited and confident IN ME that there was no real room for worry.
     We get up in the morning, get ready for the run, eat, and we're out the door.  We got to the starting corrals and we agreed upon a point along the course that she would meet me, got a stranger to take a picture of us together, hugged me, screamed with excitement a little bit, and off she went.

 (just in case you were confused-I'm the one in the pink, though the race bib may have given it away)

     Now it was just me.  People watching and feeling rather invisible-which was a good thing for once. It made me realize that no one there was going to care how fast or slow I was, or if I ran like Phoebe from FRIENDS (yeah, you know what I'm talking about).  It was a comfortable feeling.  The military presence was overwhelming, but not in any bad way.  It felt safe, felt right.  Lots of Marines, everywhere.  Definitely no problem with that.  They gave the invocation and then played the national anthem.  That was when I almost burst out into tears, but I didn't want to risk not being able to breathe as I ran because of the excess snot from crying.  There were Marines in each time corral.  The one in mine happen to be standing only about two feet away from me, directly in front of me.  Such a young man, maybe 20ish, as soon as the first note played he turned sharply and saluted the flag that hung to the left of us.  He never wavered, he never looked away from that flag, he didn't move until the last note of music stopped playing.  This young man didn't know me, nor I him, but if called, he would go and lay down his life to protect mine.  It was an overwhelming feeling of awe and gratitude.  I was actually at a loss of words (shocking, I know).
     BOOM. Canon is fired and we're off.  We slowly move forward, and then before I know it, I'm running.  At first I was just looking around for my sister wondering how I'd ever see her with all the people who were lining the street.  Pure adrenaline.  Then I saw her, just a short distance into the run.  She was cheering for me like I was One Direction and she was 13 again.  It wasn't put on, or fake joy-it was that giddiness I saw the night before.  It was immediately infectious.  We high fived and quickly exchanged our next meet point and off I was again.  I was fascinated by the course, the people, everything around me as I ran.  What amazed me most were the people that were out cheering us on.  At first I thought they were just friends and families of the runners, but then I realized as we passed through some quite beautiful neighborhoods, they were just random people standing out in the rain cheering for us.  At every street crossing, closure, corner, water station, etc. there were Marines lined up cheering us on, handing out water and Gatorade and from the first ones I saw cheering for US, I felt it seemed backwards.  We should be cheering them on as we passed.  Full fatigues, in the rain, cheering on a bunch of silly runners.  So when I had enough breath, I would shout "Thank you!" to them as I ran by.  Then I saw a young lady just a short ways in front of me.  She was a recovering cancer patient and I noticed her because every Marine she came upon, she would stop and shake their hands.  It was an amazing show of the human spirit in one little gesture from one person.  I think I smiled up until about mile 9.
    Found my sister again around mile 5.5 and she began to run with me.  Just because.  She was like my own little guru spurring me on.  Her energy was contagious and beautiful.  We laughed and posed for the photographers along the course, she renewed my energy like a shot of speed.  We admired the cute shops along the downtown part of the route, she relayed messages from my hubs to me and I back to him (remember kids-only professionals can text and run-don't try this at home).  Then at mile 8, she left me to get to our next meet point.  Started to get tired by mile 9, because it seemed like the LONGEST mile ever.  She met up with me again at mile 10, which is where "The Hill" began.  Two miles of nothing but uphill.  I mean CONSTANT UPHILL RUNNING.  She boosted me up, kept my spirits up as I took it in pieces, even though my legs wanted to fall off.  She was positively bubbling over with excitement.  Mile 11, she asked if I wanted her to stay with me or go ahead to the finish.  I told her to go ahead so that she could be there when I finished, so off she ran.  There was no other way for her to get to the finish except to run the rest of the course!  So, that's what she did.  All to be there for me.  She conquered the rest of the hill and positioned herself in the crowd and waited.  Just for me.
    I struggled through to mile 12 and then pushed myself to run, no matter what, that last 1.1 miles to the finish line.  People were passing the opposite way, wearing their medals, having already finished.  They clapped and cheered us on as we passed.  The finish line was now in sight.  Then I see her-screaming and jumping up and down, I couldn't help but smile and scream a little myself.  When I say her enthusiasm was infectious, I'm talking Bio hazard level 4, Ebola infectious.  She whipped out her camera, shouting something I couldn't hear, so I just made faces and smiled as I ran past and finally over the finish line.
      She came around and almost tackled me with hugs!  I was sweaty and smelly but she didn't care at all.  She hugged me so tight and just kept telling me how proud of me she was.  I told her I couldn't have done it without her, but she didn't believe me.  Her excitement, joy, enthusiasm and belief in me is what kept me going.  I have never run that far before in my life.  The longest distance I've done was 10 miles.  I couldn't believe that I was smiling through most of the run.  The whole atmosphere of the race and everyone in it was beyond amazing.  Then, to have her there boosting me up, running even though she didn't have to run at all, she made me feel like I belonged there, like I deserved to be there with all these people who were "true runners".  She believed in me, more than I could have ever believed in myself.  I really could not have done it without her.  She was my driving force, and I'm so thankful to have her in my life and as an inspiration.  I am proud to say that I'll be running the full Marine Corps Marathon (that's 26.2 miles!) with her in October!  My first, her tenth.  I'm already excited and it's still 5 months away!  This is how amazing she is-she makes 26.2 miles of running EXCITING.  I feel like a REAL runner now, I've accomplished something.  You know how first impressions are lasting impressions, well, she made the lasting impression of that achievement a wonderful one.  She impacted something deep within me, dare I say, in my soul.  She made me feel proud of myself and what I've done and that I SHOULD be proud of what I'd done.  She made me feel worthy of those cheers (though I still feel backwards about the Marines cheering us on).
        So here's proof that I finished (trust me, it's real-I don't know how to work photo shop)

  All thanks to my incredible, GIDDY, and inspirational sister.  By the way, she took this picture as well.  DAMN that girl is good!

Freight Trained by a Hallelujah

     My Mother's Day did not start or go anywhere close to how I had planned.  Probably because I was hoping that someone else had planned it for me.  Perfect example of how women expect men to be mind readers and men expect women to be perfectly happy with being fulfilled by their every day life.  I received some of the sweetest homemade cards from my son and a heartfelt face book status from my daughter.  Then a last minute card from the hubs.  Angry?  Hurt?  Yes.  Overreaction?  Maybe a little.  I spent most of the afternoon in my room, crying over a bowl of Spaghetti-O's and then falling asleep.  My only respite was the expectation of a concert I had planned for my daughter and I to attend that evening.  We got ready, I tried to cover up my puffy eyes as best as I could, and we left the house looking gorgeous.

     Excited and curious, we promptly got lost.  The concert was an intimate one at a very small venue, one I had never been to before.  As we circled the area and I cursed my GPS for finding everything BUT the venue, my frustration built.  It was extremely important to us to make it to this concert!  We hadn't spent boatloads of money on the tickets or found terrific seats.  This concert mattered more for sentimental reasons.  We personally knew the artist.  

     The last time we had seen this young man he was "just playing around" on his guitar outside our hotel at a Nationals competition in Virginia Beach.  As most of you know, my daughter was an All Star cheerleader for many years.  This boy, all of about 17, was one of her biggest inspirations on the cheer floor.  He was the first person she ever saw throw a full twist in the air.  She aspired to get that trick after that, and by the age of ten, she had.  He moved on and so did she.  We always wondered what direction he had taken, but never knew how to find out.  Then, one perfectly ordinary evening, who do we see on television on a nationwide talent expedition? That young man with a guitar!  We were glued to the t.v. and honestly, could not have been prouder to see him there!  

      Time passed, America picked some ridiculous act over talent, as usual in that genre of show, and we began to follow him on the usual social media sites.  He's been a busy boy.  We didn't realize just how busy until we finally made it to that intimate little concert at this gorgeous bohemian little sound studio, nestled off a main road.  We walk in, fearing we were late, but just made it in the nick of time.  Then in he walks.  A blast from the past, but identical to the memory we both held.  Dylan Andre, live and in person.  No longer on a spring floor, but a stage instead.  Just him, his guitar, and a microphone.  

     As he began to sing in accompaniment to his guitar, my daughter and I were filled with joy, pride, and (the only way we could describe it) utter happiness for him.  He has truly found his niche in this insane world.  Completely down-to-earth and exuding his own excitement at getting to share with even a small group of people what he loves to do, he held everyone captivated.  He's the real deal, unlike so many in the music business now.  He writes his own songs, he composes and arranges the harmonies, and man, can the boy sing!  Rather than using a band to create background vocals or even just backup to his acoustics, he invested in his own loop pedal.  Making his own beats, harmonies, and backup vocals, he put on a completely acoustic concert with a band of one.  His natural ability to break down the individual melodies, beats, and imitate the natural sounds of any particular instrument with either his own mouth or manipulating his guitar and vocals, was nothing short of absolutely astounding.  Most musicians that I know of have no clue how to break their music down to the bare bones like that.  The ones who can, well their the headliners of sold out concerts worldwide for decades.  Something tells me this kid is headed down that road.

     He writes from the heart, personal experiences flooding his lyrics and fueling his fire.  He makes Alicia Keys look like a smoldering ember next to him.  

     I have always found solace in music.  It spoke the words I never knew how form on my own, it describes the pain within or the happiness I can't express.  When I feel like the world isn't listening or even when no one around me wants to hear me, my music speaks for me.  Early on in the set was a song entitled "Freight Train".  That train had me tied to the tracks and left its marks in the mascara running down my cheeks.  Hard as I tried, I couldn't hold back the tears.  It spoke to me on a level very few other songs have.  It spoke all the words I would never allow my proud self to say out loud.  

    He continued the set with some Nina Simone and Lora Love, which just raised my respect for him even higher.  Ask any typical 21 year old who either of them are and I can almost guarantee a blank stare in response.  His use of the loop pedal, creating wonderful backups to his vocals in conjunction with him involving us in the audience, getting us to sing along, made for such a charismatic stage presence on his part while making us feel as important to the show as he was.  

     His heartfelt ballads, his absolutely amazing covers of a few songs, and his incredible upbeat pop/folk sound makes him stand out for sure.  What impressed me more than everything else I've mentioned was his ability to carry the song completely vocally.  No acoustics, no loops, no background music playing though an ear piece.  Just his voice.  You could see the passion in his face and there was no denying it coming through in his song.  I couldn't help but smile through it all.  

    I looked over at my daughter and I could see she was thinking the same thing and feeling the same thing I was.  You could see it in every one's faces there-we knew we were so lucky to be there witnessing someone put their passion on display for the world to see, bearing their heart and soul to us. That young kid who was just messing around with a guitar had grown up into a master of his craft.  

    You would expect someone like this to be cocky, rude, and forget the little people.  Not him.  He seemed humbled and honored by how much we appreciated him and his music.  He remembered my daughter and I, even though she's grown about 4 feet since he last saw her.  

     The last song in his set was a song he covered early on in his career, and one of my most favorite songs ever made- Hallelujah.  The song itself is passionate, mournful, and soul-baring.  He embraced and embodied that in every note as he sang his version.  My daughter and I both couldn't keep the tears back.

     His music touches you.  You can feel his emotion, his pain, his joy, his passion with each and every lyric and chord.  I see him going far and touching so many lives along the way.  If you haven't googled him by now, I suggest you do.  Look him up on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/DylanAndreMusic), YouTube, any way you can.  His CD is now on iTunes (yay!) and I suggest you take a listen.  You'll be humming his melodies long after you walk away from the computer.