Saturday I headed out alone for my last long run before the big race in two weeks. The sun was already too high to be starting a long run, and the air was stiff with humidity. As my feet pounded, my mind began to stretch back to a year ago, when my sister Becky and our friend Mandi flew in to run the same race. Becky told us at the airport that she was just a few weeks into her pregnancy and that we would have to go slow during the race. Mandi and I were crushed. Not because we would have to go slow, but because here BECKY was clearly the reason we were going to be slow this time, but we couldn’t publicly blame her because she hadn’t announced her baby news yet. Well played, Reb, well played.

They are not coming Labor Day weekend this year. The thought is disheartening. I miss them. Plus, it was mile seven in my run, which is when my body begins to ask me audibly through creaking knees and groaning hamstrings, “What the heck do you think we’re doing here?”

I could use a friendly smile right now, I thought to myself. This part of the road is straight though, and I can see nearly a mile stretch out empty in front of me. Then I passed this, and I suddenly had new eyes:

Can you see it? I started laughing out loud. There was one of those construction sign frames smiling crazily at me every quarter mile until I could turn around. Either it was mile seven insanity or a divine joke, but either way, I ran on smiling like a fool a little less alone.