Running For Sherry

We interrupt this travel blog today for some seriousness.


Some of my running friends may already be familiar with the story of Sherry Arnold, which has reverberated through the online running community over the past month.  Briefly, Sherry was a mother/wife/runner/teacher living in Montana.  She left her house for an early morning run on January 7 and never returned.  Two men have been arrested for her murder, although very few details have been released about the investigation, and her body hasn't been found.   


I first heard about the incident on SUAR's blog.  SUAR normally writes hilarious and very true blog posts about the struggles, successes, and sometimes necessary bathroom antics of being a runner.  [If you're a runner, her blog should be in your Google Reader.]  


But SUAR and Sherry are cousins, and as the story of Sherry's disappearance and the investigation unfolded, SUAR's blog took a turn for the serious as she shared her confusion, grief, and mourning with her readers.  Ultimately, and with the blessing of Sherry's family, she organized a Virtual Run for Sherry on February 11, 2012.  Runners all over the world responded.  They printed bibs, formed groups, and planned to run together in Sherry's memory.  As of Saturday night, over 20,000 bibs had been printed.  SUAR, thank you for making this happen.  You are amazing.


On Sunday morning in Singapore (which was the evening of Feb. 11, Montana-time), Kee-Min and I completed our Run for Sherry. While many of the virtual runners in the US were battling bitter cold, snow, and ice, we headed out into 85-90 F and ~90% humidity.  To be honest, I hardly noticed.

This one's for you, Sherry.
[And no, we did not just jump out of the swimming pool.]

Our course was nothing fancy - just a 5 mile loop to and around the Pandan Reservoir.  It was a route we've run many times while staying in Singapore.  But today's run was different.  


Today, I wasn't running to find quiet, to burn calories, or to clear my head.  
I wasn't running an interval, or a tempo, or a fartlek.  
I wasn't running to train, or to race, or to recover.  




Today, I was running for Sherry.




I was running to grieve.  I was mourning the loss of Sherry's life, as well as the innocence, security, and comfort that were lost in her attack.

I was running because I believe that a run should be a refuge, a lesson, an escape, and a passion - but never a burden, a fear, or a prison.


I was running to feel powerful.  Baseless and random violence leaves a feeling of helplessness in its wake.  Moving forward (literally and figuratively), under the power of my own body, was a small step toward regaining a feeling of control.


I was running because I train outside, by myself, in the dark, at 6 AM and 8 PM. 


I was running to feel strong, and to send that strength to Sherry's friends, co-workers, students, running club, family, husband, and children.




As we came in to the last half mile, some lyrics floated through my head, courtesy of Matthew Wilder...


"Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride
Nobody's gonna slow me down, oh-no.
I got to keep on movin'.


Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride
I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground, oh-no.
I got to keep on movin'."


Don't worry, Sherry.  We're gonna keep on movin'.  We know you would.