THE DECISION

Best friends. That’s what Jenn and I have been for the better part of 5 years.

    I first connected with her before my family and I had even moved to Maine. I wanted to get the lay of the land in terms of communities, schools, and of course trail running. And, a mutual trail running friend suggested I look Jenn up. She was a wealth of knowledge, having lived and run in the area herself for almost 5 years. And was super helpful in getting me up to speed on everything I needed to know about living, running, and raising a family in downeast Maine.

    Soon after I arrived, we got together for our first trail run in Acadia and I could see right away that she was a force to be reckoned with. Fierce, strong, and absolutely without fear. She could cruise the climbs like nothing I had ever seen and bomb the descents like a mountain goat, on speed. But no matter her abilities, she was always quite happy to slow things down a bit to run with me, and the other less nimble members of our group.

    We ran with one another nearly every week that summer and soon became fast friends. We attended races together, ran on each other’s relay teams, participated in moonlit group runs up Cadillac Mountain, and did crazy long birthday runs through the park.  We even got together with our respective families to go hiking. She and her 3 girls guided Ethan and I on our first ever blueberry hike up Huguenots Head. And Emily would always take great pleasure in running with those three up and down the trail.

    We also shared a mutual affinity for maps and history. Which quickly turned into a joint obsession to both find and run all the old abandoned hiking trails in Acadia. We’d pour over journals, diagnose documents, and comb through archival maps to find where (and when) the trails came (and ceased) to be. Then spent hours in the field searching for clues that would lead us to the sometimes not-so-buried treasure. Hidden caves, hanging staircases, random wrought-iron railings, and abandoned train tracks all brought shrieks of joy from deep within the woods.

    Through it all though, I always saw Jenn as just one of the guys. A running buddy that was always up for any kind of adventure. She was tougher than me, stronger than me, and smarter than me. She could run faster, climb higher, and as I found out later, drink way more than I could. Heck, in the traditional sense of the word, she was much more of a man than I was! And that’s how I thought of her.

Until, one day, I didn’t.

    Not long after I left J, Jenn and I headed up to Canada for a weekend of camping and trail running in Fundy National Park. There was originally supposed to be a group of us going, but one-by-one the other people dropped out, and it just ended up being the two of us. It didn’t matter, we were determined to have a great time regardless. During the day we ran beside rivers, along winding single-track, and around secluded coves. At night we ate, drank, and danced like nobody was watching.

    Then something strange happened. I started seeing Jenn in a completely different light. The tough outer shell was slowly being washed away, and a softer, more vulnerable side revealed. We talked for hours about the paths our lives had taken. Sharing eerily similar stories of injury, heartache, and loss. And then, while sitting quietly on the pier and watching the lobster boats slowly steam out of the harbor, I reached over and took her hand. She leaned in and put her head on my chest. And in that moment, everything felt right with the world.

Less than a month later, I was sitting in a coffee shop getting my guts ripped out.

    The timing could not have been worse. It was totally tragic and completely unfair. After years of being friends, Jenn and I had finally “found” each other. Now, almost immediately, I was faced with an unenviable decision that would change the course of my life forever. And one that I had debated over, and over, and over again in my mind. Should I stay, or should I go? Should I fight, or should I take the high road?

    During this emotionally draining time, Jenn was my rock. My voice of reason. My guiding light. In short, my best friend. We talked about all the various scenarios, weighing the pros and cons of each. She put her feelings aside and worked through all the options with me. After much discussion, it all eventually came back around to my kids. “You can’t not be with your kids”, she finally (and bravely) said to me. And, deep down, I knew she was right.

    And once she helped me realized that leaving was my only real choice, I collapsed into her arms and cried like I never had before.