three years ago today i woke up in the middle of the night.

i wasn't sleeping. it was my first trip out of the USA, and i was in south china with brooks sports, i was there to work on shoes. i woke up and my blackberry light was flashing on my desk, so i decided to get up and go through emails being written at a normal hour back in seattle.

amongst the emails was one from my boyfriend at the time, and one from my boss. both telling me to call them right away. my heart started pounding, something had happened. i sat in my dark room and dialed the phone, and moments later i'd receive tragic news that is so unbelievable to fathom and simply impossible to believe. a friend, colleague and sparkling soul had been taken from us tragically that morning. she'd been on a run, headed to a track workout, and struck by a car that jumped the curb as she stretched, waiting for the 'walk' sign.

to this day, i cannot even fathom that this happened. that her mile pace, the timing of the light, the car, and her specific location had the outcome it did. i sat in bed that night until it was light, sobbing, reaching out to close friends and family to try to feel comfort.

i met my dear, dear friend Jen Kelly in the hallway for our scheduled run, and through my swollen eyes and sobs, she hugged me, and i'll never forget how tight she held onto me. i couldn't even get out the news... and when i finally could, we stood there in the hallway of the Royal Lagoon in Dongguan, China at 6AM on the 3rd floor, and we just cried.

and then we ran.

we ran in a place so far away from what had happened, so far away from our company that was banding together like a family, and so far away from anything we knew. but we ran because that's what we do. and i think because that's all we could do, and because that's what Liz did, and with talent and ease and naiveness in her ability that was beautiful to watch.

i can't claim to have been one of Liz's best friends, but i can claim to be a friend that totally hit it off. we shared shoes, i promised her early pairs since she was my size and because of my job i got them early, and i'd sit at her desk and yapp, often staring right at her bumper sticker on her monitor, "life is short. run long". the day before the accident she returned my yellow Racer ST's to my desk; emailing me that she ran a PR in the 10K in them and when i'm back we must go to jamba juice. she put those flats back on my desk the last night she'd be with us. i felt strange about having those shoes; shoes her bare feet ran in doing the thing she was so, so good at, and doing it for the last time on this planet. i thought about giving them to her parents, but in the end decided not to, that i'd keep them.

one morning a month or so later i decided to wear them. i wore them on a run down to greenlake, and ran right into my friend and colleague that had the greatest affect on her. He was her mentor, he inspired her, and it became known after we lost her that Liz was completely in love with him. i saw him, and instantly he was flying by me, but he pointed at my shoes, shouting, "RACER STs!" i thought it was strange. i had rarely seen this person on a run. i rationalized it as a moment of serendipity, until it happened two more times, and the only two more times i wore that shoe. i promise you this happened.

i tend to like three's... and after that i thought, 'enough,' and i put them away and in a box, forever.

when we lost Liz it changed our company, changed our brand forever, and changed something in all of us. this was not just any girl. it was a girl who's presence just shined, a girl who when she was on this earth, was talked about how amazing of a person she was. she was a girl who slapped your butt in the kitchen at lunch, who gave encouraging words when you were injured, who had the most genuine and endearing way about her. we were lucky to know her, and though i knew her for only six months, i think about that girl all the time.  There is a shoe called the Defyance, the LD on the tongue label is for her. she was supposed to have the first verision of that shoe... a size 7.5, just like me... and she never got it. a pair sits for her, bronzed on a bench in her honor on a path near the office where she did what she loved.

we miss you Liz, thank you for entering our lives and giving us something we didn't have before. you are an example of leading a life with integrity, cherishing the people and passions you love, and exuding a light so bright we needed sunglasses. hope you're PRing up there in a pair of your own racing flats.

xo,
cw