For me, April 7, 1984 would forever belong to Pam.

Repeatedly I squinted at my watch and rolled high on my toes, searching the crowd for my best friend Pamela Bulik. Familiar faces from the Green Bay community and surrounding area milled in and out of the Joggers Joynt, a running-gear store that sponsored local races. Notoriously indifferent about running fashion, the group resembled Goodwill shoppers.

Approaching the registration table I sipped my addiction, a cooling mug of coffee. Its scent mingled with the odor of runners’ sweat from early warm-ups, and menthol gels being liberally applied to leg muscles. Dick Lytie sprawled behind a rickety table, wearing a psychedelic jacket and matching tights taken right off his store’s closeout rack, yet modeling the best shoes money could buy. Affectionately known as our local running guru, he looked like a mountain man with his salt-and-pepper shaggy beard and frizzy hair.

As Dick checked in runners for his Spring Classic half marathon, he handed out numbers, safety pins, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. My drawers were stuffed with dozens, but this was my first black one. Even though many participants donned their funeral-appearing attire, the atmosphere swung to the other extreme. While stretching inside and out they burped, farted, and gulped down fluids. Conversely, runners lined up by the Joynt’s one-stall bathroom for last-minute pit stops to void their fluids. Nervous excitement flowed on this sunny 45-degree day.

Where was Pam? I kept expecting to hear, “Hey, girl’’ followed by her nudge and memorable smile. Perhaps she was sick or overslept. Maybe one of her two children had a problem that she’d needed to deal with. There had to be a logical explanation. Once again her husband, Bob, was at his Marine Corps Reserve weekend in Denver, leaving family issues to fall on her shoulders.

Close to starting time, hyped-up runners crossed the street and gathered next to St. Bernard’s Church. I scurried back to the car to lock my mug inside, placing it next to Pam’s gift. It wasn’t her birthday. It was simply a token of friendship– to remind her how special she was to me.

I then corralled Dick to see if I’d missed Pam in the process.

“No,” he frowned. She’d never checked in. Because she’d pre-registered, he too agreed her absence was strange. He purposely held up the start, still anticipating her arrival. As runners got antsy, Dick could wait no longer. At 11:10 he raised the gun.

The crowd quieted. Only the wind whispered through leafless trees.

Then the shot exploded.

Caffeine-wired, I took off– without Pam. I knew her disappointment at missing this experience would gnaw at her. Near the end of the race the course wove near her home. Since she wasn’t at the start I figured she might be there to cheer us on.

Over the last eight months there’d been many painful reasons why Pam hadn’t completed a decent-length race. To generate a renewed sense of fulfillment and pride I’d convinced her to tackle the Green Bay Marathon in May. For months we’d methodically increased our training to nearly fifty miles a week. Today’s race was to be a hard training run toward that goal. Now, due to Pam’s absence, I decided to race competitively and assumed my seven-and-a-half-minute pace. Because I’d figured our conversation would have filled the miles and passed the time, I’d left my running radio at home and had to settle for my own thoughts.

As I scaled the first steep incline, the breeze felt odd against my bare legs after months of cold-weather running. Through the towering oaks of Preble Park the bright cloudless sky cast a filigree of light, thawing lingering snow. The sound of racers pounding the pavement mingled with the melt gushing down along the curb. What a wonderful day for a run– spring eavesdropping on the tail end of winter, bringing back nostalgic memories of a similar day…

While attending the University of Wisconsin La Crosse I’d dated my husband, Jim Drews, an all-American cross country runner. To show interest in his passion and to impress him a little I’d reluctantly taken up the sport. In the past I’d double tied my shoes, pulled on a comfortable sweatshirt, and completed an uncomfortable jog. But that particular day something was different. With Jim in my mind and heart I was determined to run to French Island and back. I still could recall the cool, crisp air on my face, the pungent smell of the Mississippi River, and the sound of my breathing. It was the first day I’d felt uniquely empowered. Boredom, pain, and fatigue had been non-existent. A clear sense of my future had emerged. On that day I’d found my natural pace and become a runner for life.

Remarkably, on our runs together, Pam experienced this same euphoric high– making me miss her all the more today.