I’ve never actually watched the show, but that title just keeps coming to mind after last weekend’s race.

We got home late Sunday/early Monday morning. Not too bad considering our original flight out of Indy was delayed. We had checked in luggage then sat down in the airport’s main food court since we had some time to spare. The departure board displayed our flight as “ON TIME,” but when I checked on my phone twenty minutes later it said “DELAYED” two hours. This meant we would miss our connecting flight in Phoenix. I promptly headed back to the ticket counter and got the same ticket agent who not only checked in our bags but managed to pull an April Fool’s joke on me simultaneously. Gotta love flying on April 1st, right? This second time, he pulled up our flight and saw that the delay was definitely no joke. He quickly switched us to a different flight that connected in Las Vegas and would get us home only 30 minutes later than originally anticipated. Not only was he sincerely apologetic about the delay, but he printed three new baggage tags and said he would personally find our luggage and re-tag them. I found this strange.

He didn’t have to do this, and I certainly wasn’t expecting him to go out of his way to make sure our bags got on our same flight. In the back of my mind I thought “What if he can’t find our bags? Or the line gets busy and he can’t get to them in time?” Oh well. At least we got onto that new flight which left on time.

Less than 48 hours before, I was laying out my race gear and going through my usual pre-race routine: pin race bib on shirt, charge up the Garmin, set two alarms, double check coffee situation, look up weather forecast for the millionth time.

Speaking of “Stranger Things,” (which I just Googled and see that the show takes place in Indiana) I always comment to Dave how strangely the weather in the Midwest fluctuates. Since we have several businesses in Carmel and Fishers, Indiana, I regularly check the forecast. I also manage the social media for our restaurants there, so knowing weather conditions is quite helpful since we’d look rather foolish if I posted sunny, alfresco dining photos when eight inches of snow is currently falling.

That is actually what happened less than a week before my fourth Carmel Marathon last Saturday. Eight inches of snow. Followed by rain. Then 22 degree temp forecast for race day. I was pleasantly surprised to see that updated to 35 degrees as Saturday approached.

After ten years of racing in some 200 races, I recently came to an interesting revelation. Wearing a trash bag (clean, of course) to the start line is more of a Northern California thing. My first clue came just two weeks prior at the San Diego Half Marathon where I convinced Natalie to stay warm with a trash bag we’d acquired from hotel housekeeping. As with that race, I didn’t notice many runners sporting Hefty apparel last Saturday either. Did I care? Nope. I was warm and thankful it wasn’t 22 degrees.

Carmel Marathon has managed to carve out a special warm spot in my heart since my first visit to Indiana in 2014. I admit before visiting that I had all the Midwest stereotypes floating around in my head. Corn fields, five ‘n dimes, biscuits and gravy, overly friendly people, being the only Asian, bad coffee – okay, maybe the last one is just my own deep-seeded fear.

That first visit not only dispelled all my misgivings but replaced them with a sense of Midwest state pride, truly warm and sincere strangers, some of the best kale salad and pasta carbo loads, two other Asians, as well as really good coffee. Thank you, Jesus.

Since semi-retiring a few years ago, I’ve found myself more willing to take the time to engage in conversations with complete strangers. Before that, I think the only times I might open up to a stranger was at races. After all, we shared that common bond of spending countless hours, carbs, miles, and money for our lives to now intersect at this starting corral. What’s the difference now? Dave would say that I’ve had trust issues in the past. I can’t deny that. Perhaps it’s the busyness and stress that “naturally” comes with a structured 7 to 5 job. Or maybe it’s that teachers have to be “on” all day. I remember days when the only time I sat down or talked to another adult was when I got home.

Well, Californians don’t hold the monopoly on working long, stressful days. So then, what is it about the Midwest? Or Indiana that seemingly produces strangely friendly people?

A strange thing happened during Mile 25 of my 46th marathon last Saturday.

I heard someone call out my name. This was strange because I’m not from Indiana and have personally met only a handful of people. Turns out it was my Facebook friend whom I’d “met” through the Run for God instructors’ closed group page. Nancy’s class meets in Carmel, Indiana which I discovered a couple of months ago while scrolling through my Facebook feed. Once we’d made the Carmel connection, she invited me to visit her class on one of my trips out to Indiana. Cool, I thought! Totally wasn’t expecting that! As race day approached, Nancy messaged me to say she’d look for me on the marathon course at Mile 11 which I assumed meant that maybe her running group was meeting up there or manning an aide station. I didn’t get a chance to check messages before the race, so I didn’t know what Nancy would be wearing. She’d asked me first since we’d never actually met. I told her “a bright yellow Carmel Marathon shirt and black running pants” but later realized that’s probably what 50% of the runners will be wearing. Not knowing her sense of humor, I refrained from saying “And I’m probably one of the only Asian female runners.”

As Mile 11 approached, I kept an eye out for Nancy. That mile came and went, but no sign of anyone who looked like my Facebook friend. No big deal. I don’t blame her since it was getting colder and windier. Strange since I’ve never run a race where it actually got colder. In fact, my fingers were frozen at Mile 13 which made it a challenge to open my GU pack. I put my long sleeve tech shirt back on. Another strange mid-race first for me. Not blaming the cold or wind, but I did feel myself slowing down the second half. I was shooting for a sub-4:30 finish which I hadn’t done in a few years since my 4:13 PR in 2014.

Strange things go through your mind those last miles of a marathon. Mentally and physically, things start to unravel. Convictions and goals you bring to the start line sometimes get tossed to the side of the road. I had been doing well with my progression runs since January and hoping to negative split. But those hopes seemed to distance themselves like the 4:25 pace leader’s sign I had kept in sight for most of the race.

Up until then, that little 4:25 sign on a stick was my only gauge of time. Years ago I’d become so obsessed with mile splits that it took the joy out of the race. This last year I committed to not looking at my Garmin until after I crossed the finish line of any race.

So when I heard Nancy call out my name somewhere along Mile 25 and saw the smiling face that I had only seen on Facebook, I got this strange surge of adrenaline and the prompting to look at my Garmin. Much to my surprise, it showed 4:27. At that point, Nancy was running alongside me cheering. The Mile 26 marker was in sight. One more turn then I’d see the finish line. As a former third grade student of mine once said “It’s time to switch over to God-booster-jets!” And so I did. One more glance at my Garmin revealed 4:29. Lungs burning, face contorting, legs spinning out of control, I crossed the finish line with a 4:29.46. That last mile ended up being one of my fastest miles and that final 0.2 was an 8:19 pace – my fastest finish ever.

Although this race was not a PR, it was more satisfying and brought me more joy than my actual 4:13 PR from four years ago. Strange, right?

Nancy made her way to the finish corral where we exchanged hugs and “formally” met. I was in so much pain from my all-out sprint but had so much adrenaline from realizing that God used a stranger to get me across that finish line in under 4:30. Even more amazing or “strange,” Nancy told me that she had tried to find me at Mile 11 as originally planned; but with the new course changes, the route was diverted. She ended up walking two extra miles to find me.

Up until then, I was still assuming her running group was out here or finishing their races as well. Turns out Nancy came just to cheer me on. Me…a total stranger.

I have absolutely no doubt that if not for God putting Nancy at that last mile, I would not have finished under 4:30. Sure, it would’ve been close. But in a sport where 0.01 can make the difference between Boston qualifying or standing on a podium, every second counts.

I’m still an eternity away from my PR or a BQ, but Saturday’s race re-ignited hope. As well as faith. And trust in God’s people.

Oh, by the way, that original flight we were supposed to take ended up over three hours late. But our luggage made it to Oakland with us just like the stranger said it would. Strange, right?

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works.” Hebrews 10:24 NLT

“So speak encouraging words to one another. Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. I know you’re already doing this; just keep on doing it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:11 MSG