It was 4 a.m., and Midtown was still and quiet as runners — many decked out in reflective gear and glow lights — made their way from parked cars to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception at Central Avenue and Belvedere Boulevard. Many of us were still wiping sleep from our eyes, but there was a nervous energy in the air. We were moments away from 4:20 a.m., the time that Memphis runner Eliza Fletcher was violently abducted on a run one year ago.

And we were all gathered — hundreds of us — to finish the 8.2 miles that Liza, as she was known to her friends, could not. The crowd was mostly women, but a good number of men showed up to run in solidarity, too. A large group of cyclists also rode up and down the block as we awaited the 4:20 a.m. run start. 

When the clock struck that fateful minute, a hush fell over the crowd. Fletcher’s friend, and the organizer of today’s run, Charlie Hayden, said a few words about Fletcher, but it was hard to hear, despite the silence. And then we were off — a sea of runners whose lives were changed in some way on Sept. 2, 2022. 

Calkins: Once again — this time on 901 Day — Memphians will Finish Liza’s Run

Before Liza’s kidnapping and killing, it was nothing for me to pound out eight or nine pre-dawn miles on a weekday morning. I always had my headphones in, listening to music or a true crime podcast. I never carried any sort of protection, and most of the time, I ran alone. And I felt safe running in the dark in Memphis. That was my time, my chance to be unplugged from social media, to be alone with my thoughts, my moment of solace before the day got hectic and stressful.

Sure, I’ve had some scary moments on the run.

Any woman who has put in enough miles has been harassed, catcalled, followed by cars or worse. But despite some negative experiences, I still felt invincible on those runs.

After news of Fletcher’s kidnapping broke last year, that feeling changed. Fletcher had been out on her normal weekday run, the same route she’d run over and over. How many times had I run the same route again and again and felt completely safe? Her moment of morning solace became a moment of morning terror. 

Cleotha Henderson, aka Abston, was arrested in connection with Fletcher’s abduction two days later. And her body was found on Labor Day behind a vacant house in South Memphis. The city went into mourning, and runners — especially female runners — realized any sense of safety we’d felt before had been shattered. 

Calkins: A year later, Richie Fletcher talks about Liza: ‘She would be the first to forgive.’

I started carrying pepper spray on my runs, especially when running in the dark. At the Finish Liza’s Run event this morning, I talked to other women who said the same: They’ve stopped running alone, stopped wearing earbuds and they change their routes more frequently. One woman now carries a Taser and pointy brass knuckles. Another said that before Fletcher was killed, she always thought she could outrun anyone who meant her harm. She realized after that tragic event that she could not.

One thing that didn’t change for me or for many other runners after Fletcher’s death: We didn’t stop running. We didn’t let fear prevent us from doing the thing that brings us joy, peace, confidence and happiness. No, many of us have kept running, just as we did this morning. 

The route is an out-and-back down Central Avenue, meaning we ran to a halfway point 4.1 miles in and turned around. Along the way, we passed small groups of people gathered on street corners, holding candles and signs. Neighbors shouted words of encouragement as they sat in folding chairs in their yards. Paper lanterns lined sidewalks, and yard signs spelled out the phrase “Let Liza’s light shine.”

The cyclists formed a tunnel under a bridge along Central Avenue, clapping as runners passed through. Outside St. John’s Episcopal Church, a large vigil gathered.

Hutchison retires Eliza Fletcher’s number — and unveils an annual award in her name

As we approached the halfway point, the spot near Central Avenue and Zach Curlin Street where Fletcher was abducted, the reality of what we are doing really set in.

An altar of flaming candles marked the spot, and as runners approached, we all stopped and held space in silence. I imagined, in that place, at that time, what it must have been like for Fletcher, seeing a strange car in the distance and maybe feeling fear or maybe thinking nothing of it at all until it was too late. What would I have done at that moment? I really don’t know.

What I do know is that Fletcher never got to finish her run. Her husband, her kids, her parents and her students never got to see her again. Her family was left with a hole in their lives.

The signs along the way told us to “Let Liza’s light shine,” and as runners, that was our job, to finish the run that she couldn’t. So one by one, we turned away from that tragic spot and ran the 4.1 miles back to the church.

We finished Liza’s run.