It’s hard to be chipper while exercising at 5:45 a.m., especially when it’s still dark out. Trust me on this. But somehow Brooke Hirsch managed.

Brooke was part of a boot camp program I joined about six years ago in Olivette. We would meet at Stacy Park in the warm-weather months, then move inside to a nearby martial arts studio in the wintertime.

There were about a dozen of us, committed to waking up early and exercising. Our boot camp leader, Christy, put us through the paces and we obeyed because that’s what you do in boot camp. It wasn’t the military, but it was hard work, compounded by the fact that some of us — OK, me — were barely up at that hour, let alone able to do jump squats, burpees, mountain climbers and other ridiculously named exercises.

Brooke was part of the “young mom” contingent who had preschoolers and toddlers as opposed to those of us 50-plus, with kids in upper grades, college and beyond. Age didn’t really matter, because exercising at 5:45 in the morning is a great leveler, though some of us older moms didn’t quite have the patience to make small talk at that hour. But there was Brooke and the other young moms chatting about something — a reality show they had seen the night before or some weekend plans, but mostly the conversation centered on their children. 

At first it drove me a little crazy. But then, I not only got to like the banter, I relied on it to keep me moving. Brooke, in particular, was funny, adorable and so darn likeable. She laughed at herself so easily and yet was so serious and single-minded in her resolve to stay healthy and fit.

So much so that she came to boot camp regularly throughout her pregnancy with her third child. If ever someone had a great excuse to miss a session it was Brooke, but she wouldn’t hear of it. If anything, she seemed more focused to stay in good shape. I’d often see her jogging in our neighborhood and knew she ran half-marathons in addition to boot camp.

By then I was pretty much in awe of her stick-to-itiveness. I wouldn’t call us friends so much as workout buddies, part of a camaraderie that operated under the mantra, “We are in this together.” Showing up in the morning not only was a personal goal but part of a group responsibility. All for one and one for all. You get pretty close to people at 5:45 in the morning.

After a couple of years, I dropped out of boot camp. Brooke, though, continued with it as well as with running. Then, about a year ago, I heard she had been diagnosed with brain cancer. Apparently, she had soldiered through several days during the end of the 2012 Christmas season with an awful headache, not letting it slow her down. When Brooke returned to her job as a pre-school teacher at Temple Israel that Monday, she collapsed and had a seizure. She was rushed to the hospital where doctors found a golf ball-size mass in her front temporal lobe, directly behind her left eye.

After doctors performed a craniotomy to remove the tumor, Brooke and her husband, Matt, learned the devastating diagnosis and prognosis for someone with aggressive Grade 4 Glioblastoma brain cancer. But according to family and friends, Brooke approached radiation, chemotherapy and their respective side effects with the same kind of determination and resolve she gave to everything else in her life, including boot camp. 

In a beautifully written blog by Matt, he talks about how throughout her illness, Brooke demonstrated “a kind of Faith (with a capital ‘F’) that teaches, inspires — and quite frankly — keeps those of us who know and love her, going.”

Matt went on to explain that despite a brief setback requiring three days in the ICU in mid-February, Brooke hadn’t missed a beat: “As a family, we spent an unforgettable week together at Disney. As a couple, she and I hit LA for a taping of ‘Dancing with the Stars’ and a special backstage visit with Michael Bublé. She’s here to run this morning’s race. She’s taking the girls to New Jersey (where she grew up) in a couple of weeks. And she looks forward to getting them ready for school in the fall. That’s because Brooke has plans…that’s because she has Faith.”

Faith kept Brooke Hirsch going until she could no longer do so. The 39-year-old died Dec. 28. Survivors include her mother, Elaine; her husband, Matt, whom she met when the two were in college at the University of Miami; and three amazingly beautiful daughters, Olivia, 10½, Madison, 8½, and Emme, 4½, who will always be Boot Camp Emme to me. 

Brooke was a practicing Catholic; Matt is Jewish. Although her funeral mass was Catholic, Rabbis Amy Feder and Michael Alper of Temple Israel, where Brooke had taught pre-school, presided over the graveside burial. 

Suffice it to say, the church for the funeral was packed with family and friends. Hundreds showed up. Brooke wasn’t a native St. Louisan, but in the years she lived here she made an indelible impression. Between her colleagues and the mothers at Temple Israel as well as other friends in Olivette, she was more than an honorary member of the Jewish community: She was a part of it. And the community couldn’t do enough to take care of Brooke, making sure the girls got off to school and to their various activities, delivering meals, getting Brooke to her appointments because she couldn’t drive. Even now, after her death, friends have organized meal delivery throughout the end of the school year.

About four months ago I ran into Brooke, Matt and the girls at Blown Away, the blow-dry hairstyling bar in Ladue. Typical Brooke, she was upbeat, positive and all smiles when I asked how she was doing. She looked radiant and, as she spoke, that Faith Matt blogged about was evident.

When I heard about Brooke’s death, I couldn’t stop my crying. It made me so sad, for her, for Matt, for her beautiful young daughters, for her mother, who I later learned had buried another daughter when Brooke was in college. 

Rabbi Feder says that while there is no silver lining in Brooke’s death, we can take solace in knowing there was time to prepare, as best as anyone can prepare. “We made a promise to her that we would be there for her family,” the rabbi told me. “This is the beginning of us all being apart of the Hirsch family, be it helping Matt learn to braid the girls’ hair or make lunches or whatever else he, or the girls, need.

“I am so proud of the Jewish community and the way people stepped up,” the rabbi continued. “From the day Brooke first collapsed, she has never been alone. Her Jewish friends have been by her side.”

Brooke’s passing still makes me so sad. But what helps is when I picture her, I see her smiling face, chatting a mile a minute as she energetically does jump squats, burpees and mountain climbers. And I want Olivia, Madison and Emme to know that their mother, who never stopped believing and loved them so much, could singlehandedly light up a dark sky at 5:45 in the morning.