26 Letters to Stephen: 1

Letter #1: May 27, 2013

Dear Stephen,

Saturday was the Soldier Field 10 Mile, my last race before marathon training starts. I ran fast. I ran strong. I ran pain-free. I think I am ready. I could not be any more ready. Right?

Ready or not, the truth is that I am a little bit scared. The last time I trained for a marathon, I spent most of the time injured or worried about becoming injured. Every day, I questioned whether I should be running and how far. Every day, I wondered if I would make it to that start line, let alone the finish line. I trained for 20 weeks, and the whole time I felt like I might lose it all at any moment.

I have so many reasons to believe that this time will be better. I learned a lot from my mistakes. I know my limits when it comes to the number of miles I can run in a week. Regular strength training has greatly reduced my injury rate. In fact, I haven’t had a major injury in more than two years.

Yet I am still scared. Even though the chances of dropping out of training are greatly reduced, I have so much more to lose this time. I want to finish the race, of course. But even more, I don’t want to let you down.

I’ve been struggling with what to do for you since the day you died. For the first few months, I spent a lot of time trying to find a way to bring you back to life. Unsurprisingly, I failed in this regard. I really, really tried to bring you back, but as you may have noticed, you’re still… well, not here.

Eventually, I got past the irrational need to raise you from the dead and started thinking about what I could do for you instead. I settled on running this marathon. 2010 was my marathon, but 2013 will be yours. This one is for you.

If I make it, that is. There are so many miles ahead, and I am really scared that I will fail you. But I promise that I’m going to try.

The funny thing is, there is so much about this that you would hate. Marathon training is a slog, and there is a lot of moaning and groaning involved. But there is also a lot of positivity. Teams and training groups, especially those associated with a charity, all cheer each other on with great enthusiasm. It’s all about “You can do it!” and “One more mile!” and “You’re so awesome!” You know, all the things that annoy you. You would absolutely hate marathon training.

It feels like the right thing to do, though. I’m scared, but deep down in my gut I feel that this is my way to honor you. I can’t bring you back, but I can do what you aren’t here to do. I can accomplish this feat that you never got to cross of your bucket list. I can honor your mother’s memory and give myself and others a reason to think of you now and again over the coming months. I can run. I can run, and I will.

Stick with me, though, will you? This is going to be often going to be awesome, yet it is also going to be awful. In that way, it is really a lot like you.

Love to you, Stephen. More letters to come.