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.
