I've put off writing this for awhile because it's not a happy or funny topic but it is part of me and I have been writing this in my head since the day we decided to run this race.
I've never been a runner. I think that's pretty obvious. I have been an exerciser. I've done step aerobics and body pump. I have a super cute bike that I enjoy riding. I've done the treadmill and the elliptical and I've expressed my love for the stationary bike.
But a runner....adamantly NO! My reason...I just can't. I love the thought of it, but I can't. I just can't. Deep down inside of me I knew this was not just physical. There was a whole lot of psychology involved. Because you see....
My Daddy died 6 six years ago. He died while he was running. He was in great shape. He took super good care of himself and my mom took extra super good care of him. It's just one of those things that happens that rip your life apart.
When a family deals with death you learn a lot about yourself and the people you love the most. For me, I think I fell quickly into the role of oldest child. It's one I play well. Just ask my brothers. Bossy. Opinionated. The favorite. Ok I made that one up.
Anyway! I dealt with logistics, I planned, I cleaned and I took care as best I could of my mom and my own family who at the time were very young. I learned much about my personality and temperament in those days and in the years to follow. I remember going by the cemetery one day and seeing that everyone in my family had left something there for Daddy. A note, a memento. Everyone but me. I couldn't even think of what to put there. It wasn't something I even thought to do. I worried about that for awhile but then I realized that we all grieve in our own way. That was their way. My way was to write and read about my Daddy.
In the same way I'm not one to "dedicate" a run or a race to someone. I don't want to say that I am running this race for my Daddy because honestly that's not the truth. But I will say this. This training has helped me conquer fear. Fear was the main thing I dealt with aside from just plain old grief after he died. I spent many nights reading verses and praying verses for myself and my family. The nature of that fear is too personal to share here but it was real and still is. It is still something I struggle with from time to time. This training and race has helped me conquer some of that. I can run and I'm going to run.
I have a memory of my Daddy that if you knew him will make you laugh. It stands out to me for some reason and always has. It means even more to me now as a parent. As a teenager I was very involved in my youth group. I had some leadership there. I made decent grades and had not a rebellious bone in my body. What I didn't do was play sports or an instrument or act in any school plays. My middle brother was an excellent musician and the Drum Major for the band. Joey, who was a baby at the time, simply had to burp and we all went crazy for him. Still do really! I was in a teenager fit one night. Crying and moaning about something. I flopped myself down on the couch opposite my Daddy who was trying to watch something on TV. He looked at me and said "What is wrong with you?" My reply, "There is nothing I do that anybody can watch me in. I don't do anything to make you proud!" WAAA WAAA WAAA! His reply: turning from the TV and saying in his even toned common sense voice. "If you really believe that then you are stupid." End of discussion. End of pity party. His message to me was simple. I love you because you are mine not because you "do" anything.
So....while I know he loved me because I am his daughter and not because of anything I do, I think he would be really proud of me. Not just for running the race but for conquering fear as well. I don't necessarily think he is looking down on me watching. I happen to think there are better things to do in heaven besides that. I can't wait to tell him about it though. And I think it will be fun when we all get there to sit around and tell running stories with my Daddy and my brother.
And last but not least, I wrote several things about my Daddy after he died. They were all about what a great Daddy he was to us and what a great husband he was to my mother. Before she died my Grandmother chastised me a little. She asked me to make sure that the next time I wrote about my Daddy to please make sure I said what a good son he was. And he was. For as long as I remember he called her every Sunday night at 9:00. No matter what. That's the kind of person I want to be.
Now... enough sad stuff! There are lots of fun things going on around here!
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