My Dad

Today's Mileage: 5.575
Days til the Marathon: 15


Today's run started out rough. I can't seem to kick this stupid cough from the cold I had two weeks ago and my lungs are not enjoying it, especially when I run, but a little cough never stopped me from running. After a couple miles and lots of coughing to move the phlegm in my lungs I started loosening up and getting into a groove. My dad and I began talking about the marathon (which now that I think about it is about the time that I began to loosen up) and since I tell him everything, I began to tell him how nervous I was getting with it just 15 days away. He told me that even he gets nervous before a marathon. We discussed the route, we discussed the fact that I will want to quit and I will run the gamut of emotions (happy, miserable, wanting to quit, happy, mad, etc. . . ) but again reassured me that time doesn't matter. . . all that matters is (as dad refers to it) the "bling."

It is amazing to me that although this will be my father's 14th marathon, he is still able to speak of those 26.2 miles in a positive light despite the few rough marathons he has had. It really makes me believe that on days when I think I can't do it and that 26.2 miles are impossible, my dad believes I can. He always reminds me how lucky I am to be able to do this but he is pretty lucky too. When he had his accident at work in April 2005, it was the scariest moment of my life to get the phone call that he was in the hospital and the fact that his leg could have been severed off is even worse. . . yet, he never talks about how lucky he is. . . and he is just as lucky as I am. Maybe that is why our bond is like no other- because we both know what it is like to have what we are passionate about almost taken from us. For as long as I have been running, my dad has been by my side, and I know I say it a lot, but every run I am reminded of how lucky I am to have him still running by my side because if the driver of that truck on that terrible April morning didn't hear him yelling to stop, who knows if he would be running beside me and who knows that I would have had the strength to go out and run a marathon. Yes, I run for myself first and foremost, but in a tight second, I run for my dad because he understands what it is like to be told you can't do something. . . but to do it anyway.

I am feeling much better about the marathon. Although still nervous, I know I can do it and I will and I don't know that I would want anyone else by my side as I cross that finish line hearing my family cheer us on and eagerly await with hugs, kisses, and congratulations.