A memorial of sorts...or airing my dirty laundry

For the last three weeks, I have been reminding myself that I have needed to post. While I know no one reads my blog (or very few people), I realize that I write this for no one but myself. It is my way to share my good runs, daily chaos, exhaustion, and the funny things that happen on the way to the subway. It is my way to keep track of my life and yes, in a sense my online airing of my dirty laundry.

In three weeks, I have had good runs and terrible runs. I have been so sick I could not get out of bed. I have tried to give myself deadlines and ignored them. I have promised myself I will cross train only to sit on the couch and contemplate writing a blog post.

My 31st birthday has come and gone and with it, I am a year older and hopefully someday a little wiser. I spent my birthday weekend with my mom and had an amazing dinner at L'Espalier. I ran track on Tuesday, which kicked my butt, and then had a terrible 5 mile run on Thursday followed by an awesome 11 miler on Saturday. I tried to get back into the groove of training.


During our dinner my Mom talked about my Dad. She told me about the first time he had cancer, at age 28, and about his treatments. We spoke about how much he would love the dinner and wine at L'Espalier. Many of the details of our conversation are slightly blurry but it was clear how much we both miss him.

Today marks my father's yartzeit, the anniversary on the Jewish calendar of my father's death. His death on the Christian calendar was February 20th. Regardless of the anniversary of some one's passing, those of us who have lost a loved ones never forget. We never forget what it was like to love that person, to call them when things got too hard to bear, ask them what they had for dinner, or when we just wanted to hear the unconditional "I love you" that only a parent could give. Sometimes our memories play tricks on us and we question if we still remember. We kick ourselves when we don't miss them and then kick ourselves for kicking ourselves for not missing them. We think about our last conversation, last meal, or last exchange with that person. We make sure we never forget.

My father passed away 3 years ago and so much in my life has changed in that time. I know that he is proud of me even when I lose faith and when I beat myself up for my failures. I know he would tell me as gently as possible to figure it out and control my destiny. I know that he would kick my behind off the couch and tell me to start my fundraising and go to the gym and cross train (after a good glass of wine of course).

This year thus far, I have lacked the focus and dedication to training that I had two years ago. Every week I tell myself to refocus but then get bombarded by life. I make excuses. I forget to do things. I choose to sleep.

Tonight as I sit here once again avoiding the gym, I realize as my previous post said I need to stop avoiding and start living. I need to remember that I did this two years ago because of him and my grandmother. I did this because he loved life and I wanted to honor that life. I did this because it helped me heal my heart. I did this to find me and I decided to do this again because DFMC is my family. I am doing this again for me. I am doing this so that 10 years from now a 28 year old woman does not have to bury her father. I am doing this to honor the person who loved me.

Tonight as I fight back tears, I choose to honor his life and love. I choose to kick my own butt off the couch and go to the gym. I need to choose to fund raise and help find a cure for this awful disease. I choose to honor an amazing man by doing the only thing that makes sense in this world: fighting cancer.