It wasn't supposed to be this way...

Hey boys,
I doubt you will remember much of this past weekend, or the weeks that led up to it, or much from this year in general, but it was an important one in my life. This past weekend your father and I ran the Chicago Marathon.

I had been thinking about this day, everyday, for longer than I care to admit. I knew exactly how it would look. How it would feel. What it would sound like. I knew how I would describe it to you. I knew what songs would push me through the notorious "wall." I knew how I would throw my arms up as I crossed the finish line and use whatever energy I had left in my legs to jump to your dad in excitement. I knew how the tears of joy would stream down my face. What I didn't know, or failed to remember, is how things don't often go as planned.

Three weeks ago I ran my first marathon. It was a training race for me and didn't even register as a marathon in my mind. I was looking towards Chicago. But it was 26.2 miles nonetheless. At the end of the race I trusted my legs to someone who I thought knew what he was doing. In hindsight I believe he was looking to make a dime, not help me recover. I knew better. Fast forward five minutes and I went from someone looking to get a few knots in her tired legs worked out by a professional to someone who couldn't walk or bend her knee.

Life lesson: When you are grown up, no one else is going to look out for you in this world but you. I was trying to be polite when I should have listened to my gut. Lesson learned.

I figured whatever happened would work itself out. The weekend before Chicago I tried my last long run before the race and I couldn't go. The pain was too much that I had to walk home, Chicago in doubt, with tears streaming down my face. I took the rest of the week to rest. Telling me I couldn't run was like telling me I couldn't breath. It just wasn't possible. I couldn't be me without running. Not now. Not after months of training for this race. Not after years of envisioning it. I hit a low that only someone else who's been there can relate to. It sounds silly, I know. But I mourned the potential loss of not running this race like I'd lost a friend. It was there one day and gone the next. Granted I didn't know what the future would hold, but I knew it wasn't what I thought it would be.

Race day came and although I felt better, I was far from 100%. I turned my music up loud to try to drown out my thoughts. I started slow. The pain didn't catch up to me until mile 6. At mile 7 I was being passed by everyone. It hurt to run but hurt worse to walk so I kept on going. I kept at it until mile 18 when the pain being shot into my leg with each pounding step was so strong it made me sick to my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to throw up AND keep running so I slowed to a fast-paced walk where I didn't have to bend my knee. By mile 20, both knees hurt. One from the original injury, the other from receiving the majority of the beating while compensating for the other. I knew I could stop at any time. I could cash it in and make the pain stop. But I kept going. The race was nothing like I had planned, but I was going to do everything in my power to cross the finish line.

And I did it. I finished. Much later than I had anticipated, but I didn't give up. There are going to be several times in your life when giving up would be so much easier. It would take away the pain. But there is so much more to be learned by pushing through. And I believe you will be amazed at what you can do if you push yourself to your limit and then push just a little but further.

This medal is going to collect dust next to the others. No one will talk about it. It won't mean anything to most people. But someday, long after I'm gone, you'll pull it out of an old box and hopefully you will know that I didn't take the easy way out.