A Bit Speechless

I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the blog go – which I clearly did in the past few weeks. I am going to let you in on a little secret – the slump I encountered was in direct relation to the Marine Corps Marathon.

I know this might sound silly, but I felt like I ‘mourned’ not running it. I read the race recaps, but not with the same exact gusto I normally would. The Tweets I was reading about it annoyed me; and while I was rooting each and every one of you on [I swear!] I was secretly jealous of all that were there. With that said, I am especially grateful for my friend and fellow brother in arms, TJ; he bought my bib [don’t worry, legit transfer!!] and enjoyed the miles thoroughly.

Call me dramatic, but I even went so far as to change the look of my running journal.


Ridiculous, right?

Please don’t get me wrong – we are thrilled to be pregnant, and the decision to not run the marathon was a no brainer. If something were to happen, I would never forgive myself.

But, as with all big races I run, this marathon was for my brother. The miles I ran in training, the emotional support I received from family and friends; they were all an integral part of my personal healing process. While my older brother would have NEVER run 26.2 miles, he would have met me at the finish line with huge hug, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth [ok, maybe not] and a hot cup of coffee. He would have also probably called me a ‘jackass’ for ever ‘wanting’ to run that far; but dammit, he would have been so incredibly proud.

So yes, not running this marathon stings a little. It won’t take away a bit of the healing process.  In the lonely miles I ran around the airfield, around the Army post, and the solo runs I did at Fort Bragg – I had my fair share of conversations with my brother. They varied in topic – most were about his niece he never knew about, about my Husband’s career, about my frustrations with local traffic [he had pretty incredible road rage Winking smile] and anything else I could think about. Knowing that I was running this marathon just two weeks prior to the anniversary of his death was going to be a huge deal for me.

For someone that does this as a job, you would think I had better words to use and stories to weave. But, the truth is, I don’t. Forgive me for this incredibly morbid post, but I just had to let my thoughts out – maybe after awhile I’ll mark it private…

Under any other circumstance, I would have crawled, walked, somersaulted my way through 26.2 miles. For Jon. It’s always for Jon, and maybe next year it will be our time.

A Bit Speechless