I ran in Live On Nebraska’s Rally for Life 5K this morning. It was this race back in 2022 that started my running journey. I spent my summer in 2022 learning how to run, at least enough to complete a 5K in a way that I could be proud of. When I finished the 5k that year, I felt like I had really accomplished a lot and it felt really good.
Last year, I continued to learn how to run better, smarter, and further. I ran this race last year and felt so much more confident going in. I ran it stronger and faster than the previous year. It was so encouraging to see measurable improvements coincide with the work I had put into running that summer.
Then last fall, on October 7th, my friend Jeff and I travelled to Moab, Utah and ran in the Arches Half-Marathon. Together we ran a combined 26-mile effort on what would have been my brother’s 26th birthday. Finishing that race was a highlight of my life. I felt so proud of myself and the work that led up to crossing that finish line. Having Jeff there with me was incredibly meaningful, and I’ll never forget it, both the entire experience and what it took to get there.
Today I went into the 5k race with a different perspective than the previous two years. At this point in my running journey, a 5k doesn’t sound like a long distance like it did just two years ago. The race is run through an organization that facilitates organ donation and transplants, and was the organization that facilitated the donation of my brother’s organs back in 2021.
It’s held at our minor league baseball team’s stadium just outside of Omaha. It’s an interesting morning because it’s a place filled with families and friends who have lost loved ones who became donors, and there are donor recipients, and there are living donors. There are people who are sad, there are people who are deeply grateful. And then there’s the spectrum of time. There are people who lost their loved one many years ago, and there are those who lost someone very recently — and of all ages, too.
It’s been 3.5 years now since my brother’s death, but at a place like this, all sorts of feelings get stirred up that have over time settled down on the bottom depths of my heart. I sat in one of the stadium seats, along the third base line, and found myself becoming quite emotional.
Last night I made a plan to try and make this my fastest 5k I’ve run. I planned out my pace and when I’d need to conserve energy and when I’d need to lean in. I made a playlist to match those moments. I figured I’d run in the parking lot for a few minutes to warm myself up before the race to get my heart and body ready for running hard. I’ve learned that this really helps. But as I was sitting there, I was thinking about how my finishing time really didn’t matter. It was the effort that I was putting in, and doing it alongside all these families and friends who all have heartfelt stories of why they were there to run today. And so I decided to just sit and soak in the warmth of the sun in the cool September air. (Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath — a concept that keeps me from being controlled by something I simply mean for my own good).
I ran it well, though. I felt good nearly the entire time, excluding a bit of the last mile, which is almost entirely a steady uphill climb. Right at the top of the steepest part of the climb in the third mile “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots” started to play in my headphones, exactly when I was hoping it would. I’ve recently been saying, after completing a run or workout I didn’t want to do, that I “battled some Pink Robots.” (There’s all sorts of meaning packed into saying this for me. I wrote recently about seeing the Flaming Lips in concert with my cousin, which was very special for me).
I ended up running faster than I was expecting, faster than my ideal even, and I PR’d in my 5K today. The run itself was more emotional for me than I had anticipated, and somewhere within the second mile I found myself lost in existential thoughts, considering things such as the brevity of life as well as how important my friends and family are to me. I thought of my brother, I thought about the places I poured some of his ashes this year in the Rocky Mountains.
I thought about a conversation I had with Micah recently when he challenged me about running. He asked me, right at bed time of course, about why I run. He said, “You know you don’t have to run, right dad? No one is making you run. You know that, right? And plus, isn’t it hard?” I told him that running is hard, but it helps me because it helps me work through the hard parts of life. “That doesn’t make any sense dad. How does doing something hard make the hard things of life better?” I told him that it doesn’t really make them better, but doing something hard, pushing through those hard moments helps me push through the other hard parts of my life, like losing my brother. He told me that it still didn’t make any sense to him, and maybe he and I were just different sorts of people. He doesn’t like doing hard things like that, and when he’s my age he won’t run like I do. I chuckled to myself, and told him that’s ok.
Running today, and even crying a bit while doing it — it’s good for me. The reality of my brother’s loss is still as real as ever, but day by day, by working through the hard days, I’ve grown in my ability to run. But I’ve also grown in my ability to notice the delights that surround me, and I have experienced some significant moments of joy in the last few years because of the hard moments, and doing the work it takes to push through them in healthy ways.
Am I happy to PR in my 5K today? Yes, but it’s because of the daily work that I’ve put into it the last couple summers that I did. And it’s because of the support my friends and family (with the exception of Micah apparently) that I am where I am at with it all. I came into the race knowing so much more about myself, my willpower, my physical ability, and how to pace myself appropriately. It’s all paid off.
My running season isn’t over this year. I have another couple longer runs next month, so I still have some important training to go. I’ll write more about those runs when the time comes. Until then, I’ll enjoy the progress of the last couple years today and look forward to what milestones and finish lines still lay ahead of me.
Stepping Back 