15 years ago today -

A few weeks ago, I ran the Double Dipsea, a tumultuous 13.7 mile foot race with a climb that seems to stretch to the heavens. (There actually is a part of it above the clouds…) Though I saw few actual faces during the run, those that I did had a serious grin or grimace. I often think that I’m the only one who notices these types of things, but it was evident on race day that I wasn’t the only one looking. As I rounded the corner nearing an aid station, one of the volunteers shouted “Look at her smile. Keep it up, honey, you are one of the only ones out there smiling”. I remember my own grin growing wider and feeling a sense of validation: this is hard, but boy oh boy is it fun! More than fun, running – any time, any where, difficult or easy – is of the most joy-inducing experiences in my life. Just this morning, I ran out the door, and within a few steps I had my own personal Jackson 5 concert in my ears. I wasn’t just running down the street. I was dancing. I was joyful.

I reflect often and hard and long about the concept “joy”, and very often in doing so, I am greeted with the last memory I have of my Dad. Five or so months into the terminal illness that would soon take his life, I remember coming into the house, eager to tell him all about my day. Listening like I think Dads only do for their daughters, it was obvious that he wanted desperately to say something to me. At this point in his illness, however, talking was quite difficult, nearly impossible for him. He tried anyway, and as I asked him to repeat himself over and over again, his eyes began to well with tears. In that moment, perhaps the last time on this side of eternity, our eyes met, and there was this unspoken understanding. I remember vividly. He knew that I understood what was happening, and that even if I wasn’t prepared, I would be alright. The pain and tears transformed to a smile wider than I’d ever seen him smile. Through the pain, he was strong for me. At a time when one might be hopeless and joyless, he found joy for me. This is the greatest lesson I have taken, and probably why, even in challenge, I smile.

And this is how I remember my Dad today, on the 15th anniversary of his passing. Smiling. Choosing joy over pain. Hope over defeat. And this year, I honor him in a different way – by running the New York City Marathon as a member of Team Labrecque: Uniting Against Lung Cancer. This team represents the recently expanded Uniting Against Lung Cancer, whose 2010 expansion is the result of having combined efforts with the Thomas G. Labrecque Foundation to become the single largest private non-profit source of funding for lung cancer research in the United States. Lung cancer will take the lives of more than breast cancer, colorectal cancer, and melanomas combined this year, making this a truly important effort.

My commitment to the Foundation, to surviving family members, to those who have died from lung cancer, and to my Dad is to raise $3,000 by September 30th. This is where I need your help. Whether you have known me most of my life, were there with me during this challenging time, were a classmate, have worked alongside me in the cause I spend my time on now, or if we’ve met through friends or just at a café one day, I hope that you will consider making a tax-deductible donation to support this cause.

You can do it two ways:

• By credit card: http://www.active.com/donate/tglfnymarathon10/15yearslater


• By check: Payable to “Uniting Against Lung Cancer” and sent to Leslie Garner, 956 Greenwich Street, San Francisco, Calif. 94133

Any amount speaks magnitudes for this cause.