Remembering

On Saturday, I am running the Baltimore Half-Marathon.

For those of you not in the know, a half-marathon is 13.1 miles. THIRTEEN POINT ONE MILES. And I'd already signed up and handed over my credit card information before I found out that Baltimore's course is considered rather hilly. However, it was incredibly comforting to hear that the last three miles are pretty much a straight shot downhill and into Camden Yards, the home of the Baltimore Orioles. I know I can run 10 miles, so I'm pretty sure I can tack on three additional downhill ones and still be alive when I cross the finish line.

I've run two 10-mile races, but they were both years ago. I trained as best I knew how for the first one, though the race was still major challenge. I remember it was a really sunny, beautiful fall day in DC, and somewhere around mile 9.5 we went through the shade of an overpass, and I was so tired and fatigued that when my eyes didn't adjust right away to the sudden darkness, I couldn't even be sure I was still running. My body was on autopilot at that point; there was nothing graceful or speedy about my finish a few moments later, just a general heaving of myself over the electronic tracking pad and over to the cardboard bins filled with bagels and Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. (There are always bananas at finish lines, too, but I don't do bananas. You can totally have mine, if you want it.) That said, I don't think I can do justice to the feeling of accomplishment for myself and awe for my body I had that day. I was always someone who balked at the idea of running ONE mile, let alone ten. And yet, there I was, having run the entire race, and still able to walk to the car of my own accord. It was a fantastic feeling. I had done something really, really awesome.

The second time – and this is the story I comfort myself with when I get worried about running 13 miles – I ran the same race, but I did it the morning after a friend had thrown Dave and I an engagement cocktail party. A cocktail party. IN MY HONOR. With very strong martinis, of which I had several because it was a party FOR ME. When we left the party that night, Dave opened the car door for me and I got in, and then PROMPTLY FELL BACK OUT. Onto the curb. And I still ran the race the next morning – I even beat my previous time. It had a lot to do with the fact that I had made myself a t-shirt to wear that said, “My wedding is in two weeks!” on the front and “I'm running to fit into my dress!” on the back, and either that made people laugh or made them curious, so I spent the entire race chatting with whoever tapped me on the shoulder and wanted to know the story. Which I was happy to tell them while I panted into their faces. It helped immensely, knowing that people were watching me run, that perhaps they might take notice if I stopped to walk or ducked out altogether. So I finished, but it didn't feel like the awesome milestone it had felt like the first time. Probably because I was so caught up in wedding preparations that I hadn't taken the time to train properly. Instead of feeling like, WOW, I can SO TOTALLY do this without even trying, I felt like I had cheated myself out of a great experience.

And now I'm training for this half-marathon, with four days to go. And I won't lie, running six miles after a long day chasing after two kids isn't always my favorite thing to do, but it is quiet and I can hear my own thoughts instead of the sound of the baby crying after whacking her head into the coffee table and Asher's demands for CHOCLATE MULK, and that I don't mind. I also don't mind that (most of) the last few pounds of pregnancy weight slowly melted away, but more than all of that combined, I don't mind doing it because I am going to try to honor the memory of Emily Mandell come Saturday.

I think about her a lot while I'm running. I think about her most when the trail gets steep and my legs start to falter and my chest tightens with a lack of oxygen. I think about how tough she had to be during her treatment, and how she didn't get to choose whether or not her body was punished by a tumor. I get to choose to punish mine, with sports bras and 90 percent humidity and asphalt, and I get to choose when to stop. I get to tell myself when I've had enough. I even get a sense of accomplishment when I'm finished.

Emily never got to make any choices. Cancer took them all away from her, and then cancer took her away from her parents and her family. I pound the pavement harder when I remember that; I let the knowledge of it inspire me to not take anything for granted, not even something as mundane and ordinary as putting one foot in front of the other.

At first, I wanted to try and raise some money to fund research for ATRT, the cancer that took Emily. It's a very rare cancer, with only 30 cases diagnosed each year. As a result, it isn't a “big name” cancer like breast cancer – it doesn't get celebrity endorsements or huge grants or big foundations to benefit it's research. So it just keeps killing children. (And I mean no disrespect to anyone whose life has been touched by breast cancer – it's just a more common and more championed cause.) But I got behind, and then I got nervous about asking for money again, and now I've got four days to go and do you know what? I believe more in the power of prayer than I do in the power of funding, anyway.

So if you could, take a few moments and say a prayer for any number of things. For kids who have AT/RT. For kids who will be diagnosed with AT/RT. For a promising treatment; for a cure. For parents who have kids with the disease and for parents who lost their children because of it.

And for Emily's family. Six months after her passing, they still ache. They still long for her. They still need comfort and healing. They'll need physical and emotional strength on Saturday. But I think most of all, they just want opportunities to tell the story of her life and use it to educate and help others. They just want her to be remembered.

I know I will never forget.

Comments

[Megan]

I've been meaning to ask you how Emily's family is doing. Please let them know that while they don't know me, I still think of them and keep them in my prayers.

On a lighter note, I wish you all the best on Saturday. Also, I ran in college. My all-time best record was when I was hungover. I'M JUST SAYIN'.

[andrea_jennine]

I'm praying right now.

[Carrie]

Great post. I'm praying for the family and for the kids with that disease. Good luck in the race!

[vague]

Hmmm. When I run I picture myself breakdancing. Your way seems better - more motivating.

Best of luck in the race! Emily and her parents are lucky to have you on their side, keeping them in your thoughts.

[Mrs. D]

Good luck with the race! I'll be keeping Emily and her family in my thoughts.

[chatty cricket]

I just read this while holding a sleepy Mister who is taking his time waking up from a nap. I think Mister and Emily and Asher are around the same age, right?

I may have cried just a little bit.

I'll say a prayer for Emily, and for healing for her parents. No one should ever have to lose a child.

(and also I will pray for you and ALL OF THAT RUNNING HOLY COW 13.1 MILES)

[She Likes Purple]

I'll be thinking of all of you on Saturday. Promise.

[Lawyerish]

I'm sending up lots of prayers. Thank you for keeping this family in our hearts and for reminding us all of this cause.

Good luck in the run! I'm sure you'll do awesome. Just doing it at all IS awesome.

[Rebecca (Bearca)]

What a beautiful and touching post.

[Kristie]

Have a good race this weekend. It's hard to put one foot in front of the other sometimes, but you're doing it for the right reasons. Good luck!

[Aimee]

I will be praying for Emily and her family! Good luck with the race...you will do awesome!!

Side note: I totally wanted to click the "like" button after reading that!!

[barbetti]

You are so, so inspiring woman. This brought tears to my eyes. I hope it goes well for you.

[becky]

I am totally in tears. I think of Emily and Katie & Brian frequently and feel like, even though we only met once, I really kind of miss her... So, I'm remembering, too.

[Aunt Becky]

I have never and will never forget Emily Mandell or her family. Kisses to heaven and love and light to her parents.

[H]

I followed her story and am very touched by your post. I will pray - and best of luck to you on Saturday.

[Manda]

I am so proud of you! Will be praying for Brian and Katie and for those with AT/RT. Run hard girl!

[Tiah]

May the spirit of Hermes be with your feet, and Emily in your heart.

[Parker_B]

One reason I follow your blog is because you are not afraid to talk about your faith or ask readers for prayers. I am praying for Emily's family right now, and for all those who have lost a beloved child.

Good luck on your race! So impressed by your self-discipline and athletic talent!

[Michelle]

I will pray for Emily and her family and
for you. Good luck with the race.

[Frema]

You have read my mind. I ran my first 5K at the end of September, and just like you, running makes me think about how lucky I am to be alive and able to accomplish something so physically strenous. (Though it's nothing compared to a mini-marathon!)

I didn't know Emily or her parents, but I think about them, too. I will pray for all of them, and for you, on Saturday and the days before.

[Vanessa]

Saying a prayer right now.

[Jessica]

I just found your blog (love it, and the way that you write!)... and I just read about little Emily. I am spewing crocodile tears as I sit here. I've been struggling a little in my own life recently but for ordinary reasons. This puts everything into perspective. Thank you for sharing- and I think it's amazing that you are running 13 miles for her. Good luck!!

[Suzanne]

I followed Emily's story from the beginning, hoping every time I saw an update that she would get her miracle. I never met the Mandells but I have a daughter very close in age to Emily so I could empathize with their pain. Your whole post about running and Emily's parents wanting her to be remembered strikes a chord because I never knew Emily personally and yet I do think of her often and especially when I'm running and have my thoughts to myself without distraction. I have that picture of her bald and smiling etched into my brain, clearly she was a kid who was sweet to the core, not even cancer could hide that. I pray often for Emily and her parents, that they can find some peace and eventually joy in their lives again.

Emily will help push you those 13.1 miles for sure!

[Beth B.]

Thank you for sharing your story. That's great and I know you can do it. For Emily and for you.

[Parsing Nonsense]

You have a very loving heart, Emily.

Good luck with your race, I hope it's loads of fun!