It was one year ago from this day when my Dad passed away in his sleep. Those days, I ran as much as I could to deal with the pain—and also to celebrate his life.
Memories of him started flooding back the past few days. He worried a lot about my running. I still remember how, after each Sunday race, he would tell me “Running is bad for your knees.” and I would nod my head, but laugh it off in my head. There was no point in arguing with Dad. And, seeing how much weight I had lost, he would always remind me to eat more; sometimes, he would even drop more food unto my plate. Despite his concerns, he knew me well enough to know that he couldn’t stop me from pursuing my passions—whether it was art, choice of career, or running. This man knew he had a bull for a daughter, yet he gave her wings to fly.
So many memories, so many days since I last saw him. I miss him terribly.
Today, I woke up in desperate need of a run. But, plan was for the gym in the morning and the rest of the day with the family to hear mass and visit Dad at the cemetery. I’ll have to wait till Sunday for my long run. A slow and easy 25km for Dad. A run to relieve the pain of missing him, to tell him he is always in my thoughts and prayers, and to honor and celebrate his life.