DADDY'S GIRL

I think about my dad alot when I run. He died before I started to get healthy, before I lost a serious amount of weight and before I started to run. He never knew me as healthy Amy. He never knew me as Amy the runner, Amy who ran a Half Marathon...twice. He would be so surprised...and proud... to see me now. Healthy. Strong. Fit. Energized. Taking total control of every area of my life. I will think of him when I cross the finish line at the Marine Corps Marathon in October.

My father was one of the greatest encouragers in my life. I was his only daughter. Daddy's little girl. He and I had a special bond. He understood me. Always. Always. If I was upset, happy, angry, discouraged, in the depths of despair...he always could make me feel better. No doubt about it. He could read every emotion on my face and in my words. With words or without, he was my rock. The man was wise in ways that simply were indescribable. He knew people and he knew me. He had such a calming influence on me it still makes me smile when I think about it.

Many of the fondest memories I have are when I was a little girl with my father. When I think of who was there for me? Encouraging me? My dad. Who was there giving me words of wisdom and guiding me in the ways of the world? My dad. Who was there patiently sitting beside me for hours on end teaching me Algebra II and Geometry II? My dad. When my world would spin out of control...didn't matter if I was 5 years old or 40 years old...who was there to pick up the pieces and make it all right again? My dad.

My Dad was a man of incredible courage, strength and character. Nine months before his death he unexpectantly was diagnosed with kidney cancer. It was quick. He maintained that same courage, strength and character to the very end. I remember hours before he died, in the hospital room, before he slipped into an unconscious state, he suddenly sat up in his bed. He really wasn't speaking. I was just sitting on his bed, talking to him, trying desperately to absorb every moment, every fiber of his being before he slipped away. He just sat there looking at me...with his green eyes...I inherited Daddy's green eyes...and all of a suddenly he very slowly started moving straight towards my face with his face. Expressionless. I thought something was wrong. I said, "Do you need something, Dad? Are you ok?" He leaned in closer, and closer, until he literally was right on top on my face...and then he very quickly leaned and kissed me right on the nose. And smiled. And then, he leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes. I smiled, and tears rolled down my face, and whispered, "I love you, Daddy." It was the best gift he left me. Soon after, he slipped into unconsciousness.

I'm not saying my Dad was perfect. But he was there for me. I have some wonderful, beautiful memories of my Dad. I have spent many, many hours running in the past 2+ years. Much of that time is spent thinking of my Dad. Sometimes when I am having a challenging run, I hear his voice, encouraging me, whispering..."You've got this, Amy Faith...you are so much stronger than you think. Run, baby, Run."