13.1

On November 13, 2022, Sami ran the Monterey Bay Half Marathon - her second time running the race. She’d trained for it through the summer and fall of that year. One of my favorite photos of her is from that day - shivering in the pre-dawn chill near the start-line next to Fishermen’s Wharf. When her group crossed the starting mat, I went for a walk of my own - I walked 6 miles, and had time to grab a cup of coffee, in the time it took Sami to complete 13.1 miles. I watched her finish.

We had a wonderful trip to Monterey for the race. We drove down Saturday morning, picked up her race packet, and enjoyed dinner at one of our favorite seafood restaurants. I’ve visited Monterey and Pacific Grove since I was a kid (they were among my parents’ favorite places); Sami and I picked out her engagement and wedding rings at a jewelry store in Monterey in 1990. On this trip, we sat on the beach near Lover’s Point after dinner and watched the tide come in.

Sami’s race didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. As I recall, she wanted to finish in just over two hours - averaging just under a 10-minute mile. And she was on pace to do it (again, my recollection is a little hazy, but I remember checking the race app and seeing her on pace). But somewhere after mile 9, she slowed down. She didn’t know why her pace slowed, but she was very disappointed. At the finish area, she had a bowl of soup, and I enjoyed her complimentary post-race beer. We went back to our motel, showered, had lunch at another favorite restaurant, and headed home. She slept most of the way back to Auburn.

Seventy-six days later, on January 28, 2023, Sami had the first of what ended up being two craniotomies. She’d probably had at least two seizures earlier in the month; she had other symptoms on our trip to Las Cruces, NM. And just 273 days after she ran a half marathon, she passed away from glioblastoma.

When she got sick, Sami had been training for another half marathon in Sacramento on St. Patrick’s Day. At some point in early January, she’d fallen during a training run. She told us, “I don’t know what happened - I just ended up on the ground.” As all of us began to wonder about early symptoms we’d missed, this episode stood out.

The speed at which all of this happened still boggles my mind. That my incredibly beautiful, active, and intelligent wife could go from distance runner to cancer patient to deceased in exactly nine months seems impossible. And yet it happened. Nine months to the day, which I only realized as I wrote this essay.

In two weeks, I will walk/run the Monterey Bay Half Marathon, along with our daughters, my sister and her oldest daughter, and a friend. This will be the first race I’ve “competed” in since high school track - and the first distance “race” I’ve run since the Jamestown Run 10K when I was 12 or 13. At some point after Sami died, I decided that I wanted (needed!) to put in the training time to allow me to complete 13.1 miles - to participate in a race that was so special for Sami, in a place that was so special to both of us.

During a summer and fall of training, I’ve realized that I want to finish this race in the allowable time of 3 hours and 30 minutes. This means I’ll need to average 16-minute miles. Since I’ve been training at 2600 feet above sea level, on hills, I’m feeling reasonably confident that I’ll be able to do this - this morning, I walked 9 miles averaging just under 15:30 per mile. And I’ve also been able to jog a bit - I’m hopeful that at sea level, I’ll be able to finish 13.1 miles in just over three hours. We’ll see.

The race itself is important to me - I want to prove to myself that I’m almost as strong as Sami was. But the fact that we’re doing this together - as a family - is even more important. I know that crossing the finish line will be emotional for all of us. I know that I will want to get in the ocean after we complete the race - Sami’s ashes were spread in the ocean, and I will need to feel her “embrace.” I know I will cry.

But the process has also been helpful. Doing something as a group has been enjoyable. Having a goal - one that improves my physical fitness - has been wonderful. I’ve been a walker for quite some time; having something to shoot for has made me more dedicated. Maybe I’ll keep entering these kinds of events! And doing something contemplative - for me, walking is a bit of a meditation - has helped me examine my memories of Sami. And not just the hard things that happened between her last race and her last breath. Training for this 13.1 miles has helped me recall other important parts of our 34 years together.