Tomorrow is the funeral for my dad’s dad, a 74-year old man who lost his short fight with esophageal cancer on October 28. In response to all death caused by cancer, I’m going to do what I do best: Run.
Ninety minutes before the start of tomorrow’s funeral in Ohio, I will begin running in a two-mile race in Florida. The run is a kick-off for the University of Florida’s Homecoming parade, and both my sister and I will pound the pavement while wearing signs on our backs in celebration of Robert C. Nicol, and his own homecoming.
Last year, I ran this same race just hours after hearing that my friend Amy had passed away after a 15-month journey with breast cancer. She was 35 years old. Just two weeks ago, I ran in my third Making Strides Against Breast Cancer event, for myself and every person who has ever done battle with such a treacherous disease.
When cancer takes a life, I feel it’s my duty—as someone fortunate enough to be alive—to do something. And that’s why I run. For Bob. And Amy. And myself. For everyone. It’s the least I can do.