My Dad. My Running Partner.

When I was 17, at the age of 50 my father was diagnosed with terminal melanoma and given a short time to live. Fortunately, my parents sought out a a second opinion which provided a more positive prognosis. He received treatment, and after recovery was found to be cancer free and had a second chance on life. A few years later, he retired at the young age of 53. In the years following, I got to know my dad in a different way than I had as a child and an immature teenager. I was now a young man living on my own, and quickly began to recognize what everyone else already knew: my dad was a great guy. He had an incredible work ethic, he was the life of every party, and he was a loyal and generous friend and family member.

Me and my dad Easter 1976.

Around that same time, I started running. As I began running more and participating more frequently in races, he started showing more interest. He would ask me when my next race was. He would congratulate me on my performance and save me the race results from the local paper. My dad and I were never very expressive when it came to our relationship, but I knew this interest was his way of letting me know he cared. In 2006, I was lucky enough to be picked in my first lottery entry for the New York City Marathon. When it got close to the race, my dad asked me if I wanted company on my trip to NYC for the race, so I said "sure." When it came time, we drove in the day before the race. We explored the city, and he shared stories of when he lived in the city as a young man. We went to an afternoon movie, had dinner, then retired to our small NYC hotel room. On race day, he scrambled around the city to catch me running at a few spots along the course, and met me past the finish in the family area. We had lunch and celebrated my accomplishment, then returned home. It was a special weekend on so many levels, and that time together gave us the opportunity to bond in a meaningful way, and really, become friends.

Me and my dad summer August of 2005 at my parents house
on the Cape in Chatham, Ma

The following May, at the age of 72, he was again diagnosed with an advanced stage of melanoma. He weighed his options and decided to enter a trial treatment program at the Dana-Farber Cancer Center in Boston, MA. My dad was tough and he was under the care of a top cancer facility, so we had high hopes, but the reality was that even if treatment was successful it would at best only prolong his life for a short time. My mom drove him sometimes several times a week to Boston for his blood transfusions and chemo. I decided I would give her a break one of the days and drive him to Boston so I could sit with him through one of his treatments. I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to talk. Talk about how he is feeling. Talk about preparing for the worst. I could tell him how much he meant to me. But he was tired, weak, and not up for talking. So I just sat with him and kept him company. We sat in the car on the drive to Dana-Farber, we sat as he received treatment, and we sat on the drive home. We didn't have that meaningful talk I was hoping for, but like our weekend in New York for the marathon, it was a special time together, and it was my way of showing him that I cared. He developed complications and continued to deteriorate, and ultimately we were told that the trial was unsuccessful. He decided to forego hospice care and spend his remaining time at home. I watched my father get weaker and weaker while my mom cared for him. He fought for his life every day through extreme pain and suffering, but eventually lost his battle in September of 2007.

I am so thankful that my dad recovered from his first diagnosis, giving him 20 more incredible years of life with my mom, my brother and me, family, and friends. If he had not, he wouldn't have been there for my wedding, the birth of my two daughters, my brother's wedding and so many other life changing events. I would not have had the opportunity to get to know him the way I did. I would not have had his guidance and support that helped me become the man I am now. And, I certainly would not be the runner I am today. I learned by his every day example the importance of hard work and commitment, which keeps me focused on my training. As a witness to his fight with cancer, I learned that as tired and sore as I might be, or as bad as I might feel, nothing can compare to what he went through, and he never gave up or complained. Once. I think of him on every run, and whenever I need a little encouragement to run or a push to finish a tough race, his memory is there to get me through it. My running has evolved in many ways since he passed, and I know he would still be one of my biggest supporters. As a tribute, I write his initials on all my running shoes to carry him with me. I am far from a religious person, but somehow I feel closer to my dad when I run and that connection makes every one of my runs more meaningful.

Dad, thank you for all that you have given to me and continue to give. Thank you for being with me on all my runs. You are my motivation and strength. I miss you. Happy Father's Day.

My current rotation of running shoes with my dad's
initials on them - "AYV" for Anthony Yves Vallez.

Has someone special in your life helped improve or give meaning to your running?