30 Hours
A love letter to my dads and the sport that got me through it all.
June 28, 2026
Exactly one year ago today I lost Dad #2, who was equally as important to me as Dad #1, who I lost in 2018.
I feel blessed to have had two dads. Some don’t even get one.
Twice the pain though.
“’Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”
I guess.
I’m still not sure if I agree with Alfred Tennyson. How can you miss what you never knew?
There are people I know who could answer that question for me.
Which is why it’s subjective.
I still feel blessed to have loved him.
Exactly one year ago today I laid in my son’s bed exhausted after a long night at the hospital and then at hospice, where my dad didn’t spend one night. He died in the ambulance on the way. They laid him in a bed and we said goodbye. I got home around 1am and cried myself to sleep.
Exactly one year ago today I was watching the Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run between visits to the hospital. I’d read books on ultramarathon runners because they fascinate me and deep down I’ve always wanted to be one, and until this last year I’d never had the opportunity to watch an ultramarathon in action. Thankfully, that’s changing.
Thankfully, exactly one year ago today, I was able to watch these superhumans; these bobbing brilliant balls of light, run 100 miles on their own two legs and cross their finish line while my superhuman, one of my brilliant balls of light was dimming and crossing another sort of finish line, ultimately fading back into the universe. It reminds me of the song, “Universal Sound” by Tyler Childers. I believe his light joined the universal sound along with all the other lights that passed before him. Light has sound.
30 hours.
The Western States 100 started while my dad was in the hospital, and by the time it ended he “returned to the chorus of the universal sound.”
30 hours of hell and overwhelming sadness paired with 30 hours of overwhelming wonder and awe. I watched heroes flying while one of mine was dying. While they were running an ultramarathon I felt like I was running one of my own, only mine was sad.
Holding two things at once in the plams of my hands, much like many of us do.
Elation and devestation at the same time.
For 30 hours I felt held by a race and strangers that didn’t know me. I swear it was Western States that kept me from going insane that weekend one year ago today, and I am forever grateful.
Running culture is the best. Never have I ever been in a race or volunteered for a running event where I didn’t feel better afterwards. No one is there to fight, insult, or trip anyone up. It’s like going to my favorite concert. Everyone there is there to have a good time and I haven’t found any other sport with better cheerleaders than a fellow runner.
Hobbies. I know how to pick ‘em.
And I think I knew just where to go to find the comfort I needed to get me through the next 30 hours.
It wasn’t until I came across the race again this year that I remembered the finish line at the track and the corresponding date. I’m not one for scheduling sadness on the anniversary of a death but I was instantly brought back to the time, place and feelings of a year ago today.
That’s when it clicked. It was Western States.
Yesterday morning I turned on the tv right as the Western States runners were crossing the start line and kept tuned in all day. This morning I got to watch the last runner cross the finish line on the one year anniversary of Dad #2’s passing.
Dad #1 was a runner, so he made me a runner, and over time I fell in love with the sport.
Now it keeps me sane.
Running has helped me get through some of the most trying times in my life so it’s no surprise to me it helped me through my grief, just like it did when I lost Dad #1.
Dad #1 equipped me with the tools to handle not just his death, but the death of Dad #2, through running.
This time is was through Western States on my TV, not on the road, but no less impactful.
Somehow I knew where to look this time last year.
Full circle.
Many have crossed that finish line before us and many will cross that finish line after us.
Angel runners.
30 hours.
Almost feels like magic.
