“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

— Kahlil Gibran

Twelve days before the accident, I ran my first and only half marathon with my sister. My training partner. My race partner. I would drop off the kids with Uncle Rigo (when Chris was away at work), and my sister and I would run. We talked about life as we ran around Vancouver. My children were one and three at the time. It felt like I was getting a bit of myself back after having two babies. It was also about spending time with my sister. We have spent a lot of our adult lives in different cities. It was an opportunity to spend time together. It was about a lot of things for both of us. It was positive. And though I did not always want to go for those training runs, it was always a good space to be in.

That half marathon was meant to be. It was put in my life so I was grounded when the accident happened. So I was in a positive place before our lives blew up. So my sister and I were closer. So my body could handle what it would need to handle. Especially in the first year. In a strange way without even knowing it, I was preparing myself for what was coming. Training for trauma. In the days leading up to the accident I was strong. Both physically and emotionally. I was healthy. I was happy. I felt good. Chris and I were in a great place. Life was good. This helped in the days following the accident. It helped me to weather the storm. To carry the weight. To not buckle under the pressure in the first days and months that followed.

In spite of all that though, the memory is bitter sweet. The event and the accident were so close together. And because they both meant so much to me. I cannot think about the half marathon without thinking about the accident. They go together now. Forever related to one another. So, this year. The fifth anniversary of the accident. The fifth anniversary of the half marathon. I will be running it again. I will admit as I write this I have not run a single step in the past few months. I have only recently started working with a trainer again. I am in a way a little scared. Almost resistant. Hesitant to start the journey again. To train again. To take that step forward. To do the exact same half marathon I did just days before our lives changed. To live in the good days. It is time to add to the story. To write another chapter. To change the ending. To make a new beginning.

The past five years have been challenging for both my sister and me. She started and completed law school. She dealt with the accident aftermath with us. She faced and overcame obstacles of her own. We have both dealt with a lot of hard truths about life and the world. So, we are going to do this together again. Living in different cities this time. Training on our own. Learning that we can accomplish things both together and apart. Preparing ourselves to meet again on that starting line. In it together. Pushing each other forward. Supporting one another. As we look back on the time that has passed since our last race. Proud of one another for how far we have both come.

In many ways life is a bit like running a race. There are times when every part of our bodies want to give up. When we just want to walk. Or sit down. Stop running. Stop moving forward. When the only thing we have to keep our feet moving is the belief that we can do it. Knowing that giving up is not an option. Quitting is something we just will not do. Believing in ourselves. Knowing we won’t give up on the hills. We will keep pushing ahead. We will be strong. We will focus on what it is we need to focus on to get through. Picking up the pace as we move closer to our goals. Even if our legs are beyond tired and our lungs are burning. Smiling at the people who cheer us on. Rooting for the people who run along side us.

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Through our struggles we learn. We have floundered. But one foot has followed the other. We are proof that there is life after trauma. That there is joy even after our biggest fears are realized. Though some people may not understand our journey. Though some people may judge our survival methods. In the end it does not matter what they think. The only thing that matters is that we are still here. We have proven those who have doubted us wrong. I watch Chris head to the cross-fit gym. I watch him head out the door to work. Doing something he still loves to do. Accomplishing his goals. Checking them off as he moves forward. Never giving up. I see the person he is growing into. How wise and cool he has become. Growing into the best version of himself. He has come to understand and accept both his weaknesses and his strengths. We all have. Tried and tested. Rising above.

As I run the half marathon with my sister, I am sure we will think about some of these things. How far we have all come. How many hills we have conquered. Our lives are just beginning. In some ways we have been reborn. We have all proven ourselves to be strong. To be courageous. To be wise. No one can take this away from us. It is a part of our history. It is our story. And as we cross that finish line we will know this. We will celebrate this. We will celebrate one another. Thankful for those how have supported our journey. Proud of who we are. Proud of the survivors we have become. Standing strong. Knowing we are warriors. Because warriors never give up. Battle scarred, but ready to run another day.