How running helped me cope with the grief of losing my brother
“Say my name, say my name”, I can still hear the melody of Beyonce and Kelly’s voice behind my brother’s as he belted it out. That was how he liked to start the day. Since his death in 2016, whenever I hear this song I know he’s with me.
This is exactly the song that came on my iPod shuffle at mile 13 of the the 2017 Novant Health Charlotte Marathon, right as my friend and fellow marathon ambassador was taking the right hand turn to finish up the 13.1-mile run. In that very moment I had a choice to make. I could turn right with her and play it safe, or I could take the step left towards my goal of a full marathon, 26.2 miles.
At the time, I was injured and apprehensive. A plot twist of a calf injury had halted my training and I hadn’t run in the six weeks leading up to race day, nor did I finish my training. But it was in that exact moment, as I was wavering, that his song came on. With the tune of Destiny’s Child came confidence and gratitude. I knew I’d finish this race for him.
I always turn to running when the waters get rough in my life, and the uncharted waters of losing my brother were no different. In the wake of Aaron’s unexpected death in 2016 I hit the ground running with more vigor than ever before. I signed up for my first marathon.
As a yogi who had just emerged from a 200-hour teacher training shortly before my brother’s passing, I was surprised when my mat brought me more anxiety than comfort. Maybe it was the struggle of being surrounded by so many people while sitting with my own turbulent feelings and emotions. Maybe it was just the stillness while everything else was chaos.
I couldn’t face my mat, so I took my yoga on the road. Running was something Aaron and I used to do together. We got in the habit of running the Thanksgiving Day 5K in Atlanta. I’d provide the training program and Lululemon and he’d provide the laughs and carb-loading party. Running with him was always a blast.
This time, with the Charlotte Marathon, running and training was my outlet — space to digest, process, and connect with my grief. It provided me with glimpses of joy, reasons to set goals and move forward, and a good old runner’s high that helped me feel alive and good for a few moments daily.
For miles at a time I was in control — of my mindset, my experience, and my direction. My morning runs turned into mourning runs as I practiced the tools I had learned in yoga teacher training off the mat and in my running shoes. It was this moving meditation of mindful running that not only helped me navigate marathon training but my grief experience as well.
November 11, 2017 was the best day I’d had since my brother’s death. It was the buzzing energy in the cold air, the camaraderie amongst the runners, my own heart beating, and the crowd. Running 26.2 miles throughout my streets of my city with the smiling faces of my fellow Charlotte Marathon ambassadors, family, and friends sprinkled along the way made me feel so alive. I soaked it all in as I put one foot in front of the other, knowing each step was a gift. Each gift turning into another mile, and each mile intentionally honoring a lost loved one for someone in my life.
In many ways, grief is like a marathon. They both offer a new perspective for pain and priorities while new ways for experiencing trials and tribulation emerge. Both bring people together, challenge endurance, change daily routines, and harness strength. They throw curve balls, from injuries to anxieties, that can’t be ignored. The long runs, the pain, the thoughts and emotions — they must be embraced and navigated diligently for progress to occur.
Everyone walks up to the start line of the race or grief for a unique reason and proceeds to navigate the experience differently all while going in the same direction.
Throughout the course, there are hills and valleys, moments of reflection, moments of doubt, moments of peace, and moments of pain. And although the finish line may be crossed, it doesn’t end there because running, like grief, is not a destination — it’s a journey. The memory of that experience and that person will always live in our hearts, as something we will always honor.
I ran the marathon in honor of my brother, dedicating each mile to him and others who are no longer with us. Each mile a gift. I learned how to move forward with pain in my calf as well as my heart. I learned how to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I also learned how to lean into my grief and lean on my community.
When all I wanted to do was pull my covers over my head, it was running that got me out of my bed. When all I wanted to do was isolate myself, running gave me company.
It was sad to cross the finish line without my brother cheering me on, but I know he was with me that day. Through the sadness, I smiled with a deep sense of gratitude — gratitude that my leg supported me through all 26.2 miles, gratitude for my family and friends, gratitude for the running community, and gratitude for my ability to run for each person who couldn’t.
Running encourages me to look forward, not down. Running encourages me to enjoy the journey and trust the process, regardless of how overwhelming or uncertain it is. I believe every experience is a good experience, not because it’s inherently good but because it allows an opportunity to learn, grow, and find gratitude.
On the pavement we gain grit, we see what we’re made of, we cultivate our strength, and we find what we need. As a marathon ambassador for the 2018 Charlotte Marathon, my hope is that no matter what your story is or why you show up at the start line, you’ll continue to put one foot in front of the other. You’ll reach the finish line stronger than when you started.
Photos courtesy of Ashley Shapiro
This story was originally published May 29, 2018 at 11:00 PM with the headline "How running helped me cope with the grief of losing my brother."