I used to write a lot. Mostly about running and racing. About all my wild adventures through the mountains. About the highs and lows running takes me through. Literally and figuratively. I mean, it just flowed out of my head and through my fingertips...
A story was told.
Now, I sit here sore from running the Black Canyon 100K trying to muster up some creativity. Another crazy adventure with the highest of highs and some lows that would rattle the bones of a scarecrow. One of my greatest races ever and yet, I’m unable to find the words...
It’s just been so...hard.
My life changed a year ago.
A phone call to my mother. And just like that, everything was different.
My father was sick.
I knew from the moment I heard the news that my dad hadn’t been feeling well, things were about to change. Always one of the healthiest people on the planet and the rock of our family. How could it be?
We all hoped for the best, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut. A twisting pain settled inside my stomach and made itself at home.
The next few weeks following that phone call are a blur.
Kristi and I flew out to New Mexico to visit my parents. I spent three days hanging out with my dad. I did my best not to break, sometimes sneaking off into a bedroom to cry. My dad was withering away.
It was as if my dad had been replaced with somebody else. Switched in the middle of the night, while no one was watching.
His slow shuffle through the house and the sound of his slippers dragging along the tile floor was heartbreaking.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh...
“You’ll be alright, dad. Just need some rest.” I said.
“Maybe you’re right, but if not, I’ll see you on the other side...” He told me.
I’ve never felt so helpless and empty as I did during that visit. My mom was doing her best to hold everything together and keep a positive attitude. My mother is one of the strongest people on earth.
Why was this happening? What in Gods name was happening to my dad?
He doesn’t deserve this! This is total bullshit!!
Everything was so different. While it remained unspoken during that visit, I think we all knew it was never going to be the same.
Some pills are tougher to swallow than others. This one was near suffocating.
Those three days were so incredibly long, yet gone in the blink of an eye.
Before heading back to Tucson, I hugged my father good bye. He put his hand around my head, pulled it close and whispered in my ear “I love you, Sion.”
I still hear that whisper clear as day. As if it was spoken just moments ago.
I think of that hug often.
The following weekend I raced the Old Pueblo 50 Miler for the fourth time. I spent eight hours running around the Santa Rita mountains, embracing the suffering. Trying to numb the pain. I prayed for my father, for my family.
“Why?” I asked myself over and over.
“Why the hell is this happening?” I cried.
Tears streaming down my face, one foot in front of the other. I cursed the universe and God. Up and down the trails I went. Floating along almost aimlessly. Like everything else during that time, that race was just a blur. Some eight hours of running, done in the blink of an eye.
I finished the race in 1st place.
“That’s for my dad.” I moaned to Kristi as I collapsed at the finish line.
On the way home, I called my father.
“This race was for you dad, every last step. All for you. I love you.” I told him.
“I love you too, Sion...” His voice was so distant and weak.
That would be the last time I spoke to my father.
My uncle Jeff called to give me the news. As soon as I saw who was calling, I already knew.
My world came crashing in. I felt robbed of life as I knew it. This wasn’t fair!
My best friend.
My mentor.
My guide.
My hero.
My father.
So suddenly taken away from me. Taken away from us.
Emptiness replaced my joy. Dark and hollow. A search for answers to a problem that could not be solved.
It was a painful realization.
Days bled into weeks and then months. Sleepless nights and terrible nightmares. Dreams of the days before everything changed, only to wake up to my new reality.
The pain is so acute at times and it comes in waves. It washes over you suddenly and unexpectedly. Choking back tears becomes normal. That lump in your throat, almost permanent.
Grieving isn’t for the weak.
Slowly I’ve allowed myself to heal and I’ve found joy in bits and pieces.
Over the last year, so much has changed. My mom now lives in Florida, leaving only our memories in New Mexico. I often reflect on my childhood in Corrales. Our road trips as a family and the last jelly donut my dad always managed to snag from that gas station as we made our way into Colorado.
I think about watching Philly sports with him and always getting too emotional when they lost.
“It’s only a game, Sion.” He would remind me.
I blame him for my passion.
I think about my dads unique sarcasm and wit. I think about his words of advice and love for life.
I think of the countless thousands of people he helped heal as a Chiropractor. He was a pillar of the community and loved by so many.
He was so selfless and humble.
And his laugh. I’ll never forget his infectious laugh.
My dad loved my stories. He loved to read about those wild running adventures I once shared so easily.
He would call me after reading one of my race write-ups and rave about how much he enjoyed it.
“Incredible story, bud! You are amazing! You are world class.” He would tell me.
I miss him so very much.
It’s been a year, and I owe it to him.
Stay tuned...
This Is Dedicated To My Father, Robert Alan Lupowitz
12/20/1950 - 3/10/2017
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| Mom, Dad & My Sister Ariana |
(Video Courtesy of Jamil Coury and Run Steep TV)
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