The guy in the picture is my friend Brian Betts. I met him when I was in elementary school and he was in junior high. For you younger readers, junior high school is middle school, minus 6th graders. (insert snarky smiley here)

Brian was my big sister’s friend. They were the same age. They hung out with the same crew at Skate World. It was definitely not my clique. Anyone who knows anything about etiquette knows junior high kids do not mix with elementary schoolers, for heaven’s sake. In spite of the social ethics, that Brian Betts was always so nice to me.

In case you are wondering, yes, Brian, the guy in the wheelchair you see above actually skated at Skate World. He golfed. He walked me down the aisle at my sister’s wedding. He also played soft ball. It was at his very last soft ball game that Brain walked for the very last time. It was just one of those crazy things. One move, one strange jolt, heading to a base, and ultimately, he was paralyzed from the neck down.

Brian is, you may notice, smiling in that photo above. That was Brian. Yes, I am speaking of him in the past tense. I do not really feel comfortable doing that. After all, he is very much here with those of us fortunate enough to have been touched by his greatness. But, he passed away before I ever ran my first Crim. Kind of funny, because he was my biggest cheerleader through the entire process.

He was there with me during many a solo training run. When you train with a group, it can be hard to go to it alone, especially for a great distance, and especially when you are just a few months in to your brand new life as a runner.  Funny thing is, I was never alone. Brian never allowed that.

When I did my first long solo run- 7 miles- which was really long for me, I was struggling.  I was vacationing in Florida, trying to keep up with the training schedule for Flint’s 10-mile Crim road race. My first race. The humidity was 300-percent. I was starting to get a bad case of  “I can’t do this!” Suddenly, Brian was there. Breathing heavily, eating a burger, running beside me.

I guess if Brian had been a runner, it would be this really dreamy sort of thing. He not only was not a runner, his soft ball team nickname was “Choo-choo”. I honestly think that may be why he made such an incredible running buddy. He understood me. He also had zero intention of stopping. I guess that is what happens when you are a quadriplegic for 20 years. As soon as you go the “great beyond”, you really want to do a lot of physical activity.

It seems as though, each time I go for a long run, Brian shows up. Sometimes he is running beside me. Sometimes he  is wearing the tux he wore at my sister’s wedding, leaning against a tree, cheering me on. He always reminds me of how short life really is, and how uncertain. At any moment, anything can change. In fact, everything can change. Life is to be lived, challenges are there to help us grow, and to make life so awesomely- life.

I guess that is why I wore a shirt with the names of Brian, and many other great lovers of life, printed on the back, in every one of my road races the first year.  They were all there with me, reminding me and cheering for me. Every pass over a finish line was ours- all of ours.

The shirt is a goner, but the team is still with me, always. Every mile. That is why I run. That is why I will continue to run or walk or whatever my body will allow, for as long as I am here.

So, today, I finished my third Crim. I walked it in a little over two and a half hours. It was not my fastest time. It did not matter. Everywhere I looked I saw people running, walking, living. I walked with a woman who was doing her first Crim.  As we walked, we talked. She has hopes, she has dreams and desires. All things she will, having finished her first 10 mile road race, believe more possible than she did on the way to Flint before the Crim this morning. That is magic. That is good. That is life.