Running in the Wild

I am not a runner. I occasionally jog in little spurts during a long walk, but then I’m gasping for air, already slowing my stride back to a walk. For years, when the kids were little, I’d lead them on long walks around town, always ending up in the park, where the kids climbed and swung. Then we’d make our way back home and eat apple slices and ham sandwiches for lunch. There are enough years between each of my children’s births that when one started off to kindergarten, the younger child had my undivided attention. When Will was a little guy, we strolled through town, admiring the changing leaves on those fall mornings, while big sister was at school. One morning, we encountered a construction crew patching a section of road along our route. I stopped the stroller, and we just watched. I must have started to walk, and I remember Will’s little hand reaching out, his way of letting me know he wasn’t quite ready to leave, and so we stayed.

The fall before Will died, he joined the cross-country team. Before the school year started, the coaches urged students to run on Tuesdays and Thursdays throughout the summer. On those mornings, they ran in groups around the town. The district’s registration day must have been on a Tuesday or Thursday that year, because when he got done with his run, Will came straight to the gym for his school picture. You can catch just a hint of a sweat in his last school picture. To this day, when I see these kids running on those summer mornings, my heart does a little drop. Will didn’t always love the running itself, but he found a community with these runners. He belonged to a group, and I know he loved that part of the sport–I could see it in his eyes. On the night of Will’s visitation, I caught glimpses of the team coming to pay their respects. I attended every meet he ran, except for one–which just happened to be on the first day of school, where I worked. Even today, I think, if I had just been there at that particular meet, maybe he would still be alive. At every race, I would follow along as he ran, cutting across the grassy expanse to be at another point along the route, cheering him on. I remember the way he looked as he crossed the finish line–like one more race, done.

Early in 2024, I got an unexpected call from my cousin’s wife, Lexie. She was calling with the news she had been accepted as a runner with The 437 Project. Twelve runners run the length of the state, which is 437 miles across, in a relay style. They don’t stop when the sun sets; they keep going 24/7 until they arrive on the other side of the state. The run raises funds for the Helpline Center, which is pivotal in the fight against suicide. These runners are chosen from around the state, and they all have a purpose and a reason to run. When Lexie called, she asked my permission to honor Will while she ran. I was astonished at her generosity. My prayer has always been, “Please, Lord, just let people remember my sweet boy, gone from this earth too soon.” This prayer has been answered in so many ways. Will’s name was on Lexie’s heart throughout her intense, challenging time, not just for the run itself, but in the months of training leading up to the event. When Lexie selected her running shoes, she took them to her friend, a tattoo artist, who painted the shoes in honor of Will–there is a LEGO guy, a green and yellow John Deere logo, and a little painting of Will drawing in the sand. One toe of one shoe says Will; the other shoe continues with “-iam.” Throughout the four days of the run, Lexie periodically sent video messages to me, giving me a small glimpse into her experience. A run of this magnitude requires mental strength and perseverance and faith. After one middle-of-the-night run, she shared how the headlights on the team’s follow vehicle illuminated the path ahead of her. When she looked to the side and saw her shadow, Lexie knew she wasn’t alone. I was in tears after that message. “God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you’” (Hebrews 13:5 NIV).

One of Lexie’s assigned routes just happened to run by the family farm where Will spent time. My brothers, their families, and other family members waited alongside the road and cheered her on as she ran by. “My second leg, by the farm, was my favorite as I knew how much Will loved the farm and how much his cousin Luke and uncles enjoyed having him there. My legs moved so easy during that run,” Lexie said.

A couple of days later, the team finished the race in downtown Sioux Falls. We watched as Lexie approached the finish line, but then unexpectedly, she detoured to where I was standing, took off her running shoes, and handed them to me, finishing the race in her socks. My heart was overwhelmed by her vigilance and dedication to keeping Will’s memory alive. These shoes reside with us now. Every day when I glimpse these worn shoes, I am reminded that Will’s memory lives on. His race here on earth is complete, but I can glimpse the finish line of heaven just ahead. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7 NIV).