When my mom called me last Saturday morning, she was a jangle of nerves. We were taking the train from Philadelphia to Manhattan that afternoon to tackle the New York City Marathon Training Series 18-Mile Run the next day. It would be her longest training run for her first marathon. It would also be her longest run ever, so the nerves were understandable.
When she asked me how I was feeling, it wasn’t just out of politeness. My grandmother on my father’s side had died two days before. She was 85, and my last living grandparent.
“Like I don’t want to go,” I told her.
“You know, that’s not exactly what I want to hear,” she said.