November 22

I believe I’d be remiss if I neglected to mention one of my main motivations for running the Philadelphia Marathon. After seeing my buddy Rob at mile 18 of the 2008 Philadelphia Marathon, I had a passing thought: "Could I join Rob next year & finish a marathon?" While Rob was passing his post-marathon days with Double Stuff Oreo’s & Family Guy re-runs, I was looking to see when the 2009 marathon would be held.
Quick tangent: Why do they continue to make single stuff Oreo’s? I mean who goes into the store, looks at the single stuff Oreo’s that are RIGHT NEXT TO AND THE SAME PRICE as the Double Stuff Oreo’s and says "Oh, those Double Stuff Oreo’s have too much stuff in them….Thank goodness for the single stuff Oreo’s." No idea.
Anyway, upon my discovery that the 2009 Philadelphia Marathon would be held on November 22, I knew that I HAD to try to complete this 26 mile & 385 yard course.
November 22 was the date that President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas in 1963. Even though, I wasn’t born at the time, his death had a huge impact on my childhood. As children of Irish Catholic parents, my sisters and I felt the enormous sense of pride my parents had towards JFK & RFK long after their premature deaths. It went well beyond "having one of our own in the White House." At a young age, I can remember my Mom reading yellowed copies of the November 23, 1963 Philadelphia Inquirer and a copy of Life magazine to me, and telling me stories about what her, my Dad and my older sisters went through in the days after the assassination.

A little closer to home, November 22 also happens to mark a terribly tragic day in my own family. It’s the day my nephew Ryan Bolte passed away in 1996. Ryan was the type of kid an uncle loves to have: mischievous, silly, funny, but ultimately, not your responsibility. For the first six years of Ryan’s life, he was just a normal goofball of a kid with an infectious laugh and a surfer hair cut that he thought was too cool. My lasting image of Ryan was when his brother Erik was born. While my brother and sister in law Steve and Kathlynn were at the hospital, my wife and I went to Voorhees to watch Ryan & his older brother Richard. When word got to us that Erik was born, we decided to celebrate and allow Richard and Ryan to have a little red wine. While the older Richard cautiously poked at the wine with his finger and lips, the younger Ryan picked up the glass, drank it down, slammed the glass down and let out an emphatic "Ahhhhhhh!!"
At age six, it was discovered that Ryan had an inoperable brain tumor, and at age eight, he was gone. Both of my kids have the middle name Ryan in his honor.
While I’m struggling through the streets of Philadelphia on old and tired stems, I’m sure Ryan will be watching over me and will never be far from my thoughts.
39 days to go…thanks for reading,
Curls