My dad has always been a sports dad through and through. Growing up, he dreamed of weekends on the soccer field, coaching from the sidelines, and raising the next great attacking midfielder. Unfortunately for him, one weekend while he was away on a business trip, I chose dance over soccer... and unknowingly crushed his dreams.Even though I traded cleats for dance shoes, I was always his sporty kid. 

So in 2019, after recovering from a hip replacement, my dad decided the best way to celebrate was... naturally... signing our family up for a half marathon. Because apparently that's how he celebrates major life milestones. Most people go on vacation. My dad makes everyone run 13.1 miles. The only endurance I'd ever survived was a three-minute dance routine, so the thought of running for over two hours sounded completely ABSURD. But somewhere between side-by-side treadmill runs, aching legs, and trying to figure out how we'd even run one mile without stopping, something changed. Running became ours. More than that, it became uninterrupted time together, which is something adulthood has a funny way of stealing. Looking back, those miles became some of my favorite memories with my family. 

Then came 2020.

Like most families during COVID, you either became the family baking banana bread and binge-watching movies... or the family spending half the day working out because, honestly, what else was there to do? We definitely became the second family. 

Which is why what happened next felt so impossible. 

My mom was diagnosed with invasive lobular breast cancer. 

It didn't make sense. She was the healthiest person I knew. She was strong, active, disciplined, and someone who genuinely loved taking care of herself. If anyone had asked me who I thought would never hear the words, "You have cancer," I would've said my mom. Her diagnosis was a painful reminder that cancer doesn't discriminate. Almost overnight, race goals became treatment plans. Every appointment carried uncertainty. Every phone call carried hope.

Today, thanks to extraordinary doctors, groundbreaking research, and advancements in cancer treatment, my mom is cancer-free. That sentence is one I'll never take for granted. Her journey changed me. It taught me that health is a privilege, not a promise, and that the moments we think are ordinary…a birthday, a Sunday dinner, a run with your dad, a walk with your mom, are actually the moments that matter most.

Since her diagnosis, I've wanted to give back however I can. This November, I'll be running my very first marathon, the 2026 TCS New York City Marathon, with Fred's Team in support of Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. And somehow, it feels fitting that I'll be chasing my first 26.2-mile finish line with the person who got me into running in the first place... my dad.

I'll be running for my mom.

For every survivor.

For every fighter.

For every family waiting and hoping for good news.

For those we've lost.

And for the researchers whose work gives families like mine the gift of more time together.

My goal is to raise $4,500 for Memorial Sloan Kettering's lifesaving cancer research, where 100% of every donation goes directly toward research. 

Because research isn't just science.

It's another birthday.

Another holiday.

Another hug.

Another morning run.

Another chance to make memories with the people you love.

Thank you for supporting this mission. Every donation, share, and word of encouragement helps turn 26.2 miles into hope for someone else's family.