Vulnerable caption: As you probably know from my countless posts, I have gotten into running over the last year as a hobby and as a way to work through trauma. Last fall, I wrote about marathon training after my dad was k*ll*d and pitched it to a few outlets. The piece wasn’t good and not up to my bar, which is already low since I’m far from a full-time writer. I heard a lot of nothing (which is standard in the industry), tried to rewrite it and then realized I was way too close to the story. 
The rejection, while not personal at all, made me feel as if my story wasn’t important. So, I sat on it and then later put it out of mind. I recently saw on Strava that it’s been a year since I returned back to New York after staying with my family for a few weeks after the tragedy, and the memories of bawling my eyes out on a run came flooding back. After that flashback, I decided I just wanted to put the words — which are a very far cry from my best — out there. For my dad. For me. I buri...