I never thought I would run the race, not because I hadn't trained or wasn't mentally ready, but because my Dad was fighting for his life in the Intensive Care Unit of Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, Texas.

The Livestrong Marathon was 1:17:56:11 away.

My training partner and I had spent 4 months training for a 4 hour marathon. We followed the training perfectly, we were ready to make our goal. A 4-hour marathon would secure a qualifying time for Boston.

But with 1:17:56:11 left before the marathon, I received the call, something had gone terribly wrong with Dad's procedure.

I frantically drove from Austin to Dallas, Dad was in critical condition. My Dad was on a breathing machine and a tube had been inserted in his chest to keep his collapsed lung inflated. We held hands, we spoke softly in hopes he could hear us but mostly we cried and we prayed.

Saturday brought new hope, his eyes were open and he was able to communicate through writing. Short small notes, at first the words were barely legible but through out the morning the words became more and more clear.

"Where am I?"

"What day is it?"

It was a huge step.

My family tried to convince me to go back to Austin and run the race which was now just 20 hours away. There would be many more marathons; I wasn't leaving his side and I didn't even think he would remember it was my race weekend.

Standing beside his bed, he wrote on a piece of paper, "Go Home."

I told him I knew he wanted to go home but he couldn't.

He pointed to me.

I said, "Me? I'm not going home. Why?"

The next word written on the paper brought us all to tears, "Marathon!"

He remembered!

I struggled with my decision but realized running this marathon was now more than just for myself.

I told Dad, if I ran the race, he had to make me a promise — he would be OK. And I made a deal — I would bring back my medal.

I held my Dad's hand for what seemed like an eternity, I didn't want to let it go.

I kissed his forehead and made sure he knew how much I loved him.

My alarm beeped at 4:30 the morning of February 21st. I was back in Austin, my bib number pinned on, I was ready.

I stood with my hand over my heart, listening to the National Anthem... the race began.

The marathon challenged me both mentally and physically in ways I never thought possible.

I fought through the pain, the upset stomach and the unbearable urge to quit at mile 19, I knew I couldn't, I had made a promise.

I walked through a leg cramp at mile 22 and never thought I would make it to mile 23. And finally, that hill with just 600 meters to go.

I crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 45 seconds. I had qualified for Boston!

I wore my medal that night into the Intensive Care Unit at Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, Texas.

If only you could have seen my Dad's face!