In less than twelve hours I will be joining 45,000 other runners to run the Chicago Marathon. As I've said before, I have signed up for Chicago 10 out of the last 11 years but I haven't actually run it since 2000. Yes, you read correctly, I have paid 9 other times to run a race I haven't run. But this year is different.

I joined Team LIVESTRONG right after I found out about my brother Steve's diagnosis back in May. I began sharing my story, my brother's story, and people - maybe even you - responded with a generosity that defied every expectation I had. (The latest number is $11,050 raised to serve those who are living strong with cancer!) So I kept sharing my story.

Here is the funny thing about stories - or at least true stories. They open the door for people to come closer. I have to admit that is way out of my comfort zone. I've always been a decent storyteller. Though mostly I relied on telling other people's stories. I never really thought at all about why I did that until this season.

Other's people's stories require no vulnerability. They don't require that I give something of my own heart. They don't invite people to draw close to me, to share my life. But this story, the one of my brother having cancer, and my niece being born and things not being nearly as neat and pretty as I want them to be...is mine. It's all wrapped up with who I am and who I am becoming. I have to give something of myself without proof that it will be honored, cared for, or even matter to anyone. I've been struck over these last months at how painful people drawing close can be. People I barely know drawing close. To share their own story, to encourage me...And sometimes, all I want to do is run. I don't want people that close. But then I realize that it truly is a healing sort of pain...both/and yet again.

I've never done things I don't know how to do well. I don't do things that will make me look (nevermind be!) incompetent. Because let's be clear, vulnerability and even authenticity are not things easily come by for me. So I'm running the marathon tomorrow. It isn't likely to be pretty. I haven't trained nearly as much as i should have this last month on the road. It's going to be hot - and I'm not a fan of hot. If I'm being honest I so don't want to run tomorrow morning. I'd rather go 11 for 11!

But then I am stopped. Stopped as I remember that this race is not for winning or looking competent. This one is for my brother. So that he will know that I and hundreds of others are running with him. And just like you can't run for me, I can't run the race he finds himself in for him either. But my hope is that he will be encouraged and humbled and strengthened to know that we are all with him. And if I'm really honest, running is also for me, to practice paying attention to what really matters...

I'm beginning to think that living strong might actually mean living vulnerable, living honest, living hopeful...so tomorrow I run.