I ran 10km the other day. I sat down on the bumper of my car and cried. It was suppossed to be this big moment when I got back to being able to run 10km - I have worked really hard for it and I felt proud. But as always, there was something missing. I am still amazed at how easy it is for me to set a goal, put the work in and achieve it. It is where my sister and I part ways. She sets goals and she works very hard but it always seems like the end result always eludes her. It's like running 10km and never reaching the end. I can't imagine it. I simply can't imagine not getting the brass ring at the end of all the hard work. It is the reason I get so short with her sometimes because I just want to say, "stop fucking around and do it - you can do this". It's just that I have seen her so many times before finish the race. I still can't believe that she can't do it again. I know her perceptions of success and greatness are different than mine now. I realize I need to wear special rose colored glasses when I observe her world and see the tiny steps as the great big leaps that they are for her. I wish she was coming to my race my next weekend - she would stand at the end of the line and scream. She wouldn't have cared who was there or who was looking at her, she would come running at me and grab me up and swing me around and she would have said stuff like, "Don't be jealous - that's my sister". I can see her in my head as the girl I used to know. She would have been so proud. We probably would have gone to the pub afterwards and had beer and chatted up all the locals. I don't think this will ever happen again. I know I will never drink with my sister again. She leaves tonight for rehab again. A few beers to my sister is a doorway to a month of rehab. She seems less like the addict she was last year - she was sketchy and outward in her addictions. She looked addicted. Now she has dyed her hair back to the California blonde we know and love on her, she put on some more weight and she seems interested in her clothes again. Sometimes I want to squeeze her she looks so cute. And I forget, I simply forget she is not the same girl. Sweet, sweet, ignorant bliss.

I want you to know that I am running for her. She doesn't understand this so I'm telling you. There is no greater joy for me than to carry her burdens with me on my runs and throw them out to the early morning air and let them be for just awhile. I always hope when I get home, when my sneaker hit the door, she'll be there smiling and laughing. Hope carries me no matter how stupid it feels when I really see her and she is still broken into a million pieces. I think if I can run 10km, then she can be well. And then I think maybe I need to run further. Just a little further....