Yesterday was not a great day. I went to a memorial for one of my dearest friends and running companions, who died last month as the result of a bicycle accident while she was out training for a triathlon. She struggled to survive for over five weeks, during which time she turned fifty. She was the most energetic, happy, vital, and encouraging person I have ever known. She packed more life and adventure into her unfairly shortened years than most people will accomplish in a full lifetime. The one thing that eases the sadness and tragedy of her death is knowing that she touched and brightened the lives of more people than we'll ever know. As short as her life was, she is someone who truly made a difference -- something most of us can only hope to do. If there's a Heaven, she's probably already shaking things up.

Much of my sorrow, however, is for all the things I didn't do to nurture our friendship after she moved to Atlanta (to get involved with the 1996 Olympics). We saw each other a few times, including at the Olympics, but I could have done so much more, especially for someone I claim as such a close friend. I've started a letter to her -- the letter I should have written long ago. I don't know who I will give it to, but I hope it serves to remind me how dear friendships are and how short life can be. So many things can so suddenly no longer be said. I don't want to have to write such a letter again. I miss you terribly, Carole.