College Sports Information Directors of America

Editor's note: Production Editor Tom DeSchriver is running the May 6 Run for the Red Pocono Marathon. Every Monday, he chronicles his journey to the starting line.

Over the years, I've used running for many things.

When I was young, it was a way to test myself, to see how fast I could go and how I fared against other runners I knew trained as hard as I did.

I've used my running to keep fit, lose weight or, when I was in good shape, test myself again.

The last 10 days, however, running has been my therapist.

You see, my dear friend Pete Nevins is dying.

The energetic Nevins, a father-figure/mentor/friend of mine for 37 years who until recently wrote a weekly column in the Record about local athletes and was the longtime sports information director at ESU before retiring a few years ago, bounded into the Record's offices four weeks ago and kidded me about not getting hurt because the paper was spending so much money every Monday on my column.

A couple of weeks later, Dec. 21 to be precise, Pete was given the news that he has an inoperable brain tumor. When I saw him Friday at Lehigh Valley Hospital Hospice, he couldn't speak, and his once go-go body was lying nearly motionless in a hospital bed. I was stunned. A lump formed in my throat. I had to hold onto my wife and a bed rail for support.

Since Dec. 21, Pete's condition has consumed my thoughts. I can't believe my friend, who I never imagined would slow down, can barely move his head from side to side and cannot speak.

The day after finding out the terrible news, I intended to run six miles. I found myself 4 miles from home, not really paying attention to how I felt physically. I cried most of that nine-mile run, thinking of Pete's family, his wonderful wife Gail, and everything Pete has meant to me over the last 37 years.

My thoughts since then have centered on Pete I'm in shock, in denial and angry over what is happening to my friend and his family. I see the pain in their faces and it breaks my heart.

I've been down this road before, as most people my age have, because it's hard to get to 47 years old without losing a loved one.

Nearly three years ago, my mother-in-law, Sheila Litz, died of cancer. I still think of her at times when I run. The suffering she went through and the pain it caused my wife and her family are forever imprinted in my mind.

When Sheila was dying I drew strength from her courage. I would tell myself during races or hard workouts that my pain was nothing compared to what she was going through. It helped with the physical pain, but the emotional toll of losing a loved one never seems to fade.

Losing Pete will be devastating for many people. He not only will leave a huge fingerprint on Monroe County athletics, but he was also involved in other civic causes, including serving on the Monroe County Library Board of Directors.

I've noticed the last 10 days my runs haven't been as crisp as they should be. My mind wanders to Pete, my mother-in-law, a whole host of things that have nothing to do with training for a marathon.

In the late 1970s after being diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, I used running as a way to keep my life going. The sicker I got, until finally surgery was needed at the Mayo Clinic in 1977, the more I thought about getting back to my running; my goal after surgery was to be back running in less than the eight weeks the doctors told me to wait. When I couldn't walk or stand on my own, I dreamed of being on a lonely country road clicking off six-minute miles.

At critical times in my life, running has served as a free therapist. Once again, it'll serve that purpose. As I run through the Glen Brook golf course now I'll remember Pete and my mother-in-law, grieving on the way out.

When I turn around and head home, I'll use my memories of them as a source of strength. They are constant reminders that I'm lucky to be on the roads, doing what I enjoy.