Every Step a Tribute

In the quiet of early mornings, I often find myself lacing up my shoes, thinking of my sister. I can hear her laughter echoing from those countless miles we ran together. My sister, SFC Mendoza, was always faster than me. She ran with a force, a natural ease that I could never quite match. But I didn’t mind. I never chased her speed; I chased the joy of being beside her, in the rhythm of our shared experience. It was the act of running together that mattered most — not the finish line, but the moments in between.

Growing up, we were like two runners on parallel tracks — each forging our own paths, but always with the unspoken understanding that we were in it together. When she was stationed in Iraq, I often thought of her as I ran around the track at our high school. I imagined her running the same laps, on the same path, though thousands of miles away. It wasn’t about the miles. It was about the space between us closing, if only for a fleeting moment — the same air in our lungs, the same earth beneath our feet.

After her passing, I found myself walking these same paths without her. The joy of running together, once so effortless, became an act of solitude. The streets of the San Fernando Valley, the hills of Topanga Canyon — these were the places we had shared. These were the spaces where we once laughed, where I could keep up with her pace, where I could feel her energy, even in her absence. Now, I walk them alone. But it’s not a lonely walk. It’s a walk in her memory, a journey to honor her life, her service, and the joy she shared with me and so many others.

This year, I created a Carry the Load fundraising team named “Worst Pace Scenario” — a nod to the way we ran together, never racing against time, but always chasing the joy of the experience. My family, friends, and I committed to logging miles throughout May, as part of Carry the Load — every step a tribute to my sister, her courage, her laughter, and her service. It was a chance to grieve, but, more than that, it was space to honor the sacrifice she made for this nation and the sacrifices made by so many others who served alongside her.

Grief doesn’t end. But it can be carried — together.

The act of walking and running has become my way of connecting with her — of feeling, if only for a moment, like she’s beside me again. Worst Pace Scenario isn’t about who finishes first; it’s about finishing together — sharing the load of loss, remembering that even in grief, we find strength when we move forward side by side.

Walking through the valley or breathing in the scents of sage and eucalyptus, it’s as if she’s there with me, running beside me once more. These places are sacred now, filled with memories of her, of us. Each step is a tribute, a quiet acknowledgment that she once moved through this world with grace, strength, and laughter. Even now, she continues to inspire my every move — not walking for her, but with her, not running for her, but carrying her in every stride, every breath, every heartbeat.

As Worst Pace Scenario logged miles in May, we did so knowing that grief is not something we bear alone. And though my sister’s footsteps have faded, her impact remains. I will continue to carry her with me, and in my footsteps, she will always live on.

PHOTOS: Tatiana Mendoza; TAPS Archives