Help Juliana raise money

Growing up, I watched my dad navigate life with multiple sclerosis, and it shaped my understanding of strength long before I truly understood the disease. At first, MS felt like an invisible challenge—something we talked about, something the adults whispered around, but not something that changed much about our day-to-day life. But as I got older, I began to notice the subtle shifts: the slower steps, the fatigue that hit him faster, and the moments when frustration flickered across his face even though he tried hard to hide it. Those early memories are etched into me, because they were the first signs that this illness was something big, something permanent, something that would require all of us to be stronger.

As the years went on, the changes became harder to ignore. I watched my dad’s mobility decline, tasks that once took minutes stretching into long, exhausting processes. The independence he cherished became something he had to fight to maintain. Watching someone you love lose parts of their life piece by piece is a kind of heartbreak that never fully leaves you. But even as things got harder, he refused to let MS take away his spirit. He adapted, he pushed, and he kept showing up for the people he loved. His perseverance, even on days when simply standing felt like a battle, taught me more about resilience than anything else ever could.

Seeing him struggle made me feel helpless at times, wishing I could take the burden off his shoulders or slow the progression of his symptoms. But it also awakened something in me—a deep desire to do something meaningful, something that could honor his fight while contributing to the larger battle against MS. I wanted a way to channel the emotions I carried: the fear, the sadness, the admiration, and the fierce love. That’s what led me to running. Running gave me an outlet, a tangible way to push my body in honor of everything his body has had to endure.

When I decided to join Team MS for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon, it felt like the perfect way to turn something painful into something powerful. Every mile represents a piece of my dad’s journey—his strength, his setbacks, and his determination. Training isn’t always easy, but any discomfort I feel is nothing compared to what he faces daily. Running with Team MS allows me to support critical research, raise awareness, and be part of a community fighting for a future where families don’t have to watch their loved ones decline from this disease.

As I prepare for race day, I carry my dad with me in every step. He is my motivation, my reminder of what true courage looks like, and the reason I am committed to making a difference. Running the Pittsburgh Half Marathon isn’t just a personal challenge—it’s a tribute. It’s a promise to keep advocating, keep pushing, and keep believing in a future without MS. And with every mile, I run not just for myself, but for him, and for every person fighting the same uphill battle.