Dear Ms. Nancy Frigo,

Hello there, my name is Lexie Itczak. To briefly introduce myself, I am a Lowell High School graduate of 2010. Currently I am studying to become a hydrologist, which means I'm a huge science nerd. In my spare time I enjoy petting cats and hunting for Big Foot. Kidding, I'm just a normal college girl. Kind of. Normal is all but relative, really. Anyways, the point of this random message is not to introduce myself although I do feel it is important to have a feel for the sender. No, the point of this message is to share a bit about your son, Dean. I'm not entirely sure why I feel so lead to send you this now, but it has been laid so heavily on my heart ever since his passing. It has become considerably heavier in recent weeks.
To start from the beginning; your son was Mr.Wong's freshman PE assistant. He was the cool junior, and I was the awkward freshman in the gym uniform, haha. Other than seeing him during my gym hour, I didn't socialize with Dean. We weren't really "friends," more of a friendly acquaintance to each other. I didn't know him as well as some of my fellow classmates. During this gym class, Mr.Wong would routinely have us run "the mile." My class just so happened to be filled with track stars and seasoned athletes, leaving me with little opportunity for success with this task. To be honest, I was never really a runner. I was always lucky to run said distance in about eighteen minutes, which always left classmates perplexed because I have always been a slender kid. My lack of endurance was something I acknowledged and accepted. I was the band-geek science nerdy girl, and allowed myself to be content with that.
Given this love-hate relationship with running, I was not expecting to all of a sudden become as quick as a jungle cat. If anything, I allowed myself to slack. If I read Dean right, this was something he just couldn't watch. It was unacceptable. So as I was finishing the final lap of this torture in my bright red Converse shoes (dead last) Dean would shout some words of encouragement, or just tell me to pick up my feet. At first, well, it kind of pissed me off; why was he drawing more attention to me, couldn't he tell that I was just downright awful by nature? Apparently, no, he could not. Or maybe he did see this, but also saw some potential that I hadn't.
Once the shouting lost effect, Dean figured a "plan-b." In front of everyone in the field house, Dean would actually get up and run the last lap with me. He would run along side of me while giving more words of encouragement like you wouldn’t believe. Your son would say things like “It’s the final lap, you’re almost done!” “Let’s be quicker this time than we were last time!” “We’ve only got fifteen more steps if you open your stride!” When I would say things like “No, I can’t” he would just tell me to smile even though it hurt. He even started calling me Rex, because my running form is similar to a T-Rex. I think the name was an extra boost as well. To me, this was an incredible act. It still is to this day. Dean didn’t have to reach out to the quirky freshman, moving around the track at a turtles pace. He didn’t have to run with me. He had every reason to put me down, but instead he chose to encourage me. Later I learned that it was just his way. This was what he did for everyone.
The day of his passing, we were scheduled to do our routine running. On that day, I think part of Lowell High School passed as well. Classes didn’t go on. People weren’t talking. It was a somber and painful day even for those that had never talked to him. To me, this meant I would more than likely go back to running like a turtle. I would be forever lacking the encouragement Dean had so easily offered. It was strange going to PE and not seeing Dean there.
The weeks following were still strange, but I noticed myself running quicker. I would constantly imagine your son running with me, telling me to just smile. A year later, I joined cross-country. Don’t be fooled, I was very far from being MVP. I held a pretty solid record of finishing dead last for Lowell at every meet. But wouldn’t you know I constantly ran with a smile on my face. I did this without even realizing it most of the time. This became my trademark, and people recognized it. A cheering section for Rex at the finish of every race became consistent, made up of Lowell parents and teammates from all over. This was my last lap encouragement regime-one akin to Dean’s.
Now, in the present-day, I am proud to say I am a “runner.” Being able to run a mile in less than seven minutes has become a great source of pride for me. Recently I have started training for the Chicago Marathon, and a two thousand mile bicycling trip along the east coast with an organization dedicated to building homes for the less-fortunate. Dean’s words of encouragement constantly play on loop in my mind while training for both events. Never would I be able to do any of this without Dean’s help years ago.
Ms. Frigo, this is not my story of triumph. This is not a victory story, and I am no one special. This is, however, a story that I felt was worth sharing with you. Dean might not have realized the impact of his seemingly small actions. Clearly, his presence in my life has positively altered my being. I have no doubt that I would not be the person I am today without having the encouragement he had so easily offered to me. I’m not sure how spiritual you are, but I felt this was something I needed to say. This is, in my belief, anything but coincidence. Maybe this was something you needed to hear (read), maybe it wasn’t-I’m not sure. If anything this is just another instance illustrating how remarkable your son still is, and that is something I’m sure you’re not opposed to receiving.
Thank you for taking time to read this. You can expect me to run in the next 33 RDP 5k with a smile on my face, all because of Dean Frigo. It would be, in my opinion, insulting to him to run in any other state of being.

Sincerely and truly,

Lexie