She Laced Back Up: Gail Dwyer Runs in Honor of CW3 Steve Dwyer, Jr.

Gail Dwyer has lived a life defined by service, strength, and movement. A Veteran and military spouse, a mom of four, and a grandmother to ten, she spent decades finding clarity and resilience through fitness, especially running. Over four decades, Gail completed eight marathons before injuries eventually forced her to hang up her shoes.

But grief has a way of calling us back to what once sustained us.

When Gail lost her oldest son, CW3 Steve Dwyer, Jr., she laced up again.

Steve was an Army special operations aviator with the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. He was killed on November 10, 2023, along with four fellow crew members, in a helicopter crash while deployed over the Mediterranean Sea. To Gail, Steve was the centerpiece of their family’s jigsaw puzzle, the natural leader, the life of the party, full of light, laughter, and love.

“The oldest of our four kids,” Gail shares. “Easy-going, but intense when he had to be. Steve was just… everything.”

Running, which had once been her therapy through West Point, Army life, deployments, pregnancies, and decades of service, became essential again after Steve’s death. Fitness had always kept her grounded, but running brought something deeper.

“Working out makes me feel good,” she says. “But running takes it to the next level. It gives me time to pray, to think, to reach the kind of physical exhaustion Steve believed was important.”

Gail began running again slowly, swallowing pride, listening to her body, reminding herself of her purpose. She isn’t chasing pace or medals anymore. She’s running to stay sane. She’s running to honor her son.

She was introduced to wear blue: run to remember by fellow Gold Star family members of the men who served alongside Steve. Their experiences resonated deeply. When Gail applied for the Cowtown Half Marathon through the Gold Star and Survivor Endurance Program, she was immediately struck by the care, organization, and compassion of the wear blue community.

“wear blue felt more like my tribe,” she says. “Fitness is my therapy, and supporting others helps pull me out of my own darkness.”

Although Gail doesn’t live near a wear blue community and hasn’t yet experienced a Circle of Remembrance or wear blue Mile, she feels connected, especially as she looks ahead to meeting her fellow cohort athletes at Cowtown.

Many of Gail’s runs are quiet and intentional. She spends the first half without music, praying, thinking about Steve, remembering. On one long run, she listened to an interview with Mike Durant, a fellow 160th pilot and survivor of Mogadishu, someone Steve deeply admired as a boy.

“I kept thinking how much little Steve would have loved hearing it,” she says.

Grief is ever-present. Gail doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“It will always suck,” she admits. “It’s not a club anyone wants to join. But I believe doing good for others is the best way out of our own darkness.”

During one run, Gail realized something that now guides her forward: movement itself is a metaphor for life after loss.

“One step at a time,” she says. “No matter the pace.”

And when the heat is heavy, the miles feel long, and doubt creeps in, she remembers a mantra she once shared with her children, especially Steve:

“Never think about how you feel when you’re running up a hill.”

It’s advice for running. And for life.