I've been thinking about starting a blog for about a year now...maybe longer. I keep finding excuses as to why I don't have the time...and all those other reasons that we make up to avoid starting something that might be a little intimidating. Writing your thoughts down is intimidating. Putting those words swirling around you head down on paper or screen for everyone to see...down right scary. But hey, life's all about taking the chances that scare the crap out of you.
Is it surprising that the events in Boston yesterday happen to be the thing that triggers me into action? Not to me.
The bombing at the Boston Marathon has affected me enormously. Why? I'm a runner. I'm a mom. I'm a wife. I'm a human being that respects life...even the lives of those who have different views and beliefs.
I'm scheduled to run the Boston half marathon in October. My plan was to run the full marathon in the next few years. The commitment, drive and sheer will needed to complete a race of that kind is only outweighed by the pride and sense of accomplishment one would feel at completing that race. That's my feeling anyway.
That's not why this affected me so much. This is why.
Last May I ran my first ever 10K. Might not sound like much but two months earlier I couldn't run a city block. No joke. I knew I wouldn't be able to run the full 10K. By the race date the most I had run without stopping was 3K. As I stood at the starting gate with 10,000 other runners I was nervous...nervous is an understatement. I was happy that it was a little chilly out so that my shaking could be disguised as cold and not what it really was. I was scared. I was alone. I was intimidated.
When the horns went off for my group to go, my heart was firmly planted in my throat. I think I was holding my breath for at least the first 200 meters. As I ran down Yonge Street in Toronto I was suddenly very aware of the crowds of people lining the streets. I remember thinking "why are all these people here so early on a Sunday?" The my 'common sense' part of my brain thought "oh, they are trying to cross the street, they are trying to get places for Mother's Day".
I was wrong. As I continued to run I noticed that they were not in fact trying to cross the road. They were cheering. These people were lining a city street, ringing bells, cheering out and holding signs of encouragement. All for total strangers. Why? I'm not sure. Was it because we, as runners, raised money for a charity? because we were achieving goals? because they wanted to support their neighbours, community, friends? does it matter? All I know is that they gave me the strength to continue, to run harder, to breath deeper and mostly to feel proud of what I was there to do.
As I approached the finish line, tears streaming down my face and feeling pride in literally every ounce of my body, like it was pouring out of my finger tips, all I could think of was seeing my daughter and my husband on the other side of that clock.
STOP.
What if it stopped there. What if I never got to cross the line. Never got to rush to them, hold them, cry tears of joy, be a true example to my daughter of accomplishing goals and achieving anything you put your mind and heart to!
I think of that. I keep thinking of that. I promise to keep thinking of that, if for no other reason than the fact that I did get to cross the line. I did get to hold my daughter. And I will again today.
