There is an amazing and passionate draw that running has on me. I am fortunate to be able to lace up my shoes almost any day, during any condition, for any amount of mileage, and it makes me happy. I really do run to keep balance and to be me.
However, there is something magical about the Boston Marathon. It’s that time honored, sacred, not everyone can do it, but my pieces have fallen into place in such a way that it has become a part of the puzzle that makes me……me.
And so I, the usually grounded, hardly difficult and not melodramatic: Never too detailed orientated runner, find myself reflecting and so full of love that I may explode….unless I run 26.2 miles. I don’t care how fast I run. I don’t care who tracks me. I don’t care who isn’t sincerely in my corner, because right now I care enough for the whole world that none of that can penetrate me. There is something powerful about setting your mind to a goal back in September, laying all the puzzle pieces out, and somehow through every earthquake life could shake you with, the pieces still fit together; because this is what you are meant to be doing. This some-how –despite how crazy it really is, makes sense.
And so I sit, not planning my fuel, or how I’m going to get to the start, or how I’m going to get back to my friends after I cross, or what I’m going to eat the night before……….I’m planning my prayer intentions for the shirt I want to wear, I’m planning how many kisses I’m going to give my friend’s baby when I see him again, I’m planning how long I can hug my friends who have decided to drive out in the 9th hour to honor the event and me without it becoming too long. I”m finding myself so wrought with hope for mankind and my daughter’s future, that I can’t do anything but sit peacefully while watching her sleep and be grateful. Grateful that I get to add to my t-shirt and my playlist songs that do nothing but make me feel alive……no matter….
….because all roads lead to Boylston.