We’ve just returned home from London, where my poor husband had to wrangle three kids through the masses of spectators for a glimpse of their old mom running/jogging/moving at a snail’s pace on the marathon course. Marathon 2011 is officially over, I’m officially exhausted, and running is officially dead to me. At least for the next two weeks.
I returned home with a wicked cold, three fewer toenails, a mountain of laundry, and a medal. The medal was great, but better still were the hand scrawled signs and proud baby faced smiles at the end. The joy of listening to them recount this runner and that costume, how many high fives they gave, and what it took to push to the front took the edge off the after-ache.
The pulse and throb of tired legs kept me awake that night, everything screamed ‘Weary’. But beneath the weary was a steady beat that said ‘Alive’. This is what it is to be Alive…to possibility, to pain, to potential.
It’s why I run. It’s why I’ll probably be back pounding the pavement by May, and maybe even considering another race in the distant (very distant) future. It’s why I tell you all about it too. To say that something might yell ‘weary’ at you, but if you listen hard enough it may speak of something better.