I woke up today, the day before the marathon, with a massive red zit on my zone, one that could rival the hormone-induced pimples of my own teenagers.
“Hey Mom, I didn’t know you got zits!”
“Meh, I don’t. Just for the marathon….”
So that’s a good sign that my body is in balance and that I am all pure, clean, revved up and ready to go, no?
No. But who cares. Will it slow me down, that big red zit?
I don’t think so, but it will certainly add color to my pale face, a little burst of color, if you will.
And seriously, who cares about that pimple, when all I am is freaking excited to race tomorrow.
I’ve been nervous all week, making all of the calculations, surveying my paces my discrepancies, noting every muscle twinge and phantom pain that arises.
But still I am happy, grateful and ready to roll.
During this cycle, two friends of varying closeness have been diagnosed with cancer. One with Stage 4 lung cancer, and the other with Breast Cancer that seems, thank goodness, to be treatable.
Both of them are enduring traditional chemotherapy at the moment.
My heart goes out to them every single day, as I think about the struggle that they have, out of sheer bad luck, been forced to endure. They both have families, kids who need them. Husbands who are devastated to watch their better halves face the pain and uncertainty that comes along with such a diagnosis.
I feel helpless.
So tomorrow I run for them. For the ugliness that life hands out, the unfairness of it all. I will run for them because I am grateful. Grateful for every moment I have, every day I have with my boys. I am grateful that I can run, that I am healthy, that I can engage in this awful thing called the marathon. I am grateful that I have these women as role models, because they are stronger than I will ever be.
So I run tomorrow as a fighter, someone who can endure the rough patches knowing that the pain one feels when running is nothing compared to the pain of illness.
I cannot wait to get to the starting line.
See you on the other side.