marathon

If you know me at all, or if you read this blog, you know I am a runner.  I’ve been running for decades, and while I was never fast–and I’m certainly not fast now–running has never been about speed or PRs for me.  I just love it, and I always have.  Running is my happy place; it grounds me and it keeps me sane.  I have run all over the world, and it has allowed me to explore more cities than I can count.

I’m a morning runner, and running at dawn always gets my day off to a good start.  Nothing is as beautiful as running in Colorado, of course, but running in rural Gettysburg is pretty amazing, too:  it is the rare day that I don’t see a Great Blue Heron and multiple deer, and, of course, I have my regulars: flocks of sheep and herds cows I greet along the way.

I have run two marathons, but that distance is a reach for me; what I really love are half-marathons.  I remember vividly the Rock-and-Roll Phoenix half-marathon I did some years ago, after my father had had his serious stroke.  I was so proud of him for continuing to persevere in the face of such a debilitating event–I still am–and I have such a strong memory of thinking about him while I was running, and knowing that at any moment, things can change.  I never, ever take being able to run for granted.

So, I absolutely loved this piece in The New York Times, about a daughter who ran/walked the New York City marathon with her mother.  It emphasizes how running can connect, uplift and transform us, in ways we sometimes don’t expect.  It’s definitely worth a read; I hope you enjoy it!  Running with My Mom

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