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