What’s better than 8am mid-winter runs, public barfing and lingering purple toenails?
Celebrating my big accomplishment with Papi, Manny and Youk, that’s what!
Last Monday, I experienced the icing on my marathon cake. As a reward for runners who raised more than $6,000 (thanks, guys), the Miles for Miracles team sponsored dinner and a game – Red-Sox style.
Colleen and I skirted our afternoon work duties to get to Fenway, just in time to bump into Marathon Katie and Marathon Jen.
I had no idea they’d be there, so I was stoked to see them line up right behind Colleen and me, swiping sweat from their brows and declaring how strange it was to see each other in “street clothes”. That phrase takes on a new meaning when, actually, our running gear should be considered street clothes and our plain-clothes attire should be called regular-people-who-don’t-celebrate-electrolyte-gel-and-sport-spandex-for-fun clothes.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, despite the extreme heat and drippy, sweaty, oh-my-gosh-I’m-creating-PUDDLES-here humidity, we merry runners (all of us, Colleen), truly relished in our out-of-context meeting, which at times compelled me to look my girls up and down, Joey Tribiani-style and say, You clean up real nice.
Dinner was dogs, corn on the cob and Bud Light. Seats were way-the-heck-back-there. Laughing, fun-making, reminiscing, male-investigating, chilling and plan-making were phenomenal. I don’t know who we played (sorry, Dad). I don’t know who won (sorry, Stevie). I do know that Papi wasn’t playing (boo) and that we all had a blast.
How fun are my girls? How lucky am I?
What an absolute blessing this experience has been.
As the days pass and time between me and my glory day spreads longer, thinner, and heart-wrenchingly farther away, I keep thinking, Oh no. I’m forgetting. The feelings, the tastes, the fears, the joys – they’re waning. The minutiae of my marathon is becoming shadowy, less present, more away.
And I get scared. Scared that life will never present me an opportunity like this again. This hard work/big reward situation that makes me rethink life and love, goals and promises. And, and, I miss it. I want it back. I want to hold the hours, the paces, the people in my arms and hug them (all of them) and tell them how they’ve reshaped my future, surprised the hell out of me, made me feel cooler, stronger, and more capable than I’ve ever felt before.
And then, just as quickly as it came, this all-over fear of loss and time elapse passes, and the delight of the memories splashes over me with a brisk spray, no under toe. And I float, and linger, and grab my boogie board, ready for the next wave.