On this past Sunday morning, instead of lazily slumbering past 7 and easing into the morning (I'm usually up and at 'em before 6 during the week, so anything that involves a sunrise and a stress-free breakfast is late to me), I rolled out of bed at 5:30. The reason for my early-bird wake-up: a marathon with an 8 o'clock start time.
Before you get all congratulatory, let me assure you that as much as I'd love to say I ran it (and in some crazy great time, no less), my role wasn't as runner but as official jacket schlepper for my group. Here's how it went: After they all high-fived and wished each other well, my gang shed their windbreakers and sweatshirts and handed the whole mass of them to me. Afterward, I ambled around the grounds for a while before claiming my prime viewing spot at the finish line.
And I had a fabulous time!
I loved serving as an unofficial support crew, which gave me the chance not only to score some cool snacks at the finish line (without having to exert an ounce of effort; yay me!) but also to relaxingly watch my gang and the rest of the runners as they strode across the finish line.
Talk about motivation.
Just about every age and life stage were represented, with each person sprinting toward her or his individual goal. But whatever they were running to (or running from, as the case may be), getting a front-row view of their fitness accomplishment was fabulous. All of the runners were clearly proud of themselves. And deservedly so. One woman, for instance, rounded the last bend chanting an “I'm doing it! I'm doing it!” mantra; an older gentleman snapped an iPhoto of himself while treading his last few steps, his face aglow with a contagious smile; for others, family members provided huge cheers and laudatory whoops, spurring their runners into the homestretch.
I've never run a marathon — and very well never will — but the inspiration I gleaned from the experience is powerful nonetheless: We are all capable of achieving way more than we give ourselves credit for. It's all about (quite literally) putting one foot in front of the other and moving. Just like with anything in life, that first step toward fitness is always the hardest — the ensuing ones come easier and easier.
Click HERE to enter Fort Worth, Texas magazine's Be Well Fort Worth weekly giveaways.
April 16 update: When I wrote this blog in the wee hours of April 15, little did I know that just a few hours later, our world would yet again be rocked by (what looks to be) an act of terrorism. This time, the innocent victims were Boston Marathoners, along with their friends, families and other fans. Among the runners who witnessed the carnage: a sweet friend of mine who wanted nothing more than to finish this storied race and feel the surge of pride and excitement that comes with such an accomplishment. Among the dead: an 8-year-old boy. AN 8-YEAR-OLD BOY!
As of this writing, three innocent lives were snuffed away when those two bombs exploded in Copley Square, sending shrapnel in the air with such force that many of the more than 150 wounded suffered serious injuries, including the loss of their limbs. The bombs, by the way, were made from pressure cookers stuffed with nails and metal ball bearings, according to the Associated Press.
Whatever sick $%#&s prepared and planted them knew precisely the damage that such a powerful incendiary device would inflict — as well as the resultant fear that would course throughout our country and around the world.
And, of course, the suspects (as yet to be identified) directed their disgusting hate at the venerable Boston Marathon because they knew how easy it would be to murder and maim a huge crowd in one fell swoop.
Cowards.
As this is a family-friendly blog, I will refrain from using words that might offend. But, trust me … I want to. Because I'm not just sick with sadness.
I'm absolutely furious.
What really makes my blood boil is that the pathetic cowards directed their malice at a group of people who were (before the blast) celebrating their own personal victories amid an atmosphere of natural adrenaline and pure joy. I witnessed the beautiful thrill of personal triumph the day before at the Dallas marathon. The entire crowd — athletes and spectators alike — pulsated with positive energy. You could feel it in the air — an elixir like no other.
To steal that away is evil incarnate.
All of us here at Fort Worth, Texas magazine extend our deepest condolences to the victims and their families, friends and loved ones. We also send our sympathies to the contingent of Tarrant-area residents who were there either to run or to watch. Your grief is our grief.
Things like this aren't supposed to happen. We are so very sorry.
