All right, people, I understand that I do not have what one would call a particularly good track record when it comes to this sort of thing. In fact, the only other time that I made a grand declaration about a half marathon, I very publicly went down in the flames of said declaration – or rather curled up in the fetal position and watched the flames go out.
But I think we can all agree that deciding to run a half marathon in the middle of February – on Cape Cod – while having never run more than two miles in my life was not only a tad bit impetuous, but doomed from the start.
This, my friends, is different. I promise.
Because this is for my kid. And I may bail on myself (a lot), but I don’t bail on my kid (ever).
And, the best part is, I know I can do this. Because Brooke has taught me how.
The other day I was asked to describe my younger daughter in a couple of short sentences. Firstly, you all know I don’t really do anything in ‘a few short sentences’ and I sure as hell can’t describe either of my girls in said manner. But a few short sentences was what I had, so I had to prioritize. Here’s what I wrote:
“She is a nine year-old girl whose laughter starts at her shoulders, takes her entire body along for the ride, then sets the room ablaze in light. She struggles mightily yet has an indomitable spirit that powers her over, around or through every obstacle she faces and leaves nothing and no one in her wake unchanged.”
Of all the things and people that my girl has changed, she has changed none more than me.
Challenges look different now.
Hell, everything looks different now.
I’m in no shape to run 13.1 miles. As a matter of fact, I’m in the worst shape of my life. But if that stops me, then I’ve learned nothing from my girl.
Every day my kid faces a world that blasts out of the gate while she’s still suiting up. Yet every day, she’s out there, in the mix, figuring out how to run their race her way, at her own pace. It doesn’t matter how or when she gets there, just that she does.
So I can’t run 13.1 miles. But I can walk. And walk I will.
For my girl – for all of those like her who struggle so mightily yet have so very much to offer.
I will walk.
Will you join me?
Luau has set up a handy-dandy training program just for walkers. We can follow it together, to the best of our ability. If we miss one training walk, no guilt. We’ll just do the next one. We can do this. Just like our kids do. One. Step. At. A. Time.
So what do you say?
If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward. ~ Martin Luther King Jr.