We had our group run yesterday (Saturday)10 miles, which is the second to longest run in the prep for the half marathon. After next weekend (which I have to run by myself again because I have to work yet another Saturday for FASNY) we start the "taper" process; meaning that we start scaling back the mileage so that everyone is rested, uninjured (with me? You never know....four years ago I almost knocked myself out of my first half-marathon after I fell down a flight of stairs at work. I know all of you must find that so difficult to believe :). Three weeks of intensive physical therapy and some judicious cortisone shots and I managed to stay in the race) and ready to go.
Our group runs start pretty much the same way every week. The coaches speak to the group about nutrition, or pace, or stretching or whatever topic is on their minds and then we have a team-building moment. Sometimes someone wants to dedicate that day's run to a patient, or a survivor, or to a family who has lost someone to leukemia, sometimes we have a guest speaker, sometimes it's just a moment of silence to be mindful of why we're all there.
This week we had a guest speaker (I'm not going to name her to maintain her privacy, and you'll see why in a few paragraphs). She had a framed photograph with her and I assumed that she was one of our regular runners who wanted to dedicate the run to her honored patient. I couldn't have been more wrong.
She moved into the middle of the group (over 100 runners) and as she was fairly soft spoken, everyone in the group quieted down in order to hear her. At that point however, everyone was either still stretching, or eating an energy bar, or retying their shoes or adjusting their mp3 players. Her next words caused ALL movement to cease.
"Hi, my name is ______ and this (she lifted up the framed photo to show everyone) is my son Matt. Matt died a year and a half ago from ALL (Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia) at the age of ten years. I just wanted to take some time to let you know how much my family appreciates everything that you people are doing, raising funds, funding research, trying to find a cure. If I had one wish, it would be that we find a cure in my lifetime so that Matt's brother can find some peace in this. He will never, ever be the same, none of us will, and the grief is unimaginable, and a daily part of our lives, but we persevere for him, and for our family. So thank you. Have a great run today."
She did not give this speech dry-eyed, nor was it rehearsed. It came from her heart, and after speaking, she joined the team for the ten mile run. There wasn't a dry eye in the house, and as we applauded her, I glanced over and saw the regular group of Army Reserve runners that we see almost every Saturday were also applauding.
I don't know how anyone ever gets past the loss of a child. I don't know where this woman found the strength to speak to all of us, and I can't believe that she thinks WE are the heroes. In my mind she has unimaginable courage in the face of unimaginable grief. That's a hero in my book.
And she completed that ten mile run step for step with me and Maureen as though she had wings on her feet. I think her son was running along with her in spirit.
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