When you have a mixed gender family of a 12 year old, a 10 year old and a five year old, there is always a grumble or two or three when trying to decide on an activity that will engage and excite everyone. It's nigh impossible actually to come to a consensus so my suggestion that we go watch the Boston Marathon on Monday met with various degrees of excitement, mostly on the cool side. MaeMae was the most enthusiastic, runner-aspirer as she is. "Why would I want to see a bunch of people running down the street?" asked Scootch, living up in attitude to the pimply nose that betrays his impending teenagerhood. "What is it Mom, is it people running in a parade?" asked Little Guy. Various clucking and soothing and I'll admit it, bribing, finally got everyone in the car and off we went, anxious to get an early start, anxious about traffic and parking, anxious whether it would all work out and everyone would be happy, although, the anxiety was all mine!
When the first participants whizzed by the eyes nearly popped out of the heads of my three Kiddos. The first participants in the race are of course those competing in their variously rigged and impressively fast wheelchairs, that only faintly resemble traditional wheelchairs, arms propelling them down the course. MaeMae looked at me in complete disbelief "How do they do that Mom?" she asked, "It's impossible, I mean it's...it's... 26.2 miles....!" And from that moment on my three Kiddos were completely hooked. After the first wave of participants the women's race came by. Our viewing point was fantastic and about 11 miles in to the course, enough time to allow the group to break up a little and for the race leaders to come to the front. We were not disappointed as we saw Desiree Davila running down the course, her white skin in sharp contrast to the dark skin of Caroline Kilel, Sharon Cherop and their Kenyan companions. It was a wonderful and powerful sight. The Kiddos marvelled at the bare, tight, taut abdominal muscles working hard before our very eyes. The ladies looked relaxed and many smiled in response to the cheering crowds.
Thirty minutes or so later the first wave of the men's race came through and we were greeted by US participant Ryan Haul, in front at that point, but close on his heels, the Kenyan men's contingent. Haul ran seemingly effortlessly, passing mere feet from us, again smiling and wooing the crowd and the crowd loved him right back. As runner after runner ran down the field the Kiddos took pride in cheering each one. Soon hands were red and sore from clapping so much, they would take a break briefly and then be drawn back in to it all again. We started to notice those that wore their names on their shirts and had fun calling out to them by name "You go Dan, you're looking good!" "Ted, you're awesome!" "You can do it Mark!" Encouraged by the runner's nods and smiles and occasional words of thanks the kiddos persisted, pouring all their strength, admiration and awe into encouraging these marvellous athletes. Soon they were out at the edge of the course high-fiving runners as they ran by. They quickly spotted those runners that wanted to be high-fived and those that didn't. They loved holding their palms up to me to show how wet their hands were from the contact with bodies that were working so hard. In some way, I think they loved touching greatness.
Soon I found myself sitting back quietly, just watching. I would never find myself among these runners, never manage even a half mile of running. In recent months I find my breathing to be more labored and tight yet, my heart was full of gratitude for all sorts of things, some things I could hardly find words for, gratitude just bubbled up inside me. Occasionally I found tears in my eyes; like when I saw a shirt that read "This one's for you Dad!" or "Team Timmy", another read "I'm running for my sister" or "Cancer Survivor" or "I'm 41 today!". There were so many stories out there, thousands of them, indeed 27,000 of them, flying by me. The marathon itself was really only an outward representation of so many other marathons that have been run in and around these participant's lives, touching them, shaping them, moulding them. I was in awe of the love, willpower and dedication to the process that brought each person to this point, to this moment in time. I was grateful to each person out there, regardless of age or fitness level, whether they had two legs, one leg or no legs, that was bearing witness to my three children, illustrating the power of the human spirit, the power of determination, dedication and strength of character, the power of having a dream and chasing it, for 26.2 miles, all the way to the finish line.
Soon I found myself sitting back quietly, just watching. I would never find myself among these runners, never manage even a half mile of running. In recent months I find my breathing to be more labored and tight yet, my heart was full of gratitude for all sorts of things, some things I could hardly find words for, gratitude just bubbled up inside me. Occasionally I found tears in my eyes; like when I saw a shirt that read "This one's for you Dad!" or "Team Timmy", another read "I'm running for my sister" or "Cancer Survivor" or "I'm 41 today!". There were so many stories out there, thousands of them, indeed 27,000 of them, flying by me. The marathon itself was really only an outward representation of so many other marathons that have been run in and around these participant's lives, touching them, shaping them, moulding them. I was in awe of the love, willpower and dedication to the process that brought each person to this point, to this moment in time. I was grateful to each person out there, regardless of age or fitness level, whether they had two legs, one leg or no legs, that was bearing witness to my three children, illustrating the power of the human spirit, the power of determination, dedication and strength of character, the power of having a dream and chasing it, for 26.2 miles, all the way to the finish line.
A tiny clip of the first rush of ladies with Desiree Davila in the middle of the Kenyan contingent
Ryan Haul leads as he races past us
This is for both my girls. I think I should stop writing (though I won't) because I cannot reach the standard of both of you. E, I was there with you and was deeply touched at the end (Can you hear the "sniffles"?).
ReplyDeleteNever really thought about marathon runners quite like that Eithne, admired them yes and the good causes they embrace. Thought provoking, the inherent good in people is wonderful. Thanks Eithne.
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