YaYa returned from camp with a little more maturity and confidence. It’s like this every year but, this year, it hit me harder than usual. Teenager! My son is well on his way to being a teenager. Given BoBo’s rocky path, this frightens me to no end. And yet…
We had just arrived at the camp drop off. Almost immediately, YaYa was picked out of the crowd by a couple of the ever-enthusiastic counselors. One ran over yelling his name, and minutes later YaYa was playing games with the same group of kids who have been coming to this camp year after year! This camp has been one of the few rock solid supports we know we can count on — a blessing for sure.
Paper covers rock.
This week, I’ve started reading Marshall Urich’s book titled “Running on Empty; An ultrarunner’s story of love, loss, and record-setting.” While the ultra-running community is cheering his legendary list of accolades, I am currently doing quite the opposite. I expect that my opinion will change as I get further along in his book — otherwise why would they even list love and loss in the title?
But I am NOT at that point in the book. I am only at the beginning of Chapter 2: Legacy. Up to this point, with each race Urich writes about, the widow and mother in me reads and judges his “accomplishment” as a failure rather than success.
Now I realize that everyone handles death differently, but I simply could not find understanding in how this guy moved forward with his life without looking back. Race after race, adventure after adventure, he did indeed set out to achieve more than was thought to be humanly possible. By the time Chapter 1, titled “As far as I can, As fast as I can,” was almost over I found myself getting angry.
Quietly, I cheered his 2nd wife for leaving him. Think what you want of me; that guy had no business getting married again, let alone having more kids. Not at that point in his life anyway. From his story — he was the one who wrote it, right — he wasn’t exactly playing husband OR father. Working to put money in the bank pays the bills but, in my opinion, it doesn’t even come close to fitting the bill (so to speak) of having a family. He left all of that responsibility to her. If that wasn’t enough, he married AND divorced again.
About the time I was really questioning if there was any hope for this guy, he shared a few honest words contrasting his “racked up list of accomplishments” with his “personal shortcomings” and noting the disconnect with the people in his life who loved him. Twenty years had passed since his wife’s death and, it seemed, that he was finally realizing how grief works. It will chase you down no matter how fast or far you go. You cannot run away from it.
I read on and wonder if and when this man’s story would describe him taking on what I perceive to be his biggest challenge: tackling the pain from the death of his 1st wife. I assume that he does eventually do this. I also suspect that his journey shifts from one of running *away* from the pain to running *with* the pain. I suppose I’ll have to continue reading to find out.
You may wonder why I even share this with book with you, seeing as how I haven’t neither formed a positive opinion of it or read the half of it. From the reviews I’ve read, I do believe this book has an inspiring story which you may want to check out.
The reason I share with you today is that reading this book has raised another, more personal, question for me. One that I hope those of you who have been with me for the past many years will weigh in on — with your most honest opinion.
The wind was miserably COLD as me and 20+ thousand other runners waited for our race to start. My nerves were getting the better of me as I wondered if the increased downhill would do me in. I tried to quell the apprehension with the reminder that I would take it easy and savor the race. But, I couldn’t help but question whether I was prepared for this race or not.
After dropping off my bag, I joined the crowd and we walked toward the start. Although it remained blisteringly cold, the sun shone bright and energy was high. I held back my tears as I thought about what a long journey it has been to get here. Approaching the start, I looked all around me. Along side, in front, and behind were runners from all over the world. Lining the course on either side was a sea of spectators. They were hootin’ and hollering for us!
My eyes began to well up again, and once again, I pushed back the emotion. It would not be the last time I’d hold back the flood of emotion. This occurred many times along the course.
Reflecting on all that I’ve been through in the past 9 years. A combination of good, bad, and ugly…a new home, numerous injuries, and dying loved ones. And through it all, I somehow managed to continue on.
The heat from the sun and the warmth of the spectators helped me leave the chilly feeling of the morning behind. The tearfulness continued to pop up here and there: In the scream tunnel of Wellesley, while leaving the hills of Newton, when the famed CITCO sign came into view, and as I made the final turn onto the straightaway to the finish. Different from the tears of marathons’ past, these tears, brought on by the cheer of the crowd, were tears of a different kind.