Saturday morning. Planning on sleeping late.
6:21 a.m. Phone notifies of incoming text. Flooded with sense of dread and knowing what it will say.
Reach for phone. Simple message: "the wait is over".
Great sadness, mixed with a tinge of relief. Brain tries to comprehend implications. Never see smile again. Never hear booming laugh again. Can it be true?
Gratitude for end of suffering doesn't quite make up for sense of loss, not yet. Give it a few days.
Next day, 4:30 a.m. Alarm goes off. Get up, eat, dress, haul stuff down to the car. Find parking area for shuttle bus.
Get to race start. Join crowd of 27,000 other people in various stages of awakeness. Wish for coffee but know it would be a very bad idea right now.
Not so sad today, but not mentally ready for 13.1 miles. Oh well. Already paid for it, am here, and know it will get better once going.
People-watch for an hour before starting. Speculate who will beat who to the finish line. Slowly shuffle to start line with starting wave.
Cross timing mat at start and quietly navigate around slower people. Feel heart rate climb and spirits follow. Cross the 5K mat, wondering where the first three miles went. Pass five mile sign and feel great. Don't remember yesterday's loss until mile eight or so. Mentally register it, and keep moving.
Enjoy capacity to sweat a lot. Ignore aching knees. Don't think about tender feet. Acknowledge that perhaps the orthotics are toast. Breathe. Note steady heart rate.
Pass someone using a walker. Someone else with a walking cast. Another with "Weight loss so far: 125 pounds" on the back of her shirt.
Add yesterday's loss to the list of Why and be grateful for having a choice. Dedicate today's happy physical existence to those who don't.
Breathe. In. Out. Fast. Slow.
Sprint to finish. Enjoy mourning in public with thousands of other people with thousands of stories. Alone but not alone.
Happy I have the opportunity to remember who Jim was.
Thank you, Jim.
Wow. Powerful.
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