Jim and Phil delivered a walloping moment of truth last night. I was sniveling about how painful it is to watch the crews constructing the finish line and to know that I won’t be part of it. And instead of sympathizing with the plight of the ponderous, they said, “You chose to stop running. If you want to run the marathon again, just re-choose. Run it.” Then they shrugged in a gesture that begged the question, “How much more simple could this be, Bev?” They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at me with shining eyes, waiting for me to get it.
I got it.
Jim and Phil said they would help me put together a program again. Maybe all I’ll need is a little push … like with a bulldozer. Returning to running at this weight is a Catch-22. I’m too heavy to run without killing myself, but I’m heavy because I don’t run. And I’m older now.
I could just power walk or something. But that’s not what I want. I want my marathon back.
I’m saying it out loud. I want to run the New York City Marathon one more time.