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This post is for my family.The family that has sacrificed.
The family that has inspired.
The family that is mine.
Tonight I was asked a question by a twinkly-eyed sleepy Sammy. After saying her prayers, she asked, "Mommy, what about your marathon?"
You see, I have a sick knee. It has been coughing and sputtering for quite some time. Thirteen days ago, and 25 days before my first marathon, it got into bed and decided to hide under the covers. No coaxing, begging, or bribing was enough to make it move.
Twenty. Five. Days. Before.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years I have been inwardly training for this marathon. Knowing that this run would eventually collide with me was my little secret, although I denied it to all.
Except myself.
And then, time stopped.
No more training.
No more running.
For 5 days I was still.
For 5 days I was sad.
For 5 days I wondered.
For 5 days I cried.
It hurt so much.
I filled the buckets in heaven with my pleading for help.
Help was sent, not in the form of a healed knee, but in a calmness.
All. Will. Be. Well.
And in a reminder:
"When a door is shut, crawl through the window."
On day 6 I got on an elliptical. No, it is not running, but still the sweat drips down my back and the mentality that I am still in the game is with me.
Bonus, no knee pain on an elliptical.
So as I told my sleepy eyed Sammy, "what about it?"
Run, walk, or crawl, this girl (and her naughty knee) are doing a marathon in 12 days.
Take that 26.2.
P.S. If an ice bag or 10 were waiting for me with a handful of Advil at the end it would be much appreciated. Thanks in advance. Oh, and a knee replacement would be dandy too.
