December 02, 2013
On Friday, I ran in our local Turkey Trot, because you should always try to build up a calorie defecit before you stuff yourself silly. I almost didn't do it, given that it was 17 degrees and snowing when I left the house.
But I put on my big girl panties -- the fleece-lined ones, plus three shirts/jackets, lined tights, and a hat* -- and ran, as did 600ish other likeminded fools. I came in 381st place! So hooray me!
This isn't about that, tho. The run itself was a fund-raiser for the local Hospice. Before the race, there was a balloon release (the picture is part of the above link) and runners were encouraged to write a loved one's name on the yellow balloon before letting it go.
I thought of my grandmother, who died in January, and about Thanksgiving, which has been at our house these last sevenish years because we have the energy for it, and my kids' grandparents, who are aging, as one does if one is lucky, and of being able to run, even when the weather is bitter. And I cried a little when I let my balloon go, which was stupid because a wet face in a cold wind is actively painful.
And I ran. It was a good run on a flat course. My time was a decent one for me and much, much faster than the folks who were still sitting on their couches. It's good to start a day smug and sweaty.
When I got home, the house smelled of turkey and, eventually, the feeling returned to my toes.
* What killed me were all of the teen-aged runner boys who were wearing shorts, long-sleeve shirts, and mittens. Given that they were out on the course for all of 17 minutes, their clothing almost makes sense. Almost.