thinking lots about Meg Cross Menzies, a wife and mom of 3 kids that was hit by a car on her Monday morning run. the same Monday morning run lots of us do every week. except she isn't around to talk about it anymore. she can't complain about the cold. she can't dread the upcoming long distance. she can't bitch about her tight IT band, her throbbing knee, or being tired.
it breaks my heart because it could have been any of us. I can't explain why I am so moved by this. perhaps it is because I imagine myself in Meg's shoes. literally. alarm clock blares against the still air of a sleepy house. stumble to pull up my tights. lace up my saucanys. slam half a cup of steaming coffee. strap on obnoxious headlamp. tip toe in the dark morning, careful not to disturb 2 little boys and 1 big boy. trailed by a silly yellow dog across the wood floors.
gingerly open and shut the front door. launch out into the dark. headlamp illuminates the still frozen road. feel the chill in the air against my cheeks. one foot in front of the other. run. run. run.
I don't know if that is how meg started out her run, but that is usually how mine starts.
but how sad that she didn't get to throw her front door open and kick off her wet, snowy shoes on the door mat after a satisfying 4 mile loop. how sad that she didn't get to peel off her sweat soaked mittens and her hat, feeling as if steam is coming off her head.
how sad that she didn't get to be greeted by her silly yellow dog, annoying her for breakfast. how sad that she couldn't throw her garmin back on it's charger, microwave her leftover coffee, make her kids lunches, and get on with her day.
Meg, I didn't know you, but my heart breaks.
today we run for you. 5 miles through the retreat center (where else?) in the snow, sharing stories, laughs and silence.
everyday is a gift. until tomorrow, run happy (and grateful) friends.
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