Monday, September 13, 2010

Race for the Cure

September 12, 2010. 
7,000 participants.

Alright, seriously.  This is the feeling.  THIS is the feeling that I've been waiting for.  To have again? Maybe.  To DO again?  Maybe.  Maybe it was just a glorious day in the Garden and it just felt good to be giving and doing for a cause that I can believe in.   Maybe I was in an exercise upswing and my time was good (for me).  It felt good to run parts.  It felt realistic to walk parts.  It felt humbling to be a little part of such an enormous larger whole.  It felt empowering to be part of something for women everywhere.  I felt lucky and held blessings when I read the backs of other participants pink cards.  They ran for their mothers, the mother-in-law, their sisters, wives, friends, girlfriends' cousins' aunts' friend from St. Louis.  I was most touched by a little girl no bigger than 3 who walked with her dad.  Their pink dedication cards were pinned on their backs:   "For Mommy." 

Either way and any way . . . whether you're listening to girlfriends or your mother, whether you are reading books on getting your groove back . . .  or whether you've found a new groove.  This is part, yes, a big part of the groove I was wanting back.  This feeling . . . of pride, of completion, of giving, or success, of doing something good for yourself and for other people -- this should be bottled and sold by prescription.

I ran-walked with 16 other people on our "team".  Some are great runners and finished in awesome time.  Some are joggers.  Some are jog-walkers.  Like me.  Lots are walkers.  Fast walkers.  Slow walkers.  The best part was crossing the line and having a body of support waiting for you.   And then, joining that clan and waiting for the rest of the team to come across. 

There's not a part of Race for the Cure that isn't emotional.  From the dedication cards, to the flower garden.  The survivors.  The pink balloons that go up in memory.  My skin prickled with goosebumps a dozen times over by the time we left the venue.    I can't wait to do it again next year. 

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