I seek beauty in all things, whether I’m cycling, visiting a museum, attending a family gathering, or looking at a children’s book. And so, I am often brought to tears, either for the beauty I see or the lack thereof.
Yesterday, as a spectator and cheerleader for a childhood friend at the Marine Corps Marathon, in addition to being exhausted both by watching the incredible runners, walkers, and wheelchair riders, and by keeping up with my much more energetic friend Laurie, I found myself on the verge of tears. Often. And I regularly find myself there on the verge. Sometimes, like yesterday, I didn’t know exactly where that deep emotion was coming from. But it was there, and it was at times all I could do to tamp it down as we zipped from one location to another in search of Darlene, our runner.
So over night, I rethought the day. I visualized the many Wonder Woman runners, the colorfully kilted men, the smiling athletes, and the determined faces of those who would finish against even their weakest moments. They ran for themselves. They ran for those who could not. They ran with friends, with partners, with groups, and with families, and they ran alone. Each of them really ran alone regardless of who ran beside them.
I am awed by those who run fast, those who run strong, those who don’t falter. But I am brought to tears by those who walk, those who struggle, those who cry, those who are humbled by the finish line, and by those who won’t see it. Sometimes, I don’t think the ending is dear. Only the beginning.