There comes a point during the run when I am no longer able to breathe comfortably. Most people stop when they reach said point. Not me. Not because I'm tough, or because I want to get stronger - Nope. My reasons are a bit more morbid.
See, in my mind, that longing, gasping, and desire for air is what I imagine her to have felt like as she lived the last year of her life: I hate that feeling; I embrace that experience. What's the worst that could happen? Throw up on my shoes? Been there, done that. It was called 'Monday night' in college.
My mom ran a lot. A lot a lot. And while I loathe the pointless activity known as jogging/running, I feel it enables me to connect our soles: enabling me to love her a little bit more.
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and so we begin the third act...
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
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