Okay, whether you like to run or not, strap on your best
pair of running shoes (and maybe some deodorant, too…) and join me for little
jog down the streets of Athens—trust me, it’s worth your time and effort. And it’s for a good cause, too. So come on, already J (I mean, it’s not like I’m
asking you to run a marathon with me or anything—we've still got a solid six weeks before that happens ;) )
Anyway, today four of us made the trek down to downtown
Athens to participate in the Greece Race for the Cure, Breast Cancer 5k
run/walk. A couple weeks ago, as if by
some stroke of fate, as we were trudging back up the hill to our house
following a morning run on the track, a friend and I ran into a woman promoting
this race. She excitedly shared
information and a poster with us and her enthusiasm was catching; we kept it in
the back of our minds as something that would be pretty cool to do. Then, with the chaos and busyness that is
life, the event got pushed to the back-burner and just kind of crept up on us all of
sudden, in like an “oh yeah, that’s this weekend—should we do it?” sort of way. Needless to say, we ended up deciding to do
it (as you probably already surmised, else I wouldn’t be writing this blog
post…).
But it was so worth it.
Laced up those shoes yet?
Okay. Let’s go.
Look up and survey the crowd: a sea of white speckled with
bright bursts of pink----bursts of life: a delectable vanilla swirl decorated
with delicious, pretty-in-pink sprinkles.
Swim, little fish; join the ranks of men, women, children, survivors,
supporters, celebrators, all there taking steps for a common purpose—for
life. Reach the starting line and pick
up your pace; weave in and out; press forward.
Bend your knee, lift your leg, plant your foot, roll forward, push off.
Repeat. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Pump your arms. Lift your head. Feel the breeze on your face, cooling the
sweat droplets forming on your forehead, on your neck (in other places…). Turn the corner and start the uphill climb
down Vasilisis Sophias Avenue (well there’s an expected oxymoron…). But don’t mind the climb too much, for
the view you’re running toward just so happens to be a mountain. No big deal.
Feel the strangely awesome ache of your lungs as you work to
take in the air you need. You’re
breathing heavier, you’re sweating more profusely, your feet are starting to
ache.
You’re loving it.
Because there’s something about running, for sure. But today, that’s not the something that’s
got you smiling. No, today you’re smiling because of a spirit that fills the
air around you with energy—a spirit of energy that needs no translation.
It’s this invigorating spirit, the energy you felt from the moment you got
there that morning, that permeates the air around you, fills this whole event, this morning with life. Even though you
couldn’t read the registration form (seriously, it’s still all Greek to me), the
kindest of people just so happened to be the volunteer who handed you the form,
then helped you decode and fill out said form.
Even though you couldn’t read the signs they were holding, you could
still understand the encouragement radiating from the shouts and whistles of sideline supporters as
you ran by—drink it in like it’s oxygen and run a little faster.
And that sort of energy buzzes all around you as your feet
hit the pavement, trying to keep pace with the metronome your headphones would
normally transmit for you. You can see
it, sense it, from all around you. From
the little kids alternating in their funny, random way between running/walking/jogging—then
reaching their arms up, petitioning their mom or dad to carry them, in addition
to the stuffed animal and/or backpack already in their arms.
To the dads carrying their backpacks and jogging casually by
us—while pushing their kid in a
stroller. To the serious runners warming
up and stretching beforehand, then streaking by you like a bolt of lightning
who doesn’t sweat or get tired. To the twittering
teenage girls taking off from the starting gate with a song on their lips.
To the women in pink shirts, walking with strength in their
steps and hope in their smiles: survivors.
To the little old ladies walking in their capris and sandals and beige sun visors. To the groups of women walking boldly,
carrying signs. To those in their custom
t-shirts, sporting what I am assuming is the Greek equivalent for “I’m running
for ‘so and so’”. To the thousands of pink-capped water bottles, drenching and
quenching the runners as they approach the halfway turn, then decorating the gutter as more boxes are opened to
hydrate the next wave. To the drum corps
starting us off and then celebrating our finish on a good note.
To the camaraderie of friends joining together to take steps
for a good cause, and also towards establishing ourselves more firmly in this
new place, this new place we call home.
To the happy ache of muscles and triumphant glow of sweat (yeah, let’s
go with that—try to paint a more glamorous picture than I’m sure we probably
looked :p). To the cool shade and the warm sun and your feet on the pavement.
To a good cause. To a
good run. To a good day. Yes, a truly good day.
To the spirit of a cause, the energy of a race, and the
feeling of belonging, that need no translation…
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