If we can find commonality in a lightsaber, a dragon, or a sorting hat, maybe, for that one moment, we can forget our differences.
We gather together at an ungodly hour to reenact the original 26.2 miles run by Pheidippides which, fun fact, he wound up dropping dead from.
I finally understood the myth of Sisyphus when my son was diagnosed with a brain tumor two years ago. And like the legend, we were faced with a huge mountain, a massive, incomprehensible rock, and a job that no one would ever sign up for.
I’m not sure when the transformation occurred, so it must have happened slowly. But a few weeks ago, when I went to Vegas to run in the Rock ‘n Roll Marathon, my friends decided I was an athlete. I’m not.
If you would have asked me a few months ago if I could get out of bed at 5AM I would have laughed. I could go TO bed at 5AM. But waking up? Not a chance.
You would think that running would be a natural sort of progression from, you know, walking. It turns out that running is in a completely different world. And having gotten it into my head that I am running a half-marathon in January, that little tidbit took me by surprise.