This morning I heard of the death of a friend’s mother. Last week it was another friend’s mother, and a couple of months before that yet another. I suppose we have all reached that age when parents die, and we have to shuffle forward into the front line facing mortality. Tears ran down my cheeks on the way to the Heath - all these recent deaths bringing back the loss of my own parents in the last six years.
But there’s nothing like death to remind us of the preciousness of life.
Today I didn’t need Laura, or music or beats per minute or anything else to get me running. It was enough that the sky was blue, the sun was shining, the air was crisp and the world is a beautiful place to be. Even the sound of my gasping breath seemed amazing, having listened to the shallow breaths of the dying, so imperceptible that it's hard to tell when they have stopped.
Today, running across icy puddles, leaves rimmed with frost and rutted mud, I ran with all the people I’ve known who no longer can.
Who cares how fast or how far we can run? The wonder is that we can run at all. Let’s celebrate every moment of it while we are able.