In the fragile days after Errol's death, art therapy, grief counseling, and Camp Carousel at Hospice has been a salve for our mourning family. There isn't much I'd run a mile for (much less 3.1) but Hospice has kept us moving, and so on April 16, I will run for Hospice.
I don't set an alarm for 3 in the morning to practice getting up each day, and being opposed to the idea of running, I had decided that my training for the 5K would be the race itself. But after numerous warnings about the necessity of training, the fear of being lapped by toddlers, and the beautiful April weather, I began my 5K training in earnest last week.
The hardest part of the training was the first block, I cursed the asphalt, rued the invention of running, and scorned my shaky body that disobeyed all my positive thinking. But as my panic passed, my muscles relaxed, I settled into a rhythm with the breeze, and thoughts of Errol propelled me along under the bright sky.
On Saturday, April 16, with Errol's name written across my shirt, in a sea of runners propelled by memory, your generosity will push me through the day, as I run in honor of Errol.