Sometimes I spend too much time in a cave of my own design. Too much work. Too few hours in the day. When I do emerge to feel the sunlight and/or the cool breeze on my face, I discover that there is life out there…being fully lived.
Last year, I emerged to discover that the ING New York City Marathon was passing through my backyard, a block from the church I attend. Had not the presiding priest made mention of the event during that Sunday’s service, I would have not known about its proximity to the church and would have returned to my cave that day.
Instead, up for an adventure, I walked over to the location and stood in the cold with my fellow New Yorkers to cheer on strangers — some in wheelchairs, others upright, some slow, others swift — who moved forward with one goal in mind: to do their personal best.
For some, it meant winning the race. For others, it meant beating a pre-established time. And still others, it meant finishing– time be damned.
As I stood there, I was in awe of their dogged determination and their willingness to move past whatever physical or even psychological limitations to run the race — to run their race.
I returned to my cave feeling a sense of quiet discomfort at not having fully committed to run my race.
Tomorrow, I will return to that same place to watch the New York City Marathon and to cheer on the winners — every last one of them.