There was once a time, long before I was happily set up with my Freestyle Libre, when I wouldn’t leave the house without a glucometer, finger pricker, lancets and test strips. And there was once a time I locked all that in my car just as I was about to embark on a 32 km training run – and my keys were locked in a building of which I had no access to.
When the running community tells you don’t run, you don’t run. Our community is a pretty hardcore community. We run in all weather, super hot, humid temperatures, torrential downpours, snow, sleet, hail; we run in the wee hours of the morning and the late hours of the evening; we run when we’re miserable; we run when we’re sad; we run when we’re hurting, physical pain shooting through all regions of our body, and we’re still out there. And when we’re sick, eyes watering, stuffy nose, sore throat sick, we run. But the chest, that’s another story. I’ve known the rule for years: anything below the neck, stay home. But sometimes, I need a reminder. Like, you know, after battling a persistent cold for a month, and already missing out on a week of running due to said cold, and being miserable, stuck inside, feeling frumpy, worrying about the missed mileage, …
I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around yesterday’s senseless act of evil at the Boston Marathon, but I can’t. I don’t understand the mentality, I don’t understand the act, I don’t understand any of it. Reading and watching the news coverage, my heart broke for the people, the city, the innocence. And I kept asking why. Why? Today, like thousands of others, I stand in solidarity with my fellow runners, my fellow spectators, my fellow people. My community is in my heart. I am a runner.