Margaret Bradley Memorial 10k

Last night I tossed and turned. I was anxious about the prospect of running a 10k this morning. I was tired. My knee had been bothering me. I didn’t want to wake up at 6:30. I didn’t want to have to run to the ATM, pay the stupid fee because it wasn’t my bank, and then jog the 2 miles from my apartment to the start of the race.

But I did it anyway. I got up, noticed it didn’t look much like it would rain, and stepped out of my apartment building onto the empty street. I went to the bank, ran down to Jackson Park, and registered. I saw some undergrads I know from the crew team and from one of my lector sessions. I stretched, sipped a little Gatorade, and lined up behind the most of the other runners at the starting line.

We ran through the park to the lakeshore, north along the path I now know like the back of my hand. The sun was beating down, even at a few minutes past 8, and I felt genuinely hot for maybe the second time this spring. My legs felt strong. My knee didn’t hurt. I started to pass other runners. And I remembered why I do these races.

There’s just really nothing that compares. I don’t know how to describe it in words, and if I try, it’s just going to be an overly-cheesy series of ramblings about the joys of running. But even though my legs are sore now, and I know I’ll have trouble making it through an afternoon of reading without dozing off, I am extremely happy. And it’s a singular sort of happiness I only get from running.

But most of all, I feel extremely blessed today. The race I ran was in honor of another runner, a woman who died last summer while running in the Grand Canyon. She was my age, and she was a med student here. She was a much more gifted runner than I am, and she was universally admired. I’m pretty sure she loved running even more than I do, and her passion for it took her life.

It might be tempting to denounce the sport, to rail at the idea that we commemorate this woman by partaking in the activity that killed her, but I think that’s absolutely the wrong way to look at the situation. Because in fact it wasn’t running that killed her. It was dehydration, an unexpected turn of events, and poor planning. Would it have been better if she had never run at all? No, of course not. From what I can tell, she lived an extremely happy and productive 25 years. And to have happiness in life is really all anyone can ask for.

So going out there and running is celebrating her life in the best possible way, if you ask me. I feel so blessed because today I was able to enjoy the strength in my legs, the sun on my face, and the thrill of crossing the finish line. If and when the day comes that I can’t run anymore, I’ll always be grateful that I discovered the sport. And that I was given the time to find happiness doing it.

p.s. I told you I'd get cheesy...