The Long Run

This is the fifth in a series of posts about New York.

I frequently wax poetic about marathoning. In particular, about running the NYC Marathon.



But there are few things in this world more glorious; more amazing; more exhilarating and exhausting…

Than this:


I wondered, after hip surgery and multiple injuries, if I would ever feel that way again.  If I would ever run through Central Park on the first Sunday in November again; if I’d ever cross another finish line with anything more than disappointment. I can run, sure, but will I ever improve?

And then…a few weeks ago…eee and I ran the Edinburgh Half Marathon. I wasn’t expecting miracles, but I finished in the fastest time I’ve run since I injured myself in 2013.

I sped up through the chute, and ran across the line, and for the first time in years, I burst into happy tears at the end of a race.

I am not sure that I will ever run on that first Sunday ever again. But at least I know, again, that I can run.

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