About a week and a half ago, my husband and I decided to spend a Sunday hiking in the Adirondacks. This is not an unusual decision for us. We chose Hurricane Mountain (which we had both hiked in the past) because it got us into the High Peaks region, provided a great workout, fabulous views, but didn't require a huge time commitment which that weekend we just couldn't make. But the night before we had celebrated a friend's 30th birthday. And I celebrated with more vodka than was, perhaps, wise. So, when Sunday morning came, I was less than chipper. It was just a bad day. A sad day. And for once, being out on a snow-covered mountain with the warm winter sun beating down on me did nothing to help my inner turmoil. I felt inadequate. I felt like my legs just couldn't carry me any farther. I cried. But, with much encouragement from my husband, I kept on moving. I can't explain why I felt so awful that day, and it really wouldn't matter anyway. The fact that I didn't give up, and the fact that I am married to a man who knows what I am capable of doing and encourages me to do it (regardless of what "it" is), makes me feel better today.
And that brings me to my thoughts on death. You see, yesterday morning I discovered that a woman with whom my husband and I both worked for a number of years, died. She was 44. She was an amazing woman who impacted my life even though we did not maintain a relationship after leaving our jobs at the greenhouse. This woman lived her life to the fullest. When she was around the age I am now she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And I remember her celebrating every year that she was cancer free. She hiked, she kayaked, and when I last saw her just over a year ago she talked about how she was competing in triathlons. She was a teacher, but I met her because she spent her summer vacations working at the greenhouse where I also worked at the time. Days when we worked together were always the best days. She gave us tips about where to camp when we hiked Mt. Washington and told us where to find the best pizza when we got off the mountain. (To this day, the pizza and beer we had while still covered in the sweat and dirt from our hike remains the best meal I have ever had!) We always talked about her teaching me how to kayak and I will always regret that we never made that happen. And I'll regret that I never did call her to get together after the last time we ran into each other. But her death--unexpected and during a midwinter break spent skiing in Colorado--makes me think of how I ought to live my life.
So, with thoughts of my friend Kathy in mind, I have decided that I will run in the Boilermaker 15k in July. At least half a dozen other friends and family have already registered for the race, but I have been hesitant to do so. I am not really a runner. What if I can't finish it? But I can. And even though dreams of a bikini-clad summer are still in the back of my mind, right now my motivation is just to do all that I can with the life and body that I have.
Because that's how my friend lived her life.
