The only part of me running was my mascara

Today was the Susan G. Komen race for the cure in Albany. I headed down there to watch and pick up my t-shirt. I haven't really run since I hurt myself in July, but I am not limping anymore, and have slowwwwwwwly started up again with walking. I'm being realistic. After a life of barely participating any sports, you don't train like a college athlete.

So it was with some degree of envy that I watched everyone line up. Today is a beautiful fall day, a little bit cool, but with the sun coming out of the clouds during the race, which runs up a hill in the city, through a wooded park with a small lake, and back down the hill. Damn. It would have been such a good day to run, just the kind of day I enjoy stumbling along.

I have to admit it was pretty amazing to see the winners. F*ck, I will NEVER run that fast. Their form was something I can only HOPE to imitate someday. (I guess I jog, and they were running.) The winner completed 5K in about 15:30 -- and boy, did he fly. It was impressive. He was all alone too, at least 30 seconds ahead of 2nd place.

I hung around to cheer on the runners, because I remember how much I appreciated it in the spring. It was nice to see (sisters? best friends?) running hand in hand on occasion. You knew that one had gone through the experience, and the other was by her side the entire time.

The single moment that all of the spectators seemed to respond to, from the heart, was about 2/3 through the race. A woman came down the hill toward the finish line. Tall, very thin. Bald. Clearly in the middle of fighting breast cancer, and not willing to let this shit get in the way of her doing this race. She got a huge ovation.

Hopefully, I'll see her when I run next year.