At 39, I see and feel myself growing a little bit older. A few more fine lines on my hands and face, a touch less energy. A few more tummy issues. A recognition that my parents are about to become grandparents of four. Fewer baby showers, fewer wedding showers. No desire to hit Bourbon Street on trips to New Orleans.
I saw this piece this morning about a woman who labored to complete a 10K. And part of me wanted to scoff at her overeach--she is out of shape and probably had no business trying to complete that distance. But upon further reflection, and realizing how she had lost nearly 200 pounds, I realize how far she had come. And the compassion of the officer who assisted her in the journey was stark and striking. How far she had come, and it didn't matter how long it had taken to arrive. True, she was at a 20 minute pace clip. But she had made it.
Running was something that came to me later in life, and I don't want to ever take it for granted. Maybe my days of 8 minute miles are past me, but I still could run a 10K in far less than an hour on a whim. Most days, anyway. And maybe my difficult 10K is akin to my ability/desire to try yoga headstands or crow or other poses that are simply impossible for me.
A little more compassion would serve us to do good and to be well. At 39, maybe I can recognize some limitations, but that should not let it stop me. It's the journey, right?
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