As my thoughts spiraled down their gloomy path, a memory of my daughter surfaced.
She was halfway through chemo at that point. Her body was bloated from the steroids and poisons they were using to give her the best shot they could at keeping her cancer at bay. Her hair was gone. She ached, she was exhausted and jittery. Her mouth tasted of heavy metals.
And she decided her best chance to feel better was to exercise. She hauled her sorry rear out of bed, got dressed in her running clothes, and took off along her favorite route along the Mississippi river in St. Paul.
As she ran, she told herself, 'I am an inspiration.'
Soon, she was passed by a young woman pushing a stroller with two active toddlers in it.
'I am an inspiration.'
She was passed by an old guy jogging slowly along with a hitch in his step.
'I am an inspiration.'
She was passed by a homeless drunk man trying to escape his demons, weaving hither and yon across the trail, bottle in paper bag clutched firmly in one hand.
'I am an inspiration - to myself!'
And she was. She finished her 'run' even though the best pace she could muster was slower than the medium walking rhythm of her good days. The endorphins kicked in to lift her mood a bit, getting her blood circulating helped ease some of the heaviest of the aches. She'd pushed back against the pain and the blech and didn't let it stop her from living the day as best she could anyways.
Her tale has stuck with me, and helped me to reach past my own aches and pains more than once. Today, it got me out of the house and walking around the park - and the movement worked its magic to bring perspective to my problems and some ease to my concerns.
Kate, whether you believe it or not, you were an inspiration to more than just yourself that day.
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