Both of my grandfathers had
passed away well before I was born. I was only a few years old when my mother’s
mother died so I don’t remember her at all. The memories of my father’s mother
are sketchy at best – mostly things I put in my head from the few pictures I
have of her. I didn’t know the feeling of loss or sorrow until a few years
after she died, 40 years ago today.
I know I’ve shared this story before, maybe not in great detail, but I’ve still written it. This summer,
though, having just missed running in my second 5K due to bursitis and
tendinitis, this story seems more pertinent. I never thought I would miss
running, but for the last five weeks, I have felt like a lame racehorse on a
short leash, my ability to run curbed completely.
When the greatest filly to
ever run broke her leg in the Match Race against Foolish Pleasure on July 7,
1975, she didn’t know how to stop. Her jockey tried pulling her up, but Ruffian
kept running until her leg was shattered and bones were sticking out. She was
rushed into surgery but when she came out of the anesthesia, she was still
running. Her thrashing undid all the work the vets had done to repair her leg
and she had to euthanized.
I’d like to think I had that
kind of spirit, maybe not the kind that does me in, but at least the kind that
keeps me going against the odds. Or at least keeps me going when I am in pain
or have writer’s blog or have too much going on and don’t have a spare minute
in the day or have many minutes in the day and waste every one of them.
You may have noticed that I
haven’t blogged in a while and those are just some of the reasons why. I haven’t
had a surge of inspiration or an “ah-ah” moment that is going to motivate me,
but hopefully I can at least get back on the track.
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