We heave and breathe and pour sweat, and bump fists.
And we chant audacity (in the form of "oh yes you can!") and mouth corners upturn under flaming cheeks. And we cut another minute off the mile, add another mile to the course.
We flop down in green grass and laugh.
And I realize that what I once said would never be, is.
What I always said I'd do only for the sake of relentlessness, I do now for the love of the doing...
Together.
That changes everything, you know?
I soak up blue sky and run fingers through grass while we stretch; listen to the student of strides give us the latest science; quip that we need a team dietician.
And running isn't anything like it used to be.
It used to be heart-pounding, step-sounding solitude where the only one there to believe I could was myself.
But it isn't the love or the running that strikes me so deep.
It's that together word.
That's the gift.
Apart, some are fast, some are slow.
Others never try. Never know what they're made of.
Oh, and don't get me wrong. There's a place for solitude. I was born a loner, after all...
But I've been given a gift I hope to spend the rest of my life passing on to people around me who've never tried. Or who've quit believing.
And I dare you to do the same.
To be the same.
To the lonely soul; To the trembling child; To the one who wants, but is afraid to dare; To the one who would, if one soul would care--
I want to be together.
Because together, everyone gets stronger.
"...together, everyone gets stronger."
ReplyDeleteSo, so true.
Intriguing article, Sean. Thank you for sharing. Too often I find myself shunning "together," preferring solitude, silent observation, to the effort and, honestly, vulnerability which often seem to accompany "together." I'm curious: What would you say to someone whose primary mode is still "loner?"
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