Marathon Monday

The girls spent the late morning glued to the television screen, watching the Boston marathon coverage. Aunt Mary ran the marathon, and they desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of her crossing the finish line. They crowded around the TV, frantically trying to pick her out from among the Ethiopians and Kenyans in the lead pack.

"I just can't find Aunt Mary!", they called out to me every few minutes.

"Keep looking!", I called back. (I found it a wonderful way to keep them occupied for long stretches of time.)

As the lead three runners headed down the last leg of the race, the girls screamed encouragement to the American in the group, who eventually slowed down a bit and finished in third place. As the second place woman crossed the finish line, she collapsed in a heap, and was instantly surrounded by paramedics, and whisked away on a stretcher.

Beth stared in horror. "Mom, do they have to do this? Does someone make people run marathons?" It seemed unbelievable to her that people actually choose to torture themselves in this manner. Even more incredible to her is the fact that her own Daddy did this to himself three times, and so did Uncle John and Uncle Brendan.

"Well, I'm never going to do that", she confided in me. "I'll win my gold medals and trophies in gymnastics. Besides, I would never want to run in those underwear-outfits, anyway."

Aunt Mary finished the 26.2 miles with an amazing time. She might not have been in that lead pack, but it was an incredible accomplishment. Congratulations, Aunt Mary! Great run today!!! We're all very proud of you.