I was running my fifth mile when I passed him—the elderly
man in the wheelchair. He was sitting at the top of the hill in front of the
Lorien Health Center, watching streams of cars and people hurrying north and
south. Our eyes met for a second, so I raised my hand and waved hello. He
didn’t wave back or smile. I kept on running, but I felt almost guilty about
the fact that I could.
What was he thinking as he watched me run by? I will never
know. But if our hearts had been bare in that brief second when our eyes met,
here’s what I would have said:
As you sit there in
that chair, I believe you understand things about life that I often take for
granted. I believe you understand how time flies and how much things can change—and
how quickly. I believe you understand what a gift and a privilege it is to
simply move.
Running can be an exhilarating, freeing, and empowering
sport. It can also be a grueling, painful, and sweaty challenge. But whichever
form it takes, it is a gift. The man in the wheelchair reminds me.
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