I took this shirt out of the laundry this evening. I remembered when I got it and thought it would be perfect to wear in the car tomorrow:
I got the shirt in a half marathon last July in Copper Mountain, Colorado. I remember being at 10,000 feet on the Vail bike path where the race turned around. My left foot was in unexpectedly horrible shape. I had seen many people passing me on the way up wearing this shirt and suddenly realized it was the one we got for the race and I owned one. As I turned around to head down, I had a great view, my foot was killing me, I couldn't breathe, I felt totally like a decrepit old lady. But an old lady who had just run 10 miles and had 3 more to go.
I started crying. Gone were the days when I would win this race. But I was there at the top of the mountain, no matter how long it took me to get there.
I would and did finish.
Today, taking that shirt out of the dryer, it felt totally right.
I've been awake since one in the morning thinking about a totally insane political battle at work which involves a fight over process safety engineers (of which I am one). But the two sides are so stubborn, it is leaving 3 of us fighting to get jobs. Um, like, the talent the bosses are fighting over is left with some sort of shaft. Unbelievable.
And my body is not totally well, but I'm going to San Antonio to run 2 marathons this weekend.
I don't care how long it takes me to finish, the miracle is that I will start; and I will finish. Hoping the pain takes my mind off my work.
And stupid boss who said he is proud of me. And other stupid boss who said I was first choice.
Well, this situation won't be resolved for weeks.