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Health & Fitness

Cemetery Run

Here's to all of you runners – and non-runners

First things first: I am not a runner. Or, if I must run, I am a sprinter – a short burst and done. Whining to myself most of the time. Wishing I were a runner, enjoying this. It would be so easy if I had been a runner instead of a dancer – no worries about studio space, finding classes, getting dancers and gigs....Except, of course, for the running part – not easy.

But a few weeks ago, I went for a run. I was so frustrated that the torrential rains had kept me from making the trek to my master dance class, only to learn too late that the backup, Zumba class, was cancelled. Gahhhh!!!

After getting mired in a quicksand of disappointment, frustration and 95-degree humidity, I finally dug myself out of the couch and headed (stomped) off on a long walk. Trying to focus on gratitude. And then on buoys, for a recent post and for my dance piece. Mid-walk, I suddenly decided to veer off into a local cemetery and send some love into that space.

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I gazed back over the past 24 hours at all of the buoys in my life – my husband and kids for sure. Also, the amazing feats of Olympic athletes. The standout memory of Carmelita Jeter running, or should I say flying, anchoring the women's 4 x 100 meter gold medalists. And, always so inspiring, the tremendous agility and stamina of the soccer players. Wow.

Their feats pumped me up so much, I started to run. Well, at least jog, i.e., locomote faster than a walk. Through the thick wall of stiflingly hot, humid air.

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The first bit was not pretty. At all. But it was enough to get my heart pounding. When I slowed down to catch my breath and  walk for awhile, I became more aware of all the names on the gravestones and the offerings left by loved ones. I was startled to notice the name of a long ago mentor, kind man. I remembered my own grief, losing my dad last November....

I resolved to honor the memory of all of these folks with an honest to goodness run, a cemetery-side grand finale in memory of people buried there, and everywhere. I hoped I could do it.

And you know what? After greasing the wheels, er joints, with the first jog, I was now actually running, loosely and freely and effortlessly (almost). No whining, either. In fact, it felt good, actually fantastic. I even managed a grand jete, i.e., leap, over a small ditch for my exit.

Lesson learned? You never know where the inspiration will come from. You just have to keep getting out there. To be inspired, and also TO inspire. Thanks, all, for the inspiration.

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