It was a choppy night; my 10-year-old daughter woke up with a nosebleed and I was up helping her for a bit. After what felt like forever, I finally fell back into a fitful sleep, filled with bizarre and unsettling dreams.
Getting out of bed, I looked out the window to see a heavy fog over the neighbourhood. It gave me the slight sensation that I was still asleep, maneuvering my way through a series of strange, unlikely situations.
I had to shake it off. So I did what I *least* wanted to do – I geared up to go for a run. I promised myself it could be slow and short; I just needed to get moving.
As I headed out to a nearby trail, the sun came out and quickly burned off the fog. My sun-splashed trail led me right by the river, which was as smooth and calm as glass.
Continuing on, I passed a seniors’ home and noticed a few people out on the grounds, enjoying the day. In the distance, I saw a man in a wheelchair; he turned and watched as I ran by along the path. Suddenly, a jolt went through me. It was one of those reality-check moments, where you’re reminded of the blatantly obvious that, somehow, you’ve conveniently forgotten.
It shouldn’t take looking at someone in a wheelchair to appreciate my own body and abilities, but sometimes complacency sets in. It’s so easy to complain about my little aches and pains, until I encounter someone who is truly suffering and I stop to realize how fortunate I really am.
I may not be the world’s fastest runner, and others might go much farther than I ever could. All I know is that on this day, I’ll breathe a little deeper, crank my favourite tunes a little louder and run just a bit farther than I originally set out to go…simply because I can.