Every year, my friend, Jennifer Locke, and I run the Susan G. Komen North Mississippi Race for the Cure. It is an easy, but hilly, 5K for a great cause. I look forward to running this race each year because it is always a fun event, but what it represents means the most of all.
Literally, everything turns pink in October. A friend of mine pointed out recently that no one else has managed to brand themselves as strongly as Susan G. Komen, in that everything, the NFL, Yoplait, Twitter, literally everything and everyone proudly shows support by turning pink throughout the month of October. While the sea of pink serves as a reminder to see your doctor and as a call to action for giving financially to breast cancer research, for me, it is a reminder of someone very special who passed away far too early.
My Dooka, my paternal grandmother, was an extraordinary person. She was a writer, an incredible cook, and one of the most thoughtful, caring, and kind people around. She had breast cancer early in her life, and while the disease isn’t what caused her death, it was something she went through. I miss her everyday. I know she would absolutely adore my husband, John, and my sweet, energetic almost five-year-old would be showered with love more than he can begin to fathom. I know this, because I was the constant recipient of her unbelievable capacity to love.
It rained a lot in Tupelo this week. So much so, that I missed three training days and was actually excited when the 5:15 a.m. alarm went off Wednesday morning so I could get back out there and put in the much needed miles. The feeling of wanting to get out of the bed and run is foreign to me. Why would I leave the comfort of the covers to work hard, sweat, and push myself harder physically than I ever have before? Because, I am a runner, and it feels great to say that.
The support of friends and family who ask me how my training is going, are reading this blog, have given to my St. Jude Heroes fundraiser for the Glass Slipper Challenge, and especially the encouragement of my coach (who patiently listens to my complaining!) are keeping me going, and while there are many training miles to go, I cannot thank you enough for cheering me on. But of course, I know that if my Dooka were still here, she would be my biggest cheerleader of all.