On June 4th, just 11 days ago, I got news that I had been matched to a beautiful little girl named McKenna Rayne. I was to be her Runner through I Run 4, dedicating my runs and workouts to McKenna, who would never be able to run on her own. Nine days after I was matched with her, McKenna passed away.
When she was born, her parents were told that she might not live to see her first birthday, but McKenna was a fighter and her parents fought with her every step of the way. McKenna was 14 months old when she died. She would have been 15 months old this coming Saturday, June 18th. McKenna knew nothing but love during her life, and I don't know many people who can say that.
Recently, I spoke with McKenna's mom, and offered to continue to be McKenna's Runner. I only got to be her Runner for 9 days while she was alive, but being McKenna's runner is not a commitment that ends with her last breath. Tonight, I went on my first run in McKenna's memory.
If you know me, you know that I'm not a very religious person. Spiritual, yes. Religious, no. But I swear on everything I have ever believed that tonight I had an angel with me on my run. Maybe that feeling on my run tonight was a trick of my mind. Maybe it was a buildup of lactic acid, or the stress of running fast enough to break into the anaerobic stage of a workout. Yeah. Maybe. I think it was McKenna. I was tired, but my feet got faster. The leaves weren't moving, but I swear there was a breeze behind me. I never got to meet McKenna in real life, but I think I met her in spirit tonight.
It's fitting that, upon getting her angel wings, McKenna would visit her Runner during a run. Not because I'm particularly important, and not because we had a bond that was more special than the bond she had with anyone else who loved her. It's because McKenna knew nothing but love, and so she had and has nothing but love to give. As soon as she got wings, once she had a strength of body that she was denied in this life, the first thing she did with it was to come and give me strength, to help me during my run.
I ran 3.5 miles for you, McKenna. But really I ran them with you. You were there, and I am so honored that you visited with me. I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to know you better when you were here, but my miles will continue to be dedicated to your memory.
We say that everyone's life has a purpose, and sometimes it might be hard to see how a person as small and young as you could have a chance to fulfill their purpose. But you did everything you ever wanted to do in this life, McKenna. You brought love to this world, love and light. And all of us, even in our deepest sadness at your passing, are brighter and more filled with love for having known you.
We miss you, McKenna Rayne, and we will love you always.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
I Only Cried A Little
This morning, I volunteered at a 10K race here in Columbus. My job was to set up and work at an aid station, which is a pretty simple thing.
If you've never run a race before, an aid station is a spot where some tables get set up and covered in disposable cups filled with water. People stand around in front of the tables and hand out water to the folks in the race. On a basic level, the job is that of a very stationary waiter.
Today started out in a disappointing way. When I showed up, the tables, water, and other supplies weren't even delivered yet. The person officially in charge of the aid station hadn't been given any additional information beyond what the rest of us volunteers had. We weren't even sure if we were in the right place until the guys in charge of the race showed up 20-30 minutes late to drop off our aid station supplies.
Not a great start to an experience, particularly when you're someone who likes to have things organized and running efficiently. You know, like a crazy type A lawyer nutjob sort of person. Like me.
But we get everything set up and eventually the folks in the race start coming through. The first few people are going so fast I couldn't tell you what they looked like. Five minute miles will get you through an aid station in less than 5 seconds. I sure can't run that fast, but the folks I saw putting out that kind of speed were there and gone in a flash.
As the pace of the racer got slower, their smiles seem to get bigger. They just had more of an opportunity to interact with us, and everyone at my aid station was going above and beyond to make sure the runners got a great morale boost going into the last mile of the race. We were cheering. We were dancing. We were hollering so loud one guy said he could hear us from at least half a mile away. More than one person told me we were the best aid station in the whole race. I want to say, "Of course we are! This is MRTT and we know how to do happy running!!" Instead, I tell him we're just doing our job, and that he should take a cup of water from me because mine are the best.
The last group of people I saw come through was a family, and in particular I noticed a young woman walking with the group. Her gait was awkward, and her head was turned partly to the side, as though she were continually interested in something just to the left of the race course. I noted it, but didn't in any way alter my normal routine of hollering encouragement from about a quarter of a mile away, and dancing and cheering the group through the aid station. Oh, right, and giving them water.
When they were mostly through the aid station, a woman in the group who was maybe in her late thirties or early forties slipped back to thank me and a couple of other folks for what we had done. As she was talking, she gestured to the young woman. The one who was maybe in her early teens. The one who I had pegged as probably somewhere in high school, most likely her first or second year.
"Thank you so much. You don't know how much it means to her. She's a brain cancer survivor and this was her Wish."
It was me and two other moms that heard those words. None of us could talk well enough after that to say anything.
I only cried a little.
If you've never run a race before, an aid station is a spot where some tables get set up and covered in disposable cups filled with water. People stand around in front of the tables and hand out water to the folks in the race. On a basic level, the job is that of a very stationary waiter.
Today started out in a disappointing way. When I showed up, the tables, water, and other supplies weren't even delivered yet. The person officially in charge of the aid station hadn't been given any additional information beyond what the rest of us volunteers had. We weren't even sure if we were in the right place until the guys in charge of the race showed up 20-30 minutes late to drop off our aid station supplies.
Not a great start to an experience, particularly when you're someone who likes to have things organized and running efficiently. You know, like a crazy type A lawyer nutjob sort of person. Like me.
But we get everything set up and eventually the folks in the race start coming through. The first few people are going so fast I couldn't tell you what they looked like. Five minute miles will get you through an aid station in less than 5 seconds. I sure can't run that fast, but the folks I saw putting out that kind of speed were there and gone in a flash.
As the pace of the racer got slower, their smiles seem to get bigger. They just had more of an opportunity to interact with us, and everyone at my aid station was going above and beyond to make sure the runners got a great morale boost going into the last mile of the race. We were cheering. We were dancing. We were hollering so loud one guy said he could hear us from at least half a mile away. More than one person told me we were the best aid station in the whole race. I want to say, "Of course we are! This is MRTT and we know how to do happy running!!" Instead, I tell him we're just doing our job, and that he should take a cup of water from me because mine are the best.
The last group of people I saw come through was a family, and in particular I noticed a young woman walking with the group. Her gait was awkward, and her head was turned partly to the side, as though she were continually interested in something just to the left of the race course. I noted it, but didn't in any way alter my normal routine of hollering encouragement from about a quarter of a mile away, and dancing and cheering the group through the aid station. Oh, right, and giving them water.
When they were mostly through the aid station, a woman in the group who was maybe in her late thirties or early forties slipped back to thank me and a couple of other folks for what we had done. As she was talking, she gestured to the young woman. The one who was maybe in her early teens. The one who I had pegged as probably somewhere in high school, most likely her first or second year.
"Thank you so much. You don't know how much it means to her. She's a brain cancer survivor and this was her Wish."
It was me and two other moms that heard those words. None of us could talk well enough after that to say anything.
I only cried a little.
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