A rare but meaningful encounter with one of God’s smallest creatures last night has left me a little reflective that maybe things aren’t as random as they can appear. The events leading up to this, go something like this:
Sunday at 10: Jody runs into a friend at the gym who builds decks. He takes the opportunity to ask if he would give us a quote for a deck that was supposed to have been replaced earlier this summer.
Deck guy says “sure; I’ll stop by today around 4pm."
4pm: No deck guy.
4:30pm: No deck guy. Grrr…we were ready to go for something to eat. We’ll give him until 5:30pm.
5pm: Still no deck guy
5:14pm:
Phone rings. It’s deck guy who said that he had already stopped by earlier in the afternoon when we were out and looked things over. Gave Jody quote.
5:25pm:
We leave for supper for a big feed of fish and chips at Warf Wraps. Upon arrival, we notice the restaurant is packed and we are seated in the back. The two waitresses are struggling to keep up so we decide to settle in knowing we have a bit of a wait. About 2 minutes later, the waitress informs us that a large group has just arrived and asked if we would mind moving to a smaller table. Once reseated, she lets us know that we will be served first for the inconvenience. What should have been a long wait, ended up being a rather quick (and somewhat guilty) serving. We ignore the envious sneers and scarf down every morsel in a rather disturbing manner.
6:30pm-ish: We leave restaurant. “Wanna take a quick drive around the Bay?” I ask.
About 15 minutes later we’re about to pass Oceanlea Drive – the shortcut home.
“Maybe we need some treats from the Irving?” I suggest which would require us to pass by Oceanlea and continue down Cow Bay Road.
“Really?”
“Yes. After that meal what damage can they do?”
“Alright.”
And then at the very last moment, I have a change of heart, "no, nevermind.”
“Are you sure?”
“My tummy’s sure.”
We take a quick left onto Oceanlea. Up in the distance we see a young girl and her mom on their bikes.
As they approach the cross walk, they hesitate to ensure we see them. We come to a stop to let them pass in front of us.
The mom waves a thank you. We start to continue on. Jody glances over to her and notices the little girl has stopped and is pointing.
Jody checks the rearview mirror. “Oh no!” he says with concern.
“What?” I can’t see.
He starts to back up. “I think that bird is injured.”
Over my shoulder I see a little mourning dove dragging its wing along the side of the curb.
We all gather on the sidewalk to determine what needs to happen. Remembering there is an animal emergency clinic in Burnside, we decide to try to catch it.
After 10 minutes of fluttery, failed attempts, Jody finally captured the frail bird in his hat.
So off we go hoping the clinic is open. It was and much to our relief, they were happy to take him in and provide the necessary attention. I understand that Mother Nature has her way of taking care of these things, but it is nice to lend her a hand every now and then.
Driving home, I couldn’t help but replay the events of the day in my mind. I was struck by the obvious fact that if one thing had gone differently, if Jody hadn’t run into the deck guy, if he had called when he said he would, if we hadn’t gotten served early, if we had continued on to the Irving, we wouldn’t have been where we needed to be to help the little mourning dove. We wouldn’t have been where we needed to be in that one precise moment.
Perhaps just a gentle reminder that not all things are left to chance.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
PB & Jam
It's not quite what you think. PB in this case stands for personal best and the jam is more specifically the very important Gramma Stevenson's blueberry jam that I ate not only before every run while training over the last four months but again this morning - who knew that in a couple of hours it would help me achieve my personal best at the Saint John's (Half) Marathon by the Sea.
A 7am start...
didn't deter the best cheering squad I could ask for from showing up at the crack of dawn.
After a hug from Paige to calm my nerves ...
some help from Dad with a few pre-race details...
and one last touch for good luck...
we were off to the races.
As I started out, the words from Queen Bee were ringing in my head to keep my pace under control and not to get caught up in the excitement. As difficult as it was to let people pass me, I trusted her words that I would catch up to them on the second half after they started to burn out, which is exactly what happened.
At mile 5, I received a much-needed morale booster when I ran past Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige coming down Union Street. After tossing my gloves and taking in their encouragement, I had more energy than I could have ever imagined.
The last two miles were the hardest. The entire course was filled with steep hills, long elevations and quick drops but thanks to Lisa showing up beside me (in spirit anyway) reminding me to "keep my head up, shoulders back, long strides, don't forget to breathe," I managed to conquer them all. That is until the last hill at Mile 11. It was a biggie, but after a brief slow down I picked it up again. Looking down at my watch, I knew I was in the last mile.
Miley Cyrus' "the climb" came on my ipod and my eyes started to well up. I had dreamed of this for an entire year; the thought of having my family waiting for me at the finish line overwhelmed my senses. Even though I couldn't see or hear them, I could feel them waiting for me, anxiously watching each runner appear at the top of the hill, checking the time clock, looking back to the hill.
Starting the last mile, I passed a young girl who had given up the chase. On my way by I tugged on her shirt and said to her "come on...you've got this." She smiled and started to run again. A few minutes later, I too fell to the same fate. With only a 1/4 mile left, I had to slow to a walk but after just a few seconds, that same girl came up behind me, tugged me on the shirt and said "we're almost home." Cresting the last hill together we ran side by side to the finish line, bonded by a shared determination to finish. Seeing the crowd gathered at the bottom and hearing the cheers welcoming us home I opened up my gait, and gave 'er.
Finally after 13.1 miles, arriving 18 minutes faster than my previous (and first) half maraton in Halifax this past May...
I was rewarded with the best possible prize...hugs from Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige.
During the post-run celebrations I felt someone take my hand. Expecting to see Mary or Mom, I turned with a smile. To my surprise it was the young girl with whom I ran the last 1/4 mile. "Thanks," she said to me. "I would never have finished like that if it weren't for you." Thanking her too for paying it forward to me when I needed it, we shared a very brief but special moment.
Reflecting on it all now, I know that my performance that day won't be of which legends are made or stories inspired. It will go unnoted in the history of great marathon runs, but this day was a great day for me.
On this day, I ran stronger and faster than I ever have and I know without a doubt that it was because of three things...the support of my family, the support of my running mentors and a little bit of mom and dad's blueberry jam.
A 7am start...
didn't deter the best cheering squad I could ask for from showing up at the crack of dawn.
After a hug from Paige to calm my nerves ...
some help from Dad with a few pre-race details...
and one last touch for good luck...
we were off to the races.
As I started out, the words from Queen Bee were ringing in my head to keep my pace under control and not to get caught up in the excitement. As difficult as it was to let people pass me, I trusted her words that I would catch up to them on the second half after they started to burn out, which is exactly what happened.
At mile 5, I received a much-needed morale booster when I ran past Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige coming down Union Street. After tossing my gloves and taking in their encouragement, I had more energy than I could have ever imagined.
The last two miles were the hardest. The entire course was filled with steep hills, long elevations and quick drops but thanks to Lisa showing up beside me (in spirit anyway) reminding me to "keep my head up, shoulders back, long strides, don't forget to breathe," I managed to conquer them all. That is until the last hill at Mile 11. It was a biggie, but after a brief slow down I picked it up again. Looking down at my watch, I knew I was in the last mile.
Miley Cyrus' "the climb" came on my ipod and my eyes started to well up. I had dreamed of this for an entire year; the thought of having my family waiting for me at the finish line overwhelmed my senses. Even though I couldn't see or hear them, I could feel them waiting for me, anxiously watching each runner appear at the top of the hill, checking the time clock, looking back to the hill.
Starting the last mile, I passed a young girl who had given up the chase. On my way by I tugged on her shirt and said to her "come on...you've got this." She smiled and started to run again. A few minutes later, I too fell to the same fate. With only a 1/4 mile left, I had to slow to a walk but after just a few seconds, that same girl came up behind me, tugged me on the shirt and said "we're almost home." Cresting the last hill together we ran side by side to the finish line, bonded by a shared determination to finish. Seeing the crowd gathered at the bottom and hearing the cheers welcoming us home I opened up my gait, and gave 'er.
Finally after 13.1 miles, arriving 18 minutes faster than my previous (and first) half maraton in Halifax this past May...
I was rewarded with the best possible prize...hugs from Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige.
During the post-run celebrations I felt someone take my hand. Expecting to see Mary or Mom, I turned with a smile. To my surprise it was the young girl with whom I ran the last 1/4 mile. "Thanks," she said to me. "I would never have finished like that if it weren't for you." Thanking her too for paying it forward to me when I needed it, we shared a very brief but special moment.
Reflecting on it all now, I know that my performance that day won't be of which legends are made or stories inspired. It will go unnoted in the history of great marathon runs, but this day was a great day for me.
On this day, I ran stronger and faster than I ever have and I know without a doubt that it was because of three things...the support of my family, the support of my running mentors and a little bit of mom and dad's blueberry jam.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hit or Miss?
Please help me settle a debate with my Brother, Brad. While up at Mom and Dad's this summer, he appeared in this lovely shirt.
As you can see, he feels quite certain that it is a fashion-do.
I am not quite as convinced. Feel free to cast your vote...
As you can see, he feels quite certain that it is a fashion-do.
I am not quite as convinced. Feel free to cast your vote...
Blueberry Pickin' 2009
It really was a great week.
It’s blueberry season up at “the Stevenson Farm” and this year my brother, his girlfriend Mary and her daughter Melissa, myself and Jody ascended upon the blue acres to lend Dad a hand with this year’s crop.
What started out as a rather naive assumption of “how difficult can it be?” ended in a four-day, back-breaking, sun-beaten, fly-bitten week and we enjoyed every minute of it. I do think, however, we all have a whole new appreciation for just how hard Dad works taking care of his crop and just how difficult raking blueberries, the old fashion, harvester-free way, actually is.
It required a true team effort, with us out in the fields and mom back at the house preparing meals and cleaning our clothes each night. Together, we were a well-oiled machine and each evening, we took great pride in surveying our berriful-bounty and great pleasure in counting our boxes and setting the goal for the next day.
It really was a great week. The only thing wrong with it is we didn’t get to stay long enough.
So the next time you pick up a blueberry muffin from Tim’s, or bake a blueberry pie, you never know, it could be a Stevenson blueberry.
The field to conquer. After our four days, we finished about 1/3 of the field. Dad finshed the rest after we left. In total he managed to get 13,000 lbs from the sheep pasture and field that leads down to the river behind the house.
Dad and raker-extraordinaire, Debbie.
This was taken just before some tourists from France wandered
into the field wanting to take our pictures.
Mary realizing that I was actually kidding about tucking our pants into our socks to prevent spiders crawling up our legs. Dad realizing Mary actually fell for it.
Don't worry Mary, here's a lovely one of Brad. Something the original Grampa Stevenson could have never dreamed of. Working out in the field while talking on the cell phone.
Only Melissa can make blueberry picking look glamorous. Melissa by the way, received the MVP award. She was a real trooper and stuck it out to the end! She made us all, especially Grampa Stevenson, very proud.
Our mitties drying out for the next day...
(Click on the pic to enlarge it; can you find the morning dove?)
Off to Oxford Foods.
And to top it all off, we got to celebrate the week with Paige's birthday party!
(Sorry mom, I didn't get any pictures of you! We know you're there though...)
It’s blueberry season up at “the Stevenson Farm” and this year my brother, his girlfriend Mary and her daughter Melissa, myself and Jody ascended upon the blue acres to lend Dad a hand with this year’s crop.
What started out as a rather naive assumption of “how difficult can it be?” ended in a four-day, back-breaking, sun-beaten, fly-bitten week and we enjoyed every minute of it. I do think, however, we all have a whole new appreciation for just how hard Dad works taking care of his crop and just how difficult raking blueberries, the old fashion, harvester-free way, actually is.
It required a true team effort, with us out in the fields and mom back at the house preparing meals and cleaning our clothes each night. Together, we were a well-oiled machine and each evening, we took great pride in surveying our berriful-bounty and great pleasure in counting our boxes and setting the goal for the next day.
It really was a great week. The only thing wrong with it is we didn’t get to stay long enough.
So the next time you pick up a blueberry muffin from Tim’s, or bake a blueberry pie, you never know, it could be a Stevenson blueberry.
The field to conquer. After our four days, we finished about 1/3 of the field. Dad finshed the rest after we left. In total he managed to get 13,000 lbs from the sheep pasture and field that leads down to the river behind the house.
Dad and raker-extraordinaire, Debbie.
This was taken just before some tourists from France wandered
into the field wanting to take our pictures.
Mary realizing that I was actually kidding about tucking our pants into our socks to prevent spiders crawling up our legs. Dad realizing Mary actually fell for it.
Don't worry Mary, here's a lovely one of Brad. Something the original Grampa Stevenson could have never dreamed of. Working out in the field while talking on the cell phone.
Only Melissa can make blueberry picking look glamorous. Melissa by the way, received the MVP award. She was a real trooper and stuck it out to the end! She made us all, especially Grampa Stevenson, very proud.
Our mitties drying out for the next day...
(Click on the pic to enlarge it; can you find the morning dove?)
Off to Oxford Foods.
And to top it all off, we got to celebrate the week with Paige's birthday party!
(Sorry mom, I didn't get any pictures of you! We know you're there though...)
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A pricless find.
I learned a very valuable lesson today...always check a CD before you throw it away! I felt the need to clean closets this weekend and had tossed a couple CD's into the garbage pile. I thought for certain they were blank but in the last second I decided to check to be sure.
I'm glad I did! I didn't even know that I had these pictures and since they brought such a huge smile to my face, I'd thought I'd share them.
On the first CD I found pics of when Mom and my Aunt Donna brought Paige for a visit a couple summers ago.
Arriving on the train...
Being illegally "parked" for our lunch in the Public Gardens. At least the grounds keeper let us finish eating before putting the run to us!
Laughing at one of Aunt Tammy's hilarious jokes, no doubt.
Our afternoon at Claytime.
Making cookies for breakfast... :)
And then on the other CD I found a few pics from Father's Day at Mom and Dad's a couple years ago.
My brother Brad, who happens to be a very talented frame-marker, framed and restored the poem "The Mighty Saint John" that had been in a box for years and years.
Paige showing her Dad the Father's Day present she made for him.
My present to Brad...pics I took over Christmas.
A quick pre-dinner lesson:
And I absolutely love these next few photos. I can't quite remember the story, but Mom got Dad a cowboy for Father's Day. By the look of sheer glee on Dad's face, I'm guessing it had something to do with him being a young feller...way back when. :)
You see? Priceless.
I'm glad I did! I didn't even know that I had these pictures and since they brought such a huge smile to my face, I'd thought I'd share them.
On the first CD I found pics of when Mom and my Aunt Donna brought Paige for a visit a couple summers ago.
Arriving on the train...
Being illegally "parked" for our lunch in the Public Gardens. At least the grounds keeper let us finish eating before putting the run to us!
Laughing at one of Aunt Tammy's hilarious jokes, no doubt.
Our afternoon at Claytime.
Making cookies for breakfast... :)
And then on the other CD I found a few pics from Father's Day at Mom and Dad's a couple years ago.
My brother Brad, who happens to be a very talented frame-marker, framed and restored the poem "The Mighty Saint John" that had been in a box for years and years.
Paige showing her Dad the Father's Day present she made for him.
My present to Brad...pics I took over Christmas.
A quick pre-dinner lesson:
And I absolutely love these next few photos. I can't quite remember the story, but Mom got Dad a cowboy for Father's Day. By the look of sheer glee on Dad's face, I'm guessing it had something to do with him being a young feller...way back when. :)
You see? Priceless.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Happy Father's Day
Where Dad grew up:
Chipman, NB. The youngest of four children.
What he wanted to be when he grew up:
Air Traffic Controller
His favourite hockey team:
Toronto. Dad also was the goalie for his highschool hockey team.
A favourite picture:
Go ahead...make his day. :)
A favourite childhood memory:
Up until the age of 5, we lived inWoodstock, NB and every Saturday morning I would go with him to the community stables where he boarded his horse.
Each visit was the same. I would go in to the stall with a few peppermints in hand and say good morning to Big Mac. After sufficiently getting underfoot I would leave Dad to his work and wander down the row of barn stalls to do my weekly visits.
My first stop would always be see Dalmus, a gentle giant of a man who to a little kid seemed to be at least 100 years old. Climbing up on to the wobbly stool beside him, he would play me a tune on his harmonica, “Old Suzanna, now don’t you cry for me…” Yup, we had great chats Dalmus and I did.
Saying our "goodbyes and see you next weeks" I'd hop off my perch and movie along to the far end of the row to find the Greer girls, the daughters of Dad’s dear friend, Bob. They would always hoist me up into the saddle and take me for a ride around the grounds. Jane would later keep me busy assigning me to “brush” duty.
This particular Saturday morning was no different, for the most part. And despite remembering it vividly, I will recount the rest of the story from Dad’s perspective:
"I look up and around the end of the row of barns comes Jane walking her horse with Tammy trailing along side.
A few minutes later, they circle around again only this time Tammy was walking the horse as Jane walked along side.
The third time around, Tammy was walking the horse but this time there was no Jane anywhere in sight! There was this little four year old walking a huge horse like it was no problem at all. Heart in my throat, I dropped everything and ran over to take over the reigns, literally."
To this day, I can remember the expression on Dad’s face, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t figure out why he looked so panicked. What Daddy? I have it under control.
His nickname:
Rodger Dodger. (And everyone knows that if you ever need help, just call Rodger Dodger.)
A proud moment:
During Dad's company retirement party, the company President stood at the front of the ballroom and called the retirees up on by one up to congratulate them. When Dad arrived to the stage, the President broke from the script and turned Dad around to face the audience. Standing behind him with hand on his shoulder, the President proceeded to tell everyone how much Dad had meant to him.
Apparently when the President was just starting out with the company many moons ago, he was met with a rather collective cold shoulder. He went on to say that Dad was the guy that took him under his wing and always made the time to teach him the ropes. It obviously meant a lot to him as he said he never forgot Dad's kindness. The round of applause that arose from the crowd made it apparent that the President wasn't the only person Dad had looked out for over his 35 year career with the company.
What I respect about him the most:
There are so many things but I would have to say his work ethic. Dad worked for the telephone company for over 30 years, and I rarely remember him ever taking a sick day. He also spent much of his career travelling an hour to and from work but was never late…even in snow storms.
His work ethic is also demonstrated in how respectful he is of the homestead land. He would rather spend hours picking bugs off plants and hand weeding his gardens and blueberry fields than relying on pesticides. He personifies that quote "the greatest fertilizer is the farmer's shadow."
Things I have learned from him:
- A love for horses. To this day, the best smell in the world to me is the inside of a horse barn.
- How to use power tools – like a sliding compound mitre saw, air compressors and brad nailers. Not only can I use them, I own them.
- If you're going to do it, do it right.
- If you say you're going to do it, do it.
- Not to be afraid of hard work. Getting your hands dirty is how you learn best.
Three things I probably never said thank you for:
- Teaching me how to drive. I received a 94% on my exam and when I told the guy who administered my driving test that my Dad taught me, he responded by saying: “Tell him he did a good job. Most kids who take the Young Drivers’ Course don’t drive half as well as you."
- The countless hours he has given me in helping me renovate my house in Eastern Passage.
- The beautiful hand-made hope chest he made for while I was in university. It is one of my most prized possessions and during last year's wildfire, the thought of losing it made me heartsick.
One thing I wish he knew:
Dad has always said..." if it weren't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all." I wish I could convince him that there's no cloud following him, lol. I think it's about perspective; someone else could look up and see the cloud but comment on how blue the sky is around it.
(That said, however, he does seem to have a higher than normal account of rain on camping and canoeing trips.)
I hope he knows...
- Even though it never gets said, my brother and I know and appreciate just how much he and mom had to give up as young parents. To raise their family, they had to let go of their own dreams...like being an air traffic controller.
- How proud I am when people say, “Oh you’re Roger’s daughter.”
- To this day, I still hope that my decisions meet his approval. It will always be that way.
What I love about him the most:
That he's my Daddy!
Happy Fathers Day! xo
And with one last pause
the farmer gazes out across the field.
Grateful for all that it has offered,
he reflects on the hands that helped him turn it.
Still stained with dirt and rough with work
his own hands show testament to the months of solstice.
Smiling, he lingers over a humble sense of pride,
one that need not be spoken.
The sun sits low in the late October sky
assuring him that for now his work is done.
With relief in his bones and reluctance in his heart,
the farmer turns away, content.
Sleep tight sweet soil, rest well red field
for you have truly earned it.
Sleep tight gentle farmer, rest well,
for you have truly earned it too.
-ts
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Just a wee bit speechless.
This past Monday was my birthday and just before leaving the gym that morning, Susan (aka Queen Bee) gave me a card and a cd on which was a hand-written note wishing me a happy birthday. The note also explained that she hoped I didn't mind that she borrowed from some of my posts, (such as A Someday Intervention, Nobody Important (the Wall), and Signs.) That's all it said. Huh?
With my curiosity completely peaked of course, I played it immediately upon my arrival at work but I definitely wasn't prepared for what I found on it. For my birthday, Susan created a video chronicle of my running journey to the Bluenose Half Marathon starting with my very first 2 mile race last October, through our hateful winter training drills and on to our spring training which included a nasty tumble, a lost garmin and very discouraging encounter with the dreaded wall.
Thank you Queen Bee. I am deeply touched. And you're right..."the sure-thing boat never does get far from shore."
With my curiosity completely peaked of course, I played it immediately upon my arrival at work but I definitely wasn't prepared for what I found on it. For my birthday, Susan created a video chronicle of my running journey to the Bluenose Half Marathon starting with my very first 2 mile race last October, through our hateful winter training drills and on to our spring training which included a nasty tumble, a lost garmin and very discouraging encounter with the dreaded wall.
Thank you Queen Bee. I am deeply touched. And you're right..."the sure-thing boat never does get far from shore."
Click the link to view the video...
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Blue noses...warm hearts
Woody Allen once said: "80% of success is showing up."
After much debate, a nagging injury and a whole lotta self doubt about doing my first half marathon, I decided to take his advice and just show up. I figured the only way to finish was to at least start.
So in the wee hours of May 17th, I sucked up my courage and joined my fellow "sweaty girls" to take on the Bluenose.
We all gathered at QB and Dale's room for some pre-race commraderie but before we knew it, it was time to climb to the start line together.
My goal time was 2hrs and 2o minutes which up until mile 9 was looking possible. Shortly thereafter though, "the arse end fell out of her" and I had to slow to a limp; unfortunately the ankle had had enough. For a few minutes I had to stand at the curb flamingo style, one leg bent up as to prevent putting any weight on it. My odd stance prompted a poilce officer to approach and ask if I needed help. I did but I told him no. Debating whether to walk off or walk on, I decided to keep going. In the end I walked/ran my way to the finish line in 2 hrs and 38 minutes. Clearly disappointed in my time I was more relieved that I hadn't quit. It wasn't easy and it certainly wasn't without pain, but few things worth doing rarely are.
But for Lisa, Susan and Debbie, they all finished within two hours...a personal best for each of them!
The day held countless memorable moments. From standing at the start line with 8000 runners,
to the thousands of spectators who stood in the rain along the entire route to cheer on loved ones and complete strangers,
from all the incredible volunteers of every age who stood tirelessly with water, jelly beans and applause,
to the police officers who stood at every intersection to stop traffic no matter how fast or slow you were going.
But for me, the absolute most memorable, meaningful moment came at the very end. With about a mile left I was feeling "done." I had just spent the last 30 minutes fighting the battle between pain and perseverance. I was wet, cold, hungry and blury eyed but as I turned one more corner, the big blue inflated finish gate came into the distant view. With the end finally in sight, I adjusted my ipod, picked up my pace and started to give 'er one last time.
At the Brunswick Street intersection just before the final climb, I could see a few people standing on the corner waving at me, more kind supporters cheering us in no doubt. In my daze, however, I couldn't really see them clearly but within a few seconds I recognized their faces; imagine how overwhelmed I was when I realized it was the very people who got me there in the first place. Apparently Lisa, Susan and her husband Dale (all of whom had finished long before) had set out to find me and shortly after they spied me emerge from the fog I too saw them. I couldn't hold back the tears when I realized that despite their own exhaustion, they had come back for me...just as they had done so many times before during our countless training runs over the last 6 months. As I drew closer, they ran out into the street, took me by the hand and proceeded to run the last 1/4 km by my side.
It couldn't have been a more perfect moment and as we crossed the finish line together, all the fatigue and self doubt completely melted away.
It couldn't have been a more perfect moment and as we crossed the finish line together, all the fatigue and self doubt completely melted away.
It was an incredible experience, not just the day of, but the journey to. The last 6 months have been trying, painful, and emotionally-draining...and I can't wait to do it all again.
I recently read in a running magazine that "race day is the celebration of all your hard work." How true indeed.
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