a relay of sorts

I like to imagine I’m running a relay race. Three years ago, I took the baton and have been running hard ever since. Granted, there have been a few rest stations along the way, a few opportunities to ditch the baton and enjoy the freedom of a break from the race. In the end, though, the baton always returns, and as the race has continued, the baton seems to have magically transformed into ankle weights, then a weighted harness, then a backpack full of rocks. It’s gotten significantly heavier, which means I feel significantly more proud of accomplishing each lap, but also much, much more weary at the end of each turn.

I knew that my relay was almost over—I had been anticipating its end for over a year. Still, curves kept arising, rather like driving a mountainous road: fun, but while I knew the end was near, I couldn’t quite see it.

Suddenly, just the other day, I caught a glimpse of the end. I saw my relay replacement, eager, ready to start, excited about running the race. I dipped below a hill, but the knowledge that my replacement is there, waiting, preparing to run alongside me for the last few miles, was refreshing. Remotivating.

I think I have strength to finish now.