They made me think, what a difference a day makes.
In April, 2005, the day before ‘the big one’, i.e., the Boston Marathon, Pat and I explored the streets of Boston and found the fire hall that is a “building to watch for”, because it marks the last turn and last few blocks to the finish. If I had a kick left in my legs when I reached that corner the next day, I would let it out, leave it all on the road. (So I thought).
We spotted a fire fighter and mentioned that our older son was also one, in Canada (“He trained at a college in Commerce, Texas,” I said. He knew the one.), and he offered to take a picture of us sitting on the bumper of his truck; he also offered me his helmet.
Sweet. My older son and I have the same-shaped head, the same dashing, yet rugged smile, so the helmet fit and felt perfect, and I imagined myself a tough fire fighter for a few seconds. I thought about my wicked kick too.
The next day, however, due to several blisters on one foot and terribly hot temperatures, both of my feet seemed like they were on fire at that special corner and my rugged smile and fierce kick deserted me. But once I spotted the finish line, I did give it once last push.
I said, “Run, Gordie, run!” And I did, but I don’t think I was smilin’!
[Photos by a Boston fire fighter]
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