Gravity

I have been thinking about the word overwhelmed. And the term gravity keeps coming to mind.

In the way that you suddenly realize the scale of something, the overwhelming gravity of an endeavor, and you stand there blinking for a minute.

It hit me two weeks ago during my first “real” Boston Marathon training run, a 15-mile loop course out to Wellesley Center and back toward Boston through the Newton Hills. The terrain was familiar. The rhythm of my feet touching the pavement. The course itself, a meditation I have known inside and out for many years.

But that run felt different. Somewhere along that route, running up the Newton Hills, the weight of it all became clear. It was not just logging miles. The reality of running the Boston Marathon on April 20th pressed in on me.

This was not a lark. It may have started on a whim, an intense desire to give back, the words tumbling out before I could pull them back.

“Do you have a number for Boston? I could run. I could raise funds. I am slow so I won’t qualify, but if you had a number…”

And the long story made short: “Are you ready to run?”

And so it started. A lot of people made this happen, I found out.

Then the response from donors, many I know and some I do not, has been overwhelming.

The opportunity is big.
The disease is big.
Boston is big.

And I am small.

A sudden David and Goliath image flitted through my mind, landing on my shoulders for a moment before lifting again. But it left something behind: a sense of gravity. Something to hold in my hands, something to weigh… and something to carry.

This past weekend I ran 16 miles in Central Park. Cold, bright, honest miles. Training is going well. My legs are cooperating. The miles are stacking up. There is rhythm again. A running meditation that I crave.

This marathon means more to me than anyone who simply dreams of running Boston could understand.

I cannot outrun the reality of this disease, and neither can Carl. And the gravity of knowing this can be unbearable at times. But I am choosing to turn despair into urgency. Urgency to move. Urgency to act. Urgency to run while I can. To turn helplessness into forward motion. Carl had planned to run it. He was training to qualify. But now I am running instead. I am running for Carl. For all caregivers living our same reality. To honor CCALS, an organization whose quiet, practical compassion has carried us in ways I still struggle to put into words.

When I began, I thought I was simply going to run a marathon and raise some money for an organization that has helped us tremendously. I did not grasp how many people would step forward. How many stories would surface. And how many private messages would arrive.

It is humbling. And overwhelming.

Boston is not an easy course and demands respect. It exposes you if you are careless. It exposes you even when you are giving your best, when you are trained, when the planets are aligned and wind blows your way. It is relentless and sneaky. The downhills give a false sense of success. The hills hit you in the face with your limitations.

This marathon and I are close friends. We have a history. I have run this for other charities six times before. And 17 years ago, after my last race, I swore I would never run Boston again. And then ALS happened. Helplessness, hopelessness, the compassion of strangers arrived at once. And the only thing I know how to do is run. I may not be fast, and I may not cross the finish line dancing, but this is the only way I know how to give back. Run.

The longer runs are coming. Eighteen miles. Twenty. Maybe twenty-two. The Newton Hills are waiting while Winter is still trying to knock us sideways.

And yet, I move forward.

I did not choose the reason for this race.

But I am choosing how to run it.

If you would like to support this effort and the work of CCALS, I have included the fundraising link below. The generosity of the donors humble me more than I can say. And if you can, please share broadly. You may be surprised at the ALS stories that surface, just as I was.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for your support. Thank you for being here for us.

https://ccals.org/events/julia-kim-boston-marathon/