Run Stroke Girl...Run

There is a point in every marathon that I've done so far where I want to buckle over, fall down on my knees, and cry. But, honestly, it has nothing to do with the physical pain. It’s a thought. It’s a thought or a feeling that is so overwhelming that just makes me want to smack my hands against the road and wail. It's not because I am sad. It's more of an awe feeling, a feeling of disbelief about what I am actually accomplishing. Everyone runs for different reasons and I think there is a moment on the course when it just reaches up and punches you in the face.

Last Thursday, February 5, I went back to the same gym where I stroked to lift weights with Kristen. I haven't been back since last March. I stroked by lifting a light weight over my head, which, unbelievably, tore a vertebral artery in my neck. So this was a huge day for me; thank you Kristen for understanding this and coaxing me back on to the horse.

There is a faint scar scattered across my forehead that appeared while I was on Coumadin, which is a drug that thins your blood to help prevent any more clots from forming. Since my artery has healed and I've been taken off the drug, the scar has not faded and I am told it won't. Although not the most attractive thing to have permanently on one's face, I suppose it's a good reminder to be thankful for life, for each day, for the ability to be independent, for the ability to talk, for the ability to walk...for the ability to run.

Around mile 16, I heard a very enthusiastic woman scream, “Run, stroke girl, Run!” I did a double take and looked back into the crowd and smiled, remembering that I was wearing a shirt that read: I Live to Run…Stroke Survivor.