The stress. The anguish. Pride. Fear. Hope. That’s basically how I felt as my sister walked through the streets of Boston on Monday morning. I should rather say while my sister was flying over Boston, as if her immensely difficult marathon course was just a little Sunday walk. Quick walk, let’s say…
A course renowned for its ribs that break the best, the Boston Marathon is not legendary for nothing. Only the crème de la crème has the privilege of participating. And among them, for the third time, there was my sister. My sister, who trains tirelessly, between her enormous responsibilities as a single mother and her role as a seasoned lawyer. My sister, who doesn’t mind going for a run at 5 a.m. because that’s the only time of day she can do it without disrupting her kids’ routines. My sister who multiplies the efforts – but also the sacrifices – to surpass herself, to sweat, to run, to improve her time. My sister going out for a run in -40oC or 40oC. My sister who goes out to train just as much to free herself from the weight of a complicated daily life as to achieve the pride and lightness that come with victory. The victory of effort. The victory of determination. The victory of hard work and sacrificed pleasures.
What I realize now is that all the energy that my sister put “too much” into her sport, I invested in…what exactly? I must have drunk more liters of wine than my sister has covered in kilometers over the past year. Who’s the bad guy in all this? The motivated runner or the bored drinker?
Ann-Ju, beyond my own battles that give me little rest, what I want to highlight today is the beauty of your intensity. Because, unlike me, you channel it into something so beautiful and inspiring. I hope one day to be able to write that I was inspired by my sister to devote my boundless energy to something that nourishes me. I’m so, so proud of you.
