Half-Way Point
September 3rd, 2007
So, I’m running along the dirt trail of the Delaware and Raritan Canal in Princeton this morning. The breeze is heavenly, the sun streaming through the lush greens as the merry speedwalkers pass with a smile and a nod.
And there I am, in the thick of the postcard-perfect calm of it all — cursing every pounding step. I’m thirsty. I’m cramping. I’m cranky. Even Bruce Springsteen, begging me as he is through my headphones to “Come on up for the rising,” isn’t doing me any good. Are you kidding me? is all I can think. I haven’t even hit mile 2 yet? My goal of 4.5 seems way too daunting on this morning after I downed two glasses of wine, and a frothy champagne concoction at my Aunt Maria’s surprise birthday party. I want to stop. And then, salvation. A glorious, if robotic, voice whispers in my ear: “Half-way point. Two-point-two-five miles to go.”
You’ve gotta love that Nike+iPod.
I hit another, even more glorious, half-way point today. With the sale of a fondue set (thank you, Amy!) the little red fund-raising bar hit exactly 50 percent! Daunting as it still seems (just like my run this morning), it’s reassuring to know I’ve only got left what I’ve already done.
And so we’ll keep chugging along.
But boy, I’ll tell ya. It can’t seem to go quick enough for my family. I think they’ve kind of had it already with these boxes and furniture and strangers coming to their house.
Today, my sister, Dad and I lugged two carloads of donated furniture to the house (thank you, Donnalynn and Nick!) And when our cars were emptied, my Dad looked at me with his loving, blue eyes and said, “Please. No more furniture. Sell this, and that’s it. No more.”
Hey, Dad — Half-way point!
