Mirrors

Oh God I am not sure this was a good idea. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Fifteen minutes on the treadmill. The long-ignored treadmill, converted into a clothes line for jeans and sweatshirts, creaks and moans as the dust shakes off and the engine picks up speed. My legs are equally uncooperative as they work to keep pace. Wow, I’m in worse shape than I thought. The IMAX in my mind flashes to the images of soldiers returning home without their legs; or legs no longer responding to their brains. And this is hard? Whoa, shake that off. The legs steady and I find my rhythm. I reach for the water bottle and gulp. I probably just drank more water than thousands of people get in an entire day. I just reached for the water and it was there. I have a case of bottled water upstairs. Their thirst is never quenched. And this is hard? Shaking my head I pick up the pace and shift into a slow run. How many people are running for their lives? How many are running from their abusers, from hate crimes or running to find answers? How many have chosen not to run? How many are taking a stand to make their world, this world, a better place? The faster pace kicks up the metabolism and I have one too many shirts. I toss my sweatshirt to the floor. How many people have no layers? How many sweatshirts do you have in your closet? No, not closet, it is closets – plural. And this is hard? Shaking my head again I glance at the clock to see if the promised fifteen minutes has been reached. I think of Anne, Donna, my mother and others as they watched the clock during their chemo treatments. I remember how the families watched the hospital clock waiting for diagnoses, for hope. And this is hard? Goal reached. The fifteen minutes is achieved. The treadmill stops. Kneeling on the canvassed base, my eyes look up and my head bows. Not in vain. Not in vain.