Boston. - Linda Jones
Actor, writer, runner, reader, lover of cats & dogs. I narrate books. I have fallen down in every borough.
Actor, writer, runner, reader, lover of cats & dogs. I narrate books. I have fallen down in every borough.
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Boston.

18 Apr 2013 Boston.

I’d planned a run for Monday. I’d brought my running clothes to work, and was going to hit Central Park in the evening. It didn’t happen.

The news of the bombs in Boston, the fact that I had friends in the race, friends and family in the city that day, the fact that the bombs went off at around the time *I would have been coming in* had me shaken. I called family (many of whom were calling my parents to check in and find out, “was Linda running Boston?”…). I checked the news. I headed home. I hugged John and petted Lucy and ate too much supper. And I checked the news some more. None of it seemed real. Or maybe it was too real. It was all bad.

Sleep that night was fitful, and I woke and checked the news again. Still nothing.

My running bag already packed, I took it to work again. The weather was improving, it would be a beautiful night for a run and in honor of my Boston peeps I would go ahead and do my after-work run on Tuesday. But I wasn’t feeling it.

By afternoon the clouds had started to roll in, and I was starting to re-think my plan. I was working on a sleep and calorie deficit (trying to lose weight, yo!), and the idea of running in the park cold, tired and hungry made my disinclination palpable. I did the right thing: I called John. Giving him my best pathetic face (over the phone), I whined. “I’m *tired*,” I said, “I don’t *feel* like it…”; no sympathy: “go run” (he said). So I went. And I’m so glad I did.

The afternoon weather actually cleared by evening, and the park was beautiful – spring kicking in full force, and there were places in the park where the blossoms on the trees were so thick the air smelled of perfume. I was slow, make no mistake – dragging a bit even by the time I reached the boathouse. But I ran up Cat Hill (*not* gonna be cowed by that cat), hit the reservoir and finished a nice easy 4.5 mile run; I was home in time for supper.

This morning I got word that a dear friend from college has passed – complications from open heart surgery. He was my age. He has left behind a wife and two sons. It seems strange and, again, so very unreal. And it makes me angry that the sloth in me so often wins, that inertia is so potent and powerful and constant.

We have so little time.

USE. IT.

It’s impossible to seize *every* moment, and exhausting to try, but I want to be sure that I don’t reach the end of my life wishing I had done things differently. There is no sense in that.

I’ve been given working legs, heart, lungs and spirit to be used and worked and pushed and tested. I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. To taste, touch, hear, smell, feel – to love deeply and laugh as much as possible – this is what we are given.

Which doesn’t mean I will always feel it. Laziness is powerful, and sometimes even has a place at the table. But it *does* mean I will try. I will remember Boston; I will remember John’s dad; I will remember my friend Dan. I will carry them with me and honor their lives with my effort. We honor those who have gone before us by paying it forward, by leading the best lives we are capable of.

I brought my bag to work again; I’ll hit the park and be home for supper. And I’ll pet Lucy and call John in New England; I’ll eat well and I’ll sleep hard. And I’ll look forward to whatever tomorrow has in store.

Linda Jones
linda@lindajonesonline.com
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