Once again, I was really looking forward to my long run today. Isn’t it strange? Of course, I consider anything over 8K a long run, but I still marvel at myself for being able to do this.
Cynthia and I set out shortly after 5:30 for our final run before the big race on Saturday morning. We had much to talk about as we hadn’t really seen each other since Sunday. It was a lovely evening; we could see the crescent moon and Venus shining in the darkening sky. *sigh* It was beautiful.
I became really emotional at one point. We were talking about our fathers; she has such a great relationship with hers and I was reminded of my own father. I told her how he would get up with me in the middle of the night when I was cramming for uni exams; he would make me a big pot of coffee and sit with me for a bit before heading back to bed. Those are the things I miss so much about him. Anyway, needless to say, I got a bit choked up. Not just a bit…it got to the point where I was having trouble breathing, but I didn’t want to stop. Instead, I started running harder, faster, breathing deeper and deeper. I felt like my father was pushing me gently with his hand toward the end of the 9K. I felt his presence. I knew he was there. I thought to myself, “I’m doing this for you, baba.”
And with that, I knew that he would be with me on Saturday too. I feel more confident now than I ever did. Thank you, baba, for everything.