The Art of Running in the Rain

My husband is a really good writer, and this morning he wrote something beautiful that he’s allowed me to share with the world. So here you go….

Yesterday I ran.  It’s not unusual, I run most every day.  Running is cathartic, the strain mixed with the rhythm, it gives me quiet between the static.  Usually I think about work problems that I’ve been trying to figure out, sometimes I think about what life will be like for my wife and I in the future, but yesterday I thought about my daughter who’s soon coming into the world.

I ran for 11 miles, almost 2 hours of rhythmic tapping on the pavement with each foot, one after another.  In that time I pictured what she’ll be like.  I mulled over hopes and dreams superimposed on a tiny body that’s yet to feel the air of our world.  Part of the time I ran past the University of Washington and had an imaginary conversation in my head of driving my young daughter past it, her asking me “what’s that daddy?” me saying, “that’s a university!  You can go there one day if you want to.”  Then I thought about the incredible privilege that that statement implies.

I ran through the Washington Park Arboretum, I saw all the signs and markers explaining the greenery and the nature around me.  My mind drifted off to the Park Service, who is being silenced by our current government and I imagined a day that I’d be walking with my daughter through such a park, telling her that it exists because people stood up to bad people.  They refused to be silenced.

I ran through wealthy neighborhoods where I pictured my little girl pointing at the spectacles of these huge houses.  I mouthed a thought that the people in those houses, who have so much have a chance to give so much.  I told her in my mind that I hope that even if their lives are prosperous that they’re helping others who don’t have their same privileges.

I passed through a poor neighborhood, with tired houses and thought again about my daughter.  I told her that not everyone is born into privilege.  Some people have to fight and struggle purely because of their skin tone or religion.  I hoped that by the time she was born that wouldn’t be the case.

When I was done running yesterday, I got home, I changed into warm clothes and my wife and I picked up signs that said “The fact that humanity has to clarify that any lives matter, should be concern enough” and “when the whole world is silent even one voice becomes powerful.”  We went to Westlake Park in Seattle and stood with thousands of other people in protest.  A protest that I wish was unnecessary, but is so necessary.  I saw other children there with their parents and couldn’t help but think that our little girl was there with us, learning the importance of standing up to oppression.  The importance of making her voice heard for those less fortunate and those wrongly persecuted.

Today I read the news, I hear people standing up, I swell with sadness and pride at the same time.  I don’t give up.  I put one foot in front of another.  I think about what to do next and how to one day help my daughter to do the same.  I hope to find the right words to make someone take pause and think just for a second that they might change their mind and respect the person next to them.  Our country is great because of our diversity, we will always be citizens of the Earth.