Redemption

Running marries two people that would never normally be brought together the way too many beers in a dimly lit pub tend to merge an unlikely match.

Lora and I both ran the Vancouver Marathon in 2009 and somehow, the photography company mixed up our photos and Lora received a picture of Mark and I at the finish line. Lora had heard about me through the land of running and when we finally met in person, she recognized me from the photo in her email inbox! What are the chances of that?!? As we fell into step with each other, it seemed as if every other aspect of our lives also lined up; we practically finished each others sentences.

Since that fateful day, Lora and I have logged thousands of miles together and as we weave through the trails like two fish in a school following the bend of a river, whether through silence or crying or laughing, we've shared it all. She's the only person that I can be inside out for, who I know won't balk at my ugliness but just hold it for a bit and then let it go.

Maybe runners just know how to leave shit on the road. Maybe we know that it's catharsis out there, you know? So when Lora and I run together, we get ugly together. We've even stop mid-run to cry together. But it's the silent runs that move me every time, the runs where we're clocking 7-minute miles side-by-side, breath in sync, like animals on a hunt. A hunt for satiety, for peace. And wherever we end up, we know we're not alone. And we know that we left it all on the road, that each moment is a fresh start, a second chance. That neither of us will ever be too sore, too far gone, too exhausted, to keep going. Because there's always tomorrow.