It’s marathon day in Chicago.
I’ve run, albeit slowly, five marathons.
They were physically taxing but
watching a marathon
takes far more out of me emotionally.
Every. Time.
I wasn’t even trying
to watch the marathon today.
I was trying to get to Whole Foods
to buy cilantro*
and there they were:
crowds of people,
all kinds of people,
not running
(oh, there were runners,
reportedly 30,000 this year),
but cheering the runners on.
I was sobbing so openly
I had to duck into a public rest room
to pull myself together.
It could be the coming together of humanity
or it could be the one event
where people unabashedly ask for support
and get it.
The turnout is bigger than your
birthday, graduation, and a wedding
rolled into one.
Crowds of strangers shout your name,
ring cow bells
and hold up signs
carefully penned with clever encouragement.
I’m choking up again as I write this.
Why is it so hard to ask for support?
Why is it so satisfying when we get it
and, even more curiously,
why is it so moving when we give it?
It seems like the perfect time to humbly request:
more cowbell!
in my life.
*ask me for my chicken tortilla soup recipe
