"The only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind" -U2
It's marathon weekend here in and around NYC. It's all over the news, and friends and family and famous faces are running. I did it last year, for my first 26.2, and it will forever remain etched in my consciousness and my heart as one of those days that somehow defines me. Admittedly, I am a little jealous, but I'm also glad I have not been on a training schedule these last few weeks.
It's supposed to be cold tomorrow morning and I also don't envy those waiting on Staten Island for the start. However, I know they will be layered up in all of their "throwaway clothes" that will be shed as soon as they get moving and their bodies heat up.
I often choose my own throwaway clothes as symbolic, metaphors for things I am ready to discard along my journey...issues that have clung to me from phases in my life or relationships, like heavy, wet laundry. I remember a particularly satisfying toss of my final layer on the Verrazano Bridge last year, high above The Narrows.
Last night, I went out with a few good girl friends. It was Jen's birthday and we talked about aging. Most of the women are into their 50s, one is in her 40s and then there is me, about to cross that bridge. I made the statement that my impending birthday has changed the way I am thinking and making decisions. Simply put, there are things I refuse to take into my next year, things I simply refuse to carry with me any longer, layers I am removing and discarding along the curb, still being careful to toss them far enough so no one else trips up on them and stumbles.