At the races

Like kids drawn to a sweetshop, Duncan and I went to a running race today. Neither of us could race - Duncan had an accident 3 months ago while playing rugby (...) which left him with partial eyesight and a total ban on exercise. The ban has been an eye-opener (excuse the pun) as he has been able to see what my world has been like. It has driven us both crazy. 

The running race was organised by some friends of ours and we had promised to be there to help. So, no sleep-in on Sunday morning, we were out into the snowy mountain to set up, help marshal, register, hand out t-shirts and generally do a lot of backstage work. 

I felt like a kid in a sweetshop no longer. I felt like a deprived adult, on a permanent diet, being able to touch and smell and look at the sweets... but not eat. I chatted with the runners before, I helped them up after the finish, I gave them water, I heard as they complained about their perfomance, all the while jealous to the core of the fact that they could and I couldn't. 

I heard of people dissappointed with their race, talking about minutes and seconds they could have saved and it reminded me of me a while ago. Of the times that getting to the finish line was the goal, the driving force. And I realised how goals change over time. My goal is now the startline.