Day of Magic

Magic Shirt

Sunday I ran just over 21 miles. I mapped out a route which should have made 22, but as I approached my finish line short I was not willing to push through. I had been doing my best to keep a certain pace and felt I had done enough. "Listen to the body, knucklehead." I get it.

Once in a while a long run goes extremely well, the kind of effort you'd love to bottle and uncork on raceday. Some are real stinkers where you struggle and possibly curse (who, me?) to get through. And some if not most are hard but you get them done, pushing through highs and lows. That was my Sunday run.

I did 9 miles at home then headed to Alhambra Hall to start the remaining 13. I was attempting to run not more than one minute slower than my planned marathon pace (PMP) and largely succeeded, slowing on the steep uphill climb of the Ravenel Bridge that roughly would come where the Newton Hills will begin at Boston.

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Jason Pisano and The Boston Strong Ducks

Before I had started this run I was sitting in my vehicle searching for a plastic bag for my phone. I had a Boston Strong Duck with me (I have 3 total) as I did not want to miss a chance to pass it along. It was one of those feelings that kept nagging at me, I need this bright little yellow fellow to fly with me today. I finally located a bag so I was all set. On the card I wrote (as memory serves) "In honor and memory of The Greatest, Jason Pisano."

I usually make a pit stop at the base of the bridge and did so this day.

As I began walking I noticed a man on a bike with a child seated behind him, little guy maybe 3 years old. We start talking and the dad asks me about my prosthesis, how I came to lose my foot, and where I went for my legs. He then said he'd like to get a running foot for his son and that's when it was clear his boy was a right foot amputee, same as me.

I immediately thought of the duck in my hydration pack and asked if I could give it to his son. "Oh, he likes ducks!" and I passed the gift from someone else's hands through mine into his tiny ones. They were heading back into Charleston and needed to go before I could get his son's story. What I received was a smile and a full heart as I ran on.

Small miracles.