26.2

Watching thousands of people running for the goal of finishing a 26.2 mile race is painful. There is joy, there is screaming, clapping smiling but in the end pain pure and simple. The joy is in taking ones body to the brink of disaster and survive. Or so I suppose. Margaret has always been able to accomplish things I could only dream. I don't want to run those kinds of miles but knowing I can't still stings.

When I met her, she was delirious. She had a terrible run. She was ill. I took her to the medical tent for attention. The first time in my life I could walk faster than Margaret. No one is allowed in the tent except the runners. So I just sat outside crying. Crying for her because it is awful to see someone you love in pain.

She came out with her friend and we went back to Brookline. They went to bed. I went to Anna's for a Burrito extraordinaire and all is well with the world once again. I love you, Margaret. I even love that you are my sister. Congratulations.