One of the most incredible, awe inspiring sights happened during my second half-marathon.
I ran past a man who was running with two half legs–the top half of his legs were skin and muscle, the bottom, skinny rods that looked like ski poles with rubber feet, like a bathroom duck had been stretched flat. The gentleman was fit, spry, and bounded along with the rest of the runners, his gait barely any different than the full-legged bodies around him.
He was the picture of life affirmation. A bionic man of sorts, who did not let a lack of legs stop him from running. When I think of the depression he must have suffered, the pain like hot ice endured, the phantom limbs, the self-consciousness…his battles are with demons more real and far more deeply routed than my own. He made me want to run, not just because I wanted to, but because I could. But even more, he made me want to live.