Yesterday I ran in the 4K Mother’s Day Classic to raise money for breast cancer research and awareness. It was a beautiful day. Up before the sun, dragging my entire family (including the dog) down to Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens to join roughly 44,000 of our closest friends and mostly strangers.

Wandering in alone as my family parked the car, I was struck by the magnitude of the event. The loss, the hope and the overwhelming feeling that we can make a difference someday. There were just so many people willing to put up a fight for this. I did a few stretches and then headed off to find the starting line for my wave.

Standing in the middle of the mass of people from grannies to children who were about to run, I was overwhelmed. There were so many love letters masquerading as tribute cards pinned to the back of the shirts. Some people were running in memory of loved ones already lost, some were there to honor their survivors who had kicked cancer to the curb. Yet another was running the race for herself. At that moment, I cried for my dad, my friend and for the woman’s mother whose face I was looking at in a computer print laminated and safety pinned lovingly for all to see.

The airhorn sounded and off we all went. Some children sprinting on their tiny long legs out in front and others just trudging behind their moms. We rounded the first corner and there was a hill no one warned me about. Halfway up that hill, my asthma kicked in and I had to walk…just to the top. I was way over my limit of rescue inhaler puffs and still not completely free to breathe, but as soon as it was downhill I ran. And I kept running through having to pee and cough and adjust the stupid running bra I have yet to replace because there are kids and people with cancer running this thing. RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!

As I hit the last stretch, I saw my family and gave them a small wave and pained facial expression because this was HARD for me. When I crossed the finish line a few seconds later, I gave myself a pat on the back and limped off to get my free water, complimentary banana, pink show bag, “I did it!” sash and medal!

I came in 2,320th overall in the 4K (1,401st out of the girls only. Narrowing it down to JUST the old birds, I came in 313th!), so why on earth do I get a medal? Well, we all did and you know what, for once in my life I am eating my words. See, as a parent, I have criticized the handing out of participation ribbons to all the kids taking part in school athletic events. My theory is that they are required to be there anyway, so why get a reward for doing something they need to do anyway. They will not grow up to get jobs that hand out ribbons for showing up each day. But this made me humbly rethink things. Yes, not one of us HAD to be there yesterday, but we were and it was freaking hard. It was difficult for all sorts of reasons…me with the stupid hill and my asthma, the kids with their tiny legs, all the participants with their broken hearts. It was hard and each person there deserved the medal.

Hugging my friend and his daughter knowing we were all there because his beautiful wife was not…that is hard. They deserve to have their loved one back.

There is no medal for that.

But there was a medal for the race and today I am cherishing my participation medal. I am proud of doing something hard and you know what, the next time one of my kids does something hard, I am going to make sure they know how important their hard work was even if they come in 2,320th.

Photo of me by Gemma. We are STILL getting the littleSIDEKLICK site built and online for you.  A few days late, but very much deserving of the wait! Thank you for understanding how hard the race can be at times.

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We tell our children not to talk to strangers, but sometimes I wonder if that has created quite an insular world where we all go about our business in life and never look up to even acknowledge the people around us. Yesterday the kids and I went to a lovely Pop Up craft event put on by Kiddie Create, Little Melbourne and the Cowderoy Dairy cafe. They had craft tables set up in the park and the cost of entry included a kit for each child. I noticed that there was a table with three spare chairs, so my kids went and sat across from two children they did not know. The father said to his son “Say hello to the kids” and the little boy did. I said hello to the father, but he did not reciprocate. I tried to smile at the wife, but she was not going to meet my gaze. Our kids sat crafting at that table and had no reason to say another word to each other.

Just a few minutes after that, the kids all took place in some races. I clapped for all the little kids doing their best. As the spoon and egg race came to a close, my twins were trailing the others. I clapped and snapped a few shots on the phone. I had noticed that while everyone else was done with the race, there were two women walking past the event with their dog and what happened was so simple, yet unexpected and frankly rare…they smiled and cheered for my kids. Look, even the dog seems surprised, but me, my heart was so happy.

As an expat adult, it has been quite hard to establish new friendships in Melbourne. My first few years were spent in a haze of newborn twin taming and if not for the built in community that came with a husband who grew up in this city, I would not have had too many coffee dates. I even remember one awkward moment where a mom at Gemma’s first school smiled and waved and when I returned the gesture she actually said “Oh, I wasn’t waving at you” as she walked past to greet the person behind me. Five years in and I now have friends that I have made on my own, but my eyes were opened yesterday. I’d rather be that person who cheers for a stranger’s child than the shy/sourpuss who avoids eye contact or looks through someone to the person behind them.

I have always been a bit in awe of people who are so outgoing that they just can’t help themselves but say hello with a smile that means business. There is a strength in their confidence that is a bit scary to me. There is such beauty in their manner that sometimes I think  it isn’t actually confidence, but a different realm of being. One where it doesn’t occur to them that there is any other way to be. My mother is like that. She will stop a fireman in Australia to tell them about my brother who is a fireman in Virginia. I bet she stops people with cameras in Virginia to tell them about me in Australia. My favorite people are those kinds of people. I want to be one of my own favorite people. So please, if you see me smiling and waving, please come over and say hello. If you see me first, call my name. And go out today and smile at a stranger and if you can manage it, say hello. It will make you feel good and could actually mean so much more to them.

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