I love running. Always have. As a child, I loved running around in circles until I fell over with exhaustion. I loved running down hills, collapsing in a heap at the bottom. Running was the only thing I was ever good at in P.E.; indeed, I was picked last every time, unless it was a race. Running gave me confidence as a child, as well as an immense sense of freedom. No one or thing could catch me – I was invincible as long as I as moving.

I sort of forgot about running when I was in highschool, and I really forgot about it in my twenties. I had other things to do at that time. Like make poor life choices. Every so often I’d remember that I could do it, but then something would come up, and I’d forget again.

Around the time that A. went to K-town, I decided to run again. I felt out of control at that time. I didn’t know what was going to happen to A., I wasn’t sure I was in the right professional field, and I was beginning to rely on other sources of depression management (read: alcohol) to numb the chaos. So one day I ran. And it was just as awesome as it had been when I was a child. I ran some more. I ran my face off all around Ottawa and loved it. And now I run my face off all around Herzliya. And it is the fucking best. Even on bad days, even on days when I feel like I’m never going to make it up Keren HaYesod at the end of a long haul, even when it’s hot as hell and my face feels like it is actually going to melt off, running rocks my socks.

Why am I rambling on about running? Because today, I read this. And while I have always been a huge believer in living your life your own way, loving the crap out of every second, and telling all negative forces to kindly eff off, this HuffPost blog post really drove the point home. This woman was my age. She had kids that are my kids’ age. And she just died. So tonight I ran. Because I love it and I should do what I love as much as possible. I ran because I am lucky enough to still be able to. I ran because one day I won’t be able to run. I ran my ass off tonight, pacing and training be damned, and loved every glorious second of it. Then I came home, drank the biggest glass of fresh, cold water I could find, kissed my sleeping kids, and winked at my husband. Because life is too short, as trite as that may sound. It was really too short for Charlie, and I don’t know how short it will be for me.

Do what you love, I say, and do it now.