Boston. The pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. I have seen the
colors stretched out in the sky before. Each layer representing the hard
work; the seemingly endless long runs.

Last year I pulled myself along the colored arcs. It was difficult,
yet I saw the red, orange, yellow and green as the training wore on.
Pulling myself along arches of green, blue and indigo. Almost there.
Cold, lonely, snowy long runs completed - struggling towards the violet.
Then the bolt of lightning struck my rainbow sending the silvery glitter
raining towards the earth. As the ground shimmered up at me I
wondered... was it smirking at me? Should I have known? Running had never
been so hard before?

Monday morning I set out once again. Baby steps each weekday
culminating with the weekend long runs. The trek up the red arc begins with
ten miles. Each week pushing harder and farther along the transparent
paths. Some days will be clear and the colors vibrant. As I run, my body
will flow and I will feel myself gliding along the rainbow layers.

I know that there will be the cloudy, dreary days when the illusion is
not visible - even to the minds eye. Why am I doing this? Where are the
colors? All I see is grey. The clouds weighing me down, making me heavy
and slow. I need my colored streamers floating in the sky to pull me along.

Somehow, this year feels different. My body, rejuvenated after
recovering from the fractured femur. I am refreshed and ready to begin the
journey up and over. In April, when you hear the clinking and clanking
sound of coins, picture me playing in my pot of gold at the end of my
rainbow.