Run DMZ

During my seven-week hiatus, I discovered something: I love to lurk. I continued to periodically sift through all those blogs that provide me so much information and entertainment. For the most part, though, I kept my comments to myself. Oh, occasionally I couldn’t contain myself and I’d pepper someone’s post with a poorly worded response. But my quiet existence didn’t mean I wasn’t keeping up. One of you got a jolt during her Hawaiian honeymoon and another announced her engagement. Three of you celebrated wedding anniversaries, and one let everyone know the marriage was over. One couple campaigned on behalf of their photogenic dog, while others raised money for charities. One just coming off a serious ankle injury could still use our help meeting a looming fund-raiser deadline. Some of you ran longer or faster than you ever have before. A couple of you won a race outright. Two of you told us you plan to direct your first cross-country race. One’s back to swimming his heart out. And an...

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I ran outdoors for the first time since June 4. All I knew is it was cool, dark and desolate. Perfect for some soul soothing with each footfall. My grandmother did not go swiftly. She lasted almost a week without food or water, aided only by a morphine patch as her organs systematically shut down. The last of her urine came out crystals. Her necrotic feet turned deep blue. And still she held on in a semi-comatose state, leaving all of us to privately wonder if we’d done right by denying her a feeding tube. No one expected this fight, and certainly not from someone 99 years old. My little sister banged up more than her small SUV during that car crash on her way to church. She came to live with us while she healed from delicate neck surgery involving cadaver parts and titanium plates. Two cooped-up drama queens with similar DNA, one in constant need of painkillers, played out just as you’d expect. During all the turmoil, I had trouble regaining ground o...