Gimme Shelter

Little Sis and I did another 5K together this morning. The Shelter Island 5K, a beautiful stretch along San Diego's waterfront. The Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter" kept replaying in my head.
http://www.kathyloperevents.com/si5k/

Woke up at 4:50 a.m. this morning, a Sunday morning, of all days. Although I love being up early, this morning I really would have loved to sleep in with all my babies. Race began at 7:30 and we had to be there beforehand to find parking and get our bibs.

As I prepared, I thought about the fact that I'm doing this because I raised money for injured soldiers and veterans of the U.S. Military. And just a handful of days ago, a man killed members and veterans of our military. Ft. Hood has been haunting my thoughts, as it has been for all of us. But for me, it is a shameful haunting. I am ashamed that he calls himself a Muslim. It is also an angry haunting. For I am so very angry that he dares to consider himself of Islam.

My sister and I talked about it. Interesting that when we hear of a tragedy like this, our first thought is, "Oh God, please don't let it be a Muslim." Not that it would be alright if it were another faith, but after 9/11 that just is our first thought. The second thought is, "If it's a Muslim, please God, don't let it be an Afghan."

During the 5K, I thought about how the very same people he meant to harm and kill, are at this very moment working to keep him alive and out of pain as he lies there in the hospital. Sure, he's being kept alive because we need answers and he needs to be tried and punished, but I don't believe that his doctors and nurses don't ever have that thought, you know the one, "Monster, he doesn't deserve to be pain free...he shouldn't live after he took the lives of others..." And yet, those noble folks who took the same medical oath that he did, have the compassion and humanity he did not.

Ft. Hood weighs heavily on my heart. It should and does for all of us, but as a Muslim, it is especially difficult. I love my faith. I know who we are. I am proud. Then comes along this monster, I cannot write his evil name, and in this post 9/11 world, he punches another dagger into the heart of this land that welcomed me, and in turn, some of my America once again has her doubts. I find it hard sometimes to not think, "Well, why shouldn't she?" I cry out and feel a burn as I fathom the searing pain the families of the fallen are feeling, and now, will always know. I wish I could explain to them how very sorry I am, in person, face to face.

There were so many injured veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan at today's event. The Injured Soldier Program works in conjunction with San Diego Adaptive Sports to provide prosthetics, specialized wheelchairs for sports, and other adaptive gear to assist injured veterans in living the fullest life possible, even if they no longer have an arm, or a leg, or all of the above.

At the beginning of the race, we had an extended moment of silence for the Ft. Hood victims. It choked me up something awful. I couldn't stop the knot welling up in my throat. The national anthem was sung, and it pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in my dog paw bandana and let it out. The horn was blown right after and we started to run. The breeze dried the tears on my cheeks.

It was a charged morning for me. I was processing through all of my emotions...anger, shame, sadness, confusion...all on that course. I ran the course, then walked it, then ran it, then walked it. Got a cramp on the ball of my left foot, and it hurt so bad. Felt like I was landing on a golf ball with every step. Ended up walking most of it after all. Just before the 3 mile mark, a little girl pulled up next to me in her specialized 3 wheeled bike, she was pedaling with her arms. Couldn't have been more than 7 years old. Her t-shirt read "Team Nic" and her Marine dad was coaching her all the way as he ran alongside. Nicolette was her name. She pushed me. She inspired me. She made me cry again, for it was men and women like her father that the monster gunned down. Then she looked up at me like, "Yah, I know, I'm kickin' your ass right now slow poke."

Picked up the pace, she didn't want a sympathy win, and I was going to try and beat her. For every step I took faster and faster, her little arms churned the arm pedals like a hummingbird, at lightning speed it seemed. Her little rigged bike literally flew and her face split into a smile as she crossed the finish line ahead of me. The little muscles in her arms must have been on fire. I crossed after her and burst into a true smile, for the first time this morning. She was the fastest kid alive.