Perspective

Last week, I announced to my friends, family, and co-workers that I will be taking a promotion this spring and moving to the Bottom Line office in New York City. This is obviously a very exciting opportunity, but it has really made me think about and appreciate all of the people I have met and experiences I have had in the nearly six years I have lived in Natick. There are so many things to miss.

As a runner, I've begun to feel as though parts of Natick belong to me. I see the same people walking the same dogs every morning. I recognize the people power-walking to the train and the old man who always grins at me as I pass him on his morning walk. Natick isn't just a place where I have lived; it's a place where I have changed and grown. I drove here on a whim one day in June 2008 and signed a lease on the first apartment I had ever seen. Since then, these hills have watched me shuffle, struggle, and sprint. I have learned to challenge and push myself as a singer, and as a friend. I know the names of the people who work in the local businesses, and they know mine.

There is something special about Natick, and I was reminded of that this Monday when I set out to run and noticed that something unusual was happening. I encountered at least three police officers walking on the sidewalk within the first quarter mile of my run, and all of them said hello to me. There seemed to be a lot of traffic at the big intersection downtown, more than usual for a Monday morning. As I continued down Route 27, I saw a long line of fire trucks, trash trucks, and DPW vehicles, all flashing their lights, and realized that I was running alongside the funeral procession for DPW worker Michael McDaniel, who was killed on the job the week before in a tragic accident.

A commemorative flag suspended in Natick Centre

Even though the trucks had traffic on 27 backed up for miles, no one was honking. No one cut them off. No one pulled a U-turn and took off in the opposite direction. Workers waved at me from the cabs of their trucks. It was as though the whole downtown stopped in pensive silence in honor of a man who had quietly served them for so many years. I turned at West Street and ran past the high school, and then cut left onto Pond Street. I ran by the cemetery, where a group of workers were clearing the snow away from a plot right next to the road, presumably for the same funeral. It was a quick but powerful reminder that my time with the people I love, my time as a runner, my time in this world--is limited.

In one of the many articles I read about runners getting ready for this year's marathon, someone was asked, "Why are you running again this year?" and she said, "Because I can, and so many others can't." Sometimes, it takes something big to remind us of all the things we are blessed with, big and small. Being a "regular" somewhere. Having a support system of loving friends who all live right down the street. The fact that the hardest part of my training is willing myself to walk out the door in the morning, while others are learning to walk and run on new prosthetics.

This article said it best, in my opinion:

Hawkins has battled injuries in recent years, but said he is doing everything he can to take part in this year’s race. Compared to those directly touched by the bombings, a little cold seems trivial, he said. “You think of the people who lost limbs and how much they have to overcome,” he said. “You just run it.”