As dawn breaks on a mild winter morning, I set off on a run. The gentle rain from last night has left the trails clean, soft, and empty. There's not a soul around. I navigate through the twists, the climbs, and the gentle descent with a relaxed rhythm, relishing in the simplicity of it all. There's a beautiful feeling in starting my day this way — uncomplicated, peaceful, with a mental clarity that feels like a gift.
In the midst of my run, my thoughts wander back to yesterday's adventure with my son. Scaling "the big hill" for the first time on a whim was a daunting task for him. The fatigue set into his legs a quarter of the way up and he struggled to catch his breath, unable to see the top of the hill or knowing how many turns were left to climb. It was intimidating, as it would be for anyone, not just an almost nine-year-old.
Yet, as I recall how Lorenzo persevered, I can't help but feel proud. Sharing this achievement with him fills me with a deep sense of gratitude. I offered him words of encouragement, helped him reframe the enormity of the challenge into a more positive perspective, and ran hand in hand with him, letting him know that he was not alone. I was on his side, and I will always be. Today, my heart is full.