COLUMN: Mary’s Race
Last weekend my sister, Mary, convinced me to run in a 5K race. This early morning romp throughout the island boroughs of Logan was her second race and my first. She and I had mulled over the possibility of someday running a marathon, and in her view, this was the first step.
Frankly, I was lying when I said I wanted to run a marathon, I was simply thumping my chest in a gesture of brotherly domination, but here she was, ready and excited to jog more than three miles. She’s nuts.
I’m 27 and do a mile on a treadmill in 13 minutes. Maybe that’s good. I don’t know. Compared to what I ran in high school – a seven-minute mile – it’s exceptionally pathetic. Nevertheless, I ran anyway, froze my butt off, cursed the other runners, cursed my sister, shook my fist at the heavens and hacked up nearly six years worth of phlegm.
After being lapped by five kids, a grandma decked in pink and a somewhat portly woman, I finished the three-mile trek in 36 minutes. I patted myself on the back for finishing the race, downed some Gatorade and shoveled fruit and fresh bread into my mouth.
My sister, Mary, deserves more applause than me. I’ll tell you why.
Mary is sensitive. She’s a tomboy who identifies more with John Stockton than she does with Brittany Spears. Since she was little she’s had to endure waiters saying, “What can I get for you, son,” because she has short hair like a boy and she is rather short, too. Moreover, for the last six years, Mary has been getting chubby. Now, I don’t say that to be mean. She knows her weight ballooned after high school, and for heaven’s sake, how many of us can claim the opposite?
Presently, I wear pants roughly four sizes bigger than what I donned in high school and I gaze in disbelief at the love handles that make my midsection look something similar to the Pillsbury Doughboy. Hoo-hoo. Sure, I’ve dropped nearly 25 pounds since the summer, but I’ve got about another 25 to go. Losing weight is hard.
Sometime after Thanksgiving Mary will hit the 60-pound summit of weight loss. Think about that for a second, 60 pounds. That’s like shedding a third grader. Or, as Billy Crystal said in America’s Sweethearts, “That’s a Backstreet Boy.” Mary’s appearance has changed dramatically and so has her self-esteem and health. She exercises every day and has learned to eat right and to not use stress and bad luck as excuses to stuff her face with an entire Domino’s Pizza. I say bravo.
However, it doesn’t stop at appearance and health. Mary has been an inspiration, too. My best friend’s wife has followed Mary, along with my mother, my other sister, my dad, me, my wife and probably three or four other wannabe dieters at Mary’s place of employment. And that’s just the people she sees on a regular basis. I watched her explain the dynamics of dropping pounds to a stranger in Foot Locker, and I witnessed the stranger lock onto Mary’s words and walk away with fresh resolve.
I’m not sure, reader, what you’ll take from this article. But I know what I take from my sister (besides her DVDs and clothes). She is positive in the face of adversity. She is kind and willing to sacrifice her wants and needs for those less fortunate. She truly loves and she honestly cares about people. And, more than anything else, Mary is committed and determined to see her goals through until the end.
If only the rest of us could be so true.
Thanks, Mar.