A first marathon for AIDS- In Memory of Imette St. Guillen

You look in a mirror and you don't like what you see.

It's a warm day for December; the new year is coming.

You decide to change-

and run.

Your sister comes along, perkily, until you tell her that

you love her, but she's already thin and happy, and you'd rather

run solo

so you can leave dark thoughts trailing around the subdivision. 

You work two jobs

and run.

You teach poor, urban, wonderfully smart Latino kids, and after you arrive home at 10pm,

you run.

You make contact with people who didn't know you were back from the island, and in between,

you run.

You get that acceptance letter from that long-shot Ivy school.

you run.

A good friend dies and you can't see sense in life.

you stop.

You work a new job.

And sit all day and talk.

You grow lethargic and fat and unchangingly sweet.

You find life doesn't make sense unless you're living it.

One day someone gives you a chance to get outside your self pity. 

You run

with all the force of life, after that.

Even when some good friends don't return calls,

you run on.

Your edge grows. You're hungry for life, now. You run miles you never thought you'd see.

Even when you're laid off by telephone with no warning or reason,

you don't know how to get money for that ivy league school that you can't believe accepted you,

can't and won't afford to drown your sorrows at others' invitation,

the kitchen sink overflows and soaks your basement bedroom including your mattress,

the man you want is out with another girl cuz you passed up your chance at him,

you're relying on God and God alone for the next step,

you realize what a gift it is to be alive, to be able to use your entire body for someone that isn't you, who's doing worse than you, who'll never go a fraction of the places you've been.

You lace up those worn-out sneakers, pull on a headscarf, and you get moving.

You live,

you run.