/həʊp/ 1. a. intr. To entertain expectation of something desired; to look (mentally) with expectation. 2. intr. To trust, have confidence.
On Sunday morning I hopped on the metro and made my way to Freedom Plaza. Wearing a purple running skirt and t-shirt depicting a woman running against a DC skyline, I was headed for the 2014 Race for Hope, a 5K run/walk that raises money and awareness for brain tumor research. If you know anything about me or my blogs, then you already know a bit about this particular subject. Bear with me as we go through it again, because it’s a story that is worth repeating.
When I first came to DC, I arrived in a general state of disarray after dismantling my life and attempting to start fresh. I spent far too much time feeling sorry for myself, and it was only through distance running that I found a sense of peace. I joined a group of women through Pacers Running Stores, and together we trained for and completed the Marine Corps Marathon. Not only did I meet people from various walks of life, but a side effect was that they took me in and provided a sense of security when they saw I had none. I went from feeling totally alone to being surrounded by people who were there for me when I needed it the most.
On one of our training mornings, we jogged our way to Episcopal High School for a 5AM track workout. I ran alongside one woman who wore a headlamp and a long dark braid, but I didn’t know much else about her. From the periphery, I quickly grew to know her as BethAnn, the kind-hearted, quick-witted and wicked fast runner. When she hugged you, she always did it like she 110% meant it—even if you were a virtual stranger. As a casual observer, it was easy to recognize that this was somebody pretty special.
Hope and Swedish Fish. They always go together.
It wasn’t long before I learned that BethAnn was a brain tumor survivor. As others told me more about her battle, I started to feel silly about my own personal struggles. Who was I to complain when I’ve got the most precious thing one could ask for—good health?
Always thinking of the person who is just out of her camera shot.
But as I got to know BethAnn better, I saw something remarkable. Despite whatever might be going on in her own life, BethAnn was always the first person to ask how you were doing. She is so keyed in to helping other people, and she has a boundless concern for whatever mammoth or trivial problems you might be facing. Talk about special.
Fast-forward five years later, and my group of running friends still keeps me sane. Some of us may have moved away, or have found other activities that don’t center on marathon training, but we still hold a pretty special bond. We’re there for each other, and on this day many of us are meeting at Freedom Plaza and wearing the same grey t-shirts that sport BethAnn’s profile.
We do this because we love our friend, and we believe in upholding our solemn duty to support one another through good times and bad.
BethAnn with just a fraction of her Team BT faithful
I say that BethAnn is special, but it’s not because she has a brain tumor. It’s also not because she has formed Team BT, and on Race for Hope morning she raised almost $85,000 for the National Brain Tumor Society and Accelerate Brain Cancer Cure. It’s not because she has conquered Kona as an Ironman, nor is it because she runs so fast that she’s a regular Boston Marathon qualifier.
To me, BethAnn is special for reasons that I can’t quite articulate. Every now and again, someone gets dropped onto this earth and just by being around, they make the world a more beautiful place. They exude passion, humor, dedication and an irrepressible HOPE for a future that will be better than what we’ve got right now. To me, BethAnn is one of these rare people. Maybe more than most of us, BethAnn has her share of bad days. Actually, if we are being honest, I know that she gets more than her fair share. I can’t pretend to understand what she goes through when she isn’t waving her Team BT banner with the ardor of a gladiator, but I can only imagine that she’s got her work cut out for her.
If there was something more that we, her friends, could do to ease her burden, I am certain that we would all step right up and do it. She makes us want to be better people. To give more of ourselves. To love and to hope without ceasing. My only hope—and yes, she gives me so much hope—is that she understands how deeply she has touched all of us. Through her selflessness and simple all-around kick-ass personality, she has made us all believe that anything is possible.
Here’s to our friends and loved ones—the people who pick us up and help us to see that we are never alone. Here’s to BethAnn, and so many others who are fighting battles that most of us could never conceive of fighting. I’ve got nothing but love, respect and hope for each and every one of you.