Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Running
He couldn't explain why he ran. Not to his colleagues, his wife or his family. It's just what he did.
Up to four times a year Parker Booth took time off and ran a race he couldn't win alone. He never trained with a trainer or found a running buddy, but he did train. Every morning he was up before the sun, chasing an invisible enemy of time. During that precious hour his mind was clear but usually troubled. He carried no music, followed no schedule, just ran until the sun had just begun to burn off the coastal morning fog. Then he turned home and went about his day.
But every three months or so he would break this routine, driving or even flying to a large city somewhere in the US, running in a marathon. Today was one of these days.
The blood rushed to his ears, pounding away the noise of the day with every heartbeat. Without a mirror, Parker knew his face was red with exertion and could feel the sweat coating his back. He maneuvered carefully through the crowd of participants on the route, most of whom walked slowly, chatting as they went. But Parker was different, he always ran.
There was a sort of kinship here, if you stopped to look in the eyes of those who ran or these marathons, you'd know their struggles, their battles. Parker ran past them but couldn't avoid that knowledge. We're all the same, he thought with a grimace as a young couple walked, pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair.
He didn't take notice to appreciate the gorgeous fall day nor the plethora of leaves that swirled on the streets in a kaleidoscope of color. He didn't wave to the people who lined the route, cheering on the participants and shouting encouragement. The only thing Parker focused on was the end, the goal, the moment when it would all be over for him and for everyone else in this race.
Pushing on, Parker was rapidly approaching the finish line of the five mile route. He seemed to be the first to arrive. But there were no medals here, no accolades or awards. There was just a certificate of completion and, most importantly, an address to mail in your checks. Some people brought their sponsorship funds directly to the race. It never failed to choke Parker up when he saw a child proudly handing over a jar of coins. Many enjoyed the fanfare of turning in those checks, the cash that afforded them a place in the race and a chance to find a cure.
Parker never did.
A week later Parker Booth received his sponsor's check in the mail. It was a rather large sum, it always was. He immediately secured it in an envelope, forwarding it to the event sponsors along with his registration for another race the following month. As he moved to deposit the sender's envelope in the trash, a small note fluttered to the ground. Parker smiled in recollection at the familiar handwriting and read the message.
Dear Parker,
Congratulations on completing your 25th race. My check is enclosed and please remind me when the next race commences. I don't believe I tell you this nearly enough but your father would be so very proud of you. I know I am.
Love,
'Bones'
END
AN: I contemplated adding a line in Temperance's note about what organization Parker ran to support but decided, instead, to let you decide. As for me, I run and raise support for Alzheimer's research. I know some people have had their lives touched by other diseases. Consider this an homage to any disease which robs good people of mobility, sanity, strength and life. And please remember, the people you love do not need to be gone before you join the races to find cures. K