A Major Woman’s Race and a Minor Old Man

Today my beautiful Savannah hosted the inaugural Every Woman’s Marathon, with over 7000 female runners and about 140 males (well, they wanted to be inclusive).

The finish line, after the 26.2 miles, ended just outside our front door.

Looking out my second-floor window, I saw women of every ethnicity, age, body type and physical ability running, running, running toward the finish line.

Toward the finish line of equality.

Toward the finish line of a woman’s marathon being just as significant (more?) as a male-dominated marathon.

For some reason, I became obsessed with this race. Every now and then walking down my stairs out onto East Broad Street to see the goings-on.

A few hours into the marathon, Robert and I walked over to the finish line and added our voices to the incredibly loud “You-Did-It!” for a multitude of women (and a few men) from all 50 states and 12 countries pushing toward a physically difficult finish.

Later, after the race, young volunteers from the Every Woman’s Marathon team were walking around picking up trash and putting them in garbage bags. Outside our place, directly in front of HR’s little tree garden, a young man’s bag burst, and all the trash spilled out!

I saw this, looking (nosily) out the window. Robert suggested that I run down and give him one of our trash bags. I did. He was so very grateful, thanking me profusely.

I walked back into our hallway, and heard the young man say to his buddy, “That nice old man really helped me, giving me that trash bag.”

I’m fine with that, just helping empty the trash.

Because we have certainly created a whole bunch of trash over the eons.

But Truth still runs