I see an old man, often, on the side of the highway. Bundled up in his orange toque and vest, headed into the woods with his snow shoes. It makes me happy.
There is a woman in my neighbourhood who runs often. I watched her run (then walk) through a pregnancy, and now I often see her with one of her three kids in the jogging stroller.
Yesterday, we took the girls to a science centre where there was a timed race track. Leila loves to run, so she ran it again and again and again. The goal was to see how your speed compared to a race horse or Donovan Bailey. “I’m the fastest!” she’d yell, hair streaming behind, “No one can catch me!”
My sister-in-law is in the Sudan until April, working for an NGO educating and organizing a democratic election. She told me years ago that she wants to change the world.
Tell me, where does your inspiration come from?