A friend sent me a little Survivor stone a couple of years ago. I decided I was going to bring it along for the ride on my first marathon. I can't even remember why. It just seemed like an appropriate thing to have with me during a marathon. The stone has come along, tucked safely in a zippered pocket in my shorts, on all six of my marathons. It's gone 26.2 miles in New Orleans, Providence, Chicago, Virginia Beach, and Narragansett. And now Boston.
The stone was shiny. And then I tucked it in my pocket along with my keys on a 5K. The stone got very badly scratched. But that somehow seemed appropriate. The stone survived. It has helped me survive some difficult races. It reminds me of the journey. It changes. I change.
This scratched up stone comes along on all of my races. It took on a whole new layer of meaning after the Boston Marathon.