Sacred Ground

Running in cemeteries seems odd to some. I struggled with the concept years ago, but have come to be more at ease with it. When an opportunity arises I tread lightly, recognizing it as sacred ground. I stay on paths, paved or otherwise. I once took a short turn through Arlington Cemetery, located in our nation's capital, and found it to be a moving experience.

We have a cemetery called Arlington in Atlanta; however, it shares only the name with the military graveyard in Washington, D.C. What Atlanta's Arlington does hold is the remains of my mother and both my maternal grandparents. In races and daily runs I have passed this cemetery on numerous occasions. I have not yet run inside its beautifully manicured property.

One need not be a psychologist, armchair or professional, to know that my own mortality and sensitivity to the loss of loved ones keep me outside the gates of this particular cemetery. Truthfully, I have only visited Arlington once when not part of a funerary service. Last month marked the seventeenth year of my mother's passing. Perhaps the best way to remember her and my grandparents, to honor their lives, to thank them for the gift of life and to celebrate life itself, is to go and run there.

Run and remember.

Tom