Kingston Cole's Page


MS Run the US - 2017 Relay

Training buddies Josey Bear Pooper Face

Kingston Cole's Page

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I'll rub Katie's head until the day I die. It's one of the things that helps Katie feel better while feeling "weird." "Weird" is the euphemism for exacerbation, for feeling dizzy, lethargic, a whole slew of weirdness, if you will. Sometimes her vision lurches, sometimes her hands get tingly. She once told me that it felt as though warm blood was drip, drip, dripping down the back of her calf.

Katie was diagnosed with MS a year and a half ago. She recovered from the initial, terrifying flare-up, and despite residual symptoms that wrack her regularly, is still working full-time, riding her bike, hiking, traveling, cooking and even freelance writing. She is doing well, with occassional bouts of not-so-well, or "weirdness."  

What we do when she feels well is not all that different from when she's feeling weird. We laugh. Oh we laugh a lot. No matter what. Weird or not weird, we laugh. Also, we tell stories. But when she feels weird I tell stories. She closes her eyes. Sometimes we forest bathe, and discuss whether "bathe" should have an "e" at the end or not. When she feels weird I draw her a hot bath. She enjoys that. Instead of freaking out about having a lifelong disease with no cure, she lives, she rests, she asks questions of herself and others, she keeps going. Sure, it's impressive, but I'd like to think of it as virtuous.

I know running the 160 miles from Wray, Colo. to Holdredge, Neb., is not the cure-all. So why run? What's the point? The running, I'd like to think, is me rubbing Katie's head — me rubbing all the heads that need rubbing. I'd like to think that the running is like making someone laugh just when they need it the most. On our way to the cure we might as well try to laugh and feel good and...well...if that happens, all the better. Thanks for your donation. See you at the finish line.


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