MARATHON Living with Parkinson's over the years tests your mind and body, no matter how strong you feel. I've seen many ups and downs through my experience, but I've always tried to stay mentally tough. Fitness is important, but it doesn't fix the emptiness that hits sometimes. Parkinson's is a long race that drains you physically and mentally, but I believe it's a race you can still win. I've felt every emotion that comes with it, sometimes more than once, but I've kept moving forward. I refuse to let my symptoms stop my thoughts or dreams. Those dark, desperate moments are part of the journey, but they don't last. There's always another day to face, another reason to hope. The hardest part after all these years is accepting the long-term toll on my body. The freezing, the falls, the constant pain from my limbs losing coordination—it's all part of living with Parkinson's. I've lost weight from shaking and dyskinesia, but I've learned to accept it. As I grow older with this condition, I have less energy. Overdoing it tires me out quickly, so I have to be careful. The relentless physicality does not stop. Every morning, the body reminds you. A new stiffness. A fresh ache. Looking out the kitchen window, watching the sunrise paint the familiar backyard trees, I often think about the energy I used to take for granted. The simple act of pouring coffee can feel like a feat of balance and coordination. But the sun always rises. That's a fact. That another day is not just about survival. It is about redefining what a good day means. It is finding small victories. Maybe it is managing to tie shoelaces without a stumble. Perhaps it is a clear conversation with a loved one. The mind is a powerful tool. It shapes your world. It decides what wins. I used to think winning the race meant beating the disease. Now, I see it differently. The race is daily. It is about persistent effort. It is about not letting the bad moments define the whole journey. This is where connection matters. Talking with others who understand. Sharing struggles, yes, but also sharing strategies for coping. A shared laugh can push back the darkness better than any medicine. The physical pain, the constant tremors, they are my unwanted companions. But they do not own my mind. I practice focusing on what my body can still do. A gentle walk in the park, even if it is slow. A few stretches that bring a fleeting moment of ease. It is about making peace with the new normal, not fighting it. Acceptance clears a path for hope. This marathon is not about speed. It is about endurance. It is about changing your pace when needed. Sometimes you walk, sometimes you crawl. But you keep moving. The quiet of my living room, the familiar chair by the window, these places have become my personal training ground. Here, I reset. I breathe. I plan the next small step. The finish line isn't a cure; it is a life lived with purpose, despite everything. It is about finding pockets of joy. It is about the strength found in vulnerability. The race is indeed there to be won. Not by escaping Parkinson's, but by finding your way to thrive within its boundaries. It is a win measured in resilience, in the light found even in the deepest shadows. Robert James Keene 2025