I had just finished my first marathon. I was about 25 yards from the end and saw my family in the stands. I ran over to them, of course, for a minute and then they hurried me off to the finish line. (My mom, being surprisingly competitive, wanted my time to be as fast as possible and didn't want them to be the reason to slow me down.) I love that about her.
I didn't even see her in the stands even though she was sitting right with them. I wasn't looking for her because I had no idea she was coming. It was one of her very rare days off. Why would she possibly want to spend it there? It was a beautiful fall day and not one that you'd want to spend driving to and from a race for this meathead, me.
After I crossed the finish, I saw her as I was hugging the girls. I couldn't believe she was there. She said she wouldn't have missed it. I honestly get a little teary every time I think about it.
If you had told me ten years earlier that a) I'd have finished a marathon and b) more crazily, that she'd have been there to cheer me on, I'd have told you that you were on the crack cocaine.
Life is like a marathon. You just have to take is slow and steady. That first mile might be difficult, but once you get past it, the rest is a breeze.
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