The End of the Line

I’ve been a runner for most of my adult life.  It’s a solo sport, and that’s one of the reasons I like it so much.  On my runs, it’s just me and my thoughts.  Nothing to distract me, or vie for my attention.  It’s great! 

Running half marathons is something that I’ve recently fell in love with, as much for the challenge of running 13.1 miles as for the medals.  Medals!  Who doesn’t like a piece of something tangible that shows an effort completed? 
For all of my runs, I’ve never had anyone waiting at the finish line.  I don’t mind much; I’m not running for anyone but myself, but there have been twinges of wanting someone there on occasion.  Usually, I just put it out of my head and start planning for my next race.

This past autumn, I participated in Cincinnati’s inaugural Queen Bee Half Marathon.  It was good race, somewhat hard course, and I was happy to be running it.  The weeks leading up to it, I was vocal about the race to anyone who would listen, as much to calm my nerves (I was going for a personal record of 90 mintues) and because I just wanted to talk about it. 

While talking with Nicole, I said something about never having anyone waiting for me at the finish line.  It was an off-handed comment, just a part of the conversation, but Nicole latched onto it and selflessly declared that she would be waiting for me at the finish line.  I told her it wasn’t a big deal, and she didn’t have to do that.  But she insisted.

So I ran the thirteen miles, and as soon as I crossed the finish line, there she was.  And she wasn’t alone, either.  Voyin’s mom came too.  The act brought me to near tears, thankful as I was that they took time from whatever they were doing on a Saturday morning to come support me in my endeavor.  Whenever I think about that run, Nicole’s action comes to mind.  I didn’t get my PR, but that’s okay.  I had someone waiting at the end of the line.