And she doesn’t hate running

We started out at a good pace. The night sky lit by a staggering amount of electricity that still amazes me. Overhead, the fireworks exploded, lasting much longer than I expected– at least until sunrise. The pounding of feet all around us and my sister and I, finally at the race rather than just training for it.

My only goal was just to keep us on pace. I just wanted her to finish, and feel good. That’s probably what I’ve wanted this whole time. My worst fear was not that she’d train for one race and then never run again; my worst fear was that she wouldn’t enjoy it. The purpose of training, and getting to the race, was to have fun. With all she’s had to deal with in the last year– with all we both have– I just kept hoping that the running would be the escape.

Between mile five and six, she asked me how we were doing. “Pretty good,” I said, “almost at six.” This stunned her, that the miles could go so fast with the help of distraction. I told her it would [hopefully] be this way. That this is how races were for me. Just distracting enough for the miles to pass without notice. It’s one reason I’ll pay a hundred dollars to run.

We talked a little during the last few miles. I, in my ever-emotional state, started watching the clock and thinking wow, we’re really going to do this and in a good time, too. I’d get a little choked up thinking of how proud of her I was. How far she’d come in four months, from running one mile, to running ten and a half (our last long run). I held it together pretty well, until mile 13. She saw the marker, looked over at me and asked “Are we going to make it?” She meant our time, but to me that meant so much more. I nodded and the lump in my throat grew. I’ve never felt like this in a race before. There’s never been that much pride.

“Well then,” she said, “let’s go!” And she took off for the finish. She got about ten yards ahead of me when I had to get over that lump in my throat and pick it up. I didn’t know this, but apparently it’s impossible for me to cry and run at the same time. So I just caught up to her, kept silent and rounded the corner to the finish line. We looked up at the clock, grabbed each other’s hand and crossed the mat together. I’ve had a lot of good races, but this one was all it’s own.