When I visited Ssadie in Idaho last summer, I was a runner. She was not. She'd go to the gym with me and hike with me, but the few times I tried to get her to run with me, it just wasn't happening.
But since I've been down with this (motherfuckinggoddamnitshit) heel injury, she's picked up her running shoes. Oh, and roller skates, too, since she's now a derby queen.
This weekend, she ran her first race, a 12K. She love it, of course, and came back with this little story:
About .5 mile from the finish I heard a man clapping and hooting (like a gazillion other spectators). "You're all amazing, keep going!" he cheered, "Almost there, it's a blessed miracle you're running today!"
I turned my face to send him a weary smile, and I saw him; an old man, perched awkwardly on a stool. He was an amputee.
It's hard to run and cry at the same time. fyi.