As one of the finish line announcers for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Series, I see a lot of people cross the finish line. In 2013 we estimated that I’d seen well over 200,000 people finish a half, or full, marathon. Most finishers just make their way across the line without much fanfare. There’s the occasional screaming and fist pumping. Once in a great while someone will do a cart-wheel across the line. [bad idea, by the way, because the timing mat may not record your time]
But this past Sunday, at the P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona Half Marathon finish line I saw something that truly moved me. A father was pushing a running stroller – not all that unusual. When he got about 30 yards from the finish line he stopped and took the blanket off the child in the stroller. It was not a baby in the stroller, or even a toddler. It was a child, a young girl, who was probably 8-10 years old, who was disabled. She also had a prosthetic leg.
The father gently lifted the young girl out of the stroller and set her on the ground. She was a little unstable at first as she reached out to grab his hand. When she had her footing her face lit up with a beaming smile. It was a look of pure, unabashed, joy. The father held his daughter’s hand and they walked, proudly, across the finish line. I will never forget the look of satisfaction on that young girl’s face.
That father’s life is very different than mine. I don’t have a disabled child to love and care for. I don’t have to confront the emotional, physical, and financial challenges that he faces every day. And yet there are days when I think my life is difficult. I complain that I am inconvenienced by traffic or weather. I get angry when my day doesn’t go exactly as planned because something, or someone, changes the plan.
But I have a choice. That father and his young daughter don’t.
I wish I knew who they were. I wish I could congratulate them on their courage and their strength. I wish I could thank them for inspiring me to accept with grace whatever life hands me. The next time I get grumpy I’m going to remember the smile on that young girls face and say a quite word of thanks for all that I have.
Waddle on, John
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