THE RACE IS NOT OVER
I wrote this after sitting on the bleachers at the Indianapolis mini- marathon waiting for a champion to cross the line, my then fiance, Marla, who raised a lot of money honoring her late husband. Despite her own physical challenges, she used her courage and her faith to cross the finish line.
The television crews have recorded their features. Alone with my thoughts, I sit in the bleachers. The parties have started, the tallies begun. The fans have departed. The race has been run. The winners moved on, just a typical day. Their victory sweet, but I wish they would stay. They must think it’s over, this marathon race. But the very best part is about to take place.
I’m not as impressed by those who run swift, as by struggling heroes embracing their gift. Just a handful of people still hanging around. My heartfelt applause barely musters a sound. Unheralded champions are crossing the line. The ones the word “courage” was meant to define. As I watch them compete, my tears start to flow. These are the stories that few people know.
An eighty-year old thrusting his arms to the sky. An athlete on crutches who breaks down to cry. A Down-Syndrome girl yells, “I made it Dad!” A blind man with vision like I’ve never had. A boy with one leg being helped by his brother. A challenged young family holds on to each other. A young woman honoring her husband who died.
A handicapped man who would not be denied. Each difficult step towards reaching their goal. A chance at a dream where they’re in control. No trophies or plaques, no interview request. No pretense of winning, just doing their best. They won’t make the 6:00 broadcast tonight. Their victory was merely to stand up and fight.
At the moment they cross and finish the race, a sense of achievement that will not erase. The charities are thrilled, the goals have been met. But don’t run away, it is not finished yet. They may not be first, but still they have won. I’m staying right here through the very last one.
