It was only 20 minutes after the race had started that the first runner crossed the finish line. My son and I stood there at the end of the route wrapped in winter coats on a Sunday afternoon in April. Two of our foursome–Dad/Husband and Sister/Daughter–were out on the course somewhere and we weren’t expecting them for at least another 15 minutes or more. But my son insisted on seeing the first person to cross the finish line and wanted to keep watching as the timer ticked away while more and more runners crossed the line.
Over the next several minutes, young and old, women and men finished the race. Right around the 38-minute mark, our people came into view. My daughter was struggling through some discomfort as my husband jogged next to her, watching her carefully and closely.
Weeks ago, when my husband decided he wanted to run this particular 5K, he asked my daughter if she wanted to run with him. She’s part of a running program at school and is training for another 5K in May. (I’m her running buddy for that race and I’ve been training, too. More on that later.) I was proud of her for saying yes and taking on the challenge.
Read the rest of this post over at Putting on the New.