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We are all seated on the soft grass, licking our BBQ-pork
sticky fingers. The guy who won the race
is a Brazilian tourist who decided to use his vacation to support a worthy
cause with his faster-than-five-minutes-mile legs.
We all laugh because we realize nobody in our group is a match
for a Brazilian tourist with such legs and such heart.
Our neighbor is next to me, positively glowing. The moment is magical because, as she said,
I know for a fact that
without Jesus I wouldn’t be here today.
We both know what she means by that and we savor the moment
like the BBQ sandwich in our hands.
Our speedy-Gonzales child is chatting happily with the
friend.
This race would have
been SOOOO BORING without you! I am so glad we got to do this together.
The child who quit before the finish line is sitting alone
to the side. All the festivities of the day seem to exacerbate the big gloomy cloud
spelling F-A-I-L-U-R-E that hangs over his head. I inch towards him, re-positioning my stiff legs.
I am SOOOO glad you
quit, pops out of my mouth, we are both equally surprised. I am sorry to hear about your injury. I had no idea. It must have been excruciating trying to keep
up with the rest of us dealing with all this pain.
He shifts slightly, and the cloud seems to shift with the
movement.
It wasn’t so bad. He
says, looking away. Just swollen, that’s
all.
It could have been
worse if you didn’t quit. I am glad you
didn’t injure yourself further. It was brave of you to even try… I stop,
holding the weight of what I was going to say next before I say it… and even more brave to recognize when you
should stop…
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