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.
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…