If you need a refresher, you can go back to Monday’s post or listen to parts 1 & 2 above—in my voice, no robot. :)
As the sounds of Delaney and Jeff faded behind us, we kept our focus ahead. Approaching mile 7, we caught up to a group of runners. One woman turned to us, her eyes on my son.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“12 years old,” Brindsley replied.
“Wow, that's amazing. Great job, kid and good job, Mama.”
I smiled and thanked her.
She added, “I would love for my son to run a half with me, but I'll take the 5K.”
Another runner pulled alongside Brindsley and shouted, “Way to go, kid!” Brindsley acknowledged with a nod. I wondered what he thought of all this encouragement.
He maintained a steady pace, keeping up with the pack of runners. Around mile 8, Brindsley declared, “I don't think I'll be running the JFK 50 miler.”
I suppressed a laugh. Just months ago, he'd learned that 13-year-olds could participate in the JFK 50 miler and had announced his plan to run it when he turned 14. Now, experiencing his first half marathon, he was discovering the challenges that come with endurance running.
The discomfort and the inner turmoil.
I slowed the pace a bit, “Let's take one mile at a time, okay. You're looking strong.”
“Okay.”
He nodded as another runner called out, “That kid needs to be on the cross-country team!” The man zoomed past us while I glanced at Brindsley—still composed and relaxed as we passed the 10-mile marker.
“Alright, we're at 10 miles,” Brindsley announced, suddenly finding a new surge of energy.
“Way to go, buddy. We have 3 miles left.” I passed him the flask for hydration, then took a drink myself. We fixed our eyes on the runners ahead.
At mile 12, I increased our pace to test his endurance. I knew once we turned the corner, he'd sprint to the finish. I hoped I could match his speed—I wanted us to cross the line together.
We turned the final corner toward the finish line. The announcer's voice boomed over loudspeakers, spectators cheered, and music filled the air. Brindsley took off.
“Let’s Go!” I shouted. I think it was more for me than for him. He was ahead, and I tried my hardest to keep up. I changed gears, but it wasn’t fast enough to finish together. He was magnificent!
I crossed the line to find him waiting with a high five. I hugged him, unable to stop smiling.
“Amazing job, buddy!”
“Thank you, Mom.”
We moved toward volunteers distributing medals and were greeted by my high school cross-country coach's daughter. Delighted to see her, I asked about her dad.
“Dad!” she called to the other volunteers.
There stood my former high school cross-country coach. We hugged as he congratulated both me and Brindsley. He hadn’t changed one bit.
We heard Delaney and Jeff calling our names from the finish area, with Delaney beaming with pride for her brother.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Brindsley.
“Good, I'm starving!”
I grinned. “Let's go get some food.”
Sharing this experience with Brindsley and celebrating together as a family afterward made it a truly remarkable day to be a runner.
The End.
Grateful for brave voices and open hearts.
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