And so after I watched the men's marathon winner cross the finish line on television, I got in my car and headed toward her finish line.
As I found a place to park, I thought about the last time I saw her when she'd just faced one of her last long runs before she began to taper in preparation for today. As we sipped coffee, she was sore and achy, and I couldn't imagine how she was going to get through the heat and humidity that were gracing her race today. And as I thought about what she was doing and the first time we sat over coffee and she put voice to that dream that she wanted to run a marathon and decided which one, I caught a tear running down my face, because it's not often that you get to see someone fulfill their exact dream. She's always been a runner, entering 5K's and more recently a half marathon, but for ages she said that for her to be a marathoner pigs would have to fly, so when she amended her running dream, she found the place where that exactly happened - The Flying Pig Marathon. The goal was simple, just to finish the grueling race.
As I found the finish line and worked my way up to the ledge of a bridge around U.S. Bank Arena that overlooked the "Finish Swine," I found myself watching so many stories and dreams make there way across that arbitrary point in the pavement. There were the stories that they highlighted on the news, like the woman finisher that vowed 18-months ago to run again after a horrific accident where she was hit by a car while riding her bike. Several surgeries later, she volleyed back and forth in first and second place before she crossed in fourth. But somehow, you could tell that as each and every person running the half-marathon and full crossed that line that there was a story there for them to tell. I watched a man finish and collapse a few steps later - pushing himself to stride across the line no matter what. There were those that were clearly running for causes and people - dressed in shirts that promoted their passion or pointing skyward as they hit the line. I watched children join a parent to jog the last yards across the finish. Many lifting their arms in victory or sharing a high five with the swine mascots, celebrating their personal accomplishments. And each and every one of them, as hundreds (and along the way thousands) watched, had a story. Somewhere during the race they had to draw the strength and courage to keep going and see it through.
And after scanning the crowd and watching from above, almost out of nowhere I saw the bright pink socks and then registered the black tank, black running skirt and bandanna and then the face, crossing the intersection and nearing the finish. As I snapped a few pictures hoping that one of them would be good, I felt my eyes well up with tears of pride. It's not often that you see someone live a dream - not a simple easy one, but one that they work for months training for, one that involves sacrifice and one that they play a mental game with themselves to finish when their body just wants them to quit. And also today I saw pigs and dreams fly, and I'm so happy that I could witness just a little bit of the triumph.
Congratulations, T. You are an inspiration (even though it will never inspire me to run, it does give me faith and courage to keep running the race of life)!
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