Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

The Home Stretch

By Hayse

'Four miles! I've only run four miles!' I stood at the side of the

road,

dejected, waiting for a relief wagon to pick me up. I hadn't even run a

third

of Kansas City's Hospital Hill Half-Marathon. Six months of training down

the

drain - all because of a microscopic virus.

Sprained muscles, bad weather . . . I thought I planned for it all.

But

strep throat?

Add medicine that had side effects like rapid heartbeat and shortness

of

breath; I didn't have a prayer of finishing.

Regardless, my parents met me at the finish line with an armful of pink

roses. The offering was bittersweet, since I clutched them after climbing

out

of a van instead of after sprinting across a finish line.

I vowed I'd try again. Unfortunately, Kansas City half-marathons are

in

short supply, and life got busy again.

For one, I suddenly became a mom of an eight-year-old.

Cute little Mandy Porter had packed all her things, waved good-bye to

her

foster parents and moved into our spare bedroom. This pixie-like redhead

had

been passed around like most foster children. Unfortunately, her story was

more

disheartening than the average one. Twice, she had been placed for adoption

and

began calling an unfamiliar couple " Mom " and " Dad. " Twice, the stress had

been

too much for these new parents, and they sent little Mandy back to foster

care.

Social workers call this an " adoption disruption. " I call it a soul

disruption.

My husband and I would become two more in a line of uncertain parents

for

Mandy. The very day she moved in, we could see why the disruptions had

happened. Little Miss Mandy was a tough cookie - throwing tantrums daily,

refusing to comply, being passive, being aggressive, being anything but

cooperative.

Seven years had passed since my undoing at Hospital Hill at mile four,

but

even after all those years, I still felt empty and undone at not having

finished

the 1994 race. Advertisements for the 2001 half-marathon popped up again on

store windows. I mulled over whether or not to try again. I had been

having

hip pain so badly that I was having trouble sleeping and hadn't run in

years.

I oscillated between sending in an application and being realistic. I

had

little time to prepare. And I had a daughter, now a teenager, who still

took

immense amounts of time and energy.

'I don't quit. I do what I say.' I could hear my own words echo back

to

me. I thought, 'This is a perfect opportunity to show this to Mandy - to

let

her see that I mean it, instead of just hearing it.'

I mailed my application and bought new shoes. I found running routes

with

big hills like the official Hospital Hill course, and I ran them whenever I

could squeeze it in.

Too soon, that Sunday morning arrived. Mandy and I swung into a

downtown

parking spot and headed to the starting line. I told her, " I hope to finish

in

two and a half hours. Meet me at the finish line at 10:30. "

She nodded.

I lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. " Mandy, " I said, " I don't

quit. Not in this race, and not on you. I am running this race for you. "

With my number pinned securely, I found my place in the mob of runners

and

lost sight of my precious daughter.

'Could I do it?' I had to!

'I am strong, and I don't quit! I am strong, and I don't quit!' It

was

my mantra, the words that patterned my cadence.

'Oh no! Is that a raindrop?' The gray sky opened up, and sheets of

rain

began to pelt us. My shoes became soggy and doubled in weight. The wet

socks

rubbed my feet, forming instant blisters.

'I don't quit!' I yelled the words in my mind now, picturing my

daughter

waiting at the finish line. My hip began to sear with pain, and the

raindrops

turned to torrents.

I repeated the words, louder and faster at the never-ending hills.

Through

the pain, I felt exhilarated. 'I would do it. I was doing it!'

Sooner than I realized, I rounded a corner to discover the official

clock

ticking off the finish times. It read " 2:13. " On the one hand, I was

thrilled;

regardless of all the obstacles, I had finished fifteen minutes sooner than

I

expected! On the other hand, I kept picturing Mandy inside where it was

dry,

watching the clock for the time I told her to come out to meet me.

I sprinted the last few yards, planning my strategy to find Mandy in

the

thick pack of people inside the Crown Center.

But I didn't have to. There she was - her rain-drenched hair dripping

onto

her soaked T-shirt. And even through all the raindrops - and now the

tears - I

could see her beaming smile and her arms open fully to receive me.

" I made it, Mandy! I don't quit! "

" I knew you would, Mom, " she said, holding me tightly as we stood in a

deepening puddle. " I'm so glad you never quit. "