Today I have a race. A race I didn’t train for. And I’m running alone.
Will I finish? I hope so.
Will I collapse? I hope not.
Will I do my child justice, wearing his shirt to raise a tiny bit of awareness for several hours? Maybe.
No one trains to be a special needs parent. Unlike this race, most of us didn’t sign up for it either.
But here we are.
It hits you over the head like someone thrusting you toward the starting line of 26.2 miles when you’ve never been a runner in your life. And in this, the crowd cheering you on may be small, or nonexistent at all.
But you run, grabbing at any water station you can, wanting to stop and take a breath, but that child can’t afford it.
We hold our gear, asks for prayers, and hope we can make it to the end, all the while trying to enjoy it a little bit along the way.
I am a runner. In more ways than one.
In light of Case’s new love for running, I am sincerely hoping he’ll be able to run in the Nashville kids marathon (1 mile) next year. That is my goal.
And at least for this, we can train.