His Girl

He stood unwavering on the side of the road, several paces away from the rest of the family. His pose was relaxed, his gaze fixed on the street in front of him. Observing. Counting. Waiting.

Checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, he noted the hour: 8:52 am. He looked up to see a stream of athletes race past him in a rainbow of colors, all of them pushing the limits of their stamina. It was an extraordinary sight to behold. The sweat between brows, the open mouth breathing, and the grit of determination on their faces as they finished the final leg of their journey was a testament of athleticism. No doubt they had prepared for this moment for months. Just as she had. So where was she?

Pound, pound, pound. The echo of footsteps combined with cheers from the sidelines wove into a cacophony of sound as more and more runners streaked down the path. Families and strangers alike stood alongside one another whistling and rooting for all those who bolted past them. The excitement in the air was palpable, the pride infectious. He himself couldn’t help but smile and clap as one middle-aged man barreled down the road while pushing an adaptive wheelchair. His arm veins bulged as he gripped the handlebar, sweat pouring off his face while the passenger waved to people as they flew by.

8:55 am. Five minutes remaining. His nerves were alight with anticipation. Not much time left now- it was coming down to the wire. And there was still no sign of her.

A rustle of noise disrupted his focus. Her mother stood bedside him holding a handmade sign adorned with glittery pink letters. She had spent all night working on it.

She too looked out on the rainbow sea, but unlike him, her mood was serene.

“She only has a few minutes left,” was all he said.

Her mother smiled and shook her head. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m proud of her no matter what. Whether she finishes in twenty minutes or four hours, I’m already impressed. My knees could never!”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s definitely an impressive feat.” And, of course, he agreed with her. He too would be proud regardless of the outcome. But deep down he knew. He knew what she had endured these past several months- the training, the injuries, the wins, the losses, the pain. She had a goal in mind. And heaven help anyone who tried to stop her once she made up her mind. He couldn’t blame her- they were cut from the same cloth in that regard.

The sun chose that moment to peek through the clouds. Ray beams shone down upon the contestants to crown their success with heavenly glory. How poetic, he thought. Up until that moment, the sky had been painted in an unappealing grey concoction with an accompaniment of wind gusts every few minutes. While her entourage of friends and family had found it uncomfortable, tightening their coats with every whip of the breeze, the runner had been thoroughly pleased with the temperature that morning. “Perfect running weather!” she had beamed.

Now his watch read 8:57 am. Glancing back up at the street he saw a girl not much younger than her flying down the path wearing the brightest yellow shoes he’d ever seen- a stark contrast to the flaming red in her cheeks. A young man sauntered behind her, breathing comfortably as though he had woken up that morning and simply decided to run a half marathon. An older gentleman with his bib pinned to shorts that displayed his prosthetic leg in all its glory. A gaggle of high school girls wearing pink tutus over their matching pink t-shirts. A tall-

There she was. A few paces behind the tutus he watched as she crested the final hill of the course. He recognized the light blue Dodgers hat and neon green tank top combination she had boldly decided to wear that morning. “So you can find me easily,” she had replied through a mouthful of toast.

She began the downward descent towards them- towards the finish line. Although she was still a half-mile away, he could see her legs pumping in furious motion, faster than her usual pace. Easy, he thought. But he knew she could taste the finish line, could sense that her goal was teetering on the edge of possibility. Success and failure. Only she could control the outcome now.

“There she is!” her mother cried, grabbing the sign and thrusting it high in the air. The rest of the family stood on their tiptoes, pumping their fists, scrambling for their cellphones to capture the moment.

He maintained his composure, standing his ground just as he had for the last one hour and fifty-seven minutes. He didn’t need a phone to remember this.

She was approaching. He could see the dark silhouette of sweat outlining the bib on the front of her tank top. Her face was just like that of the other runners: terribly determined and utterly fatigued. It was amazing how two opposing sensations could be felt so keenly at once in a person. Her red-tinged cheeks puffed in and out as she breathed, her arms were slick with sweat despite the fifty degree weather, but her eyes narrowed with laser focus. Like a hawk pursing its prey, he thought, she portrayed the ideal picture of a predator on the hunt for that which all humans desire. Victory.

Her arms swung loosely in front of her, her thumb and index finger lightly touching, her wrists relaxed in perfect running form. Watching her, he was suddenly taken back to her first soccer practice, recalling those flailing arms like a panicked chicken. “Hold your arms tight and your hands cupped,” he had taught her. “As if you’re holding a bag of chips.”

The family pitched their signs into the air, whooping and hollering.

“Go! Go! Go!”

“You’re almost there!”

“Do it, lady!”

“That’s my girl!”

She was now passing by her entourage. His gaze zeroed in on her stride, which was glaringly uneven on the pavement now that she was in close proximity. Her eye twitched with each step, her body distributing more weight on the right foot. He eyed her left ankle which was wrapped in the black brace she had applied that morning. It was part of her “prophylactic treatment”, she had called it, along with two extra strength Motrin, a litany of stretches, and an endless supply of Tiger Balm. But it was hurting her now. After twelve-and-a-half miles it came as no surprise. How long had she been running with the pain? Undoubtedly, she would have endured for another twelve miles if necessary.

She turned and beamed at her family despite the exhaustion she was undoubtedly feeling. She pumped her fist in the air in response to the signs, which elicited more squeals from the family. She knew as they did- she was almost there.

A glance back down at his watch. 8:58 am. Only two minutes left. He looked back up at the road, turned to face the finish line that was a quarter of a mile away. She could do it. But she had to keep going. She had to push through the pain- through the fatigue- but it was possible.

Turning his attention back at her, she looked up from her own watch. Naturally, she was keeping track of her pace as well. They made eye contact and for that brief moment, time stopped.

Suddenly it was one year ago. They stood together on the front porch of the house as she brandished her new running shoes.

“I figured I needed to get a decent pair if I’m going to keep running for real.”

“Running? Since when?”

“Since a few weeks ago! You’re the first one I’m telling, so don’t tell mom. I want to surprise her after my first 5k.”

“Well, make sure you’re doing enough stretches and eating enough protein. And don’t forget strength training, that’s very important-“

“Yes, yes I’m doing all of that, don’t worry. You’ll be there when I run my half, right?”

Then it was a breezy Sunday afternoon. He sat on his favorite armchair on speakerphone as she detailed the run she had just completed.

“It felt so amazing, I wasn’t tired at all! I ran ten miles instead of the eight I was supposed to do, but I think I’ll be fine. Those gels you bought me really helped!”

Two days later at work on his lunch break.

“My shins hurt so bad, I don’t know what to do. I’ve iced them, stretched them, and even used the Thera Gun. What if they’re still hurting by the time my 10 mile race comes?”

Fast forward to one week ago.

“Okay, I finished curating my running playlist. Let me know if there are any other ones you think I should add.”

He helped her research the best training plans, bought her a second set of running shoes- the very same ones she was wearing today. He attended every single race leading up to this moment, even when it meant getting up at four in the morning to take her safely to and from the event. Every post-race brunch, every tip and trick, every ping! on his watch alerting him that she had completed a workout… it all led to this.

RUN, he mouthed. And that was all she needed.

A terse nod was his response. Her already churning legs kicked into high gear as she picked up the pace, foot pain be damned.

He abandoned his post to make his way towards the finish line, weaving past people as he kept her in his sight. She flew past the other runners using whatever remaining energy stores she had left. She was a pistol, a bullet whizzing through the air determined to meet its target.

His heart swelled in the same way it had done so over the past twenty-four years. He recalled her first dance recital (where she very firmly declared ballet was not her passion). That pivotal soccer match where she not only tripped up the star of the opposing team, but secured a winning goal. The endless orchestra performances and viola lessons to maintain her first chair status. Her high school graduation and getting accepted into college. Working three jobs and maintaining her 4.0 GPA while enduring her first heartbreak from across the country. Her first job. Most recently, the day she moved out of the house… all of these memories flooded his vision. And suddenly, his throat felt tight.

She sailed down the track, her pink running belt (which just had to match with her pink earbuds) bouncing behind her as she approached the finish line. Go. Go. GO! The crowd was cheering for her too now. For his girl. The blue inflatable archway stood like the gates of Heaven welcoming runners into its embrace. She was moving fast now, a full out sprint. Don’t stop.

Faster and faster and faster andfasterandfasterand-

Her green and pink ensemble crossed the finish line.

He checked his watch for the final time. 8:59 am. Success.

The rest of the family caught up with him now, her mother reaching excitedly for his hand. He smiled and squeezed it, but kept his eye on his runner. He saw her just a few yards away, breathing heavily while bowing her head, hands on her knees in a tripod position. A young volunteer congratulated her, placed a medal around her neck. She reached for a complimentary bottle of water and stood to the side of the path as she drained its contents.

She looked up as he and the family approached. Her mother ran to hug her first while he reached for the post-race banana she always forgot to grab. He stood off to the side and waited for everyone else to offer their congratulations. Her sweat dripped, creating small pools of perspiration on the concrete, but her smile never wavered.

Finally it was his turn. She turned to him and suddenly, her smile cracked as her dark brown eyes turned glassy. She reached over and hugged him tightly. “I did it, Dad,” she muffled into his shoulder. “Sub two hours!”

He smiled and squeezed her. “I know.” As she pulled away, he captured his mental picture.

Her hat was askew, her hair sticking up at odd ends. Her face was sweaty. Salt deposits crusted around her hairline. Her bicep was marked with shallow red grooves from her armband. And yet- she was perfect. Just as perfect as the day she was born, when he held her for the first time and she looked up at him with those same big eyes. His vision was suddenly cloudy, his throat closing up again.

“How’s your foot?” he managed.

She let out a laugh while regaining her breath. “It hurts… so bad. I’m going to need… a whole jar of Tiger Balm after this. But… it was worth it! I’ll take a week off… maybe two.”

“Mhm. Come on, let’s move over here so you can do your stretches. Take your banana.”

She nodded in understanding and reached up to hug him again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Then, laughing, “I kept my hands loose, just like you told me. I held that chip bag for almost two hours!”

He smiled. That’s my girl.