Running

This is a way overdue post but it needed to be written, or at least advertised on here. It started off small. Simple training with random runs, for the pure enjoyment of running. The runs started to increase in distance form a simple 5km to a 7km to a 10km. Until finally a 10km was able to be run in a great time. My mother and I decided to enter the 10km whitby run. I was shocked she wanted to enter, but I could not of been more proud. We woke up early headed to the race, my palms sweaty and I could tell my mom was getting excited comparing herself to others. In constant runner talk the whole way, both mental prepartion as well as the phsyciall a nice warm up jog, of course my lovely "i need to use the bathroom" 3 minutes before race start. Typical me and my small bladder. But then we waited at the line, chatting and explaining to my mom what was going to happen and reminding her how fantastic she is going to do. The gun went and off we went. I felt so alive, so free and loved every step of that run. Once I crossed the finished line I then waited for my mom to come in, I knew crossing that finish line for her would be beyond incredible. And so she came. Her grin from ear to ear, as the crowd cheered and my father and I screaming beyond belief. It was in that time that I could not of been more proud of my mother. Even though I crossed the line already recieved my medal etc, this was not about me, it wasnt about anything I completed that day. It was about her. She walked that 10km the faster I had ever seen a women of an older age go. From that moment forward she had now become a runner, she had it in her all along the passion the determination and now she had a race on her belt. Anything was possible.