He pauses and catches his breath. “I’m not leaving without crossing that finish line,” he tells me. The man is about my height with deep brown skin, and he has about one hundred and fifty pounds on me.
He wheezes and I start to worry he is having trouble breathing, but it could just be the cold. I reach for the walkie-talkie on my hip. “I’ll radio for a medic,” I start to say.
He shakes his head. “I had a heart attack last year,” he begins.
My eyes widen and my own heart rate accelerates. I need to get him help immediately!
He shakes his head and smiles at me, his breath normalizing. “I’m not having one now. It scared my wife, my daughter. I told them I was going to run a half-marathon while I was still in the hospital. I said I would lose the weight and get moving a hundred times before. But the heart attack scared me to action.” He lifts his hands from his hips and wipes his nose, which is running from the cold.
“You did the hard work to get here,” I remind him.
“My daughter, she’s only ten, she got up with me every morning to help me train. She had water bottles ready before I left. Had a smoothie ready when I got back. I’m not about to show her what quitting looks like. What a broken promise looks like. She’s going to see me cross that finish line.” His eyes meet mine and I see his resolve. I can hear it in his voice too. The peaks and valleys of the journey he has been on. Fighting for his health, for more time with his family. How the weather and snow on course is one more challenge in his way. The last of many. Nothing I can do is going to stop that kind of willpower. It’s one I recognize, like for like. A drive I once had, one I had to abandon. “Run, walk, or crawl, right?” he says.
That sells me on it. I nod with my head, indicating for him to keep going. Once he has gone ten feet, I reach for the radio again.
“We have a guy trying to finish the half on his own. He is about two miles out. Is the finish arch down yet?”
The radio squawks. “No, that comes down last. Want me to pull him?” I recognize the race director’s voice.
“You ever seen a running back make it to the endzone with three defenders trying to pull him down?” I ask, trying to give him a visual of what I expect would happen. “He’s trying to finish for his daughter; he made her a promise to get back in good health. Let’s get some of our team to the finish line to give him a real FIRE ending.”
“You’re pulling on my heartstrings here,” the race director quips back. He’s got two kids at home too and I know he’s thinking what I am. FIRE is all about endurance, pushing limits, and challenging fixed mindsets. It’s about changing lives and inspiring others.
“See you at the finish,” I say, and I pocket the walkie before dashing over to the merchandise tent and telling them my hasty plan.
Twenty minutes later, the staff and even some of the sponsors from expo are lining what is left of the finish chute. I’m standing closest to the chute when the man rounds the final corner and the thirty of us erupt in applause. You’d think we were at Exponential Endurance – the FIRE World Championships – with the energy we are bringing. My colleagues are cheering and clapping.
“You got this!”
“Almost there!”
“Endure to the end!”
It may be the cold wind, or perhaps the rush of emotions at the sight of the finish line, but I spot some moisture on the runner’s face. He is running at a speed that is barely faster than a walk, but he is making progress. He scans the faces at the finish line. I know he is searching for his family.
They were easy enough for me to find. They were the only group huddled near the finish with a neon-green sign that readGO, DADDY, GO!
He’s in the chute, and I can tell the second he sees his family on the other side of the finish line. His face erupts with a wide smile. Usually, only VIPs who pay extra receive a medal from their loved ones. It’s a security risk and also super inefficient. But we’re already breaking the rules, so we might as well make it the best experience. I pulled one finisher medal and shirt before we loaded them onto the truck.
He crosses the line and his girls envelop him. The whole family is crying. Happy tears. Bittersweet tears because of the health journey he’s been on.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I turn to see Oliver smiling down at me, a twinkle of a tear in his eye. He gives me a nod and then heads over to the family. They break up their hug and Oliver extends a hand. The runner brings him in for a bear hug instead.
Raj and his cameraman capture the moment. The footage will be gold, and this is a wonderful keepsake for this family.
Celine is beaming at Raj. No doubt she’ll take the credit, but I don’t care.
For the first time all day, I’m not thinking about how cold I am. How much fallout there will be from the cancelled races. The logistical nightmare. Instead, I’m smiling, crying too. And I remember the unquestionable joy that running brings to people.
11
CHARLIE
“Good morning, Declan!” I chirp as my surly office neighbor strolls into the office on Thursday. I’ve thawed out from Montana and already find the Florida heat infuriating. The quiet sounds of the office are punctuated with the regular arrivals of the staff. Greetings, computer start chimes, conversations over cubicles that are just out of range.
Every morning, I say hello, or hi, or try to engage in some positive manner with Declan Davidson. I get silence back. I guess strategic operations is too serious and all-consuming to offer basic niceties in return. At least Ian, our CTO, seems to have warmed to me. After Oliver explained who I was, Ian has been very helpful and kind.
Earning Declan’s approval feels impossible, like he’s already made his mind up about me. I never had a fair chance. I’m running a deficit. Always one step behind at FIRE or saying the wrong thing in a meeting. Or I forgot my security badge! I have never not been the top achiever, the ideal employee. I know I need to prove myself. If I can win Declan Davidson’s approval, then maybe I’ll feel like I really belong here.
