She walked slowly, stood, and faced them.
He ran on for miles and hours.
He got tired, hot and thirsty. His body ached and muscles screamed.
She spoke up, bashful but firm.
Her voice sang pure and sweet and clear.
He pushed himself. Far. Then further.
The echoing song was loud and sure.
Bands were playing. Spectators cheered.
Water cups fell down like snow.
She ended with a grin that pierced me.
He came across the finish line. We howled.
My daughter, teaching a song to the entire school community on a Friday morning.
My husband, completing his first marathon*.
"You know," she said, "Oprah did that."
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