Finish Lines

The older I get, the more I realise that finish lines are not for the faint-hearted.  And I'm not talking about crossing one yourself - although that's a pretty remarkable thing as well.  I'm talking about spectating at a finish line - and somehow morphing into a bawling bystander as you get to witness glimpses of the journeys of fellow runners; moments that often speak a thousand words.

This weekend I had the privilege of participating in the inaugural OR Tambo 10 k race in central South Africa - currently one of the highest paying races in the country.  And although my race experience was a positive one, it's those moments spectating at the finish line after crossing it myself that keep lingering in my head.

I witnessed the smiles of triumph of previously disadvantaged wheelchair athletes after covering 10 km in ordinary, wonky-wheeled wheelchairs - no high-tech, modified sports machines - over uneven, pothole-ridden terrain that had me hopping around and gasping for air as an able-bodied athlete.  

I witnessed twin sisters in their fourties crossing the finish line of their very first race hand-in-hand - no doubt a highlight after a lifetime of shared memories.

Privileged to have shared in this memory!  [Photo by Hermien Lamprecht.]

I witnessed blind runners finishing with their guides - sure-footed and smiling - reminding me to count and re-count my blessings.

I witnessed a 36-week pregnant mama and her husband conquering the distance together.  As it should be.

And I witnessed a dad and his son walking a victory lap hand-in-hand - looking at each other with smiles that said "we did it!".

As for myself, I ended up not reaching my goal of a sub-50 minute 10 km...  And find myself doubting whether I have it in me to fight that mental battle once again - it's exhausting.  We'll see.

My race splits.

        

And as disappointing as not reaching a race goal may be, I'm delighted to discover, with age, a love for running and spectating simply for the joy of it...  And I think I like it.