A Girl Named Betsy

My muscles clenched and my lungs ached, but ahead of me I could see the spot where the bridge leveled. This, too, spurred me forward. A father and son gave me thumbs up; a woman fell into step beside me momentarily and cheered me on. Everything inside of me burned but I couldn’t stop smiling.
Finally, I reached the pinnacle, and the whole world spread out before me in one slow, dazzling display. And then I knew I could finish this. It was mine. As I was running level on the bridge, I gave a quick glance behind me to look at what I had just accomplished. Looking ahead, I could see for miles all around me and the Charleston harbor looked beautiful in all its glory. There were sailboats and other boats in the harbor and I wondered if those below were watching as the runners powered across the bridge. I felt so powerful and my exhaustion fled. I looked out over the bay and looked at those people around me in all directions. Even though I was surrounded by hundreds of individuals, I was in my own small space, looking out over the boats and the sun glinting off of the water in the harbor.
A double-amputee passed me and he was flying on his running blades. We waved to each other, acknowledging and saluting a thousand untold struggles. And that, I realized, was what we were all doing out there on the bridge: acknowledging a strength and solidarity that comes with living.