C.: One, two, three, four…
Houston has the Astros, Texans, Rockets. Roughnecks, Dynamo and Dash
The greatest of all sports teams…
Whew! I’m exhausted. I cheered the Astros to win the AL West and the number two seed in the playoffs, after I cheered the Texans to a great win. Before that, I cheered both the Longhorns and the Aggies to super wins. I think that I’ll just sit down and finish reading chapter three of d.c. scot’s BEYOND THE THIRTEENTH MILE: THE IRON MAN CHRONICLES. This chapter is called “What Would Mary Do?” I read the first half last Sunday, so I’ll finish the chapter today.
***
On the day of the race, I had no idea what to expect from an open water wave swim. I was soon to learn, however, that it’s somewhat akin to running with the bulls in Pamplona. After being kicked in the face several times, I inhaled several ounces of pond water. This prompted me to purge my lungs in a shallow part of the retention pond for several minutes before continuing on.
The bike ride went smoothly, but that was my strength, and the run was still to come. This leg was my biggest weakness. Having an injury in one of my feet didn’t improve the situation. My foot throbbed with every step, and coming around the last turn of the run course, I stepped off the pavement, spraining my left ankle sharply. However, throughout the run, I kept asking myself one question, What would Mary do?
Every time I ran up on someone, I would ask myself this question, instead of trying to outrun him or her.
"Come on," I said to one particularly discouraged-looking redhead, “You can do it. It's not that far, and I'll run in with you."
"All right," she said, encouraged again. She ran out of sight and to the finish line. I never caught back up with her.
I finished only seconds over my two-hour goal and collected my prize—a finisher's medallion made of heavy metal and fashioned after an Olympic medal. When my legs had recovered sufficiently, I picked some roses from the garden in my yard and wrote II Timothy 4: 7-8 on the back of my race number. This verse reads, "I have fought the good fight, and I have finished the race, not only I, but all of those who go before me."
I took the roses, the race number, and the finisher's medallion, put them in a plastic sack, and tied it to the frame of my bike. I rode to Luke's house, because we had planned to ride together to the cemetery. I received no answer at his door, however.
In a way, I was glad to be alone on this ride because of the personal nature of the journey. Luke knew the way to the cemetery better than I did. However, I found it eventually, despite taking a wrong turn that made the ride five to ten miles longer and resulted in a confrontation with a large, territorial dog. I eventually arrived at the graveyard unscathed despite the fact that the dog tried to warn me of his viciousness by chasing me away from his yard. I was thankful, though, that the dog wasn’t as fast as a greyhound or a whippet. I still can’t pedal fast enough to get away from a dog of that description!
When I found Mary’s grave, I knelt by it and said a short prayer. Then I placed my race number and the roses on top of it. I placed the lanyard that held the medal around the roses and the race number.
"This is yours, Mary," I said aloud as tears began to trickle and then flow down my cheeks. They were the tears whose absence was hidden by a pair of sunglasses at both Mary's and my grandmother's funerals two years before. They were tears of sadness, tears of relief, and tears of joy. The tears didn't stop until I walked through my front door. You see, Mary is home now, in heaven, along with my grandmother.
My medal found its final resting place as well. It served as a makeshift headstone as it hung from a wreath of roses that Mary's mother had placed at the head of her grave until the ground settled enough to mark Mary’s grave with a headstone two months later. As I had intended, Mary’s mother hung the medal from the wreath. No one ever deserved it more than Mary.
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