On my birthday, in May, I decided I would train for this race. Even though I'd never, ever, run a road race before. Probably hadn't run 5 kilometers in a row since college.
Along the way, I began training for a half marathon. Almost immediately, the setbacks began. I ended up at a sports medicine clinic two or three times a week, working on the plantar fascitis that plagued my foot. Pain and discouragement loomed. But after weeks of inconvenient appointment, running feels better than ever.
(Not funner than ever, mind you. Just better.)
Sometimes you just need to keep going because you have a goal that's bigger than your own self, because you've told people you're doing it, and because you're celebrating someone who survived more than an inflamed foot.
This year, my sister met ME at the corner, and cheered me in to the finish line.
It's just one of those things that sisters do.
And maybe one day, these daughters of mine, if they live in a world where we still need to race for a cure for breast cancer, will do the same for one another. All the way to the finish line.