The sun had just risen. The annual marathon in my town is usually held during a heat wave. My job was to follow the runners in an ambulance to render medical attention. The driver and I were in an air-conditioned ambulance behind approximately one hundred athletes waiting for the race to start. “We’re supposed to stay behind the last runner, so drive slowly,” I said to the driver, Doug, as we began to creep forward.
“Let’s just hope the last runner is fast!” He laughed. As they began to pace themselves, the runners were running way ahead. It was then that my eyes were drawn to a woman in blue running shorts and a baggy white T-shirt. She clenched her fists tightly. She pushed her self forward, ready to begin the race. “Doug, look!” We knew we were already watching our “last runner.” Her feet were turned in, yet her left leg was turned out. Her legs were so crippled and bent that it seemed impossible for her to be able to walk, let alone run a marathon.
Doug and I watched in silence as she slowly moved forward. We did not utter a word. We would move forward slightly, then stop and wait for her to gain some distance. Then we would slowly move a little more. As I watched her struggle to put one foot in front of the other, I found myself cheering for her and urging her forward. I wanted her to stop, and at the same time, I prayed that she would not. Finally she was the only runner left in sight. Tears streamed down my face as I sat on the edge of my seat and watched with awe, amazement and even reverence as she pushed forward with sheer determination through the last miles. When the finish line came into sight, trash lay everywhere and the cheering crowds had long gone home.
Yet, standing straight and ever so proud waited a lone man. He was holding one end of a ribbon of crepe paper tied to a post. She slowly crossed through, leaving both ends of the paper fluttering behind her. There was a look of triumph in her before she collapsed and lay limp on the ground. Hurray! She made it. Without a moment’s delay, I dashed forward and rendered aid to my first and only casualty for the day.
I do not know this woman’s name, but that day she became part of my life – a part I often depend on. For her, it wasn’t about beating the other runners, or winning a trophy, it was about finishing what she had set out to do, no matter what. When I think things are too difficult or too time consuming, or I get those I-just-can’t-do-it feeling, I always think of the last runner. Then I would realize how easy the task before me really is
1) What were the two things the writer found herself doing while the last runner was
struggling to move forward ?
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The two things that the writer found himself doing are mentioned below:
Explanation:
- The writer found himself cheering for the lady and urging her to move forward.
- At the same time, the writer wanted the lady to stop and he also wanted her to move forward.
- These were the two things that the writer urged to do.
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