I clicked the link (点击链接), sign un here. This wouldn’t be my first half marathon (马拉松赛跑); I had run a flat half when I was thirty-eight. But that was eleven years ago. Now, it was November 2022, and I’d had a shoulder injury before, and I was turning fifty. So, as awful as running 13.1 miles seemed, I was going to do it.

I signed up for a women’s training group, a group of strangers with whom I would spend a few months preparing for the race, and then I was directed to sign up for the actual race. I imagined a course somewhere beautiful in Florida. Or perhaps in sunny California, I was shocked when the race website opened, and I was greeted with the words, “Zion at night, half marathon in the darkness.” In Zion? At night? Oh, no.

I looked at the website. Was it to late to quit? Actually, I had just signed up for a coaching group that was meant to “encourage me through running”. Giving up before I even started seemed like a terribly shameful thing to do. I looked through the photos of the race.

I lost all my confidence. Runners wearing headlights and running shoes filled the computer screen. I couldn’t do this, I thought. I hadn’t run on paths in Delaware. I hadn’t run on paths or up hills. I clicked onto the next photo and looked at the happy runners advancing alongside a frightening cliff (峭壁). I was also afraid of heights.

A text came through my phone. It was Nicole, our training group’s brave leader, a woman who has run hundred-mile marathons. This is what happens when you run a race with someone who has strong willpower. “Sign up for the 4 am start time,” she wrote.

As I filled in my name and address, I tried to think about how likely I was to get injured during training. Realistically, that was my best way to get out of this race. I filled out the form and started worrying. About everything.

But Nicole encouraged me, saying that she was with me in spirit on every run.

On the day of the race, we drove to Zion at 4 am.

“Hello, hello!” called out a pleasant voice.

Andy Waters looked up and saw his new neighbor, Francis Frame.

“Hello, yourself,” he shouted cheerfully, as he fastened on his roller skates. “Want to go skating, Francis?”

“I can’t. I lost my roller skates last fall, and mother says she can’t afford to buy me another pair just now.”

Andy looked at his neighbor’s long legs. They were just the right kind, he thought, to make a fast skater.

“That’s hard luck, Francis, because if you had some roller-skates, maybe you could be in our skating relay race (接力赛) next Saturday.”

“Oh! Don’t I wish I had some skates!” cried Francis.

“I have to go for the training now but I can let you use my skates sometime when I am not using them.” Andy said bye to Francis.

When Andy skated slowly toward the end of the block, he thought about Francis Frame. Francis hadn’t lived in the block very long, and none of the other boys knew him. So the new boy was left to himself a great deal, and must often be very lonely.

“Yes,” said Andy to himself, “it certainly is a pity about Francis! I ought to do something about it.”

As he skated to the vacant lot where they usually trained and raced, he met the captain of his team, a large boy called Buddy Bowers. “I stopped for a few moments to talk to my new neighbor,” said Andy. “don’t you think we could use another boy on our team for the race? That new boy, Francis Frame, I mean?”

“We just can’t do it. The other team wouldn’t let us take on an extra boy.” Buddy refused.

Soon the training began and Andy practiced very hard, for his heart was set on having his team win the race. Still, he couldn’t help knowing that his short legs kept him from being a fast skater. On the way home, Andy thought of a way to help his team win as well as help Francis Frame — he could pretend to be sick on the racing day and have Francis take his place!

Thinking of this, he raced to the home of his new neighbor.

Finally came the racing day, and Andy and Francis showed up together.

From an early age, Patti Wilson was told that she was an epileptic (癫痫患者). However, she was a lively and enthusiastic girl, looking at her illness as simply “an inconvenience”. She never focused on what she had lost, but on what she had left. One day, Patti said to her father, who was a morning jogger, “Daddy, I’d really love to run with you every day, but I’m afraid I’ll have an epileptic fit.”

Her father told her, “Don’t worry, my girl. I know how to handle it! Let’s start running then!”

It was a wonderful experience for the father and daughter to run together every day. After a few weeks, the ambitious girl told her father, “Daddy, What I’d really love to do is to break the world’s long-distance running record for women.” The father checked the Guinness Book of World Records and found that the farthest any woman had run was 80miles.

That year, she completed her run to San Francisco, which is a distance of 400 miles. She was wearing a T-shirt, reading, “I Love Epileptics”. Her father ran every mile at her side, and her mom, a nurse, followed in a motor home behind them in case anything went wrong. But nothing happened at all while she was running.

As a senior high school student, Patti announced that she was determined to run from her hometown up to the White House, which is a distance of more than 3000 miles away. Her classmates got behind her. They built a giant poster that read, “Run, Patti, Run!” This has since become her motto and the title of a book she later has written.

On her second marathon in Portland, she had her foot injured.

Half a year later, Patti ran in Washington and finally shook the hand of the President.