The bullhorn sounded and he was off, swimming his heart out, across a 50m stretch of lake as deep as his arm is long. My youngest, William, competed in his third year of the Race4Chase triathlon in August. When we first applied, I reflected on how I hoped this triathlon camp would allow Will to do something that was entirely his. It would be an opportunity to spread his wings apart from his sister's influence. For siblings of kids living with disabilities, this kind of autonomy is life giving.
Back at the lakeside, I was watching Will from a distance and ringing a cowbell like no ones business. Will ran up from the waterfront and we cheered him on. He transitioned to the bike portion and we cheered him on. When he came into view at the end of the bike and transitioned to the run, the final segment of the race, we cheered him on. All the while, that cowbell was clanging. When Will sprinted across the finish line, there was no stopping him (or the cowbell).
Thinking about that moment still brings tears to my eyes. I get the privilege of watching my kids grow up, fully aware of their joys and their deepest sorrows. Will encounters circumstances in his young life that few can imagine. He's brave and tender. He cares and he can also be tough. Watching him do something with such abandon, where he gets to forget all the challenges of daily life, leaves me in awe. This kid works so hard every day, not only to get faster but to navigate emotions that would sink many of us.
Later that day, I noticed a blister on my finger and wondered where it'd come from. Then I fondly remembered earlier that day, ringing the cowbell for all 17-odd minutes of Will's triathlon, and smiled.
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