I remember his hands, encased in sturdy gloves, never missing in the mesmerizing rhythm of churning wheel-pumping action as he whizzed by, never taking time to grab a drink as he went on his way.

These people humbled me as I stood beside the table and cheered until I thought my voice would desert me. I thought I had made a sacrifice by giving up a weekend day and getting up early to volunteer, but it was clear these were the people who had sacrificed. How long did they train each day? How many times did they go for a run when they really wanted to stay home and play with their kids? How did they manage to fit in training in busy lives filled with work, kids, and home responsibilities? I realized these were real heroes, even if they might not seem like it to some. These runners had...
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