Run

11 days passed too fast, and I found myself in my room preparing for Marathon in London set to start the following morning, I was overjoyed and excited; the experience in Paris had given me the confidence I’d lacked before that race. Like a little girl, I went to bed early because I wanted that day to end so that tomorrow morning would come.

The winter clouds had cleared, and the sun cast its warm, golden rays upon all that God had created on earth to dry up the water that had flowed through the city streets during an unusually cold winter. Flowers bloomed and birds chirped, heralding the arrival of spring with the colors of its plants and blossoms, the blue of its sky, and the warmth of its days—and the time had come for my trip to Paris. It was still cold in early April in the City of Light. The plane touched down on the runway as I looked out my small window and wondered: Will I be able to cover the forty-two kilometers? Will I be able to make it?