It was mile 65 of the Devilman Triathlon. My wet hair was strung with seaweed. I had several layers of mud and grime on my face, arms and legs. I was sick from running on too many caffeinated gels, and slugging through the final miles of the run. The only time I have looked and felt worse, was childbirth.
A man began to pass and then slowed down to match my pace.
He smiled, “You look fantastic!”
“Yeah, right,” I shot him a grimaced look.
“There is nothing more beautiful than a woman with determination. You’ve got this.”
And then he ran on.
As did I but this time with a bit more energy in my stride. I finished the back half of that run at a substantially faster pace.
The right words— timed well, can make all the difference. I will never forget that race, and I will always remember the impact of that stranger.
Who do you know at mile 65?