It was the American Diabetes Association's annual Step Out walk, a fundraiser for diabetes education. But when you're a little kid, that's kind of a broad concept.
"So we're raising money to cure diabetes?" Mark asked, and I nodded. He was cool with that.
My cousin Kathleen, ever the good sport, walked with us. We melted into the large crowd, which was very inspiring. People wore team shirts and memory stickers-- "I'm walking in memory of my mom" or "I'm walking for my daughter." There was a boy from Mark's school with his team--"Roman's Motley Crew"--all dressed in blue shirts. It was impressive to see how many middle schoolers (and even the school nurse!) he'd dragged out of bed early on a Saturday morning to join him.
We did a group stretch and headed for the starting line. They rang a bell, and we were off.
It was a gorgeous day--sunny, and warm. We walked along the ocean, taking in the beautiful views. You could only go as fast as the people surrounding you, so it was a nice, leisurely pace. Mark, ever the rebel, decided to walk just off the path, in the dirt next to us.
That was mile 1. It went pretty quickly, but soon, Mark slowed down a bit. I thought he was going to complain, but then he saw a water station. Talk about motivation! He bolted through the crowd, and grabbed a bottle of water--there's nothing that kid loves more than free stuff.
Unfortunately, even the water couldn't distract him for long. Ten minutes later I heard the words I'd been dreading for the first time.
"How much longer?" Mark asked.
"You're doing great, Mark!" I replied, cheerfully. "Isn't it great how many people are walking to cure diabetes?"
But he wasn't falling for it. He just growled.
Kathleen and I resumed our conversation, but it wasn't long before the next interruption.
"How much further?" asked Mr. Grumpy Pants. "This is boooooring..."
"Not much," I lied. I pointed to the ocean, and encouraged him to look for dolphins or seals. I reminded him how I saw a dolphin at this very spot and he responded--yes, again--with another growl.
Now he was walking 10 feet behind us, and grandmothers were passing us. Seriously! I'm not talking young, fit, first-time grandmas here--I'm talking older, stooped, white-haired grandmas, pushing frail, elderly grandpas in wheelchairs, followed by ADULT grandchildren!
I did my best to ignore Mark, silently pulling Kathleen to the side to wait whenever he got too far back. "Come on, buddy!" I called to him. "The faster you walk, the faster we'll find the cure!"
(Which yes, I'll admit, is a flat-out lie, but whatever. You motivate with whatever works!)
Only it wasn't working. We passed mile 2, and I called out, "Only 1 mile left! Keep going!" It didn't help at all. In fact, he started falling even further behind.
By mile 2.75, I was starting to drag a bit. I was getting hot, my shoe was rubbing a blister into my foot, and waiting every five minutes for Mark to catch up was wearing thin. Kathleen took over the inspiration baton--"Think how good it'll feel when we complete the whole thing!" she called out. "Come on, Mark, keep walking!"
By mile 3, Mark finally caught up to me, and grabbed my hand with his own sweaty little one. "How much looooonger?" he whined, tugging at me, and I automatically answered, "We're almost there..." Luckily, he saw the water station again, and raced for another free water, even though he was already clenching a half-full bottle.
Now walk volunteers were manning the route, clapping and cheering us on. "You're doing great!" they shouted, "It's almost over!"
Instead of inspiring me, their cheeriness irritated me. "Why are they so damn happy?" I asked, grumpily, and Kathleen (who was still chipper) answered, "Because they didn't walk anywhere!" I thought of our own cheerleading role at the marathon last week, and wondered how many walkers we'd irritated.
But in the end, we made it. I tried to challenge Mark--"Let's race to the finish!" I called, but he wasn't having it. Kathleen and I crossed the finish line to cheers and ringing cowbells, and Mark sauntered in after us. "You got beat by a couple of old ladies," I told him, but he just shrugged.
And so we did our part toward raising awareness and finding a cure for diabetes. Mark talks a lot about what will happen when they do find a cure. As for me--well, I just hope when they do find the cure, it doesn't turn out to be at the end of a 3.1 mile line. Because if it does, I know a certain little boy who really will have diabetes for the rest of his life!
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