The honor of struggling and failing

The miles of steep climbs were passing by like speed bumps. The surplus of downhills ahead of me foreshadowed a strong finish.

Then, just over halfway through the marathon, I felt a twinge in my right achilles. It began as a minor nuisance, but the pain amplified with each step. My stride went from an easy glide to a laboring lope. I walked. I stretched and then walked some more. It got worse. 

At mile 19, I stopped. “I’m done,” I lamented to my wife, who along with my two children had been my traveling cheering section. This was my 15th marathon, but that didn’t make this an easy decision. As I sat in our car at the side of the course, I deliberated on the merits and consequences of pushing forward. Finally we drove off, my mind swirling with doubt.