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It’s the same medal.

Over and over again, I say it to myself as the minutes tick by. Luckily we’ve eased down into the valley where the air is cooler, giving me a breath of life when I was one second away from keeling over.

I get the same medal as everyone else.

The Spring Mountains loom overhead, making me feel small and insignificant—in a good way.

What are men compared to rocks and mountains?

I’m not nearly as important as I think I am. Maybe to a handful of people, but really, there are billions of people in the world—billions of creatures, indescribable sceneries, magical places I’ll probably never visit. Compared to all that, I’m nothing. This race is nothing.

There’s a strange kind of freedom in how little it all matters. A little sadness too, but it’s reassuring in the sense that my problems are a lot smaller than they feel sometimes. There are bigger, more important things to care about .

So I’m going to come in last.

The thought makes me bristle and I want to push it away, but instead, I let myself feel it. Feel the sting of embarrassment. That lingering feeling that I’ve failed in some way.

It’s the same medal.

I’m completing the same distance, and I’m doing it even though I hate running. Even though I’ve never run this distance before.

When we pass eighteen kilometres, right after the eleven-mile mark, I feel the emotions bubble in my throat. Every single step I take forward is a new distance I haven’t reached before. Every step is a personal win, a personal best.

Every step forward is a step I choose to take, to prove to myself that I can do this. Because I am doing it. I took care of my mother and sister growing up, even though that meant I had to give up the rest of my childhood.

Maybe it wasn’t the best thing for me, but it made me strong. I took care of my sick mother, and I’m the reason Paige has the life she has now. If I hadn’t forced her to apply to her current job, even I wouldn’t be here.

Even though here is a fucking half marathon in the desert.

And then I survived Ian. I think of Levi’s face and when Ian left me. I felt so incompetent. How was I supposed to raise a child on my own? I knew there were single parents out there, but all of them were stronger than me. Surely I wouldn’t be strong enough to do it.

But I did. I am. I’m raising my son as a single mother, and I’m damn good at it. My son is happy and taken care of. I don’t care that he doesn’t speak. He’s mine, and he’s perfect. I think about the doctor’s appointment I finally got.

The paediatrician said it was a little concerning and set us up with a child development psychologist. I’m so grateful I can finally get Levi whatever help he needs. And that’s all that matters.

One step forward.

Stronger and stronger with every step.

The mantra emerges from the dark recesses of my mind. Paige typically has a mantra for every race, or at least for every year. This was one of them. I think it was for her first ultramarathon. I didn’t get how scared she felt until now. I was nervous for her, but she did it anyway.

She did it scared.

And with every step, she got stronger.

With every step forward, I’m getting stronger.

And even though this race scared me, I’m doing it.

We pass the twelve-mile mark, and a wave of emotion passes over me at the same moment I feel my body slam to a halt. Like I physically cannot move anymore.

“No more running,” I cry, letting a hiccuping sob escape.

Julien stops with me, his hand on my back, reassuring.

“This is the wall,” he says, his deep voice calm, holding no judgement. I’ve told him multiple times that he can go ahead, but after the first time he said no, he hasn’t dignified my request with any response but an eye-roll.

I’ve heard Paige talk about the wall. The last hurdle .

My body has never gone this distance and it’s freaking out. I’m exhausted, depleted, starving, and I just want to stop. And I want a taco. Five tacos.

“I am never going to do this again,” I say with another sob.

Julien chuckles.

I stand up, glaring. “Are you laughing at me?”

He shakes his head. “You’re officially a runner now, vowing to never run again during the hardest part of a race. I’d bet my entire savings account you’ll sign up for another one.”

It’s my turn to shake my head. “I’m about to be a very rich woman. Your money is mine because there is no way I’m putting myself through this again.” I heave in a breath, every inch of my body and mind appalled that we have to keep going.

Two kilometres. That’s it. I can do two kilometres. It’s a little over a mile.

Sure, I can do a mile, but can I do it after running twelve? I guess we’ll see.

I have to consciously tell my feet to move. Everything hurts, and I’m not sure whether I want to curl up on the side of the road, cry, or sleep. Maybe all three.

I hate running. I hate it so much.

That becomes my mantra for the next mile. The last mile. I run every step to the beat of “never again.” Every syllable is a step. I must say it a thousand times before I see the next mile mark.

That’s when I see it—the thirteen sign.

A new wave of emotion overwhelms me as we get closer. Shit, this is a lot of feelings in such a short period of time. And another as the sign slowly but surely approaches. In one moment it seems so close and we’ll cross it any second, then after another few steps it feels so far away.

“I’ll cross last,” Julien says abruptly.

“What?”

“So you don’t have to come in last. You go ahead.”

I let the words settle. I don’t have to come in last. The thought thrills me for only a second.

“No.”

“What?” It’s his turn to question.

I shake my head. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve finished this faster. So no. I’m the slowest one here. I’m going to finish last.”

That’s when it hits me.

How many people get to say they came in last place in a half marathon? It’s kind of a cool brag. I ran the longest. Out of everyone here. We might have crossed the same distance, but I ran the longest. And that’s a win of sorts. I decide right here it will be a win.

“I want to run the last bit on my own,” I tell him.

“Are you sure?” He assesses my face to see how serious I am.

I nod, determination filling the space where doubt used to live.

“I always knew you could do this.” He tosses me a big grin, bigger than I’ve ever seen. It momentarily stuns me until he picks up his pace. It takes him a minute to cross the thirteen sign.

And I suddenly realize why everyone always corrects people when they say a half marathon is thirteen miles. Or a full marathon is twenty-six miles. It’s not. It’s thirteen point one. Twenty-six point two .

Passing the thirteen sign forces me to recognize the last one tenth of a mile is there for a reason. I turn the corner on that last 0.1 miles and see the finish line up ahead.

Emotions clog my throat and my breathing becomes unsteady as my eyes blur.

I’m going to cross.

The realization dawns on me, emotion flooding every inch of my body and I almost collapse. But I can’t yet, not until I cross that finish line. The finish line that felt so out of reach. That felt so far away I couldn’t picture it.

And there it is.

When I see Isabel’s sign, I laugh hysterically. “If it was easy, I would do it!”

And then I see Paige’s sign. Tears spill over and run down my salty, crusted cheeks. Proof I hydrated properly for this race.

A different kind of emotion washes over me, like a caress on my cheek from the wind, and as I take in all the love and support, I feel my mom’s presence. I feel her pride in the woman I’ve become, and with that surge of energy, that last push from my mother’s love, I run.

I don’t hear the sound of the race director announcing my name, ushering me across as the last runner. I’m so surprised to see so many spectators still around. I thought for sure it would only be the volunteers and my friends, but there’s a crowd of people clapping and cheering.

My eyes are blurry but I see Paige’s proud face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she screams and cheers me on, her smile so wide I fear her face might split. Adam’s face mirrors Paige’s. He’s crying too.

Each of my friends is cheering for me and I realize I was never doing this alone. I couldn’t have done this alone. I needed these people to help me cross that finish line. I needed them to even get me to the starting line.

But they don’t need me. A sob heaves through my body as I crash into Paige’s open arms. She doesn’t need me.

She wants me.

And that’s so much better.

From over Paige’s shoulder, I zone in on Julien. From the way his chest is heaving, he must’ve hauled ass to give me this moment. There’s no way to describe this feeling, besides an overwhelming amount of shock and pride. I did it.

I crossed the finish line last.