It's Not A Competition

My husband lags behind me while we're running in the park. I glance over my shoulder at his grimacing, sweat-stained face and see him try and elbow his way in front of me. My legs are wobbling, I'm gasping for air, but I push harder to keep my one foot lead. Looking back, I smile.
"It's not a competition," I say.
"Of course it is," he responds.

Dan, slowly shuffling forward, his back hunched like a turtle, looks like he's about to keel over, and not just from the oxygen deprivation. He is seven years older, and my yoga-toned, 30-something legs have a bit more pep. But when we first started dating eight years ago I couldn't run a mile. Watching him eagerly lace up his shoes each morning made me want to try. I would zoom to a stop sign a few blocks from our apartment, then turn back and walk, hugging my sides while he sprinted ahead with a confident stride. Dan has run two marathons, and hiked through three states, braving scorching deserts, treacherous mountain passes, and giardia. Now, I'm pulling ahead, and the impact on our lives has left us both searching for more solid footing.