Several years ago, a friend talked me into running a 5K. A 5K for an asthmatic non-runner like me was like climbing Mt. Everest. It sounded hard and painful. But in a momentary lapse of judgement, I said yes because, after all, the event raised money for a good cause.

I downloaded the C25K app (a fabulous training tool!) and began my training. On a treadmill. In a controlled environment. If I got hot, I hit the button and the fan turned on. If I didn’t want music, I could turn on TV. That worked great until I went outside. The tiniest incline felt like a mountain range. The heat, the cold, it was all too much for the inhaler to overcome, and so, I ran-walked. In fact, not once during the six-week training did I make it 3.1 miles outside without stopping to catch my breath.

If you’ve ever been in a race or watched one, there’s something about the excitement of the crowd that makes you feel like you’re in the Olympics. On race day, when the buzzer sounded, I took off running, pacing myself, and listening to songs like “Hall of Fame” from The Script. Until I reached the hill. At that moment, something inside me gave in to the pain in my chest and my shaking legs. The words, you’re not going to make it, ran through my head like a broken record, and I began to walk. There was nothing wrong with walking. In fact, the friend who talked me into doing the race walked the entire time. But I wasn’t here to walk. My goal was to run across the finish line. The loss of a dream, a goal I’d had for six weeks, took less than 30 seconds to fade from view.

Until someone tapped me on the shoulder. A young woman jogged in place next to me, waiting for me, and said words I’ll never forget. “You can do it. Don’t stop.” I forced my legs to pick up the pace, and this stranger ran with me the entire way, cheering me on. When we rounded the last corner, the most glorious thing I’d ever seen came into view…the finish line. The crowd gathered and cheered each and every runner that last one fourth of a mile, and I ran with all my might across the finish line. I finished, but not without the help of a stranger. After accepting my water bottle and banana (nope, not a trophy), I searched for my running partner, but I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere, desperate to thank her. But she disappeared. I never even knew her name.

To this day, I don’t know who that young woman was, but she’s someone I’ll never forget. She became my encourager, my cheerleader to finish strong, to cross the finish line, and to never give up. We all need these people around us, cheering us on and helping us get through difficult times. Who is the encourager in your life? How has he or she helped you meet your goals? Take a moment to thank them, and then pass it on. Become an encourager for someone else. Together, with one another, we can all run across the finish line.

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