Going the distance (Week 9)

The other day I looked at my calendar and noticed something both kind of nerve-wracking and very exciting.
As I am typing this, the Detroit Free Press half marathon is just 10 days away.
To me it has become one of those things that I can't wait for, but will be tremendously happy when it's over.
Going into the final stretch of my training, I can't stop thinking about what it will feel like to cross that finish line in Detroit.
I can't wait to see all the people who are planning to come out and support me. I am excited to see their faces, hear their congratulations and enjoy the celebration that will surely follow.
As I said before, I'm running in this as a way to prove to myself that I can do it, and now, there is no doubt in my mind that I can. I wanted to show myself that even after having a pretty tough battle with bone cancer a few years ago, that I could get my body in shape to conquer something else.
The people whom I cared about most were there to love and support me while I went through chemo and fought my fight with cancer, and I'm so proud and blessed to know that many of those same people will be waiting for me at the finish line in downtown Detroit.
What an amazing feeling it is to know you are loved that much.
But there will be one person at that finish line who wasn't there before, and he just might be the most important, at least in terms of why this race is so important to me.
If all goes as planned my son Teigan will be waiting for me when I finish the race, just a day after his 16-week birthday.
Him just being able to be there would be special enough, because he's my son and I love him. But there is something else that makes his presence even more special, and that is simply that he was never supposed to have been born.
After my treatment I was told I would likely never be able to father a child naturally. I was heartbroken at first, but I was also going to survive, so I tried to look on the bright side.
But you can imagine my surprise when we found out that the doctors had been wrong, and that we were expecting a little boy. My oncologist never went so far to call his conception a miracle, but in my mind, there has never been a question about that.
He defied the odds and came into the world when we were told his existence wasn't possible. And he's getting bigger and stronger every day. He's living, breathing proof that odds don't matter, regardless of what anyone says. He's an inspiration without even knowing it.
So when I conquer this latest obstacle, and when I finish this race, I'm going to hold my son.
Because, just like in life, when things get tough, it's those who inspire you most who are waiting on the other side.