Thomas Lake writes about a 5K run he did with his son. As they drove into town, his son noticed an insect on the hood of the car.
It was neon green, no longer than a fingernail. And it was friendly. This little green thing hopped onto my son’s finger, and walked across my shirt, and then went back to my son’s hand, where it stayed for a long, long time. It stayed so long that we would eventually give it a name: Little Friend.
A few minutes before the race, Little Friend either fell or jumped off my son’s hand and landed on the sidewalk. Maybe it wanted to go free. But this was not a good place for that. Pedestrian traffic was heavy and unpredictable. Little Friend was in danger. So my son knelt and reached out his hand. Little Friend came back.
The race was about to start. Thomas felt the need to tell his son Little Friend would be dislodged by the running.
I felt compelled to have a talk with the boy.
You will lose Little Friend, I told him.
My son nodded, treating the moment with appropriate solemnity.
Little Friend perched silently on his wrist.
The race began, and I lost sight of them.
Thomas then tells of how worried he was when his son didn’t appear at the finish line after 40 minutes. His son had run a 5K race in 30 minutes previously. He writes about the panic he felt.
But then his son appeared, and Little Friend was still with him. A happy reunion. As they left the race course, his son nudged Little Friend off his hand, saying, “Be free.”
A boy has his reasons, some of them unknown even to himself. There is more than one way to win a race.
One day my son will leave too, running off on his own adventure. My brother recently sent me a picture of us together. It almost broke my heart. My son, then 6, was holding my hand, looking up at me with this indescribable expression of hope and innocence. It seemed he was trying to tell me something. But I was looking ahead at something else. When I saw that picture, I wanted to yell at myself: Turn your head! Look at him! Nothing in the world is more important!
My son knew the truth. Sometimes life gives you something beautiful, a fragile, fleeting treasure that attaches to your hand. There is no need to rush ahead. Treat it gently. Savor each moment. Hold on while you can.
My son and I ran the same 5k. When he didn’t show up at the finish line I went looking for him by Thomas Lake, CNN, Dec 19, 2023.
I had a similar experience with my godson, Brandon.
I ran almost every day. In part because I refused to have a car, running was often a necessary form of transportation. And I just loved to run.

When I told Brandon about the “Turkey Trot Run,” held ‘Thanksgiving’ morning, he wanted to run, too. He was around 10 years old at the time. I was glad he wanted to do that, so we rode out to the race course at Eagle Creek Park (Indianapolis).
On the way there, I was wondering if we should run separately. But I decided no, I wanted us to run together. I could tell that was his expectation. So we ran through the quiet woods of the park. He wasn’t a runner, so he needed some encouragement along the way. It was a 5K race, and I wasn’t sure he could do it.
But he did.
It was the best race I ever ran.



















































