Mud on his face, tears tempting to push through, he looked into his daughter’s face, “We did it. We’re done. I did it. I’m 55 and I’m done.”

“Not yet dad; the finish line is right there.”

They had spent over six hours on that mountain. Up and over fences she pushed him. Always moving forward, even through live wires and under barbed wire, they walked by as stronger men dropped on either side. He even plunged into that icy bath with barely any hesitation; an amazing feat for a man that almost died breaking the ice as a child.

Standing within sight of the end, she put her arm around his shoulders, reaching up to compensate for the height. He leaned on her and put weight gingerly on his swollen ankle; the bane of his training these last seven months. He hobbled across the finish and was greeted with an orange headband, a beer, and an extreme sense of accomplishment and completion.

The ending to a year of anticipation, dread, and excitement, now held a deeper meaning of satisfaction and accomplishment.