We did it! It took 3 hours and 19 minutes, but I accomplished my goal of completing the April 5th Hogeye half-marathon. I started as my mom’s reluctant training partner, but standing at the starting line with my sister, our mom and two aunts I had an unprecedented adrenaline rush which allowed me to actually jog the first couple of miles of the race route. This “burst” from the starting line was the motivation my sister Megan needed to take on her drill sergeant persona. Due to her diligent coaxing, and her disapproval at my attempts to flag down a ride at mile marker nine, we crossed the finish line arm in arm and waited a few minutes for the other (more leisurely) sister group to triumphantly finish.

In the week preceding the race, our training focus turned from selfish ambition- “I know I’m not to old/ out-of-shape/ unmotivated to walk a half marathon” to a more sentimental approach- “This effort should be dedicated to Grandma and Papa (the parents of the first-generation sister trio)”. My mom had made badges for us to wear during the race: A photo of my grandparents engaged in some unseen entertainment with the caption “Walking for our greatest fans” printed along the bottom edge. As my Papa’s health faded, the dedication seemed more fitting. The evening before the race however, we had a difficult decision to make. My papa quietly passed away surrounded by Grandma and many of their children and grandchildren. What we had anticipated as our final evening of carb-loading and rest, instantly became an evening of tears, hugs, and country hymns. The half-marathon that had become the focus of conversation over the months of training simply became an insignificant sentiment. Without a second thought, each mem ber of our walking team was willing to trade walking shoes for house shoes, satisfied with the task of lending support to Grandma and other grieving family members. Grandma insisted that Papa would want to see us finish what we had worked so hard to do, so at 10:30 that night, we somberly drove home to get a couple of hours of restless sleep before meeting on the Fayetteville square for the highly anticipated 13.1 mile trek.

With a heavy heart, and thoughts of Papa on the forefront of my mind, I found myself reflecting on the scripture verse in 2nd Timothy, where Paul relates in his final words “I have fought a good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me- the crown of righteousness that the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the great day of his return”.

As Megan and I began our return from the half-way point of the race, I pondered Papa’s life- or the final three decades that I knew and loved him. Anyone who knew him (and I assure you, there are many who did), Claud Edwards epitomized “fighting the good fight”. His zeal for life, constant positive outlook, and caring heart made him a well loved and respected man. His crown of righteousness, which I picture as a well-loved, straw Resistol, will signify the many years of sharing the love of Jesus to anyone in need. I remember fondly, the many snowy winter days my Papa spent driving his snow-chain clad vehicle up and down his slick, steep dirt road with the sole purpose of pulling stranded travelers from the ditch. While visiting with my Grandma the day after his funeral service, I stumbled upon a small yellow envelope simply addressed to “Claud Edwards, Kingston AR 72742". The enclosed thank you was from a grateful family. According to the note, the family was assisted by my Papa when their car had broken down on the side of the road. They thanked him for his willingness to work on their car, “even in the rain”.

Over the course of my grueling three hour trip around Fayetteville, I was reminded of how my Papa never stopped giving of himself, even in times that the only thing he had the energy to share was a well loved joke. Of course, as the hills surrounding the U of A campus became steeper and longer, Hebrews 12:1b became my charge: “And let us run with endurance the race that God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, on whom our faith depends from start to finish.” Obviously I had to mentally remind myself as my brain had shut down lip and tongue function in order to supply my weakening legs with the blood and oxygen needed to literally put one foot in front of the other. I can’t say I ran, but what I did was definitely with endurance. This too reminded me of Papa’s determination and attack on life. By man’s standards, he never became the “biggest” or the “best”, but as made evident by the cloth covered binder containing page after page of certificates of recognition and letters of appreciation, along with the hundreds of people who turned out to express condolences to his family, my Papa endured and finished the good race, and by God’s standards, I’d say it was the full 26.2 miles.

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