Joy at the finish line

My friend Denise spent her whole life saying she was not a runner, not an athlete, not that kind of person. Last spring, at fifty-eight, she trained for a 5K in secret because she did not want anyone watching her fail. I found out and showed up anyway, at mile two, holding a ridiculous sign. The photo of her crossing the line, arms up, laughing like a kid, is the best picture I have ever taken. Not because she won. She finished four hundred and somethingth. Because the picture proves the rule: that kind of person is a decision, not a body type.