I Almost Quit My First Marathon

Six months ago, I ran my very first marathon. Forty-two kilometres... and I'd never run more than thirty. At the start line, my legs were already shaking. Then the gun went off, and thousands of us started running! Honestly, the first half felt amazing. People were cheering, kids were giving out sweets, and I thought, wow, this is easy! Then, at kilometre thirty-two, I hit the wall. Oh, it's hard to explain. My legs just stopped working. Every step hurt. My head kept telling me to stop. So I walked to the side of the road and sat down. Well... that's it, I thought. I'm done. Suddenly, an older runner stopped right in front of me! He held out his hand and said, come on, run with me. Just to the next lamp post. That's all. I don't know why, but... I took his hand. So we ran from one lamp post to the next. He told me this was his twentieth marathon! Ha, he said it never gets easier. You just get braver. Slowly, kilometre by kilometre, the pain felt smaller. Then I saw it. The finish line! The crowd was screaming, and I just started crying. We crossed it together, hand in hand. Four hours and fifty-one minutes. Not fast, but I finished! Sadly, I never even got his name. But now, whenever I see someone struggling in a race, I stop, hold out my hand, and say, come on, run with me.