Everything was coming to an end: moving from Utah to New Mexico, leasing her condo, finishing residency, taking the test that would validate her status as an Internist. The test would take eight hours, and was the most difficult test she had taken to date. The school monitored when she studied, what she studied, how long she studied. Three months of studying with only short breaks had her almost as exhausted as the years of residency and 30-hour-days had.

We watched as she would fall asleep to awaken not knowing what day it was and sometimes not even where she was.

Medical school had been as rigorous for her as it had been for the rest of the candidates, except that in the middle she was diagnosed with lymphoma, the cancer that had only a few years earlier taken the life of her grandfather. We wept together and grumbled and wondered as she did the hair-depriving chemotherapy treatments.

When she applied for a fellowship the interviewer said, “I thought you had cancer during your schooling.” She replied, “I did. I took the treatments during a month of vacation.” And gratefully, she is now in remission. But, there was still the test.

Amy has always been conscientious about health and exercise. Exercise equipment, gym membership, jogging, cycling. While she was studying for the exam she would take regular breaks for exercise. She decided to enter the Bear River Brawl Triathlon, Sprint division, which took place two days after her exam.

She said she had done cycling and running, and running and swimming, but she had never done all three. In training for the triathlon she balanced studying and running and swimming and cycling, helping handle the stress she was under because of the testing.

Thursday came and the test took a lot, it was extremely difficult. She had little sleep the night before and because of the triathlon she got little rest Thursday night and Friday. She had to be at the race at 6 a.m. Saturday, so not much sleep Friday either. Then, after driving up to the race, she discovered she had forgotten her running shoes.

She did the swim course first, swimming 750 meters or a half of a mile. As she jogged up the sand to the cycling event she smiled and pressed forward. On to the bike with head gear and quick water and energy bites. Back 24.8 miles later, she was off in biking shoes not running shoes to complete the run which was 3.1 miles.

I waited at the red ten-feet-high and twenty-feet-wide inflated finish line as runners from the three events sprinted in, bent and removed the ankle tag that announced the race they were competing in. Husbands came across the line supporting their wives in the race. A young girl raced with her mother for the last 500 yards and both received the high five at the finish line. And I was waiting for Amy.

She came flushed, breathing labored, and running.  The girl next to her sprinted and crossed the finish line just a little before Amy did. Amy bent, removed the ankle bracelet and stood. I called to her. She came to me and fell into my arms, in tears, and then said, “I need water.”

Afterward, several times that day she said it was the hardest thing she had ever done: as hard as the medical exam, as hard as residency, as hard as cancer. But she did it. She crossed the finish line, regardless of how hard it was. And we all agreed that not winning, but crossing the finish line was the most important thing.

And then I thought how nice it was to have someone waiting at the finish line, when we all come across. And, what a comfort that hug would be. Knowing that life is hard, the hardest thing we have done; knowing that life is like a triathlon, with different events, and that we need to do our best in each event. But also knowing there will be someone there to hug us when we cross the finish line.

I promised my children that day that I will be there to shout, “Well done! Good job!” as they cross the finish line, and give them a hug as they pass in to the next event in their progression.

Nancy Plagge is a ghost writer emerging from a cocoon.